Scattered pieces

One of my first jobs in libraries, was working as a reference librarian in a small public library.  It was a fascinating job, as nearly every patron came in with a different information need.  There is one man whom I will always remember… he was probably in his mid to late 50′s, and very intelligent.  He approached me with confidence and told me what information he needed… “Where are your books on how to build an aviary”… taking him at his word, I showed him to the aviary construction books.  As he was enjoyable to talk to, and unfamiliar with the inner workings of the library; I walked with him over to the books.  As we walked over, we started talking.  After a fairly short, informal discussion, I found out that he’d never owned birds before, and was looking at different aviary designs so that he would know which birds to put together, and how to care for them.  I immediately knew that he didn’t need aviary designs yet… he needed bird care books, which are in a totally different section of the library.

When I talked about this incident with my manager, his immediate response was “don’t blame the customer… no matter how intelligent they are, they don’t know how to navigate our systems, or to identify what their real information need is”.

Later, when I was working in a tertiary library; I worked closely with many highly respected academics.  Despite their skills within their own area of expertise; they would regularly ask me to come in and teach their students how to find information, and for help with their own research.  One academic called librarians a “guide on the side”… that is, we were there to guide the user through the maze of information retrieval and management.  We help the user to gain skills so that they too can learn how to retrieve information… and therefore become a “lifelong learner”.  This academic was vocal that her expertise was in academia, and mine was in information seeking… she saw them as complementary, rather than conflicting, skill sets.

Why I mention all of this seemingly irrelevant waffle; is that I realise that I place absolutely no value in Allison (or any therapists) ability to be a “guide on the side” during my healing process.  I don’t trust their skill, intelligence, or abilities.  This, despite researching their qualifications, seeing their skills in action, and being nearly six years into therapy.  Part of this is because I have seen a couple of therapists whom I didn’t respect their intelligence… basically, I could destroy them in an argument.  But a greater part of the problem, is my need for control.  I don’t trust anyone else to tell me what to do – that got me into too much trouble when I was young; and, more importantly, my ability to escape into my head was my saving grace as a child.  It’s where no one could touch me, and where I could control what happened.  It became my coping mechanism… I entered school and realised that intellectualisation was something to be valued… suddenly there was something I could do that would get me approval on a grade sheet…  My imagination, coping and intellect became something that I could control, and now a therapist wants to come in and mess with that?  No way was that going to happen!

Then, last week, I had a Twitter conversation which helped me to rethink how I was viewing Allison, and all therapists… I made the leap from thinking of therapy as this thing that happened “to” people, to being an interaction that I could relate to… I put it into context of the intelligent gentleman who came and asked me about how to build an aviary.  Something clicked internally, and I could see that I was walking into Allison’s office as that man… I came in wanting to “have a life worth living”, and I was walking over to the “life” section of the library; but what I really needed, were the sections about self soothing, nutrition, boundaries, physical health, etc.  Without all of those basics, the “life” that I built would always be hollow and meaningless.  I would always be falling back into dysfunction, and struggling to find meaning in what I was doing.

What does this mean?  Well, Allison has said several times that it’s her job to guide me through the healing process… my response has been to roll my eyes, and go do some more research… difficult, me? Never!  Yes, this is the sort of thing that the poor woman puts up with every week.  I now know, that what I have to do is ease back on that control, and put some trust in her skills.  I need to realise that she is my “guide on the side” in healing… I can, and will, still question everything; but I need to listen, and have more patience.

Sounds pretty simple for a sarcastic, control freak… right?

A special thanks to my Twitter buddies who helped me realise this… probably without even knowing what you were doing!

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Now playing: Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars – Safe and sound
via FoxyTunes

I came across the word “murmuration” today, and stumbled across this video.  I don’t know if it’s the music, the dance of the starlings, or both… but I found it calming, so thought I’d share it.

Thanks to Frank and the @postsecret team for the tweet that piqued my interest.

Late edit: If you hadn’t already tried it, it’s great to watch in full-screen :)

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

The theme for this months Expressive Arts Carnival is:

Through drawing, painting, or any other visual means, create an image that incorporates your personal hopes and dreams.

I’m not sure why, but I found this activity really easy to do.  This, of course, makes me incredibly suspicious… did I not think it through properly… did I focus too much on the happy, cheery aspect of it all… did I do the exercise when so dissociated, that it will make no sense in an hour/day/week… That sort of self-doubt is the kind of thing that I hope to one day not live with so strongly.

