The People Behind My Eyes

Letting Go

(For Beauty -my thoughts on letting go, crying and allowing others to see us fall apart.)

The last time I broke down I started off by rocking a little bit. I was trying to pep talk myself, tell myself I’d be okay. My heart felt full and heavy. I could hardly keep my eyes open. My head felt heavy and I just couldn’t hold it up anymore. I hobbled to the bed, pulled the covers over me. They felt heavy, heavier than they actually are. My cat climbed up next to me as I lay on her teddy bear. I closed my eyes. I could feel my stomach churning, moaning and mourning, then the tears came. Strangely they left as quickly as they came. I felt like I’d not cried enough but I still wasn’t able to get up. I just laid there with the cat next to me and slept. When I woke up several hours later I felt somewhat better, not enough to make a huge dent in the grieving process but enough.

The difference it made was that I let go, even for a second or two I let go. Letting go wasn’t something safe for me, crying wasn’t safe. It meant getting hurt, getting laughed at, etc. So it’s not as if showing such strong emotion was rewarded. As a matter of fact showing vulnerability by crying or grieving got me hurt or got my sister hurt. Really then, what good did crying or grieving ever do me? Who was going to come and comfort me? Who cared if I was hurt or afraid or grieved? If my mother did answer the call it usually meant me paying for it in some way or another or her bringing it up mockingly for years on end. So what good did it do for me to show vulnerability or respond to horrible situations with natural responses like tears or panic?

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Message From JAGA at Multiple Reflections

JAGA wanted to let everyone know she’s fine and safe and everything. She moved and is getting everything hooked up so she can get back online. It may take a few days but she’ll be back soon.

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I’ve gotten

several emails but I haven’t read any yet. I’m still out here, I’m just sort of stuck. Please don’t be offended or take it personally if I don’t get back to you right away.

Someone asked me if I’m okay. No, I’m not but I’m trying to be.  It might take a bit for me to get my footing back. I’m not ignoring anyone or avoiding one particular person. I’ve kind of withdrawn in general but I’m trying to get it together.

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Survivors Needs meme

I’ve been tagged for a meme by Katm at Dark2Light.

Rules of the “Survivor Needs” Meme:

Please link back to the originating meme at Survivors Can Thrive, so people can see its origins, get ideas for their own self-care list, see who’s already been tagged, and maybe we can track how far this meme goes.

• List 25 needs and 5 wants. Try to restrict your needs list to things that have to do with being a survivor of some sort of abuse, assault, etc. Your list can be anything…you want!

• Use this list to remind yourself to get your needs met this holiday season and in the New Year.

• Pass on this meme and tag five people to play this meme with you.

TWENTY FIVE NEEDS

1. I need to know I’m loved and needed.
2. I need a hand on my cheek that reminds me that I’m okay.
3. I need peace of mind.
4. I need relief from nightmares and flashbacks.
5. I need relief from guilt.
6. I need the sound of another human’s voice.
7. I need energy to keep fighting this battle.
8. I need confidence.
9. I need friendship.
10. I need real hope, something to cling to with sound meaning.
11. I need spirituality/religion.
12. I need out of the fog of transference issues.
13. I need to silence and blind my hypervigilance.
14. I need to be believed.
15. I need results from therapy to a larger degree than I have.
16. I need to feel seen, not overlooked and forgotten.
17. I need to count.
18. I need to be a little more dependent and less independent so that needs like many of the above can be met.
19. I need companionship.
20. I need reassurance that I’m not out here struggling in vain.
21. I need to believe in myself a little more and not be so positive that every step is a wasted effort.
22. I need to trust. I think trust is as important as food, water and shelter.
23. I need a family.
24. I need to let go of self control just a little bit and let some of this anger out in hopes of relieving it.
25. I need to cry when I feel like it instead of putting on a brave face because I think it’s expected.

FIVE WANTS

1. I want art programs, especially Coral Painter 9 and Adobe Photoshop full version.
2. I want a bathrobe. I’ve never had one before.
3. I want to visit Kentucky each summer.
4. I want Bejeweled 2 so I can have something to kill time with without going online to do it.
5. I want my dog’s health back. I’d give my left arm to keep him healthy and alive. (I need the right arm cause I’m right handed and can’t play ball with him worth crap with the left.)

TAG!!

Tags will come shortly so check back. I just wanted to get this up here.

