I received an email the other day, I think from one of my readers..Tina (??)..that I looked at on my phone and then promptly did something that either deleted or otherwise banished to the great unknown. I can't find it and am hoping that Tina is reading this post and will resend the email. ::blushes with embarassment:: Sorry!
Things are going really well with P. We're trading almost daily emails and I'm just taking it one step at a time. He's excited to finally have a daughter of his own and is happy to get to know me and to exchange stories about our lives thus far. It's just so strange to say that I have a father, after my afather has been dead for seven years. My family orchard (can't say I have a tree...haha) has grown exponentially in the past month and I'm getting used to the idea of having two more brothers to add to the branches. I haven't asked him if they know about me yet...I figure I'll broach that subject eventually.
I'm stopping therapy for now. I know, GASP! Honestly, it's not because I want to, or because I think I'm "done". One of the drawbacks of getting hired full time at my work is that I had to switch health insurances and the therapist's office I was going to doesn't take the new insurance. I'm frustrated and can't even bring myself to start looking for another therapist because it's overwhelming to think about telling all of my crap to someone else. Guess that means I'll be blogging more frequently to get my feelings out. Aren't YOU all the lucky ones?
Showing posts with label therapy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label therapy. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Stormy Fear
My friends laugh at me because of my phobias. I have a real problem with flying insects that can sting me and cause me pain. I have no shame in admitting that I have screamed like a little kid on millions of more than one occasion. Oddly enough, I've only been stung once and that was when I was 23. But once was more than enough thankyouverymuch.
My other phobia usually only manifests itself during the hot summer months. Thunder and lightning. I literally shake in fear, frozen on the couch, while the storms rage outside. It's worse when I'm alone because I don't have my kids for whom I have to be brave.
It wasn't until tonight in therapy that I've realized part of why I'm so deathly afraid of storms...
When I was little, we'd get humongous storms. Living in the valley of a mountain (actually more like a big, glorified hill, but whatever), we'd get pummeled by the lightning and thunder nearly every night during the summer. The windows would be open...and the curtains would start to blow inward from the force of the wind. Suddenly my mother would come to life and yell, "Shut the windows! The rain's coming!!!". My sister and I would immediately snap to and rush around shutting the windows, hoping we were moving fast enough to avoid my mother's anger.
One night, when I was probably seven or eight years old, I fucked up.
I forgot one of the windows in my parents' bedroom.
My father had gone upstairs during the middle of the storm and screamed my name. I ran upstairs and froze at the doorway. The look on his face was that of a rage-filled monster. I just stood there and started crying out..."I'm sorry.!! I thought it was closed!"
He slammed the window shut and in two strides was standing in front of me. He grabbed me by both of my upper arms and threw me forcefully across the room onto the bed.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, YOU STUPID BITCH?? THE CURTAINS ARE SOAKED AND THERE'S WATER ON THE CARPET...YOU GODDAMN FUCKING IDIOT!!!"
Then he left. And locked me in the room.
That night taught me a lot. I learned to move faster. I learned that I hated thunderstorms. I learned that I never wanted to show anger because I didn't want to be like him.
I learned that I was trapped. Not just in that room...but in my life.
My other phobia usually only manifests itself during the hot summer months. Thunder and lightning. I literally shake in fear, frozen on the couch, while the storms rage outside. It's worse when I'm alone because I don't have my kids for whom I have to be brave.
It wasn't until tonight in therapy that I've realized part of why I'm so deathly afraid of storms...
When I was little, we'd get humongous storms. Living in the valley of a mountain (actually more like a big, glorified hill, but whatever), we'd get pummeled by the lightning and thunder nearly every night during the summer. The windows would be open...and the curtains would start to blow inward from the force of the wind. Suddenly my mother would come to life and yell, "Shut the windows! The rain's coming!!!". My sister and I would immediately snap to and rush around shutting the windows, hoping we were moving fast enough to avoid my mother's anger.
One night, when I was probably seven or eight years old, I fucked up.
I forgot one of the windows in my parents' bedroom.
My father had gone upstairs during the middle of the storm and screamed my name. I ran upstairs and froze at the doorway. The look on his face was that of a rage-filled monster. I just stood there and started crying out..."I'm sorry.!! I thought it was closed!"
He slammed the window shut and in two strides was standing in front of me. He grabbed me by both of my upper arms and threw me forcefully across the room onto the bed.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, YOU STUPID BITCH?? THE CURTAINS ARE SOAKED AND THERE'S WATER ON THE CARPET...YOU GODDAMN FUCKING IDIOT!!!"
Then he left. And locked me in the room.
That night taught me a lot. I learned to move faster. I learned that I hated thunderstorms. I learned that I never wanted to show anger because I didn't want to be like him.
I learned that I was trapped. Not just in that room...but in my life.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Chameleon
Had therapy tonight. We've been actually dealing with a lot of my feelings about being adopted and growing up in the family that I was
But I tried. I became a master of disguises. I said what was expected of me..smiled when it was appropriate...laughed at the jokes...listened while my cousins talked about the latest song on the radio or the newest television heart throb...and took on their opinions. Because it was easier. I pretended that my family wasn't "off". That we really WERE one big happy family...that when we went home, the screaming and yelling and scary days and nights were just bad dreams. Because it was easier.
I still listen to others to find out what the majority is thinking and then I just go along with the crowd. I don't even know if I could say what I wanted or what I thought because I've never really forced myself to do that. I am 36 years old and have no idea who I am. I know the roles I play in my life...mother, daughter and sister to two different families, girlfriend to one, EX girlfriend to a few, employee, neighbor...but those really are just roles. They aren't WHO I am on the inside. They aren't my feelings or emotions.
Sometimes I feel like a blank slate...waiting for people to come to me and draw my life in for me. But, like I told my therapist, I want to draw my OWN picture eventually. It's terrifying though.
She said that hopefully someday soon I'll be able to figure out what I want to do...if it's Credit and Collections, then great (not likely). If it's not, then what is it?
I told her I've always wanted to write...she was very encouraged and asked me if I'd ever written anything. I told her about this blog...and my other fluffy one. Can't believe I told her about them, but I did. She was so excited about it I thought she was going to jump out of her chair. Truth be told, I'm a bit excited about it too. I didn't have to think about it for one second. The words, "I'd love to be a writer" just came out of my mouth.
And so, the point of this rambling post is to say that I'm going to really try and focus (yeah, yeah, heard that before?) and just...write. And write my own story...and draw my own life's picture. And find some oasis in this world...for me.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Polite Eruptions
Two weeks since my last therapy session. Sigh. Wasn't too bad today...could have been worse I suppose. Tonight was spent yelling and screaming. Yes, on purpose.
I had expressed my recent frustration at my son's father and the child support I'm not getting.
Actually, that's not true. I'm getting some support. Just not the right amount.
He's court ordered to contribute $112.50 every two weeks. That's it. It's $45.00 plus $11.25 towards the arrears he owes me per week. So, here's what I've gotten the past four cycles:
08/11/2010 $46.13 TRANSFERRED TO BANK
07/28/2010 $19.40 TRANSFERRED TO BANK
07/14/2010 $23.69 TRANSFERRED TO BANK
06/30/2010 $53.96 TRANSFERRED TO BANK
Notice the amounts? Divide them by two and you'll see what I actually ended up getting per week.
Is it any wonder why I'm pissed off sometimes?
