Scattered pieces

Monkeytraps is one of my favourite mental health professional blogs.  It’s about control, relationships, and monkeys… well less about monkeys, and more about control.  Steve Hauptman (the author) writes some really interesting posts; so when I saw the latest one titled Just the world, I was curious as to what it was about.  This was my sister’s birthday after all, the perfect day to be challenged slightly…  However, there was no way I could have anticipated what actually happened…

Steve wrote about how each of us form this concept of what is a “just world”… one where good things happen to good people, and bad things happen to bad people.  I admit, that I fall into this thinking, regarding myself and my past… I was abused because I was bad, evil, asked for it, provocative, a slut, a whore… the list goes on. I don’t judge others in this way; but for myself, I lay it on thick!

After describing this “just world” scenario, Steve gave the punch line… we buy into this concept of a “just world” because it gives the illusion of control.  Talk about a kick in the gut…

All of my life I have strived to be perfect.  I got as many A’s as I could, while panicking over every B and C; I played sport above my age grade; I was silent; I didn’t cry; I did everything within my power to be perfect… Because if they saw how perfect I really was, they would stop…  They would leave me alone.

But I knew that they saw the evil in me.  They saw how dirty and disgusting I was; so my focus of control changed.  I no longer wanted them to stop, as I was beyond redemption.  Instead, my only purpose, was to stop others from being hurt.  As I grew up, I thought I had succeeded with this aim… I wasn’t aware of any whispers about other girls being taken to “those” places. My sister seemed troubled, but “fine”.

It wasn’t until I finally admitted to my mother what had happened about five years ago, that she said “was one of the boys J. Doe?  Because I was talking to his mother the other week, and she was telling me about the historical sexual abuse charges he is facing”.  At that point, my idea of a “just world” collapsed.  I had failed.  I hadn’t been enough for them to not hurt others; and I hadn’t spoken up so that others would have been spared.  My illusion of control crumbled…

I was unable to see beyond this being my fault… my control… my fault…

I still can’t.  I can’t accept, as Steve suggests, that there is no “just world”; but instead, the  world is a place where justice is possible, and that shit happens.  It can happen to good people, or bad.  It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t discriminate, it just happens.

But if that’s true; then maybe one day, a long, long time ago, I was maybe a good person?  Maybe?

But bad things happen to bad people, so maybe I was bad all along.  I came into this world screaming, and didn’t stop for six months.  I was difficult and evil, even then.

Please let me have saved at least one person.  Please.  Please don’t let what they did to me, be for nothing.  There had to be some purpose beyond their needs and wants?  There does, doesn’t there?  There must.  That is why it’s easier for me to believe it was my fault, my evil, my badness attracting the inevitable karma of equal badness to balance out the universe.

Funny thing is… we used to say “shit happens” all the time growing up… “Shit happens, and then you get over it”.

As a note: I never think anyone else deserves bad things to happen to them.  Please know that.  I always turn it in on myself, but never hold that thinking for others.  I’m always devastated to know of any pain to any other living thing.

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Now playing: The Verve Pipe – The Freshman
via FoxyTunes

The activity for this months Expressive Arts Carnival is to:

Draw a wall using any medium, and show what is on one or both sides. Please also write a couple of sentences saying what the process was like for you.

When I was seeing Liz (about a year ago), I created a Polyvore set which I titled Barriers, and showed what my defense mechanisms and walls were…

This shows my walls as being the razor wire fence, behind which hurt and angry ones can be seen.  What’s interesting, is that an abusive event can be seen fairly clearly, almost as if the memory is the defense against looking closer at the hurt ones and their emotions.  A hidden, and shameful part of the wall is sex; while the more obvious things that make up the wall are my education, work, food, perfectionism, alcohol, cutting and the idea/memories of the perfect family.  The protector with the knives, is one of our more heavy handed protectors, and indicates how out of control we were at the time…

Today, I drew another wall with oil pastels.  I love oil pastels because of their tactile nature.  But I also hate them, because they’re not “precise” enough for me… they have this annoying habit of not having straight lines and bleeding into each other.  Ok, so may be I don’t know how to manipulate them correctly to get the blending done precisely… or, may be that’s the point of them, to be imperfect.

