Fear. (a shimmering, pale opalescence. It was yellow.)

I was just writing an email to my doctor about my.... fear of everything. I think it is more of: an enormous amount of fear that I felt in my childhood that was never really able to be felt or expressed and instead comes out all over my life now and in different places and ways.
I had written him yesterday about how I constantly get scared to draw, scared to work, scared to bike, scared to learn new things... scared BY EVERYTHING... Again... I am really trying to grasp that this is like a MOUNTAIN of old fear that was not able to be 'processed' the 'first time around' and so I have been 'stuck' with it. Anyway- today I was emailing him about it again and I wrote the following:

And there was my tricycle I rode when I was little, a 10 speed I got in middle school that I rarely rode, a mountain bike that I got in high school that I almost never rode, a great old yellow Schwinn I bought in college and NEVER rode. I loved it- I loved the way it looked, I loved the IDEA of it... but I never rode it. It was canary yellow and had a basket on it. That reminds me of a poem by Gary Young... I just looked it up online so I could put it here to show you. Here it is:

When I was five, I knew God had made the world and every-
thing in it. I knew God loved me, and I knew the dead were
in heaven with God always. I had a sweater. I draped it on a
fence, and when I turned to pick it up a minute later, it was
gone. That was the first time I had lost anything I really
loved. I walked in circles, too frightened to cry, searching for
it until dark. I knew my sweater was not in heaven, but if it
could disappear, just vanish without reason, then I could dis-
appear, and God might lose me, no matter how good I was,
no matter how much I was loved. The buttons on my sweater
were translucent, a shimmering, pale opalescence. It was yellow.

-Gary Young

Taking names. (And a new hostage.) And more Lloyd.

The more I write about difficult things here (previous post) the more I feel the need to post images of Lloyd. Also, here is a photo of Oskar. He is the ninth cat here. And we have 2 dogs.

Guttural cry.

This is a very emotionally challenging post for me to write. I have not been writing- I feel like I have not been talking much either- and I feel unable to articulate in a 'clear' way what has been happening... so I am just going to write about it- clear or unclear.
A week ago I had a very difficult session with my Dr. that took me about 5 days to write about- and even that I could only 'loosely' describe. The conversation was about how terrorized I was by my father and the fact that the terror I survived as a child scared me so much that I am now realizing I have been living under the shadow of that terror for most of my life. That difficult session was a week ago, I finally wrote about it here on this past Friday morning and then Friday afternoon I found out THAT MY "PARENTS" WERE IN TOWN.
In that shadow of terror I had a small panic attack Friday night upon finding out that my father was approximately 8 miles away. That 'small panic attack' continued on Saturday and I spent all of the day inside and looking forward to Sunday when I could look forward to them being a much more pleasant 900 miles away from me.
Usually I have known in advance when they are going to be in town and while it still bothers me- it was worse to be surprised by it and I think it was most painful this time because I am just... a lot more awake to my feelings than I have ever been before. Also, in the past when they have come near here I have seen my mother on a couple of those occasions (two times in the past 6 years). So I was wondering why she did not let me know in advance that they were going to be here. So last night- after I had confirmation that were back to their 'home'... I spoke to my sibling and asked why I had not been informed that they would be in town. AND THIS WAS THE ANSWER I GOT FROM MY SIBLING:
"MOM DID NOT WANT TO MAKE EVERY TRIP OUT HERE ABOUT HER COMING TO VISIT YOU AND LEAVING DAD ALONE BECAUSE IT IS HARD ON HIM AND MAKES HIM FEEL BAD."
After I heard this I wanted to take my whole head off my neck, shake my brain out and run to another solar system. Since my dissociative powers are on the fade though and I am feeling more tuned into REALITY... I sat and stared out of the window for 10 or 15 minutes trying to calm myself and then decided to call my mother and father. I called my mother and father. My mother whom I have seen 2 times in the past 6 years, my father WHOM I HAVE NOT SPOKEN TO OR SEEN IN SIX YEARS. MY FATHER WHO PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY TORTURED ME FOR ALL OF MY GROWING-UP LIFE. MY FATHER WHOM I AM REALIZING THAT I AM STILL TERRIFIED OF. I called them.
And they both said about 100 things that made me wish for that far away dissociative planet of non-reality. It was an exceptionally painful phone call- that is an understatement.
Right now I feel like it is hard for me to think about most of the phone call. I am glad I spoke to them though. It was very affirming of the truth even though the truth here is very painful.
Today I am glad I survived them and their abuse. I am glad I have the chance to work with a good doctor and recover. I am happy I still have time to live a great life. And I am happy that I can tell this story and not be silent about the past.

