Scattered pieces

The theme for this months Expressive Arts Carnival is:

Through drawing, painting, photography or any other visual means, create an image about mechanisms you have used to cope when you thought you could not.

I admit it, I have a love/hate relationship with coping mechanisms.  I’m often told by mental health professionals that I know plenty of coping mechanisms…  I’m often told by the crisis lines to “go do your coping techniques”…  Both of these statements have a tendency to annoy me.  While they’re both true, I also see them as a cop out.  So I know plenty of coping mechanisms, does that mean I can’t learn any more?  Yes, doing various coping techniques help me when I’m feeling overwhelmed; but by the time I’ve called the crisis lines, I’ve usually been doing them for at least 12 hours straight and need some support beyond what the coping mechanisms can provide.  So while I see the need for coping mechanisms, I sometimes approach them with a sense of dread.

Even after all of these years, I still label the activities “coping mechanisms”, which can sometimes cause an odd tension.  I know that I need to do them in order to help keep me present and safe; but because of the connotations surrounding their use, it feels as if they are assigned a label, and trotted out on special occasions.  This is even for the techniques I have managed to build into my life as part of my routine and attempts to enrich my life.  One week I may go out and take photos because I feel like it; but the next week, taking photos becomes a coping technique which must be carried out in order to keep the crazy at bay.  Same activity, but totally different meanings.

It can be challenging to use coping techniques.  They can act as a distraction from the emotions which threaten to overwhelm, but they also encourage you to sit with the emotions without “checking out” through the use of the old, less healthy means of coping (self-injury, etc).  It can also be challenging finding ones which work… something that works one day, might not work another.  Even realising that you are worthy of using a healthy coping mechanism, instead of self-injuring, can be difficult.  There are times when no matter what I try, I’m still swept along with the old ways of coping… but I’ve found that the more I get angry at myself for that, the more anxiety there is the next time I begin to get overwhelmed.  That’s not to say that I accept that the self-injury has happened, I don’t; instead I try to learn from it.  The more I can learn about the triggers and the motivations, the more likely I am to recognise the warning signs, and try different coping mechanisms before it’s too late.

My entry for this months carnival is an indication of my attempts to learn about new ways of coping.  Last year, I underwent a psychiatric assessment to determine my level of impairment.  I don’t react well to any assessment, but this one was particularly difficult.  I wrote a history of my abuse… something that I’d never done before, and it caused a great deal of turmoil and confusion.

I knew beforehand that I might react badly to the assessment, so I made plans to try and help myself cope with it all.  I arranged for some time off work, asked my mother to stay, and organised a trip by the sea as a reward for getting through the assessment.  On one level, these arrangements made sense… I was unlikely to be able to function at work, so arrange some time off work, etc.  But, on another level, they were also attempts at self care and utilising positive coping mechanisms.  Trying to understand my limits, and working within them.

Not everything went as planned, and there was some serious bumps along the way.  Probably the most challenging time was when I went away for the trip.  What should have been a restful time at the beach, turned into a messy contradiction in terms of coping and safety.  At times, I could go for a walk along the beach and feel the sense of peace; but at times, I was swept away by the emotions which were stirred by the assessment.  After one particularly bad night, I forced myself to pick up my camera and go for a walk.  I walked for hours… something that is rare for me, as I usually need a purpose when going out.  During that walk, I took the photo below.  It’s not my best photo, but it represents a time when I was struggling so desperately to stay present and safe.  If I’d been more present, I would have chosen a different angle, and camera settings… but as it is, the photo shows my attempts to connect to the environment around me. It’s not perfect, but it stills works… especially if you squint a bit, and tilt your head to the right.

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Now playing: Natalie Merchant – Wonder
via FoxyTunes

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I’ve become more reticent to post anything here lately. Many things have contributed to this; but the most important has been my relative destabilisation.  The past four months have been filled with anxiety, dysfunctional coping and fluctuating functioning. One of the causes for this has been  facing memories which are challenging the way I view myself, and the environment I was raised in.  This means that many of my fundamental beliefs are being called into question.

I say “facing memories”, because they have always been there, but up until now I haven’t been ready to look at them.  I still don’t know if I am, but this Easter has meant that they’ve arrived like a freight train, regardless of my state of preparation.  I’m not sure how you prepare for flashbacks anyway…  how do you prepare for emotions which sweep you up and take you on a ride through hell, complete with screams and fire?

