Okay guys, so I'm reeeeeeally technically challenged but managed to figure out how to change my template on Blogger. What do you think? I'm not entirely convinced that it'll stay like this but I'll live with it for awhile.
This has been a crap-ass week. It started last Saturday when Libby's (my Jeep Liberty) battery died. Sigh. And continued on with a health scare with my a-mom. She was having heaviness in her chest and tingling in her arms.
Now, regardless of the fact that my a-dad was a prick my entire life, he DID die of a massive heart attack so I'm very conscious of my mom's physical health. Thankfully (in these emergency circumstances anyway) we only live about fifteen minutes away from her so I was able to get her to the emergency room quickly. She's okay. All of the tests she had came back okay.
I have to tell you, it scared the crap out of me. As much as she drives me nuts and makes me want to tear my hair out, I don't know what I'd do if she passed away. It'd be easy for me to say "Fuck her!" for all the shit she put me through as a child and even as an adult, but it's a lot more complicated than that. Even through all the abusive years and the yelling and the screaming..for better or for worse, she's my mother...just as my n-mom is.
Therapy was craptastic tonight. Just peachy. Bawled my eyes out on the way home...realizing more and more how incredibly fucked up I am in the head. My therapist has this amazing ability to take me to places that I would really rather not revisit. But I have to. I have to close my eyes and see my little five year old self and have actual conversations with her...I have even rocked her in my arms and cried with her. I have talked to the Keeper of the Secrets..my eight year old self. Tonight I tried to break through the fear and get the Keeper to let me help the littler one, hereafter known as "Five"..but she just stared at me silently in my mind and slowly shook her head...holding Five's hand the whole time. Sounds crazy doesn't it? It feels crazy to write it..but it's happened. Just as the abuse happened. Fuck.
**ETA...Help!!! (Did I mention I'm technically challenged???) Last night when I checked the new blog layout/template, the widgets were on the right hand side of the page..now they are below the posts...how the hell do I fix that??? Anyone?? Anyone???? Bueller???????
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Remembering
Therapy was really tough on Tuesday. Really tough. Probably why I've taken to being snarky on some of the blogs I've visited the past few days. Sigh.
I'm remembering more and more about the abuse that I suffered at the hands of my afather. It's not easy to deal with, but I WAS able to finally say that I'm incredibly angry and feel some hatred towards him for what he did. My therapist was really proud of me for getting to that point, but during the session, while experiencing controlled flashbacks, I didn’t feel proud. I felt dirty. Still do. My head feels like it's stuffed with tissues..lightheaded and off balance all the time.
My heart aches for the five year old Christina that was put in that situation. It's strange though…I don't connect with her anymore. It's like I wasn't watching it happen to me. Most likely because, as my therapist has suggested, I disassociated during the abuse. I'm amazed I have ANY memories left of my childhood if that's the case.
I'm remembering more and more about the abuse that I suffered at the hands of my afather. It's not easy to deal with, but I WAS able to finally say that I'm incredibly angry and feel some hatred towards him for what he did. My therapist was really proud of me for getting to that point, but during the session, while experiencing controlled flashbacks, I didn’t feel proud. I felt dirty. Still do. My head feels like it's stuffed with tissues..lightheaded and off balance all the time.
My heart aches for the five year old Christina that was put in that situation. It's strange though…I don't connect with her anymore. It's like I wasn't watching it happen to me. Most likely because, as my therapist has suggested, I disassociated during the abuse. I'm amazed I have ANY memories left of my childhood if that's the case.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Recovery
Had to give myself a few days to recover from therapy last week. It was a really difficult session and I'm not entirely sure how I got through it intact. I've felt like someone/something is holding my shoulders down ever since...and whether that's just in my imagination, or whether it's my body remembering stuff, it's disconcerting and I'm not quite sure what to make of it. My therapist told me that it's possible that it isn't 'safe' to heal that yet...that my subconscious mind won't allow it...well, WTF.
Today my daughter and I are traveling out to see my natural mom for the day...can't wait...it's been awhile and I need some time with her. Desperately. I just feel drained...and in some way, seeing her, being in the same room as her, recharges my life battery.
Today my daughter and I are traveling out to see my natural mom for the day...can't wait...it's been awhile and I need some time with her. Desperately. I just feel drained...and in some way, seeing her, being in the same room as her, recharges my life battery.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Adoption Carnival Three
I'm again participating in Grown In My Heart's blog carnival..Photos of Adoption. Join in and make sure you utilize Mr. Linky at the site to add yourself into the mix.
