8/9/2023
I see the email notification of the publication.
I’m excited because it’s finally done.
I jumped on my laptop and go to ProQuest… to search the title. To search my name.
It’s like I needed the proof and there it was.
I’m overwhelmed with appreciation.
I feel so grateful I had the opportunity to research this topic.
I’m grateful for the women who chose to talk about a topic I know all too well is easier exiled from the mind.
I immediately notify my participants and send over a copy.
I finally file away my research for storage. It’s done.
I’m overwhelmed with appreciation for Her.
I’m feel pride for answering the call and completing the task.
The work brought up a lot of my own pain.
Would have been easier to find something else.
I’m proud I let Her speak.
I’m finding a way to give Her the voice she lost so long ago.
Rediscovering that is its own suffering.
8/7/2023
(EMDR Session)
The memory is of my first attempt.
My childhood is full of black outs and blurry images.
But the feeling of wanting to be gone, to be dead, for it end-is one I can’t remember not having.
I grab the knife and I go out to the driveway on the side of the house.
The ball goes back and forth as I’m asked to remember the worst part of this memory.
My mother coming…
I’m crying, I feel sad.
That’s new but I imagine her 8-year-old hands and it’s sad.
I know the desperate feeling so well.
It’s familiar in my body, in my mind.
The balls goes back and forth.
I feel the tension in my jaw, in my shoulders, and my back.
My stomach hurts.
I’m sick to my stomach.
I hate this feeling…
The ball goes back and forth as I’m asked to follow the feeling.
Suddenly I feel very nauseous.
I’m burping and I feel the vomit in my mouth.
The ball goes back and forth as I’m asked to notice the throw up.
I don’t remember when it switched.
I don’t recall noticing the change.
I tried to focus on the tension, the ache, and the nausea.
I disappeared.
I was gone.
When I’m back- my body is so heavy.
It’s unresponsive.
I follow the ball and try to speak.
Nothing comes out.
I try to lift my arms and move my head.
Worry sets in. “Why can’t I move?”
“Why am I trapped?”
The worry is odd. I can’t feel the worry. I just know that I am.
The ball is blurry and hard to focus on.
The sounds around me seem far away.
I’m not crying anymore.
My face and entire body are numb.
There’s no feeling and no emotions.
Why?
“Look at my hands xxxxx”
The ball stops moving.
She calls me again.
“Look at your hands.”
I try but my head won’t move.
I try to speak- nothing comes out.
“Look around the room”
She has me find things I see, smell, hear, and feel.
“I can’t” I say.
I feel like I should be scared or crying but I feel nothing.
My toes twitch and I try to wiggle them.
Next, I try to swallow but the muscles won’t tense.
I know she’s speaking to me but it’s not clear.
I try to follow the guidance when I hear it.
Eventually my hands can move. It takes a lot of effort and my movements are slow.
“I don’t like it” I say.
She reassures me.
“Do you know what’s happened?”
Unexpectedly, the answer comes- “Disassociation”.
She asks me questions but it’s really hard to track.
Really hard to respond.
I feel disoriented. My voice doesn’t even sound like me.
I feel nothing. That’s the best part.
She’s telling jokes. I feel I should smile and I try.
Nothing.
Everything is NOTHING.
When the session ends, I don’t move.
I stare at the corner of the desk for-I don’t know how long.
When I stand my leg muscles feel stiff. I can’t bend my legs or move my joints.
I almost fall.
My body is gone for 4 hours.
Dissociation. Hmm? Means I couldn’t take it. Means… it was that bad.
I take the emotions out of a lot of things. I can turn that off but the body is something I’ve never witnessed. I was gone but also there. Inside the shell. In the hallow space that was left.
My mind is so powerful. Not even I could turn it back on. It wasn’t easy. I think about the experience all day. I replay it over and over.
The emotions don’t come back until the end of the day. When I’m in the shower.
The shampoo rinses down my body and again I am heavy.
The grief takes me to my knees and I’m sobbing. I don’t know what I’m grieving. I couldn’t explain what I’m crying about.