So, my therapist told me that while we were tapping, we were going to yell. Didn't matter if I swore...didn't matter what I said...it just mattered that I got it all out.
And so, I tried. I expressed all the things that have pissed me off recently and even in the past regarding my relationship with my ex. Curious about what those things were? Here's a sampling...
-Calling CPS on me when Chase was a few months old...because he had a diaper rash and the sniffles
-Getting irritated with me for checking my watch every five minutes in the car as we drove to the hospital because I was in labor.
-Leaving me at the hospital so he could go home and chill out on the computer until the actual birth of our child...and almost not making it back in time.
-Not allowing Chase to attend my afather's funeral because he didn't want him to be around so much sadness...Chase was six months old.
-Posting rude and vulgar things on his Myspace profile about me
-Blaming me for keeping him from Chase when in actuality, he left the state and ran away to Louisiana to make a new life for himself. Honestly, I think he would have blamed Hurricane Katrina on me if he could have..lol.
-Not coming to my side when I got in a major car accident with my 2 and 1/2 year old daughter..and five months pregnant at the time.
-Letting my car's battery die in the middle of a snowstorm and making me go out and jump it because he was afraid of getting shocked by the wires.
Now I was pretty damn proud of myself for venting about all that stuff...but after we were done, she looked at me and said, "You know, that was pretty polite...some of what you were saying he'd done made me raise my eyebrows...but you were just...mild...".
We worked through why that was. She asked me what would have happened if I'd yelled and screamed in anger as a child and I told her that would have never been tolerated. It just wasn't safe. I kept my emotions in check so I wouldn't get in trouble and have to deal with the wrath of my mother.
Some days, I feel really fucked up.
I had expressed my recent frustration at my son's father and the child support I'm not getting.
Actually, that's not true. I'm getting some support. Just not the right amount.
He's court ordered to contribute $112.50 every two weeks. That's it. It's $45.00 plus $11.25 towards the arrears he owes me per week. So, here's what I've gotten the past four cycles:
08/11/2010 $46.13 TRANSFERRED TO BANK
07/28/2010 $19.40 TRANSFERRED TO BANK
07/14/2010 $23.69 TRANSFERRED TO BANK
06/30/2010 $53.96 TRANSFERRED TO BANK
Notice the amounts? Divide them by two and you'll see what I actually ended up getting per week.
Is it any wonder why I'm pissed off sometimes?
So, my therapist told me that while we were tapping, we were going to yell. Didn't matter if I swore...didn't matter what I said...it just mattered that I got it all out.
And so, I tried. I expressed all the things that have pissed me off recently and even in the past regarding my relationship with my ex. Curious about what those things were? Here's a sampling...
-Calling CPS on me when Chase was a few months old...because he had a diaper rash and the sniffles
-Getting irritated with me for checking my watch every five minutes in the car as we drove to the hospital because I was in labor.
-Leaving me at the hospital so he could go home and chill out on the computer until the actual birth of our child...and almost not making it back in time.
-Not allowing Chase to attend my afather's funeral because he didn't want him to be around so much sadness...Chase was six months old.
-Posting rude and vulgar things on his Myspace profile about me
-Blaming me for keeping him from Chase when in actuality, he left the state and ran away to Louisiana to make a new life for himself. Honestly, I think he would have blamed Hurricane Katrina on me if he could have..lol.
-Not coming to my side when I got in a major car accident with my 2 and 1/2 year old daughter..and five months pregnant at the time.
-Letting my car's battery die in the middle of a snowstorm and making me go out and jump it because he was afraid of getting shocked by the wires.
Now I was pretty damn proud of myself for venting about all that stuff...but after we were done, she looked at me and said, "You know, that was pretty polite...some of what you were saying he'd done made me raise my eyebrows...but you were just...mild...".
We worked through why that was. She asked me what would have happened if I'd yelled and screamed in anger as a child and I told her that would have never been tolerated. It just wasn't safe. I kept my emotions in check so I wouldn't get in trouble and have to deal with the wrath of my mother.
Some days, I feel really fucked up.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Sleepy Happy Grumpy Mopey...
In a funk. Yup. I'm definitely in a funk. The past few days I've been toying with different posts but every time I go to start writing, it all comes out sounding like crap. Verbal vomit, if you will.
Therapy is on hold for two weeks...she's on vacation this week and I'm on vacation next week (SQUEAL!). I definitely need a break from work..and I can't wait to spend some quality family time with the kids and Steven. It starts with a town concert that Maddie's singing in, continues with beach days, the zoo, playgrounds, picnics, natural family reunion and a birthday party for the son of one of my best friend's. Chock full of fun..chock full of love.
A lot of you know that I've started a separate Facebook profile for my adopted self. I know that I should be strong enough to combine the two..adoptive life vs. natural life..but it's difficult for me. In my head, I'm still the fragile girl who had to please EVERYONE. Had to remain quiet lest she anger her parents. I hate that I'm still afraid of my mother's wrath...that I still crave her approval...and am afraid of hurting her...I hate those things. But it's hard to undo 36 years of fear overnight. I wish it were easy. I wish that I could truly be free for one day from the pain and the grief..and the feelings of guilt when I post pictures of my kids on Facebook and I hear from my natural mother that she lets my adoptive mother comment first so that she doesn't seem to be stepping on anyone's toes. I want to yell at her in those moments and say, "To hell with that! Comment when you want!!". But I'd be hypocritical. Because I understand why she does that.
Therapy is on hold for two weeks...she's on vacation this week and I'm on vacation next week (SQUEAL!). I definitely need a break from work..and I can't wait to spend some quality family time with the kids and Steven. It starts with a town concert that Maddie's singing in, continues with beach days, the zoo, playgrounds, picnics, natural family reunion and a birthday party for the son of one of my best friend's. Chock full of fun..chock full of love.
A lot of you know that I've started a separate Facebook profile for my adopted self. I know that I should be strong enough to combine the two..adoptive life vs. natural life..but it's difficult for me. In my head, I'm still the fragile girl who had to please EVERYONE. Had to remain quiet lest she anger her parents. I hate that I'm still afraid of my mother's wrath...that I still crave her approval...and am afraid of hurting her...I hate those things. But it's hard to undo 36 years of fear overnight. I wish it were easy. I wish that I could truly be free for one day from the pain and the grief..and the feelings of guilt when I post pictures of my kids on Facebook and I hear from my natural mother that she lets my adoptive mother comment first so that she doesn't seem to be stepping on anyone's toes. I want to yell at her in those moments and say, "To hell with that! Comment when you want!!". But I'd be hypocritical. Because I understand why she does that.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Healing On The Boulder
I'm going to be honest here...therapy sucked tonight. I'm feeling really shitty and not in a good place at all.
This morning in the shower I had a body memory. I remembered hearing my mother screaming at me...and how my entire body tensed up, waiting for her to shake me...or slap me. I put the memory out of my mind and went about my day...or so I thought. As the day wore on, I felt a massive migraine and the beginnings of a panic attack coming on. I wanted desperately to cancel my therapy appointment...wanted to just go home and crawl into bed, listening to the hum of the air conditioner.
But I went.
And she had me invite Five to my boulder. Five was able to throw her scared feelings about our adoptive mother into the water..and after what seemed like an eternity, was able to toss the crap of the screaming and the pain of the stinging hand to the river.
