Scattered pieces

Two good things from this week:

1. ACC have approved 20 sessions with Liz (yippee!!)
2. We got an “Excellent” rating on our job performance review.  This is surprising considering that we hate the job – we even said so in the review.  But, we have specialised skills that the library needs, so they want us to get a bonus for retention purposes.

I am small, young and lost.
Oh so vulnerable and ready to break with one more cross word or look.

I am small, young and needing to strike out.
So frustrated with not being able to tell anyone what is wrong.

I am small, young and dirty.
I’ll never be able to get clean, the dirt is so deep inside of me that no scrubbing brush can reach it.

I am small, young and silent.
I can’t talk, I have no voice and no way to express what is happening.

I am small, young and sore.
Please hurt me again, it’s all I deserve.

I am small, young and worthless.
I am rubbish at your feet.

Last week I knew that I was going to talk to Liz about denial.  In many ways I see my denial as attention seeking – like I’m wanting Liz (or whomever) to say “of course it happened” or “you’re right, it didn’t happen and you’re just attention seeking”.  It feels manipulative to be in denial, like I’m playing games.  But then, when I’m in the denial, it seems as if I’m playing games when I say that the abuse happened.  It’s an awful place to be in.  You have the clarity to see your actions in the past and you judge those actions, every word or behaviour is analysed and destroyed.  As a perfectionist, I’m my own worst critic, so nothing is spared.

Liz questioned me as to why this was happening now, when 2 weeks ago I said that I needed to turn and face the past, instead of continuing to run from it.  I’m not sure of the answer to that question.  I think it is partly due to the stress that I’m faced with – wedding anniversary, disastrous visit from my mother, yearly performance review at work, etc.  Objectively I understand that I may be stressed and this is what has caused the denial/lock-down, but I don’t get any sense of being stressed.  When I’m like this I don’t feel much of anything, sort of like I’m on auto-pilot.

In order to sort through some of the issues, Liz said that I needed to try and re-frame the anniversary into a new context as a way of trying to move forward.  We were nearly out of session time, so this was very much a passing comment.  I know what she means, but this year it was impossible to do.  I’m not aware of any real reaction, other than losing great chunks of time.

I almost broke through the denial yesterday by listening to Beethoven’s Grosse Fugue, but it didn’t last.  As it’s a long weekend in New Zealand, I’m not seeing Liz this week.  Possibly the wrong time to have an interruption in sessions, but it couldn’t be avoided.

I’m dreading looking at the dissociative walls again – whether it be to knock them down, or to reinforce that they never existed to begin with.  I know that this is not a positive place to be in, but I’m not sure how to move beyond it.  I also know that living like this is full of contradictions…  How can I be losing chunks of time and not be dissociative?  How can I have no personal history beyond newspaper headlines and not be dissociative?  It’s confusing and yet meaningless all at once, for when I’m like this, I only live in the present moment with headlines as reminders of what I need to do.

It feels very odd and very normal all at once.

—————-
Now playing: Sting – Fields of Gold
via FoxyTunes

Please note that this entry may trigger.

“Are you safe?”

This is the question I’m often asked by a friend who knows the extent of my self-injury.  I often hesitate in answering, not because I don’t want to answer, but because I don’t really know what “safe” means.  When you’re a survivor of abuse, your goalposts surrounding the concept of safety often shift – it could be that “safe” becomes not being physically assaulted, but still experiencing psychological abuse.  This is what most of my marriage was like.  He rarely hit me, so I thought I was “safe”.  This sort of understanding ignores the broader definition of safety as being secure from danger, harm, or evil.  Many survivors wouldn’t know what that sort of security means or feels like.