8/3/2023
I’ve learned to challenge the thought, “I have no time for that”. I take a deep breath and stand still. I let Her be my compass and she says, “Please”.
Every behavior after that is a simple task. No emotion- we are just moving towards the goal. Her goal is the pool. So, I’m at the pool. I’m reading and writing because that’s what I like to do. And we’re outside and spend time splashing in the water because, that’s what She likes to do. I try to do this when We need it. Sometimes, most of the time, I’m like I was before- moving too fast so I’m missing things in front of me.
I finished a book and am starting a new one. I’m content so now I play. I sit on the steps of the pool and take in the sun. I move my legs left and right, up and down. The breeze catches the sweat droplets forming on my forehead. I notice- I am still. A man comes through the gate. His presence breaks my focus but I notice,… that’s all it does. We smile at one another and he finds his own space. I notice my awareness of him as he moves around me but the tension in my body is only that- awareness. I’m not scared. I hold my gaze at the light reflecting off the water. If I blink, my pain will add to this pool.
Letting her hold my hand is changing me. Changing Us- maybe. I don’t recognize this kind of awareness. I’m able to play and take in the joy of it. Awareness always meant sacrifice. Play was sacrificed for survival. I needed to always be aware to survive. I’m not sure why there’s no sacrifice this time. I can hear my heart beat when I sink my ears into the water. The rhythm is unremarkable. I scan my neck, shoulders, and back- nothing. No tension, no tingling, no heat or cold. Nothing. My body is aligned with my mind. I feel happy… hopeful.
-.-
He lets her in with her three kids. I can feel the children. The excitement and innocence. They’re ready to play. I notice they look like me and feel good about the company. I can hear the mom try to keep her children’s screams of laugher down, “You have to be quiet”. I catch the women looking at my chest tattoo and that’s when I notice her tattoos. On her face, chest, and arms. She smiles at me and plays with her kids. I enjoy how she interacts with them. She’s patient, encouraging, and loving.
Then it hits me… I have privilege.
This pool is a privilege. A privilege I never thought I’d have and not in a “crushed dream” kind-of-way. It just wasn’t something someone like me could have. A pool wasn’t necessary. You know, a need.
I remember the thrill of breaking into apartments to use their pools in the summer. I was pretty good at jumping fences, walls, gates,…you name it. And if that was too hard, I would find a tenant I could befriend who would let me in. I was always good with things like this and never thought much of it…
We couldn’t stay more than a few hours and we had to be very quiet. Sometimes we would get caught and we’d have to run for it. If there were others in the pool we would try to fit in and pretend we belonged. Hoping no one would notice we really didn’t and call us out.
That’s something I’ve missed while I was caught up in the will to survive. I have privilege now. I’m in rooms I never thought I’d even get a peak at. I sit at tables with people who’d easily pass me up in a different setting, hell in a different outfit. I’ve infiltrated spaces I was told I didn’t belong in. Rooms so guarded and heavily monitored. I’m in.
So, what is the hang up with accepting all of this? What’s the story I was told and/or am telling myself?
1. I don’t deserve anything good or easy. I deserve to suffer and struggle.
2. I didn’t earn this. It’s luck and luck fades.
3. Someone will take this from me when they find out who I am.
4. There’s no time to enjoy it because if I stop to tie my shoe I’ll fall behind.
But there is a fifth story.
5. Accepting this privileged means I’m a traitor. It means I’m ungrateful and ashamed of where I come from. So ashamed I fought to leave it. What a betrayal. It means I’m just like the people I felt envy of. Those in the world of trust fund babies, silver spoons, and nepotism.
Am I like that world now?
No, there isn’t a way I could be... My story was different. It just is. I wasn’t born into privilege. I was born here, making me American. Least that’s the idea but my relationship to that word is distant. It’s not that I’m not grateful but if I say this out loud that’s all that’s heard. I’m grateful for this privilege. It’s granted me things my ancestors only dreamed of. It just doesn’t work in every room. Other descriptions are louder when I walk into certain spaces. Other aspects of my identity are marked and often not to my benefit. But I’m not ashamed. Least I never was…
I earned this privilege and its new to me. There is shame that the others at this table can tell I’m not “from here”. Yes, I have shame and I have shame about having shame…
That’s the loop. Trying to hide parts of myself at this table is the real betrayal. That’s what makes me the traitor. That’s how I abandon those of us born with little to no privilege. I try to negate the meaning of the infiltration. I reaffirm a glass ceiling that we all strive to break through. So why isn’t this easier to accept? Is the narrative of “not belonging” so strong I don’t need people to tell me anymore? Why do I continue to feed the narrative of marginalize groups?