I debated about posting pictures of the day that I was taken from the adoption agency...but those photos now symbolize pain and anguish.
Instead, I decided to post a couple of pictures of my natural mom, sister and me at our first face to face meeting on August 20, 2009. A mere 39 days after our first contact. That day was one of the best days of my life and holds a lot of meaning for me. It was a rebirth of sorts..like the planets in my life had finally aligned.
I may post the story of our beginnings here on this blog....if there's the interest. I sometimes fear that I might get boring droning on and on about my reunion. Thoughts?
I debated about posting pictures of the day that I was taken from the adoption agency...but those photos now symbolize pain and anguish.
Instead, I decided to post a couple of pictures of my natural mom, sister and me at our first face to face meeting on August 20, 2009. A mere 39 days after our first contact. That day was one of the best days of my life and holds a lot of meaning for me. It was a rebirth of sorts..like the planets in my life had finally aligned.
I may post the story of our beginnings here on this blog....if there's the interest. I sometimes fear that I might get boring droning on and on about my reunion. Thoughts?
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Adoption Carnival Two
I'm again participating in the second Adoption Carnival, over at Grown In My Heart.
Join in, but make sure you leave your link here to the rest of the carnival-ers.
Tell us about names this month…How did you name your children? Did they come to you with names? Did you change them? Did your parents change your name? Do you not feel connected to your name?
Basically, what is in a name?
"We called you Princess…"
For two whole weeks after I was adopted, I didn't have a name. I was just called Princess. If you've read any of the rest of this blog, you'll realize how ironic that name really is. I was most definitely NOT treated like a princess…more like Cinderella.
My aparents didn't even know how close they were on the waiting list to obtaining a child until they got the call that they needed to come to the agency that afternoon. There was no crib set up, no clothes hanging in the closet, no stuffed animals waiting to be hugged, no diapers…nothing. They called neighbors to help get things organized and bought while they were out picking me up…but did wait long enough to be given an outfit to bring me home in.
When we got back to the house, the neighbors had painted a sign for the front lawn.
"Welcome Home Baby W…….. # 2"
Even then I was designated as second best…and it was a role that I excelled in. My sister was the smarter one…she rarely got anything less than a "B+" in school, while I struggled to achieve mostly B's and a few A's sprinkled in for good measure. She didn't need to practice the piano and understood theory better than me…probably why I quit when she stopped taking lessons. She was on the Honor Society in high school and I didn't even get one of the alternate spots. Always # 2. Always in the background.
When they did name me, it wasn't because the name "Christina" had any particular meaning attached to it, but because it went well with my sister's name (Cynthia).
I've never felt attached to my name. Never felt like it fit me. When I was younger, I'd often wonder what my "real" name would have been if I hadn't been adopted..especially during my darkest hours. My sister's name, come to find out, would have been Cynthia either way. Her natural mother had chosen the same name that my aparents did. The only difference was the middle name. Jean was what her nmother picked out, and Louise was what my aparents did. And even then, Louise is my amother's middle name, as well as my agreatgrandmother's middle name. My middle name, Lynn, was pretty much just picked out of a hat.
Now though, I know my "real" name. I know who I would have been had I stayed with my mother. And while my nmother says that she loves my given name, that it suits me better…I secretly wish I could change it…to Elena Katherine.
The only bright spot to this story? My aparents may have picked my name out of the air because it sounded nice…Christina Lynn…what they didn't know…is that my nmother's name is Christine Lee.
Join in, but make sure you leave your link here to the rest of the carnival-ers.
Tell us about names this month…How did you name your children? Did they come to you with names? Did you change them? Did your parents change your name? Do you not feel connected to your name?
Basically, what is in a name?
"We called you Princess…"
For two whole weeks after I was adopted, I didn't have a name. I was just called Princess. If you've read any of the rest of this blog, you'll realize how ironic that name really is. I was most definitely NOT treated like a princess…more like Cinderella.
My aparents didn't even know how close they were on the waiting list to obtaining a child until they got the call that they needed to come to the agency that afternoon. There was no crib set up, no clothes hanging in the closet, no stuffed animals waiting to be hugged, no diapers…nothing. They called neighbors to help get things organized and bought while they were out picking me up…but did wait long enough to be given an outfit to bring me home in.
When we got back to the house, the neighbors had painted a sign for the front lawn.
