Flashback Grows Up

Weirdest thing happened to me last night. Usually Xmas is a very rough time for me, stuffed with flashbacks and nightmares. Tgis year it’s been going swimmingly–none of that stuff until last night.

It was one of those dreams that go on forever, i hate that. Anyway, this dream started out like it has pretty much my whole life, chock full of incidents in which i am being sexually abused in one form or another…

And then, suddenlt, i was an adult. The other kids in the dream, various cousins who had witnessed these events over the years, were all adults as well. And Uncle Norman was both dead and in the room at the same time.

I was saying why doesn’t anybody get that this was wrong? My cousin Nornmie says it happened to all of us. I say it’s still not right and he shrugs his shoulders, says yah well it’s Christmas, look at the pretty tree.

It goes on like this forever. I, the adult me, says why isn’t anybody getting how wrong this was? Indifference in response.

Here’s how I am going to interpret this dream: I am an adult. Nothing is happening to me anymore, even though it’s Christmas Eve. I am safe now. My main concern is that nobody gets it, how horrid was the whole shebang.

Was. Past tense. I keep asking until I finally say well enougg from u people. It’s still wrong.

And then i wake up. It’s a big step I think, changing preoccupation in my sleeping mind from what happened to what is wrong with u folks that u won’t see it’s vileness. Deciding that it doesn’t matter if they get it or not. Still was wrong.

So yeah. Flashbacks do grow up. Cool.

The Night I Lost All Hope

May be mildly triggering.

So i was sitting in therapy, telling C that i’m feeling pretty darn well. That i had gotten myself out of my Black Pit of Depression and how it worked.

Then, because i had had my first Christmas Eve Flashback prompted by seeing the first christmas lights of the season, the conversation naturally ventured there.

I have had this repetitive flashback for what seems my entire life. It frustrates me because it’s far from the worst that was done to me. I’ve gotten pretty good at dissembling holiday-related triggers and flashes–but never understood this one. I don’t think anyone other than my wifey knows this one. Maybe, i just don’t recall it.

So, after a couple of minutes of C saying open ur eyes sweetie look at me sweetie jesus look at your posture look at me be present with me…i launched into it.

Every year we would go to visit Uncle Norman’s house on Christmas Eve for several hours. I think this one time i was maybe 6 or 7, whenever kids lose their teeth. I am looking at it now and i look like about 6ish.

Anyway, Uncle Norman had gotten to me earlier in the day but it doesn’t matter really what happened. In this flashback there are around 15 people or so, very jovial atmosphere Xhristmas songs on the radio blah blah. Uncle Norman is sitting in his recliner across the room from the tree and the presents. He motions to me and says come here, sit on my lap. No that’s ok i reply and try to leave the room. Mom catches me by the wrist and says You’re Very Rude, go sit on Uncle Norman’s lap. No, i don’t wanna. She swaps me on the butt and drags me over to him. Mind you, i had told her the previous summer what he had been doing to me.

So i’m forced on Uncle Norman’s lap. Actually i am sitting on his hand and he’s movung his fingers around under me. I say he’s like diddling me. Fifteen people are in that room, everybody jollying it up, and he is messing with me. He keeps sorta readjusting himself and i can feel his hardon.

I have two parts to this flash i tell C. There’s a sound in my ears like a Swooosh and i alternate between seeing the Christmas tree across the room in a sort of tunnel vision, like a kaleidoscope. The lights were blinking and reflecting off the gobs of tinsel. Then i hear swoooooosh again and i am looking at myself, sitting there on his lap. Just like watching a movie.

At this point in the telling of this story my thoughts become very disjointed. All those people around. I can hear all that laughter as if it was far away down a long tunnel. Mom knew, yes my mother knew but she did nothing, just laughing aling with the rest of them. Ho ho ho.

I say all those people and nobody did a thing. Jesus. It’s silent in the room then this pops out of my mouth:

That’s when i gave up. I learned about absolute powerlessness and futility and utter lack of control at that moment. I gave up that night. I lost all hope. Wow, that’s right.

That is when i lost all hope and realized i was utterly alone.

Silence. C says wellthatwasthenthisisnowlookatmehonwyit’s2010nowrighthellloooootherewhereareyou?

I hear myself say that is the Black Pit exactly. When i get that complete depression this is exactly what it felt like on that Christmas Eve. That’s where it comes from.

C looks at me. Wow honey that is really something. So when you go down that black path…..it’s really something that happened 44 years ago and you’ve juat now realized it? Yeah you’d think….No says C. This deserves incredible congratulations this is a huge, huge connection. Don’t go blowing off your acconplishment.

Ok. Silence for abit as i sit there, srunned. It’s exactly the same feeling, man. Wow.

C starts talking about how pedophiles do these things etc etc get off on the power etc etc i’m not really able to focus.