It's scary to be standing here. I can resist it or move forward. I’m a compilation of different stories and versions of Xxxxx. All good and bad. All needed and valuable. Clearly- they got me into these rooms. So why can’t I be all of them? She, is teaching me that.
I’m in… breathe… let’s see what I can do with this access.
7/29/2023
(Dream)
I didn’t want to look at it again. I didn’t think I needed too. He’d cross my mind for only brief moments. Like a breeze passing by. I didn’t think I felt anything. There was just this concluding bitterness. Deflated all the interest I had to be curious about love. The shock turned into grief, into questions…
The hope consumed me. It transformed me into the version I needed to be to have that hope fulfilled. To meet the demands of the journey. The journey wasn’t known but I believed I found someone to discover it with. The parts of myself invested in the journey left with him. They faded with him. The story could have gone many ways…
He's standing in front of me. Expecting me to let him back in. He shows no remorse and no accountability. I recognize him but at the same time I don’t. He is also no longer the version he needed to be for our story. Those parts have left him too. Even though it hurts to let it go and trying to force a different ending is tempting. I know it’s gone… I have to let him go because we cannot move backwards. We are now different versions and these don’t intersect. We aren’t going to be the loves of each other’s lives. There is no “meant to be”. There isn’t really a reason for some stories ending. Sometimes they just do and you let it go.
I awake in grief. Sweating and gasping for balance.
7/28/2023
I’m beginning to understand.
I know it to be true.
Simply because I feel it to be true.
I’ve refused to reread old chapters.
Claimed I knew them so well I could recite every detail.
Yet, this excavation has proved I’ve known nothing.
I’ve known the story assigned to each detail.
That’s it.
The story helped me survive.
Suffering was the cost.
This time, the story doesn’t cost me a thing.
In fact, I’m receiving- no longer giving.
I can see Her. She keeps coming back.
I’ve fought to pretend not to see her.
She scared me.
And maybe she still kinda does.
But in the way of real admiration.
What a force.
Yes, She’s messy.
She’s dark and ugly.
Even crazy.
She needed to be and for once…
I feel grateful She is.
She got me out.
I owe her my peace.
I will no longer deny her access to what she fought for.
And I will no longer deny my access to Her.
Sometimes you need mess.
Sometimes you need the dark and ugly.
And sometimes you need a little crazy.
Life’s just not that black and white.
5/28/2023 Her Return
(EMDR Session)
I enter the bathroom to find Her.
My eyes can’t find Her face.
The tightness in my chest is hot.
My body is numb with fear.
We know she’s coming.
My throat and my jaw are tight.
So tight I feel a cramp coming.
I bend down and search for Her hands.
I extend mine and She places hers right on top.
It’s so small…
Soft, meaty, and brown.
“What do you need to say?” I ask.
She screams, “I didn’t do anything!”
“It’s not fair!”
“Why is she so mean!?”
Her words loosen the lace on the corset around my throat.
Her small hand is warm and it’s shaking.
What a brave little girl…
“It’s over” I tell Her.
“We survived”.
She runs into me, thoroughly embracing me.
Her body…feels so small.
I’ve come back to tell Her we are strong.
I feel safe and I know She does too.
I am safe for Her.
My hands are bigger and I’m much stronger.
I’m capable of protecting Her.
I stand up.
She grabs my hand.
“It’s time to go”.
We walk out of that restroom together.
I lift Her tiny body and sit Her on my lap.
Her hand resting on my hand.
We watch the movie play again.
This time I whisper in Her ear….
“This is the hard part but you have to keep watching because she’s not done.”