"Welcome Home Baby W…….. # 2"
Even then I was designated as second best…and it was a role that I excelled in. My sister was the smarter one…she rarely got anything less than a "B+" in school, while I struggled to achieve mostly B's and a few A's sprinkled in for good measure. She didn't need to practice the piano and understood theory better than me…probably why I quit when she stopped taking lessons. She was on the Honor Society in high school and I didn't even get one of the alternate spots. Always # 2. Always in the background.
When they did name me, it wasn't because the name "Christina" had any particular meaning attached to it, but because it went well with my sister's name (Cynthia).
I've never felt attached to my name. Never felt like it fit me. When I was younger, I'd often wonder what my "real" name would have been if I hadn't been adopted..especially during my darkest hours. My sister's name, come to find out, would have been Cynthia either way. Her natural mother had chosen the same name that my aparents did. The only difference was the middle name. Jean was what her nmother picked out, and Louise was what my aparents did. And even then, Louise is my amother's middle name, as well as my agreatgrandmother's middle name. My middle name, Lynn, was pretty much just picked out of a hat.
Now though, I know my "real" name. I know who I would have been had I stayed with my mother. And while my nmother says that she loves my given name, that it suits me better…I secretly wish I could change it…to Elena Katherine.
The only bright spot to this story? My aparents may have picked my name out of the air because it sounded nice…Christina Lynn…what they didn't know…is that my nmother's name is Christine Lee.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Uncomfortable
Spent the weekend doing family stuff...the local mountain sponsored KidsFest (tons of freebies, raffles, bouncy houses, dancers, singers, skyride on the ski chairlifts, food, food and more food!!) on Saturday and then yesterday I went with the kids and my amother to our old hometown and watched their 250th anniversary parade. And as I sat there, in the rain, watching the parade, I got a little choked up. Because I felt like a fraud.
I sat under the tents that my uncle's brother-in-law had set up outside of his gas/service station on Main Street. I chatted with my aunts...ate delicious chili and steamed hot dogs and ribs...broke up no less than five fights between my kids...drank homemade hot apple cider...picked up my sensitive son when the fire engine sirens (and the horns honked and the cannons blasted) started to wail during the parade. And yet...sitting there watching the floats go by, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Because as much as my hometown is a part of my life..and the stories of what the 200th parade was like with my mom, uncles and grandfather all participating...I always wonder what memories I'd have had of my nmom's hometown had I had the chance to experience that. I know that it's not good to dwell on the "What ifs"...but it's my life and rather than stuff the feelings of loss down like usual, I'm welcoming them.
One step closer to healing...
Therapy tonight...we're going to work on the stuttering shit. I'm not looking forward to it.
I sat under the tents that my uncle's brother-in-law had set up outside of his gas/service station on Main Street. I chatted with my aunts...ate delicious chili and steamed hot dogs and ribs...broke up no less than five fights between my kids...drank homemade hot apple cider...picked up my sensitive son when the fire engine sirens (and the horns honked and the cannons blasted) started to wail during the parade. And yet...sitting there watching the floats go by, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Because as much as my hometown is a part of my life..and the stories of what the 200th parade was like with my mom, uncles and grandfather all participating...I always wonder what memories I'd have had of my nmom's hometown had I had the chance to experience that. I know that it's not good to dwell on the "What ifs"...but it's my life and rather than stuff the feelings of loss down like usual, I'm welcoming them.
One step closer to healing...
Therapy tonight...we're going to work on the stuttering shit. I'm not looking forward to it.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Layers of Sad
I was an ugly kid. No, really. That's not just my imagination, and anyone who says differently after seeing the pictures *shudder* is a liar. Wrong hair, wrong clothes, wrong glasses...wrong, wrong, wrong.
Because of my low self esteem, the other night in therapy, we did some EFT work surrounding one particular situation that happened in seventh grade. I share it with you now so that maybe you'll understand why it is I'm so f*cked up.
We had some sort of English project that we were working on...can't for the life of me remember what the project was...and we had to bring stuffed animals into class that day. I don't know what I brought in, but I do remember what one of my classmates did. He was sitting across the aisle from me and had one of those 'Wrinkle' puppies on his desk. He decided it'd be a great idea to take the stuffed bone that was in the puppy's mouth and throw it on my desk.
"Here you go Doggy. You look hungry."
I didn't say a word. Not one word. Just felt my face get beet red as the rest of the class giggled.
We worked on that memory for awhile and at the end, I was feeling okay about it. When I thought of the bone, I could no longer feel my chest tightening or my face getting hot.