But while her pain dissipated, mine was multiplying...inexplicably I was having a hard time breathing. My therapist had me try and connect to my Wise Self...trying to help me see that I was safe..and that nothing bad could happen to me on the boulder..but it didn't work.
It felt like there was a wall in front of me, and my chest couldn't expand out enough to take a deep breath.
Suddenly, as my breathing got more and more shallow, I realized why I couldn't breathe.
When my mother and sister would go off on a shopping excursion, they'd leave me at home with my father. Not realizing that instead of saving me from a day of walking from one end of the mall to the other, they were leaving me to the Big Bad Wolf. I'd run from him...and he'd corner me...pressing me up against the wall.
I began to cry and explained what I was remembering to my therapist. Gently she guided my thoughts back to the boulder and I threw the panicked feeling of not being able to breathe into the river.
Eventually, the feeling was washed away..and my breathing slowed...inhale..exhale..inhale..exhale..
...but I'm in pain tonight.
This morning in the shower I had a body memory. I remembered hearing my mother screaming at me...and how my entire body tensed up, waiting for her to shake me...or slap me. I put the memory out of my mind and went about my day...or so I thought. As the day wore on, I felt a massive migraine and the beginnings of a panic attack coming on. I wanted desperately to cancel my therapy appointment...wanted to just go home and crawl into bed, listening to the hum of the air conditioner.
But I went.
And she had me invite Five to my boulder. Five was able to throw her scared feelings about our adoptive mother into the water..and after what seemed like an eternity, was able to toss the crap of the screaming and the pain of the stinging hand to the river.
But while her pain dissipated, mine was multiplying...inexplicably I was having a hard time breathing. My therapist had me try and connect to my Wise Self...trying to help me see that I was safe..and that nothing bad could happen to me on the boulder..but it didn't work.
It felt like there was a wall in front of me, and my chest couldn't expand out enough to take a deep breath.
Suddenly, as my breathing got more and more shallow, I realized why I couldn't breathe.
When my mother and sister would go off on a shopping excursion, they'd leave me at home with my father. Not realizing that instead of saving me from a day of walking from one end of the mall to the other, they were leaving me to the Big Bad Wolf. I'd run from him...and he'd corner me...pressing me up against the wall.
I began to cry and explained what I was remembering to my therapist. Gently she guided my thoughts back to the boulder and I threw the panicked feeling of not being able to breathe into the river.
Eventually, the feeling was washed away..and my breathing slowed...inhale..exhale..inhale..exhale..
...but I'm in pain tonight.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Weighty Issues
My head is like a bowl of mush. I've been feeling like I can't form a complete sentence without sounding like an imbecile so I've been avoiding this blog. Possibly it's because I skipped therapy last week and even though I thought I was okay with that, my anxiety and depression levels have risen substantially in recent days and I seriously think I'm losing it.
Truthfully, this post might make me sound shallow..but it's my blog so if you don't like, screw (lol). I hate the way I look. I've gained a good 50 pounds and when you are only 5'3", that weight adds up quickly on small bones. I don't look in mirrors if I can help it...and believe me, that takes a great deal of finagling when there's a full length mirror in the bathroom across from the shower. I hate getting pictures taken of myself...unless they are from the neck up only. I'll hide behind people so nothing shows except my face..and again, that takes finagling because they always put the short ones in the front.
Last week, we had a retirement party for one of our colleagues..and the office busybody was bustling around taking pictures of each table. I tried to hide..I really did..but it didn't work. And the next day when she passed out our copies of the pictures, I could have sunk down into the floor and sobbed. I feel really gross. Seeing myself hammered home the fact that I am not healthy. And it hurts like crazy.
At my last therapy session two weeks ago, I'd told my therapist that I really want to start doing things to make me happy. That I need to start taking better care of myself emotionally and physically. So tonight, she asked me what I've done to fulfill that wish.
I came up with one thing. Only one thing out of fourteen days. I took off to the beach for the day with Chase, my natural sister and our mom. And that day was magical...aside from the frigging bathing suit business. We dug in the sand and made sand castles...jumped in the waves and laughed as the water splashed us. Watched a guy on a surfboard being pulled along behind a kite. Was awesome.
But when she said, "And what else?" I had to admit, I had nothing.
I've decided that I'm going to pack my sneakers in my car tomorrow and start walking again. Working my way up to jogging/running. I need to figure out my life...and if I can get healthy, hopefully that will aid in my healing. I'm tired of the weight that is wearing me down. And the thing is, I'm not just talking about my body's physical weight...it's the emotional weight as well.
On a completely different note, the day before we went to the beach, my amother asked to borrow our shovel so she could go to my grandfather's grave and dig a bed for his flowers. I knew it was going to be hot out so I told her I'd go help her. The kids and I picked her up and away we went. Three-quarters of the way there she said, "Hey, do you mind if we go to your dad's grave so we can water his flowers?".
::thud::
My heart started racing, and I began to panic.
"Sure. That's fine." I heard myself say.
While on the inside, I was shouting...You frigging idiot..what are you doing????
We got to the cemetery and were digging around Bumpa's stone...planting more flowers, watering the existing ones..while the kids danced merrily around my jeep.
After several minutes I mustered up my courage.
"Hey Mom...I don't mind driving to dad's cemetery, but I'm going to just sit in the car and the kids can help you water, okay?" I kept my head down and kept digging.
I can't honestly remember what she said..probably something like "Are you alright? We don't have to go...".
"No, we can go..it's just that I'm just finally realizing that I haven't been honest about some of my feelings..and I'm just trying to honor my truths...".
"Well, if you are sure...the kids can help me water the flowers and you can pull the car up past the stone. I appreciate you being able to share that you're uncomfortable..".
And so, that's what I did. The panic eased...and afterwards, I felt lighter. I guess that's another thing I did for myself to make me happy.
Two things. It's a start.
Truthfully, this post might make me sound shallow..but it's my blog so if you don't like, screw (lol). I hate the way I look. I've gained a good 50 pounds and when you are only 5'3", that weight adds up quickly on small bones. I don't look in mirrors if I can help it...and believe me, that takes a great deal of finagling when there's a full length mirror in the bathroom across from the shower. I hate getting pictures taken of myself...unless they are from the neck up only. I'll hide behind people so nothing shows except my face..and again, that takes finagling because they always put the short ones in the front.
Last week, we had a retirement party for one of our colleagues..and the office busybody was bustling around taking pictures of each table. I tried to hide..I really did..but it didn't work. And the next day when she passed out our copies of the pictures, I could have sunk down into the floor and sobbed. I feel really gross. Seeing myself hammered home the fact that I am not healthy. And it hurts like crazy.
At my last therapy session two weeks ago, I'd told my therapist that I really want to start doing things to make me happy. That I need to start taking better care of myself emotionally and physically. So tonight, she asked me what I've done to fulfill that wish.
I came up with one thing. Only one thing out of fourteen days. I took off to the beach for the day with Chase, my natural sister and our mom. And that day was magical...aside from the frigging bathing suit business. We dug in the sand and made sand castles...jumped in the waves and laughed as the water splashed us. Watched a guy on a surfboard being pulled along behind a kite. Was awesome.
But when she said, "And what else?" I had to admit, I had nothing.
I've decided that I'm going to pack my sneakers in my car tomorrow and start walking again. Working my way up to jogging/running. I need to figure out my life...and if I can get healthy, hopefully that will aid in my healing. I'm tired of the weight that is wearing me down. And the thing is, I'm not just talking about my body's physical weight...it's the emotional weight as well.