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This Perversion Does Not Belong To Me

It’s not as if anyone ever gave us a choice before. It’s not as if our wishes, our needs and wants mattered one single bit. What happens in these situations where we think we should have done this or should have done that is we’ve taken responsibility in the very manner we were taught to. We were either outright told it was our fault or we were told that if we didn’t do it there would be major consequences to pay. Real options were not offered because the real concern was not you or me but the abuser and how he or she could continue perversions without interruption.

When I think about my cousin, the one called Wolf, I feel so horrible inside. You know why I didn’t tell way before it became painfully obvious? Because he said he loved me. The only person in the world that took it from me and told me he love me, told me he was addicted to me, couldn’t get enough was him. He loved me. I liked his stories, his jokes, his attention. I couldn’t tell on someone who loved me and someone I thought I had fallen in love with. There’s an odd story to tell. What would I say he did wrong? For me, trading the “I love you” and the funny stories and the jokes seemed like nothing compared to how my mother beat me before she took it, how my uncle put a gun to my head the whole time. I was scared of Wolf sometimes because of things he did to animals but if you ask some of me he never laid a violent hand on me. His respect, wow, I can’t believe I just typed that word, his respect evil attention turned from me to my sister and I was furious but not before severely humiliated by my mother and the rest of my family. One day when he called me down to the basement for more the family was quite irritated that I walked down there. Man was I in trouble. The whole ride home the mother said, “Everyone knew what you two were doing down there.” I was so humiliated. I thought, she knows I have a boyfriend. I wondered if she was going to take him away. You can see how confusing things get. Boyfriend? Hardly. My goodness, what else did I know but this type of service? They’d all been doing this to me since I was three. As Beauty said, “You get use to it.” But I have to add, you also understand deep inside that the choice to not “let them” was more costly than “letting them.” What other decision does a person make but to comply, especially when they’ve been conditioned to for so long?

When dealing with someone elses perversions at such a young age our brains are not given the right of passage untouched children are given. (That right of passage doesn’t come along until well in our healing years.) Our reasoning ability was based on their lies and their deceptions. What we concluded and still conclude about ourselves is based on information they gave us. How on earth would we ever paint a self portrait with anything other than guilt? If you are only given one crayon you can not paint a rainbow. Your options are limited. Our options were limited if at all.

These days, my adult days I find dealing with the abuse harder than dealing with it as a child. As a child I had limited resources, limited information and because of my age very little reasoning ability. As I grew older and saw more of the world that is when the deepest shame set it. That is when I realized just how wrong things were and when I really began to settle with the idea that it was all my fault.

As an adult I can draw upon this and that experience and conclude my childhood and early adulthood was riddled with abuse and I could have, should have done something to stop it. As a child all I could think about was that I was doing something wrong. I was dead set on finding it. I did internalize it but I was still motivated to find an answer. The same information about my abuse is available to me now, nothing more, nothing less but now it tires me, sometimes it cripples me. This is because as an adult I have much more reasoning ability. The problem is, I still reason with the lies and guilt forced upon me. And I take those lies and that guilt and compare them to this and that experience then conclude that I could have, should have done things differently. But really, I couldn’t have. I was a child. Even when I was physically no longer a child the will I had to make them stop was broken long ago. I had been crippled by fear so long ago.

Funny I should read the two entries tonight on this very subject. Tonight was another one of those nights I jumped out of the shower vomiting due to a flashback. I felt so stupid hanging over the sink like that. Argh! The anger was as strong as my retching. I couldn’t believe I’d still respond that way. But why wouldn’t I? We don’t just walk away from that and a few years later we’re free of their conditioning. It is their conditioning that makes us question ourselves and makes us blame ourselves. A good liar is one who can tell a lie, have the person listening know it’s a lie but still respond to the liar as if they were a truth telling saint. They were and are liars! They’re liars and they were such good teachers. Even after all these years we still fall back on early lessons about who we are, about self worth and ultimately about guilt.

However, there are days I hear the lies for what they are. When my soapy self is hanging over the sink throwing up because of a flashback I’m not just angry I’m moved to not give up. When I have days like this when stuff comes flooding back so fast I can’t seem to stop it my first reaction is anger but it’s the sort of anger that drives me to ensure that I become the woman I was supposed to be. They lied on me and to me. I want to yell to them, “It was your perversion then but it is my life now. I can not hear you.” Today I can not hear you. That silence is such a gift. “You can not do this to me anymore. I’m not that little girl anymore.” Oh it makes me so angry that I have to keep going, must keep going for me or I start feeling like that little girl again. I can’t be that little girl again.

