Scattered pieces

The theme for this months Expressive Arts Carnival is:

Through drawing, painting, or any other visual means, create an image that represents a major obstacle facing you now.

My first reaction when reading the directive for this month’s carnival, was to write the letters “ME” on a page, and send it in.  It feels more and more as if I am my own worst enemy; or probably more accurately, my thinking is.

My disordered thinking is evident in all areas of my life, but is particularly problematic at work – where I’m doing the job of about two people, but reluctant to make waves by saying that I’m swamped; within therapy – where I hold up any negative interaction as a reason to further beat myself up mentally, and use as a gateway to more self-injury; and finally with my relationship with food – where small things like being told that I must have three meals a day in order to have the antibiotics I was prescribed last week, caused a major panic.

I know that all of these factors are inter-related symptoms of an underlying cause… the problem is, that the symptoms are screaming so loudly, that it’s difficult to see, or hear the motivations behind it all.  It is for this reason, that I’ve chosen this abstract photo of a red canna lily to represent both the scream of the symptoms, and the underlying motivations.

This scream is my obstacle… and my path to healing.

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Now playing: Counting Crows – Rain King
via FoxyTunes

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Winnie

1994 – 28/12/2011

Forever resting under the Pohutukawa…

Sunbathing (2011)

On alert (2009)

Disdain (2008)

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Today, I ventured outside for the first time in months.  Yes, I’ve been going to work, and doing the bare necessities in the way of chores; but I haven’t been outside for anything other than that for a long time.  It was also the first time I’d picked up my camera in months.  These are some of the photos I took…

Duckling

Ducklings

Waxeye

Lion fountain

They mean different things to me… from the cuteness of the ducklings, through to the almost desperate stance of the lion.

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Now playing: Brooke Fraser – Lifeline
via FoxyTunes

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About three months ago, things in my little world, for want of a better phrase, fell apart.  Things had been slipping for quite some time before that, but there was a final stressor which caused an extreme internal reaction.  I look at the few posts that I’ve published since that time, and they’ve talked of my disconnection with the world… my withdrawal from those around me.  This feeling was starting to seem chronic.  Hopelessness had settled in, and there appeared to be fewer and fewer options available to me.

Then, this past week, I started to see some glimpses of hope… lots of little things started to add up to create a bigger picture -  reading The quiet room: A journey out of the torment of madness by Lori Schiller and Amanda Bennett; reading several blogs which talked about our inner resources; and reacting to Marsha Linehan “coming out” about her own history of mental illness.  What these all created was not a new awareness, but a reaffirming of an old one… I wasn’t disconnected from the world… I was disconnected from “me”.

The rest of the world didn’t see the problem, because I was still functioning in it.  I was still going to work, doing what was required of me, and going home.  I was passing for human really well.  But because I had lost all sense of my internal resources and connection, there was no substance to anything that I was doing.  I could voice an opinion, but it came purely from an intellectual place, with no feeling behind it…  It’s only when you combine the intellectual and emotional, that you can fight for your opinion to be heard and understood.

So how do I get back to “me”?  Well, I’m not so sure.  I know that I need to bring a sense of balance, acceptance and safety, into my life.  All of these elements are in pretty short supply at the moment.  I’m aware that there’s a huge fear associated with looking inward to see what can bring me back to level ground.  I know that it’s about going back to the basics… reading, drawing, photography, reflecting…  But, I’m not so sure how to accomplish this.

Writing this post was my first step.  It’s an acknowledgement that I need to pay attention.  That I can’t keep on going as I have been…

So, in the interest of trying something different, I’m going to tell the story behind one of the photos that I took while walking around the Wellington Zoo…

I took this photo as we were on our way to the exit.  What captured my attention, was the chatter of the little girl.  She was talking non-stop, and part of me was expecting the Dad to tell her to be quiet and calm down… instead, he listened to her.  He responded as if he was giving her his total attention.  When she wanted to exchange hats, he went along with it… saying how cool she would look with his hat on… he even helped her with the great hat exchange.  After making sure that his hat was securely on her head, and that she was content with arrangement, he then put her hat on… all the while, he kept on walking and chatting as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do.