Then she says i want you to know something sweetie. If i had been in that room i would have broken every one of his ten fingers. This was a horrible thing blah blah and on we go from there.

The day i gave up hope. It’s so important to figure this shit out.

Battlestar Galactica

My mind has been waging a huge war over me in the past ten days or so. The primary issue has had to do with whether it’s my duty to stay alive, slogging thru the shit for some unknown reason, or if I have an obligation to just go ahead, kill myself, and start over with the next life.

Frankly, it’s a tangle. Kenny Chesney the country weatern singer has a great line in one of my favorite songs. “For all the answers and the reasons why I’m at this crossroads in my life and I don’t really know which way to go.”

This is where I’ve been. It has seemed like a time for decisions, though. I did the research had the plan. Wrote a current will and fascinated myself with the perfect goodbye letters.

Once all the glam was done, I just waited. For ten days I let unedited thought pass thru me. It was a heavy time of flashbacks and exhaustion.

Ihavenovalueihavenopurposenobodywouldmissmeforlonghoqgreattojuatbedonethisonehasbeenaclusterfyxkfromthebefinningiwillpayahugepriceinjarmadorthosehorriblethingsrhathappenedbutijusycantdothisanylonger.

I got off the strict diet I was on (to support my wife who’s just been diagnosed w/diabetes) at the command of my therapist, the omniscient C. Within a day I was regaining my strength. I was becoming able to do a couple of my coping things and felt a tad better still.

It was said to me that even though my life to date has been this huge clusterfuck that it needn’t always be that way. Then she said these words: “your purpose in this life is to learn thru your rough life whatever it is that your karma needs to learn. Probably healing many lives’ worth of lessons. That is the purpose of this life for you. Healing”.

Oh yeah. Hummm, well. Bad Buddhist, bad! So I meditated on that for a day or so, during which time it became as clear as crystal. Yes I have a purpose in this lifetime. And yes–healing IS what it’s about.

I don’t know what has happened during earlier wanderings of my soul. But I can honestly say that I don’t know much about healing myself.

And so I see that I can do good to my own personal karma, which will improve the wisdom of the Collective. I have been so lost. But now I’m found thru my faith. Was blind but now I see.

Battlestar Galactica is over for now and I’d like to think that Universal good has won. I am not naive, I know that I have a long painful road to walk. But at least thru this round I have a purpose. Heal to teach others how to heal. I like this.

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Battlestar Galactica

I’m getting near the place of finally just quitting. Iambitadangertomyselforothers at this time but am not making any promises. A dark shroud was forced over my head in my childhood and I am realizing that nothing can ever make that go away.

Suicide is an interesting question. My soul, like everyone else’s, is timeless until something happens to mass. I figure I have around five million years to keep cycling thru and I am really not up for it.

There are lessons for me to learn this time around. I know what they are I think but I can no longer see how I’m gonna learn any of them here. I know that I am doomed to go backwards next time around because there is so much of horrendous that I cannot healthily reconcile. Evil has attached itself to me and there’s no getting out.

It breaks my heart. I have tried so, so hard to be a good person. But I will never be good enough in this life I fear.

The only thing that is keeping me alive is the fear of facing all the damage done to my karma. That and the physical act of dying.

People say all the time that everything happens for a reason. Why I have happened I do not know. Nobody’s ready this time around to hear my message. It’s nice to think that people care but I really don’t believe it. Many people have been nice to me of course and I have greatly appreciated that.

My message was this: speak up. Don’t be tolerant of abuse. Be militant. And yet every few seconds some girl somewhere is being sexually abused somewhere in the world. It’s like it doesn’t exist. Fuckall.

I have this huge pile of crap that I’m trying to be able to do. Cope. But one has to ask–is that really enough to keep going? Is feeling good for awhile really all that I can do?

I am worthless. All used up before I hit my teens. Such a shame that I am not a good enough person to be able to turn that around and be valuable in any way. I would like to think that I could be helpful, but I can’t be. I do not know why. Is what is.

The clock is ticking on this allforshit life of mine. It seems that this life has let me be strong enough to handle some very serious shit but hasn’t given me the strength or compassion or whatever it took to use it to teach. To save children. Not so much for me.

It’s not U it’s Ur Illness

So I’m in therapy with C last week, talking about this awful depressive state I’ve been in for awhile. I said it feels like something just takes over and smothers me.

C looks at me for a quick second then says well that’s because this is exactly what is happening. It’s not you, it’s your illness. Like a fever is not you, it’s an illness right? This is not. You. This. Is. Your. Illness.

CLICK. you mean I’m not totally fucked in the head, there’s a Me that is separate from all the shit that’s in my head? Yes, exactly. That is what your illness is. The fear, the heartbreaking sadness, the panic/anxiety. That’s. Not. You.

