A Safe Place To Be Visible

Started by Bach, June 24, 2019, 05:31:01 PM

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Bach

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.

Armadillo

I can't imagine what a strange and confusing and difficult and painful week this might be for you. I just want to say it would make sense to feel a lot of mixed up emotions, to have memories stirred up that are challenging to deal with, no warning, and that I am really proud of you for not hurting yourself as you deal with this all. Keep it up,  keep being kind to yourself. Do things you need to feel nurtured.  :hug:

Bach

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.

Armadillo

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:

Bach

Quote from: Armadillo on May 31, 2021, 04:56:42 AM
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. 

Alter-eg0

That's hard, Back. But I understand your motive.

On another note, it reminds me of the time my best friend told me that he went and spoke to his mother after hears of not seeing her. He said that she looked smaller than he remembered, and he wondered if it wat because he wasn't so scared of her anymore.

Not Alone

Bach, I haven't been on OOTS for a few weeks. Today I was able to catch up on your journal. It makes sense that your stepfather's death is bringing up a lot for you including the lack of love. Sending you lots of care, dear Bach.  :grouphug:    :bighug:

Armadillo

I love what you said Bach. You are going for the "right" reasons. That shows how very strong you have gotten during this time and it brings me a lot of hope for myself too. I'll be sending you lots of strength and kind thoughts as you face this fear.

Hope67

Dear Bach,
I am sending you a supportive hug  :hug: if that's ok.
Hope  :)

Bach

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. 

Hope67

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  :)

Bach

Quote from: Hope67 on June 10, 2021, 03:47:00 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:

BeeKeeper

Hello Bach,

I'm here to encourage you and say how great it is to recognize that the person who you permitted to "do" your hair felt respectful and caring towards you. It's always hard to find a way to deal with multiple soul wrenching experiences simultaneously. Your choice to go to a safe person who treats you well is the best!  :yes:

rainydiary

Bach, I would have a tough time with someone so close to me moving away too.  I also can relate to not being ready to face reflecting on an event.  We will be here when and if you feel ready to share.

I appreciated the descriptiveness of the memories you shared, especially about the compost heap.  I am currently trying to learn to compost and it wakes up some deep "yuck" in me.  Your story of your hairdresser also resonated with me.  My current hairdresser has been so helpful in my healing journey and I appreciate how she is helping me navigate sharing what I want my hair to look like. 

Armadillo

We'll be here when you are ready and able to finish. I'm so happy you treated yourself well.  :hug: