Scattered pieces

I’m writing this from a respite care house :) Respite care is a very odd experience. I’m in a normal house on a normal street with a “normal family”. I’ve just had the most surreal evening meal with this family… They blessed the food (mild trigger, but nothing too bad), ate, talked and joked. There were no undercurrents, no tension, no unspoken hostility… It was very, very odd. I haven’t experienced that in my adult life ever. I’ve never witnessed a family who loved and joked without malice. I still don’t know what to make of it all.

My room is simple and comforting. I’m the only “client” here, and they have a capacity of three clients at any one time. There are no locks on any of the internal doors – including the bathroom, which is a little triggering, but it still feels safe! I’ve felt welcomed into the home without reservation. They don’t care about my diagnosis or what has led me here. There is just warm comforting acceptance. They’re not the Crisis Team trying to therapise me, they’re just a normal family who accept strangers into their house with basic guidelines in place.

There was a visitor for dinner who has mental health issues and is going through the DBT program, she convinced me that the program, as delivered here, wouldn’t suit me. It was interesting to talk to her though. It sounds like her world fell apart and she is now struggling on an invalids benefit. I can see how that could so easily have been me. But instead my current level of dissociation keeps me on a different level of functioning.

So I am safe! I’m writing this from my iPhone as my computer access is non-existent (as is access to a spell checker *sigh*). I’m trying not to worry about the silly things, like my crops in FarmVille and Farm Town dying while I’m here. But the little things will get to me every now and again. I’ve been told that I can stay as long as I need to get myself back to ground; as I’m somewhere out Pluto way at the moment, that could take awhile.

On a random note… Our door has a painting of Tigger on it, which pleases Aimee immensely :)

M is not particularly good at communicating, while she may have a solid reason for any decision, this is often no communicated well to the rest of us.  So when she was reluctant to call the crisis team, I thought she was blocking our attempts to achieve safety, or possibly protecting the young ones in her care from the trigger of going to hospital.  I was wrong.  Her greatest fear was realised, the crisis team can’t do anything to help us stay safe.  She wasn’t worried about the respite care or the hospital, she’d prepared her young ones for that; she was worried about them not being able to do anything.  In some respects, what happened was worse – we had several phone conversations with a very nice and understanding crisis nurse who explained about coping mechanisms and grounding techniques, but informed us that there were no respite beds available.  After referring to our notes and talking to us for over half an hour, she assured us that the nearly full local psychiatric ward wasn’t the right place for us.  Instead she encouraged us to continue with our coping mechanisms and taking it a day at a time.

It was the worst case scenario, the crisis team were trying their best, but don’t have the resources to help us.  The were polite, friendly and called back twice to check on us, and to try reassure us that we can do this.  It was devastating.  This was M’s biggest fear… we need safety and we can’t get it.  We’ve now officially tried all of our options.  There is nowhere else to turn.  Sometimes when we’ve called the crisis team, the service has been so bad that it’s kicked us into a release of anger that has driven us through the suicidal ideation and out the other side.  It’s acted like a release on the pressure valve.  We couldn’t even get that today… the nurse was so polite and trying to suggest ways to get appropriate boundaries in place with the mother etc.

In many ways our suicide attempts have appeared impulsive… there’s been a final trigger that has pushed us over the edge.  But the plans are well thought out, just waiting for that final trigger.  This is what we fear may happen again.  In many ways we’re calm and functional – when we told the mother we were calling the crisis team she asked when things had got bad again, we explained that they’d never been good.  I know this could be an indication that the mother has no clue as to our true level of functioning, rather than any indication of how we appear to be coping, but it gives a hint as to how we appear to the world.  The crisis nurse could see through the veneer, she said we sounded in trouble, she just couldn’t do anything about it.

When the crisis nurse confirmed that there would be no assessment and there were no places, we were in tears.  We were crying because we gave up on getting help.  We know that no one can do this work for us, but we’d really like some help to get us through the rough patches…

It’s now Christmas Day in New Zealand – 2.30am on Christmas Day to be exact.  Aimee desperately wants to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a safe holiday.