This man walked away, listening to the chatter of the little girl, with hats exchanged, and a pink backpack on.  Doesn’t he look like a “cool dude”?  Yet he didn’t lose patience with the girl and her innocent request… did I mention the pink backpack?

It was one of those moments where my past experiences, and what I was seeing, clashed.  It took what seemed like ages to calm the inner chaos that was created by my expectations that this man would become angry with the little girl.  I know that I could only be seeing the public front that this family put on, but I don’t think so.  The little girl was so secure in her position in his arms.  There was no stiffness in her posture, and the chatter was the free and easy chatter that I know occurs with children who are loved unconditionally.

While this scene brought hope, it also brought confusion and grief.  I was mainly aware of the hypervigilence and confusion at the time, but I know there was grief for what will never be…  I can sense that now.  That has to be progress, doesn’t it?

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Now playing: Sia – Breathe Me
via FoxyTunes

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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
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Note: The images in this entry could be triggering.

The activity for this months Expressive Arts Carnival was:

Through drawing, painting or any other visual means, create a self portrait. Please also include a couple of sentences saying what the process was like for you.

Over the years I have done a few self portraits – many of my Polyvore sets are forms of self portraits, although I’m rarely aware of it at the time.  So to approach an activity with the intent of creating a self portrait, was oddly intimidating.  It’s difficult to portray to the world how you see yourself, when you know that your self image is so twisted.  I can see myself as innocent, guilty, fat, thin, ugly, dirty, disgusting, etc all at once.

There is an added layer of confusion, when you see yourself as a reflection of those around you.  The most obvious example of this is when I was growing up, I was constantly comparing myself to the sister.  She always seemed to be able to garner the attention of the parents that I so desperately wanted.  I never seemed to be able to get it though, no matter how much I tried.

So, I entered into this exercise with a great deal of trepidation.  I had no idea what I was going to do, until I read back over a couple of blog entries, and spotted my comment about the sister and I both receiving identical dolls with different coloured outfits for Christmas.  Then it became fairly easy.  Purchasing identical dolls was as simple as going to The Warehouse (Target or Walmart equivalent).  But then came the task of creating the difference between the two dolls.  In many ways, what I ended up creating was the exact opposite of how we appeared to the outside world… the sister was “the bad one”, who always got into trouble; while I was “the good one”, who always appeared perfect.  But with the dolls, I created how we appeared in my mind…

Self Portrait

The front doll is the sister, and I’m in the background.  She’s looking straight at the camera, getting the attention she deserves; meanwhile, I’m  obscured, blurry, looking down, trying to be invisible.

You might be able to tell that I “altered” the doll representing myself.  This alteration, is a reflection of how I see myself – as damaged goods.

Eye

I was amazed that I was able to damage the doll, and fairly easily.  All of the toys I purchase, are left in their packaging, usually with the price still on.  I’m not allowed to open or touch them due to how I might contaminate them with my filth.  Yet, with these dolls, they were opened and one of them basically destroyed within a very short time.  It was cathartic, and slightly disturbing.  I now have a damaged doll… I’ve no idea what I’m going to do with it.

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Now playing: P!nk – Family Portrait
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Floating high above the pain
Turn away…
Don’t see
Don’t hear… don’t feel

Come, let’s play
Let’s forget about what’s happening below
Look, how many flowers can you see in the wallpaper?
How loud can we sing?

Many days past, playing near the ceiling
Then a tipping point…
Uncle came along
With needs and acts depraved

Floating high above was no longer enough
Singing did little to hush the screams

Come into The Attic
I built it just for you
White and pure
No shadows, no pain

I will protect you
Hide you
Keep you safe
Forever

This partial poem was written by Carrie (the protector of The Attic), before today’s emergency therapy session with Allison.  It was meant to tell how, and why The Attic was created.  It told us that, and so much more…  It told us where the current suicidal ideation is coming from.

