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Messages - Bach

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Recovery Journals / Re: A Safe Place To Be Visible
« on: June 18, 2021, 10:39:38 PM »
Thank you all so much for reading and responding. I feel cared about which I appreciate because right now I am very down and feeling bad about myself for being unable to work or do anything at all. Having to ask my husband for everything. Being afraid he will think I'm exaggerating or faking but also being afraid that if I am not able to be strict enough about this full resting thing I will never get better and will end up like my aunt, who took to her bed in her 40s and stayed there for 35 years hating everyone and everything until she died of cancer.

Recovery Journals / Re: A Safe Place To Be Visible
« on: June 18, 2021, 12:59:11 AM »
I didn't want to write about the way that what used to be the beautiful garden is now a neglected overgrown mess. There's still a goodly chunk that is lawn, a big enough area to host three dozen or so people for this ridiculous memorial, but the rest is covered with ivy. So much ivy. All over everything and creeping in. My grandfather's corner is filled with junk trees. There's the 2' stump of a tree that my brother helped plant when he was very young that was cut down some time since 2014 when I last saw the house, and it's just a hump under the ivy. This in particular haunts me.

I DID want to write about the sad awfulness of a memorial service for a man who wasn't really close to anyone besides the black hole of narcissism that is my mother, and who no one knew quite what to say about. But honestly, that seems so inconsequential now compared to that ivy jungle. Possibly because last week I aired it all out talking with my brother about all of it.

There was other family stress last week, and, complicated by a slow recovery from the covid vaccine, I have fallen ill and am on full rest. Full rest is hard but it will work if I pursue it conscientiously and with patience, mentally as well as physically. I'm making a plan for a long slow recovery. I always rush myself back into activity too quickly and it's become obvious to me that's a big part of the reason I have not been able to improve my physical health despite many years of efforts. Along with my physical exhaustion I'm reckoning with some really deep trauma stuff. I pushed too hard with tapping about that yesterday and freaked out Middle B, who went into a pretty intense flashback when it was time to sleep. She did not want to be comforted in any way that I could offer. So I simply acknowledged her struggle and then stayed with her until she could let go and go to sleep. I don't know what she was afraid of. I'm not sure she knows. I think she may have been having flashbacks of things done to us when we were all baby SE.

Sexual Abuse / Re: Therapist used the word. . . TW
« on: June 14, 2021, 02:13:58 AM »
it confused and upset me when my therapist used that word.
Thank you, Bach. It has confused and upset me too, but almost in a good way. I made myself believe that what happened wasn't that bad. His use of the word "rape" has shaken my belief that it was no big deal.

I relate to that, too. It was very difficult and painful for me to deal with thinking of that incident as rape but once I did it helped me make sense of some things that happened a few months after that and opened up an avenue for progress in my healing. I still wish it wasn't a thing but I understand that facing up to it was important and helpful. I know it's really hard but I hope that you can similarly benefit from the perspective :hug:

Sexual Abuse / Re: Therapist used the word. . . TW
« on: June 12, 2021, 03:33:31 PM »
I relate.  A few years ago, I told my therapist about something that happened to me when I was 17 that I always thought of as something stupid that I did.  It never occurred to me to call it rape, and it confused and upset me when my therapist used that word.  I don't want to post it here but if you would like me to share it with you privately, please let me know.

Any person over the age of 18 having sex with a person under the age of 18 is legally considered to be something called statutory rape regardless of the consent of the younger person, so technically it was, but I'm pretty sure that's not what either of our therapists meant. 

Recovery Journals / Re: A Safe Place To Be Visible
« on: June 10, 2021, 04:31:21 PM »
Hi Bach,
I read what you wrote, and wanted to offer you a hug of support  :hug:  I am sorry to hear that your brother is going to be moving away. 
Hope  :)

Thank you, Hope.  You are awesome :hug:

Recovery Journals / Trigger Warning: Ranting Ahead
« on: June 10, 2021, 03:08:01 PM »
Hello, friends.  Thank you for the replies and hugs.  I miss interacting here and appreciate you all, but I'm just unable to connect lately.  I often have that problem in real life, too.  I suppose that's why I have very few friends, and why it's absolutely killing me that my brother is moving away to Australia next month.  I understand why he's going and that it's not personal, that he is sad that his going means being separated from me and that he will miss me, but I keep having storms of "He's leaving me!  How can he *&%^$%^&* LEAVE ME?  :'( :stars: :fallingbricks: :bawl: :blowup: :blowup: :sharkbait:.  He's basically my only local friend.  But that's not what I came here to talk about.

Triggers in white.