This is what I drew…

Wall

The green and purple are the colours in front of the wall.  These are the colours that protect the rest of the system, and the outside world, from the wall and what is behind it.  The purple acts as a warning, and the green as a grounding colour.  Then there is the black wall.  This wall must be strong and impervious.  The bright red, or anger, is the first thing bashing against the wall, then the shame of blue; before the black emptiness of the unknown.  Each of the colours is separated by mini black walls, to try and keep layers upon layers of protection occurring.

I’m struck by the contrasts between the images.  The first is controlled, yet descriptive; while the second is controlled and abstract.  I often describe my internal world behind the wall as either a gaping chasm of nothingness, or a swirling mess of emotions… neither quite fit the image that I’ve drawn.  I’m not particularly grounded today, so that could be the reason for the disparity.

To add to the oddity, I deliberately chose Missy Higgins’  version of Stuff and Nonsense to go with this entry – a song about knowing/loving in the present, but not being able to guarantee anything in the future.

I sometimes wonder if I’m looking for meaning when there is none, or whether I’m missing the point.  One day, I may find out, but not today.

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Now playing: Missy Higgins – Stuff and Nonsense
via FoxyTunes

Note: This entry may be triggering. Nothing graphic is mentioned, but it is implied.

Hands in the dark
twist and turn the flesh
molds it to a shape that pleases
teases

Eyes turn inward
away from the world
into a life filled with light
laughter

Souls pass
on the breath of pain
never glimpsing each other
just shadows

Shutters go down
lights go on
the performance starts
smiles

Is that all you’ve got?
surely you can do better
see, I can still walk
talk

Spirit emerges
triumphant
won yet again
lost yet again

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Now playing: Natalie Merchant – My Skin
via FoxyTunes

My head is a swirling mass of thoughts and memories…

I should clarify, that the word cancer is there because our old neighbour is dying of cancer and doesn’t have much longer to live.

Note: Yes, there was an major Earthquake in New Zealand, but we’re well away from it.  My heart goes out to all of those affected…

Please note that this may trigger.

It feels like I’m falling into a black hole…

Over the weekend, the dissociative fog was still hanging over me… everything very detached and unreal… Then, in acts of what I can only consider self-sabotage and self-injury, I sought out ways to break through the fog.  It wasn’t smart, it wasn’t pretty, and if it hadn’t been for a good friend, it probably would have led to some seriously stupid actions on my part.

It started off in the morning by going to the shops and buying some L&P, Salt and Vinegar chips and lollie cake… otherwise known as food triggers from my childhood.  I didn’t consciously buy these things, but they were amongst my groceries when I got home.  This stirred things up internally, but I didn’t really think much of it… the dissociative fog was still keeping everything very separate and numb.

Then, in actions that were so stupid, they’re ridiculous… I read an article about ACC’s mishandling of a clients psychological reports… I watched a 20/20 special on CSA… then one on a religious sect in America… then, to top it off, I read several blogs that talked about either consensual sex, or CSA…

Stupid, totally stupid…  That whole concept of telling others to take care and look after themselves… totally lost on me.

After reading a blog about consensual sex, I lost it…  Flashbacks came through like a freight train…  Sounds filled my head… and the smells… the smells… stomach churning, repulsive smells.

I have no idea which young one it was who carried the memories, but she was hurting so much…  The blind panic, the inability to breathe, the need to run…  The overwhelming confusion, the pain…

Too much… just too much.

What does my head in about the memories, is why didn’t I say anything about what was happening?  Why wasn’t my behaviour picked up as being odd by my teachers or doctors?  Was I that good at hiding it all?  Maybe I was, I don’t know… Maybe being part of a white middle class family meant that those sorts of things weren’t meant to happen to me?

