Scattered pieces

I get confused, between the then and now.

It’s easy to fall back on the familiar, because that is all I know.

They say I’m trouble, but all I’m doing is following the rules.

They say the rules have changed.

I’ve been tricked like that before.

—————-
Now playing: ‪Chopin Nocturne Op.27 No.1
via FoxyTunes

I rarely remember my dreams, but there is one that I had approximately five years ago which I’ll always remember…

There are a group of young girls, dressed in white, escorted to a room by their mothers. One of the mothers is new to the ceremony, and is showing signs of nervousness.

Then the businessmen come in.

The girls are paraded in a circle in front of the men, while the mothers stand to the side, smiling encouragement to their daughters.  The businessmen take their pick of the girls… one of them being the new girl.  The businessmen and their chosen girls go to a hotel, where they are abused.

The mothers whose daughters were chosen, are smiling and congratulating each other… their daughters were good enough to be chosen.  But the new mother is having second thoughts… she wants to go up and rescue her daughter, but the other mothers hold her back.  Telling her of the honour and privilege it was for her daughter to be picked.

I don’t pretend to understand how to interpret dreams, but what I find interesting about this dream that it is focused on the mothers.  In particular, the betrayal of mothers towards their daughters.  They didn’t protect them, instead they actively facilitated their daughters abuse.

This is very much how parts of me feel towards my mother.  This sense of betrayal is the reason why I had so much trouble going to Wellington.  It’s not the city (I used to live here), but it’s the feelings induced by both of my parents being in the same city.  In particular, a fear that the mother will offer us up for abuse.

My rational mind knows that this will not happen, but these fears are old fears.  They’re not based on present day logic, but instead on the perceptions that I formed as a child. Perceptions based on what I wanted a mother to be, and do… one who protected and nourished.  But in reality, she was so consumed with keeping on top of all of the obvious issues, that the ones which were even superficially hidden, were over-looked.

If I look at this knowledge within the context of the dream, she is the new mother to the group who wasn’t fully involved in the process of abuse.  She tried to stop it, but was distracted by the screen of those around her.  The imagery of both my mother, and the one in the dream, is that of weakness.  Neither were observant, neither were thinking beyond the present moment, and they therefore found themselves in situations for which they were not capable of handling.

My mother never knowingly facilitated the abuse, but instead didn’t pick up on the signs.  At one time my mother said that she suspected that something was going on with one of my sister’s boyfriends.  But today, when I asked her, she said she had no idea about any of it.  Instead, anything that might have been considered a sign, was explained away as being “who you were”.

There’s an emptiness in hearing this.  It makes sense, in that I was trying my very best to be “perfect”.  But it also hurts, in that I was not noticed in any real way… my cover story was all that people saw – or maybe all they wanted to see.

I drove for over six hours to reach Wellington.  That was a long time to think about what was going to happen.  There were thoughts of suicide, rather than facing the certainty of abuse that parts thought they were going to be exposed to… thoughts of being able to do this visit, just like all of the visits from the mother… thoughts of what has happened in the past, and how out of control the present has become.

At one point of the drive the messages about the mother not being able to protect me were being repeated over and over… I countered this with the thought that I am capable of protecting myself now.  This was met with a sense of disbelief.  It’s always comforting to know that I have such little faith in my own abilities…  But realistically, I am capable of keeping myself safe from self injury.  I’ve done so before, and I can do it again.

I’m told that healing is all about looking at the present feelings, understanding their origins, accepting them as valid, and using various coping mechanisms to help them be tolerated.  Sounds easy, huh?  So far, this weekend has proven it to be anything but easy.

One moment at a time…
—————-
Now playing: Adele – Rolling In The Deep
via FoxyTunes

It’s 2011.  That means that I can go to the city where the father lives.  I can stay for the weekend, and I can leave without being hurt.

That is what the adult part of me knows.  I know that he no longer wants to hurt me.  I know that I can go to a big city and stay there without him finding out.  I can go to the museums and the shops.  I can celebrate my birthday with my mother.  I can leave without him even being aware that I was there.  It’s 2011, and I have the ability to stay safe.

So why is there that little voice inside me asking questions in a terrified voice?  Asking whether the sister will tell him where we’re going to be.  Asking whether the aunt knows, and will tell him.  What if he comes into the city and sees us?  What if he touches us again?  What if the mother doesn’t protect us again?  What if we can’t escape?

What if…

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.

—————-
Now playing: Natalie Merchant – Wonder
via FoxyTunes

I now realise that I want, or expect, my mothers reactions and feelings towards me to be black and white.  I want her to care, or not care… love, or not love… nothing in between. I don’t understand the ambiguity of her reactions to me.  I don’t understand how she can come up here when I ask her to support me; but then treat me with casual disregard in other ways.

I need her to be the bad guy, because then I have somewhere to direct my anger.  In many ways, she is a safe outlet for that anger (the anger for the father is too immense to go near).  I acknowledge some of the anger directed towards her is justified… she suspected that I was being hurt, but did nothing; and she can say the most cruel and thoughtless things.  But she doesn’t deserve to be the sole beneficiary of the anger that I direct outwards.

My mother was brought up in a house that was dysfunctional – Granddad had at least one affair, and brought a woman pregnant with his child into their house to live for awhile; and Nana had Parkinson’s Disease, so my mother had to take on extra responsibilities from a fairly early age.  Her marriage to my father was also dysfunctional.  She knew this fairly early on in the marriage; but in those days, you didn’t divorce.  Divorce would have been seen as a failure – when she was still married, Granddad told her that at least one of his daughters got it right.

