Showing posts with label PTSD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PTSD. Show all posts

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Just hold on til tomorrow (poem?)

I “accidentally” cut my middle finger on a broken glass
Just to spite his fucking, sorry ass.
Just one last way to finally say, "Fuck you
For all the shit you put me through!"
But it wasn’t deep enough.
It didn’t bleed enough.
I guess I have lost my touch.

I burnt myself with a cigarette,
But still can't begin to forget.
All the fucking shit he did
And the fucking pain he caused.
And the wreck of a mother
And the fucking whore I was.

It was never what I wanted --
It wasn't “me” at all.
But I've taken the fucking blame,
And I've taken the fucking fall.

I took 4 hands full of pills,
Just how many, I don't know.
So down the rabbit hole I go.
I don't want to die,
That’s for sure . . .
I know life is too precious . . .
I just want to be a in a blur.

And, for once in my life,
I would LOVE to get some sleep.
I just want these memories to
Go away and let me rest in peace.

I even used the telephone.
I called the fucking crisis line,
And talked to Senor Psychobabble.
He said take a hot shower
And drink a glass of milk . . .
Like that will fucking help.

I don't know what I need.
I really feel the need to bleed.
But that’s not an option I’m willing to face.
I have enough scars to be a disgrace.

Just cigarette burns, maybe,
And perhaps that will finally teach me
To stop blabbing my fucking mouth
About things that nobody has any business knowing.
Places I have no business going.
I can feel the hatred in my growing,
But, that's just how I feel right now.
Tomorrow will be different.
I have children that I love,
And there's a God above
Who cares for me.
I just have to hold on til tomorrow.
Just hold on til tomorrow.

Friday, March 9, 2012

I'm Not Quitting . . . Yet . . .

PTSD ... I'm convinced that must stand for "Pretty Tough Stuff Daily" ... the awful nightmares, crippling body memories, intrusive flashbacks, and all the other "fun stuff" that goes along with it.

I had a particularly challenging therapy session today, to the point that I was physically ill & vomiting afterwards. I crawled home so utterly exhausted that it was all I could do to fix supper for the kids before collapsing in bed, virtually catatonic and shaking. I just lay there in a trance for about an hour with the eternal "to do" list running through my mind, trying desperately to will myself to snap out of it, get up, and get busy. But it was no use. My body just wouldn't cooperate. I took a series of deep, cleansing breaths and tried to reground & center myself. Not helpful. Then, from somewhere deep inside, the thought came to me, "So, that's it then, huh? You're just going to let him win? You're just going to give up?"

Not in this lifetime! I drug myself out of bed and began washing the dishes & wiping off the kitchen counters. I checked the kids' backpacks, started supper, and unloaded & reloaded the washing machine ... and was suddenly startled by the realization that I was ... HUNGRY. Had I eaten yet today? I realized I hadn't (aside from the snack I'd eaten during therapy, which I had promptly thrown up afterward). I poured myself a bowl of cereal, sloshed in some milk, and started devouring it. I was FAMISHED. I relished the texture of each bite as it crunched around my mouth, enjoying the wonderful sensation of being ALIVE.

"That's right," I thought to myself, "I'm HERE. I'm alive. I survived. I WON, and HE LOST!"

I may have nightmares again tonight. Such is life. But I'm not giving up. I can't. I won't. I didn't come this far to cower in fear because of a few pesky flashbacks & traumatic memories. And that's all they are -- MEMORIES! It's OVER! He can't hurt me anymore! And I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to let the things he said & did to me keep stealing the joy out of my life.

Walking into my daughter's room to tuck her in and seeing her lying there, sleeping so peacefully, I realized that there are some things in life that are worth fighting for.

Tomorrow is another day. I will wake up. I will put one foot in front of the other. I will go on living. I will go on healing. I will go on BEING. I will learn to let myself feel without fearing the feelings. I will learn to share without fearing rejection or judgment. I will learn to sleep without fearing the nightmares. And someday ... maybe ... I will learn to love again ... without worrying about being tormented & terrorized.

I can do this. I am NOT a quitter. I'm a survivor!

Friday, February 17, 2012

Be Mine (collage - adult content)

Bits and pieces from flashbacks from one particular Valentine's Day when I was beaten with a coat hanger
and otherwise brutalized in various ways that I won't get into right now.  My ex-abuser was upset because he had
bought me sexy red lingerie and I had my period and had therefore "ruined" Valentine's Day for him. His use of force and punishment was his way of proving that he had total control over me, that I was, in all ways, shapes, and forms, HIS!

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

What is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - aka PTSD? (article)

When I tell people that I suffer from complex PTSD as a result of various traumas and my abusive marriage, I often get blank stares or questioning looks.  So, in hopes of somewhat enlightening those who are fortunate enough to be unfamiliar with PTSD, here is a brief explanation.  If you wish, you can, of course, google it and there's a plethora of information available.   However, I'll try to give you a sort of 'Reader's Digest Condensed Version' to save you some time.... Honestly, I DID try to keep it short .... REALLY!   Portions that are highlighted in red and bolded are things that I can personally relate to and am now experiencing or have experienced in the past.
-------------------------------
Q: What is PTSD, who gets it, and what causes it?

A: Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a condition that has both emotional and physical components.  