On a completely different note, the day before we went to the beach, my amother asked to borrow our shovel so she could go to my grandfather's grave and dig a bed for his flowers. I knew it was going to be hot out so I told her I'd go help her. The kids and I picked her up and away we went. Three-quarters of the way there she said, "Hey, do you mind if we go to your dad's grave so we can water his flowers?".
::thud::
My heart started racing, and I began to panic.
"Sure. That's fine." I heard myself say.
While on the inside, I was shouting...You frigging idiot..what are you doing????
We got to the cemetery and were digging around Bumpa's stone...planting more flowers, watering the existing ones..while the kids danced merrily around my jeep.
After several minutes I mustered up my courage.
"Hey Mom...I don't mind driving to dad's cemetery, but I'm going to just sit in the car and the kids can help you water, okay?" I kept my head down and kept digging.
I can't honestly remember what she said..probably something like "Are you alright? We don't have to go...".
"No, we can go..it's just that I'm just finally realizing that I haven't been honest about some of my feelings..and I'm just trying to honor my truths...".
"Well, if you are sure...the kids can help me water the flowers and you can pull the car up past the stone. I appreciate you being able to share that you're uncomfortable..".
And so, that's what I did. The panic eased...and afterwards, I felt lighter. I guess that's another thing I did for myself to make me happy.
Two things. It's a start.
Monday, May 24, 2010
The Long and Winding Road
I've hesitated about talking much about my son and his relationship with his father here. Because I know that some of what I have to say won't paint me in a very good light with my adoptee friends. Or maybe I'm just "being all adopted" today and worrying too much..lol. Regardless, I'm ready for the comments..good, bad, slap upside the head..I'm fine.
Word of warning..I'm not sure whether my ex's wife reads my blog anymore..::shrug::..no clue. I don't follow her around the internet (although, truthfully, I used to, just to see if she was talking about me..hahaha)…but I've gotten over myself and realized that most likely, she feels like I do now and couldn’t care less what I say… If she's reading this then I'll hear about it from my ex and all I can say is I'm sorry that we disagree so strongly on this.
Anyway, I digress (a lot).
My son's father and I split up when Chase was three months old. And then the hard times really began. There was a restraining order put in place, and before you ask, no, he was never physically abusive towards me but that doesn't mean I wasn't fearful of what he might do. And the judge granted the order..not to keep my ex away from our son, but to keep him away from me.
Long story very short, my ex ended up leaving the state in 2004…for places unknown. Eventually, I found out that he was living in Louisiana with his pregnant girlfriend (now wife)..and they lived down there all through 2005 until 2006. He took me back to court so he could exercise his visitation rights again in early 2007.
While he was gone, I began my relationship with my current boyfriend. He's put up with a lot through the years and I'm eternally thankful for him in my life. He accepted that I was a single mother raising two children and loves them more than the world. See, this is where it gets sticky.
Every day on my way to work, I'd drop Chase off at daycare. He'd play with his friends, and get loved on by his teachers. And he'd see the parents, moms and dads, come to pick up his classmates. Every day. And he was growing and his brain was beginning to think..really think.
One day when Chase was about two years old, we got home from work/daycare and he ran into the house, straight into my boyfriend's office.
"Dahnnie! We're home!".
You see, Dahnnie = Daddy. And I'm going to be completely honest here, I said nothing. Because the fact was, at that point, I had NO idea when my ex might come back up north. No idea what his plan was for his life…only knew that right then, his number priority wasn't Chase. For better or for worse, it just wasn't. And I get that. I do. He had built a life down in Louisiana and really, I couldn't fault him for that, although it made me sad for Chase.
And my boyfriend had been there for Chase in ways that my ex logistically couldn't. The late night feedings, the diaper changes, the dinner table fiascos, the scraped knees, the boo boo kisses…the inevitable time outs..lol…and Chase saw that he had what his friends had at daycare…a Dahnnie.
Flashforward to today and things are hard for Chase. More difficult than I think my ex can understand..(I'm NOT saying this is bad, or whatever…it just is)..and it's causing issues for Chase. My ex believes that Chase should not be allowed to call Steven "Daddy". Period..end of story. That because he doesn't share the same genes as Chase, he has no rights. Legally, that's correct. But morally, I respectively beg to differ. I'm adopted. I have TWO moms. The one that raised me (albeit, badly at times) and the mom that I'm biologically and inexplicably connected to. In my eyes, neither has more of a "right" to me. But both just as real as the other.
Yesterday when I got Chase back from his weekend visit, I took him over to see the rest of my afamily and Madelyn at my sister's house for my nephew's birthday. He'd had an accident in his pants. Actually, he had two accidents while we were there. Now, usually this means one of three things: He's tired, he's lazy (lol) or he's stressed out. As I got him cleaned up in my sister's bathroom, he said something to me that hurt my heart.
"Daddy yelled at me today. He said I'm not allowed to call Steven Daddy anymore." Now, whether "yelled" means talked to in a stern voice, my bet is on probably. But it was hard to hear that it's still going on. I'd kind of put it out of my head (bad Mommy) and thought that since my ex and I were being civil and decent with one another, his tone would change with Chase. But it hasn't. I simply told Chase to tell Daddy (my ex) that he can talk to Mommy about it, and that I was just happy he has so many people that love him.
And tonight, while I'm at therapy, I'll be pushing my therapist for the name of a counselor that I can take Chase to so we can address the issue and see what an unbiased third party person thinks.
Was I wrong to not tell Chase that he had a father out there somewhere? Probably. But what was I supposed to do? Sigh.
I'll bet I lost quite a few readers several paragraphs back because I'm so long winded today, but I had to write it down.
Word of warning..I'm not sure whether my ex's wife reads my blog anymore..::shrug::..no clue. I don't follow her around the internet (although, truthfully, I used to, just to see if she was talking about me..hahaha)…but I've gotten over myself and realized that most likely, she feels like I do now and couldn’t care less what I say… If she's reading this then I'll hear about it from my ex and all I can say is I'm sorry that we disagree so strongly on this.
Anyway, I digress (a lot).
My son's father and I split up when Chase was three months old. And then the hard times really began. There was a restraining order put in place, and before you ask, no, he was never physically abusive towards me but that doesn't mean I wasn't fearful of what he might do. And the judge granted the order..not to keep my ex away from our son, but to keep him away from me.
Long story very short, my ex ended up leaving the state in 2004…for places unknown. Eventually, I found out that he was living in Louisiana with his pregnant girlfriend (now wife)..and they lived down there all through 2005 until 2006. He took me back to court so he could exercise his visitation rights again in early 2007.
While he was gone, I began my relationship with my current boyfriend. He's put up with a lot through the years and I'm eternally thankful for him in my life. He accepted that I was a single mother raising two children and loves them more than the world. See, this is where it gets sticky.
Every day on my way to work, I'd drop Chase off at daycare. He'd play with his friends, and get loved on by his teachers. And he'd see the parents, moms and dads, come to pick up his classmates. Every day. And he was growing and his brain was beginning to think..really think.
One day when Chase was about two years old, we got home from work/daycare and he ran into the house, straight into my boyfriend's office.
"Dahnnie! We're home!".
