The Life and Times of Tess -- beware ye who enter here, triggers await you

[tesscaline]

This may be disjointed, and bounce around a lot -- my brain makes connections in odd ways sometimes, and they don't always translate to neurotypical people.  So I apologize for that in advance.

---

When I was first diagnosed with PTSD (and it was just PTSD, because it was before anyone really identified CPTSD as being different), at the age of 25, my therapist at the time kept talking about getting me back to a place where I could feel safe.  "Try to remember back to a time where you felt safe, and visualize that time," she would tell me, as a way to try and manage my panic episodes.  I was perplexed that I couldn't do this thing she was asking of me.  There must be something wrong with me, I thought, that I couldn't remember ever feeling safe.  The whole concept of safety was something with which I just couldn't identify.  And when I tried to express this to my therapist, she was also perplexed.  She was stymied.  She reacted as if there was something wrong with me for not being able to remember or understand the concept of "safe" on a fundamental level. 

After that the treatment switched to trying to deal with my anxiety as if it was unfounded.  As if it were irrational.  But this didn't make sense to me either.  Bad Things had happened to me.  Bad Things happened to people I knew.  Bad Things happened every day around the world.  It was a completely reasonable assumption to make that Bad Things could, and would, happen again in the future.  Finally, in a fit of frustration and most probably an emotional flashback triggered by having my feelings denied and belittled by someone I was supposed to trust, who was supposed to provide me with support and understanding, I yelled at her.  I yelled "Why am I the crazy one for being afraid?  BAD THINGS happen all the time!  Bad Things happen every second of every day!  Why isn't everyone scared of all those things? Why does me being afraid mean that I need treatment, that I'm broken, that I need to be FIXED?  Fix the Bad Things!  Fix the people who do them!  They're the ones that are broken, NOT ME!"  That was my last therapy session for over a decade.  I went off medication not very much longer after that.  I had no treatment since, beyond the work I did on myself through reading and internet searches, until just recently.

I didn't know it at the time, I wasn't aware enough, but that was the first and biggest breakthrough in taking steps towards loving and accepting myself -- towards recognizing that I was having completely normal reactions to a very long string of extremely abnormal situations.   It's still something that I remind myself of, when my inner critic is going wild and accusing me of being "nuts" or "crazy" or "broken".  It's something that I'm reminding myself of now, while writing this.  Because writing these things for random strangers (no offense) to read, publishing it out there on the internet where it could possibly exist forever, or be found by the people who've hurt me... It's a hard thing.  It's an incredibly vulnerable thing, letting people see the "broken" pieces of myself. 

I wasn't allowed to do that, as a child -- let people see the bruised and hurt bits of myself.  At best, I was ignored.  At worst... Well, at worst those bruised and hurt bits were used against me to cause me more pain.  My mother, I'm pretty darned sure, is Cluster B in some way or another.  Narcissistic definitely.  Possibly Borderline and/or Histrionic.  Of course she's never been diagnosed.  She thinks too highly of herself to consult a therapist or psychiatrist for herself.  Everything is always everyone else's fault, somehow.  No one can ever do anything right, because the only right way is not just her way, but to actually be her. 

Where was I going with this?  Oh.  Right.  I wasn't comforted as a child.  At least, I can't remember being comforted.  I'm not even sure I'd have recognized what being comforted looked like if it weren't for seeing it on television.  The idea that someone would hold you as you cried, reassure you, validate you, and tell you that everything would be alright... It's something that was so alien to me.  It's still alien to me.  And yet, it's something that I feel like I need, desperately.  No matter how much I try to give it to myself, it's not the same.   

But I've been able to get back on medication recently, and in taking the anti-anxiety medication I've realized that I have been afraid of my own emotions.  Not just of feeling them, but of what might happen because of them.  Because having feelings meant Bad Things would happen.  Because having feelings would cause other people to have feelings and that meant that Bad Things would happen.  Being freed of that fear, by the medication, even just a little bit, has finally allowed me to get close enough to my own emotions to identify what they are.  It's allowed me to acknowledge and feel my anger.  It's allowed me to finally start grieving for myself.  And that's not something I've really been able to do, before.  So it's a HUGE step forward.

[Dutch Uncle]

Congrats on starting your recovery journal. Having a journal here myself has been a great aid in my recovery-process. I wish you the same experience. 

This may be disjointed, and bounce around a lot -- my brain makes connections in odd ways sometimes, and they don't always translate to neurotypical people.  So I apologize for that in advance.

You are OK as you are, dear tesscaline.

For what's it worth: I have found it eloquent, to the point, clear and honest. Qualities I admire in people.