Although it has likely existed since human beings have endured trauma, PTSD has only been recognized as a formal diagnosis since 1980. Before then it was known by a variety of names (usually in connecting with various wars, etc.): soldier's heart, combat fatigue, post-Vietnam syndrome, battle fatigue, and shell shock.   

Virtually any event that is (or is perceived as) life-threatening or that severely compromises the physical or emotional well-being of an individual may cause PTSD. Examples include things such as:
(*) experiencing or witnessing a severe accident or physical injury,
(*) being the victim of kidnapping or torture,
(*) exposure to military combat or a disaster (hurricane, plane crash, etc.),
(*) being the victim of rape, mugging, robbery or assault; or
(*) enduring physical, sexual, emotional, or other forms of abuse.


Q: Does everyone who experiences trauma develop PTSD, or are some people more at risk than others?
A: Not everyone who survives traumatic events will develop PTSD. Issues that tend to put people at a higher risk for developing PTSD include:
(*) the individual experienced trauma as a child,
(*) the individual experienced trauma over an extended period of time,
(*) the individual experienced very severe physical and/or emotional pain,
(*) the individual had an emotional condition prior to the trauma (low self-esteem, anxiety, depression, etc.), or
(*) the individual was isolated and had little social support in the form of family or friends.


Q: What are some of the symptoms of PTSD?
A:  The three groups of symptoms that are required to assign the diagnosis of PTSD are:
RE-EXPERIENCING, AVOIDANCE/NUMBING, and HYPER-AROUSAL.


Symptoms that fall under re-experiencing are:
• Recurrent and intrusive distressing recollections of the trauma -- including images, thoughts, and/or perceptions
Body memories (not a conscious recollection of what they are re-experiencing but they will often experience the same physical pain).
• Recurrent distressing dreams of the trauma (nightmares).
• Acting or feeling as if the trauma were recurring (includes a sense of reliving the experience, dissociative flashback episodes, especially upon first awakening from sleep).
Intense psychological distress at exposure to triggers (internal or external cues that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the trauma).  Fear, anxiety, depression, etc.Intense physical reactions upon exposure to triggers. (Difficulty breathing, pain, nausea, headache, dizziness, numbness/tingling, heart racing, etc.)


Symptoms that fall under avoidance/numbing are:
• Make an effort to avoid thoughts, feelings, or conversations associated with trauma.
Make an effort to avoid activities, places, or people that arouse recollections of the trauma (for example: avoiding going to the doctor, a former place where the person lived, certain types of clothing, certain rooms, sounds, smells, etc.)
Inability to recall an important aspect of the trauma.
Markedly diminished interest or participation in significant activities.
Feeling of detachment or estrangement from others.
Restricted range of affect (able to have loving feelings but unable to express anger or vice versa; feeling emotionally numb or "robotic").


Symptoms that fall under hyper-arousal are:
Difficulty falling or staying asleep.
Irritability or outbursts of anger.
Difficulty concentrating.  (this is a BIGGIE for me)
Hyper vigilance (walking on eggshells/always being 'on guard').
Increased or exaggerated startle response.


In addition, the following groups of symptoms MAY occur in some individuals with PTSD (most commonly seen in response to added stress):

Impaired ability to regulate emotion.
Ambivalence.
Self-destructive and/or impulsive behavior.
• Increased need to be around others.
Re-enactment of past traumas.
Dissociative symptoms.
Feelings of ineffectiveness and incompetency.
Shame.
Despair or hopelessness
Feeling victimized.
Feeling permanently damaged.
• Loss of previously sustained beliefs.
• Hostility.
Social withdrawal and isolation.
Feeling constantly threatened or unsafe.
Impaired relationships with others.
Addictions - may try to self-medicate PTSD symptoms with a substance or constantly occupy oneself with activity (work lots of overtime, take on extra projects, etc).


Q: How is one diagnosed with PTSD?
A:  At least one re-experiencing symptom, three avoidance/numbing symptoms, and two hyperarousal symptoms must be present for at least one month and must cause significant distress or functional impairment in order for the diagnosis of PTSD to be assigned. PTSD is considered of chronic duration if it persists for three months or more. 

Q: You say you have complex PTSD.  What is that?
A: Complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD) is a more complicated/chronic type of the condition that usually results from prolonged exposure to trauma and is characterized by long-lasting problems with many aspects of emotional and social functioning. Basically think of it as PTSD on steroids!

In addition to the symptoms associated with "normal" PTSD, symptoms that tend to be associated with C-PTSD include: significant problems expressing and/or regulating feelings; a tendency to forget the trauma or feel detached from one's life (dissociation) or body (depersonalization); persistent feelings of helplessness, shame, guilt, or being completely different from others; and severe change in those things that give the sufferer meaning (such as a loss of spiritual faith or an ongoing sense of helplessness, hopelessness, or despair).

Q: How is PTSD treated?
A: Since PTSD affects both the body and the mind, effective treatment approaches will generally have both psychological and medical components.  Professional help is usually required and one or more of the following may be used:

(*) Education - teaching individuals about what PTSD is, that it is caused by extraordinary stress rather than weakness, how it is treated, and what to expect in treatment. This education thereby increases the likelihood that inaccurate ideas the person may have about the illness are dispelled, and any shame they may feel about having it is minimized. Teaching people with PTSD practical approaches to coping with what can be very intense and disturbing symptoms has been found to be another useful way to treat the illness.