In some ways, it could be argued that I began preparing for these memories over five years ago, when I first admitted to a therapist that I was abused in a kindergarten playground by some local teenagers.  Kerro talks about peeling back the layers of abuse, and this was my first layer.  It was the furtherest from my emotional reactions, so could be told with little affect… it was also the event most quickly relegated to the back of my mind, like headlines in an old newspaper.

Each layer of abuse has posed unique challenges, but this latest layer is causing all sorts of turmoil.  It feels as if disturbing this layer is going to change the shape and texture of my life.  There is a great deal of fear about this, and many warning signs that the system would like these layers to be left alone.  But then these two images keep appearing in flashbacks… they’re not dramatic; in fact, they’re actually rather ordinary… as long as I keep the flashback looking straight ahead… that’s the key, keeping a very tight focus on a point straight ahead.  If I look anywhere else, it feels as if the Earth will tilt… and we don’t want that, do we?

Over the past couple of months, I’ve been what can only be described as throwing Allison distractions. Yes, there has been healing work done, but it’s all been dancing around these two related images… testing Allison to see if she will cope, and whether we can trust her reaction to the events.  In some ways, I’m still not sure, as some of her reactions seem a little OTT… although, I have a feeling that her reactions are a more authentic reaction to the events; they just happen to clash with my dismissive attitude towards them.  I sit there rather bemused, while Allison is telling me how awful it is that those people used me in those ways.

So, back to the images… As I’ve begun to realise the significance of their connection, there has been an all out rebellion inside my head.  This has meant that I’ve approached them, and then backed away, several times over the months. This dance with the images is probably my way of desensitising myself to their impact… to allow myself the slower realisation of the implications.  I’m not sure if I like this approach, as it sort of feels like a slow torture… why not just do the equivalent of ripping the band aid off, and throw the door wide open?

I recently read a post by Jenny (from artconstellation) about how her stay in-patient helped her realise that she needs to repeat really painful ideas over and over in order for them to sink in and be addressed. I think this is why Allison is regularly asking me to slow down… I’m used to the band aid approach; whereas healing occurs when you allow the emotional connections to happen, and that takes more than one quick telling as you rush through a session.  It takes time, grieving, validation and acceptance… things which I don’t traditionally have much patience for.  I’m used to approaching a problem at work from different perspectives, but not my healing.

I think this is the reason for my slow dance around these images.  Trying to allow the system the chance to accept that these are the memories and emotions that need to be addressed. As the realisation has sunk in that there is a connection between the images, there is huge amounts of fear, confusion and anger.  These seem to feed into each other to create a whirlpool of emotions which I can’t label or even begin to comprehend.  As I glimpse at these emotions, there is that ever present fear that they will take over my whole being.  They seem so much bigger than anything I’ve ever had to face before.

The thing is, I’ve been in this place before.  I’ve worked through emotions which have felt so immense, that I didn’t know if it was possible to even begin to go near them… yet I did.  Sometimes my coping was dysfunctional, but I always found a way through.  So why can’t I believe in my own abilities?  The message always seems to come back to not trusting myself.  There is that lingering doubt that I’m still paying lip service to healing, and wanting to rip another band aid off… these images, and the parts who hold the associated emotions, are worthy of more respect and care than the band aid approach…  I need to remember that.

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Now playing: Bush – Glycerine
via FoxyTunes

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As a child, it was often up to me to take on the responsibility of the destructive play of my siblings… if something got damaged while the four of us were playing, the others decided that, because I was the favourite, the father would be less angry if I took the blame.  This sort of blame game became so advanced, that I would often come home from school to find myself responsible for another broken vase, letting the chooks out, etc.  Because I was so much younger than the others, I took on the responsibility that the others gave me without question – I had little choice.

This scenario set me up for taking punishments which weren’t mine to take.  It also meant that when I really did something wrong, I thought the world was going to end, because I’d been punished for things I didn’t do, so how bad was the punishment going to be for the things that I did do?  I tried in very childish ways to cover up for any of my mistakes, and tried so very hard not to make any to begin with.  But, mistakes were inevitable.  My father is narcissistic, so often the mistakes were beyond my comprehension… spending too long with a friends family (“Do you like them more than your own family?”), reading too many books (“So you think you’re better than the rest of us, do you?”), and so on.

