Scattered pieces

When I was growing up, my father’s anger dictated the mood within the house.  The image of him sitting in his lounge chair, while the waves of silent anger came pouring off of him, is one of my consistent flashbacks.  The fear I feel when seeing that image, is immense.

Closely associated with my father sitting in his lounge chair, is him watching the rugby games which seemed to be broadcast every weekend.  During the broadcasts, everyone in the house had to be silent.  The only spoken words were demands for more beer, or food.

Then there was the rugby club.  Another of my constant flashbacks and a place associated with abuse, chaos and neglect.

All of the events associated with those flashbacks happened over 20 years ago.  They seem so far away, and yet so close.

One of the things keeping them close is the Rugby World Cup that is underway in New Zealand.  For more than a month, there have been daily reminders of rugby and it’s importance in the nations psyche – I wake up to rugby news on the radio; every third or fourth car has a different nations flags flying proudly from their windows; there are billboards on the side of the road; there is a supporters display covering half of a wall in the building that I work; rugby is prominently in the newspapers; it’s on every television channel (even the ones proudly advertising that they are NOT the home of rugby); it’s on the Internet… it.is.everywhere.  I can’t avoid it… believe me, I’ve tried.

Last night New Zealand won a place in the World Cup final.  Another week of heightened publicity before it’s all over.  I honestly don’t think I can cope.  I’ve become more withdrawn and stilted over the last few months.  The chaos this event has caused has been added to the other stress I’m experiencing, and it’s become more and more of a mess inside my head.

The constant refrain in my head is that I don’t need anyone… that I don’t need help… that the only option is to run away.  I know that thinking is dangerous, but it’s all I have.

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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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Some days, you just want the world to slow down… preferably stop.  It feels like you’re being swept along on a tidal wave of noise, anxiety and demands from others… but all you want to do is stand still and ask it to stop.  The thing is, it will never stop… our only hope is to change the way we deal with those feelings.

The past few months have been a fairly constant series of tidal waves, dragging me under and tossing me about.  This has come to some sort of head this week… my mother is visiting for her 70th birthday; the Rugby World Cup starts tonight (the hoopla associated with such an event has been intense); Winnie’s health is failing; and I was offered the position of team leader.  Being offered the job seems to have been the last straw.  As soon as the offer was made, an internal cacophony erupted… “Yes” … “No” … “$%^# NO” … “What?” … “YES” … “I’m scared“…

Possibly because there was so much confusion, I didn’t do an immediate people pleasing response of “Yes”.  They gave me the weekend to think it over, but it feels like I’m running on a mouse wheel, going nowhere.  I already struggle to cope with work, so why would I want to increase that stress?  My manager and current team leader say that I am ready for the move… but, am I?  Is someone who needs fairly major doses of sedatives before they can teach, really be able to lead a team?  I’m already showing physical signs of the stress, so would this push me over the edge?

It feels like I’m being pulled in all directions.  It feels like the only way out is through the old coping mechanisms.  To say “Yes” and take the punishment.  Be a good girl, and play the game.

You always have to play the game, no matter what.

I just want to be alone… alone and clean.  I feel so dirty and disgusting.

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Now playing: Christina Aguilera – Beautiful
via FoxyTunes

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I’m often curious how others perceive me.  At work this past week, I’ve been used as a manager, mediator, problem-solver and substitute therapist… yet every night as I left work, I had to fight the vivid thoughts of suicide.  Am I really that good at hiding my internal chaos, that people don’t see the stress that I am under; or do they not care?

The nature of my dissociation, means that I can compartmentalise and hide the chaos.  Just like everyone else, I have a “work face” that I present to those around me.  But even with each “face” we present to the world, things show through.  Over the last three months, my eating has become more of a problem… to the point that my jeans are now, literally, falling off me.  Isn’t that a visual clue of the chaos that is going on behind the scenes?  Yet, no one mentions it… making it like a dirty secret that exists in plain sight.

I became curious about this, after reading We must see past what it seems… a post about Melody’s struggles after her husband suffered a brain injury, and they were forced to sell many of their possessions.  When they put their farm equipment up for sale on their property, a neighbour complained about the eyesore it created… Melody’s husband response -

“Sir,” he said, “There was a time in this country, in this community…when if you drove past your neighbor’s house and saw every single thing they own was for sale in front of their house…and that their lawn had not been mowed for weeks….that you would stop and say….WHAT IS GOING ON, SOMETHING MUST BE TERRIBLY WRONG, WHAT CAN I DO TO HELP YOU?”

When did society, as a generalisation, stop caring about the people around them?  I know the research behind the disintegration of the community, and the individualisation of the population… I get that… but it also makes me sad, and more than just a bit frustrated.

In her blog post, Melody asks what would happen if we each wore a sign which told of the struggles and fears we are facing.  Would seeing such a sign change the way in which we act towards each other?  I’d like to think it would, but would it?  For a start, would the signs we wore be honest?  Part of the reason why we have a “work face”… “party face”… “school face”… etc, is so that we can protect ourselves a little from the harshness of the world, and to fit into the group that we find ourselves in.  So would you want to wear a sign saying “I’m going through a painful divorce” (one of the signs on Melody’s blog post), in all of those situations?  I doubt that many of the signs we would wear would be G rated, or appropriate in all situations.

