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Hey Arpy1 ,

For sure my self-conscious 12 yr old (soon to be 13!) is a constant companion. It's so bad I can't practice certain things with other people watching...e.g. once in a CPR life-saving class I couldn't handle doing the resuscitation demo with the mannequin everyone's required to demonstrate. I did all the correct steps, but it was excruciating to have others watch me. One lady even commented after, "I've never seen anyone so utterly self-conscious." Yep.

Yet I've also been a pretty successful actor--so I guess what that says is that I can deflect the CPTSD "you're no good as yourself" message by acting as someone else.

Even alone, it can happen--I can be so super-cautious/self-conscious it's insane; the self-torture I can put myself through...even when nobody else is present.

So it's bad, but there's another slightly humourous side that's helped me cope. As another person on this site once said--everyone frets about getting older and says they'd like a second childhood. But with CPTSD we come with this built-in arrested development, requiring no strain to feel childish.

So adapting that outlook, that's one way I've coped--just twist what can feel awful into another perspective (an actor probably would see it that way, no?). While it's no answer or cure, sometimes coping is all I've got, so I'll take it. And survive.   

Hi, Londiwe  , your story dovetails with some of mine, especially your comment that "I have long been told that I am too sensitive,etc etc yet I was suffering badly from childhood abuse at the hands of my mother. I guess I've been in shock all my life." Same here, it started with the m abuse and mushroomed into other people and circumstances to where I felt like I was trapped and doomed to a forlorn existence. It's been a long trek, and I'm still learning, but I've been able to find another side to all the pain; ain't easy, though .


You didn't mention if you've run across a book many here have found useful. It's by Pete Walker and titled "Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving" plus he has an informative website... http://pete-walker.com/.  If you check out the "freeze" sort as he describes it, you'll find a lot of ups/downs to that type. While it's easy to dwell on the cons, there's a good upside that we tend to overlook, mired as we are in "poor me" habits. So I'd encourage you to consider those positive traits—I've found the so-called negatives aren't so terrible in light of knowing the better stuff.


One example—I live the definition of hermit, but have been able to use it in a positive light, especially within certain employment roles (actor/teacher) which were actually aided by the mindfulness/awareness Walker credits the freeze types with being attuned to.


So I hope you keep up with what you said so well:  "the pain and shock are incredible but I'm gonna make it". All the best wishes for you as you continue to "thaw"  .

[IS]

Oh, yeah ; perfectionism has been a huge part of my life's puzzle. Or, I hope, was; as I'm trying to learn to accept that it's not only alright to be imperfect, but it's "perfect" to be so.  A perfect paradox (sorry, couldn't resist)!


It's natural to figure that by being perfect we'll be safe. Only problem with that was the results never quite arrived per the expectations. Then the failure to be perfect created even more anxiety. So maybe it's best (perfect) to always try for the best; while realizing that one can stumble, but still find a way?  A better way we have yet to discover. So perfectionism is more like a moving target, perhaps; not a sure destination. Yet still worth aiming for, based on what we've found out about life, about ourselves.

Or, as Alan Watts said once, "One is a great deal less anxious if one feels perfectly free to be anxious, and the same may be said of guilt." Probably that could be said about seeking perfectionism, as well. We're free to want it and it's okay. 

Boatsetsailrose said: "It seems the premise is if I get things perfect everything will be ok." But maybe it already IS perfect; it's good to anticipate a future, but now is as perfect as life will be until then. It takes a lot of self-trust to wander into this new way, though; we're so used to all in life that went awry. And we have to trust in maybes. But, as Watts said above, it also allows us to be "perfectly free." I like the sound of that. 

[play]

Sometimes just shucking the labels helps. What if we didn't have names for all of this? Especially good/bad/progress, etc.

My people conundrum is similar to yours. I want more connection, and I try, but as you said: "Being around anyone and bang there it is - the outer critic again." Likewise, it scares me off, I critique myself and vow to be better, only to have the inner critic pile on, and the cycle repeats yet again.

But I wouldn't for a moment suggest throwing out all the info that can help. Just today I had the Walker book in hand. Per usual, I couldn't read much of it without wanting to just give up at the sheer amount of pain it conjures up, and the enormous work to find a way out. It's all so old.

I was about to shut the book when my eyes hit this gem in his "Toolbox 2/Human Bill of Rights":

#14..."I have a right to play, waste time and not always be productive."

So I'll be back someday, working at playing or preferably, vice versa. Maybe I'll even forget the labels and just feel life again, whatever that is. Here's to the same for you...

Hey, Dutch

Reading this reminded me of a song, so I posted it over in the music thread.

