Scattered pieces

Do you ever sit in therapy with the words that need to be spoken swirling around in your head, but experience a total inability to be able to say them?  It can be because the ideas are too scary to raise, there are too many conflicting ideas about what to say, not sure how to say it or you’re too  scared of what the therapists reaction will be.  We experienced this to an extreme level yesterday with Liz.  We wanted to talk about her views on dissociation and diagnostic labels, but couldn’t verbalise it.  This triggered the entrance of the hand scratcher…

I have no idea who the hand scratcher is, but I think “it’s” a mature male who is a protector.  I know it’s not One, as he is incredibly calm and can look people in the eye.  The hand scratcher comes across as being angry as the voice becomes very terse, but he’s very quick to assure Liz that he’s not “getting at her”.  He doesn’t seem to get angry at individuals and is prepared to listen to Liz and what she has to say, but seems continually annoyed or angry.  He also takes away with him all that he has talked about, so we lose the time he is present.  Yesterday he left us with the knowledge that he’d talked to Liz about the diagnosis, but that’s all.  I’m aware of his voice, but not him.  I’ve no idea where he fits into the system, but I’m beginning to wonder if he’s on Ellie’s floor, or even if he has replaced Ellie as the main protector for that floor.  It’s all very confusing and a great way to mess me around – not that I’m a control freak or anything.

What makes me think that he has something to do with Ellie’s floor, is that soon after he left, S talked to Liz.  S is also on Ellie’s floor, so it would sort of fit that they go together in some way.  It was S that caused the amazement.  She swore, was scornful of the father, told about some of the things that the sister used to do to her and Liz took it all in her stride.  Liz could obviously tell when there was going to be the switch from S to B and quickly said that she’d enjoyed talking to S…  Yes, she said she’d enjoyed talking to S.  I was amazed.  One of our greatest fears has been S talking to a therapist, but it went really well.  Admittedly S didn’t talk about anything of a sexual nature, but the fact that she talked to someone and we all survived the experience was amazing.  I knew the world wouldn’t end if she talked to someone, but I was so terrified of rejection, scorn or disgust as a consequence.  Instead I got greeted by a Liz with a smile in her voice and a sense of her having just had fun.  Maybe that will learn me about letting fear get the better of me…  It won’t, but it’s worth a try.

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Now playing: The Feelers – The Fear
via FoxyTunes

Note: This was triggering to write, it might be triggering to read.

One of us has said that “My father’s chair” would be an excellent title to the book of our life. This isn’t to say that we are going to write an autobiography, but rather that this chair was pivotal to our life for so many years. To give you the context, I’ll tell you a little of our family hierarchy. We were the youngest of four children and the parents had an interesting relationship where the mother was the dominant force in many ways. We were all scared of the mother when it came to discipline, she would yell at us and enforce physical punishment.  In contrast, the father sat in his chair in brooding anger.

As far as I’m aware we had two sets of lounge furniture during my life in that house.  I don’t have any memories of the first one, but I know from family stories that it was a 3 seater couch with 2 chairs.  When the renovations on the house were done, a new set was purchased.  It was a 3.5 seater couch and had larger chairs.  Even with this second couch, I was relegated to the floor as I was the youngest and smallest child.  The older siblings would simply push me off the couch and use me as a foot stool.  Because of this, I was often invited to sit on the father’s lap.

You would think that this would mean that I hated that chair.  I think some of us did and still do, but I also know that we felt some sort of tie to the chair.  When we wanted to be far away from the sister’s boyfriend one night, we curled up on the father’s chair.  I’m not sure if this was to gain some sense of strength from the chair, or possibly it was to try and kick-start the dissociation.

One of the enduring memories of this chair is the view from behind the chair, looking at the father sitting in it with his legs crossed.  Often there would be a beer in his hand.  It is amazing how his silence could fill the room.  How his anger could fill the room.  I know that some of us used to bait him by making fun of the rugby or cricket.  I tried not to let that happen too often as the consequences weren’t pleasant.

His anger could make everyone in the house walk around on eggshells.  Some outbursts of anger were expected – the sister getting a new boyfriend, the brother being in a car accident, school report time.  But sometimes he would brood for days or weeks.  During those times I had to carry and fetch for him.  I remember the mother saying we were his favourite so he wouldn’t hurt us…

When the marriage ended and the house contents were sold, the lounge furniture was split up.  The couch was kept, but the chairs were thrown away.  I remember R coming forward and saying he wanted to burn the chairs.  The mother laughed at this, thinking it was part of the game where we now all hated the father.  She didn’t see the rage behind the statement.

It’s been hard writing this without falling into a flashback.  Sometimes the flashbacks are so strong in their pull, they suck you in and take you for a roller-coaster ride through hell.  I know I’ve glossed over much of what occurred in and around that chair.  But you all don’t need to read the details.

What I will share, is that the father’s anger was thrust upon me through the actions of those around me.  I’ll never understand why they chose the youngest and most sensitive child to act as fetch and carrier for the angry force in the house.  Yes, we were his favourite, but that wasn’t a good thing.  This role encouraged me to feel responsible for his anger.  It made me feel as if his explosions were my fault.  As children, we often feel as if we are responsible for the anger of our parents and desperately try to fix things.  But most of the time we have no idea what was broken, so we look around for a miracle cure that doesn’t exist.

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Now playing: Hollie Smith – Bathe in the river
via FoxyTunes

Tonight we have been triggered badly. It’s always a slap in the face when the angry ones step forward, usually we don’t have any memory of them or what they have done, but tonight they left the residual feeling of anger when they left. We’re still shaking from it.

It’s such a contradiction to have the daily functioning states which are usually happy, being so quickly overwhelmed by such darkness and hatred. The violence!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This has stirred up all the ones that have issues with running away and needing to escape. For the first time in a month we’ve been close to texting our normal therapist to ask for help. Tried grounding techniques such as breathing, walking, playing games, petting our cat… Nothing so far has helped. We’re trying this to see if it will dissipate the feeling.

In all the craziness we wrote this (poem????)

I am…

I am 3
Sore
No move
Run
Hide

I am 4
Why?
What I do wrong?
I sorry
I be better.

I am 5
I have the best daddy in the world
My daddy loves me
They all lie about my daddy
I’m the favourite

I am 7
Why me?
Did I walk wrong?
Did I look funny?
Need to be invisible.

I am 8
I am not your special girl
I hate you
I love you
I have to be ugly so no one will look at us again.

I am 13
How dare you
Don’t do that ever again
Dare you to try it again
I don’t care what you do to me

I am 16
No more please
Not again please
Noooooooooo
It hurts too much

I am 25
Hush little girl
I will do this
Go away
This is a mans game

These were the little snippets from parts at that age. Some are still at that age. They’re stuck in that hell, denial, protective state… This had better start getting better soon.