So what is the alternative?  One of the big things for me, is something as simple, and complex, as respect.  If we respect each other, then we don’t need to wear any signs, because we’ll be treating each other as individuals with unique needs, wants and problems.  We’ll be seeing each other… really seeing each other.  Seeing past the protective sarcasm, to the hurt underneath.

Of course, if we did this all the time, or were particularly empathetic, then our emotional reserves would be constantly running on empty… but I do think there’s a balance.  I think we can treat each other with respect, without losing ourselves in the process.  I once read a story about a domestic abuse survivor who used to go to her children’s weekly sporting events with evident bruises… she said that many of the people there would look at the bruises, and some would come up and ask why she didn’t leave her partner, even offer to help her leave.  But the one person who made the difference, approached her, and simply said “I’m here if you ever want to talk”.  There was no judgements or advice, just a respectful opening.  There was no promise of help, or saving the woman, but a respectful, gentle opening of a door.

It’s this sort of respect that can change lives.

How many times when you were a child, did an adult get down to your level, and really communicated with you?  I don’t remember one incident of that happening to me, and maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything… but maybe it would have… who knows?

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Now playing: Brooke Fraser – Deciphering me
via FoxyTunes

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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…

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Don’t look down, just keep on walking the tightrope…

People want to cut the rope, and knock you off balance by throwing more things at you to juggle.  At the moment I don’t seem t have any option, other than to keep taking them on board, and adding them to my act.  Because it is all just an act.  If the rope gets cut, then so be it.  No great loss.

Reminds me of a PostSecret I came across recently -

I only know how to be a supporting character… helping them solve their problems, while giving nothing away of my own struggles.

One day I might be strong enough to send in my own secret; until then, I’ll keep on identify with others.

Edit: Please note that this is about a situation at work.  I’ve become a dumping ground for the different factions at work who can’t play nicely with each other in the sand pit.  It’s doing my head in.

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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
via FoxyTunes

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I’m often described by psychiatrists as high functioning.  They arrive at this conclusion through my ability to work, pay my bills and turn up to appointments.  This perception is consistent with how most of the people that I interact with on a daily basis, view me.  But, that’s only part of the picture.

High functioning is often associated with being driven, focused and goal orientated.  I can be all of that… and more.

The problem is that when I’m focused and goal orientated, I’m ONLY that.  There’s no balancing influence from any other part of my being.  I skip breaks at work, I work longer, I do work at home… all of this adds to the focus on work, to the exclusion of everything else.

Then something snaps, and I lose time.  I wake up in strange places.  My thoughts start coming in sing-song poetry.  And I get hurt.

But the hurt doesn’t matter; because, as soon as I wake up, I’m high functioning again.

It becomes a cycle.  All I remember is the high functioning work.

This is the place I’ve been in for the last fortnight, or so.  It feels like my only reality.  I don’t have access to anything to do with healing.  I don’t have access to anything, unless it’s for work.   I don’t care that there is nothing but work.

I know I’m losing time.  But because I don’t have any sense of that as being distressing in any way, I really don’t see the problem.

I’ve been in this place before, but not for this long.  It’s usually associated with denial, but I’m fully aware that there has been abuse in the past… I’m just not connected to it in any way.  But then, as a contradiction, I watched this flash mob video yesterday morning (which is aimed at raising awareness of child trafficking, sex slavery and exploitation), and cried.

I’ve always liked Annie Lennox, but never really connected to this song until I heard it in this context. The girl in the video is ignored, despite holding a rather large sign. Then, people come in to be with her, before leaving her again… alone to deal with the world around her. People will soon forget that anything happened, and nothing will change.

Some of the lyrics touched a nerve…

I wish that I could be that bird
And fly away from here

and then…

For I am just a troubled soul
Who’s weighted…
Weighted to the ground
Give me the strength to carry on
Till I can lay my burden down
Give me the strength to lay this burden down down down
Give me the strength to lay it down

But my my I feel so low
My my where do I go?
My my what do I know?
My my we reap what we sow
They always said that you knew best
But this little bird’s fallen out of that nest now
I’ve got a feeling that it might have been blessed
So I’ve just got to put these wings to test

Then, when the girl was left alone, there was a change to the lyrics, which highlight the isolation that is felt…

My my I feel so alone
My my where do I go?

You would think these tears would mean something, some connection; but they don’t. All there is, is an intellectual reasoning as to why the video moved me to tears. I’m not even aware of the reason for the tears now, or that it was “me” crying them. I can now watch the video with no emotion. It’s a puzzle to work out, rather than to connect to.

I know this state is dangerous, but because I’m not connected to anything, I don’t get a sense of urgency to alter what is happening.  Maybe high functioning isn’t a myth, but for me, I get a sense that it’s lonely.  But don’t worry, I’m not connected to that feeling for long either… time for more work.

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Now playing: Pink – Don’t Let Me Get Me
via FoxyTunes

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