We know that this time of year can bring pain to survivors of abuse and those from dysfunctional families… Our hope is that those painful memories are eased and positive traditions are created.

Take care of you and yours this holiday season,
CG

Where the wild things are by Maurice Sendak is one of my favourite children’s books.  As a child, I remember being scared of the things, but also being drawn to them.  As an adult, I recognise the book as a brilliant glimpse into a child’s anger.  Yesterday, I went and saw Spike Jonze’s cinematic interpretation of the book, and was amazed at how much it affected me. As a generalisation, I think the movie would ring true for many survivors of childhood abuse.  Sitting in the theatre witnessing Carol’s uncontrollable rage at things he can’t change or understand, or hearing Alexander say several times “no one listens to me”… it rings true of the confusion, loneliness, pain and fear we experience during abuse.  The things couldn’t verbalise their pain, they could only feel it and react when it became too much.  Like the things, childhood abuse survivors rarely verbalise their pain during the event(s), or for many years afterwards.

I sat through the movie, next to the mother (yes, she ignored my requests not to come up), hoping that she would relate the movie to my childhood.  But she came out saying that the movie wasn’t what she was expecting.  She’d been disappointed.  But to me, the movie was validating – THAT is how I coped with the anger, I couldn’t destroy trees or other people’s home with my anger like Carol, so I compartmentalised it.  I now try to express that anger through my self-injury, suicidal ideation and intent.  This is me destroying people’s houses and striking out in the only way I can.  I still can’t verbalise that anger, but I can hurt this body.  This hurting is the language of the ones holding the anger and pain.  At the moment, it’s their only language.

I’ve read reviews of the movie, where it has been considered a cautionary tale for adults expecting someone to come along as a false king, and save them from themselves.  I think this holds true for those of us during our healing journey too.  We can’t expect anyone to come and “save us” or be our king, but we can hope to have someone offer guidance and help.  Healing and holding this anger is hard work, but in the end we are the only ones who can do the healing for ourselves.  The skill of those around us will influence the rate of healing, but they can’t do the hard work in our place.

I know that we can continue on this healing journey, but we need to maintain our safety in the process.  Our safety has become more of an issue over the last two weeks, to the point that I will hopefully be going into some form of respite care on Boxing Day.  I need to do this to try and work through some of my anger in a safe environment.  I know the anger has to be there, I need to get in touch with it and release some of it before it consumes me.

So much of my time is caught up in the moment.  I’m only aware of the here and now, I have no past and no future.  Some would consider this living a mindful life, but I think that it’s the opposite.  When I only exist in the moment I forget all consequences and everything I’ve learned.  My ability to reflect on the past fades away, so I find it hard to put the moment into a meaningful context.  In many ways, it is living a life of mindlessness, lurching from one moment to the next with no connect between them.  Life becomes disjointed, rather than harmonious.  Internally, I get treated to a series of billboards detailing what has happened in the previous moments.  It’s a highly dissociative experience, and one I’m experiencing more and more.

It’s interesting being caught in the moment.  You don’t care about anything…  It doesn’t matter if people trample all over your boundaries…  It doesn’t matter if they hurt you with words…  It doesn’t matter what happens to your body… It will all be forgotten in the next moment.

This soothes one of us…

Thanks to The Search for Clarity for reminding us.

I said in my last post that I’m treading water in an ocean rip… well the current just got bumped up a notch or three…

I had my last session for the year with Liz on Tuesday.  I’ve totally forgotten everything that was said except for one thing… I told her that I wasn’t angry and she laughed, saying that she didn’t believe me as she could cut the pain and anger that was in the air with a knife.  I’m honestly not aware of the pain and anger.  Sometimes I can get a glimpse of annoyance with something, but not pain and anger.  But they must be there, I’ve disclosed two more abusive events over the last two weeks, that must generate some emotion… surely.

