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Coping.

No motorcycle, but I walked, literally, all over the metro area I grew up in. All that hiking, despite asthma—which interestingly was usually only a problem around home or school. I live deep in the woods now; part of my total—and fortunate--escape when I fell into an acting gig after university, left town and never returned.

On one childhood walk, I met a gentleman who suggested I learn what was behind the religion I was being taught. He was my "alley angel" in pointing me in a new direction--a stranger that I'm forever indebted to. Then I discovered the library--it became my cathedral--on Saturdays I'd go and stay 'til dusk. My real education took place there. I found ways to laugh via old Laurel and Hardy films—in my mind I became Stan Laurel, who always trumped up the rotund Oliver...I began to consider the school bully monsters as pushover Oliver Hardy's who I, as Stan Laurel, would foil, at least internally. So reading, Stan Laurel, and an "angel alley" helped me cope. I also found music, picked up and learned accordion, especially Celtic stuff, still a huge love of mine. I also found an old unused attic room for peaceful reverie at home, away from the mad people downstairs.

One day, age 15, I just ran away from the school. It's an awful story, but it was how I discover my own strength which I wrote about before (warning--it's a long vent): 
http://outofthefog.net/C-PTSD/forum/index.php?topic=2189.msg13525#msg13525

Sorry if I wandered a bit out of the men/women in therapy theme this thread started from. Kind of like life in that regard—twists and turns; yet here we are, still healing, still learning, somehow still coping. Who'd a thunk it?

Trace wrote:

"Were you able to get help or get out of the house?"...there were regular incidents 'til age 9; then the f (at work when most of the bad stuff occurred) found out, and I think stopped her somehow...prob threatened to leave...there was a time when she set up a confrontation where she prodded me to say something to the f, and I think it led to his figuring out the rest...but he turned it back on me--my first experience of blaming the victim mentality...from that time on, I was virtually an orphan as they abandoned me to the other set of monsters... .

...The religious school was where the other monsters operated. The principal was conveniently a cousin to my m but was only one of my probs--I was molested in gr K, 3, 4, up to 8, the grade he taught.

The emotional abuse got worse at the religious h.s. that followed; by age 15 I was nearly wasted. No help, no counselors, no nothing. Suffice to say I almost gag recalling it now, so have to stop; just wanted to answer your question.   

When it comes to trauma/gender, I'm right in the middle and so maybe don't even take into consideration the counselor/therapist's gender; take what I can get (none since Dec of last year).

I mean, I was abused sexually, emotionally, and physically by several men and women, one of the latter being my m. They've all blended into collective monsters to me. I've no idea how this fits into any grand theories vis-a-vis cptsd. I don't recall Walker touching on this aspect. In a way, I don't want to know, if you get my drift.

Trace wrote: "...is recovery harder for men? Is it harder for them to talk out the issues involved..."

Good question, but no ready answer. I'm sure the stereotype may be that men find it harder to communicate, they brood, etc. But I'm not at all stereotypical in most areas anyway, so I've no idea of whether I'm typical. I suspect not. 

I did experience a couple of gender-mixed "attitudinal healing" groups and noticed I was the only male to speak up much. Don't know for sure, but I suspect I may have been the only one in those groups (ratio about 3 m to 9 f) with what could be called a cptsd history. Perhaps that made me more sensitive to topics that verged in that direction.

I'm shy in groups per se (unless it's an acting/speaking gig lol), but in that setting I was definitely not afraid to show and share my feelings about the emotional scars from my youthful years, and how it affects me now. Male, female, or human, I wanted help; desperately.

With regard to T's, I've had a bunch, but they were pretty similar. Perhaps it's my strong outer critic tendency, but I wasn't terribly impressed with any except one female T nearly 20 years ago. Otherwise, I had no problem dealing with the issues as they came up. Unfortunately, a lot of the T's, male or female, just didn't seem with it. I felt more in tune with the issues than they were, it often seemed. Weird. Or maybe not.

So I hesitate to say my experience sheds much light on the question of gender-related takes on cptsd. Actually, in most areas I can think of, I'm well shy of stereotypes in lots of matters. But I thought I'd put a couple thoughts in the hopper. Like the other thread you posted, I feel like I'm in a "bubble" most of the time as is.   

 

I feel that way most of the time. As to being invisible, I like that, but choose when to pop in view--sometimes by choice, usually by circumstance.

The key to deciding the with/without question re TV and other habits might be...how do they feel in relation to one's progress or lack of same regarding their cptsd symptoms? What  level feels comfortable? I have a huge outer critic radar and even voices on a TV/radio device, let alone with pictures, can trigger me. I didn't consciously decide to ditch TV because of that, but noticed I felt better without it.