Point and Mr. Counterpoint. (MY WHAT BIG PAWS.)

This is what I worked on at my art group today. It is a continuation of this.

And here is Mr. Wonder-Bunny in bed this morning.

Chains.

I have therapy twice a week; Monday morning and Thursday afternoon. This week the conversation I had with my therapist on Monday 'troubled me' more and for more time than probably any other session that I have ever had with him. All week I told myself that I was going to write here about it and all week I have put it off. Yesterday I had therapy again and we talked some more about the same topic and then the conversation continued and progressed. I keep telling my doctor that even though I am healing... IT IS PAINFUL. And: WHY AFTER HURTING SO MUCH AND SO FOR LONG... WHY DOES IT HURT SO MUCH TO GET BETTER??!!?!? And he had a good answer... although I do not remember it 'word for word'. He basically said it is painful to heal because once I start to be more open and aware and feel more real... a mix of both good and bad feelings that have been held back for a long time are coming out. Again, not a direct quote there... just the best I can remember and explain it.
Today I have my art therapy group and I just really wanted to write here about what I have been talking to my doctor about this week... even though I do not totally feel ready. But I just wanted to write a few sentences about it anyway.
When I went to my appointment on Monday I told him that there had been a few times during my childhood when I really thought my father was going to kill me. There were many times I WISHED he would kill me (so I would not have to suffer anymore), there are/were a lot of times that I FELT like I had died (because I would switch/dissociate) and then there were times when I really thought my father was REALLY going to kill me. I was terrified by my father and that is an understatement. Anyway- all of the dissociating has felt like a lot of very small deaths and then there were/are these other feelings about thinking I was going to be killed or die from the pain. And anyway- the combination of my 'switching thoughts' and the real threat towards me............... It made me scared to live. More than that: It left me feeling like every day might be my last. I mean: I HAVE BEEN LIVING EACH DAY LIKE I MIGHT DIE THAT NIGHT. And even after my dad stopped physically and mentally abusing me- my mind just went on for the past years in the same way- feeling terrified every day that I might die.

I have been walking around everyday unable to imagine another one.

I find this almost 'unbearable' to think about still... so that is all I am going to write about it for now. It is just MADDENING MADDENING that my father hurt me so much.... I have been afraid to be in my own body, afraid to have my own life, afraid to be real.

The painting I made in my art group therapy today.

Quick.

This is a drawing that I made really quickly this morning. I will write more soon.

Poem from "The Writer's Almanac" for today.

The Game

by Marie Howe

And on certain nights,
maybe once or twice a year,
I'd carry the baby down
and all the kids would come
all nine of us together,
and we'd build a town in the basement

from boxes and blankets and overturned chairs.
And some lived under the pool table
or in the bathroom or the boiler room
or in the toy cupboard under the stairs,
and you could be a man or a woman
a husband or a wife or a child, and we bustled around
like a day in the village until

one of us turned off the lights, switch
by switch, and slowly it became night
and the people slept.

Our parents were upstairs with company or
not fighting, and one of us — it was usually
a boy — became the Town Crier,
and he walked around our little sleeping
population and tolled the hours with his voice,
and this was the game.

Nine o'clock and all is well, he'd say,
walking like a constable we must have seen
in a movie. And what we called an hour passed.

Ten o'clock and all is well
. And maybe somebody stirred in her sleep
or a grown up baby cried and was comforted . . .
Eleven o'clock and all is well.
Twelve o'clock. One o'clock. Two o'clock . . .

and it went on like that through the night we made up
until we could pretend it was morning.