Yesterday I remembered a new piece in the puzzle as to why I didn’t tell…  At the rugby club where the father was manager, they had regular raffles.  Each of those raffles had to be drawn in the presence of the Police.  Each time there was a draw, the father used to take me to the Police Station.  I remember that the Police used to joke with me that if I was bad, they’d have to lock me up.  They showed me the cells.  Put me in them and closed the door, so I’d know what it was like.  I know they did this in jest and teasing.  It wasn’t meant to be abusive.  The always laughed and teased the blonde haired girl tagging along with her father.

This is why I believed the implied threats that I would be locked up if I ever told.  That I wouldn’t be believed.  That I was the bad one in the equation…

We went into see Allison today, hoping to talk about all of this.  But we talked about a safety contract instead.  I know safety is important, but I’m scared… I could feel the resentment and resistance to the idea of a contract and our behaviour being “controlled” through reward and consequences.  I worry about what the backlash against the contract is going to be.  Allison says she’s expecting a reaction… which is fine for her, she won’t be the one experiencing it.

I feel like an open wound…  I feel like this…  If you close your eyes and listen, it takes you places…

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Now playing: Wilhelm Kempff plays Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata
via FoxyTunes

I’ll admit, it’s hard to write something after getting so many comments on the last post.  It scares some of the young ones to realise that people actually read what is written here.  It’s even scarier for them when we state an opinion and open ourselves up to negative comments.  Part of me wants to write further posts on similar topics because they see it as helping people – something that feeds our self-worth; but there is a fear that if we did this, we’d lose sight of why we write this blog… which is to help us work through the issues we’re facing.  So, this entry is about finding our way back to that space.  In many ways, the previous post is an indication that we’re trying to avoid the issues… a great diversionary tactic if ever there was one.  It’s hard to work through what is really going on in my head at the moment, it’s all very confused, messy and hidden deep beneath layers of dissociation.  But a clue comes from Liz saying in three of my previous sessions… “we keep on coming back to your anger”.

Anger…  Hmmm, so she means I have anger?  But I don’t “do” anger…  Yes, I get frustrated sometimes, and confused.  But I don’t get angry, do I?  Angry is that scary silence when everyone walks around you on egg-shells… Angry is that violent rage of a raised hand, belt, spoon…  Angry is sex…  “I” don’t do any of that!

That is what my daily functioning self can say easily… “I” have no concept that I experience anger.  Then there are little reality checks… I know that some of my self-injury is motivated by anger or angry ones; therapists have said to me “you left angry last week”; and my cynical friend at work has commented on my anger in a teasing way.  So, apparently I do get angry, I’m just not in touch with it.  Sometimes I can glimpse the anger… if there is a dissociative switch from an angry one, they often leave the body feeling tight and wound up.  That feeling is quickly stamped down and I can ignore that it ever happened; but it’s there, ever so fleetingly.

Another clue to my anger came earlier this week.  I wasn’t able to sleep and was looking at the 25 popular YouTube clips on the iPhone; one of the clips that came up, was the “Angry Dance” from the film Billy Elliot.

I immediately recognised some of the feelings of frustration that Billy was experiencing… having all these conflicting inputs and emotions, while feeling powerless to stop it.  That powerlessness then building into feelings of anger with the world around him and himself.  In Billy’s case, he released that emotion in dance… for us, it’s bottle up and buried within the dissociative system.  I know this intellectually, but I’m not sure I understand it on a functional level… or, more accurately, I don’t know how to deal with those feelings in a more appropriate way.