(*) Relaxation - helping sufferers learn how to manage fear & anxiety, improve their communication skills, and use relaxation techniques can help individuals with PTSD gain a sense of mastery over their emotional and physical symptoms.

(*) Cognitive behavioral therapy - helps people with PTSD recognize and adjust trauma-related thoughts and beliefs by educating them about the relationships between thoughts and feelings, exploring common negative thoughts held by traumatized individuals, developing alternative interpretations, and by practicing new ways of looking at things. This treatment also involves practicing learned techniques in real-life situations. (I personally haven't found this to be too helpful as some of my symptoms are bodily responses that just don't seem to respond to this type of therapy.)

(*) Somatic Trauma therapy -  In development since 1992, Somatic Trauma Therapy is not a single method, but an integrated system of psychotherapy and body-psychotherapy that continues to evolve as new theory and techniques emerge in the field. Somatic Trauma Therapy addresses all aspects of trauma's impact -- on thinking, emotions, and bodily sensations -- bringing them into sync, and relegating trauma to it's rightful place in the past. So, I guess you could call it a "combo" approach to PTSD.  (My own experience with this type of therapy is that it's gut-wrenching, pain-staking work that involves processing the trauma itself, a bit at a time, and re-experiencing it in "real time."  This can be excruciatingly painful and exhausting, both emotionally and physically.)

(*) Eye-movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) is a form of cognitive therapy in which the practitioner guides the person with PTSD in talking about the trauma suffered and the negative feelings associated with the events, while focusing on the professional's rapidly moving finger. While some research indicates this treatment may be effective, it is unclear if this is any more effective than cognitive therapy that is done without the use of rapid eye movement. (This technique didn't help me all that much using eye movements.  My therapist instead had me close my eyes and she gently tapped the tops of my outstretched hands alternately in a rhythmic manner.  This seemed to be a bit more effective for me.) 

(*) Directly addressing sleep problems - not only helps alleviate those problems but also helps decrease the symptoms of PTSD in general. Specifically, rehearsing adaptive ways of coping with nightmares (imagery rehearsal therapy), training in relaxation techniques, positive self-talk, and screening for other sleep problems have been found to be particularly helpful in decreasing the sleep problems associated with PTSD.    (I currently take a prescription medication to help me get to sleep and stay asleep.  Without it, I cannot sleep. I also utilize several relaxation and meditation techniques to help "destress" before bedtime.) 

(*) Medications - in some cases medication can help PTSD sufferers by decreasing the physical and emotional symptoms associated with condition. SSRIs are the first group of medications that have achieved approval by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for the treatment of PTSD. These medicines have been found to help PTSD sufferers modify information that is taken in from the environment (stimuli) and to decrease fear. Research also shows that this group of medicines tends to decrease anxiety, depression, and panic.  (I'm currently taking prescription medications for anxiety, depression, and insomnia.)

The following quote explains fairly well how PTSD can potentially develop when a person becomes overwhelmed by trauma:

"The human response to danger is a complex, integrated system of reactions, encompassing both body and mind. Threat initially arouses the sympathetic nervous system, causing the person in danger to feel an adrenaline rush and to go into a state of alert. Threat also concentrates a person's attention on the immediate situation. In addition, threat may alter ordinary perceptions: people in danger are often able to disregard hunger, fatigue, or pain. Finally, threat evokes intense feelings of fear and anger. These changes in arousal, attention, perception, and emotion are normal, adaptive responses. They mobilize the threatened person for strenuous action, either in battle or in flight...Traumatic reactions (such as PTSD) occur when action is of no avail. When neither resistance nor escape is possible, the human system of self-defense becomes overwhelmed and disorganized. Each component of the ordinary response to danger, having lost it's utility, tends to persist in an altered and exaggerated state after the actual danger is over....Traumatic events produce profound and lasting changes in physiological arousal, emotion, cognition, and memory. Moreover, traumatic events may sever these normally integrated functions from one another. The traumatized person may experience intense emotion without clear memory of the event, or may remember everything in detail but without emotion."

(From p. 43 of Judith Lewis Herman's book "Trauma and Recovery").

Hope that helps!  I welcome any further questions or comments.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Welcome to the Jungle (sonnet)

So welcome to the jungle, this is just
A taste of what awaits you in the weeds.
I'll let you have a sample, if you must,
I always have what everybody needs.
If pain is what you're seeking, I have it.
Stored up inside by the bushel and peck.
Just look down the hole, follow the rabbit,
And soon you'll be in hell up to your neck.
If love is what you search for, look elsewhere,
For I'm not even certain it exists.
I've been hurt so much by people who "care,"
But I don't know if there's something I've missed.
Won't you join me here in the jungle now?
I'm all alone here, waiting, anyhow.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Never Be the Same (sonnet)

From the moment we met, I ceased to live.
My self became a shadow with no voice.
I gave you all of me that I could give.
You never even gave me one small choice.
I soon stopped even thinking for myself --
My thoughts didn't really matter at all.
It was your way or the highway, or else . . .
Either way, I was up against a wall.
Your brutal acts convinced me hope was dead.
I gave up even feeling what you did.
Each time you drug me off to go to bed,
I found a spot inside my head and hid.
A child was all I was before you came.
I know that I will never be the same.