Wow. So just like if I had the ‘flu and I go to the grocery store to get Nyquil or whatever. Treat it. This is the same thing? C says well it’s abit more complex than the ‘flu of course but the principle applies.

Wow, this completely changes the dynamic between this cPTSD Dissociation blah blah and my head.

I have always thought of myself as being just a total whackjob. That I am harming myself or I should be locked away because there is something just too wrong with ME. I am the mess. I am responsible not for what happened to me perhaps but how I have been unable to handle it well.

But this idea that it’s something that is outside my humanity. It makes so much more sense to fight it now. CBT has a framework that I finally understand. So when I get a panic attack I can say this is not me. Self-hatred, you no longer belong. I can say panic you are part of the sickness that was brought on by a bad bunc of people in my kid life. Stop it. Breathe meditate run paint play piano do whatever else.

It’s a wicked cool perspective for me. Pf course I have to wonder why this has never come up before. Smartass me says why have I paid out well over two hundred G’s and nobody has ever explained this to me? C says well probably because they didn’t know you as well as I do. My therapists of five years? Ten years? C says well that can be true. We click and I know what I’m doing. I can tell you’re a cool chick, maybe they didn’t see that.

Grr Whatever I know she’s right about that. This isn’t important. What matters is that I am able to truly set myself free.

Because it’s not me, it’s my illness.

It’s not U it’s Ur Illness

So I’m in therapy with C last week, talking about this awful depressive state I’ve been in for awhile. I said it feels like something just takes over and smothers me.

C looks at me for a quick second then says well that’s because this is exactly what is happening. It’s not you, it’s your illness. Like a fever is not you, it’s an illness right? This is not. You. This. Is. Your. Illness.

CLICK. you mean I’m not totally fucked in the head, there’s a Me that is separate from all the shit that’s in my head? Yes, exactly. That is what your illness is. The fear, the heartbreaking sadness, the panic/anxiety. That’s. Not. You.

Wow. So just like if I had the ‘flu and I go to the grocery store to get Nyquil or whatever. Treat it. This is the same thing? C says well it’s abit more complex than the ‘flu of course but the principle applies.

Wow, this completely changes the dynamic between this cPTSD Dissociation blah blah and my head.

I have always thought of myself as being just a total whackjob. That I am harming myself or I should be locked away because there is something just too wrong with ME. I am the mess. I am responsible not for what happened to me perhaps but how I have been unable to handle it well.

But this idea that it’s something that is outside my humanity. It makes so much more sense to fight it now. CBT has a framework that I finally understand. So when I get a panic attack I can say this is not me. Self-hatred, you no longer belong. I can say panic you are part of the sickness that was brought on by a bad bunc of people in my kid life. Stop it. Breathe meditate run paint play piano do whatever else.

It’s a wicked cool perspective for me. Pf course I have to wonder why this has never come up before. Smartass me says why have I paid out well over two hundred G’s and nobody has ever explained this to me? C says well probably because they didn’t know you as well as I do. My therapists of five years? Ten years? C says well that can be true. We click and I know what I’m doing. I can tell you’re a cool chick, maybe they didn’t see that.

Grr Whatever I know she’s right about that. This isn’t important. What matters is that I am able to truly set myself free.

Because it’s not me, it’s my illness.

Bullying is Nice and Packageable

It amazes me how many resources have been allocated from whatever other things they were doing to the issue of child bullying. As a lesbian, I was horrified but not surprised when in one week several gay kids killed themselves because of torment brought on by other assumedly non-gay kids. I was out as a teenager in the mid-seventies. It was not easy. I had other things going on in my life that made it easy for me to not really register the cruelty of my peers. But I was just lucky that they didn’t get to me, too.

There’s all this stuff about bullying, where do bullies come from how they’re all over cyberspace, what if my kid is a bully, how do I ensure my kid doesn’t become a bully. I saw something on twitter yesterday that said that over 70% of parents’ greatest fear for their children is that they’re a bully. Really, your greatest fear for your kids?

Celebrities have popped up all over the place, decrying bullying, contributing to support for gay teens, doing press releases and their celebrity thing. Donations donations donations. PR PR PR.

I will say this once and will erase any comments that ignore it: this is a very, very important social issue. Bullying is brutal on both parties. There is little protection a parent can give their kids if they’re victimized. Gay adults are bullied around by our government but kids–that’s just plain interpersonal cruelty at a very fragile time in a person’s life. I would never want to be a teenager again.

However. All this sudden and socially popular focus on bullies and their victims seems to me to be a tremendous luxury. Again–I am not diminishing the pain these poor kids have to deal with. There needs to be greater attention paid.

But when one looks from the eyes of a former child whose life was threatened and nearly taken, who has been thru horrendous sexual assault….I have got to say I find it all abit offensive.

