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[all]

The honest approach turns out to be the safest, I've found. I was badly used by the m, for instance; whenever someone would ask about her, I deflected it, sometimes told people she died early (emotionally she did, but it's still a half-truth). That answer could end up being a double whammy, though; as it could prompt further questions leading to even more evasive answers beyond the little white lie behind which I sought to divert it in the first place. Or it produced a faux sympathy from whoever I told, even more awkward to deal with.

I still avoid the topic, if I can, as it's of course just as painful as it's ever been to go there. But if I have to, I also have concluded, as you have, that cptsd isn't something to be ashamed of. It affected me deeply, it explains some of my behaviours, but the minor discomfort of revelation outweighs full denial.

As you say, the reactions can backfire, but that's not about you, it concerns the "friend" or whoever responds negatively. It too stems from fear, only this time it's their fear and has nothing to do with you. It's still uncomfortable, as we fear their rejection in like measure, but I've still found the only option to be the honesty course.

It's not like I wear a sign saying "I have cptsd" but if it comes up, I've felt better since I haven't tried so hard to hide (although I still fervently hope it doesn't come up). Sometimes "a rough childhood" is enough of an answer, and if it gets further, I know what went on, they don't; I'm trying to deal with it, they should be able to respect that. If not, I don't need further dealings with them in that regard. It hurts, as I have chosen a very lonely way of life, but true friends should commit to accepting all of you.

Surprisingly, a couple seemed to regard me better having heard how I've learned to be stronger with it, especially having taken steps to learn more about it, to understand myself and what I can/can't do about it.

This is such a weird culture where it's not understood that life isn't a sport with winners and losers. The implied message is that wounded people are losers, and cast in a negative light. Seems pretty positive, though, to have tried to pick up the pieces of a damaged soul and walk with it, accepting it even, in hope rather than defeat.

Thanks, friends. I'm guessing what I posted wasn't that strange for many. That's perhaps the shock, for me—that this flashback/trigger sort of thing defines our ordinary way of life. Occasional flashbacks of 50-year old events still enmesh us in mental prisons we've worked so hard to free ourselves from. That's the shocker.

I've yammered in these pages a tad about my efforts to accept. Yeah, right, and then the act of sitting in a chair on a particular day in a particular circumstance can touch every firework of emotion off 'til I want to scream (after hiding from further hurt). That's the difficulty.

I want to turn the corner, be a big boy, and just forget (although I've accepted I'll also never forgive, in the ordinary sense anyway). Too much doing, not enough being, maybe.

Perhaps the best approach involves giving up the analytical mind games altogether, accept the feelings (bad, good, indifferent), and still travel in search of the beauty all around. And eventually, accept that I'm meant to be a part of the beauty I see; that I won't be a used-up, numbed-out freak weighed down by old emotional nightmares. Wouldn't that be cool?

Sometimes it's so innocuous, these ef/trigger situations; they come so easy. I needed to get some long-delayed car repairs made, set up an appointment, and arranged for an acquaintance with some free time to pick me up while the work was progressing.

Alright, well and good. Despite my usual social anxiety, my acquaintance shared endless good vibes about an upcoming time she's keenly anticipating with her family. That's great; while it's hard for me to relate to the notion of a loving family, I also appreciate knowing the good that some folks derive from it. Good for her.

***TRIGGER alert***end of following paragraph***

Unfortunately, though, the garage people hadn't finished the car by the time we returned, and she had to leave. So okay, they led me to a chair where I could wait. Fine, but it was in a dark, dank, uninviting corner, somewhat removed from everything and everyone, and the memories rushed in of especially one day when, after I'd been cruelly abused by a school teacher, I was later slammed into a chair as well, albeit that time it was in front of a roomful of gloating kids roaring at my disgrace. ***end of TRIGGER***

Well, the car work seemed delayed, so more sitting ensued, and growing unease, just an awful vibe. I'm actually feeling like I'm doing okay these days with much of my recovery, but there's times when this sort of thing easily seeks to overwhelm my best efforts; it's like an invisible monster following,  ready to swoop in any time it can. Sure there's techniques one can try to stem them with, but sometimes they overpower regardless of how well or how much "progress" one thinks they've made.

Eventually I somehow made it out of there; but the flashback symptoms lingered all day and from that chair-time my emotions stayed in panic mode; my freeze traits take over and I have this urge to sleep. Yet another childhood friend makes a return visit, though--asthma sets in and sleep is impossible. I never ever get asthma attacks anymore, but today it was there with a vengeance, just like those times when my child self reacted likewise.

A nice day, starting with a visit with a warm person...vibes  which all too soon are easily overtaken in an emotional flashback, asthma episode, and overwhelming distressful feelings. Finally I numb to chill out the feelings, and then...just a horrid reminder of how this cptsd cycle repeats. Disheartening.

Arpy1--yes, that shock factor seems to go with the territory; but maybe we can at least lessen its impact over time. At least that's been my experience. Often when one rock is overturned, put aside, and the road seems clear, more obstacles (memories, false turns, etc) seem to take their place.

It is a brutal shock to the system. Does it ever disappear? Well, it's just a part of the story so far; or "how bad it was", as you have aptly observed. The realization, and the work, seems to involve accepting the "was" factor. It's unpleasant, and we can move beyond, change even, but "was" is not who we are "now", either. It seems to pull us on, even when hope seems so forlorn, so distant.