When I was thinking of how to sum up my hopes and dreams visually, my immediate thought was to have an image of a woman confidently smiling into the camera. This is my ultimate hope… to be able to look people in the eye, with a smile on my face, and without the need to dissociate in order to accomplish it.  Because, if I can do that, then I will have confidence and a sense of self-worth; and I won’t be living under the cloud of shame that envelopes me and directs so many of my actions.

The problem with this, was that it was based on having a photo that could represent that feeling/image.  I can’t put an image of myself on this blog, and I felt uncomfortable finding a representative image.  I’m not quite sure why there was resistance to doing so, but I think it was because it would be having someone else’s face represent my hope for the future.  As a result, I purposefully moved away from images, and instead created the following Wordle…

These are my long term hopes… so closer to the 10 year, rather than 5 year time-frame.  Some are about where I want to be physically (healthy and by the ocean), but a majority are about my mental health.

In many ways, my hopes and dreams are about possibilities… just daring to have hopes and dreams is about the possibility for a future.  Then, to have that future possibly be better than what I currently experience, is another possibility.  It is possible, because anything is possible.  Add to that my determination to have a life worth living, and I definitely think it’s possible.

A cold snap has hit New Zealand. Places which haven’t had snow in decades, have had more than a dusting! Here’s one of the best videos I’ve seen of the event… it shows the good stuff… the wonder of seeing something so unique happen.

Snow on Cuba Mall in central Wellington (HD) from Ro Tierney on Vimeo.

Love the little girl jumping in her red coat :)

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Now playing: Claude Debussy – Clair de lune
via FoxyTunes

I remember sitting on the mat, near the front, and to the left of Mrs B.  It was the first day of the new school year, and I’d just been moved into “The Unit” – two classrooms joined into one, in the middle of the junior primary school.  Possibly because it was the first day of school, everything seemed so noisy.  Other children were talking to their friends they hadn’t seen since school got out the year before.  A couple of boys were running around the large room, while one of the younger teachers was loudly telling them off.  But, I looked straight ahead, blocking out everything as I looked at Mrs B. talking.

Mrs B. started to called out the role.  My name wasn’t on it.  I continued sitting there, frozen in fear… confused as to what this meant.  I thought that if I stayed quiet enough, no one would notice that I wasn’t meant to be there.  What was one more child to a teacher, anyway?  I didn’t like the look of the other teachers, they were younger and didn’t have the kind eyes of Mrs B.  So I sat there, trying to sink into the mat.  Then, the inevitable happened… a boy from the group I was meant to be in, came looking for the me.  In a daze, I followed him to the group I was meant to be in.  I didn’t look over my shoulder, I’d learned not to look back…

I sat with the rest of the class that I was assigned to be in, dazed and unsure.  I didn’t like this new teacher, she was the one who had been yelling at the boys.  Her face was full of harsh lines, nothing like the softness of Mrs B.  She told me to sit at the front… possibly so that I wouldn’t escape from her again.  That is all that I remember of that teacher… her harsh face and voice.

Throughout the year, the classes intermingled to some extent.  If you needed something, you were to go to your assigned teacher first, but could ask one of the others, if yours wasn’t available.  My main memory of this class, besides the noise, was the writing we were asked to do.  This was the first time we were asked to use our imagination to write a story.  We were to then take our story to a teacher to have it checked.  I hated having my work checked… my spelling has never been stunning, and creativity was never my strong suit.  On one occasion, I took my story to be checked by Mrs B.  She read it through, and showed me how each of my sentences started with the same word.  She suggested that I go and re-write it so that it wasn’t all the same.  I remember being crushed by her criticism, because I liked Mrs B., I wanted everything I showed her to be perfect… I saw perfection as the only way that anyone would like me.

I don’t remember how long it took me to re-write my story, but I was one of the last to go and get it re-checked.  I felt numb as I approached Mrs B. a second time.  I bit down on the inside of my mouth as she read my story.  I stood silently, waiting.  When she raised her arm, I flinched… I remained like stone as she draped her arm around my shoulders, pulled me up against the side of her body, and hugged me.  It was only as she started praising me, that I relaxed… I still remember her voice telling me that she knew I could do it.  She gave me one last gentle squeeze, before releasing me and writing an A on my paper.

As I walked back to my desk, I was beaming… I’d finally done something right.

These are the main memories I have of the first teacher who showed me kindness.  Other teachers since Mrs B. have shown me kindness, but I’ll always remember that hug.  I don’t know if she hugged other children, I imagine she did…  I don’t know if she realised the importance of that hug for me, I doubt it.  I imagine that for Mrs B., it was something she did as a reward for good work… for me, it was about being touched in a safe way, acceptance and kindness.

