Scattered pieces

It’s considered to be one of the most recognisable songs in the English-speaking world.  It’s also the only song that is almost guaranteed to make me cry.

If you’re not familiar with the origins of Amazing Grace, it was written by John Newton, an English poet and clergyman, and is a song of forgiveness and redemption.  It is considered to be a Christian hymn, and is sometimes played at funerals, often by a solo bagpiper.  John Newton was involved in the slave trade; but on a particularly rough voyage, he began his spiritual journey.  Amazing Grace was written for a New Years Day service in 1773; and has been known to be sung to over 20 different melodies, as it is unknown if the there was any music to accompany it on début.  It’s now most closely associated with the tune “New Britain”, and can be sung acapella, with music, or as an instrumental.

What I find interesting about this song, is that despite it’s Christian overtones, I still strongly identify with it.  I don’t believe that I will ever be forgiven for what I have done, or that I will ever be redeemed; instead, for me, the song is about grief.  It’s about pain and releasing that pain.  It’s about death.

There are many versions of the song available… some of the more popular ones on YouTube are by the Celtic Women, Elvis Presley, British Airways Pipe Band and Hayley Westernra (a fellow kiwi).  One of my favourite vocal versions is by LeAnn Rimes…

I’m unsure about the reasons why I am seeking this song out at the moment.  I’m still in a very bad place, and this is one of the songs that I want played at my funeral – another is by ABBA, just to make people laugh.  So am I adding to the pit that I am in by listening to this, or am I releasing the grief and pain that I feel?  I’m not really sure.

There are so many thoughts floating through my head, that it’s difficult to make sense of them.  I know that I’m sucked dry.  I’ve been running on empty for about four months now, and it doesn’t look as if it’s going to improve any time soon.  I know my safety is a huge issue, and I was expecting Allison to send me to hospital last week… instead there was a misunderstanding, and I shut down.  Any glimmers of trust that were starting to be built, have gone.

I’m trying not to be reactionary, but it’s difficult.  After the session on Friday, I created this Polyvore set…

What’s interesting, is that the rabbit is looking in a mirror… is the set saying that Allison was at fault, I was, or we both were?  Is this about me seeing the reflection of my dysfunctional behaviour, and not liking it?  Or is it a cute graphic about no one being perfect, no matter how hard we try?  I wish I knew…

Print PDF

Please note that this entry might trigger due to the issues of child abuse and religion being discussed.

Over two years ago, I wrote the post Religion and Karma.  In it, I shared some of my confusion around religious concepts.  Since I wrote that piece, my confusion has, if anything, deepened.  Conflicted and distorted messages about religion, and my self worth, have driven much of my dysfunction over the last two months.  I have been bombarded with messages about being evil and not worthy of being here, or of this healing journey.

To give a bit of background as to where much of the distortions come from, my father is Roman Catholic and attended a Catholic school.  It was a strict (or traditional) school, with his left handedness being beaten out of him, and intimacy a taboo subject.  In contrast, my mother based her religious affiliations on which church had the best outdoor basketball (netball) team – Baptist won.  When they married, my mother converted to Catholicism and regularly attended church.  My siblings, and myself, were all christened, and my brothers confirmed.  The families pathway through Catholicism ended after my mother had me.  She was advised that if she had any more children, she would probably die in childbirth.  When the church heard of my mothers decision to use birth control, she was asked not to return.  As she was the driving force behind our going to church, this meant that none of the family returned.

This is what I now know of the families leaving the fold.  But, as I was growing up, my brothers told me that we were asked not to return to church because I screamed too much during the service.  Being a sensitive and trusting child, I took those stories, and internalised them.  I became convinced that I was the reason that the whole family was going to go to Hell for eternal damnation.

Later, I had several encounters with religion…  My sister attended an extremely devout and divisive youth group… I attended religious camps during the school holidays; where, along with John 3:16, we were taught Matthew 25:46 – my sensitivity meant that I took both as signs that I was a sinner…  I later joined Rally (similar to Girl Guides), which had a strong religious basis.  It was here that things became very confused, as I was old enough to be aware of the messages and expectations, but failed to live up to them.  I was told that I needed to pray for God to come into my heart, and I would know that this had occurred when I felt a warmth and peace.  Well, I was so disconnected by this stage, that there was no way I was going to feel any warmth in my heart, or anywhere else.  This was the final blow, and I turned my back on any further attempts to connect to a higher power.

Throughout all of this, I was being abused.  Some of the abusers used phrasing with religious connotations as part of the abuse.  I now realise that this had nothing to do with me, but I still internalised it at the time, and took it as further proof as to why God had turned his back on me.  I was evil and a sinner.  I was beyond salvation.

One of the system, W, has great problems with anything religious.  I had never really understood why this trigger was so big, when I had never been abused by a religious figure.  Then, last Thursday, Allison asked W what her role was within the system… her answer “to pray”.  To pray for forgiveness.  To pray for help.

When I was eight, I was abused by some teenagers in the school grounds.  The location of the event is significant, because on the rise, about 50 metres away, was a church.  About 3 metres away from the structure I was being abused in, there was a thoroughfare for pedestrians and cyclists.  It wasn’t busy, but there were usually some people walking by.  As I was being abused, W was created within my mind to pray to the church on the hill… to the God she had heard about… she prayed for help from the people walking by… she prayed for salvation from what was happening.  When no one answered those prayers, she saw it as proof that we were evil, and therefore not worthy of God’s help.