You guys I get what you’re saying. Please get what I’m saying. What you’re asking yourselves, what I’ve asked myself is based on lies and deceit. Can you hear a voice that’s not lying to you and that has no gain if she were? It’s their fault. They lied, they deceived and they taught us all how to take it as truth. It is this which makes survivors ask, “What if I’d told sooner?” The blame is theirs, solely.

Austin

For Beauty, Enola and survivors like us.

This Perversion Does Not Belong To Me-Saturday, December 01, 2007-4:27PM EST

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Are Borderlines Crazy : My Reply

comment and reply from the entry: Are Borderlines Crazy

Teegan,

While I sympathize with what you experienced I have to say the behavior of this woman appears to me more than “just” borderline. You mentioned she is abusive and dishonest. Those are not symptoms of borderline personality disorder found in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. I believe it would be more accurate to say that the woman you dated had BPD and is an abuser and is dishonest but to lump us all together and say she’s a crazy borderline is nothing short of offensive.

There is a reason for labels such as borderline, psychosis, Schizophrenia, Bipolar, etc. Several symptoms together equals a name, a label, a label which stands for a certain type of treatment for the advancement of health. Having a name to a problem tells a person, just like an arrow, which direction they should go in. Labels are used to narrow down treatment methods and goals, not to isolate, demean or devalue the individual but to pinpoint action and move towards healing. One might look at the label Borderline as the heading of an outline. The name of the outline gives an idea of what to expect and how to handle what comes up. But the label isn’t meant to tear down or offend. I resent my outline, my healing plan being cut short, erased and replaced with the word crazy such as you have done. There is no help, no hope for the crazy but this is not so with borderlines. I am sorry that this woman hurt you; however, to say anyone that says borderlines aren’t crazy is borderline tells me that your issues with this person blind you to the larger picture. We borderlines may have symptoms in common but we are still people, human beings with feelings, feelings which can be hurt. We may share symptoms but we do not all come in the same shape and size. To lump us all together like you and others have gives more reason for people to not get help. People fear the word “crazy.” If they think they’re crazy will they go out and tell someone and make it known? No, they’ll keep that dirty little secret to themselves. Stigma keeps mental illness alive and well. It should be the goal of those who suffer to seek help not have more reasons to hide from it. Please consider that the next time you use the word “crazy.”

Last but certainly not least, remember Schizophrenia use to be considered demonic possession but most of the world has wised up. Many considered depression to be something you just dealt with but with new information views and understandings change. We in the modern world like to call it advancement.

Sincerely,

Austin of Sundrip Journals

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Now That I Have Your Attention

In response to Beautiful Dreamer:

I so admire how well you seem to know and understand your system. Just knowing each part’s function is something I haven’t quite managed. My parts probably have different physical symptoms, as yours do, but I just don’t pay enough attention to have a clue.

I need to know what they do in order to help them. They need to understand why they do what they do in order to help themselves. Being an insider doesn’t make you helpless so self care for each alter of age is important. We want to know who we are, have to know so we can decide what characteristics we want to encourage and what characteristics need better understanding. Understanding motivates change and/or tolerance.

Probably part of my not knowing my system better is my reticence about making my world all about DID. It would take more time and concentration for me to really get to know them all, and it seems like most of my focus would be on my disorder, which is not what I want.

Sometimes people take the whole DID thing too far and make their entire world about their disorder for the purpose of bringing attention not to the cause of the disorder but to themselves. It takes a lot of courage to say you have DID because it means someone stole from you, someone ravaged childhood like a wolf in a sheep shop. It’s a painful thing to admit and often times when you do people think you’re going to go “Sybil” or “Three Eve” on ‘em as they say. Coming out as DID is kind of tricky because many find the support is limited and the understanding of it is even less, the teasing incessant.

I don’t want to be focused on either. To me, if I’m focused on then it puts me at greater risk of being hurt. My need to blend in, not be seen as different is strong. I need understanding because of the disorder but what I don’t need is everything changed for me because of the disorder. I live in a world with others who should have their feelings considered too. (One of the reasons I go off on my blog about stupid stuff is so I get it off my chest and don’t let it fume and spill over into real world stuff. Half the crap I complain about on my blog doesn’t get brought up in my 3-D life.)

My entire blog and many other blogs are dedicated to the healing process but one thing I don’t think I’ve mentioned before is that outside of therapy you won’t hear me bring up DID in the 3-D world too often. It’s not part of my regular conversation. I don’t tell many people about my diagnosis 1) because it’s none of their business and 2) because it’s none of their business. I may be very, very open on this blog about symptoms but in my personal life issues with PTSD and things along that line don’t find themselves at the center of conversation. For the most part in private non-cyber space life I’m in the closet about my DID, Lupus and all that other stuff.