Drawing on box. (Trash.)

"Think of grief as a river"

"Think of grief as a river that finally runs into the ocean where it is absorbed but not dissolved, pebbles, moss, fish, twigs from the smallest upland stream run with it and finally float in the salt sea from which life emerged."

-Anne Roiphe, Epilogue

Every piece. In the new light of my healing. *This post may be triggering.*

Yesterday I went back to my art therapy group- after two weeks of having not gone. It was good but the pieces I worked on were very painful. I like the other people in the group and I feel like I am able to make things there that I am not able to make at home- so I know it is good that I am going. I rode my bike there and back so last night I was really tired and went to sleep early- this morning I was up at 4:30 AM. Which is ok... but I have really been feeling like the days are much longer now that I am having a greater consciousness for my own mind and body and when I woke up so early this morning I sort of felt like- 'What am I going to do all day???!!?!'. Well, I have a thousand things I want to do- so it is not really that. There is always something to read or write or make- but it is the CONSCIOUSNESS- the awareness- it is hard for me to describe.... In less than a month I will turn 32 and the best way I can describe the agitation and objection that my mind and body are having- is to say that I feel like for almost all of that 32 years I have been trying to run from my own thoughts and my own mind. And suddenly- in just the last few months- everyday I am feeling constantly more and more aware of my body, my thoughts, my feelings, my memories. I know this is good- it is just that after almost 32 years of working constantly to avoid all of this... here I am. It is good to feel, to hear, to see and think in such clear ways- but it is a shock and all day long I am walking around feeling. Feeling. After almost 32 years of not feeling.... I am FEELING.

Yesterday in the art group therapy I took an old box that someone had brought in and I wrote inside the cover in very small print: THIS BOX IS FOR THINGS I AM NOT YET READY TO THINK ABOUT OR DO NOT YET WANT TO SEE. And then I wrote the same sentence six or seven more times. And then I took a large sheet of bright yellow paper and started tearing off pieces of it and writing something on every piece. ANAL RAPE, on piece said. And then: THE TIME YOU KICKED ME IN MY STOMACH, THE TIME YOU KICKED ME IN MY BACK, I WAS ALWAYS SCARED YOU WOULD KICK MY TEETH OUT, THE FIRST ABORTION, THE SECOND ABORTION, SEDUCTION OF THE AGGRESSOR, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, SUFFOCATING, CHOKING, VAGINAL RAPE and I kept going- starting to feel nauseous as I just kept writing down more words and phrases on more scraps of paper. And then I shut the lid on that box.

My art therapist made a great suggestion. She suggested I make a second box. One for a place to keep all of the tools that I have and that I have created in the past and in my 6 years of work with my therapist- sort of a 'counter' to the box I made yesterday. So last night as I was riding home I was trying to imagine what kinds of things I could put into that second box... And my mind was blank. I thought, 'ok... just think of one thing.' and I thought..... nothing. And then I did think of one thing, but I can not remember what it was now. My point here is that: The past was terrifying and it scared me so much that it almost quite literally scared me right out of my own body and out of my own mind. Now it is hard for me to even think of one good quality that I have or one strength that will help me to build a good present and future. Last night as I was laying in bed I was thinking how I would like the second box to be something I make really beautiful. The first box holds pain from the past and it is a 'temporary' thing... meaning: I just need it to help me hold the pain of the past until I can work through it and let it go. The second box- the one for the present and the future- I will have it forever. It makes me cry that it is so hard for me to think of something good about myself to put into that box. But I do know one thing and it is something that I have always had, something that helped me to save my life and something that I feel like is growing stronger in me each day as I wake up in the new light of my healing- the first thing I am going to put into the new box will read: Creativity.

mr. silly big bunny

After talking about Stockholm Syndrome.

It is difficult for me to describe how I feel today. There is the set of feelings I am having in my body and the ones I am having in my mind. Yesterday I saw my therapist after two weeks of him having been on vacation. And while it was good to see him, it was also a 'difficult' session.