It was interesting when I was asked this question today, I hadn’t been safe over the weekend and I realised that I didn’t particularly care.  This isn’t because I’m suicidal or tied to a feeling of deserving the self-injury, but because I don’t have any sense of it being negative or being “me”.  Up until last week I was actively trying to work through the self-injury so that I knew what had triggered it and could potentially prevent it in the future.  That’s all changed.  I’m no longer worried about preventing it, because I don’t have any sense of it impacting on me in any way.  I know this is a dissociative event and compartmentalisation, but I can’t move beyond that knowledge into any solid concept of it doing harm.  I know that this is probably tied to the denial that I’m currently experiencing, but I don’t get a sense of needing to move beyond that denial.  This all could also be contributed to ACC still not approving any further sessions with Liz, I’m not sure.  I know that this is a potentially dangerous place to be in, but it also has it’s benefits.  I’m moving back to my high functioning at work, I’m enrolling for another qualification and am getting back to exercising regularly.  This is close to my functioning during the middle years of my relationship with my ex-husband, when I was considered high-functioning and an asset.

I’m not sure of what to make of it all and I get a sense that I don’t want to analyse it.  All I know is that the screaming inside my head has gone.  Everything is back in the boxes behind the wall.  I don’t even get a sense of that having occurring,  I just get a sense that this is what has happened.  It’s both confusing and totally clear at the same time.  When I saw Liz on Monday, I mentioned the denial and she responded that I wasn’t wanting to look at the past.  But I don’t have any sense of the past, I don’t need it or want it.  All I have a sense of, is my life becoming a tickable list of things to do – mow the lawns, check FaceBook, go to bed and read for an hour, etc.

Not quite sure what is happening, or how long it will last.  But it’s an easier life than the one filled with anxiety, flashbacks and suicidal ideation.

—————-
Now playing: Brooke Fraser – Lifeline
via FoxyTunes

This came through our twitter feed via CakeWrecks today.  It made us smile.

We don’t like the song so much, it’s more about the fun they obviously had making the clip :)

Please note that this may trigger.

The husband of our cynical friend was buried today.  It was an amazing service which showed how much he was loved by those around him.  The eulogies were funny and heartfelt.  Our friend held up well throughout the funeral, she cried and was supported by her youngest daughter… the love within the family was obvious and honest.  One of the graphic designers at work did a montage of photos of his life, it was amazing to see how much he had changed, but not changed over the years – the laughter in his eyes was there all the way through.

We were close to not going to the funeral, we don’t find funerals easy things to attend.  They tend to overwhelm us with too many messages… but we were fine today.  Our friend also said she was looking for us when we went to give her a hug afterwards, so I’m glad we went.  She deserves all the support she can get.

After the funeral there was a wake held at a working men’s club.  We didn’t particularly want to go to this as we knew there would be lots of people, but everyone from work pressured us into going.  We were fine driving there and parking… it was when we got to the door that the trouble began.  This club is like many throughout New Zealand, they have a similar feel and design – a big open space with table for standing and drinking at while you watch the big screen TV, and another area for dining.  The smell of alcohol greets you at the door.  What also greeted me at the door was the first flashback.

The father managed a working men’s club as we were growing up.  Our lives revolved around that club, sport and alcohol.  We were abused at that club.  We were forced to drink alcohol for the first time in that club.  Some of us still live in that club within our head, they’re stuck there.  Walking into the club today triggered them all…

M took control as best she could, but she has problems with alcohol – she uses it to drown out the noise in the head.  As we walked to the bar all we could hear is the noise of the crowd becoming fainter and the internal screaming getting louder and louder.

“Raspberry and chips… raspberry and chips… raspberry and chips…”

This is all M could hear, so she orders a drink to drown out the sound.  The screaming gets louder as she takes the first sip of beer.  She always drinks beer as it makes us drunk quicker.  The first beer doesn’t deaden the screaming, time for another…

Random flashes, snippets and sounds from the past come through… some good, some not so good, some horrific.  Still the screaming…

“Raspberry and chips… raspberry and chips… raspberry and chips…”

M tries deep breathing, but that doesn’t calm the noise…  Time for another drink.  No one around us is aware of anything going on.  M answers all the questions and shows an interest in everything as she continues to drink. I don’t know how much she drank, it’s always hard to tell as the dissociation seems to mask the effects of the alcohol… or maybe we’re just immune to the effects, I’m not sure.