Friday, May 13, 2011

When Will This Be Over? (Sonnet)

My head shoved in the bookcase like a box,
Him reaming me like crazy from behind,
The banging of the headboard as it rocks,
The screaming pain that makes me lose my mind.
"This is for my kids," I say, and shut up,
I don't want them to awake from their sleep.
The pain, the feelings, they all just got stuffed,
I wish I had the luxury to weep.
When will this be over? When will it end --
The remembering of all that he did?
How did I always force my mind to bend
Around the memories I quickly hid?
God help me, I can't deal with all this pain.
I'm tired of living it over again.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Please, No More (triple sonnet)

Throbbing pain, as I whisper, "Please, no more!"
My silent cries, unheard, fall on deaf ears.
I'm worn out, I'm dried out, I'm torn and sore.
Each throbbing thrust a knife that burns and sears.
I try again, and whisper, "Please be done!"
"You want it in your mouth then, say the word."
Which word must I say? I try to pick one.
But his "logic" is skewed and so absurd.
Gasping for air, I try to find a way
To escape from this hell within a bed,
But  I can't complain, no words I dare say,
Or he'll turn me and go backwards instead.
Oh soul of mine, where have you gone to hide?
How can I find you way down deep inside?

"You're done when I say that you're done," he says.
I shudder and wonder how long this time.
It could be ten minutes, three hours, or less,
There's never really a reason or rhyme.
"You can come again for me now, can't you!"
His words, not a question, but a demand.
"The Lord is my Shepherd . . ." keeps running through
As I brace myself and wait for his hand.
Worse still, I see it coming through the air,
His hand balled up in a hard, tightened fist.
And there is no way that I can prepare
For his slobbery, slimy, cum-filled kiss.
My body has forsaken me at last.
The pain that I should feel just went right past.

"You'll take it all, I know," he says to me.
As if there is some pride he finds in this.
Bigger, deeper, and harder; endlessly.
Until he cannot rise or starts to miss.
I try to shut it out and go away.
"Let's see if this will fit, I bet it will."
My mind throws up a wall and bids it stay,
As I command my body to stay still.
"I cannot do this, Lord," I softly cry.
His hand, his fist inside, is so immense.
Is this my punishment -- for what, and why?
I can't escape the pain, it's too intense.
Awak'ning from the nightmare in a sweat,
Another mem'ry I cannot forget.





Saturday, November 20, 2010

Is it Over Yet? (Dealing with Complex PTSD)

You and I may have our own opinions about which kinds of trauma impact survivors the most, have the most lasting effects, or are the most difficult to deal with. What types of injuries take the longest to heal -- physical or emotional? Sorry ... I'm not going to even ATTEMPT to answer that question at the moment. There's no doubt, however, that even once a wound heals, it can still cause pain (whether physical OR emotional). Interestingly enough, even the US military recognizes that just because a traumatic event may be "over" doesn't mean the effects of that trauma are "over."

(Quotes from articles in bluemy comments in black & any bold added by me for emphasis):

In an article by Sarah Williams Volf,  I read:

"For many military personnel the fighting does not end in the combat zone. Many returning service members face increased anxiety, sleepless nights, and rapid flashbacks that can immediately take them back to the combat field. It is also a fact that many individuals will not seek help out of fear of being stigmatized. Some may not be diagnosed until 10-20 years after their time in the Army; this can be particularly true for those serving in Vietnam. The symptoms of PTSD can arise suddenly, gradually or may come and go over time. It is imperative to get help. Avoidance will ultimately harm your relationship and quality of life. There are many professional and organizations that will provide excellent resources for you."

She's right.  PTSD can wreak havoc on one's life, both literally and figuratively.  And soldiers aren't the only ones who don't want to seek help out of fear of being stigmatized.  Who wants the label of  "mentally ill"  being applied to them? I know I sure don't!  The military has gradually provided more support to veterans that suffer from PTSD over the years, but even within the military, physical trauma still trumps emotional trauma when it comes to veterans being taken seriously and receiving the vital treatment and support services that they need. In fact, according to an article by Conn Hallinan, the Pentagon went so far as to decide not to award the purple heart to veterans who were "only" suffering from PTSD.  Hallinan goes on to explain:

"The official rationale for refusing to honor what is widely considered the "signature wound" of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan is that PTSD, according to Pentagon spokeswoman Eileen Lainez, is "an anxiety disorder caused by experiencing or witnessing a traumatic event," not "a wound intentionally caused by the enemy."

So, following that "logic," if a bomb is "accidentally" dropped in the wrong place and wounds or kills someone "unintentionally," then those wounds or deaths wouldn't be all that important?!

"The military has made little effort to deal with PTSD and MTBI (Mild Traumatic Brain Injury, a condition caused by being near where a bomb goes off. Its symptoms are virtually indistinguishable from PTSD).

Soldiers suffering from PTSD outnumber amputees at Walter Reed Hospital 43 to 1, but there is no PTSD center (yet they opened a multi-million dollar amputee center there  in 2007).

After diagnosis, PTSD sufferers usually go to the hospital's psych ward, where they are housed with bipolar and schizophrenic patients and tanked up with drugs. A study by Veterans for America (VFA) found that some soldiers were taking up to 20 different medications at once, some of which canceled out others."