After therapy yesterday I came home and felt exhausted. I took a three hour nap and then spent the evening knitting, reading a magazine, watching tv and talking on the phone.

I woke up this morning and ate a huge breakfast (in part because I barely ate anything yesterday- one meal of some vegetables) and as soon as I ate I felt incredibly sick and I went back to bed for 2 more hours. This seems so strange, but I guess it makes perfect sense... the therapy work is really hard... but anyway- today I feel more exhausted than if I had just ridden my bike for 50 miles. I mean- my whole physical body feels heavy and tired and uncomfortable. It feels like I have had the flu, but without the vomiting part. So that is the body part of it.

Then there is the head/feeling/thinking part... Mostly I feel incredibly sad. I feel really sad about the past and about the life I used to have and the things that I had to do to get through that life.

A lot of people left comments on my last post and that made me feel really good- every time someone leaves me a note- it helps a lot. But lately I also feel like 'why do I keep writing on this blog?'. I guess maybe it is just another extension of my daily barrage of self criticism. There is a blog I read almost every day and it is really well written and funny and interesting and intelligent- and I think I am always wishing that my writing was more 'pulled together'. That my story was less awful. But this is my story and it is the only one I have had. I am glad it is changing into a better one. And I guess THAT is the reason I write this blog- because I think that if the documenting of my process of healing helps even one person- that will be worth it. But also- writing here helps me. It is not just my wish/hope that this blog helps somebody else- but the writing it here and having other people read it- it helps me. I have said this before- but my past is so painful- it really helps me to feel like that somehow the people that read this blog are able to take a little of the pain away from me and I do not have to carry it all alone.

Yesterday I spoke to my doctor about the fact that I did not go to my art therapy group during the time that he was gone. I think it was a way of protecting myself- of not getting overwhelmed. I told him I feel like I am getting better so fast- things seem to be changing so quickly in my mind now and for the first time ever I really do feel like I am healing- even though it is still sometimes very painful. I told him it feels like I am moving so quickly towards the healing that it almost scares me sometimes- and it is like when I am on my bike and going fast down a hill- at first it is fun and feels good- but when I am REALLY going fast there is a moment when I feel scared- like, "Is this bike going to fly out of control here???!!" And that is the best way to describe how I feel about finally starting to feel better. Mostly happy, mostly excited, a little scared, and a lot like "Is this bike about to fly out of control?!!??!".

Human wheel.

Today I had something kind of scary happen. Kind of... Ok... It was actually VERY scary. But I am fine and I got through it fine- so everything is ok. What happened is that I was writing (which I have been doing almost everyday) and then I suddenly had a flashback. It was a CRYSTAL CLEAR memory and it was about something HORRIFIC. But I just wrote it down- the whole thing- every detail of it that came back to me. And then I cried. And then I cried. And then I REALLY cried and I cried so much and I was so panicked I thought I was going to be sick so I went into the bathroom and stood over the toilet and cried and gagged there. But I didn't throw up. I finally started to calm down and I did a few things to help myself get calm again and then I wrote my therapist a big email and wrote about what I had written in the notebook. And then I typed out for him the INSANELY PAINFUL MEMORIES AND ALL OF THE DETAILS OF THAT into the email. And then I sent it. And then I ate popcorn and then I talked on the phone to a friend. And we talked about how much better I am doing. And how great it is that I am not physically hurting myself. And how wonderful it is that I am able to have these AWFUL memories and then write and email and talk about them... and then feel better. AND THEN FEEL BETTER. RELIEF. IT IS A HUGE HUGE RELIEF to tell a story you have waited 15 years to tell. HUGE. RELIEF.

It is really difficult to do the work of healing and for so many years I never really could imagine that I would ever get better. But after a day like today- remembering something as HORRIFIC as I did and getting through it by writing, taking care of myself and reaching out to other people- it is like I am showing myself that I CAN do this. And I am. I AM getting better. I am able to talk about the past and not hurt myself and I am going to be able to let it go.

My favorite part is when they keep going.