Focusing on self- many times understanding the inside helps us live in the world but there is a point when a person has to realize everything in the entire world is not about their disorder. Even though many of my responses in life are DID and PTSD related I try and strike a balance between my issues and the issues of those around me. Let me say too that there is a difference between talking about issues to heal and talking about issues so that others will say, “poor pitiful you. it must be so hard to be you. i couldn’t suffer so gracefully.” I try not to put myself in a position where “you poor thang, how do you keep going” is a response. I’ve never seen you put yourself in the “poor me, can’t you see how pitiful I am” position. As a matter of fact I don’t see it that often on survivor’s blogs but when I do see it I think of it as a snag in their personal fight to move away from their injustices. Still, on my blog I worry others will think I want to wallow in sorrow and keep myself stuck which is the way many people see self pity. I hope I’m not seen as one who lives for trauma and drama with the purpose of seeking attention. (That’s a whole ‘nother entry)

Anyway, just wanted to say that I do admire how you relate to your system. You seem to have a genuine concern for them, and a deep affection.

One of the things I didn’t ever think I’d hear myself say is that I have the luxury of therapy and healing. What I mean by that is, there are many with a full time job, a family and a ton of responsibilities that can’t stop to go, “Why am I reacting this way? Let me go blog about it.” Not everyone can take a day off from responsibilities, toss aside housework or eat out of a peanut butter jar for dinner “just cause” they don’t feel up to taking care of themselves that day. I have that option. The “option” means I don’t have basic necessities (ya know, money due to fixed income) but truthfully, having time to heal is priceless.

I apologize if this is a very flat response to such a serious subject. It might even seen choppy or like some of what I’ve said it out of place for your response. I’ve been thinking about this subject (of making DID a focal point of every step I take and making life all about me ).

Thanks for giving me an avenue to vent and thank you for commenting,
Austin of Sundrip

Now That I Have Your Attention
Sunday, September 23, 2007-3:20PM EST

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The Marcy and Aussie Interview

This is a 5 question interview conducted by Marcy over at Becoming Three. Please see the end of this entry for more information on this meme. To see Marcy‘s interview by Thordora click here.

1. What’s your favorite vegetable?

My favorite vegetable is probably fresh spinach. It use to be zucchini but I’d have to say fresh spinach has taken it’s place. I’m a vegetable lover. When I was 8 years old I gave up on meat and became a vegetarian. I loved it. I felt clean inside, fresh. I went to the library to see what I needed to do to eat a healthy vegetarian diet because I knew it was dangerous to not do vegetarianism right. It’s been 3 years now since I started eating meat again. I started again when my mental health declined and I began neglecting to cook proper meals for myself. I talked to my doctor and he said to start slowly. So I got a George Forman Grill so that I could slap a piece of chicken on there, open a can of veggies and at least get some sort of nutrition in me. While depressed and not eating good vegetarian meals, balanced vegetarian meals, I ended up gaining a crap load of weight. I’d eat cookies or chips just to get something in me. My level of depression back then was debilitating enough that I had to, for myself, make a radical change. That change had to be something that required very little energy or thought. Getting my little grill has helped me get back to a baseline depressive state. Cooking quickly and with more nutrition is what sparked my now closed blog Food For The Fragmented Mind. I will most likely not go back to being a vegetarian but I have a lot of vegetarian cookbooks that I can thumb through still. I mostly eat chicken as far as meat goes.

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Foreigners: My Distrust For Islam

I never thought I’d be distrusting of someone because of what country they come from. I figured I’m smart enough to know people are equal and that the colour of their skin and the land they were born on has nothing to do with who they are. But in recent years I’ve seen my thoughts change in frightening ways. I thought I knew who I was but what I’ve discovered is that I’m as susceptible to ideas in the media just like the next person.

I got the idea to talk about this issue from Marcy’s blog where she invited people to talk about their experiences with foreigners. She says, “This is an invitation to write. I want to know how you feel about and deal with one or more of the foreigners in your life. They can be friends, spouses, family members, colleagues, or any other relationship you can think of.” My first thought was how my personal view of foreigners has changed due to what I’ve seen on TV.

I never realized just how much I don’t trust people from Iraq or people with a Middle Eastern look. My first thought is, “Is this man or woman here to leave a bomb.” Then I think, “That’s silly Austin. They’re with their family shopping at Wal-mart.” And I think about how hard it must be to know every time someone looks at them the same thought goes through their mind, “I hope he’s not here to place a bomb.” Where did I get that idea that “they” are all suicide bombers or they’re here to stake out the place? My ideas and beliefs changed so subtly when I watched one sided views on television. I didn’t realize just how much my views had changed until I ran into a man at my old building who refused to show me ID to get into the building.