PTSD and MTBI both result from deployment in combat zones. Large numbers of these soldiers were exposed to IEDs - but many didn't suffer visible injuries. To make "shedding blood" the only criterion for being awarded a Purple Heart (and the benefits that go with it) is to deny the nature of the wars the United States is currently fighting."
-------------------------------------------------------
Why am I even bringing this up?  Because I feel that it's unfair to expect someone who has survived over a decade of extreme emotional and sexual trauma to be able to simply "bounce back" immediately and function at a "normal" level.  Although the military may not deal with emotional trauma as effectively as it deals with physical injuries, soldiers returning from even one year in combat are still expected to need intensive counseling and are given a considerable period of time for recovery and readjustment

How is it then, that after nearly 15 years in a horrifyingly abusive relationship, I am somehow expected to simply set aside the flashbacks, the body memories, the nightmares, and just "get on with my life?"  Why can't people understand how crippling it is for a woman to endure an abusive relationship for years on end, with no hope of there being any end in sight?

In the army, at least you know who the enemy is and they don't switch sides.  In an abusive relationship, however, a woman must often rely on "the enemy" for sustenance.  Just to survive, she must learn to read her partner's every cue (both verbal and non-verbal), anticipate his responses, meet his every need, and obey his every command.  She constantly tiptoes across a tenuous tightrope, never sure if today is the day her partner will bring home flowers or ambush her by bringing home another woman and expect her to cooperate in some twisted sexual fantasy that he has conjured up.

Women in abusive relationships live in a combat zone every day . . . and must sleep with the enemy every night. 

There is no rest.  There is no hope.  There is no help.

There is only SURVIVAL.

They are constantly threatened -- threatened with physical harm, threatened with financial abandonment, threatened with embarrassment, threatened with annihilation, threatened with humiliation, and, perhaps worst of all, threatened with harm to or separation from their children.  They are ridiculed, tormented, and tortured.  They rarely know when an attack will occur, how severe it will be, or how long it will last. In the back of their minds, they often wonder, "will this be the time he finally kills me?"  And for some, the thought of death at his hands almost sounds like a blessed reprieve from the hell they endure day in and day out. 

What makes domestic abuse that much more damaging and painful is that, quite frequently, an abuser may treat his partner rather nicely on occasion.  He's not a "monster" 100% of the time.  If that were the case, it might be easier for women caught in the crippling cycle of domestic abuse to seek help.   However, men who are sadistically abusive at home can often behave as the "perfect gentleman" when in public.  They may be described by friends and coworkers as "such a nice guy."  And if a woman dares to disclose even a portion of what is going on at home, she is frequently dismissed as yet another "disgruntled housewife" who is just "looking for attention."

Strangers aren't the only ones who fall for abusers' "nice guy routines."  My ex-husband could be very charming when he wanted to be.  He'd buy me flowers, offer to fix supper, bring me breakfast in bed, etc.  Sometimes all it would take was an insincere "I'm sorry" from him or a small trinket he'd grab on his way home from work and I'd allow myself to believe that perhaps he had really changed for the better. 

From speaking with other domestic violence survivors, I know that I am definitely not alone in this.  Even the slightest acts of kindness from the abuser give a woman a false sense of hope that maybe things will be alright from now on.  She lets herself think that maybe the war is over and may "come out of hiding" for a minute.  Exhausted, she lets down her guard and dares to trust just a little.  Just when she thinks it might be safe, she is blind-sided by another wave of abuse -- and this cycle is repeated over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.  For years and years. Until the days and weeks and months all blend together into a discombobulated blur of nothingness.  There is no one to tell her that there might be a way of escape. No one to tell her that what is happening is not her fault. The only thing she can do is try to survive.

Just try to survive. 

I'm reminded of the stories of Japanese soldiers that didn't know World War II was over (from an article by Cecil Adams):

"In early 1945 Japan had about three million troops overseas, about a third of them dug in on islands throughout the Pacific. These men were thoroughly indoctrinated in the warrior's code of Bushido, which held that it was better to die than to surrender — and by God, that's what they did. Of 23,000 Japanese soldiers on Iwo Jima, for example, 21,000 were killed and just 200 captured. Only after Emperor Hirohito ordered his forces to surrender following the dropping of the atom bomb did Japanese troops give themselves up in massive numbers.

In an era before the pocket pager, however, not everybody got the message. Many Japanese soldiers had been cut off from the main army during the Allies' island-hopping campaign and continued to resist. Sporadic fighting continued for months and in some cases years after the formal surrender. Two hundred Japanese soldiers were captured on the island of Mindanao in the Philippines in 1948, some others surrendered on an island north of Saipan in 1951, and a few hard-core types didn't surface until the 1970s and later.

One much-publicized case was Lieutenant Hiroo Onoda. He had been stationed on Lubang Island in the Philippines when it was overrun by U.S. forces in February 1945. Most of the Japanese troops were slain or captured, but Onoda and several other men holed up in the jungle. The others were eventually killed, but Onoda held out for 29 years, dismissing every attempt to coax him out as a ruse. Finally the Japanese government located his commanding officer, who went to Lubang in 1974 to order Onoda to give up. The lieutenant stepped out of the jungle to accept the order of surrender in his dress uniform and sword, with his rifle still in operating condition.

Onoda was hailed as a hero in Japan, as was another holdout, Shoichi Yokoi, who surrendered in 1972 after decades in the jungles of Guam. Yokoi's comment to his countrymen: "It is with much embarrassment that I return." He felt he'd let down the side! That's Japan for you: good on stick-to-itiveness, maybe not so good on midcourse corrections. Not to encourage slackers, but there's such a thing as knowing when to quit."