I was never really exposed to the positive side of any religion.  It was all doom and gloom… damnation… selfishness, and selfish acts.  My God was a very fearful, vengeful one, and he wasn’t pleased with me.

As I learned about God, I was getting hurt, as were millions of others in the world.  That didn’t seem fair, or just.  I never liked the overly simple explanation of free will.  I still don’t understand how such evil can be in this world.  Then, if you have evil, then surely there must be a counter balance to that; and what is that counter, if not a God?

As you can see, I’m still very confused.  I initially made this private because I don’t know if I can handle comments on this issue.  But, after a couple of people read what I wrote, I realised that maybe I need others reading this in order to challenge my thinking around all of this.  I still don’t know what I need to help me understand all of the distorted and confused messages in my head, but this post was one step in trying to sort it through.  I don’t know how much help Allison is going to be on this, as when she was questioned last week, there was a sense that she wasn’t firm in her beliefs, so therefore can’t be believed.

I do know that they seriously effect my self worth.  The messages about not being worthy of being here, are tied to the messages about religion.

I finish this post, not knowing why I wrote it, let alone published it on the blog.  Maybe to show you how bad I really am.

—————-
Now playing: Sarah McLachlan – Angel
via FoxyTunes

Print PDF

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.

—————-
Now playing: Bush – Glycerine
via FoxyTunes

Print PDF

The theme for this months Expressive Arts Carnival is:

Through drawing, painting, photography or any other visual means, create an image representing your relationship with “safety”.

As I’ve described before, my relationship with safety is tenuous and rather dysfunctional.  Allison asked me last week whether I felt safe in her office, I asked her what safe was… This interaction sums up my confusion towards safety.  Intellectually I know the definition of safety, but I don’t have a framework to put that experience in for myself.  At times, I consider it safe to be in the middle of an open field or park, where I can see if someone is coming to get me.  Sometimes I consider it safe at home with all of the windows and doors locked.  Other times, I consider it to be safe to be in the middle of an abusive event – there is a sense of having control over the situation.  So yes… dysfunctional.

Internally there is little sense of safety.  The closest I get to the feeling is when I’m out taking photos, or watching the ocean.  This is when I get a sense of calm.  The internal noise quietens down, and there is a sense of being.  This feeling is rare, and even when I’m doing those things, I don’t always feel it.  This highlights for me that safety can only be reached through a combination of factors, but most important are the internal ones.  If I can be in exactly the same situation twice, with one time feeling things slowing down, and another time them still racing… it indicates that my reactions are the deciding factor.  The problem is trying to establish why there is a different reaction.

I know that trust plays a big part in my feelings towards safety.  The ability to trust those around me, and myself.  I second guess the motivations of those around me, because I don’t understand that people would want anything to do with me, without wanting something from me.  I wish I could say that these are all old feelings, but they’re not.  I’m often only sought out at work to fix something for someone, or to do extra work… rarely is it for anything else.  Yet, I also know that I encourage this sort of impersonal interaction… if the “go away” neon sign above my head was any bigger, it would topple over into the razor wire topped concrete wall that surrounds me.  Yet, I still don’t feel safe inside my wall…

This is why I keep on doing the difficult work of healing.

This is why my entry into this months carnival is menacing, rather than optimistic.  Safety feels like some out of reach ideal that only happens to good people…

—————-
Now playing: Tracy Chapman – All That You Have Is Your Soul
via FoxyTunes

Print PDF

I have a habit at this time of year… a habit of dumping therapists.  When I look back over my past experiences with therapists, the end of the therapeutic relationship has usually begun in Autumn.  It usually starts out subtly, but is always aimed at undermining my confidence in their ability to guide me through the healing process.  This dumping process has started with Allison.

Ending any therapeutic relationship is just one of the things I do to disconnect from life at this time of year.  The disconnect can be pretty harsh and sudden – I deleted my FaceBook accounts, I’ve stopped going out and taking photos, I’ve been less communicative at work, I don’t comment on others blogs like I usually do, I don’t post anything here…  The list goes on.  I know that under the surface, there is a huge amount of anger driving the disconnect.  I’ve been trying to work with these emotions for the last year, and I was making progress; but things seem to be backsliding. I actively worked against the backsliding over the weekend by reconnecting a FaceBook account and forcing myself to get outside and do the gardens – there was even an odd peace experienced when mowing the lawns.  But I know that things are precarious.  The only reason I could write anything here today was because I did a Wordle exercise of free writing seemingly random words for 10 minutes.  There was a jumble of positive words such as love, dance, friends… through to words such as disconnect, hate, anger…  I know the reason for some of the words, and they are tied strongly to this time of year.  In the Southern Hemisphere we’re heading into the Rugby season; a time historically, when most of my abuse occurred.  My hope is that my awareness of these triggers will mean that I can navigate this Winter more successfully.

I read a quote recently that said it’s a lot easier to say your angry, than you’re hurt.  While I agree with the quote, I also know that there are parts of me that are both.  They have reasons to be both, very good reasons.  I now have to find ways in which to ease those powerful emotions in safe ways.  I don’t think that this year I’ll be able to distract them all away like I tried to do last year.  I don’t think it’s healthy for me to do that this year, even if it were possible.  That will just set-up more compartmentalisation, and I need to ease those compartments, not reinforce them.  I also know that I can’t have another Winter like last year…

I really do hate Autumn, but I hate Winter even more…

—————-
Now playing: Beyoncé – Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)
via FoxyTunes

Print PDF

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.

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

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

Print PDF

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 :)

————————————————————————————

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

Print PDF

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

Print PDF