As a result of the session, I had a really bad night trying to work through the different messages and fantasies that were coming through.  It was a blur of switching, talking to a friend and negative behaviours.  By morning the previous day was a gone from my memory and I had a made a firm commitment to taking further steps toward respite care.  I still hadn’t heard back from my psychiatrist, so I went to see my GP yesterday afternoon.  The appointment was very surreal…  I explained why I needed respite care and she was so unprepared for organising it that she didn’t have the right referral forms with her and was unsure if they would accept me because I have suicidal ideation.  I can understand them not wanting to accept someone with suicidal intent, and I’m not sure how far along the scale I am between ideation and intent, so I’m possibly not a safe bet for respite.  But I have to try.

When I got home, after assurances that the doctor will fill in the forms the next day and send them off, I found an email from my psychiatrist.  I’d also asked him about respite, but basically he passed the buck to the crisis team.  To put this into context, I haven’t physically seen the man in over six months.  He’s changed and increased prescriptions via email based on my reporting of issues.  So this latest passing of the buck is a bit of a blow.  Whenever I’ve asked the crisis team about respite care in the past, they’ve always said that they are full.  The only option is the psychiatric ward.  The psychiatrist said that he will warn them that I might need respite care… well that’s pretty meaningless in the scheme of things…

So… I have no therapist for the next month; a GP who has said that I might not get into respite because of suicidal ideation; if I do get into respite, it could take weeks to get a spot; and a psychiatrist who is fairly casual in their level of response.  I wasn’t expecting anyone to come and save me… but at least someone to offer some realistic hope would’ve been good.  I’m now at work and can feel the heaviness of the depression and hopelessness closing in.

In the good news stakes, the mother has suggested that she doesn’t come up for Christmas.  I can’t yet bring myself to confirming that I don’t want her here, but I know I have to.

“I always thought there was something going on.”

Those are the words my mother has repeated to me several times about one of the sisters boyfriends who was abusing me.

“I always thought there was something going on.”

Those words are possibly meant to validate what I experienced… sort of a vote that the mother believes we may have been hurt…  But this is what those words say to some of us…

“You were not worth worrying about.  I suspected you were being hurt, but you weren’t as important as the sister… our reputation… my feelings… anything… you are, and were, worthless and meaningless.”

Because of how we view that sentence by the mother, I think there is a deep seeded feeling of resentment towards her.  I don’t know if it is anger, maybe it is.  I don’t know what anger feels like…  Liz tried to explain to me that my feelings of anger drive my self-injury and suicidal ideation.  If this is the case then I’m in trouble, as the mother is coming up for a two week visit over the Christmas break.  Already the craziness has started…  Last night I spent a disastrous night in the local psychiatric ward because I felt so unsafe.

Last nights experiences again raises the question of where I can get effective help in keeping myself safe.  I talked to Liz about my safety last week and she suggested respite care places I’d never heard about before.  This might be my only hope of finding somewhere I can go to stay safe and have the space to work on what I need to internally.  Last night has shown me that I won’t find that environment in our public health system.  So my only hope is to work this through myself with the basic level of assistance that Liz can offer.  I realise that I can’t do this with the mother here.  I could try to cancel her visit, but this is unlikely to occur as she has sold her house and will effectively be homeless over Christmas.  So, my devious side has come up with a plan to use her to feed our cat while we go into respite care.  I’m not sure if I can work it – it will depend on the psychiatrist saying that it is necessary, the respite places having an opening and me being able to cope with the place without necessary things like my computer – I will have the iPhone though, as long as they have wifi or 3G…  I’ll also have the camera…

I realise that the people in the respite care won’t have any specialisation in trauma or DID.  But, as a friend suggested, I need to work on this stuff internally or else I’m in trouble.  So, if I can’t look for external sources for that help, then I’d better find some way of facing the internal chaos in my own way.  I won’t necessarily find the answers or get the insight that would come with an external opinion, but it’s better than treading water in an ocean rip like I’m currently doing.

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Now playing: Hollie Smith – Bathe in the river
via FoxyTunes

The other night I watched Sunitha Krishnan’s TED India talk about her fight against sex slavery and Deliver us from evil: The Catholic Church lies, a documentary about clergy sexual abuse.  As a note: both the talk and documentary carry trigger and adult content warnings. I’m not familiar with either of these forms of abuse, other than what I’ve read and seen through the media, but both of these clips affected me.