It seemed as if the goal posts which determined my mistakes, and what I was responsible for, kept changing.

This has lead to what has been described as one of my more annoying traits… the tendency to apologise for everything and anything.  I apologise like it’s my responsibility that someone else is having a bad day, and taking it out on you; when someone else makes a bad decision; that you got an B instead of an A for that assignment… you get the idea.  I realise that this is my co-dependency issues coming to the surface again… I’ll do anything to placate someone and ease a tense situation.  I don’t intellectually believe that I am responsible for these problems; but I believe emotionally that if I don’t apologise, something bad will happen.  The more I care about you, or the more I’m scared of you, the more I will apologise.

I’m not sure if it is associated with this trait, but I often don’t remember apologies from others.  I can be sure that someone else hasn’t apologised, to then find an email where they clearly state they’re sorry for a misunderstanding.  As I write this, I wonder if I don’t remember others apologies, because I don’t want to be in the role of a person doling out the punishment for the wrongs others have done.  I vividly remember my father saying that he didn’t want to punish me, but he had to because it was the only way that I’d learn.  I could be saying sorry, but it didn’t matter, the punishment had to be done.  So now, it’s almost as if I’m scared that by accepting an apology, I’ll be responsible for that person being hurt in some way, just as my father was “forced” to punish when he didn’t want to… so I block out the apology to avoid the consequences.

I often block out the misunderstanding as well, but not always.  This can create a situation where parts of me are feeling (rightly) agrieved about a situation; and while an apology has been forthcoming from the other person involved, other parts of the system have blocked the apology as an old self protection coping mechanism.  The knowledge that I can block out an apology leads to a situation where I doubt my own experiences and feelings.  I’m never sure whether I have a right to be upset about something, or whether it was sorted through at the time of the incident.  As a result, I tend to stamp down my feelings and keep on going.

As I heal, I’m finding that the stamping down isn’t as effective.  There is more tension around the issue of being hurt by others and apologies in general.  I get confused about when I should be offended, and when I deserve an apology.  It’s a whole other kettle of fish actually acting on any of those feelings…  I often miss the mark, and ask about a situation which I don’t fully remember, and has been worked through.  I’d like to think that it’s progress that I took the risk of asking… but in reality it makes me feel like a failure for not having the full picture.  I’ve learned to only do this with people that I trust, and are the least likely to be offended if I don’t remember the whole incident… like learning all things new, I’ve still got my training wheels on, and one of them is a bit loose.  Until I can fix the training wheel and get more confidence about what apologies mean to me, I’ll keep on apologising at the drop of a hat, and question those that let me land on a soft cushion when I get it wrong.

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Now playing: The Fray – How To Save A Life
via FoxyTunes

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Yesterday I wrote a happy shiny summary on 2010.  It was accurate, and covered many of the positive things that had happened last year, but it wasn’t an accurate reflection.  The purpose of a reflective exercise is to put the past into a learning framework, and that’s what I failed to do.  By looking only at the positives, I sidelined and ignored the struggles I faced, and how those struggles influenced the positives.

When looking at the overall themes of last year, it’s easy to see that I was concentrating on safety and consistency.  To me, these issues are intertwined.  I’m at a stage in my healing where I need a consistent structure in order to find safety.  If this structure is absent, as it was when my therapeutic relationship with Liz disintegrated, and my friendship with Matthew fell apart; there were serious consequences for my safety.  I lost an anchor that I had relied on – no matter how dysfunctional it was, and I allowed it to push me into a downward spiral.  This was even more evident, when my cynical work friend started having an affair with a married man.  The triggers associated with the relationship were too close to my parents relationship, that I was unable to relax around her like I used to.  Unlike the rupture with Liz and Matthew, I was able to maintain an altered friendship with my work friend.  The key difference, was that with Liz and Matthew there was hurt in the present, whereas I had the awareness to realise that my work friend wasn’t hurting me directly in the past or present.  I may not agree with her moral choices, but the friendship was maintained, if somewhat modified.