The "was" is still there, but packed in the baggage, so to speak. We know it's there, we were shocked it survived, hurt knowing about it, but as VeryFoggy showed, we get the last crack at whether we ever see it again. Maybe even the last laugh.

[learning]

Thank you so much for posting this, VeryFoggy. This is one of the best summaries I've ever read of the steps that are needed to truly recover one's full humanness, and to thrive, not just survive. While I've read a lot of this sort of material, yours carries more weight as it's from someone who's really had to "walk the talk".

What you speak to so well hits on what I tend to think of as the two keys to the journey with CPTSD--there's lots of learning, but as much if not more un-learning that must happen. While neither step is easy, persevering in our "self-university" process enables the fog to lift from what once seemed so hopeless.

Thanks again. 

Madison2021,

Your story touched me, as it resembles mine in having had abusers who did their deeds under the guise of religion. Mine were crafty, too, in that they were not what would be called a 'cult' per se, but a branch of an established and well-thought-of 'mainstream' denomination. But they're all cults, in my opinion, all about mind control and worse, personal abuse of those at their disposal.

But I'm here, a survivor like you. In my eagerness to unlearn, I've discovered few approaches that ever fully salve my wounded kid part, but the freedom now frames my recovery.

Like you, I've no counselor/therapist at the moment--I live too far away and can't afford 'em anymore. Some were okay, but I only found one I can fully trust--the inner me. It was sometimes helpful to have an 'other' in the form of a therapist to bounce things off, but in the end I realized they were like going to school; there's no education there, just schooling. The education is what you do on your own, based on your heart's curriculum.

I hope you find some peace. It's so worth it.

[have someone]

Jmena wrote:

"I don't have passion for anything anymore & no longer really care about anything. I try to find something anything to try and remember but I can't. I'm kinda like a sailboat in the ocean with no wind I'm just drifting with no direction or hope right now".

I've been in that boat, Jmena, too many times to want to recount. But I'll use the sailboat metaphor and hope you can feel it, too; beyond the awful numb giving up feeling I sense. So here's the deal--your sailboat is bobbing about, but it's still in the water. That water, be it sea or lake or river, contains lots of waves. You're on a wave that will, by its nature, change. Why? It's in the ocean, made up of all those other good, bad, indifferent and indiscernible waves bobbing your boat about on the sea. As your boat keeps bobbing, it will touch all those waves, and it's a law of nature that you will touch a useful wave. May you recognize it when it happens.

You also said: "It's very difficult not to have anyone." That one, too, is very familiar to me. Partly my isolation was my own doing, but I also realize it's time I stop the guilt/blame sequence, as like in the water metaphor, I'm downstream now, and what I left upstream has no more direct bearing on where I'm headed. I dip my canoe paddle in the trough of each wave, and make my way through...slowly, deliberately, but determined that I'll find the shore, even in this overwhelming gale.

"...not to have anyone," you wrote. Remember, you now have someone --those on this forum. We're pulling for you with a distinct difference; we've all been through that rough ride, too. And known the driftlessness of bobbing about, adrift and not knowing where to turn next.

May you find a course through these rapids, one that steadies the waters.  Once the waters settle a bit, you'll be able to move on with the healing you will find is closer than you think. 

[missed]

Arpy1, Thanks for responding to my brittleness...part of my "bubble" feeling is that I can never connect, no one understands anyway ('they' never did; result: CPTSD). So when I emerge from the bubble, it feels like walking on glass fragments and, careful as I am, they always cut. I feel misunderstood, and I hide, behind humour if I have to.

Humour is thus one of my touchstones, and insecurities. The touchstone is that it really got me through some rough spots. But the insecurity is that I know I hide behind it, too. As I touched on here and elsewhere, what the heck is 'self' anyway? And why do I worry about it so much?. But I do.

If you recall the old Joni Mitchell song 'Circles', she sings "we're captured on a carousel of time"...which leads back to those earlier years...but who am I to say--I, like you, missed those youthful years the first time, so perhaps the truth is more about making new, better ones up as we go along. As in beggars can't be choosers. First stop--dumping the old hurt child in the trash. Hurts, but the stench is destroying me. But no, he needs rescue, not dumping.   

My inner child desperately needs that rescue; no one else will be there, so here I am, taking an adult responsibility to rescue my 'self'...again; the only 'self' I have left.

In one sense or another, everyone is always playing a role of sorts. A lot of time it's those harsh critics and snobs who think they "know" you that are more out of touch. They're fine, they think; in fact, they're often just full of thinly disguised pomp and bluster.

Once in a while, I'd run into someone who, when finding out I've changed my name, raised their eyebrows a bit, and lectured me on how I should be the "real me" (as if a human-imposed name has anything to do with a "real me"). Oh, okay. So I'm schizophrenic, seemed to be the suggestion.

Once I told that tale to a therapist, and she burst out laughing, saying "I've been around quite a few schizophrenics in this practice; and you ain't one of 'em. You're just yourself, no matter what others have suggested." Reminds me of a book by mindfulness teacher Jon Kabat-Zinn: Wherever You Go, There You Are. Sometimes the self is just in the way, just another concept we think we need to have.

It doesn't stop feeling like  sometimes. Other times it feels too much like I'm just a fadeout  in someone else's play...or that I'm living in a bubble, looking out at all the 'real selves'.

I'm sorry if trying to interject humour seemed trivial. My only point was to relate what helps me cope better. It's not to suggest it would be the same for anyone else.   

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