5/25/2023 C-PTSD
All my life I’ve felt like I’m in my own fish bowl. The ugly duckling. The peg that doesn’t quite fit. My reality always seems so off from what others expressed. My world was always full of this intense despair and hesitation. Fear. As a little girl I searched in books for the answer to, “What’s wrong with me?” Is something really wrong with my brain? The answer bothers me more than I expected.
Typing it pisses me off. Anger… yup, that’s another symptom. I’ve felt angry all my damn life. It’s not even anger. It’s rage. I thought I outgrew that. Maybe it was part of being a teenager but I just got better at disconnecting from it. It’s easy to feel irritation or annoyance. Especially with myself. It ties in with the shame, guilt, and sense of worthlessness. I’m garbage and no one can change my mind. Stress is a fast track to an immediate, “I’m broken” or “I should die” thought.
Is that an issue with emotional regulation? An overreaction to stress? An emotional flashback? Do other people feel this way ever? Is this not a thing? What about the interpersonal relationship stuff? I know I have a very difficult time trusting. I maintain a distance even from those I love because it’s dangerous to relax. To let someone help because I might forget how to do it myself. I rather avoid that emotional rollercoaster. But I do have long-term relationships. Do they see this stuff? C-PTSD sounds like an awful person. Is that why I dislike myself? Does part of me know I’m an asshole? I know my ACE score is 9/10 but that’s not meant to be an in-depth assessment.
Could you be a 9 and not have C-PTSD? These articles and websites say most childhood sexual abuse victims have it. That’s stupid. I doubt that’s accurate because as one, I don’t go around telling people about it let alone even know what symptoms I have. Apparently, I can spend my whole life not knowing. Most of us don’t even report it-the abuse. We shove it down and move on. Is that the reflex of an unhealthy brain? According to all these sites my brain is “unhealthy”. Another symptom is the increased risk of health problems. My medical chart is excessive. I have a specialist for every organ in my body. Inflammation disorders, skin disorders, digestive issues, endometriosis, fibroids, muscle tension, body pains… (even with disassociation, that seems explains my ridiculously high pain tolerance)...but the list goes on. The cells in my body hold the suffering of my life. They’re angry like me and set fire to my insides.
EMDR is helpful for singular events of trauma. Not so helpful for this complex crap. So, am I stuck with this brain? With this… person? My brain was too vulnerable when this shit happened. It didn’t even have the chance to develop… I didn’t have a chance. So how can anything fix the damaged wiring in my skull?
I don’t even know what is part of my personality and what is defective wiring. Am I a heavy drinker because it’s, “what I enjoy” or because I can’t cope with all these stupid symptoms? Do I withdraw because I’m, “respecting my alone time” or because I need to avoid others? Do I have a hard time trusting people because they’re assholes or because I’ve experienced one too many assholes? Do I hate myself because I’m a piece of shit or never had the opportunity to take in another perspective in my early developmental years?
Then there’s the shit of having the most leveled and appropriate response to absolute danger. I can handle violence, threats, and danger. Is this a defect? That’s the only time my hypervigilance, beliefs, judgment, and emotions seem on point. COVID didn’t hit me like others. I was built for that level of constant vigilance. Law enforcement? Cake. Fight breaking out, threats to my safety, even verbal assaults are expected. But every other time it’s an obnoxious reaction to a mistake I’ve made or perceived to make, because of the whole, “I’m garbage” shit.
Who could I have been? Is my amygdala enlarged? Is my frontal cortex remarkably smaller than the norm? Could I have been smarter? Kinder? Trusting?... Happy? Is there another reality where I’m not scared, anxious, depressed, mistrusting, lonely, ashamed, self-destructive, irritable, hostile, hypervigilant? Where I don’t have panic attacks, insomnia, nightmares, unwanted thoughts/memories, detachment/depersonalized episodes, safety behaviors, poor memory, difficulty concentrating, heightened startle response, or feel completely at the mercy of whatever my brain feels like doing for the day?
Am I meant to spend the rest of my life finding ways to work with tangled Christmas lights for a brain?
