I am somewhat stressed, angry, afraid, fired up, pissed off, excited, pumped up, Jimmy jam, desperate, proud, calm and clear, over it, under it. I am somewhat practicing the things I preach, self care, returning to a state of empowerment, adult, inside needing validation. Can notice it, sense it, I am somewhat resentful about past decisions, about patriarchy, about being efficient and inefficient. I am somewhat angry at 20 somethings who I teach, maybe I’m jealous of them in they’re bedrooms dreaming big ideas. Dreams smashed. Dreams made. I’m somewhat annoyed at quiet responses, talking in to computer screens, seeing myself talk back at me every single fucking hour, my hair, my skin, my teeth, my serious face. I can actually be funny. You would never think I’m funny. I’m so fucking funny. Seriously. I’m somewhat over speaking to blank faces, hopeful dreamers, super complicated, over complicated, under complicated, full of shit, I was full of shit. I am somewhat taken back to when it was me sitting there and thinking I was gonna be different and it was no different. I am somewhat annoyed that I was duped by big ideas and manifestations and speak easy cafes, feet won’t touch the ground, I’m somewhat afraid I am such a failure and one day it will be recognised and I am somewhat Woe is me, woe oh woe is me, recognised disempowerment and rubbing against systems and privilege and entitlement and my entitlement and seeing my entitlement and wishing I was somewhat more humble sooner because I could have done different or been different or less afraid or leaned into the fear, but I didn’t have a language so i am somewhat aware that I need to be compassionate to me first and then to others and understand I am somewhat letting them trigger me because all this sits underneath my day and it is somewhat hard to feel or think through the heaviness but I am getting better somewhat at seeing it for what it is. I came here didn’t I? I shared here didn’t I? And writing it out, unpacking it helped me untangle what was in my head and maybe my heart and now I feel bad, I just feel so, so bad because that’s what’s underneath. A feeling of bad and that’s the stuff I don’t want to feel but it’s there and it’s okay because that’s how I was raised to feel and now I can change that, slowly, gently, somewhat lovingly.
I love being strong and in control of my body. It is important to me because it makes me feel safe and empowered. I am reclaiming what they took from me.
In therapy, I’ve been working on connecting with my parts more and I think it is helping. I started by drawing. Working with the concept of the ‘body’ and the shame/ disgust that I feel towards my body. Memory. Firstly, I identified my body as dissociated – disconnected. Then I coloured it with yellow, to represent light and safety. Another week, I wrote words – words that they had labelled me, that I had taken on. They ranged from bitch to slut to ugly to disgusting and more. Then we did a role play with my toys – like drama play. It was hard for me to do this and I felt very embarrassed and ashamed but I did my best. T helped me and we spoke to a protector part and asked if we could talk to other parts and help them and the protector part said okay. Then we introduced a helper part to a little one to support them. This week, I had horrible nightmares. I describe them as dissociative nightmares, where I am in and out of waking terror. I can’t remember the dream, but I woke feeling as though I had been drugged and I believe my parts were telling / showing me that they had been drugged as children. Hallucinogens. It is very hard for me to believe this and accept it, but I know that it is important to believe my parts and not deny them. I was able to access an observer part of self, whereby I was ‘in it’ but outside of it and so I could comfort the little ones and let them know they were okay, whilst still being in parts. The next day I felt okay, even though I didn’t get very good sleep. I was proud of myself for being able to practice holding the parts.
Yesterday, a part drew themselves getting electro brain shocks. Again, it is very hard for me to accept this. Like, how could this have happened to a young child? How did I survive? What does it do? What is its purpose? I am left with a lot of questions. I do believe this happens and I believe it happens to other children in cults, but to me? It is hard for me to feel like I am not making it up, that I have read too much, as though maybe I want it to be true to give justification for my mental states. I am traveling well, so this makes it more difficult. When I am running rough it is easier for me to believe that bad things happened because the effects are overt. When I am doing well, I think I am trying to create a story to draw attention to myself. Its a strange way to call attention to myself I know.
I just have to keep doing the work, going easy on myself and practicing self care and love. Today I slept in – until after midday. That is HUGE for me. It felt good, although I feel flat. It’s hard for me to ‘switch off’. As I said, easy does it.
A blogger nailed it the other night when she talked about her struggle with “the new normal”. This idea of “its all over now, let’s get back to it. Forget about what’s happened” (I’m paraphrasing massively here), is triggering because for a survivor that’s what our lives were: chaos, confusion and fear marked by a new day where you just had to get on with it.
The point is, it made me realise why this whole rhetoric of “back to normal” raised so much discomfort in me. Things aren’t normal. They weren’t ever normal. Can we not pretend everything’s okay now for once? Maybe it’s just one hot red mess and we just have to sit in it for a while.
Like when my dad would have one of his psycho angry moments and then as soon as he had calmed down, it was ‘back to it’. No apologies, no acknowledgement, no debriefing- nothing. and it pissed me off so much. I just wanted him to own it.
Today was better. I know what I need to do. Pray, get grounded. Talk about how I feel. It shifts. The darkness just gets me at night mostly. Or when I stop. It’s hard to feel waves of black and a deep slump into emptiness. It’s disconcerting to not have anything to pin it on as such and so it just sits within and grows and when I try to connect with it, it hurts. A pain that is so inner, like inside the core of my being, crawling around to get out but completely trapped. I can’t describe it any other way. It’s like having a body inside me that’s stuck.