Scattered pieces

I recently came across this poem, which although being about trying to fit into a culture that is not your own, I identified with strongly…

Crossed Cultures

A child, I skipped alone
over cracks in concrete

not daring to look behind
not daring to fall. I was the
dark shadow

that moved
beneath my uniformed body
a shadow stamping its rhythm
on my skin

the threads
of my mother’s tongue reaching out
to furl me in close embrace
her hot orchid breath

whispering
you are not one of them.
but I am! I cried, jumping higher,
running faster

but still
the shadow curled its wily
blossoms about my knees, my hands
my throat

and others
saw and shook my hand and welcomed me
to my own country and asked,
how does it feel
to be you?

And I lied
and said, fine, the words
like sandpaper on bare skin
and I said

fine, kia ora,
no worries, yeah, gidday mate
and they told me my English
was amazing.

So I took
my shadow home with me. I stood
so the shadow
was smaller. I opened my eyes,
stared directly at the sun.

I wanted to be blind
so at last I’d fit in.

By Renee Liang
(Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution – NonCommercial – ShareAlike 3.0 New Zealand License).

The themes of acceptance, alienation, and conflicting messages are powerful.

I came across the poem through the Mix & Mash Awards, with this poem being part of the winning entry in the Literature Remix section by Allan Xia, and also called Crossed Cultures.  You will need to click on the image of the poem to be able to see it properly, but I found it to be a worthwhile extra click.  The image that Allan used within his remix associated with the line “not daring to fall” was what initially caught my eye; but I think he did a brilliant job of mashing the two media and incorporating his own artwork.

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Now playing: Missy Higgins – Stuff and Nonsense
via FoxyTunes

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Note: This may trigger due to talk of abuse and the Sandusky abuse scandal.

Cold, hard concrete floor
Wooden seats, newly stained
Cicadas singing
Tree silhouettes dance across the window

…

This is the first verse of a poem that I wrote today.  I won’t share the rest of it with you, because it’s too raw and personal.

Raw is probably the best way to describe how I’m feeling at the moment.  I’m struggling to make sense of what is going on, and there might not be too much of this which makes sense, but I’ll try to keep it coherent…

When the news of the Sandusky scandal broke, I wasn’t surprised to find that this man had been protected by those around him.  It makes sense – power, loyalty, pack mentality, morality, etc; all play a part in people staying silent about abuse for so long.  This, I understand.  I even understand the anger that some of the students exhibited at the firing of Joe Paterno… when your illusions of someone are shown to be false, it’s difficult to cope with.  I know that this is only an assumption about their motivations, but it makes sense to me.

It also makes a certain amount of sense that the photos I saw associated with the scandal headlines, were not those of Sandusky; but instead of Joe Paterno.  He was the more well known of the two.  But it also shows another sign of how the real tragedy of this scandal gets lost… where is the talk of the victims?  These boys (some of whom are now men), were vulnerable and allegedly abused.  As far as I can tell, they have yet to determine the identity of the victim in the showers.  I realise that identifying this person might be difficult after all these years; but to me, he’s symbolic of how anonymous and vulnerable these victims were.

This is where it becomes difficult to separate my own experiences from the ones surrounding the scandal.  I often describe myself as being invisible and disposable; and this is exactly how these boys seem to have been treated by Sandusky.  They were vulnerable, and he was in a position of power… he is described as paying attention to them, giving them gifts and opportunities that they wouldn’t have otherwise had – that is, he groomed them.