"How are you feeling now?"
"Sad.."
"Is there something specific you're thinking of?..."
"I just feel like there's all these layers of sad that I have to go through...and it's overwhelming."
"There ARE a lot of 'layers of sad' and sometimes you have to peel all the layers back and work on them one at a time to really heal..."
Sigh.
Because of my low self esteem, the other night in therapy, we did some EFT work surrounding one particular situation that happened in seventh grade. I share it with you now so that maybe you'll understand why it is I'm so f*cked up.
We had some sort of English project that we were working on...can't for the life of me remember what the project was...and we had to bring stuffed animals into class that day. I don't know what I brought in, but I do remember what one of my classmates did. He was sitting across the aisle from me and had one of those 'Wrinkle' puppies on his desk. He decided it'd be a great idea to take the stuffed bone that was in the puppy's mouth and throw it on my desk.
"Here you go Doggy. You look hungry."
I didn't say a word. Not one word. Just felt my face get beet red as the rest of the class giggled.
We worked on that memory for awhile and at the end, I was feeling okay about it. When I thought of the bone, I could no longer feel my chest tightening or my face getting hot.
"How are you feeling now?"
"Sad.."
"Is there something specific you're thinking of?..."
"I just feel like there's all these layers of sad that I have to go through...and it's overwhelming."
"There ARE a lot of 'layers of sad' and sometimes you have to peel all the layers back and work on them one at a time to really heal..."
Sigh.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Adoption Carnival One
I decided to join the first Adoption Carnival, hosted by Grown In My Heart because regardless of what anyone may think (adoptees, adoptive parents, natural parents), this is my life. These are my truths.
Before my parents adopted me, I wish they would had known...
not to yell. Especially my mother. She was constantly angry about everything...and nothing. The littlest thing would set her off into a rage and my asister and I would be apologizing profusely even when we didn't remember or know what we'd done wrong. The lectures would last long into the night and only end when my father came home from his second shift job. We'd be hustled off to bed with tears still streaming down our cheeks..."Stop crying!" she'd yell as my father's car turned into the driveway. The tears never stopped..maybe someday they will.
not to be so strict. I know that it's important to know where your kids are...but my parents took it to a whole other level. We were rarely allowed to visit friends, but when we did, we had to call when we got to the friend's house, call while we were there, and call when we were leaving. I didn't get to ride in my friends' cars until I was a senior in high school and even then, it was a battle. I was made to feel like crap for wanting to have fun and get out of the house. I wasn't allowed to date...at all. And when I finally did date, when I was nineteen, my mother told me that I was a slut and that my thoughts should be focused on my future and not on boys.
not to be abusive...physically, emotionally, mentally or sexually. Period. End of story.
not to tell me that sometimes she (my amother) wanted to send me back. This being said usually after she would break a wooden spoon on my backside or slapped me across the face...just hard enough to not leave a bruise.
not to tell me that I was a piece of shit. My afather did that to me once and it destroyed whatever little self esteem I had left.
not to act like perfect parents out in public but then become monsters at home. We'd go to church every Sunday...my parents were very involved within the church community..and then we'd get home and all hell would break loose. I dreaded the weekends.
not to tell me that I should get tested for certain diseases since they run in the family. I'm sorry, I don't share the same genes as you do. In fact, I get to just write down "n/a adopted" on all my medical history forms at the doctor's. Wasn't I lucky??
Before I was adopted, I wish I would have known…
that I had a right to feel lost and abandoned without feeling guilty.
that I don't have to feel grateful for just existing.
Before my parents adopted me, I wish they would had known...
not to yell. Especially my mother. She was constantly angry about everything...and nothing. The littlest thing would set her off into a rage and my asister and I would be apologizing profusely even when we didn't remember or know what we'd done wrong. The lectures would last long into the night and only end when my father came home from his second shift job. We'd be hustled off to bed with tears still streaming down our cheeks..."Stop crying!" she'd yell as my father's car turned into the driveway. The tears never stopped..maybe someday they will.
not to be so strict. I know that it's important to know where your kids are...but my parents took it to a whole other level. We were rarely allowed to visit friends, but when we did, we had to call when we got to the friend's house, call while we were there, and call when we were leaving. I didn't get to ride in my friends' cars until I was a senior in high school and even then, it was a battle. I was made to feel like crap for wanting to have fun and get out of the house. I wasn't allowed to date...at all. And when I finally did date, when I was nineteen, my mother told me that I was a slut and that my thoughts should be focused on my future and not on boys.