I worked on the welcome desk at my old building. In the building you had to sign in and show ID. If you didn’t have proper ID you couldn’t come in. He didn’t have proper ID and then he gave me attitude about it. I called the police. Later I realized, had he been Latin or Asian I would have blown that off but he was Middle Eastern and my mistrust for them is what caused me to call the police. It floored me that I didn’t even know such bigotry existed in me. The man was a jerk not a terrorist anymore than I am. I had to stand back and take a look at myself and my beliefs to see just where I went wrong. Where did my ideas change? This brings me to propaganda.

While the threat of attack is as real as it was September 11^th I have to wonder if it’s necessary to create shows where the person fights terrorism all day long. Is the show 24 really anything other than propaganda…them against us? Is the show The Unit anything other than propaganda, showing us that our lives are threatened every single second of the day and our way of life is protected by those who fiercely stand up for our flag? It’s not just a show; it’s an avenue that passes on the idea of “us against them.” There are countless TV shows like this and many news updates about how easy it would be to kill tens of thousands of American citizens by blowing up this or that unprotected source. Every time I turn on the TV I see a fanatical Muslim. Why on earth would my mind not begin to change, my private thoughts change each and every time I see a show about terrorism or see soldiers killed. Media outlets don’t show us parts of the Middle East where there is no violence. They only show us the part that is sure to eventually change our ideas. I worry about who I’ll become if I continue to see shows that foster the idea of “us against them.”

It isn’t that I don’t believe the threat is real. It’s not as if I don’t recognize the need for a stable country over there. And I’m not saying there isn’t a serious need for National Security. What I’m saying is propaganda (one sided media coverage for the purpose of changing minds in one direction) has done nothing but foster fear and mistrust for everyday citizens who look like they may be from the Middle East. It is this propaganda that has subtly changed my views. Now that I realize that my views are as susceptible to propaganda as the next Average Joe I’ve made the choice to turn the TV off when the “us against them” shows come on. It’s the best way to protect myself and my mind from shows that aren’t designed to inform but to sway.

I have more to say on the matter of foreigners. It’s been on my mind as my cab driver is somewhat of an equal opportunist bigot. I’ve wanted to talk about him for awhile now. He’ll be on Foreigners-Part Two which will focus on how easy it is to become disillusioned with people in general then blame that disillusionment on the colour of their skin and the country they come from.

Austin’s August

Foreigners : My Distrust For Islam- Part One of Two
Saturday, August 11, 2007-3:38PM EST

Race: It’s What’s On My Mind Part Two of Two
Saturday, August 11, 2007-7:27PM EST

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On Mama and the Moabites

The entry called To The God of the Moabites isn’t about religion or spirituality, it’s about making so much noise that people are distracted from what’s happening around them. My mother put on such a show that people either didn’t see we needed help or they just simply wouldn’t help because they had better things to do. Who, back then, suspected a business woman would torture her children? Who, back then, would ever think a woman with seemingly everything going for her would be so cruel to the children she dressed well, who spoke well, were mannerly and taken on this and that vacation? The procession she put on was loud and that is what the entry is about, about how she managed to keep people from hearing or seeing what she was doing to her children. The Moabites danced and sang over the cries of the children so that it wouldn’t affect the Israelites to the point of them not throwing their kids into the fire. This is what my mother did, she put on her show and it stopped us from getting help. Her distractions, her heirs equaled the Moabites singing and dancing.

As an adult the words she used against me and my sister are louder than the healing words of my friends and my therapist. It is still her procession that prevents help only this time she’s distracting me and not someone else. At first she distracted others now her trumpet blasts of insults come in so loud that I can’t hear those who actually want to help. For example, when people say I deserve inner peace my mind trips up, it stumbles over that one single word “deserve.” I go through this whole mind numbing litany about how much I don’t deserve anything. So while they’re explaining to me that I deserve good, in my head is this loud tape, a bombardment of verbal abuse and reminders of all the things I feel make me worthless. I guess what I’m saying is I’ve gone from one type of procession to another but both have prevented advancement in healing. I can’t hear anything at all, God or man, above the screams of my past. I guess that’s all I was trying to convey.

Austin
for Morton of Morton’s Pride

On Mama and Moabites
Friday, August 03, 2007-6:32PM EST

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