So . . .  here I am.  The war is over, but I don't fully know it just yet.  I'm still "wandering around in the jungle," so to speak.  Sort of.  On an intellectual level, I suppose, I realize that the abuse isn't happening anymore. However, my bodily response to external stimuli (or internal for that matter), doesn't always reflect that realization and still sometimes "does its own thing" without warning (i.e. heart races, hyperventilate, stop breathing, urinate, cold sweat, shaking, etc).  My emotions don't always realize that it's over either -- especially when my abuser is still able to manipulate and harass me from afar via the phone and internet/email (not to mention toying with my children's emotions during & between visitations as well as continuing to torment us all via the legal system). 
 
Maybe there are simply gallons of tears "stored up" somewhere that I never got to cry & I've simply "stashed it all away" for safe-keeping.  They have to come out sometime, and I can't always predict when that's going to be.  Every now and then I'll just start bawling for no apparent reason and gush like a freaking baby.  Really, it's quite pathetic!  Other times I'm able to hold back my emotional & physical responses to stressors, but that containment process requires such an enormous amount of energy that I don't have any brain cells left to process all of the basic daily information I'm bombarded with at work & at home (sometimes leaving me a virtual vegetable, intellectually speaking). 

How do I cope?  I write myself notes.  Lots and lots of notes.  :o)

People sometimes get irritated with me for emailing them (they say, "Why can't you just pick up the phone and call me?").  But honestly, sometimes email is the only way I can keep track of who I've talked to, when I talked to them last, and what we have and have not spoken about.  I can't always remember telephone conversations or times when I speak to someone in person. Verbal conversations often simply float right out of my head (especially if I'm doing several things at once when someone speaks to me; and chances are, if I'm awake, I'm doing at least 3-4 things at once).  But if a "conversation" is written down, I can read it several times and/or refer to it later and remind myself of what was said, to whom, and when. 

I'm terrified to tell anyone that I'm having this much difficulty concentrating, though.  I don't want anybody thinking I've "lost it" and shipping me off to the "loony bin."  So I write my adorable little post-it notes, I work my 50 hours a week, I scramble to fit a therapy session in every now & then when I can, and I do my best to "function normally."

Deep down, I can't help but wonder, though . . . if my arm or leg were mangled, would someone expect me to run a marathon? 

[Begin sarcasm] BUT, Since it's only my psyche that's mangled, though, I guess it's okay to expect me to not only solve my own problems, but to solve other people's problems as well.  It's not at all unreasonable to ask me to have it all figured out by now and to get on with my life as though nothing has happened.  After all, isn't it all about putting one's mind over matter?  Apparently, I'm just not trying hard enough. 
[End sarcasm]

Please don't judge me, my words, my thoughts, my feelings, my level of functioning, or the way I communicate based on your upbringing, your education, your life experience, and/or your belief system.
You were not in combat with me. 

You didn't lie beside me in a puddle of your own blood, urine, and/or vomit, trying to nurse and soothe a terrified infant while being raped. 

You didn't cringe in silence when he brought the butcher knife into the bedroom . . . and you didn't secretly wish he would finally use it to put you out of your misery.


You didn't barricade yourself and your children in the bedroom, desperately moving furniture in front of the door while he split it apart to force his way in.

You didn't have to provide sexual favors in order to procure money to provide for the basic needs of your family.

You didn't stay up for hours on end preparing your abuser a meal from scratch in the middle of the night because ravaging you had caused him to "work up an appetite" . . . and then have to clean up the broken glass and food when he threw it at you because he changed his mind and decided he "was in the mood for something else." You didn't have to stay up even longer to cook him something else, only to hand him the plate and be informed that the "something else" he really wanted is you.  You didn't have to stand there as it dawned on you that "round two" was on its way, whether you liked it or not . . . and maybe round three . . . or four.
Please don't take this to mean that I am discounting any part of your experience. You may have had a great deal of pain in your life as well.  You may have had your share of sorrow.  Your experiences might have been just as bad as mine . . . or maybe even worse.  I do not know.  I could not know, even if you told me . . . because: 

Your experience is yours, and my experience is mine. 

I can't begin to tell you what is right for you to feel or when it's right for you to feel it.
Likewise, I'd sincerely appreciate it if you would please stop telling me how I should feel or behave or how long I should feel or behave that way.  I "should myself to death" enough already.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Freeflow Journaling Through a Flashback or Body Memory

I've found that sometimes there's no escaping from the grip of an intense memory (especially if it's sensory-related). Although deep breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, and meditation help a little bit sometimes, I've discovered that in some cases there's nothing I can do except "hold on for the ride."

One tool that I've found useful is what I call "freeflow journalling." I've heard others refer to it as "freewriting." Basically whatever thoughts, sensations, words, images, etc come to mind, I write it down -- without worrying about using proper punctuation & grammar (or even whether or not it "makes sense," for that matter).

There are several reasons I've found this helpful:

1) It gives me something to do while I "ride out" the traumatic memory.
2) It helps me sort through what happened afterward so that I can process it.
3) It sometimes lessens the severity of the physical aspect(s) of a flashback (maybe because my hands are "occupied").
Here's an example of a "freeform" journal entry that I wrote about a year ago when I was triggered by simply hearing someone say the phrase "Just take it all." (Note: I added some punctuation to make it SOMEWHAT easier to read.)