But for some that may not matter so much, which is great. This isn't limited to cptsd, anyway--it's often just one of those everybody-does-it-this-way/want-to-be-normal lifestyle choices. It's funny, though; I've felt stigmatized by some for not having a set--some even think I'm kidding. Like, uh-oh, strange bird, wonder where he went off the rails. It's crap to have to feel defensive about a simple preference. Weird, eh?

Even without the cptsd/symptom avoidance issue, though, I think I'd probably choose not to have one even if I was "normal" . For me, it's just an appliance that doesn't fit how I live. I don't have a toaster, either. 

Just me. But in 1987 I realized that I'd watched loads of TV, and did I want to spend the rest of my life using it like a flickering altar sending me all sorts of unidentified flying propaganda?. The rapid-screen flits drove me nuts, and for that and lots of other reasons I threw it out; never got another.

As a classic cptsd Freeze type, per Walker's description, I have a huge tendency to zone out; I just don't do it with a TV ("Tell-a-Vision") around--I'll use reading, music, etc., for instance. Unlike many, I crave silence, and have a nice CD/tape player and musical instruments for sound ambiance. 

I'm alright with TV, just never been tempted to have one again;  accept it as part of whatever "me" is about. Which just doesn't include TV, which shocks people (poor them); they can't figure out how I survive .

TV's around, as is this device I'm typing a message onto. They have their uses. The big danger with any electronic medium is the amount of unsolicited info that floats into the mind's cobwebs. I mean, even if you're not paying attention to ads, the messages are omnipresent--you need this, have to have that, will never be a good person without it. Perhaps it's obvious, but with cptsd already in place, that puts a double whammy on the mind's filters.

I do use radio, but when the commercial stuff hits, instead of zoning out, I tend to listen and think, "what if that speaker were ranting or singing that stupid jingle at my kitchen table?". Talk about "normal"! They are good for laughs, I have to admit; but how can anyone just sit there and let them go by? That's one instance where I'm thankful for my cptsd-induced hypervigilance.

That said, TV did help me survive the abusers of my foo and school. How so? I loved Laurel and Hardy films, only available then via TV. I loved how the poker-faced, supposedly dimwitted but subtly smart Laurel outwitted the huffy-puffy loudmouthed Hardy every time...I just made myself into Stan Laurel and it made life easier to discover I had a funny route past at least a little of the pain. I probably would never experienced that without a TV--but that was then, this is now, you know the rest.

Arpy1 wrote:

"...at the risk of sounding totally neurotic,  i just wondered if this is 'normal' or what. i don't like feeling this way, but then i don't like feeling all traumatised either. i feel a bit insecure..."

Even "normal" people (non-cptsd sorts) can be totally neurotic, they just are better at covering it over, not aware--they'd never call it numbing, but it's exactly what it is. We have their missing awareness, though, and it's good to know, but scary to realize the "why". Meanwhile, the pain spins round and round .

Good to be aware, not so great to know something others are successful at just ignoring within their "normal" mask. And it's very INSECURE. But that's true no matter what state we're in. Being incredibly wealthy is considered a security goal. Those who've been there can be neurotic beyond reason. Yet they're considered secure, and normal? 

There's this rush to perfection, once we see the new, freer vista. And it's cool that we are learning to see the clouds scatter and reveal the bright sky. But as we look up, we realize it's a mountain looming before us, and we've already been climbing so hard.

I've been on that mountainside and have frequently despaired; and often "numbed out" but have seen the other side, too. It's a huge step in our un-learning process, when we shed the burdens placed on us from other people. There's time for numbness, and there'll be time for reawakening. Patience seems insecure, but it's a core part of the process.

As Oakridge pointed out, it's natural (I like "natural" better than "normal") to become fatigued, overwhelmed, confused, and incredibly numb. Patience, though. You lose sight of your strength to absorb all of this--but we see it in your willingness to stop and reassess. That takes more oomph than lots of "normal" sorts could muster.

It's a lot to figure and you've already un-learned so much. Some of it is very distressing, but you're still at it. That probably sounds cliche, but it's anything but. As you may recall, I too had this holy stuff drilled into me. But I remember one phrase from that den of horrors I actually ended up liking--"there is a time to every season..."        