I never felt love from my mother...something I probably share with many on this site. Never stopped me from dreaming, though, wondering what it might have been like. So that's what this song represents; just a part of that dream.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHGgWOSTyDs

Backward, turn backward, Time in your flight
Make me a child again, just for tonight
Mother, come back from the echoless shore
Take me again to your heart like before

Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair
Over my slumber your loving watch keep,
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep

Backward, flow backward, tide of the years
I am so weary of toil and of tears
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,
Take them and give me my childhood again;

For I have grown weary of dust and decay,
Weary of flinging my soul wealth away,
Weary of sowing for others to reap,
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep

Bridge:
Mother, oh mother, my heart calls for you
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue
Manys a summer the grass has grown green
Blossomed and faded, our faces between

Backward, oh backward, Time in your flight
Make me a child again, just for tonight.
Come from the silence so long and so deep,
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep
Rock me to sleep

From a poem by Elizabeth Akers Allen, ca. 1860
Music by Cathie Ryan, early 2000's

Nice to see you here .

One of the keys in my cptsd horror trip involved a mother situation similar to your story. I don't know if I'll ever achieve the "happy" part, but I'm doing better at reaching an acceptance level that's allowing me to gain a fresh perspective again.

I've actually, in one form or another, been working on recovery for over 40 years. Discovering this forum has been huge in helping me feel less alone and discovering more healing.

So that's my wish for you--settle in, look around, and create that "something better" you've dreamed about finding.

I've subscribed (free via email) to a weekly series of writing prompts called "The Writer's Journey Roadmap" put together by Laura Davis of Santa Cruz, California. Davis is an abuse survivor herself and has been offering writing programs for several years.

While somewhat oriented to those interested in the writing craft, Davis's material usually touches on topics highly relevant to those pursuing healing and recovery in their lives. She invites responses to the prompts, and some of the responses people send in reflect deeply on this journey we're sharing.

Her site is: http://lauradavis.net/

Thank you for posting about this, Multicolour. I relate well to your hurt at not finding empathetic people who don't put others down. I live in a very remote area--nice people around, but also a "macho-dacho" mentality that treats topics like cptsd/ptsd with scorn and ridicule. In fact, these people disguise a lot of their own pain that way, but I no longer care what the "understanding" part of me wants to say; it just hurts that I can't communicate something important to me. It's invalidating, as you point out.

So I look elsewhere for help; even live therapists are few and very far between in these parts. I did, however, find one website that's been helpful, both in the writing I like to do but especially for the insights I find there, so I'll discuss that a bit and hope you give it a look.

I've subscribed (free via email) to a weekly series of writing prompts called "The Writer's Journey Roadmap" put together by Laura Davis of Santa Cruz, California. Davis is an abuse survivor herself and has been running writing programs for several years.

I find her writing prompts extremely useful. She also offers writing retreats and trips designed for writers. My experience has been just the writing prompts, and they often reflect on issues that abuse victims can relate to. Besides the prompts themselves, she encourages people to respond with their own takes. There's some good, heartfelt reflections in there.

Her site is: http://lauradavis.net/

The details of her various programs are all described there.

Meanwhile, take good care; the journey's rough, but there are bright spots if we look. 

For me, this ride with cptsd is like a multi-headed monster, with endless surprises. Just when it seems that some of it's better, that you feel you've solved a piece of the puzzle or moved past it, another rushes in to fill the void. It's like a constant waiting for the next challenge.

Nasty, pervasive persistent. Those are words which come to mind in trying to explain what most surprises me about this. How it can hang on and take over everything I do or say or feel. Like a moving craggy iceberg with peaks and valleys rising and falling among the waves. And it won't melt.

There's also the feeling of being on top of things one day, and feeling swamped the next.

Another surprising element is the sheer exhaustion, even when physically I've done very little to be tired. But I have this constant urge to sleep  ; paradoxically I can't/don't sleep very well at all, even in the most peaceful environment one could ever want for it. Still I'm exhausted beyond tired.

Finally there's just the disappointment of it all. After all the grief, anger, rage, and resentment it's ongoing and never ceases. Then I imagine all the what ifs and...well, imagination is one thing, but when this desperate longing is  all that I can ever have, it's disappointing. Then the hope disappears too, and all I want to do is give up, cry, or just numb out.

Just a dreamer. Not a failure (although I used to think so) but thoroughly disheartened. Familiar. No surprises.

VeryFoggy, what resonates deeply is your pointing to an awareness/realization by saying: "...I decided to start treating CPTSD as a friend, my best friend, and as a warning system...instead of fighting it or running from it." A worthy, challenging friend, no less!