-----------------------------------

Just take it. Take it all. Stop your fucking complaining. Can't. No room. Stop. When will he come? Please God, No MORE! Arms over my head. Tight. Wrists. Pillow. Face. No air. Can't breathe. My duty. For my children. I can do this. I CAN'T do this. Lord, give me strength. Help me Jesus. Help me. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Burning. Enough. Searing. Too much. Go away. Arms numb. Make it STOP. So dizzy. Gonna throw up. So gross. Gagging. Salty. Over me. In me. Dribbling on me. Musky smell of him. Smothering me. Holding me. Fading. Drifting. YOU ARE MINE. I am his. I am gone. Disappeared. Where did I go? Darkness. Don't fight it. Let go. Wandering. Lights. Turning over. Spreading. Slipping. Again. Here we go again. No more. Please God, no more. Hurts so bad. Stretching. Splitting. Tearing. PLEASE let him be done. Mind over matter. He's spitting on me. Says that's good enough to go again. Mad at me. I'm dry he says. Better that way. Spits again. Good enough. It's NOT. Sticking. Pulling. Feels like he's tearing me apart. He likes it. Says I'm so good and tight. Every stroke burns. Agony. Searing pain. Deeper. Harder. Stabbing straight through me to the other side. ALMOST DONE, he says. STOP SHAKING. SHUT UP. Just a little more. Thank God. Hold on. Slipping away. Almost finished. Is he? COME AGAIN. I can't. Can I? Thrusting. Counting. Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twelve, fourteen, twenty, sixty nine, HUT. I miss playing football. Think about something else. Anything else. Deeper. Harder. He says he's done. Please be done. Finally. Breathing. Gulping air. Curl up in ball, knees to chin. Is he gone? Have to pee. No, I can't. Too late. Burning. He's still in me. GET IT OUT. But he's gone. Not there. Need ice. Ice. Find the ice. Make it stop. He's gone. Don't care where. Away from me. Quiet. Curl up in a ball. Make the pain go away. Lord, please... Why ... Why ... Why... Is this how it's supposed to be? Am I so weak that I cannot do this? Help me submit willingly, Lord. My body is not my own. It is his. Strengthen me, Father. Need to sing. It will be better one day. I just need to trust. Singing -"All the way my Savior leads me, what have I to ask beside? Can I doubt His tender mercy, who through life has been my Guide? Heavenly peace, divinest comfort, here by faith in Him to dwell. For I know, whate'er befalls me, Jesus doeth all things well; for I know, whate'er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well." Tears. More tears. Why? What is wrong with me? Am I a horrible wife? I must be. This is my lot, my portion in life. I shouldn't let it upset me. God is in control, this is His will for my life, so who am I to question it or complain? Singing-"Day by day, and with each passing moment, strength I find to meet my trials here. Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment, I've no cause for worry or for fear. He whose heart is kind beyond all measure gives unto each day what He deems best -- lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure, mingling toil with peace and rest" . . . God must approve of this, otherwise He wouldn't allow it. And it says there will be pain mixed with pleasure, so I guess I should be thankful even through the pain.  This must be what He wants for me, and I'll just have to accept it. Lord, help me accept it .... Singing-"Have Thine own way, Lord, have Thine own way. Thou art the potter, I am the clay. Mold me and make me after Thy will, while I am waiting, yielded and still" ... I need to just yield. Lord, help me be still and yield. I confess my weakness, my frailty, my inability to properly submit to my husband as is my duty, my inadequacy as a mother, and my incompetancy as a housewife.  I humbly bow before you, Heavenly Father, and beg for your mercy. Haven't you punished me enough? I know I don't deserve to be rescued, but I cry out to you, oh Lord. Footsteps on the stairs. Coming up. It's him. He's back. Wants more. Shaking in puddle. Still singing. Want to believe. Hands trembling. Ice melting. In the doorway. His face. Sneering. Ridiculing. God won't hear me because I'm a slut. Worthless whore. Why am I singing to a God that can't hear me? Or doesn't care to listen? He throws hymnal against wall. Says we need to pray. Pray for my forgiveness. Pray that God will help me submit. Pray that God will forgive me for my weakness. That He will forgive me for my unwillingness. Pray that God will have mercy on me. Pray that God will make me a better wife. God help me take it all. Take it all. He wants more. No, Please, no more. Please, no. He says he'll be "nice" and only do my mouth. Please no. Please. On my chest, he's so heavy. Choking, gagging, suffocating. Bite down. Slap! Let go. Stop. No more. Finish yourself. You have two hands. Will I watch? Video. Awful & disgusting. Makes me watch. Hate porn. Skin crawling. Sick. He can't come. His arm is tired. YOU FINISH. My job. My responsibility. Take it all. Swallow. No. Sick. Gross. BASTARD! Gag. God help me. Darkness. Slime. Room spinning. Pillow soft. Quiet. Fading. Take it all. Just take it all.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - Don't let PTSD win!


PTSD ... I'm convinced that must stand for "Pretty Tough Shit Daily" ... the awful nightmares, crippling body memories, intrusive flashbacks, and all the other "fun stuff" that goes along with it.