[Pieces]

Because having feelings meant Bad Things would happen.  Because having feelings would cause other people to have feelings and that meant that Bad Things would happen.

Thank you for writing, especially these words, it really hit home in a good way

[tesscaline]

Thanks, Pieces and Dutch Uncle 

Today I had an absolutely WONDERFUL conversation with my aunt, who has been through a lot of the same struggles I have (I suspect she has CPTSD as well -- if not from a malignantly narcissistic ex husband who at one point tried to kill her, then at least from the very screwed up upbringing she had) recently.  I found myself actually retelling all the accomplishments I've been making, all the headway, and feeling proud of myself without my inner critic taking over.  It was... I don't know how to describe it.  It felt so different than anything I'm used to feeling. 

We even got to talking about Cluster B people we keep winding up being around/involved with and why, and I got to suggest SpartanLifeCoach to her as a resource for getting tools to figure out the "whys" and "how to avoid this again" questions she had for herself. 

She's been making great strides of her own, after getting out of a bad relationship too, and I think maybe there's a bit of mirroring going on -- I see all the similarities to myself, and I can be proud of her, so I can be proud of me too.  Whatever it is, I'm just sort of reveling in this ability to feel pride in myself. 

[Dutch Uncle]

Whatever it is, I'm just sort of reveling in this ability to feel pride in myself. 

Wonderful. Congrats. 

[tesscaline]

My last year of high school things were bad enough at home (both of them, as my parents are divorced), that I wound up going to live with my best friend and her family.  I was barely 18, struggling hard to protect myself, and leaving home was the only thing I could think to do.  That I had somewhere to go, people to take me in, is something that I have been, and always will be, eternally grateful for. 

My best friend (we'll call her Tanya, though that's not her real name) didn't have the greatest home life either, but compared to what I'd been dealing with it felt like heaven.  It was the first time I'd lived anywhere that I actually felt like I was part of a family.  It was the first time I felt like people cared about my wellbeing, rather than just whether or not I was an imposition to them and their agenda.  For that brief time Tanya's dad, Louis (again, not real names), became more of a parent to me than my own.  He made lunches in the morning for us.  He drove us to school and picked us up again.  He helped with homework.  He taught me how to make the best pie crusts ever.  He took us on camping trips, and fishing trips.  He gave hugs.  He gave out chores, and held us to them in a gentle way.  He never yelled.  He never screamed.  He never made me feel small, or inadequate.  He let me make mistakes, and didn't berate me for them.  He encouraged me to do things I liked, even if he didn't necessarily understand them or like them.  It was the closest, at that point in my life, that I'd ever come to feeling safe with, or loved by, an adult.  It was the closest I'd ever felt to being part of a family, rather than just a maid for one, or a babysitter for one. 

And while Tanya's mom, Betty (again, not real name) wasn't the most stable person in the world -- Cluster B Histrionic definitely -- her class of "crazy" was one that I could handle better than my mother's.  She and I actually got along really well, and the few times she got upset and "lost her crap" with me, it came from a place of fear for me, and actually made me feel more cared for rather than less. 

Yesterday was the 5th anniversary of Louis' passing away.  Tanya and I spent the day together, reminiscing, talking about our screwed up families, and how amazing her dad was -- to both of us.  We went down to the waterfront and scattered yellow roses into the bay, in his memory. 

I wasn't very good at staying in touch with anyone, when I was young.  I'm still not.  So I didn't get to see as much of Louis over his last years.  I regret that.  I had made life choices that I knew he wouldn't have agreed with, and I was ashamed, I guess.  I didn't want to disappoint him, even though I knew he'd keep his disapproval to himself.  Even though I knew he wouldn't judge me.  He was the only person I ever trusted not to judge me, or make me feel bad for my mistakes.  But even still, I stayed away.  And I regret that so very much.  I could have used a dad like him, while I was busy screwing up my life.   But: fear, and shame. 

I never really grieved his passing.  I stayed distant from it, for all this time.  I didn't cry.  I couldn't.  Until yesterday.  Until last night.  And not just for him, but for me.  For losing everything he was, to me, and to Tanya.  For not having had that, except for from him -- someone who wasn't related to me at all, who I didn't even meet until I was 15 -- and especially not from my own parents. 

Through the grief came rage.  Rage at my parents for not giving me that.  Rage at them for not protecting me.  Rage at them for abandoning me, for hurting me, for abusing me, when they were supposed to be the ones to love me and care for me.  And no Bad Things happened.  No Bad Things at all.  Maybe even Good Things, instead. 

I know I'm not done being angry.  But I'm a lot less afraid of it now. 

