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Hearty congrats    and may you continue to a strong recovery.   

May you continue the pace, safely; towards home and full relief. 

Not feeling connected -- alien -- started early with me. Undoubtedly this was in reaction to abuses from immediate family and awful 'teachhers' and pompous clergy sorts in religious schools.

That's the obvious downside, from my alien-like perspective. Yet it was in actuality a plus, allowin me to see through the layers of hypocritical, obscene torments of that whole experience. Although envious of those who were loved from the start, I've grown to appreciate my front-row seat in the den on iniquity, so to speak. How or why I found my inner heart was not comfortable with this, to say the least, there''s also an extreme part consisting of shame, anger, and grief that it had to be that way. But, to use an old cliche, I survived. Maybe feeling alien helped?

Then, as pointed out by Chart, there came the point of turning away from the old story. Or, the old life's movie, as some have referenced it. Now I have a mutiplex cinema -- the decrepit one shows the old horrows, but mostly I've learned to avoid that one. Instead, there's the new one, with the ongoing, 'now' films, with new scripts under revision as I write.

I know that can seem unrealistic, but as Chart also hinted, it speaks of the need -- somehow -- to break with the old perpetrators, in mind if not in actuality (though I happily did the latter).

  I could go on, but this story we're talking of is yours, and you ARE in the lobby of your new theatre. May you begin to enjoy the new story more and more each day. We'll be applauding your new being 
    

Just a personal opinion, but it seems as though dissociation is often considered a problem, when as Armee points out, it's a normal, natural alright part of Cptsd's aftereffects.

I also had an experience with my T a bit like that, and I started to apologize to her when she calmly, almost nonchalantly, said it wasn't so much a problem as an opportunity to note. In my case, she went on to congratulate me for at least recoggnizing what had happened. I felt relief -- I wasn't 'bad' for experiencing a natural process, and I could go from there, adding that knowledge to my discovery toolkit.

Dissociation still happens in my life, but I tend to catch it better when it happens, and not blame myself for it; just digest it, if necessary, and move on to a new blameless frame of mind about it.

Maybe it seems far-fetched that there's any place, on-line or down the street, that can make up for what happened. My faint hopes upon joining OOTS was precisely like that -- I had no hope, period.

Gradually it dawned on me  this place is different, despite my ongoing skeptic's doubts. How could anybody, anywhere, ever accept any notion that I was really okay, mattered, and had anything worth while to share. I still have difficulty with the idea I could possibly overcome what came before, but I've seen enough to feel  that yes, this is something different, and so am I. The hurt still resurfaces with harmful effects, but all that matters here is so much better than that old story.

May you find the same peace and understanding. As has been pointed out, you are welcome here.

    

I can closely relate to how you've reacted to what was totally senseless. I can save over my feelings a tad with the reminder I'm not there now, but I don't always feel relief from the wounds which hhave stayed ever-present, and can only bring me feel insecure, even where I live -- miles away from people (but still my preferred choice).

I wish I could share some magic vision or potion or hobby or something that might be nice, but far from providing the healing you need.

Maybe, though, you have turned in the other direction? I mean, you did venture to join with people here -- perhaps, as it was with me, only after wondering if there was anyone with whom it felt safe to admit to 1) what happened and 2) how you're still not well with the memories, yet alone the recurring aftershocks you're still enduring.

So that's a start. I didn't think there was anyone here I could fully trust. I didn't -- which is at least one 'was' I've managed to lessen.

Let's just consider this your new journey into finding the life you deserve, the friend(s) you''ve been waiting for so long to find.

                 

May you get the help you need, and feel the vibes emanating from all of us.   

It''s been a while -- too long, really; since I've set out to spend some time here.

First stop -- get the supplies readied for my visit. I love to split wood a for campfire in case others want to share its warmth as the evening cools.

And for sure today I've brought the bag of compost for the garden. Compost, the waste material whose decaying nutrients will mix into this year's blend of seeds and other plantings for the season's growth.

Soon the transformation will start as new growth, sprouting forth beautiful new plants while anticipaing the transformation of the soil yet again.

I can't help but think of how this process, including the rotting compost, resembles my own efforts to discard my old story. Reminds me, too, of Mary Lennox and the excitement she found planting her own secret garden.

May this one follow her example of pluck and determination to find new meaning for life's new growth cycle. 

The best is yet to come -- is that Robin's song I'm hearing? Familiar -- yet new, singing a welcome to new life. And I'm included.

Thanks, Kizzie.

So yes, I always have the option of stepping outside the habit of 'sad, sad, sad' , usually only a thought away and so fortunate to have.

My option? An enormous, creative way of entwining the sadness with the flip side -- humour. Not a 'sense' of humour, but a full-blown access to an inner humour vault, as it were.

