Scattered pieces

I’ll admit, it’s hard to write something after getting so many comments on the last post.  It scares some of the young ones to realise that people actually read what is written here.  It’s even scarier for them when we state an opinion and open ourselves up to negative comments.  Part of me wants to write further posts on similar topics because they see it as helping people – something that feeds our self-worth; but there is a fear that if we did this, we’d lose sight of why we write this blog… which is to help us work through the issues we’re facing.  So, this entry is about finding our way back to that space.  In many ways, the previous post is an indication that we’re trying to avoid the issues… a great diversionary tactic if ever there was one.  It’s hard to work through what is really going on in my head at the moment, it’s all very confused, messy and hidden deep beneath layers of dissociation.  But a clue comes from Liz saying in three of my previous sessions… “we keep on coming back to your anger”.

Anger…  Hmmm, so she means I have anger?  But I don’t “do” anger…  Yes, I get frustrated sometimes, and confused.  But I don’t get angry, do I?  Angry is that scary silence when everyone walks around you on egg-shells… Angry is that violent rage of a raised hand, belt, spoon…  Angry is sex…  “I” don’t do any of that!

That is what my daily functioning self can say easily… “I” have no concept that I experience anger.  Then there are little reality checks… I know that some of my self-injury is motivated by anger or angry ones; therapists have said to me “you left angry last week”; and my cynical friend at work has commented on my anger in a teasing way.  So, apparently I do get angry, I’m just not in touch with it.  Sometimes I can glimpse the anger… if there is a dissociative switch from an angry one, they often leave the body feeling tight and wound up.  That feeling is quickly stamped down and I can ignore that it ever happened; but it’s there, ever so fleetingly.

Another clue to my anger came earlier this week.  I wasn’t able to sleep and was looking at the 25 popular YouTube clips on the iPhone; one of the clips that came up, was the “Angry Dance” from the film Billy Elliot.

I immediately recognised some of the feelings of frustration that Billy was experiencing… having all these conflicting inputs and emotions, while feeling powerless to stop it.  That powerlessness then building into feelings of anger with the world around him and himself.  In Billy’s case, he released that emotion in dance… for us, it’s bottle up and buried within the dissociative system.  I know this intellectually, but I’m not sure I understand it on a functional level… or, more accurately, I don’t know how to deal with those feelings in a more appropriate way.

My knowledge of therapeutic techniques would indicate that I need to work on identifying, experiencing and appropriately managing my anger.  That’s all well and good, but as my anger is so fleetingly realised within my normal functional states, I’m not sure how to proceed in understanding it.  I know that Liz has talked to angry ones and unsuccessfully tried to stop some of the mild self injury (scratching, picking etc) that happens in session when they are present.  She also seems to be actively poking at me and trying to encourage the anger – she was thrilled the other week when I showed frustration at her via a text message.  She wanted to explore my reaction and find out what happened, she saw the event as important… I saw it as Liz being an idiot and stating the obvious, so I snapped a curt response back to her and ignored that she existed.  I’ve noticed more and more lately that I’m losing all sense of Liz between sessions, and I wonder if this is because she wants to explore my anger.  It’s like my system is protecting me from the anger and the scariness of exploring it by shutting down everything that could prod at it.  I think this is also the reason why there are threats and desires to quit therapy…  Liz has become a huge threat to parts of the system that don’t want those emotions looked at.

Anger has always terrified me, I know that much.  Nothing will cause a dissociative switch quicker than someone showing anger.  I know I need to explore and work my anger issues through, I just wish it didn’t seem so daunting and scary…

What responsibility do therapists have towards their clients and those they encounter?  I’ve often wondered this as I see an increasing number of therapists having online interactions with mental health consumers who aren’t necessarily their own clients.