Throughout the year, I’ve had ACC decisions hanging over my head.  This was one of the drivers which lead to my suicide attempt, and to my withdrawal from life.  The thought of a faceless case manager deciding my therapeutic fate, without having ever met me, basically did my head in.  This is a fairly consistent story across many sensitive claims clients.  The power imbalance in favour of ACC, is such a trigger to the old abusive situations, that it’s difficult to work your way through to a rational interaction with them.  Despite my fears, the assessing psychiatrist was incredibly supportive and gentle.  He gave me a significant impairment which should hopefully allow me to access therapeutic care for awhile yet.

This leads onto the therapeutic relationship with Allison.  I’ve avoided talking about her and what happens in therapy, mainly because I want to protect the relationship.  As with any human relationship, there are ups and downs, but the strength of Allison, is her ability to encourage me to slow down.  My default coping mechanism is to dissociate and rush through anything that feels scary; but Allison is helping me to realise that this doesn’t have to happen.  I can tolerate the emotions that are a part of living.  They may scare me, and I may not understand what I hear within sessions; but what is said and felt, is me.  It’s that simple, and that complicated.

I still struggle with denial, minimisation, comparisons and other circular thinking.  But, Allison helps me to work through this through validation and acceptance.  She doesn’t encourage blind faith, and is open to questioning about the validity of what is being said, and her experience with dealing with what I present.  Not that I challenge her on a regular basis or anything… well, actually I don’t as much as I did.  There is a sense of respect towards Allison, even if there isn’t consistent trust.

Last year, I also briefly saw WPT and an occupational therapist.  They were at opposite ends of the helpful spectrum… WPT helped me realise that by saying how strong the young ones within the system were, I was re-enforcing the idea that they were meant to stay strong and protect me.  This was so obvious, but yet, I thought I was showing respect by mentioning their strength.  But the young ones need care, not more pressure.  In contrast, the occupational therapist was not a good therapeutic match.  She reminded me of a cross between a cheerleader and an unskilled kindergarten teacher – lots of loud enthusiastic talk, with very little substance or experience.  Thankfully she discharged me after meeting one of the three goals we’d established.

One of the things that worried me about seeing these other therapists, was that I wondered if my life would revolve around therapy and healing.  Considering my work commitments; this would be unlikely, and it would probably have been helpful if they had worked out.  But, there was that nagging fear that I would start to define myself and my life through my mental health.  Which when I consider that I spent so much time this year caught up in self injury, the change of focus to healing, might have been a good thing!

Yes, my old nemesis… self injury.  It also bumped into my suicidal ideation and intent this year, which wasn’t a pretty sight or feeling.  But a shock can sometimes be good for the system, and near the end of last year, I got one.  It wasn’t the suicide attempt, but instead the health of a friend bringing up all sorts of memories.  Consequences, accountability, fears and reality all collided.  Repercussions were felt throughout the system, and as a result, one dangerous form of self injury has been largely controlled.  There is yet to be any sense of accomplishment about this, and there is a fear that the triggering presence of the mother is going to release a tidal wave of self injury this weekend.  All I can do is plan for it not to happen…

So much of my life now, is about trying to live from moment to moment.  I had hoped to be further along in my healing than this by now, but I’m not.  This isn’t to take away from the accomplishments that I have achieved, but rather a sense of “not again”.  This Christmas, I did cope better than the previous year; but then I had hayfever, so could barely speak or raise my head.  The hayfever has eased, and with that, the triggering memories and intolerance of the mother has returned.  The mother has been here two weeks, and that’s about three weeks too long.  Wish me luck for the rest of the week…

As so much of my year has been on exploring the creative arts, I thought I’d do the following summaries of the positive, and difficult work that I’ve been doing.  As a warning, the second (Polyvore) video may trigger.

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Now playing: The Beatles – Here Comes The Sun
via FoxyTunes

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Now playing: Yo-Yo Ma – Unaccompanied Cello Suite No. 5 in C minor, BWV 1011: IV. Sarabande
via FoxyTunes

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The activity for this months Expressive Arts Carnival is to:

Draw a wall using any medium, and show what is on one or both sides. Please also write a couple of sentences saying what the process was like for you.