My knowledge of therapeutic techniques would indicate that I need to work on identifying, experiencing and appropriately managing my anger.  That’s all well and good, but as my anger is so fleetingly realised within my normal functional states, I’m not sure how to proceed in understanding it.  I know that Liz has talked to angry ones and unsuccessfully tried to stop some of the mild self injury (scratching, picking etc) that happens in session when they are present.  She also seems to be actively poking at me and trying to encourage the anger – she was thrilled the other week when I showed frustration at her via a text message.  She wanted to explore my reaction and find out what happened, she saw the event as important… I saw it as Liz being an idiot and stating the obvious, so I snapped a curt response back to her and ignored that she existed.  I’ve noticed more and more lately that I’m losing all sense of Liz between sessions, and I wonder if this is because she wants to explore my anger.  It’s like my system is protecting me from the anger and the scariness of exploring it by shutting down everything that could prod at it.  I think this is also the reason why there are threats and desires to quit therapy…  Liz has become a huge threat to parts of the system that don’t want those emotions looked at.

Anger has always terrified me, I know that much.  Nothing will cause a dissociative switch quicker than someone showing anger.  I know I need to explore and work my anger issues through, I just wish it didn’t seem so daunting and scary…

The other night I watched Sunitha Krishnan’s TED India talk about her fight against sex slavery and Deliver us from evil: The Catholic Church lies, a documentary about clergy sexual abuse.  As a note: both the talk and documentary carry trigger and adult content warnings. I’m not familiar with either of these forms of abuse, other than what I’ve read and seen through the media, but both of these clips affected me.

Sunitha talked with passion and courage when describing the horrific stories of some of the people she has rescued. To see the smiling photos of the children who had been used so badly by society that they died of HIV/AIDS before their 10th birthday…  The main focus of her talk, was not to tell horrific stories, but rather to confront societies attitude towards the survivors that she and her organisation Prajwala have rescued.  She was challenging our intolerance, judgments and the cruelty directed towards this group of survivors.  Turning a blind eye to the abuse is not acceptable… Finding excuses not to employ these survivors is not acceptable…  Society shuns these victims and ostracizes them to the fringes, making it difficult to find employment and develop a sense of self.  Society refuses to open our minds and hearts to their plight…

Within my context, I know that my mental health issues would be treated with scorn, derision and skepticism amongst my co-workers.  I know this, because I have seen how they have treated students who have mental health issues – with one being labeled a stalker!  Because I had to take time off work after my ex-husband attacked me, everyone at work knew that I was a victim of domestic violence.  In the months that followed, I got sympathy and understanding from some people, but I also heard domestic violence jokes from others.  If this is the reaction within my small workplace to what is a relatively common occurrence, I’d hate to imagine how they would react to my full abuse history – would I hear child abuse or suicide jokes?

My situation cannot be compared to the situation of those rescued from sexual slavery.  I live in a relatively wealthy farm based city where homelessness and drug problems are considered the greatest blight on our landscape.  I will never know the horror of the sexual slave industry as experienced by those children; and looking at their stories of survival, I’ll never experience their strength.  The context and extremity of the situations is worlds apart, yet there is still a general theme regarding a lack of acceptance by society.  Both situations show how people can be stigmatised for being a victim…

The documentary, Deliver us from evil, affected me for several reasons – our family was asked not to return to the Catholic Church after the mother started using birth control, and we have been subjected to varying forms of odd Catholic based indoctrination by the father, youth groups and camps.  But, the single thing that affected me the most about the documentary, was witnessing the father’s pain at knowing his daughter had been victimised by one of the priests.  The priest was a man the family had welcomed into their home, and he had abused that trust on so many levels.  The images of this grown man crying and distraught over the pain inflicted on his daughter and his inability to protect her were so confusing for us.  Is this how an otherwise healthy family reacts to such an event?  When I told the mother that I had been raped by three teenagers when I was 7 or 8, I don’t think she shed a tear.  I know she told my oldest brother, but he hasn’t said anything to me about any of my abuse history…  I compare this to when my sister was raped by her boyfriend when she was in her late teens, and both my brothers were willing to track him down and beat him up.  They didn’t, but there was some emotional response.  Am I so worthless that I don’t deserve such emotions?  I don’t want anyone to be hurt because of what happened to me, but some sort of reaction would have helped me gain some form of validation that I am a person worthy of concern.