Two days ago I went to the library to pick up a book and I ended up leaving with a few books and some dvd's. Every book and movie is about a person or group of people overcoming adversity. Today I have read half of the book "An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination", by Elizabeth McCracken and watched the documentary "The Beauty Academy of Kabul".

Tonight I feel sick. Sick in a way that is difficult for me to even know how to describe. It is not a 'sick in my stomach' feeling. It is more of a sick in my bones feeling. I am glad that time goes on- that the object or event or moment of pain recedes into the past. And I am glad that people go on- that I will be able to go on- and the pain I am carrying around about the past will recede as well. But before I can let go of it- it feels like I have to fully reclaim it all- all of myself, all of my memories, all of my mind.

I feel scared and my thoughts are so conflicted I can barely type. I am going to go back to the book. I want to write more but it feels almost impossible. But then I realize- it is not impossible. And it scares me to even think about the idea that I have control over my thoughts and feelings now because it makes me aware and know about the time when I did not.

This morning I tried calling my mother- because I was feeling mad- and I guess I should be grateful she did not answer. I see my therapist Monday and it is probably better to talk to him about why I want to call her than to call her and let her make me feel like a sick idiot child.

I keep taking huge long breaks between writing here and I just stare off into space. I want to write more- but I can't right now. Anyway- back to my book. I hate not being able to think in a clear and or linear way.

Trying not to panic. That creates more panic.

So on Monday morning I will be back to therapy twice a week. I am both dreading it and dreading it. I keep trying to remind myself that it is all inevitable... going forward. And by going forward I mean- also going back into a small mountain of garbage I wish that I could forget forever. I just keep all of the time wishing that there was some way around it all. But there is not. The only way through it is THROUGH it. And I just am so sick of being haunted by the past.

On I go.

From the preface of The Myth of Sanity: Divided Consciousness and the Promise of Awareness, by Martha Stout.

"The survivors I see in my practice have known undistilled fear, have seen how nakedly terrifying life can be, and in many cases have seen how starkly ugly their fellow human beings can be. Listening to their stories, no one at all could be surprised that they consider the possibility of not going on. In a struggle with the power of their past experiences, even the biological imperative to survive is puny.
No. Their choosing to die would not be surprising. What is so extraordinary about these people is that they choose to live- not just to not die, not just to survive, but to live.
Why this choice gets made, and how it gets put into practice, are two of the most interesting personal, psychological, and philosophical questions I can conceive of. And one of the greatest privileges of my life has been to know the people who are my patients, to be able to sit with them, to be a part of their lives for a while, and with grateful and undisguised self-interest, to listen. For I have become convinced that these courageous people, in winning their struggles, must learn things about genuine living, and about genuine sanity, that the rest of us have never even imagined."

Bang. (Notes on feeling like a failure.)