Carrie guided the innocents into a place of safety within The Attic; all the while seeing the acts causing the dissociation.  Carrie’s whole world revolves around keeping those within The Attic safe from abuse.  So, when The Basement started to become involved in the healing process, Carrie saw healing as a threat.  She stills sees the world as an evil place – self-injury, child abuse, inequity, intolerance and hate all still occur.  Therefore, it’s a world still unsafe for those in her care.  The only solution she sees… suicide.

This is what I took into Allison today.  Because of the new clarity surrounding the issues, it was a really productive session…

We talked about the poem and image created about The Basement/Vault, and what it meant.  She was curious as to why the image was so imbalanced – with the box being so much smaller than the image representing hopes and dreams.  At first, we thought we had the meaning behind this image sorted, but her questioning made us rethink it.  In an image that I considered to indicate hopelessness and a sense of fear, she managed to show us hope.

Then our familiar nemesis… ACC.  ACC contacted us yesterday to tell us the final results of our latest assessment.  Immediately, M was wanting to fight the decision.  But by the end of the night, she was rethinking the need to fight.  She stood back and looked at the toll our interactions with ACC have had on us over the years… two suicide attempts and countless instances of self-injury.  Was that fight worth it?  In some ways, it is.  The fight gives M something to focus on, and something to be here for.  We’re used to fighting…  there’s a comfort in fighting something external.  But, it’s not healthy.  Allison asked what would happen if we directed the energy expended on fighting ACC into something healing… how’s that for a dose of reality!

Finally, how to help Carrie.  This was difficult.  Carrie has only ever come forward once or twice in therapy, and that was about 3 years ago.  We didn’t really get any sense of having resolved the problem, or the reason for the suicidal ideation.  But, we acknowledged that Carrie’s fears are real and tangible.  Allison tried to show how there is beauty in the world too… I’m not sure if she succeeded or not, but when we were walking back to work, we saw the blue sky for the first time in what seems like forever…

I’m not naive enough to believe that I’m safe.  But, there is a spark of hope that’s been absent for a long time.

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Now playing: Creedence Clearwater Revival – Have You Ever Seen The Rain?
via FoxyTunes

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The activity for this months Expressive Arts Carnival is to:

Use any visual means (e.g., drawing, painting, photography) to represent, in an abstract way, your experience of all or part of your internal world. The key to the activity is to focus on an abstract representation. The reason for this focus is that it helps us to describe our experiences in a way that is not so familiar to us.

First off, I’m not good with abstract thinking or art, let alone putting the two together; so this activity has proven to be a bit of a challenge.

Saying that, here are our  attempts to represent what our internal world looks like…

Internal World: Part I

This one was heavily influenced by M.  It’s a very structured view, and I think comes from her place of being a little apart from the rest of us.  I think it’s possibly more of an abstract system map, rather than a representation of our inner world.

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Internal World: Part II

Well, our internal world according to Aimee and K (with help from Sophie)… They like the baby moose playing, and the mother moose always watching to make sure nothing will hurt them :)

I’m not sure if this is really a representation of our internal world for a majority of us, but I think it’s accurate for these two young ones… or how they’d like it to be???  They also love the clip, so wanted an excuse to put it on the blog…

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Internal World: Part III

In the shadows, waiting.

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Internal World: Part IV

Which leads to the final representation… the one that all of us agree to some extent represents our internal world, or a very important part of it…

Shadows…  The lower left corner represents areas which are in total darkness, while the upper right corner represents areas which are flooded with light. These two extremes are linked by varying degrees of shadow intensity.

This was an interesting exercise to do… Thank you Paul for providing the prompts.

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Now playing: Five For Fighting – 100 Years
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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
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