When I was seeing Liz (about a year ago), I created a Polyvore set which I titled Barriers, and showed what my defense mechanisms and walls were…

This shows my walls as being the razor wire fence, behind which hurt and angry ones can be seen.  What’s interesting, is that an abusive event can be seen fairly clearly, almost as if the memory is the defense against looking closer at the hurt ones and their emotions.  A hidden, and shameful part of the wall is sex; while the more obvious things that make up the wall are my education, work, food, perfectionism, alcohol, cutting and the idea/memories of the perfect family.  The protector with the knives, is one of our more heavy handed protectors, and indicates how out of control we were at the time…

Today, I drew another wall with oil pastels.  I love oil pastels because of their tactile nature.  But I also hate them, because they’re not “precise” enough for me… they have this annoying habit of not having straight lines and bleeding into each other.  Ok, so may be I don’t know how to manipulate them correctly to get the blending done precisely… or, may be that’s the point of them, to be imperfect.

This is what I drew…

Wall

The green and purple are the colours in front of the wall.  These are the colours that protect the rest of the system, and the outside world, from the wall and what is behind it.  The purple acts as a warning, and the green as a grounding colour.  Then there is the black wall.  This wall must be strong and impervious.  The bright red, or anger, is the first thing bashing against the wall, then the shame of blue; before the black emptiness of the unknown.  Each of the colours is separated by mini black walls, to try and keep layers upon layers of protection occurring.

I’m struck by the contrasts between the images.  The first is controlled, yet descriptive; while the second is controlled and abstract.  I often describe my internal world behind the wall as either a gaping chasm of nothingness, or a swirling mess of emotions… neither quite fit the image that I’ve drawn.  I’m not particularly grounded today, so that could be the reason for the disparity.

To add to the oddity, I deliberately chose Missy Higgins’  version of Stuff and Nonsense to go with this entry – a song about knowing/loving in the present, but not being able to guarantee anything in the future.

I sometimes wonder if I’m looking for meaning when there is none, or whether I’m missing the point.  One day, I may find out, but not today.

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Now playing: Missy Higgins – Stuff and Nonsense
via FoxyTunes

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The activity for this months Expressive Arts Carnival is to:

Draw or paint your breath.

On one sheet of paper, draw or paint your breath in the moment. Then, immediately after, listen to some soothing music (if you want), close your eyes (if it is okay) and focus on your breathing. Do this for a couple minutes and try to relax.

When you are done with the breathing exercise, come back to the drawing and draw your breath again on the other paper.

When I thought of this activity, I had a very preconceived idea of what I was going to draw.  I had the patterns and colours planned.  I was “set”.  In my minds eye, the two images looked similar to these photos that I took awhile ago.

This is typical of what happens when I do conscious breathing.  I become calm and return to a central place of being where everything flows.  So when I sat down to do this exercise, I went with these images in my head.

What I drew, was nothing like I intended.

The first drawing was very easy, and very symbolic.  My breathing can become very shallow, choppy and quick.  It feels like I have a huge blockage in my throat that prevents my breath from going down into my lungs.  While the exhalations are short and sharp.  There’s very little fluidity about my breathing, and I can be like this for hours or days if my stress levels are high.

After doing the conscious breathing and relaxing, I came back to the paper ready to draw my nice flowing swirls to indicate how centered and aware I was.  I used finger paints, because I thought it would help me to blend the colours and feel as if I was more in touch with the whole experience.  I had six colours to chose from, and was going to cut this down to five by removing the black punnet – black didn’t fit into my view of the flowing picture I was about to draw.  But there was a strong internal message about being a censor if I didn’t allow for the possibility of black to be used; so it remained in front of me.

I’m aware that I started off with a central core of yellow, then moved outwards to the other colours.  The next thing I was aware of, was sitting back and looking at the image below.

Not quite the flowing picture I had in mind.

But in that moment, this is what was happening.  When I relaxed, the emotions came forward and were expressed through the drawing.

I think the only reason that some colour remained, was because there was an internal conflict, or backlash, about erasing another ones work.  I know I took a risk in using finger paints, I could tell there was curiosity about them.  The last time I used finger paints was probably in kindergarten.  I was aware of smiling as I dipped my finger in the yellow punnet of paint.

What’s interesting, was that there was a need to eliminate the yellow colour first.

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Note: This entry may trigger due to issues around suicide being discussed.