Right. Depressing and self critical feelings... just below an image from the HUGE WALL DRAWING PROJECT THAT I MADE IN VENICE EARLIER THIS YEAR. This is exactly how I feel right now. Fuck. I can not get myself to go out, which is not terrible- it is just that I am feeling so massively freaked out... about my mind, about having a body, about having MY OWN THOUGHTS. And even though I am not hurting myself in any ways... I keep feeling like: Oh my god I hate myself, I can not do this, should I just kill myself?
And every time I get to the 'should I just kill myself?' part of the circles that I run in inside my mind I tell myself this: Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth. Pema Chodron wrote that in her book that I like very much, "When Things Fall Apart".
I had a good morning, an ok afternoon and then... AND THEN FOUR O'CLOCK CAME. Four o'clock? What does four o'clock mean? Death. That is what four o'clock means. No... what it really used to mean was: In the next 30 to 60 minutes my FATHER WOULD GET HOME FROM WORK. When I was young, very young and a teenager (ok, all of my life until I moved out of my parents house) I used to struggle in the mornings because I was either waking up in some kind of physical pain, some kind of physical mess (blood, urine, shit) or the fear that I had already developed from memories of waking up in the mornings and experiencing some kind of physical pain and or mess. I feel like the post-morning enormous amount of fear and pain and terror was usually followed by the urge and wish to pretend that I was ok. That would last for maybe an hour and then I would start to worry about the afternoon. The afternoon was a worrisome 'affair' because after the afternoon was the late part of the day and that is when my father would come home from work and I can just say right now... he never once in my life came home in a good mood. NOT ONE TIME. And if the morning, late morning and early afternoon were a time of pain, quick recovery and anxiety... the evening was: THE START OF HELL. The only good thing about my father coming home in the afternoon was: NOTHING. There was not one good thing about my father returning from a day of work. NOTHING.
I just feel... mad at myself mostly and I am even mad about that. Today I stayed home, but I did a lot of things and I am doing the best I can... I really am. I am writing more every day than I have ever done, I am drawing every day, I am thinking about and seeing MUCH MORE CLEARLY some of the different ways of being me, I am seeing the SWITCHES that I have all day long between the different ways of being me, I am reading "The Courage to Heal" and blogs by other trauma survivors. And then BANG... suddenly I am not reading, writing, drawing or able to pay attention to my own thoughts. It is 4:30 PM and I am curled up in a ball on my bed, thinking how bad I feel, how bad I feel, how bad I feel. Well, not anymore ***** ***** (insert my abuser's name there). Today I was doing well, getting a lot done, then suddenly in bed and feeling like I wanted to die. Fortunately I was able to read a few pages of "The Courage to Heal" today and it was SPECIFICALLY about: figuring out what triggers you so you can react and take care of yourself when those triggers occur. So today, I am taking a stand, I am out of bed, it is just 5:30 PM now- so I was really struggling with these feelings and feeling 'bad' and 'trapped' for about one hour. Usually the 4 o'clock panic usually turns into the evening panic, which then often turns into the OH MY GOD I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO BED PLEASE panic. But not anymore. I am almost 32 years old and I am DONE. I know it is going to take a lot more time and a lot more work- but I have done it and I will continue to do it. I am angry that so much of my life has been consumed by abuse and pain. The one thing I really want now though is to change that. And I am. I have always been scared that people are not capable of change. I think this fear came from the fact that my parents never changed. I used to pray and wish more than anything that my father would stop hurting me, that mother would protect me... but if there was anything in the world that I could be absolutely certain of... it was that my father WOULD NOT STOP and that my mother WOULD NOT protect me. That was what I could count on each and every day. Then I think, after so many years, I felt really without hope. I felt like: I will never feel better. And even when I finally made it to the office of my therapist that I have now and he said, "You can recover from this." I did not really believe him. I WANTED to believe him... but I could not really feel it. I had NEVER felt 'better' or 'free' or really safe or ok. I liked the idea of it though and I must have had some huge amount of hope in me somewhere- because I did survive the years of my father's shit and then ten years after that of hurting myself almost CONSTANTLY in one way or another. And then, for the past almost 6 years, I have been working with my therapist to recover. So I clearly had hope somehow, somewhere. Anyway- I know I still have a lot to do, a long way to go, but I AM GETTING BETTER. It is painful and sometimes it feels like it is taking a long time... but is happening. My parents were never capable of change- but I am. Change is how I survived all of their garbage anyway- switching my thinking was exactly how I saved myself.
Anyway- This post feels messy and confusing. But maybe less than I want it to seem- I mean- I think I am in a lot of pain right now because everything is finally starting to seem less messy and confusing. Things are starting to become clear and make sense. And it is painful, but it is much much less painful than the original pain I survived and it is less painful to admit what I know about the horror I survived in the past- than to keep sitting in the present and blaming and hating myself for something huge and terrible that was never my fault at all.

Note: While I was typing the above someone left a comment on my blog- reminding me that I am not alone. I was right in the middle of writing all of the above and it was really helpful to get the comment at that exact moment. Thank you to all of the people who write kind words here. Every one helps. THANK YOU.

Title.