I can understand, as a consumer, that there is an attraction in finding information online – you can do it at your own leisure, it may seem less scary than talking to your therapist and it helps you to feel a sense of connection or validation to find a group of people who are experiencing the same sort of things you are.  We often come to the information with a sense of hope and vulnerability – we’re desperately searching for anything that will help us to make sense of the world we find ourselves in.  This vulnerability means that the information we find has to be totally unbiased, ethical and of a superior quality – not due to issues with our intelligence, but rather with that vulnerability potentially hampering our ability to filter the information we find.  When you’re desperate to find any hint of familiarity, you are less likely to evaluate the information found for it’s worth and relevance.  If that information, or connection to a group of people, is found on a site run by a therapist, there is an intrinsic trust associated with it.  This person is a therapist, with qualifications and years of experience… surely that means they can be trusted.  But can they?

When we go to see a real life therapist, you interview them to see if they are a good fit for you, are ethical and have complaint procedures in place… how do we do this for online therapy blogs that we read? Years of teaching Information Literacy has shown me that we are more trusting of what we find online.  There seems an implicit trust in having the information online.  This can mean that if a therapist strays from ethical guidelines, we’re possibly less likely to question it, and we’re more likely to accept what they say as being fact.  There is also the issue that the therapist doesn’t have to allow questioning on their blog… any comments which question the content of the blog or their practice can be deleted at the moderation stage.  So, we can have a perfect storm scenario, where vulnerable mental health consumers are being led along a path that is dangerous and unethical, without any checks on the therapists behaviour.

This is not to say that all therapist blogs are negative… I’ve found some excellent therapist blogs which are written either for the consumer or other therapists.  But, we do need to stand back and evaluate what we are finding…  Often the intentions of the blogs are real and true… they’re wanting to help the consumer, but often the way of doing that is questionable.  The next time you read a blog – be it a therapists or a survivors, ask yourself some basic questions…

What is this person getting out of writing the blog – what is their aim and motivation?
Is it an opinion piece, or is it factual?
Are they stating opinion as fact?
If it’s portrayed as fact, where is the research supporting that fact?
Is there indications that the therapist is continuing with their own education?
What qualifications does the therapist have, and what does that qualification mean?
Can you find out more about the therapist – do they list their name and contact details?
Google the therapist and see what comes up – are there any complaint procedures filed against them?
Who does the therapist link to – research from reputable sources, or other opinion pieces?

I know this all sounds difficult, but the online world is a dangerous one at times… you need to be aware of where you are going and what you are reading. It’s easy to be caught by a case of the therapist wearing the Emperor’s New Clothes… I know I have been.

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Now playing: Sarah McLachlan – Angel
via FoxyTunes

It’s become obvious that I’ve been withdrawing from everything lately.  It always starts slowly… I’ll sit at my desk, rather than go out with the others for breaks at work; I’ll leave the car out with the intention of going to take photos, but end up putting it away a few hours later because I’m “too tired” or it’s now “too dark” to take photos.  I wasn’t really sure why I’ve been withdrawing, or rather, which particular stressor was causing the withdrawal.  I only knew that is was happening.  Yesterday, I moved one step closer to eliminating one stressor – the dissolution of my marriage.  The laws in New Zealand require you to have been separated from your partner for two years before you can dissolve the marriage (get a divorce).  That milestone was up on 14 February of this year.  So we took the papers to the Family Court to start the official process… it was an interesting trip which caused the activation of ones that hadn’t been present for quite some time.

We took two hours off work to take the papers to court, thinking that would be plenty of time for the fairly simple matter of handing over some papers and paying a fee… how wrong was I!

It started off well… we went into the Family Court reception and were served by the nice lady who took our Protection Order application nearly two years ago.  She checked the forms, notarized them where it was appropriate and double checked that none of our personal details appeared on the forms to protect us from any contact from the husband.  Then we asked some seemingly innocent questions about what would happen next… in particular asking about how he was to be notified of the dissolution when we didn’t know where he lived…  This is where the smooth operation came to a screaming halt.

“What do you mean you don’t know where he lives?”  The slightly stunned clerk asked…
“Well, we actively try to avoid knowing anything about him because of the Protection Order.”
“So, what’s this address here…” as she points to the address we’ve listed.
“That’s his lawyers address.”  We reply, thinking it makes perfect sense to serve the papers to his lawyer.
“You can’t serve the papers to his lawyer, it has to be him in person.”
“But… I have no idea where he is.”
“You need to try and find him.”