I’ve been fairly open about my levels of suicidal ideation on this blog over time. But the last week or so, I’ve been dancing around the subject. The reason why… on the 2nd and 3rd of August I tried to commit suicide.

I’m still trying to make sense of the attempts, and the triggers which precipitated them.

The main things I remember about Monday, are that I didn’t work my usual late shift, and that I was very tired… very, very tired. So tired, that it made perfect sense to come home, empty a pill bottle into my hand and swallow them down with a caffeine drink.

I vividly remember looking at the pile of pills in my hand, and thinking… “This will help me sleep”.

This terminology is significant… “This will help me sleep”. Usually, my suicidal ideation and intent is termed “running away”, so I wonder if the change in phrasing was an indication that different ones were driving the attempt, or whether I was just really tired?

In the past, whenever there has been even a suicidal gesture, a protector has come forward and immediately called for help. But not this time. This time, I climbed into bed and waited for sleep. That was at about 6pm. The next thing I remember, is waking in a panic at 2.45. I wasn’t panicking about the pills that were now well absorbed into my system…  Oh no, I was panicking because I wasn’t sure if it was morning or night, and I was worried about missing work!

The details are fuzzy, but somehow we ended up in ER. ER’s always seem so bright… so well lit… super bright… I know this is a medical necessity, but it’s also about our fears. We hate hospitals. We feel ourselves get smaller, younger and more tongue-tied in hospitals… It’s hard to hear what people are asking of us, and we become more robotic.

As an indication that there was still come cognitive thinking happening, we’d remembered to bring our iPhone with us. Hours of playing Boost 3D, Euchre, Hell’s Kitchen… Anything to try to keep calm! Then the unspeakable happened, the iPhone battery ran out… This tipped the scales back to crazy.

• We removed the lure ourselves and went to the nurses station, asking to leave. They took us through to the observation lounge instead. Yay… power points for recharging the iPhone :)
• WPT came and visited us in the ER, and we brushed him off… told him we were fine and not to worry about us…
• When we were assessed by the psychiatric team… I say “assessed”, but to the system, it felt like a grilling.  They asked about family relationships, abuse history etc.
• By the end of the assessment, angry protectors were up front and they ripped up the discharge papers as we walked away from the nurses station.

Yes, we were released with no follow-up or safety options mentioned.

When we got home, there was still the need to sleep. I think one of us called the crisis team, but gave a fake name… I remember the crisis person yelling at us that they were sending the Police around. This was the wrong threat to make, as it gave the protectors hope that help was on the way. They became less vigilant…

We sat down at the table with enough pills for a fatal overdose. It was very mechanical and quick. Again, there was a need to have enough pills to “get some sleep”. Once these were consumed, we went to bed. Again, a panicked waking a few hours later and a ride in an ambulance.

This time it was serious… I knew that because of the number of nurses around. I remember looking over when they took my blood pressure, and saying how good it was (53/45). Usually my blood pressure goes through the roof in hospitals due to anxiety (the next day it was 195/146). I asked if I could go home, because my blood pressure was so good, and it was all just a silly mistake…

I remember the nurses being nice.
I remember them wheeling me down corridors to a ward.
I remember a nurse sitting in a chair at the end of my bed all night.

We called the mother, asking her to come up because we needed help. Our cat needed food…

We were kept in for a couple of days, and again had a psychiatric assessment, this one was much more gentle. They asked about safety and stressors. They gave us options – they suggested hospitalisation, or respite. But the psychiatric ward was fairly full, and the respite place would be different to the one I’ve been to previously. Instead, we were released to the mother (a former nurse) at home.

The thing that blew me away about the medical ward, was their compassion and understanding. I was there for an overdose, but they didn’t judge. They had almost no knowledge of mental health issues (I had to tell them how to spell “dissociative”), but they were respectful of me as an individual…

It’s now over a week since the attempts, and I’m still on shaky ground. Last night, R was very present. I know it was him, because I could clearly see what he wanted – to be wearing just jeans, standing in the middle of the road, in the pouring rain, arms up, yelling (in pain, release, anger???).

I’m very aware that I’m still walking along the cliff edge. One little push will send me over.

It’s times like this that I realise how amazing the people around me can be… WPT came to see me in hospital (twice); while my blog friends have been a steady, calm voice of reason when I needed it desperately… thank you!