not to be abusive...physically, emotionally, mentally or sexually. Period. End of story.
not to tell me that sometimes she (my amother) wanted to send me back. This being said usually after she would break a wooden spoon on my backside or slapped me across the face...just hard enough to not leave a bruise.
not to tell me that I was a piece of shit. My afather did that to me once and it destroyed whatever little self esteem I had left.
not to act like perfect parents out in public but then become monsters at home. We'd go to church every Sunday...my parents were very involved within the church community..and then we'd get home and all hell would break loose. I dreaded the weekends.
not to tell me that I should get tested for certain diseases since they run in the family. I'm sorry, I don't share the same genes as you do. In fact, I get to just write down "n/a adopted" on all my medical history forms at the doctor's. Wasn't I lucky??
Before I was adopted, I wish I would have known…
that I had a right to feel lost and abandoned without feeling guilty.
that I don't have to feel grateful for just existing.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Breathing Deeply
I never like to talk about my demons...really, who does? But I've been doing it...and last night at therapy was a prime example. I'm about to be completely honest here...I have nothing to lose...I had to come clean about the extent of my stuttering.
I don't answer the phone. It goes beyond not wanting to talk to telemarketers...it's more like my body fails me and I can't form the word "Hello". The simplest word and yet, I can't say it. When I say that I can't say the word "Hello", I mean I can't say it when I answer the phone. It feels like my throat tightens and while my mouth might be moving, the sound does not materialize. Sad really. But it's just a quirk that I've dealt with my entire life. Even as a child, I never answered the phone. In fact, I'd pretend not to hear the ringing of the phone to avoid the whole ordeal.
My therapist's feeling is it's the trauma. The trauma of my childhood. The trauma of living with a "selfless, financially and morally stable couple who just wanted to raise children...and with a man who needed to abuse". I'm disgusted that I'm still dealing with this crap in my adult years..but I'm also hopeful. Hopeful that I'll be able to one day not dread the ringing of the phone and to embrace my oddness as being a part of me.
I also apparently have forgotten how to breathe. I was a singer in high school and we were taught to breath through our diaphragms. But once the chorus concerts or musicals were done, I'd forget and go back to my normal chest breathing. The way my therapist explained it to me, I chest breathe because of the whole "fight or flight" instinct I've come to have. Growing up, being scared, I'd hold my breath when things got too crazy of scary. And that caused me to chest breathe. But chest breathing doesn't relax you...only diaphragm breathing does. I've been practicing today...every half hour at my desk, I make myself become conscious of how I'm breathing. One of these days it'll become a habit. A good habit to have for a change.
I don't answer the phone. It goes beyond not wanting to talk to telemarketers...it's more like my body fails me and I can't form the word "Hello". The simplest word and yet, I can't say it. When I say that I can't say the word "Hello", I mean I can't say it when I answer the phone. It feels like my throat tightens and while my mouth might be moving, the sound does not materialize. Sad really. But it's just a quirk that I've dealt with my entire life. Even as a child, I never answered the phone. In fact, I'd pretend not to hear the ringing of the phone to avoid the whole ordeal.
My therapist's feeling is it's the trauma. The trauma of my childhood. The trauma of living with a "selfless, financially and morally stable couple who just wanted to raise children...and with a man who needed to abuse". I'm disgusted that I'm still dealing with this crap in my adult years..but I'm also hopeful. Hopeful that I'll be able to one day not dread the ringing of the phone and to embrace my oddness as being a part of me.
I also apparently have forgotten how to breathe. I was a singer in high school and we were taught to breath through our diaphragms. But once the chorus concerts or musicals were done, I'd forget and go back to my normal chest breathing. The way my therapist explained it to me, I chest breathe because of the whole "fight or flight" instinct I've come to have. Growing up, being scared, I'd hold my breath when things got too crazy of scary. And that caused me to chest breathe. But chest breathing doesn't relax you...only diaphragm breathing does. I've been practicing today...every half hour at my desk, I make myself become conscious of how I'm breathing. One of these days it'll become a habit. A good habit to have for a change.
Jumble-I-Ah
My head is a little busy this morning. Can't seem to settle my thoughts down enough to be able to type about them. I'm definitely jumbled and apparently will need to wait til later to blog about last night's therapy session. It was rough...and it was difficult...but I'm okay.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Trying To Keep Busy
Work is picking up lately so I haven't allowed myself time to breathe, let alone think. It's good in some ways, but in others..not so much. I just feel really withdrawn and empty right now. I'm functioning, but can feel the old self-loathing emotions battling to be free and it's scaring me.