Our lived lives might become a protracted mourning for, or an endless tantrum about, the lives we were unable to live. But the exemptions we suffer, whether forced or chosen, make us who we are.     
                   ---Adam Phillips

Live as if you were living already for the second time

                                  --Viktor Frankl

Tired said:

"...make sure to remember that your life doesn't begin when all the therapy ends. Your life is now. All the fun you're going to have also has to happen now."

Yep. Ain't easy, seems totally elusive, if not hopeless, and will it ever reach what's called recovery? That's a biggie--this waiting for the green light to proceed with this life. Well, that life isn't going to wait, it wants us to know that.

"Fun" may seem odd to include in this discussion. This cptsd stuff hurts, I hate it. True enough, but there's still lots of fun to be had; it's allowed. Why miss it just 'cause one isn't "there" yet?

For me there's music, books, nature, the cat--they're not just for coping, they're for living. Now. Someday will still be there, but missing now will likely mean regret then.

I've often been hung up on the someday project...the "over the rainbow" syndrome when all would be well again. Maybe it will, but right now should count for something too.

Thanks for the reminder, Tired.

Anger's great, sadness is fine, contradiction happens, bad dreams too. It may appear only as an image on a screen, but my heart sends you this: 

There's one theory of dreams (granted there are zillions) that posits that some of them can be acting as a release valve. Almost medical, in the sense of they don't feel good but might be part of a larger process. So even "weird dreams" as you call them can be a functional part of recovery.

If they bring anger, that's wanting to be there, not as a mask but a mirror reflecting a genuine need. It only sounds contradictory; it seems unpleasant, almost insane, to think this can be good.

When one gets their eyes examined, the optometrist tries several lenses 'til there's a match. That's what this dream business can seem like; taking off the judgement lens allows the other view to come into focus. Some straining might occur, but when you relax the view is clearer, WHEN it makes it into what is seen. You might need several takes before that clear one appears.

I had some pretty bad dreams once, then one night a counter one snuck in, involving my own cult-like demons. They were madly pursuing me down a river, when I ran a rapids, as I had vast skill at canoeing they couldn't match. They ended up smashed, and I found a friend (another version of myself) waiting by a campfire.

Silly dream or did it say something? Dunno; only grateful that it popped in there. My only point in all of this ramble is to remind you it's okay, sure; but most important, you're more than okay, like ten times over okay. In my math, that equals courage and perseverance. So take 'em, they're yours, you know. 

Same old—when it feels good enough to feel bad.

Interesting how close the reachout can seem, but how distant too. I'm speaking of an old trait of mine which was in full force recently.

It was my big annual "social" occasion—a dinner-theatre I started managing several years back. It's a one-night stand and involves dozens of people ranging from actors to wait people to chefs to you name it. My expertise lies in the acting side but touches all bases.

I love it—and hate it. The love is reacquainting myself with my artistic/creative side via the actors/musicians I recruit (all from afar, alas—the local area is pretty scant talent-wise). The hate is based in the fear of people; the judgements, critiques, all those familiar cptsd traits.

People loved the evening, as usual. But as everyone departed, it was same old too. Lots of surface friends, some old/some prospective, but I know it'll be too much for me to expect anything more. As in a friendship that goes beyond those "hi, great time" surfaces. So after a lovely morning-after breakfast with the performers, I wearily packed up and headed back to lonely.

Why don't I follow up? Distance is a factor, for sure. But the backoff seems more related to my same/old feelings of unworthiness. I'm good at drawing them, but fail to leap past the required niceties of the short term. I sabotage myself with a rigourous inner critic that devalues the esteem others say they have for me. I leave it at that and have 1,001 reasons to not consider reaching out. Want to/don't.

Same old. 'Spose it's like returning to prison after work-release.

Hey, AnnBelievesInWhales,

I was feeling the same moodiness today, melancholy is one apt description. I'm coming down from a treadmill of positive/negative, hopeful/hopeless, feelings following a whirlwind of creative energy. It involves my usual achilles heel--people. And there again, the whirlwind circles back to where I was--want closeness, back off; feel like I can, give up in the end. It's such a grind, and it's so constant, so predictable.

So I wandered a bit aimlessly, looked at some stuff I stored on youtube, and found a fellow I highly regard for his fresh out of the mainstream views. I know I've posted some of his material here elsewhere, but for me at least he resonates, gets me past lots of self-imposed blockages. No answers, just some other way to process the feelings. Here's the link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byRYKW0pDuc&feature=em-subs_digest 

One final thought (really?) 

Using the Self/self model referred to, I see the Self as healed--always was, is perfectly at peace with life. The self/selves, on the other hand, is what needs healing and is largely what the journey with cptsd involves.

Thanks. Do I like philosophy?