Sunitha talked with passion and courage when describing the horrific stories of some of the people she has rescued. To see the smiling photos of the children who had been used so badly by society that they died of HIV/AIDS before their 10th birthday…  The main focus of her talk, was not to tell horrific stories, but rather to confront societies attitude towards the survivors that she and her organisation Prajwala have rescued.  She was challenging our intolerance, judgments and the cruelty directed towards this group of survivors.  Turning a blind eye to the abuse is not acceptable… Finding excuses not to employ these survivors is not acceptable…  Society shuns these victims and ostracizes them to the fringes, making it difficult to find employment and develop a sense of self.  Society refuses to open our minds and hearts to their plight…

Within my context, I know that my mental health issues would be treated with scorn, derision and skepticism amongst my co-workers.  I know this, because I have seen how they have treated students who have mental health issues – with one being labeled a stalker!  Because I had to take time off work after my ex-husband attacked me, everyone at work knew that I was a victim of domestic violence.  In the months that followed, I got sympathy and understanding from some people, but I also heard domestic violence jokes from others.  If this is the reaction within my small workplace to what is a relatively common occurrence, I’d hate to imagine how they would react to my full abuse history – would I hear child abuse or suicide jokes?

My situation cannot be compared to the situation of those rescued from sexual slavery.  I live in a relatively wealthy farm based city where homelessness and drug problems are considered the greatest blight on our landscape.  I will never know the horror of the sexual slave industry as experienced by those children; and looking at their stories of survival, I’ll never experience their strength.  The context and extremity of the situations is worlds apart, yet there is still a general theme regarding a lack of acceptance by society.  Both situations show how people can be stigmatised for being a victim…

The documentary, Deliver us from evil, affected me for several reasons – our family was asked not to return to the Catholic Church after the mother started using birth control, and we have been subjected to varying forms of odd Catholic based indoctrination by the father, youth groups and camps.  But, the single thing that affected me the most about the documentary, was witnessing the father’s pain at knowing his daughter had been victimised by one of the priests.  The priest was a man the family had welcomed into their home, and he had abused that trust on so many levels.  The images of this grown man crying and distraught over the pain inflicted on his daughter and his inability to protect her were so confusing for us.  Is this how an otherwise healthy family reacts to such an event?  When I told the mother that I had been raped by three teenagers when I was 7 or 8, I don’t think she shed a tear.  I know she told my oldest brother, but he hasn’t said anything to me about any of my abuse history…  I compare this to when my sister was raped by her boyfriend when she was in her late teens, and both my brothers were willing to track him down and beat him up.  They didn’t, but there was some emotional response.  Am I so worthless that I don’t deserve such emotions?  I don’t want anyone to be hurt because of what happened to me, but some sort of reaction would have helped me gain some form of validation that I am a person worthy of concern.

Again, I can’t compare what happened to me to those who suffered at the hands of the abusive clergy.  There can be no generalisations made that those who were victims of the clergy were from otherwise healthy families or that all parents were as demonstrative in their grief over what had occurred to their children.  The daughter of the man who was open with his grief had been abused for years, and the daughter had made a conscious decision not to tell about the abuse for fear of her father being sent to jail for killing the offending priest – basic questioning as a child had led her to believe this as being a very real possibility.  So again, there are some similar general themes, but the context is totally different.

Sex slavery, sexual abuse by the clergy and my own situation should never be compared in regard to their severity; but there are similar themes which run through all incidents – societies acceptance and reaction to the victim seems to be the most common.  Anger seems to be the another.  Sunitha mentioned that she trained her survivors in male dominated trades because they have the courage and strength to push through and succeed in that area – she mentions anger as being one of the drivers.  The survivors of the clergy abuse, openly and strongly voiced their anger.  I’m just starting to realise that I might be angry about what happened to me, and more importantly how angry I am at those around me at the time – the mother suspected something but did nothing, while my sister would’ve been blind not to notice.

The question for all of us is, what do we do with that anger?

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Now playing: Audioslave – Like a Stone
via FoxyTunes

Tried a system reboot, but got…