The cynic in me says that this invisibility and disposability has spilled over into some of the media coverage of the scandal, as the victims take a back-seat to the careers of football coaches…

I’m the first to admit that I don’t know anything about football, but I do know a bit about the sports pack mentality that can contribute to this sort of cover-up.  I grew up in a small town where the weekends were dominated by sport.  It was a crowd that you were either a part of it, or not.  If you were part of the crowd, then your life became intertwined with these other people to such an extent, that your children would call your friends “uncle” or “aunt”; you would laugh as you watched your drunk friend stumble towards their car when the bar closed; you would laugh at the racist and sexist jokes, then tell a few of your own…  It was very much “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”.  Admittedly, this was 30 odd years ago, but some of that sport culture still remains.  Even if the acts have changed, the camaraderie and sense of community remains.  When things get bad, you talk to one of the crowd, you don’t involve outsiders…  So even though I don’t agree with his actions, I can understand why the graduate assistant called his father, and then talked to his superiors within the organisation.  He failed that boy in the shower; and in so doing, kept his position within the crowd – it takes courage to stand up to the crowd… isn’t it sad that it takes courage to do the right thing?

The problem is, that understanding the potential reasons why people failed those boys, doesn’t help.  Firstly, it’s only conjecture on my part; but secondly, and more importantly… those boys were allegedly abused.  All of the reasons why, won’t take that away.  Nothing will reverse these events, all we can do is support the people who need it… the victims.

—————-
Now playing: Natalie Merchant – My skin
via FoxyTunes

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It whispers in your ear
… Telling of faults you never imagined

It stands beside you
… It’s filth rubbing onto your bare skin

It looms over you
… Casting it’s shadow over everything you do

It becomes part of you
… Driving your every action and word

It is the Shame Monster
… It is you

—————-
Now playing: The Verve Pipe -The Freshman
via FoxyTunes

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Hollow me out
Fill me with what you will
Send me out to play the role
See me smile
See me talk
See me eat
Don’t I play it well?

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Note:  I have removed commenting from this post, as it was written from one perspective only.  While I need to honour that perspective by leaving it up here; it doesn’t fully indicate where I am, or how the year has gone.  I’ll have another go at writing something after the medication has kicked in :)

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A few of my fellow bloggers are doing reflections on the past year. I initially balked at doing something similar; because, well, I didn’t think that I had all that much to reflect on, or to be positive about. But then I got to thinking, and actually came up with a few… here they are, my random reflections, in all their crazy gloriousness…

I ended some extremely negative relationships:

• Kriss – who was psychologically abusive through his manipulation and inconsistency.
• Matthew – who the day before I attempted suicide, told me that we were all worthless in the big scheme of things, and that I would not be missed.  This was not the reason for the suicide, but I think it acted as a final straw.
• My divorce became final.  I am no longer tied in any way to that man.
• The last relationship was possibly the most important, as it was with someone who knew how to use my dissociation for his own gain.  He shall remain nameless and faceless, but I’m glad I stood up to him and took steps to ensure my safety.

I meet some incredible people through the blogosphere, and even made some friends – despite reverting to “pompous mode” (otherwise known as insecure mode), on occasion.  I’ve learned, laughed, got angry on your behalf and even occasionally shed a tear because of you all – thank you!

I attempted suicide, and survived.  I meant to die.  I wanted to die.  But I didn’t.  Some wizardry of the medical kind, protected my liver; while in the aftermath, the nurses treated me with professionalism.  The suicidal ideation and intent hasn’t vanished, but it’s back to a level that is manageable in my daily life.

I said No to physical touch for the first time in my life EVER.  Allison was saying that when she feels upset for her clients, she often wants to put her arm around them and give comfort through physical touch.  As soon as she said this, I stamped both feet on the ground, like I was getting ready to sprint out the door, and firmly said No.  Ok, so I said the word in a therapists office, where I have established that she will never touch me without consent, but still… I said the word.  Loudly.

I started working with Allison.  It’s been rough, and I still don’t understand her.  But there’s a consistency in staring at her coffee table, feet, bookshelves or her rather sad pot plant.  We talk.  She forces me to slow down, to notice when I have reactions, to accept that I do react, and that it’s ok to do so.

I had brief contact with some of the ones within my system that I didn’t previously know about, but feared.  All I knew was that there was something “bad” in The Basement of my internal house; but that “bad” turned out to be ones which are very hurt.  I know my work with what they hold is by no means complete, but it was started.