Bravely accepting this friendship of an injured self seems to be a key to developing the awareness that Walker describes as a positive trait inherent in the so-called "freeze" type. But it probably applies to all once the labels are set aside.

Your experience suggests how the tendency to be hyper-vigilant can transform into a more comfortable sort of awareness that, despite roadblocks, can actually be useful in finding a way through. No longer a person's dire enemy, the new and unlikely friend called cptsd becomes one's best ally.

It's tempting to want the quick fix, but as you point out: "...it took me two years of dedicated persistent dogged effort and lots and lots of time."

Thanks again for all your pointers in finding one's way through what often seems so hopeless. 

Hi Rehana,

You seem to have found a key to unlocking the door to recovery. I spent umpteen years on detours while searching for answers to my own youthful "nightmare" years. I tried tons of reading, workshops, groups, techniques, therapies, anti-therapies, personality studies, etc. I sought to magically transform the pain, anxiety, blame, and shame into an instant and total cure. But none of these grand strategies were grounded in the simple acceptance you've described so well.

There's a perception that acceptance equals surrender...as in "it wasn't really so bad" or "they had reasons for what they did", and all the other cliches absolving the abusers. Acceptance doesn't justify or forgive any of that; it only acknowledges that the "stuff" happened; it had cruel effects and serious wounds but acceptance turns the corner to dealing with that in the present.

Accepting the past we can also accept that healing is possible, though it might not happen the way one expects. Acceptance is an allowance, an invitation to consider that recovery and healing might even exceed expectations. And I'm speaking as someone known for pessimism.

This observation of yours is spot-on: "I was trying too hard to heal. I realize now that it is much easier to just be in the recovery, without trying to categorize or organize your healing."

A lot of recovery talk seems to get hung up on words...cure; illness; disorder; it's a long list. They're only a map of the territory, though; we find the way out on our own. As you pointed out: "This is where self-trust finally has room to grow."

Partly due to age and isolation, I don't logically sense where I can go anymore. But with acceptance of then, now, and down the road--hey, it's still a worthwhile trek here in the land of recovery.

Thanks--good to see you here.

Pay no attention to appearing;
Being is alone important.

...Andre Gide

Samantha19,

I too often feel like, nice as people are, the other shoe is bound to fall. Maybe they'll freak that I like green and they like red, it can be as simple and stupid as that. I never give myself the benefit of the doubt; they're right, I'm wrong, I run from fear that I'll hurt their feelings even more when they find out I don't always like yellow, either.


It's as you say, mostly a habit. But it's pernicious in its staying power. I have no sure-fire answers, per usual. But I have tried something that sometimes helps; and feel bad when I forget it—but I'm always looking for reasons to beat myself up (another habit...sigh).

I'm pretty much retired now, but I used to be an actor, amongst other jobs (all of them involving people-contact, surprisingly). One day, anxious as usual before a performance, I started just to silently say "peace" on the in-breath; and "love" on the exhale. Sometimes I'd reverse the order; what seemed to matter more wasn't any precise order, just that I put those two words in play. It seemed to diminish the fear somewhat, at least for that while, but it was what I needed when I needed it.


So maybe next time you can try that? As another saying I ran across once puts it, try "playing with options". Actually, I think the playing part serves us better than calling everything work or technique. Playing, even as just a word, has a better feel for me, anyway. Peace/love;love/peace. Play with options.

Telling others has been a mixed bag for me. I consider myself shy; although most others don't. I'm actually a good conversationalist, once I'm engaged, or have to be. I can be quite funny and extremely witty, which I also recognize as a deflection from the inner pain I carry everywhere. Cptsd is such a cruel mixture of pain, shame, mistrust, self-blame, and gloom; I choose to deflect it more often than not, I guess. The grief runs deep.

But sometimes it happens/slips out, at least in bits and pieces. The challenge is still my response. And I've found that scary mix of pity, wonder, and blame from those I've let into what I don't always hide too well. All they know is something's wrong, bothers me.

I want, desperately, to fully trust, but I've been shattered by a couple of people, too; then the fear resets and I shrink again. I've told myself over and over I really want to trust and it always seems to happen that I step back again.

I'm getting better, I think. Not caring so much what anyone will do with what I tell them. Trouble is, my last "trustworthy" person was anything but, and they literally spurned me as if I'm some alien for feeling hyper-sensitive.

I guess the onus comes back to me. I know I feel better if I can share, and it seems to filter in sometimes with the simplest comment (e.g. "something bothering you?"). Fact is, inwardly at least I'm close to tears sometimes...there's so much I find triggering; sometimes the most mundane things can get me there.

It's a conundrum, but like other parts of recovery, I hope to find at least a balance, if not full peace, with what seems like someting I need to find a modicum of safety about.