At this point, the clerk confers with another worker about the situation and asks what my options are…  Meanwhile we’re dissociating, spinning and trying to keep it together despite the internal chaos… we can’t find him… don’t make us have to find him… don’t make us talk to him or his family again…

After a rather convoluted discussion, the clerk comes back to tell us that we have to try and find him through any means necessary; but if we can’t, we can fill in another form to say that the papers can be served on his parents…  But we still need someone to serve them… Someone over 18 to serve the papers to them in person…  Someone would have to go to his parents house, knock on the door and give the papers to them…

This news brought another round of dissociation and internal noise… we can’t go to the witch’s house… she hates us… she’ll yell at us… please don’t make us!

Thankfully another woman yelled out that we could pay someone from the court where they live to serve the papers on our behalf…

This just left the problem of trying to find him!  So off to the public library we went, looking for electoral roles…  We walked there thinking it would be quicker than taking the car, but on the way there was all sorts of activation by different parts… Can we buy a toy?  Oh look, a sale!  Can we go see that movie?  That’s a pretty dress. The desire to get sidetracked was immense… there was so much panic about trying to find the husband.  With each comment, suggestion or pull, M tried to assure each one that we would go back later, but that we really needed to find the husband to make us all safe.

We found that the husband hadn’t changed his details official details from when he lived with us.  We tried telephone directories and the Internet, but couldn’t find him.

There was another round of attempted distractions on the way back to court, but M deflected each one.  When we returned to court, we filled in even more paperwork to say that we’d tried to find the husband.  All the while, the internal noise was getting louder and louder.

It was only when we were driving away that the noise quietened.  So much so, that by the time we got to a toy store, to keep the promise of buying something later, all the young ones had gone quiet.

On the surface, I can see the noise and chaos was an indication of our stress about the situation.  But, I think it goes deeper than that.  It was about our fear of having to do anything to do with him, fearing possibly having to see him again, fear that he will react when he gets the papers…  It’s also about dissolving the marriage, and therefore admitting we made a mistake in getting married… it’s an indication of our failure.

I still feel the anxiety, disconnection and withdrawal from life… I don’t quite know how to ease that.  I’ve tried making an appointment with my psychiatrist to get a review of my medication, but need ACC approval and funding before I can go – which means it could be several months before I get in to see him.  This week, I’m wanting to quit therapy…  I cancelled Jo and have come close to cancelling Liz several times.  Everything about therapy annoys me at the moment – trying to talk, all of Liz’s responses, her making us draw when we retreat and can’t talk…

We found this photo called Just Red by Burning Image… it’s a good representation of how we’re feeling…

These are two lines from the song I will not let you down by Don McGlashan.  This song has been going through my head all day, just little snippets…

You must try to believe
That I will be coming through
…
I have carried my cross at each step
Upon my neck for you
…
There’s a tear in my eye
And an ocean of swallowed pride
…
Ties that comfort
Ties that bind
…
And I will not let you down
I will not let you down
That’s for sure
…
I will not let you down
I will not let you down
Any more

Today, these snippets mean a great deal to me.  I’ve just finished one of the worst weekends I’ve had regarding self-injury since before the ex-husband left.  I’ve done many things which I’m not proud of, or can even fathom.  I’m still shaking and trying to work through what happened.  But the lines “Ties that comfort, Ties that bind” got me thinking… wondering about how much I hold onto this self-injury, destructiveness and my mental health diagnoses.

The weekend of self-destruction started on Friday when I was triggered by a couple of incidences which lead to me to repeat the old patterns of needing to please people – in particular the ex-husband.  It didn’t matter that he is no longer present in my life, it was all about finding ways to repeat old behaviours and coping mechanisms.  But why did I do this?  The threat of him appearing in my life was minimal to non-existent.  I no longer want him in my life, yet he fills my flashbacks.  These flashbacks and the stress caused by the memories of him, have lead to me not being able to function at work, meant I’ve had to take an increasing amounts of medication and resulted in me losing huge chunks of time.  But I wonder how much of this I have brought on myself?  There is a certain comfort in being able to explain away my behaviour to his influence and abuse…  What if I’m using all of this as a convenient excuse to get away with inappropriate behaviours?