5/23/2023
The ups and downs are constant
I cycle into different spaces
Anxiety and then depression
Then back to anxiety
This space where I’m held is suffocating
I exude anhedonia
Yet at my core is pure fear
Never have they held space at the same time
Life is difficult to experience
And at any moment I feel I might lose it
One more drop and the cup will overflow
I’ve been in the fight all my life
But now it feels like this round is more significant
I’m fighting against fate
I’m exhausted
Maybe She’s the anxiety at my core
Scared, yet full of more heat than my outer shell
5/20/2023
He says it’s his fault.
That he did things wrong as a father.
I don’t correct him.
He says it twice and I wonder if he wants me to correct him.
I don’t feel angry right now.
I feel sad and frustrated.
Frustrated that this is my life.
Sad, that this is my life.
I’m fighting so hard.
He won’t ever understand
That this is my best.
5/19/2023
I heard of C-PTSD before. I never looked into it or thought too deeply about it. In retrospect, maybe this is telling in itself. I read about it in articles about people held hostage for decades of their lives. People raped and beaten constantly in the span of years or survived war zones. I knew I had some things I struggled with. Things from my past that made it hard to fall asleep and all too easy to wake before dawn. I had struggled remembering a lot of my childhood and it has always been painful to trust others. I’ve understood some of these concepts, but I always kept them at a distance. After all, I could work. No matter what was going on in my life, I have always been able to work. And even when I didn’t want to, I knew it would help me feel better. Rather it would be a good distraction from the noise in my head. I was successful in that way. I could complete any task at a proficient level if I set my mind to it. I could survive. That just didn’t line up with anything I believed about trauma.
The first time the distance closed was in 2020. I wanted relief from the fear that rushed through my veins when driving a car. The accident almost left me paralyzed and even till present day, I experience pain daily. The fear was ridiculous. It was an inconvenience. I needed to drive so I wanted to address it. I was prepared to explore the emotions and thoughts that came with this fear. I, however, was met face-to-face with the reality of my life, my story. No one had ever used the term C-PTSD when talking about me. She sat across for me and uttered the words so effortlessly I thought she may have been mistaken. She continued to talk but focusing on the emotional pain from the car accident. So, I let myself forget. Depression? Sure, I have that. Anxiety? Oh yeah, I’m always on edge. Panic attacks? I remember being 5 when I had my first one. But C-PTSD? How could I be categorized with populations who experienced war and were stolen from their families to live decades of their lives in a basement? I didn’t pity these individuals. In fact, I always felt angry for them. For the injustice they experienced and the suffering they endured. I admired their strength. I feel it’s an insult to put me in a category with them.
5/18/2023
The wound you left on my soul will forever remain
I’m trying to learn to live as it bleeds out
I can’t blame you for the things that have happened to you
Or even for the ways it affected you
I can only hold you accountable for how you didn’t shield me from you
I can try to blame you for the never-ending disappointment
The grief of loving a mother who couldn’t love herself enough to make it to me
But even as a little girl I knew
I knew you couldn’t
You just couldn’t love me the way I needed
Nor the way I believe you wanted to
I continued to pour into you
Even as I watched the sand slip through your fingers
I cannot stop loving you
I admit, I want to
I need to learn to stop pouring
I’m sorry for the pain your soul has endured in its lifetimes
If I could choose my next life
I’d choose to be your mother
I’d show you the meaning of love
I’d teach you kindness and patience
I’d brush your hair and sing you to sleep
I’d ease you with my embrace
I’d pour into you
Every drop with pure intention
And you’d never have to question…
Never… ever have to question my love
I’d give you space to learn and grow
But always ready to step in to remind you,
You have never nor will ever be alone in this world…
5/18/2023 King
I don’t get to take you with me
Moving forward means leaving you
With each step, my heart tears some more
Breaking my own heart is showing you kindness
Giving you the compassion, you have so effortlessly given me
I’ve been mulling over the reasons why it has to be now
Why is this the last chapter you’re in?
This wasn’t the plan
I was working to create our home
I wonder if you came into my life to help me build
Never intending to stay
You knew I needed your energy to make it
Is this you telling me I no longer need you?