I am having one of those hours/days/weeks where it is really hard for me to write anything because I feel like I am having a mix of so many thoughts all at once. I write and delete, write and edit... My head feels like a balloon that could float off my shoulders and fly away. This is a painful experience/feeling that I have often... more often recently. I have been NOT injuring myself recently and this is something I am feeling very excited and proud of. I really stopped cutting myself almost a year ago, but I still struggled a lot with issues of abusing food and doing other small things that were not very nice to my body (like cutting my fingernails so short they would bleed, or something similar to that) anyway- the more I write and think and let myself have my own thoughts and communicate and know about the past... the less I feel like hurting myself. This is of course really good- but it is sometimes really hard to have all of the painful feelings, thoughts and memories- I often feel like: "What am I supposed to DO with all of this?". But like I said, I have been drawing and writing more and trying to let myself be present, etc and all of this is helping me to feel better.
I often feel like recovering from all of the abuse I lived through is IMPOSSIBLE. It feels impossible, at some point, each day. But I know I am getting better- it is just a lot of work and I feel a mix of feelings ranging from anxious and wanting to get better and feel more betterness as soon as possible- to wanting to just shut down and not move or go forward at all.
This morning I mentioned to my friend (right before I burst into tears) that I am understanding now why the book is called "The COURAGE to Heal"... as opposed to something like "The fun and light hearted warm fuzziness of your recovery!!".

Drawing (on skin).

Therapist on holiday and the crisis of having a body, head, face, mouth and teeth.

Have I mentioned here that my shrink is on a two week vacation? Right. I think so. Anyway- my very surprising reaction to him being on vacation this time was something like: GOODBYE AND HAVE FUN!!! And while I have had a few very quick moments of anticipating his return... mostly I am not. And while I just wrote yesterday that I have been waking up every morning 'not feeling very well', this morning I woke up feeling just a tiny bit happy because my very first thought of the day was: It is only Friday and I have a whole week more of him being on vacation. Oh sure, I see the whole big "he is out of town transference" that is happening here (as though my shrink's vacation is like my father being finally the hell away from me). But while my therapist has often been the object of my transference... he is also always... the place I can see things the most clearly. Over the past almost 6 (!) years of my work with him there have been many times that I have written about, blogged about or talked with other people about experiences or thoughts I am having- before I tell them to my doctor. I mean: Something will come up- a memory or thought or idea and the more bigger (sorry for the un-neat writing here)... anyway- oh- I am having a hard time writing what I mean. So much is changing in my mind and I am glad- but it is still so painful. Anyway- my therapy is like the mirror in which I can see my selves.
Maybe I can try to write more about that later or another time. Or not. Or whatever. I just ate a lunch of vegetables with a very tiny spoon and kept myself from crying while I ate. Now I am crying while I type. It makes me sick beyond any words I have to think and know about for how long and how much and how often my face and mouth and body were all used against me.
MY OWN BODY USED AGAINST ME FOR MORE THAN HALF OF MY LIFE.
I used to want to hurt myself so much when I had such painful memories and thoughts such as these. I am really going through, dealing with, struggling through a lot of change and my reaction to these thoughts memories ideas is not that I want to hurt myself. It is just that I feel very sad and ANGRY. I am having RAGE.
And I am just glad I am not trying to take it out on my own body anymore. It is still hard to start to stop hating myself though. I hate this post, the messiness of this writing, the poorly expressed ideas, etc. Or wait... is it my writing that I hate? Or is it just more of same- old weight of my abuser- pushing down on me?

Yesterday I cried because I did not want to put a backpack on. Because the weight on my back reminded me of him on my back.

I am a 31 year old woman and I was crying because I could not tolerate the FEELING of the weight of a bag on my back... no- the memory of my father on my back and raping me from behind.

It is better just to cry about it all now. Just to finally SAY IT OUT LOUD and cry as much as I have to because I will not live under the old shit of his old shit laws for one more day.

Does that make sense? Does it matter? Do I really feel like I AM NOT EXPRESSING MYSELF WELL? WOULD I EVER LOOK AT ANYONE WHO HAD SURVIVED 14 years of physical, mental and sexual abuse and then criticize their writing style? No. Of course not. Now I am the only one who is so cruel to myself these days and even that is coming to a quick end.

A phone that I can talk on and a computer screen where I can see clearly?