I was reminded that I can’t work on one part of the system, to the exclusion of other parts; instead, I must think of my being in it’s totality.  I still struggle with this, but if I wandered too far into a particular coping mechanism, or way of being; there would be a reaction or incident that would remind me that I’m not dealing with one aspect of my life at a time anymore.

At work, I received mixed messages about my performance.  I was given an excellent performance review, asked to act as team leader and manager during absences; but was not given a pay rise.  The high performer within me wants to know how to be perfect, and therefore be worthy of a pay rise; while the realist in me knows that the pay issue is tied to the economic and political times, more than my performance.  It’s a good reminder, that I still need to work on gaining satisfaction from my job that is independent of others.  I still rely on others to prove my worth and validate my existence.  I need to shift that, so that I can gain job satisfaction without needing others approval.

I did my little bit to fight the changes brought about by the new ACC clinical pathway.  I wrote a couple of posts, got into some verbal exchanges on some forums, and even ventured into other peoples blogs to discuss the issues.  Sometimes, I didn’t cope well… but sometimes, I was proud of what I was doing.  I may not have made any impact on the policies, but there were big changes in my healing as a result.  I stood up for myself, and that caused a positive flow-on effect.  On a personal level, my struggles with obtaining ongoing ACC coverage aren’t over, but that’s another story.

I worked on creative expression.  I found that although I can rarely “look inside” and get a direct answer, I can do a Polyvore set or write a poem, and find an answer.  I often get scared of what is communicated, or don’t understand it.  But, I’m a work in progress, and I can learn.  There is more trust from the system because of my willingness to work in this way.

I’ve learned an awful lot this past year.  I think that’s possibly why I fear 2011 so much… the stakes are so much higher.

I wish you all the best for the coming year.  Take care out there…

—————-
Now playing: Pink – Trouble
via FoxyTunes

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Note: This entry may be triggering. Nothing graphic is mentioned, but it is implied.

Hands in the dark
twist and turn the flesh
molds it to a shape that pleases
teases

Eyes turn inward
away from the world
into a life filled with light
laughter

Souls pass
on the breath of pain
never glimpsing each other
just shadows

Shutters go down
lights go on
the performance starts
smiles

Is that all you’ve got?
surely you can do better
see, I can still walk
talk

Spirit emerges
triumphant
won yet again
lost yet again

—————-
Now playing: Natalie Merchant – My Skin
via FoxyTunes

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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.

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

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Note: this entry is about the formation of The Basement. It happened years ago.
The bird in the collage doesn’t represent the guardian.
The bird is a representation of our abusers.

It began slowly, gradually
… the building of the vault.
A place inside
… for feelings so hurt.
Each abuse and cross word
… adding to it’s strength.

As the vault grew in size
… more bars were added.
Strong and true
… to contain the rage.

A guardian stood watch
… ensuring nothing escaped.

Shadows formed
… spreading fear and mythology.
Others whispered
… about beings dirty and naked.
Unable to talk
… only capable of destruction.

Deeper and deeper
… in the mind.
The guardian buried
… the vault.

But not so deep
… that those within couldn’t perform.

Critical mass was reached
… one Winters evening.
The vault exploded
… sending debris flying.
Those within were free
… to destroy.

In a rush of rage and memories
… they came forth.
Ready to spew vengeance
… on a body already abused.

Sticking with what they knew
… peace was sought.

The guardian stood by
… watching the destruction.
Knowing it would be
… for naught.
They weren’t yet organised
… he’d made sure of it.

The rage was exhausted
… as quickly as it had sparked.
No longer beasts
… once again children.

He welcomed them back
… into The Basement.

In The Basement, there is no place for childhood dreams and wishes.
That hope was destroyed years ago.
Dreams and wishes are for the good children, not for them. Not for us.

—————-
Now playing: Emerson String Quartet – Streichquartett No. 4: Child Holding a Dove
via FoxyTunes

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