I had a particularly challenging therapy session today, to the point that I was physically ill & vomiting afterwards. I crawled home so utterly exhausted that it was all I could do to fix supper for the kids before collapsing in bed, virtually catatonic and shaking. I just lay there in a trance for about an hour with the eternal "to do" list running through my mind, trying desperately to will myself to snap out of it, get up, and get busy. But it was no use. My body just wouldn't cooperate. I took a series of deep, cleansing breaths and tried to reground & center myself. Not helpful. Then, from somewhere deep inside, the thought came to me, "So, that's it then, huh? You're just going to let him win? You're just going to give up?"

Not in this lifetime! I drug myself out of bed and began washing the dishes & wiping off the kitchen counters. I checked the kids' backpacks, emptied their lunchboxes, vacuumed, and swept the floors. I unloaded & reloaded the dishwasher ... and was suddenly startled by the realization that I was ... HUNGRY. Had I eaten yet today? I realized I hadn't (aside from the snack I'd eaten during therapy, which I had promptly thrown up afterward). I poured myself a bowl of cereal, sloshed in some milk, and started devouring it. I was FAMISHED. I relished the texture of each bite as it crunched around my mouth, enjoying the wonderful sensation of being ALIVE.

"That's right," I thought to myself, "I'm HERE. I'm alive. I survived. I WON, and HE LOST!"

I may have nightmares again tonight. Such is life. But I'm not giving up. I can't. I won't. I didn't come this far to cower in fear because of a few pesky flashbacks & traumatic memories. And that's all they are -- MEMORIES! It's OVER! He can't hurt me anymore! And I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to let the things he said & did to me keep stealing the joy out of my life.

Walking into my daughter's room to tuck her in and seeing her lying there, sleeping so peacefully, I realized that there are some things in life that are worth fighting for.

Tomorrow is another day. I will wake up. I will put one foot in front of the other. I will go on living. I will go on healing. I will go on BEING. I will learn to let myself feel without fearing the feelings. I will learn to share without fearing rejection or judgment. I will learn to sleep without fearing the nightmares. And someday ... maybe ... I will learn to love again ... without worrying about being tormented & terrorized.

I can do this. I am NOT a quitter. I'm a survivor!

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Giving up the Fight (artwork; trigger warning)

I apologize in advance if this piece of artwork is disturbing to you.  I'm simply trying to wade my way through all of the perverse images that swirl around my mind these days.  Sometimes it's so hard to fit the pieces together.  What I find the most disconcerting is that in many of these images, I see myself in such a submissive state, as though I had completely given up, as though I no longer cared what happened to me, and had simply accepted what was happening as my "lot in life."  Sometimes I will have a clear recollection of thinking to myself, "If I do this, at least something worse won't happen tonight."  It's like I had lost all will to fight back. 

I've tried to determine when exactly this change took place.  Was there a moment in time that I decided it wasn't worth the struggle, that pain was inevitable and I might as well choose the least painful thing?  Was there a day that I suddenly relinquished any right to my own body? Or was it a gradual process that incidiously ate away at the very core of my being until I had no strength left to resist?  I honestly can't say.

I'm ashamed to admit that I gave up, that I stopped fighting back, that I just lay there and "took it" like a lump of nothingness.  At some point, I guess I quit feeling.  But did I really?  I find it hard to believe that there wasn't at least some internal response to the excruciating pain, humiliation, and degradation.  It's more likely that I dissociated whenever I got overwhelmed physically and/or emotionally. 


This is a very difficult image for me.  I know it happened a lot.  Several times a week, as best I can recall. I can feel my face mashed into him and his hands pushing so hard against the back of my head that my neck hurt.  I can smell the musky smell between his legs and sometimes I wake in the middle of the night with a choking sensation and a salty taste in my mouth.  I chose the swirly background because sometimes I would get so dizzy that the "room would swim" and I'd "see stars" because it was very hard to breathe.  Aside from the fact that I was probably a little low on oxygen to the brain now and then LOL, I would put myself into sort of a trance and visualize something sort of like the swirls in this picture.  I would close my eyes and points of light would go around and around in circles.

And yet, I would just kneel there. Like a robot. Like a servant.  Like it was my duty.  I can see myself just sitting there totally limp and lifeless, gagging, trying to breathe, trying to pull away just enough to take a breath and him smashing himself down my throat.  "Swallow it," he'd order, "Just swallow it."  I can feel the cold tile of the bathroom floor sometimes.  Other times, he'd have me sit on the toilet and he would stand in front of me.  That was a little "better" because at least my neck wasn't at such a crazy angle. 

Truthfully, even though I DETESTED sucking him off, I'm ashamed to admit that sometimes I would OFFER it to him to avoid the more painful alternatives.  I hate myself for being so weak, for thinking so little of myself that I would essentially try to "bargain" my way out of pain.  "I'll give you a blow job if you'll leave me alone for the rest of the night."  I don't know how many times I said that.  The sickening thing is, sometimes I'd go through a half hour of agonizing fellatio, "comforting" myself with the fact that at least for that night I wouldn't get raped, and then he'd go back on his word and wake me up at 2 in the morning ANYWAY and say, "Oh, that was just a warmup.  Time for round 2."  

How did I manage to survive?  Why didn't I go insane?  Maybe I DID go insane . . . a little . . . LOL . . . what "normal" person would spend hours on end recreating disgusting graphic images of horrible memories. 

But at the moment, it seems to be helping me "get it out," so bear with me and I apologize for the content of the "art."  One of these days I'll have to do something a little more "nice" for a change.