I read a comment recently from a fellow survivor, they said that they can’t stand those who aren’t actively working on their issues… Those that use the past as an excuse, rather than a cause for healing.  This sort of argument has always worried me – whose to say that I am doing enough in this healing journey?  What if I am wallowing in self-pity and excuses?  Whose yardstick am I being measured against?  What does the yardstick even look like?  It’s the sort of argument that I’ve heard several times, but it does my head in.  I’ve been judged all my life, now I’m healing and I’m still being judged?  When does the judging end?

Another comment that hit close to the bone, was a good friend saying to me that I wasn’t sounding like the survivor he knew.  He’s right (you usually are Paul), I wasn’t a survivor over the weekend… I was a battered victim… like an addict looking for their next fix of self-harm.  All adult knowledge of consequences went out the window.  At times I could hold it together, but these were short lived.  The nights were especially difficult… looking for the ex-husband in each shadow… looking for ways to hurt myself and undermine all the work that I had been doing.  It wasn’t a deliberate attempt by any one within the system to cause harm, it was me coping in the only way I knew…  But what if the only way I knew was perpetuating that tie that binds me to this place of being a victim?  I know the role of being a victim… there’s a comfort in fulfilling a role I know well… so how tied am I to it?  How much of my energy is spent in ensuring I stay there?  I’d like to say that it’s not a great deal, but I just don’t know.

I know that I’m bound to the past in many ways… flashbacks and other PTSD symptoms indicate that.  My healing is aimed at breaking these binds.  This weekend, I failed.  I failed myself, the dissociative system and the people around me who count on me to be a survivor.  My trust in those around me and myself has been seriously shaken.  I’ve come out of this weekend distrustful and scared of people again.  I hate that this has happened.  I hate that I’ve put a great dent in my healing.  I’ve come out questioning everything about my motivations and what I am doing…  Is this healing really working?  Why am I doing this?

I know these are all questions that I need to ask Liz… but I fear she will give me an answer that is meant to soothe, rather than be truthful.  I fear that I have become comfortable in the role of a victim and that those ties are keeping me in this place.  I worry that being a victim has become my identity and way of life… I know that my life is so restricted by the different triggers that I sometimes can’t see past it.  I know that some of the things Liz suggests to change in my life, I can’t do… or I explain that I’ve already tried them and failed.  I’m not very good at giving things a second go, if I fail once, then I’ve often failed forever… especially when it comes to my healing work.  I cut myself very little slack in that area… is that another sign that I’m tied to being a victim?  I just don’t know anymore…

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Now playing: Cat Stevens – Where Do The Children Play?
via FoxyTunes

When I was seeing Bob, she asked me to complete a list of 10 things that I enjoyed involving the senses or activities. This exercise was aimed at improving my body awareness and giving options for distraction or grounding when I am stressed. I’m really struggling at the moment, so I thought this would be a good time to share my homework and remind myself of the options available to me… It also will force me to try and expand my lists in the hopes of eventually reach 10 items for at least one of the senses.

Additions based on commenters suggestions in italics – Thank you :)

I added to each of the columns by writing it out here :) I can do this, can’t I?

—————-
Now playing: Cat Stevens – Moonshadow
via FoxyTunes

A good friend recently mentioned that she felt like she was going to fall, and fall deeply.  Part of her was expecting, and almost wanting the fall to happen.  Thankfully, her fall hasn’t happened, and I hope it doesn’t; but what she describes is a feeling I know all to well.  It’s like standing on an edge, waiting for that last push to send you over into a mental health free-fall.  The scary bit about standing there, is that you have an awareness about where you are.  You know that one more negative thing is going to push you over, and part of you wishes that it would come so that it’s over with; but another part of you hopes that you can still claw your way back to safer ground.  It becomes a tug of war between different parts of you…  This alone is so tiring that it can be enough to tip you over…