I don't look in mirrors unless it's absolutely necessary. I'm so disgusted with my weight, and while it'd be easy to start my old habits of purging or starving, I'm trying desperately to avoid that.
My high school years were hell, to say the least. We didn't have a lot of money back then and obviously, clothes weren't high on the list of priorities. I was always wearing hand-me-downs (which would have been fine, had they been from the actual decade I was wearing them in)..and had these hideous plastic glasses from the time I was four years old. My hair was always cut in that ridiculous 'Dorothy Hamil' bowlcut long after it had gone out of style...and I just never fit in.
It sickens me now that I put so much worth in the words of my peers, but as everyone knows, kids can be incredibly cruel once they realize that the person they are bullying is weak. I was weak. And they were cruel. I'd go home and just want to run away. To go live in the woods behind our house because that was the only place I could go where I felt at peace. No one was yelling at me...no one was making fun of the way I looked, or sounded (I stutter when I'm nervous...a lovely after effect of having Reye's Syndrome as an infant..adds to my charm, don't you think?). No one was abusing me when I was in the woods. I was safe.
Next weekend is the sixth anniversary of my father's death. And instead of feeling grief this year...I feel only anger. I don't want to go to the cemetery this year...and play the role of the doting daughter..watching my mother and sister weed the flowers and plant new ones. I don't want to pretend to be sad he's dead because right now...I'm in limbo in regards to my emotions.
WTF.
I don't look in mirrors unless it's absolutely necessary. I'm so disgusted with my weight, and while it'd be easy to start my old habits of purging or starving, I'm trying desperately to avoid that.
My high school years were hell, to say the least. We didn't have a lot of money back then and obviously, clothes weren't high on the list of priorities. I was always wearing hand-me-downs (which would have been fine, had they been from the actual decade I was wearing them in)..and had these hideous plastic glasses from the time I was four years old. My hair was always cut in that ridiculous 'Dorothy Hamil' bowlcut long after it had gone out of style...and I just never fit in.
It sickens me now that I put so much worth in the words of my peers, but as everyone knows, kids can be incredibly cruel once they realize that the person they are bullying is weak. I was weak. And they were cruel. I'd go home and just want to run away. To go live in the woods behind our house because that was the only place I could go where I felt at peace. No one was yelling at me...no one was making fun of the way I looked, or sounded (I stutter when I'm nervous...a lovely after effect of having Reye's Syndrome as an infant..adds to my charm, don't you think?). No one was abusing me when I was in the woods. I was safe.
Next weekend is the sixth anniversary of my father's death. And instead of feeling grief this year...I feel only anger. I don't want to go to the cemetery this year...and play the role of the doting daughter..watching my mother and sister weed the flowers and plant new ones. I don't want to pretend to be sad he's dead because right now...I'm in limbo in regards to my emotions.
WTF.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Migraine-a-licious
The session went well. I'm happy with my therapist and she seems confident that she can help me. I felt like she really understands my pain and the issues that I'm dealing with. Probably better than I understand them.
She suspects that I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder because of the trauma I've experienced..and I could see the wheels turning in her head as she was making plans for my recovery. It was heartening..and terrifying all at the same time.
We're going to deal with the incest issues first because of the flashbacks. I haven't had any new ones..just the recurring memory that I blogged about before. It's happening every day now though. Usually I can work through it on my own...and luckily I work pretty independently at my job and can slip away if I need to when I have one at work.
I just want to skip ahead to the good part of the book. The part where I'm healed and happy. I've never read that far ahead in my life.
She suspects that I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder because of the trauma I've experienced..and I could see the wheels turning in her head as she was making plans for my recovery. It was heartening..and terrifying all at the same time.
We're going to deal with the incest issues first because of the flashbacks. I haven't had any new ones..just the recurring memory that I blogged about before. It's happening every day now though. Usually I can work through it on my own...and luckily I work pretty independently at my job and can slip away if I need to when I have one at work.
I just want to skip ahead to the good part of the book. The part where I'm healed and happy. I've never read that far ahead in my life.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Soul Loss
I copied and pasted the below post from one of my archived blogs...feeling particularly adopted and abused today.
soul loss,
n in Lakota Indian philosophy, a condition in which a patient's nagi (soul) becomes detached from his or her body because of neglect, abuse, or rejection. Ceremonies are performed by a healer to find the nagi and bring it back to unite the spirit and the body.