You see, Dahnnie = Daddy. And I'm going to be completely honest here, I said nothing. Because the fact was, at that point, I had NO idea when my ex might come back up north. No idea what his plan was for his life…only knew that right then, his number priority wasn't Chase. For better or for worse, it just wasn't. And I get that. I do. He had built a life down in Louisiana and really, I couldn't fault him for that, although it made me sad for Chase.
And my boyfriend had been there for Chase in ways that my ex logistically couldn't. The late night feedings, the diaper changes, the dinner table fiascos, the scraped knees, the boo boo kisses…the inevitable time outs..lol…and Chase saw that he had what his friends had at daycare…a Dahnnie.
Flashforward to today and things are hard for Chase. More difficult than I think my ex can understand..(I'm NOT saying this is bad, or whatever…it just is)..and it's causing issues for Chase. My ex believes that Chase should not be allowed to call Steven "Daddy". Period..end of story. That because he doesn't share the same genes as Chase, he has no rights. Legally, that's correct. But morally, I respectively beg to differ. I'm adopted. I have TWO moms. The one that raised me (albeit, badly at times) and the mom that I'm biologically and inexplicably connected to. In my eyes, neither has more of a "right" to me. But both just as real as the other.
Yesterday when I got Chase back from his weekend visit, I took him over to see the rest of my afamily and Madelyn at my sister's house for my nephew's birthday. He'd had an accident in his pants. Actually, he had two accidents while we were there. Now, usually this means one of three things: He's tired, he's lazy (lol) or he's stressed out. As I got him cleaned up in my sister's bathroom, he said something to me that hurt my heart.
"Daddy yelled at me today. He said I'm not allowed to call Steven Daddy anymore." Now, whether "yelled" means talked to in a stern voice, my bet is on probably. But it was hard to hear that it's still going on. I'd kind of put it out of my head (bad Mommy) and thought that since my ex and I were being civil and decent with one another, his tone would change with Chase. But it hasn't. I simply told Chase to tell Daddy (my ex) that he can talk to Mommy about it, and that I was just happy he has so many people that love him.
And tonight, while I'm at therapy, I'll be pushing my therapist for the name of a counselor that I can take Chase to so we can address the issue and see what an unbiased third party person thinks.
Was I wrong to not tell Chase that he had a father out there somewhere? Probably. But what was I supposed to do? Sigh.
I'll bet I lost quite a few readers several paragraphs back because I'm so long winded today, but I had to write it down.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Have A Nice (Guilt) Trip?
Just got home from therapy. Feeling off..per usual. My afather's birthday is coming up soon...May 25th to be precise. And historically, in the almost seven years since he's been dead, my family has gathered at the cemetery to plant flowers and clean up around his gravestone on his birthday and on the anniversary of his death (September 12th). If you recall, I didn't want to go plant flowers in September..but I went anyway. And now, I've gotten the dreaded question posed to me by my amother.
"What day works for you to go to the cemetery?"
Fuck.
I've been stressed out the past few months, waiting for this. I don't want to go...I deserve to say "Look Mom, I need to be truthful with myself and recognize that going to plant flowers at the grave isn't helping me, nor is it healthy, so I'm just not going to go...". But it doesn't feel safe to say no.
Doesn't feel safe, you ask?
Speaking as the adult Christina, I realize how stupid that sounds.
But to the child that was taught to NEVER say no to her mother because there-will-be-Hell-to-pay-when-we-get-home-and-noone-is-listening-to-me-scream-at-you-while-tearing-you-a-new-asshole..no...it's not safe.
My asister has no problem telling our mother no. She feels no regret..and can graciously refuse the one way ticket to Guilt that I always seem to be traveling to. And I know, through therapy thankyouverymuch, that I am the one allowing myself to get on the train/plane/automobile for the journey, but it's just really hard to just say no.
"What day works for you to go to the cemetery?"
Fuck.
I've been stressed out the past few months, waiting for this. I don't want to go...I deserve to say "Look Mom, I need to be truthful with myself and recognize that going to plant flowers at the grave isn't helping me, nor is it healthy, so I'm just not going to go...". But it doesn't feel safe to say no.
Doesn't feel safe, you ask?
Speaking as the adult Christina, I realize how stupid that sounds.
But to the child that was taught to NEVER say no to her mother because there-will-be-Hell-to-pay-when-we-get-home-and-noone-is-listening-to-me-scream-at-you-while-tearing-you-a-new-asshole..no...it's not safe.
My asister has no problem telling our mother no. She feels no regret..and can graciously refuse the one way ticket to Guilt that I always seem to be traveling to. And I know, through therapy thankyouverymuch, that I am the one allowing myself to get on the train/plane/automobile for the journey, but it's just really hard to just say no.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Speed Bump Ahead
UGH! I wanted to do something different with the background for my blog and I can't seem to get it right. I'm annoyed, crabby and irritated.
And yes, I did have therapy last night and yes, that is why I'm annoyed, crabby and irritated.
Phew.
I'm sorry for the state of my blog. Consider this your warning that it is under construction..much like me and my life.
And yes, I did have therapy last night and yes, that is why I'm annoyed, crabby and irritated.
Phew.
I'm sorry for the state of my blog. Consider this your warning that it is under construction..much like me and my life.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Pondering
I've hesitated in writing about my visit with Chris last weekend. Not because it wasn't wonderful, but because of some of the hard emotions that bubbled up to the surface.
It was a blessing to be able to just hang out with her…went out to dinner, giggled, talked, hugged, and giggled some more. And we talked about my adoption. She told me about a boy she dated after she found out about the pregnancy..John. He told her that he'd marry her and raise me as his own…so she wouldn't be alone. Alas, he had issues…assumedly with drugs..and they parted ways before my birth.
I found out that contrary to what I was always told, I was actually born at night..not in the morning. Not a huge thing, but it bothers me that noone thought it important enough to get it right.
I also found out that noone told her that she had 30 days after having me to change her mind. I couldn't bring myself to ask the burning question that raced like fire through my heart..would she have kept me?
Not that it matters now…my life is what it is. My therapist and I talk a lot about my obsession with the "What ifs" and how it's not helping me heal. But I just can't help it.
I know that everyone has their own list of "What ifs"..and that most of the below items could be one anyone's list…but these are mine…and they hurt to think about.
What if I grew up knowing who I truly was..who I was meant to be?
What if I grew up knowing the unconditional love that a mother has for their child, instead of having to wait until I had my own children?
What if I grew up as Elena Katherine instead of Christina Lynn?
What if I never met any of the wonderful bloggers that I've come to know and love..even the ones that challenge me?
What if I hadn't been mentally abused by my school mates?
What if I hadn't been sexually abused?
What if I was never referred to as a "piece of shit"?
What if I grew up knowing that being sent back wasn't a real possibility?
What if I could look in the mirror and love the person I am?
What if I never had to explain to anyone about why I have two mothers…and why one isn't anymore real than the other?
What if?
It was a blessing to be able to just hang out with her…went out to dinner, giggled, talked, hugged, and giggled some more. And we talked about my adoption. She told me about a boy she dated after she found out about the pregnancy..John. He told her that he'd marry her and raise me as his own…so she wouldn't be alone. Alas, he had issues…assumedly with drugs..and they parted ways before my birth.
I found out that contrary to what I was always told, I was actually born at night..not in the morning. Not a huge thing, but it bothers me that noone thought it important enough to get it right.