I know I’m also moving closer to the edge.  The stressors in my life have kicked into high gear and I can feel the pressure building.  At the moment, I’m far enough away to know that I’m in danger without being too close to it.  A part of me niggles that I’m thinking myself into moving towards the edge – why do I think of my ex-husband, why worry about the ACC assessments etc.  But the rational part of my brain knows that I’m experiencing PTSD flashbacks and my worry is justified based on past assessments.  This is the beginning of the tug of war that intensifies over time.  Soon other issues will come in to muddy the waters – denial, and a need for validation have already started to appear.  All of this increases my anxiety levels.  I’ve experienced this often enough in the last few years to notice the pattern…  It becomes like a dance, to and fro… ever closer to the edge…

The problem becomes, how do you stop the dance?  If I called a crisis line, they would take me through the individual stressors I am facing and encourage me to break them down into solvable chunks.  This would work for some of the issues I’m facing, but they can’t help with the PTSD symptoms.  I saw Jo today, and she was recommending trying to ground in the present, and while I agree with her reasoning, I also know that I can be very grounded in 2010 and still keep on dancing towards the edge.  Some of the grounding work can make the situation worse – repeating “it’s the 26th of January, 2010 and they are just memories” can morph into a denial statement about the memories all being made up.  The most effective way of keeping the anxiety at bay is to consciously breathe deeply – this also tends to by one of the first things I forget to do.  Like many survivors who experience anxiety, I have a form of hyperventilation syndrome, with my breathing being short and shallow.  It takes a conscious effort to alter my breathing pattern to a healthier depth and pace.  Changing my breathing will temporarily ease the anxiety, but often this isn’t enough to stop the dance towards the edge.  I’m not always sure what moves me away from the edge, I think this time it will be the formal dissolution of my marriage and completing the ACC assessment.  If this is the case, I’ve got about another three weeks of doing the dance around the edge.  I don’t think I’ll fall, but a part of me thinks I will…  A part of me wants to fall, because they think that this is what I deserve…

And so the dance continues…

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Now playing: The Feelers – Stand Up
via FoxyTunes

We have to do another ACC assessment to continue getting assistance…  As a result we’ve been playing “angry” music.  This song in particular, fits nicely…

While in respite, the respite house owner/carer turned to me and directly asked me how I was.  It had been a hectic day with the other women in respite acting out in various ways, meanwhile we’d been quietly in our room doing art and drinking water.  The question was asked directly, and we deflected it nicely by saying that we were fine.  It was her follow up statement that threw me, and cut to the core of our issues while growing up – “It’s always the quiet ones who get overlooked”.  I was that quiet one.  I always have been.  I actively become quiet when things are bad with my mental health or if people are hurting me.  It’s one of the ways to become invisible, to become so quiet that no one sees you.  If no one sees you, then no one can hurt you and no one can ask you difficult questions.  So, we became very good at being quiet and flying under the radar.  The respite carer knew this technique…

When we relayed this incident to the mother after we’d come out of respite, we couldn’t do it without tearing up…  The carer “saw us” in that brief moment of asking the how we were.  In contrast, when telling the mother, she looked away, uncomfortable with the situation and the tears in my eyes.  I try not to blame my mother for her reactions, she had tough parenting and has never been in therapy long enough to change the habits of being an absentee parent herself.  She does try to show she cares in various ways, they’re just not very productive or meaningful.  Instead of apologising for the oversights in the past, she washes my windows…

We remain that quiet one.  We do this in therapy as well.  Liz has now realised the extent of our avoidance and quietness during therapy.  Our resolve for the New Year is to try and tease out the anger that sits within the system.  In many ways I don’t mind if this happens, I’m so out of touch with the anger that I don’t recognise it as existing.  But, at times when I do get a sense of the anger being there, it terrifies me to think that we will be looking at it more closely.  It’s something that has been tucked away and growing for the last 30 odd years, I’m not quite sure what it will look like when we do lift the lid.  Liz assures me that we will lift the lid very slowly and with great care…

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.

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.