Thank you Mrs B.  Thank you for showing an awkward child that there was such a thing as safety in this world.

The Expressive Arts Carnival this month is to provide three words, and a hex colour code to contribute towards a healing word cloud.  My three words are: safety, acceptance and kindness.  I chose purple as the colour for my words, because for me, it represents protection and safety.

Thank you Paul… I needed the reminder that healing doesn’t always have to be painful.

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Now playing: Counting Crows – Rain King
via FoxyTunes

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

Why light needs darkness was a recent TEDTalk by Rogier van der Heide.  van der Heide is what is called a lighting architect, which in very simple terms means that he helps construct environments which utilise light to the best of it’s abilities.  This doesn’t mean flooding a space with light, but rather using it wisely and appropriately.

I found his talk fascinating for three reasons:

1. I’m about to shift into an office which has no natural light – the opposite of what van der Heide recommends.
2. His use of light and darkness, and the way they interact made me look at the way I use light within my photography.
3. The concept of light needing darkness, and vice versa; meant a great deal to me from a healing perspective.

When I was listening to his talk, I was thinking of the make-up of my dissociative system.  What if, instead of being scared of the shadows, I use them to augment the light?  What if I augment the darkness with the light?  This isn’t about balancing them out so that there is only grey… this is about showing each part of the light spectrum at it’s best.  I suppose this is similar to the idea that each part of the system is to work together… but these ideas have always been given from an intellectual perspective in books which has held little attraction for the entire system.  While it’s made sense to some, it hasn’t rung true… there’s been a sense that parts would have to drastically change in order for the system to work together.

Yet, this abstract idea about light and dark, in a talk which had nothing to do with healing, made sense.  The ones in the shadows saw that they could operate from the shadows, and still work with the system in a positive way.  The ones in the light, saw that the shadows didn’t have to hold nightmares, instead they could hold strength, resolve, stubbornness, intelligence, courage, a backbone…  At the moment, these characteristics are what I lack on a consistent basis.  I often need to be triggered before I can access them.  But what if my internal rooms became like the ones van der Heide designed?  Ones where there was a balance and harmony between the dark and light, to the point where it was symbiotic, rather than parasitic.

I’ve no idea how to make this happen, but it’s given me another perspective to work from.  One which seems more achievable, and a lot less scary than what I was envisioning before.

As a note, I strongly recommend checking out the TEDTalks… they can be unexpected sources of hope, laughter, inspiration… and are often thought provoking.

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Now playing: Missy Higgins – Where I stood
via FoxyTunes

Ever notice how easy it is to lose track of the days, weeks, months… years?  At times it scares me.  I know that the mother visited for three weeks.  I know that when she was here, we had several lunches at The Coffee Club; went to two 3D movies (I think Tangled was one of them); I brought her a new camera; and we went to a nearby town where I purchased a small gift for a friend.  The only reason I know all of that, is I have the bank statements to follow my trail.  I’ve no idea what happened on the days when I might have used cash – that’s one of the reasons I never carry cash on me.

According to my computer, it’s now 10.22am on Wednesday, 12th of January.  Isn’t that strange?  What happened to December and the previous 11 days of January?  I really don’t remember – I have some vague, disjointed images of that time, but not many.

I know friends have been struggling.  I know there have been bereavements, Christenings, excited moments over hope for new life, humour in odd things… yes, I remember more about the lives of the people I consider friends, than I do my own.  I don’t know if that is a dissociative feature, or just some weird thing that happens just to me; but sometimes it does my head in.  Sometimes, it acts as an anchor in my own life.  I use the theory that I can’t be insane, or totally stupid, if I can remember a conversation that was important to someone else.

This time loss, is one of the reasons why I have the next four days off work.  I’m sinking.  Well actually, I sunk a little while ago, and I’ve only just realised it…  I always was a bit slow on the uptake.

On Monday I went to work and said that I needed the rest of the week off.  My team leader and manager were supportive; so here I am, in the kiddie pool of life, getting my balance back.

I spent Tuesday sleeping… I went from getting 1-3 hours of sleep per night, to sleeping 8 hours straight, and then sleeping on and off for the rest of the day.

Today, I’m going to go take photos.  My aim… to reconnect with the moment.  I’ve lost too many moments lately.

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Now playing: Missy Higgins – Where I Stood
via FoxyTunes

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.

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

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