It came to me while young, even or because I was buffeted in so much abuse from the people around me -- FOO, teachers, clergy ... so many serious sorts that they actually triggered a funny side, and I inwardly was able to draw on that total opposite notion until it too became a habit. To do this outwardly was dangerous, but I developed a great deadpan to hide behind, while secretly I was somehow snuggled in a lighter vein even while enduring sad/sad/sad moments. I was able to draw on this for several years as a well-liked improv actor, and in other roles (e.g. hospice and pre-school experiences).

The catch is, like so much that comes about in Cptsd-land, is that sad/sad/sad can easily and surprisingly overwhelm the better stuff. And when I forget that I carry that reservoir of mirth inside, the chutes open and if I don't catch it, can find myself trapped in feelings that seem to have locked doors  . Or something. Whatever it is, it feels rather unique and I'm so grateful the locks can be broken.

Thanks again, for helping an important facet of my self-healing to rise to the surface of my self-realization.

 

Thanks to all who've added support that I've desperately needed. I can't truly find the words, but the feeling that anyone cares is such a boost.

Alas, I've attempted several replies already, and they're proving elusive. Let's just say I'm still, well, kinda void of  personal vibes as to my current state of being. But perhaps it's like that when from life''s start I've felt unwanted, unloved, gaslighted, told I wasn't a good person -- sadly, we all seem to know that one.

Maybe I've just fallen into, and inclined to stay, in what''s known as the freeze response to the life movie called 'me'. I thought I put in the discard bin, but the faithful inner critic may have fetched it out of its proper place. And I've lost the script to my new movie, or maybe it never existed.

So in summation, I feel lost, disgruntled, sad/sad/sad, i.e. 'normal.' I suppose I was just trying to get out of the disappointment of a life feeling quite out of sorts at the moment.

Thanks again, and my only option is to watch for a clearing sky. And the best indicator of a fresh breeze to blow this mood away has been your loving comments. They were so needed, to even get me this far.

For a while, I've had experiences which are dredging up all of the worst sorts of the worst sort of negative memories. They've been draining me. I feel like a failure; keep hearing all the old taunts from abusers: ''see, you can't do this; you're no good, never were, can't even help yourself.''

The worst is I've felt pretty okay for, well, a few years but when things slip like this they seem to hit me worse than it seems that it should. I only thought I had lots of coping skills with which to build ack, but I'm feeling very faint and hopeless right now. I have no support network to speak of, except here where I know there's probably someone who can relate. This is so scary -- I take care of my needs as best I can and just like those old taunts would remind me, ''see -- you really are no good.''

I better drag myself back to view the sun's continued sharing of the light -- may it be able to soothe this aching heart.

And if you've been here reading, thank you for having stopped by, and may you fare well. 


There was a beautiful sunrise today -- I know as I couldn't have gotten more than a few winks of fretful sleep.

Hope wrote: ''I feel like it''s an oasis of peace here'' 

     

       

I was in the same quandary. For years, I read and heard umpteen self-help lectures about the so-called dire need for the grand glorified act called forgiveness.

I finally found lots of useful counter views (including from my current T) and knew my heart's rawness was drawn to something else -- forgiveness for myself seemed more useful for my healing journey! For all the years I absorbed so much guilt thinking I must somehow have been at fault.

I guess it 'sounds' great to always forgive others, but as Kizzie mentioned, even if there's some precedent for the abysmal behaviour of others, passing it on kind of defeats the whole notion of living humanely. That some still choose to live dishonourably doesn't seem fitting to lead to forgiveness by the victims. And no, that's not 'woundology' as one noted self-help author has called it (makes for a great blame-the-victim sermon on her part).

I've found ways to accept (it's called history) but never condone what happened. This doesn't require any grand action to forget or tolerate any of it. Un-burdening myself of the whole guilt business is actually harder than falling in line at the you-must-forgive booth.

Better stop before I get carried away -- I'm just grateful I've landed -- safely -- with others here who dare to question the cultural norm proclaimin 'you must forgive'. Huh? 

Any thread that elicits a smile or two or more is worth revisiting, so glad to see this one rebound and speak its magic. Humour, even when it's kept hidden, is not just in one's coping toolkit, but its function in everyday life helps soothe the absurdity of much of it.

Of course it can be misused. My antidote for veering off of that cliff is to steer clear of 'put-down' sorts of 'false' humour that feeds one's worst instincts. Same for sexual innuendo and the like.

I noticed this trait early, and was even lucky enough to have woven humour into my vocational life for a while; 'til the somber always serious sorts choked it off. Yet even then I was fortunate to just be content with putting the humour back into hiding its public side for a time.

Humour never fully undid the hurt and horror of lots of the pain, but having had it -- I have to say it was/is the saving grace of my life.   

Blueberry ... whatever you choose to call the action, the outcome stems from your self-initiative and realization that being 'on the edge' no longer must result wit a dangerous plunge into self-loating.

May you enjoy the view -- from on top of the edge, and not bruised and disappointed yet again. You're in new territory, and you got here yourself! Congratulations