So, she comes from a history of dysfunction.  She has superficially sought help for the issues that arise from that dysfunction; but didn’t see it as worthwhile, so never went too deep.  This means that her ability to change is minimal.  Over time, she has come to accept my mental health issues with a little more understanding… she’s now less likely to ask “when is this all going to be over”… this indicates that she can change, or at least lower her expectations of me.

In many ways, my relationship with my mother is all about my own failings.  This is the reason I react to her thoughtless words… I used to be the perfect daughter, and I no longer am.  I don’t have the ability to compartmentalise my reaction to her, as well I used to.  When she is around, I can usually do it… but I’m now aware of the consequences of bottling all of that hurt up and putting it away.  That’s not to say that I lash out at her, I don’t… I just shut down while she is around.  It’s a very compartmentalised way of interacting with her.  It may sound harsh, but it’s probably how we’ve always interacted, I just wasn’t aware of it.

It was Mother’s Day here yesterday.  I was in a dissociative fog for most of the day… I reached out to my mother, but it wasn’t a good interaction.  I was expecting a level of interaction that will never be.  I need to understand that.  I need to understand the ambiguity that comes from being human…  It’s not a personal insult when she cuts off our Skype call to talk on the phone to my brother, it’s just how she is.  She will never change, so I need to change my reactions to the hurt caused.

It’s this sort of relationship that makes me realise how far reaching the effect of any abuse can be.  My mother never had the skills to make the lives for her children better than her own… I don’t think she realised that there was anything better.  That’s probably the saddest part of this whole situation, my mother will never know anything better.  She escaped an abusive marriage, but never addressed the underlying issues which drew her to that abuse to begin with.  This is why healing is so important… learning to change the way we view the world.  That takes time, effort and perseverance…  some days, those qualities seem in very short supply.

—————-
Now playing: Silverchair – Ana’s Song (Open Fire)
via FoxyTunes

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

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.

—————-
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.

—————-
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

Two weeks ago, I was convinced that I had this Christmas thing sorted. I was feeling excited.  I was thinking of putting up a Christmas tree and decorations, there was even talk of presents!  When I consider the place I was in, at this time last year, that felt like a huge improvement.  But then, the stirrings of Christmas past started to come back to haunt me.  I have few memories of Christmas as I was growing up; but what I do remember, is full of pain, contradictions, unmet expectations and false hope.

What do you see when you look at the typical Christmas imagery?  Happy families, snow, Christmas trees, presents, togetherness, joy, peace, and so on.  These all help to build up expectations of what Christmas should be.  There is a huge pressure from society to meet these expectations; and it’s almost impossible for a regular family to meet them, let alone a dysfunctional family like the one I grew up a part of.

I remember Christmas as being a burden for the family… there was so much money needed for presents, food and alcohol.  The mother would save throughout the year in order to be able to fulfil the work and family commitments that were expected of us… we must keep up the illusion of the perfect family after all, mustn’t we!  Those commitments involved hosting parties where the Summer heat, alcohol and music lead to a lowering of inhibitions and an increasing level of raucousness.  I still have nightmares about the laughter from the parties.

Thinking about the presents we received, it was odd.  As there were two boys and two girls in the family, we often got the same presents, but different colours – my brothers would both get the same plane, but from different countries; the sister and I would get the same doll, but hers would be brunette and mine would be blonde.  I find that a little odd, especially as the sister is five years older than me.  Did she get inappropriately younger gifts, or did I get inappropriately older gifts?  I’m not sure why, but I get a sense that the gifts were another way different ones in the system felt that they “owed” the parents, and that we were disposable, or easily exchanged with the sister.  It seems like we weren’t encouraged to feel a sense of individuality or separateness from each other.

Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful to have received gifts, especially when I know that so many go without. I’m only trying to show how easily children can pick-up on undercurrents and implied messages.  I doubt that the mother was purposefully trying to invalidate any of us with the gifts, but that is what happened.  I have a feeling she did it in the interests of treating us equally, and it’s only with my now distorted hindsight, that I see it in this way.

Presents have always been a triggering and negative thing for me.  The act of someone giving me a gift immediately raises questions about the persons motivations… What do they expect in return?  What have I done that is worthy of receiving a gift?  What do I get the person in return?  What is appropriate to give?  What do I have to do to keep their respect, or is it all a game and they’re teasing me?

I’m getting better at accepting gifts as they were intended, but it’s still a struggle.  Part of me continues to go back to the old days where getting a present was a reward for being a “good girl”.  This is possibly why Christmas was always so difficult… different people would give me presents, and I couldn’t figure out what was needed to pay them back.  It’s for this reason that I like the change in focus away from gifts… which reminds me of an argument that I continually had with Matthew.  He was always worried about not being able to compete with his now ex-wife because she could afford to give the boys gifts.  I would always argue that his place within his boys life was secure as long as he provided them with love and safety.  But I don’t know if that’s true, I’d like to think it is, but peer pressure and societal expectations can be a great influence.

Sometimes I hate society.  Then, I’m reminded of the good it can do as well – Geek girls ACTIVATE! I know the first action was one of bullying, but the response was what mattered.  It reminds me that there is good out there too.

—————-
Now playing: Falling Slowly – Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová
via FoxyTunes