I also found out that noone told her that she had 30 days after having me to change her mind. I couldn't bring myself to ask the burning question that raced like fire through my heart..would she have kept me?
Not that it matters now…my life is what it is. My therapist and I talk a lot about my obsession with the "What ifs" and how it's not helping me heal. But I just can't help it.
I know that everyone has their own list of "What ifs"..and that most of the below items could be one anyone's list…but these are mine…and they hurt to think about.
What if I grew up knowing who I truly was..who I was meant to be?
What if I grew up knowing the unconditional love that a mother has for their child, instead of having to wait until I had my own children?
What if I grew up as Elena Katherine instead of Christina Lynn?
What if I never met any of the wonderful bloggers that I've come to know and love..even the ones that challenge me?
What if I hadn't been mentally abused by my school mates?
What if I hadn't been sexually abused?
What if I was never referred to as a "piece of shit"?
What if I grew up knowing that being sent back wasn't a real possibility?
What if I could look in the mirror and love the person I am?
What if I never had to explain to anyone about why I have two mothers…and why one isn't anymore real than the other?
What if?
Thursday, March 11, 2010
A Curious Case of the Creepy Crawlies
Tuesday was really rough. Really rough. All day I felt like my skin was crawling. Truly crawling with a billion little worms moving and squirming, driving me crazy.
Got to therapy and talked about it..told her that I was terribly agitated and couldn't really figure out what was going on specifically...just that it was uncomfortable and I needed help.
Back to my boulder we went. Our intent was to throw the "creepy crawly sensation" into the river. But no. I felt like something was holding me back...or someone. My therapist asked me who or what I thought it was..and as I sat there, on my peaceful rock, Keeper showed up in her long white nightgown and the big green eyes..her dark hair blowing in a nonexistent breeze. I asked her why she didn't want me to throw the creepy crawlies into the river and the only thought I had as I asked her was that she was protecting me. Protecting me from the secrets.
In digging further, I came to understand that she was afraid that if she did tell the secrets, all the parts of me would be completely overwhelmed. And that she wouldn't be needed anymore. Eventually, we (my therapist and I) were able to convince her to let me put the awful feeling of my skin crawling in a huge jug..instead of the river. That way she could still guard it, but I'd be able to function. Found out that Keeper doesn't sleep. She can't. She has "lived" this way her entire life, saving the bruised and injured parts of my psyche from the floodgates of memories and pain. A very shitty way to live if you ask me.
Now, dear friends and readers, I am well aware it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what the secrets could be. But I, as well as Keeper and Five, am not ready to say them yet. I'm just really scared...
I know this is going to be bad.
Got to therapy and talked about it..told her that I was terribly agitated and couldn't really figure out what was going on specifically...just that it was uncomfortable and I needed help.
Back to my boulder we went. Our intent was to throw the "creepy crawly sensation" into the river. But no. I felt like something was holding me back...or someone. My therapist asked me who or what I thought it was..and as I sat there, on my peaceful rock, Keeper showed up in her long white nightgown and the big green eyes..her dark hair blowing in a nonexistent breeze. I asked her why she didn't want me to throw the creepy crawlies into the river and the only thought I had as I asked her was that she was protecting me. Protecting me from the secrets.
In digging further, I came to understand that she was afraid that if she did tell the secrets, all the parts of me would be completely overwhelmed. And that she wouldn't be needed anymore. Eventually, we (my therapist and I) were able to convince her to let me put the awful feeling of my skin crawling in a huge jug..instead of the river. That way she could still guard it, but I'd be able to function. Found out that Keeper doesn't sleep. She can't. She has "lived" this way her entire life, saving the bruised and injured parts of my psyche from the floodgates of memories and pain. A very shitty way to live if you ask me.
Now, dear friends and readers, I am well aware it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what the secrets could be. But I, as well as Keeper and Five, am not ready to say them yet. I'm just really scared...
I know this is going to be bad.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Fun and Games
I'm back to feeling "okay" after my therapy session the other night. I ended up back on my boulder, watching Keeper rock while sitting in a huge rocking chair...surrounded by ginormous soft red pillows, and clutching the security blanket I'd been attached to as a child.
As I sat in the chair in the office, my therapist told me to ask Keeper, this little eight year old Christina that I'm beginning to get to know, what her "job" is. Since Keeper can't speak, I saw her pick up a large, gold padlock. She just sat there, staring at me...swinging the padlock back and forth. She's the guardian of the secrets..and doesn't trust me enough yet to let me in. I was told to ask her what she does for fun...and she just stared, cocking her head to the side. She doesn't know what fun is. Does she want to learn how to have fun? She just stared. Not yet.
Then, it was time to invite Five on the boulder. She showed up wearing a pink party dress with white tights and Mary Jane patent leather shoes. She was quiet as well, but agreed to sit in a small rocking chair and listen, holding onto a very worn teddy bear. At my therapist's prompting, I asked Five if she wanted to have fun. She started to look anxious..I could tell immediately what the problem was. Her mother. She didn't want to make her mother angry...didn't want her to know about the boulder...didn't want to have fun if she was going to just get in trouble later on.
I asked Five if she wanted to throw the fear of her mother finding her into the river..carrying the fear away with the water..and she did. It took awhile, but at last, she understood that her mother would not come for her on the boulder. That it is a safe place, far from the prying eyes of her captor.
Before Keeper and Five left me alone on the rock, I took Five in my arms..and we cried together. I told her how sorry I was that she was scared...sorry that she couldn't enjoy being a little girl and have fun. The tears poured from her eyes..and mine...as we sat there. I didn't want to let her go...but I promised that she could return any time she wanted. Keeper was just watching us from her perch on the rocking chair...and I told her that she was welcome as well. She stared..and nodded.
It's a start.
I'm angry though. Yes, yes..I AM an angry adoptee. I shouldn't have had to constantly look over my shoulder...I should have been able to have fun. I'm not even sure I know how, even now.
As I sat in the chair in the office, my therapist told me to ask Keeper, this little eight year old Christina that I'm beginning to get to know, what her "job" is. Since Keeper can't speak, I saw her pick up a large, gold padlock. She just sat there, staring at me...swinging the padlock back and forth. She's the guardian of the secrets..and doesn't trust me enough yet to let me in. I was told to ask her what she does for fun...and she just stared, cocking her head to the side. She doesn't know what fun is. Does she want to learn how to have fun? She just stared. Not yet.
Then, it was time to invite Five on the boulder. She showed up wearing a pink party dress with white tights and Mary Jane patent leather shoes. She was quiet as well, but agreed to sit in a small rocking chair and listen, holding onto a very worn teddy bear. At my therapist's prompting, I asked Five if she wanted to have fun. She started to look anxious..I could tell immediately what the problem was. Her mother. She didn't want to make her mother angry...didn't want her to know about the boulder...didn't want to have fun if she was going to just get in trouble later on.
I asked Five if she wanted to throw the fear of her mother finding her into the river..carrying the fear away with the water..and she did. It took awhile, but at last, she understood that her mother would not come for her on the boulder. That it is a safe place, far from the prying eyes of her captor.
Before Keeper and Five left me alone on the rock, I took Five in my arms..and we cried together. I told her how sorry I was that she was scared...sorry that she couldn't enjoy being a little girl and have fun. The tears poured from her eyes..and mine...as we sat there. I didn't want to let her go...but I promised that she could return any time she wanted. Keeper was just watching us from her perch on the rocking chair...and I told her that she was welcome as well. She stared..and nodded.