I went to the stupid bleep-bleep insert-many-expletives-here memorial gathering last week, and I handled it genuinely truly well.  The gathering was in the back yard at the house down by the shore my mother now lives in, which was originally my grandparents's weekend house during the summers.  When I was a kid, we spent the summers down there, and the back yard was a beautiful place with a large though geographically uneven lawn, a vegetable garden, fruit trees, flowerbeds, mint, a grape arbor, slate patios, a raspberry patch, a slightly fascinating but gross compost heap (and the ugly brown jug that always sat on a mat in the kitchen into which waste vegetable matter from the kitchen was placed to later be carried all the way across that lawn to the furthest recess of the property) to be added to said pile), and corner of deep shade at the back in which my grandfather used to rest on a fold-up beach lounger on hot days.  I have a story in my mind that I used to play on the ground next to his chair and that he would sometimes reach down and ruffle my hair, but to be honest, I'm pretty sure I made that up.  At least the hair-ruffling part.  My grandfather was not a demonstrative man.  I have no idea what he thought or felt about anything, but I do know that he, like everyone else in my family, bought into my mother's narrative about me being a pest and a troublemaker, and I know that he was no lover of silly, noisy children, particularly female ones.  I remember a lecture he gave me when I was ten about how I was now in my “second decade” of life, and as such it was time that I learned to...What?  I DON'T *&%^$%^&* KNOW.  I just remember the stern, unforgiving tone and the repetition of the phrase “second decade”.  Maybe I would have been able to get to know my grandfather as the years went on if he hadn't committed suicide by hanging a month before I turned twelve.  Ooops!  Off track again. 

Anyway.  The memorial.  It was scheduled for late afternoon, and somewhere from the universe came an inspiration that I should avoid sitting should avoid sitting around all day being anxious about it by doing things to take care of myself.  So I splurged on the luxuries.  I had a long massage, and then I had my hair done by the young woman I was lucky enough to find a couple of years ago after I confronted my haircut trauma (no, Bach, don't go into the haircut trauma here.  Maybe another time).  It was actually kind of amazing to me that I chose to get my hair done as pleasurable self-care rather than as a dreaded task to be done only when absolutely necessary, and sometimes not even then, but for the first time in my life, it was actually a nurturing and strengthening experience.  I freakin' love that woman who handles my hair and me with deference and care, rather than treating the unusually thick and luscious glory on my head as their personal playground.  On top of the childhood trauma around my hair, you would not believe the kind of intrusive pressure I've had from hairstylists to experiment with what grows out of my scalp!  And what do you know, there I go again.  Wow, I really don't want to write about that bloody memorial, do I?  Even though I DO want to, and even more, I NEED to.  But I think maybe I can stop now and do some chores, and continue later. 

Sending love and hugs, woodsgnome  :hug: :grouphug:

Recovery Journals / Re: Not Alone: 2021
« on: June 01, 2021, 02:14:12 AM »
 :hug:  :hug:

Therapy / Re: EMDR Flash Technique
« on: May 31, 2021, 02:11:40 PM »
I'd also be interested in the answer to Armadillo's question.  My experience is similar in terms of sparse memories and an inability to form mental imagery.

Also, if you're open to answering questions about EMDR, I'd love to know whether there are EMDR techniques that I could safely and effectively self-administer.  EMDR is one of the things I've heard about as something that could help me, but I'm having trouble finding trauma-informed therapists that either take Medicare or don't cost a bomb, so working with a practitioner doesn't seem to be an option.

Recovery Journals / Re: A Safe Place To Be Visible
« on: May 31, 2021, 02:06:02 PM »
Those sound like sad but nurturing thoughts to have, Bach. You deserved and deserve to be loved. I really relate to that feeling of being trapped and it is my number one trigger...that feeling. Anything you can do to let down a side of that box and get out of the trap? You can choose to skip the memorial if you need to.  :hug:

I can't skip it.  I have to go.  I could say that it's because of my brother or my husband or whatever, but the truth is, it's because of me.  I need to go because I need to be a person that I can live with.  I'm fed up with being afraid to see my mother.  There was a time when eschewing contact with my mother served and strengthened me, but that time is past.  Now I need to be able to face her and everything that comes with her without making myself sick over it.  There are things I need to tell her before she dies, and I can't do that if I can't face her. 

Recovery Journals / Re: A Safe Place To Be Visible
« on: May 31, 2021, 12:48:51 AM »
Thank you for the reply and the hug, Armadillo  :hug:

My stepfather's memorial is on Wednesday. I am dreading the crazy. Apparently there are disputes between my mother and stepbrothers about the arrangements. I shudder to think.

