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…

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…

—————-
Now playing: Cat Stevens – Where Do The Children Play?
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…

—————-
Now playing: The Feelers – Stand Up
via FoxyTunes

I’m on Facebook…  The big thing about Facebook is that it tries to encourage connections – connections with your workplace, interest groups, family, current friends and people from the past.  As a person who is fairly wary of friendships and making connections, I have only a few friends on Facebook – mainly people from the survivor community, a couple of family members and more recently a couple of people from my childhood.  One of the ways in which Facebook encourages connections is by suggesting friends for you based on the friends of your friends.  This means that you get a list of people Facebook suggest that you might like to become friends with, because one of your friends happens to know them.  This was all very innocuous, up until the point where I friended the people from my childhood.  These were safe friends when I was younger, so they weren’t triggering or associated with anything negative.  It just so happens that some of their friends are people who hurt us.  Last night, I logged into Facebook and on the right hand side of my screen were the photos of two of the people who hurt us.  These boys (now men) were part of a gang of boys that hurt us… One of them has a smiling photo of his family, which includes a daughter who would be about the age I was when he was hurting me.  It was such a shock to see these men smiling out at me.  They looked so “normal” and happy, you’d never expect them to have anything untoward in their past.

I have very little memory of my past involving these people.  I have vague images of a wood sheds, boys, smells and the light coming through the window…  Seeing these men and their smiling families triggered switching and internal chaos.  I didn’t even think I remembered their names, but obviously someone inside remembered when it was combined with their photo.  The problem is, what do I do with this?  If asked about the past, these men would probably say that what occurred in the wood shed was natural experimentation amongst consenting children.  There is no way that I could do anything about bringing charges against these men, it was too long ago in a context that could be twisted too easily.

But now, one of my safe escapes has been invaded by their presence.  I could “un-friend” the people from my childhood, but the parts of me that remember the carefree times we had with these people are reluctant to do this.  I’m also not sure that I want these men to have power over me… but sitting here writing this, I’m starting to have memories around the physical pain inflicted by these boys.  I keep thinking that they’re just silly photos, I don’t have to look at them, but, they’re like a car wreck – you don’t want to look, but you end up looking anyway.

I’ve yet to find a way to turn off the “Suggestions” area of Facebook, if anyone knows how, I would appreciate them letting me know.  I could block these men, but that means going into their profile which is something I wasn’t strong enough to do at the time.  Maybe today or tomorrow I will have the strength to block them…  I hope so.

Flying through space, dissociated from everything
Watching all my fellow travellers trying to touch ground
But there is no ground in this strange land, just clouds
These clouds provide no sanctuary
They encourage you to fly higher and higher
Soaring higher into the bright blue sky

The colours are bright here in this cloud filled world
Blues are bluer
Greens are greener
Blood is redder
Smells are more intense too
Cigarette smoke burns your nose and lungs
Musty worn seats fill your senses

Memories fill the clouds
Clouds of pain
Clouds of scorn
Clouds of tears
Clouds of events you want to forget
Each touches you as you float by
Trying to grasp onto the cloud, only makes it dissipate before you

The clouds, like you, are lost with nowhere to go

Yesterday the safety of the respite house came under question. We left to spend the day with the mother, mainly to test how well we are. It turns out we’re still not all that grounded or well…

When we returned we found that a new client had arrived at the respite house. This was fine, they are female and seemingly non-threatening. So we went down to our room to drop off some things, only to find that someone had been in and used our art supplies. The young ones were so upset about this boundary violation. Little Michelle came forward and looked around in tears. This may seem like an over-reaction considering nothing had been destroyed, but it was the young ones who had their things moved and used. M was prepared for our iPod to have been stolen, and it would have had less impact if that’s what had happened. The iPod is mainly for the teens and adults, we could have coped better than the invasion on the young ones things.

Then at night the new client went on a severe binging and purging cycle. It was awful for her, she’d felt so positive during the day. For us it was a huge trigger. We have food issues as well, not to the level of the new client, but her pain and acting out was enough to trigger us through the roof.

So our safe house doesn’t feel so safe anymore. We know it was the carers grandson who used our art things, we know the mother is trying and we know the new client is trying to work through their problems. But we feel so small and scared. We feel like we’ve taken a huge step backwards.

Tried a system reboot, but got…

As a warning, this might not be one of my most rational entries – and there have been some pretty irrational ones over the past year…

Today we went to see Liz for our scheduled appointment.  It was a monumental disaster.  We had to talk about a report for ACC to ensure we continue to receive funding (yes, this funding seems to be a continual battle).  We were in protection mode, pretty much shut down with Sophie only able to look at the keys she was playing with in her hands.  We’re very aware that ACC want to see improvement – no matter how small.  But, we haven’t improved much and if we put that in the report, we would probably end up being sent for a psychiatric assessment.  We had this knowledge sitting in the back of our head and were trying to tailor our answers as a consequence.  Then Liz casually dropped a bombshell…

“We can’t have you functioning too low or out of control or they’ll refer you to mental health services for the DBT programme.”

This is one of our nightmares… being sent to DBT in New Zealand.

I know people are helped by that programme every day.  I know it helps with emotion regulation and mindfulness… I know it could potentially help me immensely.  BUT over here, there is no streaming or grouping according to functioning, you are placed in the first opening they have.  There aren’t any evening courses, so I’d end up having to take time off work.  This means that I could end up in a group which is incredibly low functioning and triggering for me.  I don’t cope well with groups, so I’d sit there like a stuffed dummy, avoiding the whole situation – I didn’t talk once during a Mindfulness course which lasted for six weeks.  What’s worse is that it will odds are trigger M to come forward to protect us, so we’d end up appearing saner than the therapists and be ticked off as “cured” very quickly.

Yes, I know this hasn’t happened and was just an idle comment by Liz… but with the changes in ACC policy, it’s a very real possibility.  I never thought I’d say it, but please let them decide that I need a psychiatric assessment.  Anything but DBT.

The flip side of this conversation, is that we now think that we’re too much for Liz to cope with and this is her way of introducing the idea of us moving on to someone else.  So the concept of testing her with our trust, went flying out the window.  Again, I know that she hasn’t said that she’s going anywhere…  It’s just our damaged perception of what happened.

Problem is, our damaged perception seems very real right now.