This morning did not start in a great way for me today and as the number of "minutes standing" increased my faith in the day was on a quick decline. Although I have been waking up EVERY day not feeling 'well' for the past couple of weeks... I am starting to become more aware of my 'changing mind' and also the triggers that trigger the changes and one of those is: morning. That is a pretty big trigger, but I am realizing I have a lot of pretty big triggers. Like: the weather and SOUND. All sound? Yes. Just: SOUNDS. I feel like since my father was not just physically and sexually abusive but also a SCREAMER... I feel like at some point very early on I started trying to adjust to that yelling. And well, in the past few weeks my recovery pace feels like it has quickened from a 'brisk walk' to the speed equivalent of a cherry red bicycle coming down a big hill. And while there is a lot of good in that- having big changes happen and starting to RECOVER... it is mostly unbelievably overwhelming and often times scary. And I also feel like while I am healing and I am starting to figure out how to better take care of myself, my mind and my body... I am also seeing myself (and the different ways that I am) and realizing I have a HUGE amount of work left to do. I think the difference is that I have crossed over some line- finally and THANK GOD. This is the most I have ever struggled mentally- in my own head- with my thoughts- but I HAVE DONE NO SELF INJURY. This feels like my greatest accomplishments- TO STOP HURTING MYSELF. I feel like I am just starting to work out learning to really take better care of myself... but I have really been struggling emotionally lately and for THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE I am able to WRITE AND OR DRAW AND OR TALK when I am feeling bad. Or I just sit. Sometimes I am absolutely overwhelmed by... everything. My body, my mind, the story of my past, the present, my fears, etc... and all I can do is just (literally) sit in one place. And eventually the WORST feeling passes and then sometimes I go and write about what I can remember that made me feel so bad. I am just starting to do this- to really pay attention to my own thoughts and write about what is really making me feel bad. It is very painful to do- because I always want to lay blame on something- ANYTHING- in the present... instead of think about the mountain of pain I lived through in the past.
I feel like this post is a rambling mess and did I have a point and I sort of want to delete it, but mostly I am really trying to just let myself write and say and draw things and NOT feel the need to destroy those things...
Anyway- the morning did not start out very good and when I start to think about why... well, it is not good. Anyway- another list of things to work on (Painful memories from mornings.) but I was trying to make some point. Oh yes, pants. I was beginning to think around noon that my chances of getting out of my pajamas were looking not very good, but I managed to get dressed and out of the house and onto my bike and did some big errands. And it is good- about getting a few things done and the bike ride and the getting out and all... but it is still really 'weird' and the reason is this: It is strange to be feeling like you can not move, do not want to be alive- in one minute- and then on a bike and almost humming a little tune about an hour later.
Dear Jenny, You have a dissociative identity disorder. Love, Jenny p.s.- Do not worry, we will send this same note again tomorrow.

Fun for today: Moscow Cat Theater

Drawing from 'yesterday'.

A drawing. Quote. Sewing lines. Changing mind (obviously).

This is a drawing that I made a few days ago. I would say it is 'unfinished'- but I am also done working on it. So I am deciding to leave it unfinished. Anyway- I photographed the drawing on the quilt that is on my bed and because I like the way the sewing on the blanket looks. The quilt is something I got from Target and it is literally falling apart at the seams. I like it more as I have to sew it more to keep it held together. I think eventually, when I have had to resew almost every square- it will look homemade and that seems good.
I have been starting to read "The Courage to Heal: A guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse". It is the most difficult book I have ever read. I read the introduction and I am up to page 11. I wanted to put a quote here from the first page of the first chapter of the book:
"People have said to me, 'Why are you dragging this up now?' Why? WHY? Because it has controlled every facet of my life. It has damaged me in every possible way. It has destroyed everything in my life that has been of value. It has prevented me from living a comfortable emotional life. It's prevented me from being able to love clearly. It took my children away from me. I haven't been able to succeed in the world. If I had a comfortable childhood, I could be anything today. I know that everything I don't deal with now is one more burden I have to carry for the rest of my life. I don't care if it happened 500 years ago! It's influenced me all that time, and it does matter. It matters very much."