We all know what “Raspberry and chips” means… it was a reward for being a good girl after the abuse.  We hate raspberry soda and potato chips…

—————-
Now playing: Crowded House – Better be home soon
via FoxyTunes

I’m struggling…  struggling to maintain the feeling of being alive and being an adult.

Tomorrow I go to the funeral of my cynical work friends husband.  He died on Sunday after a year of battling cancer.  I unsuccessfully researched the guilt associated with someone who is suicidal continuing to live, while someone who was in love and loved life dies a horrible death.  There seems a great injustice in that scenario.  When I mentioned it to Liz on Monday, she came very close to talking about religion again, but squeaked by with the “there must be a reason” line.  I’m at a loss as to what that reason is.

We’ve been asking M to do a majority of the work and I think this might be part of the reason why we’re struggling.  M is incredibly functional, focused and driven; but she comes with the baggage of addiction issues which can harm the rest of us.  I’m not sure how to break through this barrier that we seem to have up.  I’m not sure if it is the time of year causing the problem (Wedding Anniversary, ex-husbands birthday and Christmas are approaching).  It could also be the work environment which is still negative and emotionally draining.

I suppose the big problem is that I was hoping the time off work would help to ease these issues, but it hasn’t.  Maybe I was hoping for another quick fix…  I’m realising that quick fixes don’t seem to exist within mental health.

I’ve just dropped the mother off at the airport.  She agreed to go home last night – so she doesn’t put me through more “torture” (her words).

I feel like the worst daughter ever.  I know she doesn’t mean any harm and she was trying to help, but it wasn’t working.  When we woke up this morning, I thought maybe I’d made a mistake and she should stay…  But then on the way to the airport she was talking about the cold snap that has come up the country and how it would hurt all the lambs (yes, I can’t even type what really would have happened to them).  I don’t watch the news at this time of the year because I know they will show the horrific shots of the lambs in trucks.  In my world, no lambs get hurt…  Most people would realise that you shouldn’t talk about cute animals being hurt to someone who is DID and suicidal, not so my mother.  This is why I’m sure that she really doesn’t understand DID or me.  She doesn’t intend to be cruel or nasty, she just doesn’t realise the implications of her words.

Because of her words, this is how Sophie was feeling last night…  It’s bad when one of our most high functioning and optimistic one does a collage like this.

Untitled by castorgirl on Polyvore.com

Is it time for her to go yet?  Surely 3 weeks are up already?  No?  Well, can we fast forward the next three weeks then… please!

The mother has been here less than 24 hours and all the rest I’d managed to get in the previous week has gone flying out the window.  I’m dissociated, anxious, craving self-injury like nothing else on this Earth and wanting to run away sooo badly.  Admittedly, this is my fault.  I momentarily forgot who I was dealing with, so told her that the reason I’ve been off work is because I’m suicidal.  That was such an incredibly stupid thing to admit to her.  As was proven this morning when we were leaving the house – she walks outside the front door, turns to me and effectively destroys me in one conversation:

Mother (at the top of her voice):  “It’s amazing the doctor didn’t go through any lists considering your suicidal.”
Us:  “Mum, please the neighbours will hear.”
Mother (still at the top of her voice):  “Oh, well, there aren’t any around.”
Us:  “How do you know?”

She doesn’t get it.  She really doesn’t.  I can’t believe that she would say something like that for anyone and everyone to hear.  It was just like so many of the things she did while we were growing up which stripped away our sense of self and cut us down to nothing.  What’s worse, is that this time she KNOWS we aren’t well, she KNOWS we are suicidal…

I give up, I really do…