Again, I can’t compare what happened to me to those who suffered at the hands of the abusive clergy.  There can be no generalisations made that those who were victims of the clergy were from otherwise healthy families or that all parents were as demonstrative in their grief over what had occurred to their children.  The daughter of the man who was open with his grief had been abused for years, and the daughter had made a conscious decision not to tell about the abuse for fear of her father being sent to jail for killing the offending priest – basic questioning as a child had led her to believe this as being a very real possibility.  So again, there are some similar general themes, but the context is totally different.

Sex slavery, sexual abuse by the clergy and my own situation should never be compared in regard to their severity; but there are similar themes which run through all incidents – societies acceptance and reaction to the victim seems to be the most common.  Anger seems to be the another.  Sunitha mentioned that she trained her survivors in male dominated trades because they have the courage and strength to push through and succeed in that area – she mentions anger as being one of the drivers.  The survivors of the clergy abuse, openly and strongly voiced their anger.  I’m just starting to realise that I might be angry about what happened to me, and more importantly how angry I am at those around me at the time – the mother suspected something but did nothing, while my sister would’ve been blind not to notice.

The question for all of us is, what do we do with that anger?

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Now playing: Audioslave – Like a Stone
via FoxyTunes

Last night, one of the lives that one of us leads, intruded on our normal functioning.  This made us wonder how many lives we lead and what impact this has.  Everyone talks about having different roles or persona’s they present to the world, e.g. how you act and appear at work is possibly different from how you would act at a dinner party on a Saturday night.  It appears as if this sort of thing is usual for the singleton population.  As someone who experiences dissociation, I’ve often wondered whether my experiences are all that different from this sort of usual occurrence.  That is, until the way the two different parts run their life collide, then it becomes obvious that we may not fit “usual”.

As a singleton with various aspects of one personality, there seems to be some consistency in the way you interact with the world – that is, your ethics, morals and way of viewing the world don’t change significantly.  There might be more slippage in the way some things are viewed, but overall you are consistent.  Whereas I experience what I would consider more of a sliding scale, especially when it comes to morals and our way of viewing the world.  Our ethics seem fairly consistent – a desire not to intentionally harm others is one common denominator; but our morals especially, seem to be more variable.  This seems to contradict some of the research I have read where morals and ethics are consistent across the dissociative system – if one part performs an action then it is something that the rest of the system is capable of.  So, I as CG are capable of my usual shyness as well as Sophie’s outgoing happiness and S’s overt sexuality.  I’m also capable of the actions that occur from the way those parts view the world.  I struggle with this concept greatly…  Sophie’s outgoing happiness and innocence is a direct contrast to S’s overt sexuality; how can these be morally consistent?  Each part has their own group of contacts online and when there is a collision between these groups, the differences become obvious.  The other night, we were chatting online with a friend, during the chat we received a message for S from one of her online contacts.  The confusion and resulting anxiety lead to a dissociative switch with S coming forward to try and get rid of the person we were talking to so she could talk to her contact.

It is rare for all of us to respect or consider anyone a friend, but there are a few that S doesn’t feel the need to control, manipulate or please.  Does this mean that we are morally consistent?  Or, does it mean that S is healing and learning that controlling people isn’t always necessary?  I’m not sure of the answers.  What’s interesting, is that it’s our male friends that she is more likely to have contact with, but yet she doesn’t fall into the old patterns of sexual manipulation.  I’m not really sure if she considers them friends, authority figures or objects to be studied out of curiosity.  But it’s a marked contrast to our female friends, whom she expresses no interest in talking to.  Possibly because in some respects the abuse we were subjected to by women was physical as well as sexual and psychological, so there is a different dynamic going on.

I’ll take this to Liz on Tuesday and see what she thinks…  I’m not sure that I’m fully grasping the difference between a singletons presentation of different persona’s, and someone with DID presenting with different dissociative parts.

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Now playing: U2 – Running to Stand Still
via FoxyTunes