Because I don’t believe that’s true
You’ve carried me this far
I don’t think I can take it the rest of the way
I don’t see how
And honestly, I hesitate to do it without you
I’m ashamed of the hesitation
I wish I was braver
I want what’s best for you
Even if it leaves me in pieces…
5/11/2023 Happy Trees 2
Trying to explore and put words to my internal experience with trust has been an exceptional challenge
Articulating what trust is for me and how I know when someone has it scary
I have always been able to count on you
You have been a reliable and consistent force in my life for 2 years
I enjoy being around you because of your energy
I feel calm and at peace in your presence
I feel safe in your space and that’s probably the biggest compliment I can give anyone
Safety has always been hard to access
Fear leads me to hesitate showing you more and more of the mess in my mind
I fear judgment but each time I am me, I realize you accept me as I come
You give me space to ache and break without ever looking at me like I’m defective
You hold my deepest secrets
You keep my darkest thoughts and emotions in a vault
Your actions and words have always aligned
This integrity means so much to me
I can trust you to have hard conversations while also not needing to make everything a “thing”
I give you the benefit of the doubt that your intentions are from a place of care, always
Your self-awareness and own accountability put me at ease
I know boundaries will be respected and communicated as needed
I have a great appreciation for our emotional and intellectual connection
I have expressed numerous times how grateful I am for the knowledge you have given me
I’d just like to begin acknowledging all the other ways you have and continue to impact me
Thank you for being a part of my life
I want to keep knowing you until there’s no more life here for me
You’re a very extraordinary human
And thank you for always making me laugh
5/8/2023 10:50a
Goodbyes have always been easy for me.
People come and go.
No foundation has ever been stable. I’ve learned to move with the bends of the ground.
I’m self-sufficient.
But, I think that’s changing. I think I’m changing.
The fires consumed me entirely.
I’ve always desired to run back in for others.
I can pull more people with less armor.
Undefended I run back in.
I’m vulnerable to the embers.
I had to let you in to show you.
I had to let you in to understand you.
We have come together, connecting in the rawest form a human being can.
Soul and soul.
In this space, we heal.
Your imprint is left.
Now, I let go and run back in for more.
5/6/2023
I watch the wind blow through the trees. The power lines rock back and forth.
My mind is so heavy.
My body is so heavy. I can’t move it.
That’s the thought and emotion, can’t.
I close my eyes… I can’t sleep.
I can’t be here anymore so I leave
I’m unraveling and I don’t know how to stop it or slow it down
I’m struggling…
I’m fighting to be here and sometimes I wonder, what for?
5/7/2023 Happy Trees
As you know, I’m always focused on the hotdog.
Sometimes, no- often I miss the life occurring around me.
I’m blinded by the drive to survive and I can’t stop.
You understand that.
I miscalibrated the connection I have to you.
I’ve been reflecting on the relationships in my life.
I dissect the origin and progression of these connections.
Trust is a deeply wounded function of mine.
Yet, sometimes I can gamble with it.
I suppose it’s not much of a gamble in this sense.
There’s this circle I’ve created along the way.
The trust I have in these connections is unreal.
Least for me.
I don’t know what 100% trust looks like for me or if I have access to it.
But this circle contains whatever highest access I have to offer.
As I reflect on the progression, there is not a singular identifiable event.
Not one definitive piece of evidence that drives me to hand over the ticket.
This is why it’s not a gamble. Not with some people.
Not with you.
It’s a sense.
It’s a deep knowing and feeling.
I believe in soul connections.
Connections established eons ago.
It’s not a gamble to trust in a connection like this.
I only need to be brave enough to speak fear into the room.
Willing enough to acknowledge I have recognized you.
I’m an art museum of stories.
Achingly smeared across the walls.
I keep the ugly, messy parts of me in forbidden exhibits.
They crowd the halls.
I’ve shown you glimpses.
I’ve given you pieces.
Things I deny others access to.
This darkness would consume them, but not you.
You reflect it back at me.
Something about this feels safe and familiar.
Profoundly dark but safe.
All this to say, three big words.
I trust you.