It's a start.
I'm angry though. Yes, yes..I AM an angry adoptee. I shouldn't have had to constantly look over my shoulder...I should have been able to have fun. I'm not even sure I know how, even now.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Just Call Me Screwy Louie
Been taking a little bit of a break from thinking about anything adoption related. I've been experiencing strong flashbacks in therapy and while my therapist has been trying to "calm me down" before I leave our sessions, I still find myself extremely tired, agitated and irritable for a few days afterwards. There's only so much a girl can handle and I think I've reached my limit.
I have other issues that are on my mind at the moment too. I think I've mentioned that my Credit and Collections contracting job is being outsourced to India come the end of April. I have been trying to stay positive because it looks like I'll be hired on full time by the company but of course, there's no guarantee. My managers have been trying to help all of the contractors on my team (eleven of us total) find positions and while I'm grateful (hate that word, but it fits here) that they are helping, I'm still extremely stressed out and nervous. I have a car payment, groceries to buy, household bills to help pay (although my boyfriend is my hero and does so much for me and the kids), daycare to pay…etc. etc. etc. I don't get much in the way of child support from my son's biological dad…not even enough to cover the cost of afterschool daycare. It's just so frustrating to work so hard and then to have the rug pulled out from underneath you. I know I'm not the only one in this boat…but that is but a small comfort right now.
And today I have to go to one of the other buildings for a career development function and am praying to all that is good and holy in the world that I won't have to talk to anyone (other than the coworkers/friends that will be going with me) because I've been having a really hard time speaking without "blocking" on the words. Another little gem of crappiness that I've been working with my therapist on. My mother called our house last night and I couldn't even answer the phone without having to pause and stammer out the words "Hi Mom". It was my MOTHER for pete's sake..not a stranger…and yet, I still had to stand in the kitchen trying to will my voice to work. ::thud::
I really am screwed up, huh? Writing it all down just hammers that home to me. I am so tired of being damaged.
I have other issues that are on my mind at the moment too. I think I've mentioned that my Credit and Collections contracting job is being outsourced to India come the end of April. I have been trying to stay positive because it looks like I'll be hired on full time by the company but of course, there's no guarantee. My managers have been trying to help all of the contractors on my team (eleven of us total) find positions and while I'm grateful (hate that word, but it fits here) that they are helping, I'm still extremely stressed out and nervous. I have a car payment, groceries to buy, household bills to help pay (although my boyfriend is my hero and does so much for me and the kids), daycare to pay…etc. etc. etc. I don't get much in the way of child support from my son's biological dad…not even enough to cover the cost of afterschool daycare. It's just so frustrating to work so hard and then to have the rug pulled out from underneath you. I know I'm not the only one in this boat…but that is but a small comfort right now.
And today I have to go to one of the other buildings for a career development function and am praying to all that is good and holy in the world that I won't have to talk to anyone (other than the coworkers/friends that will be going with me) because I've been having a really hard time speaking without "blocking" on the words. Another little gem of crappiness that I've been working with my therapist on. My mother called our house last night and I couldn't even answer the phone without having to pause and stammer out the words "Hi Mom". It was my MOTHER for pete's sake..not a stranger…and yet, I still had to stand in the kitchen trying to will my voice to work. ::thud::
I really am screwed up, huh? Writing it all down just hammers that home to me. I am so tired of being damaged.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
New Look...And Ancient Pain
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???????
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???????
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.
Monday, December 21, 2009
"It All Makes Sense Now"
That's what my asister said when I told her about the flashbacks and why I'm in therapy this time. She knew about when I was in therapy during my early 20's, and that it was because our adad was "inappropriate"..but now that she knows that there was more, she said that it explains a lot about why I am the way I am, and why things have been the way they are for me.
Phew.
We had lunch on Saturday..something we don't get to do very often without the kids. I was hesitant to talk to her about what's been going on, but I just had to. She's the only one who experienced the mental, emotional and physical abuse that I did...and we are getting to the point that we can talk about it openly.
My amother has put my father on a pedestal now that he's dead. It's infuriating...and sad. She had been abused as a child at the hands of her uncle..and then she married an abuser because it's all she knew. And because of that, I was abused. I'm sick and tired of hearing how great of a guy he was...NO HE FUCKING WASN'T. She's got this selective memory about what life was like and I hate that I can't anything to her about it because I'm still afraid of her. In my mind, I'm still a little girl and need to keep my mouth shut for fear of angering her.
The bureau that my daughter scratched up the other day belonged to my sister, and before that, belonged to my mother. When I told my mother what Madelyn had done and that she was afraid that everyone was going to hate her when they found out, my mother said, "She's just a little girl...don't get mad at her...it's only a bureau after all".
WHAT THE FUCK???
Now, I certainly didn't react calmly when I saw the bureau, but I sure as hell didn't react like my mother would have if that had been me or my sister when we were nine years old (old enough to know better, by the way). We would have had the crap beaten out of us and then be made to sit for hours listening to the ranting and swearing...all the while packing our bags in our heads for the guilt trip we were about to imbark on.
I remember one day I had a friend over afterschool. We were playing in my room and my friend grabbed the afghan that was folded neatly on the bottom of my bed. For one second, I froze in terror. I NEVER took the afghan off my bed because I couldn't ever fold it like my mother did. I decided that there was nothing I could do except fold it somewhat close to how she had it.
My friend left for home and my mother came in my room to drop off my laundry. And it happened.
"Why did you take the afghan off your bed?" She said, teeth gritted.
"I didn't, Shannon did...I tried to put it back the right way but..." I said, cowering in the corner.
"That afghan was made for you by your aunt...don't your friends know how to respect your things??" Her voice was getting louder...
"Mom, she didn't know...I put it back right away but..."
"Tell Shannon that she's not to come here ever again...not until she can learn how to respect this house...".
The lecture continued for most of the night. The daggers that flew from my mother's eyes cut through my heart and took a little more of my soul.
I said something about the afghan story to my sister and she said that she remembered that day.
It was a stupid afghan! In fact, the very same afghan is currently sitting on my living room floor waiting for my son to come home and claim it before bedtime.
I just have to shake my head sometimes at the ridiculousness of my childhood...or lack thereof.
It DOES explain a lot though...don't you think?
Phew.
We had lunch on Saturday..something we don't get to do very often without the kids. I was hesitant to talk to her about what's been going on, but I just had to. She's the only one who experienced the mental, emotional and physical abuse that I did...and we are getting to the point that we can talk about it openly.
My amother has put my father on a pedestal now that he's dead. It's infuriating...and sad. She had been abused as a child at the hands of her uncle..and then she married an abuser because it's all she knew. And because of that, I was abused. I'm sick and tired of hearing how great of a guy he was...NO HE FUCKING WASN'T. She's got this selective memory about what life was like and I hate that I can't anything to her about it because I'm still afraid of her. In my mind, I'm still a little girl and need to keep my mouth shut for fear of angering her.
The bureau that my daughter scratched up the other day belonged to my sister, and before that, belonged to my mother. When I told my mother what Madelyn had done and that she was afraid that everyone was going to hate her when they found out, my mother said, "She's just a little girl...don't get mad at her...it's only a bureau after all".
WHAT THE FUCK???