I am trying to nurture myself but I'm not very okay right now. I haven't been doing anything self-destructive and I look okay from the outside, but inside I feel just like I did when I was a kid and my whole life felt like a trap from which there was no hope of escape except that mythical future of "when you grow up" that I could not imagine would ever happen. Nothing was good. There was no love and no joy. There was only survival and nobody loved me. Why didn't anybody love me? Now in the present, in 2021 I'm still wondering why nobody loves me. Even though there ARE people who love me! I live with one and know a few others. But still in my head, that tape is playing, over and over: "Why doesn't anybody love me?"

I wish I could go back to 1965, the year I was born, and cuddle me. Cuddle me and feed me and love me and rewrite the terrible future that has me lying here now feeling a weight on my chest and trapped tears that will not fall from my eyes, too weak and sore and stiff and pained to live, to terrified to die, thinking of that poor baby, that poor child, that poor little me and wishing there was anything at all I could do to make it better.

Recovery Journals / Re: A Safe Place To Be Visible
« on: May 25, 2021, 02:00:48 PM »
My stepfather died on Friday.  This is not a personal loss for me because I never had much of a relationship with him even when I was a child and we lived in the same house.  He had no love for me and mostly ignored me, unless he was enlisted by my mother to participate in my abuse which he did perhaps not enthusiastically but certainly without hesitation.  Still though, he's been around since my parents divorced when I was 4, and his death is causing me considerable emotional turmoil.  I haven't had any discrete or definable emotional flashbacks, but I'm in that state nonetheless.  I honestly don't even know how to write about it.  My therapist is away, how's that for timing?  Also, I have editing work I have to do...on a film all about the damaging effects of rejection in childhood. 

Despite all this, I am functioning relatively well.  I am not falling apart.  I am not getting wasted.  I am not bingeing.  I am not cutting myself.  Somehow I am existing weirdly calmly even though I am completely and totally miserable.  And that is its own kind of *.  I am Middle B on a calm day, awake, aware, carefully staying out of trouble, waiting for shoes to drop.  How did I survive this?

I can't properly acknowledge the replies, Armadillo and Hope, but I see you there and I appreciate you.  Thank you for being here.

Recovery Journals / Re: A Safe Place To Be Visible
« on: May 14, 2021, 01:18:28 PM »
Thank you for the hugs, notalone, Hope, Armadillo and woodsgnome  :hug: :grouphug: 

Many bad feelings running around in here.  I feel GUILTY because objectively, my life is really good right now.  It's certainly better than it could be, and better by far than it was when I was younger.  There are plenty of people functioning much better than I am in much worse conditions.  And yet all I do is whine and feel sorry for myself and wish that I was dead.

Also, I am FRUSTRATED, because I don't know what's holding me back and I don't understand why I can't get past it.  There's no reason why I should be so sick and depressed, inert and dysfunctional.  I believe there is something deep down in my psyche that simply will not let me feel good and be well.  I understand why it's there (because of my childhood, my mother didn't want me didn't feed me didn't cuddle me, my father gave up on me, nobody nurtured me they hated me resented me, blah blah, waah, waah, whine, whine whine whine whine whine whine), but not why I am so powerless against it.  I am so (*^&^%*^ sick of therapy, discussing ad nauseum all the old hurts and complaints, going over the same old ground again and again, understanding how and why I got like this but never able to figure out what to do about it!  And every day is a struggle, every single little thing I do whether chore, routine or recreation, whether it's an understandable drudgery or whether it's something that I theoretically like to do and should be able to enjoy doing, every single little thing is painful and difficult.  I fight through it as much as I can, falling well short all the way, and then when I have nothing left I lie on the couch watching TV, waiting for bedtime, half-wishing to not wake up in the morning, half-fearing that my life will be over before I know it without me being finished yet!!!, hoping for a good night's sleep, hoping to wake up feeling ready to face the day, never getting either one.  I have clay class today and I should be/want to be/wish I was excited about that and looking forward to it, but all I can manage is the very slightest and most obligation-bound feeling of "Yeah, I'll do that, and then I'll be glad it's done, and I'll go home and watch some stupid TV show again."  THIS IS NOT LIVING.

(But at least I wrote something!)

Recovery Journals / Re: A Safe Place To Be Visible
« on: May 11, 2021, 03:17:37 PM »
Hi everyone  :wave:  I just wanted to say Hi and say that I'm still here.  I've been having a very hard time both physically and mentally since I got the vaccine, but I'm still here.  I wish I could write but it's too hard.  The blank page makes me freeze.  Maybe soon?  I hope so.

Lots of love to my friends here  :hug: :grouphug:

Recovery Journals / Re: Snowdrop's journal
« on: April 03, 2021, 02:12:36 PM »

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