Here’s the issue. Bullying is a new thing here, there are issues related to schooling children, teaching them compassion, fixing them if they’re violent little jerks. Is it the schools or is it the parents? Genetic? Tabula Rasa? These are questions that can be looked at without anybody’s hands actually getting too dirty. Oprah and Ellen and Alec Baldwin can stand up and say Hey There Don’t Be A Bully and it’s a neat little package. Sure, a few kids died, but nobody has to do any real soul searching, any digging up bodies, any dealing with mass wreckage wrought on little girls and boys by (mostly) people they know and trust. As has been going on since time began. Nobody wants to count the suicides.

Nobody has to deal with un-PC issues like sex trafficking, or RA or how survivors get thru their lives. That stuff is hard, the visual images and storytelling don’t really fit daytime or primetime TV. And who wants to hear about stuff that is so grotesque, so horrific such a nightmare.

We are out there, an army of CSA survivors. We tell our stories when we can, and many of us do. There’s an entire wing of psychology that tries to help us live the best lives we can from amongst the wreckage. There’s no secret, it happens every day. Every single day. To countless little girls and boys.

But despite our presence, nobody is going to galvanize in a couple of weeks a national effort to help us. There’s a line in the sand of what is dealable and what is not and nobody wants to see us. We’re not hard to find, it’s just…nobody wants to know. There will be an occasional sensationalistic thing on some tv show about a woman with 52 personalities and how weird she is. But nobody does a Purple Twibbon for us.

Where’s Ellen? Where’s Alec? Where are they? Patting themselves on the back for doing such a great job on the latest socially current fad. Where are the financial resources? Where’s the help? It’s sitting over here in my neighborhood, Heinousville. Just on the wrong side of the tracks.

Once again. I’m a lesbian, I think it’s horrid what kids have to deal with. There are always some cruel kids and there are way too few resources to help their poor victims. But I have waited for 48 years to get my cause to walk down the red carpet and get all the interviews. It’s sad and demeaning to get that you are just too dirty.

Get off your ass and save your children. Save your friend’s children. Package a Cause and sell it to America in a three=hour concert with texty donation setups. People are raping your children and you are not listening. Their lives are interrupted and stolen from them. Probably by somebody you know. Teach your kids how to say NO. To daddy, to mommy, to anybody who’s doing bad stuff or who says bad stuff. Pay attention to keeping them alive because a third of your daughters will face sexual assault by age 18.

What the fuck is wrong with you people?

Oh Crap, Justice

A month ago today a violent jackass hit my brand new car. This guy was so in my face, screaming and threatening me, that I actually hallucinated and thought he was my primary perpetrator, Uncle Norman. He looked like him smelled like him sounded like him. I had a horrid flashbacky hallucination that this guy actually WAS him for about an hour. I was totally freaked out.

This guy was used to bullying women, it was easy to see. His insurance company at first denied any culpability but I kept on them and finally they reversed their decision and accepted responsibility.

Good thing, right? Great thing, right? Justice for Splint. Finally.

I was really happy about this turn of events and pretty full of myself for handling a tough and complex situation. For sticking to my guns. For not being a victim. Hooray.

Then yesterday came and I had to take my car in to get a new bumper. And it has left me just so, so sad.

Children are wailing inside me. The teenagers are up in arms. They don’t know that it’s 2010, that we are safe that I am taking care of them. All they know is that Uncle Norman appeared again, so he can likely come to get us soon.

Justice should be a good thing. But all I can think is how we will never have justice for the damage wrought upon me as a kid. I had thought I was okay with that, that it’s time is gone and it just is what it is. Living the best life I can is the best that I can do because there is no justice in the world.

However. There appears to be Justice. It seems to be something that I can have. And it makes the pain of never getting it for the atrocities wrought upon me that much more prominent. I am angry and I am sad. I’m grieving now and as much as it seems a totally inappropriate reaction there it is anyway. I don’t lie to myself, I feel whatever I feel and try to deal with the blowback when it comes.

I am grieving for all those kids who are me. I am depersonalized and seem to be floating above my head, watching things happen as if I am in a movie. A bad, bad movie.

I will persevere. I will be okay. I can snap myself out of it. It’s 2010 and I a m an adult woman. I am tough, I am turning that corner where I have left my victim status behind. I will have my day, I’ll go see my clients and I will continue to work on my song. I still can’t run, which would be so helpful. But I’ve promised to be careful and my legs seem to not want to heal after my last major run a week ago.

I just don’t wanna talk. There is a question in my mind of why I ever felt that anyone has been safe–as much as I know that I am exactly that. I just need to step away for awhile. I will be okay, I’m just so sad for those tiny little me’s inside.

What Kids Think

What does a two-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHH

What does a three-year old think when somebody rapes them?AHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a four-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a five-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a six-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a seven-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does an eight-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a nine-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a ten-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does an eleven-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a twelve-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a thirteen-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a fourteen-year old think when nobody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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