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Now playing: The Freshman – The Verve Pipe
via FoxyTunes

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I found this today… Simple and soothing.

The story of how this song came about can be found here.

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The last two days have been kind of rough.

Heading into Thursday, I was feeling good and had managed to pull myself onto some sort of steady ground.  That all fell apart late Thursday afternoon, when I got an email from the other team leader, calling into question the quality of my work.  That email sent me plunging back into self-doubt, self-hatred and all the other associated negative thinking.  My cynical friend told me to forget it; but it was such a back-stabbing insult that I couldn’t brush it off.  To make it worse, my own team leader wasn’t around to reality check the content of the email, and I didn’t want to run to the manager about it.  This spun me out to the point where I knew I wasn’t safe to drive home.  I stayed on at work for a couple of hours, before driving home and losing most of the evening to the dissociation.

Then, on Friday morning during my drive to work, we went past a “hurt” cat in the middle of the road.  I always dread this sort of thing; not only does it stir up the system because an innocent animal has been hurt, but it’s a trigger for some of the younger ones.  Like a deer caught in headlights, we can never look away… we started reciting “it’s just a jumper that fell out of a car”, hoping that this will change how we see the cat… it doesn’t.  This means we now have adult parts smarting from the insult to our work, and young ones upset that an innocent cat has been hurt.

So we’re now driving down the road reciting out loud “it’s just hurt, it’s ok, it’ll get up soon and the people who love it will come get it and take care of it”.  There was also a promise that we wouldn’t drive home that way, just in case it hadn’t been moved.

Work on Friday is mostly a blank… I know we had a morning tea for the two new people, and that the manager made a triple layer banana and pineapple cake (which did a rather spectacular topple over during the cutting process).  I also know I played around with the iPhone app kooaba, as we’re looking at new ways to try to deliver information through technology such as QR codes and visual recognition apps.  This was fun because we were going around the library, taking random photos of books, CDs and DVDs to see what information kooaba would return.

Then it came to the drive home… all the way up the street where we should have turned off to avoid going by the stretch of road where the cat had been hurt, we were consciously thinking of turning.  Then there was this little mind fit, and we were suddenly past the turn off.  I could hear the panic, but there was also this firm voice telling me to stop being so silly, that there will be nothing there, and it will all be fine.

Thankfully the cat was no longer there, but that didn’t matter, the panic had set in.  We were switching all over the place and I could feel our throat closing up.  Little Michelle came forward full force, meaning that we couldn’t really drive, talk and only barely functioned enough to get home in one piece.  Because we live in a high fenced section, no one saw us getting out of the car shaking like a leaf and stuttering about it hurting.

We got inside, fed Winnie, turned on all the lights, curled up in the corner of the lounge and tried to ease the shaking.  I had no real sense of what was happening, but there were obviously body memories.  The throat was closed off, and no matter how hard I tried, I could barely stutter.  I managed to take some anxiety medication and send the following email to Allison…

turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide

hide got to hide
he’ll find us

I think we finally went to bed at about 8am (it was naturally light by then) and slept for a couple of hours.

Saturday had been good… we’d talked to a friend and took some pictures of the stuffed toy we got for the young ones as their reward for going through the divorce proceedings…

This made me think that tonight was going to be easier… the fear seemed to have eased.  But it’s now 1am Sunday and all the lights are on again.  Little Michelle is ok as long as all the lights are on.  We’re also ok as long as we don’t even think about going to bed.

One of the big problems with this scenario, is that it opens us up to further dissociation and self injury.  We’re so switchy and shaky…

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Now playing: Missy Higgins – Where I Stood
via FoxyTunes

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The beach has always been my retreat… my safe haven. Whenever things got out of control, I drove to the beach. I could look out over the ocean for hours on end, slowly feeling everything internally calm down. It is one of the few places where I can feel peace and a sense of safety.

So, this is my first attempt at the Expressive Arts Carnival hosted by Paul at MindParts. I’ll probably change it when I’m in a better frame of mind; but for now, this is it.

If you’re wondering why I’m posting this now, when everything is so out of control; well it sort of feels like I’ve let the side down by showing my dysfunction and weakness. Like I’m not playing the “game” of being a “survivor”. I realise this is possibly my own expectations coming into play, but there it is…

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