[tesscaline]

I started the process of signing my son up for the Air Force, this week.  It's what he wants.  He's excited.  And I'm happy that he's going for what he wants.  But sitting with him in the interview, hearing the recruiter ask him what his goals were, why he wanted to join up, and hearing part of his answer be "I want the stability of never having to wonder where rent or food is coming from" broke my heart.  I know that's partially my fault.  I had him so young, there was very little that was stable for him, or for me, for a long time. 

Even now, things are back to being unstable.  My long term relationship ended.  I have no income of my own.  I'm living off what amounts to charity (but would be alimony, if we'd been married) from someone that... Well, with help from therapists and psychiatrists and friends, we've figured out had extreme narcissistic traits -- just subtle ones, covert ones.  It's not a place I want to be, because I know it feeds his ego that he's being so "magnanimous" in supporting me right now, while I "get back on my feet".

I'm realizing that I spent the past 10 years working towards his dream.  Not any of my own.  I took on his desires as my own, and gave myself heart and soul to help achieve them.  I think, maybe I've never really had true desires of my own, beyond the typical "wanting to be loved" that most people have.  I warped and contorted myself to help make what he wanted happen.  Just like I warped and contorted myself to make what ex husband (who was a pathological liar, and expert emotional manipulator) wanted happen.  Just like I warped and contorted myself to appease my uNPD mother, or win the approval of my absentee father.  I've been living the exact same life, for my 37 years.  Just with different abusers. 

I made myself small for these people.  I made myself meaningless.  And now... I have no idea what I want out of life.  My 17 year old child has a better idea of what he wants out of life than I do.  I have no dreams, of my own.  No goals, of my own.  No real wants, or desires, of my own.  Except for the pain to stop.  Except to feel loved.  And those... Aren't enough to get through life on.  They're not a foundation to build a life on.  And I have no idea where to start figuring out what I want, for me. 

I feel lost.  So very lost. 

I am trying to have hope that with the help of therapists and psychiatrists and support groups, I'll be able to figure out what I want.  I'm trying very very hard.  Knowing that I don't know what I want, that maybe I never knew what I wanted... It hurts.  But you can't solve a problem if you don't know what it is, right?  So at least I know.  At least that gives me the power to change it.  Right?

[tesscaline]

I've had a change in therapist, since the last time I wrote here.  And several changes in medication.  The new T is so much better than the previous one, as much as I liked her.  She asks me questions that actually make me think about why I'm feeling what I'm feeling, and why I'm reacting the way I'm reacting, towards the events that are going on in my life.  It's not something I'm used to getting from a T, those types of questions.  And I welcome it.  It's something that I need, a guide to point me to the things I'm overlooking in myself.  And it's been incredibly helpful.

The medication has been a roller coaster of nasty side effects.  I just started a new one which, as long as I don't develop the horrible life threatening side effect, is supposed to be pretty darned benign in terms of side effects.  So I'm hopeful there. 

About a month ago, my ex came to pick up the very last of his things.  He'd had a plan on how that was going to go, an expectation of how it was going to go, and when he experienced the tiniest bit of a hiccup with it, he basically threw a tantrum.  At first, I fell into the old pattern of trying to fix things for him, of trying to regulate his emotions for him, but it only took a few minutes for me to realize that "No.  His emotions are not my responsibility.  He's not rational, and I need to walk away from that rather than try to manage it for him."  So I walked away from it.  Literally.  I set a boundary for myself, and I honored it. 

And seeing how he behaved... Seeing how he completely lost his junk (I'd normally swear here) over such a small situation... It completely changed how I saw things.  It was like flipping a switch.  I thought to myself "THIS is what I've been living with for 10 years?  THIS is what I'm mourning the loss off?  Oh HECK no!"  And a wave of relief washed over me when he finally left.  A wave of feeling free.  And a wave of pride in myself, of hope too. 

The realization that I'd spent a decade managing the emotions of this child in a man's body, that I'd spent a decade building his dreams, his hopes, his desires, making sure he didn't lose his junk and destroy our lives... Well then, if I could do that, for someone else, of course I could manage to take care of myself that way.  The realization that despite the fact that I'd felt like I was walking on eggshells around him, despite the fact that it felt like he had all the power, all the control... Except that I was the one with power and control -- over not just myself, but of him too because he refused to control himself.  I was the one who did all these things, made our life possible.  And if I could do all that, then I didn't need him at all.  In fact, he was holding me back.  Because if I'd spent all that time and energy on myself, instead of being his conscience and emotional toilet, could you imagine where I'd be right now? 

So now's the time for me to focus on me.  To build me, my hopes, my dreams, my desires.  And if I don't know what they are yet, that's okay.  Part of building me is figuring those things out.  And I'm finally free to do that.  It's scary, sure.  But it's mine.