*The above definition was taken from here.
I've always felt "lost", but could never understand why that was. Just thought that was how everyone felt at one point or another, but now I'm realizing that there's something "different" about my feelings.
Common symptoms of soul loss are as follows (I've added my own notes below each symptom):
- Feeling depressed, especially chronically so
* I've struggled with depression throughout my life, not necessarily upset about anything in particular, just upset with life in general.
- Being stuck, unable to move beyond certain challenges or obstacles
* I always seem to dwell on the situations that have affected me negatively in my life..specifically my horrendous choices in men…and my high school years.
- Not being fully present
* Sometimes I will be with a group of people and can feel myself shrinking away from them, into my own little world. It's safer that way for me.
- Feeling disconnected from life, others and self
* I have always felt like the world is passing me by and I'm missing out on things that others are enjoying.
- Experiencing low self-esteem
* If you've read any of my beginning entries on this blog, you'll understand that low self-esteem is my biggest obstacle. I feel like people are always watching and judging me harshly for the way I am, look, or act.
- Harboring deep seated shame
*Yes, but the question is, ashamed of what?? Of being adopted? Of being abused?? Of what???
- An inability to trust others
* Why would I want to trust anyone when all they do is disappoint me and make me distrustful?
- Difficulty staying focused
* I do tend to be haphazard when it comes to my work life…I jump from one project to the next. I always blamed it on being bored, but perhaps this explains it better.
- Unable to feel and express a range of emotions, stuck in a certain emotion (angry, sad, fearful, etc.)
* This rings true as well…I feel "okay" for a few days, then I get stuck in being depressed and sad. For weeks…sometimes months even.
- Chronically lacking energy or feeling tired
* Sometimes I feel like I'm sleepwalking through my days. Like I'm a robot…doing what I have to do to exist, but always feeling fatigued…physically AND emotionally.
- Feeling as if you lack purpose, direction or vision
* I don't allow myself to look too far ahead into the future because if I do, I'm usually thinking, "How am I going to screw this up?" I don't allow myself to have purpose or direction because I set myself up to fail from the start. I have a horrible problem also in that I can't make decisions. About anything…even the mundane "What do you want for dinner?" questions. I called myself a "chameleon" the other day in speaking to another adoptee because I wait for someone else to voice their opinion and then I just go with whatever they think is best.
- Being unmotivated in some or all areas of your life
* It's a constant struggle to get myself psyched up to face the day..to go to work, to take care of the house..to do anything. I'm sure that drives my boyfriend crazy!
- A tendency to repeat the same destructive patterns in life
* Perfect example being the men that I've chosen in my life. Most of them have been narcissistic and more concerned with themselves and their own happiness than with me or our relationship. And yet, I keep doing it. My boyfriend now is a saint compared to a lot of them!
- Invested in being “perfect”
* I was invested in being perfect, tried being perfect, and had become "content" with being the "bad" daughter…the black sheep. My sister is the perfect one…married, two kids born into that marriage, house, college education..the whole nine yards. Me? Unmarried (living in sin..lol), two kids born out of wedlock, house (okay, I have that one), and had to drop out of college because there was no more money left to pay for my education. Not that I'd ever begrudge my sister her degree, but her college of choice was really expensive and we couldn't even afford the state school I went to for a year.
- Consistently experiencing high levels of stress, anxiety and worry
* There isn't a moment in my day that my brain isn't worried about something. Money, food, my kids…you name it, I worry and stress about it.
-A feeling of being incomplete
* I feel like I am a puzzle that has 1,000 pieces and all the pieces are colored black making it next to impossible to put the pieces back together.
-Lost memories, like a part of your history is "missing"
* This is a big one. I always feel left out of the conversations when people are talking about their childhoods because I have effectively blocked a lot of the memories from that period in my own life.
Will I ever feel "normal"? Is it possible that there is a way out of this lackluster existence? I talk the great talk when I say that I'm happier than I've been in a long time, and maybe that's the honeymoon period of my reunion showing itself…but truth be told, in my darker moments, I'm still the girl who is afraid of rejection and will do whatever it takes to make people accept me. I don't do well with conflict and have been known to "back down" from my adversaries to avoid it at all costs. The only exception is when my kids are involved…then I become the Momma Bear protecting her cubs.
soul loss,
n in Lakota Indian philosophy, a condition in which a patient's nagi (soul) becomes detached from his or her body because of neglect, abuse, or rejection. Ceremonies are performed by a healer to find the nagi and bring it back to unite the spirit and the body.