Now, I certainly didn't react calmly when I saw the bureau, but I sure as hell didn't react like my mother would have if that had been me or my sister when we were nine years old (old enough to know better, by the way). We would have had the crap beaten out of us and then be made to sit for hours listening to the ranting and swearing...all the while packing our bags in our heads for the guilt trip we were about to imbark on.
I remember one day I had a friend over afterschool. We were playing in my room and my friend grabbed the afghan that was folded neatly on the bottom of my bed. For one second, I froze in terror. I NEVER took the afghan off my bed because I couldn't ever fold it like my mother did. I decided that there was nothing I could do except fold it somewhat close to how she had it.
My friend left for home and my mother came in my room to drop off my laundry. And it happened.
"Why did you take the afghan off your bed?" She said, teeth gritted.
"I didn't, Shannon did...I tried to put it back the right way but..." I said, cowering in the corner.
"That afghan was made for you by your aunt...don't your friends know how to respect your things??" Her voice was getting louder...
"Mom, she didn't know...I put it back right away but..."
"Tell Shannon that she's not to come here ever again...not until she can learn how to respect this house...".
The lecture continued for most of the night. The daggers that flew from my mother's eyes cut through my heart and took a little more of my soul.
I said something about the afghan story to my sister and she said that she remembered that day.
It was a stupid afghan! In fact, the very same afghan is currently sitting on my living room floor waiting for my son to come home and claim it before bedtime.
I just have to shake my head sometimes at the ridiculousness of my childhood...or lack thereof.
It DOES explain a lot though...don't you think?
Monday, December 14, 2009
Enough is Enough
I have a crap ton of work that I need to be doing right now…and zero motivation to be doing any of it. I'm getting a cold, sitting at my desk with a fever and just want to cry.
I'm super emotional…for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which is the fact that (Warning: If there are any guys in my reading audience, the following will probably constitute as TMI) I just got my period after four months of nothing. Sigh. I guess I'm glad that it finally showed up, but my hormones and emotions have been going haywire lately and it's just all very overwhelming.
My darling daughter decided Saturday that instead of cleaning her room before going to see Cirque de Soleil with my boyfriend's dad, stepmom and stepniece that she'd take a pen and carve random designs into the top of her antique dresser. Found it last night when we were pulling our Christmas stuff out of the attic. Just am at a loss as to how to handle her. She's a great kid, don't get me wrong, but that just threw me right the hell over the edge.
I'm at the point that I feel like boxing up everything in her room except for her clothes and putting them away until she can learn how to respect what she has, and respect us.
Anyone have any suggestions?
My a-sister called me the other day asking what to get the kids for Christmas and mentioned that our mom had called her, worried about me. Amom knows that I'm in therapy, but not why… I told her that I was okay…that I was just working through some stuff..but I think that I might try and get up the courage to talk to my sister about what's been going on. Definitely not before Christmas though. We just put up the tree and the other decorations and I'm trying desperately to get into the holiday spirit and talking about the abuse and everything else would just send my emotions plummeting.
I'm super emotional…for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which is the fact that (Warning: If there are any guys in my reading audience, the following will probably constitute as TMI) I just got my period after four months of nothing. Sigh. I guess I'm glad that it finally showed up, but my hormones and emotions have been going haywire lately and it's just all very overwhelming.
My darling daughter decided Saturday that instead of cleaning her room before going to see Cirque de Soleil with my boyfriend's dad, stepmom and stepniece that she'd take a pen and carve random designs into the top of her antique dresser. Found it last night when we were pulling our Christmas stuff out of the attic. Just am at a loss as to how to handle her. She's a great kid, don't get me wrong, but that just threw me right the hell over the edge.
I'm at the point that I feel like boxing up everything in her room except for her clothes and putting them away until she can learn how to respect what she has, and respect us.
Anyone have any suggestions?
My a-sister called me the other day asking what to get the kids for Christmas and mentioned that our mom had called her, worried about me. Amom knows that I'm in therapy, but not why… I told her that I was okay…that I was just working through some stuff..but I think that I might try and get up the courage to talk to my sister about what's been going on. Definitely not before Christmas though. We just put up the tree and the other decorations and I'm trying desperately to get into the holiday spirit and talking about the abuse and everything else would just send my emotions plummeting.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
She Lives....
in my mind's eye. Guarding the huge wooden doors..pacing back and forth...never speaking, just expressing her emotions through her actions and facial expressions.
Behind those doors are the secrets of my soul. Secrets that I'm not even privy to..because of Girl.
Girl's probably about eight years old...dressed in a long white nightgown with flowing dark hair and barefeet. Piercing eyes pleading with me to leave it alone. Don't worry about the secrets...Girl will take care of them...forever.
But I am realizing more and more that I need to know what is lurking beyond those doors. Until I know everything, I can't fully heal.
She offered me a sneak peek into what I am dealing with...through a small window high up on the door. On tiptoes I look, and see...
Darkness. Just darkness. But it's the scariest thing I've ever seen. Because who knows what could be hiding there.
She shuts the window and shoos me away....and commences her frantic pacing again.
I just am so confused and tired. Therapy is definitely helping, but I just feel like it's an impossible dream. To be 'normal'. I don't know any different way to be except ABnormal.
What if I do see what's behind the doors and it makes things worse?
Can I take that chance?
Can I afford not to?
Behind those doors are the secrets of my soul. Secrets that I'm not even privy to..because of Girl.
Girl's probably about eight years old...dressed in a long white nightgown with flowing dark hair and barefeet. Piercing eyes pleading with me to leave it alone. Don't worry about the secrets...Girl will take care of them...forever.
But I am realizing more and more that I need to know what is lurking beyond those doors. Until I know everything, I can't fully heal.
She offered me a sneak peek into what I am dealing with...through a small window high up on the door. On tiptoes I look, and see...
Darkness. Just darkness. But it's the scariest thing I've ever seen. Because who knows what could be hiding there.
She shuts the window and shoos me away....and commences her frantic pacing again.
I just am so confused and tired. Therapy is definitely helping, but I just feel like it's an impossible dream. To be 'normal'. I don't know any different way to be except ABnormal.
What if I do see what's behind the doors and it makes things worse?
Can I take that chance?
Can I afford not to?
Friday, December 4, 2009
Thank Goddess It's Friday
I've been MIA from my blog for a few days...the below picture shows why. My poor boy has a virus and has been battling a fever (was 104 degrees yesterday..!!!) and has needed all of the snuggling and back rubbing that Mummy could offer.
Now I'm back and am struggling about whether to talk about my therapy session this week. It was difficult. To say the least. And it was very frustrating. You see, I got to "meet" the part of me that is trying to keep me safe from the trauma...in my mind's eye anyway. I really feel like I want to talk about 'her' but every time I try and put the words down, something is holding me back.
Hmmm...maybe tomorrow.
I'm tired...and 'she's' tired. After all, she's been keeping me safe for 35 years...she deserves to be a little tired.
Now I'm back and am struggling about whether to talk about my therapy session this week. It was difficult. To say the least. And it was very frustrating. You see, I got to "meet" the part of me that is trying to keep me safe from the trauma...in my mind's eye anyway. I really feel like I want to talk about 'her' but every time I try and put the words down, something is holding me back.
Hmmm...maybe tomorrow.
I'm tired...and 'she's' tired. After all, she's been keeping me safe for 35 years...she deserves to be a little tired.
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