*The above definition was taken from here.
I've always felt "lost", but could never understand why that was. Just thought that was how everyone felt at one point or another, but now I'm realizing that there's something "different" about my feelings.
Common symptoms of soul loss are as follows (I've added my own notes below each symptom):
- Feeling depressed, especially chronically so
* I've struggled with depression throughout my life, not necessarily upset about anything in particular, just upset with life in general.
- Being stuck, unable to move beyond certain challenges or obstacles
* I always seem to dwell on the situations that have affected me negatively in my life..specifically my horrendous choices in men…and my high school years.
- Not being fully present
* Sometimes I will be with a group of people and can feel myself shrinking away from them, into my own little world. It's safer that way for me.
- Feeling disconnected from life, others and self
* I have always felt like the world is passing me by and I'm missing out on things that others are enjoying.
- Experiencing low self-esteem
* If you've read any of my beginning entries on this blog, you'll understand that low self-esteem is my biggest obstacle. I feel like people are always watching and judging me harshly for the way I am, look, or act.
- Harboring deep seated shame
*Yes, but the question is, ashamed of what?? Of being adopted? Of being abused?? Of what???
- An inability to trust others
* Why would I want to trust anyone when all they do is disappoint me and make me distrustful?
- Difficulty staying focused
* I do tend to be haphazard when it comes to my work life…I jump from one project to the next. I always blamed it on being bored, but perhaps this explains it better.
- Unable to feel and express a range of emotions, stuck in a certain emotion (angry, sad, fearful, etc.)
* This rings true as well…I feel "okay" for a few days, then I get stuck in being depressed and sad. For weeks…sometimes months even.
- Chronically lacking energy or feeling tired
* Sometimes I feel like I'm sleepwalking through my days. Like I'm a robot…doing what I have to do to exist, but always feeling fatigued…physically AND emotionally.
- Feeling as if you lack purpose, direction or vision
* I don't allow myself to look too far ahead into the future because if I do, I'm usually thinking, "How am I going to screw this up?" I don't allow myself to have purpose or direction because I set myself up to fail from the start. I have a horrible problem also in that I can't make decisions. About anything…even the mundane "What do you want for dinner?" questions. I called myself a "chameleon" the other day in speaking to another adoptee because I wait for someone else to voice their opinion and then I just go with whatever they think is best.
- Being unmotivated in some or all areas of your life
* It's a constant struggle to get myself psyched up to face the day..to go to work, to take care of the house..to do anything. I'm sure that drives my boyfriend crazy!
- A tendency to repeat the same destructive patterns in life
* Perfect example being the men that I've chosen in my life. Most of them have been narcissistic and more concerned with themselves and their own happiness than with me or our relationship. And yet, I keep doing it. My boyfriend now is a saint compared to a lot of them!
- Invested in being “perfect”
* I was invested in being perfect, tried being perfect, and had become "content" with being the "bad" daughter…the black sheep. My sister is the perfect one…married, two kids born into that marriage, house, college education..the whole nine yards. Me? Unmarried (living in sin..lol), two kids born out of wedlock, house (okay, I have that one), and had to drop out of college because there was no more money left to pay for my education. Not that I'd ever begrudge my sister her degree, but her college of choice was really expensive and we couldn't even afford the state school I went to for a year.
- Consistently experiencing high levels of stress, anxiety and worry
* There isn't a moment in my day that my brain isn't worried about something. Money, food, my kids…you name it, I worry and stress about it.
-A feeling of being incomplete
* I feel like I am a puzzle that has 1,000 pieces and all the pieces are colored black making it next to impossible to put the pieces back together.
-Lost memories, like a part of your history is "missing"
* This is a big one. I always feel left out of the conversations when people are talking about their childhoods because I have effectively blocked a lot of the memories from that period in my own life.
Will I ever feel "normal"? Is it possible that there is a way out of this lackluster existence? I talk the great talk when I say that I'm happier than I've been in a long time, and maybe that's the honeymoon period of my reunion showing itself…but truth be told, in my darker moments, I'm still the girl who is afraid of rejection and will do whatever it takes to make people accept me. I don't do well with conflict and have been known to "back down" from my adversaries to avoid it at all costs. The only exception is when my kids are involved…then I become the Momma Bear protecting her cubs.
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