Fresh Off the Shelf (collage)

PTSD and Survivor Guilt

What is "survivor guilt?"  In the case of soldiers who have been in combat, it is the guilt they feel when they survive when some of their comrades or 'battle buddies' did not.  In the case of other types of trauma or abuse, survivor guilt is similar, but may sometimes have other components.  Basically, in my case, it meant the guilt I felt for not fighting back more, for not leaving sooner, for not doing a better job of protecting my children from an abusive atmosphere, for not knowing that something bad was going to happen for no reason that I could explain ...

In a workbook I used entitled The PTSD Workbook (by Mary-Beth Williams and Soili Poijula), I had been working on filling out an exercise entitled: "My Survivor Guilt."  Even though it was a supposedly simple "fill-in-the-blank" type of exercise, I had a lot of trouble completing it.  My own guilt and shame that were attached to the abuse really threw me for a loop.  However, I'm determined to conquer my own response to the abuse and feel less guilt and shame about it.  So, here's what I wrote in 2012  . . .

My statements about my own survivor guilt:

• I made it out alive from an abusive marriage when some women do not. 
• I made it out less physically damaged or less seriously injured than some women.
• I escaped some of the emotional pain and distress by dissociating when trauma happened.
• I escaped some social disgrace and humiliation by not telling anybody what was happening to me.  Some women were braver than I was and sought out medical help, but I did not always have that option.
• I should have died several times, but I did not.
• If I had left the abusive relationship sooner, my children could have had a better life.
• Some survivors are 'luckier' than I am because they don't have any more physical pain & suffering, while I am stuck here with this emotional anguish.
• I have nightmares about the trauma.  In my dreams, sometimes I actually die.  And when I wake up, sometimes I wish I had really died back way back then because sometimes it seems that coping with surviving is worse than death.
• I daydream sometimes about various traumas and wish that I could change the outcome.
• I never talk about certain specific traumas because I feel like I could have done more to prevent those horrible things from happening.
• I feel so guilty and ashamed because after awhile I quit fighting back or resisting.
• At times, I questioned the very existence of God because I felt like there was no rescue for me or my family when we truly needed help.
• I used to wish that I could kill myself to end the pain,  and even tried committing suicide multiple times. I nearly succeeded several times, but they resuscitated me. Right now, suicide is *NOT* an option because my children need me.  Therefore, harming myself intentionally is no longer an option for me. 
• When I have periods of intense grieving about traumas and losses, I sometimes dissociate and use other things to help numb the pain.
• I have used substances to try to make the pain go away.  I used to smoke cigarettes when I was stressed or sad.  Sometimes I took my 'sleeping pill' early just so that I could go to sleep and escape the pain. 
• If I watch movies or documentaries about domestic violence or sexual abuse or similar events, I become very depressed and emotional and I have a hard time not thinking about what happened to me.
• I felt I had no reason to live for myself.  The only reason I was living was to take care of my family.
• In hindsight, I might have been able to prevent some of what happened by telling someone or calling the cops either during or immediately after an attack. (although I did try once and a corrupt officer just laughed at the situation and went on his merry way)
• I feel very ashamed that I essentially participated in prostitution.  This is against my moral beliefs and causes me a great deal of guilt and shame.
• I should have done a better job of protecting my children and myself.

Then, the workbook asks what I learned from making those statements.  My response was: "not much, except that I hate myself for not being stronger."

In the book, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder: A Clinician's Guide, A. Matsakis says there are seven steps to overcoming survivor guilt:

1. Remembering what happened.  That's a difficult thing for me.  I do remember way more than I want to, even though I try to forget.  I don't like remembering what happened.  I'd rather avoid thinking about it.  But apparently I NEED to remember in order to get past these awful emotions. Over time, a lot of details have faded. What sucks is that it seems like i've now put myself in potentially problem circumstances again from my ownstupidity.
2. Separating survivor guilt from other emotions.  That's another toughie -- I often have trouble identifying emotions in general, much less separating them appropriately.  This one will take me some time. Still working on that.
3. Examining your role in what happened before, during, and after the trauma; looking at your errors in thinking and your irrational emotions.  Boy, have I done enough of this.  I've gone over and over in my head what I could have or should have done differently.  I've come to the conclusion that in many cases, it wouldn't have mattered what I did, the outcome would have been the same (or perhaps worse).  I suppose my errors in thinking would include things such as, "If I had done x, y, or z, this wouldn't have happened."  My irrational emotions? I guess feeling so guilty over not having left sooner would fall into that category.
4. Countering self-blame and irrational guilt through newly constructed statements about the self that are based on true responsibility.  Perhaps in another post I'll attempt to make some new positive statements about myself, but that will truly be challenging.
5. Accepting guilt for what you did or didn't do.  I've already done that (over and over), and that's part of the problem.  I think what's needed in my case isn't so much accepting the guilt as being willing to forgive myself.
6. Examining the personal consequences of your guilt to your own self-esteem, self-care, physical health, emotional health, job performance, and life contributions. 
7. Making a commitment to being honest about the guilt and to taking action toward putting that guilt to positive use.  I'm not yet sure how I can put these feelings and emotions to "good use."  I'm still working on identifying them, sorting them out, and releasing myself from the hold the guilt has had on me.   But I do make a commitment to trying to understand why I feel so guilty and to trying to change the way I look at my own actions and feelings/emotions.

Drunk Driver (poem)

Lured by floating bubbles of flirtation,
Enamored with the thought of being loved,
Stunned by his silky, smooth incantation,
I lost track of any rules that I might have thought of.
I was under age, but he served me just the same.
He didn't care that I was but a child.
He left my heart a tattered mess,
And my mind a circus, running wild.

Another bar, this one deep underground.
Where only the "privileged" were allowed.
They served me there,
Both day or night,
Sometimes there was quite a crowd.
The bartenders came
One after another,
Serving me more quickly
Than I could recover.
I left that bar determined
Never to try to leave the road again
I did my best to steer clear
Of all the stinking, drinking men. 

But then came a man I couldn't resist.
His words were so smooth,
And how sweet was his kiss.
"Drink with me," he implored.
My attempts to say no
Were always ignored.
He poured me one glass after another,
Til I was too drunk to stand.
His words cut through me like a knife,
(I wondered, "why am I his wife?")
He smothered me
Until I couldn't breathe,
Until I couldn't see,
And yet I couldn't leave.

Just when I would start to sober up,
He'd pour another soul piercing drink,
Until I couldn't function any more,
Let alone try to think.
So I learned to drive the road of life,
Though sloshed by the pain he served up.
I kept it between the lines as best I could,
But, oh, how I longed to just give up.
But alas, I could not,
For I had children in the back seat
Depending on me
For love, for direction, for comfort, for meat.
Soon I was reduced
To talking to myself,
For he forbid me to speak
With anyone else.

Simple chants in the back of my mind,
(Where I hid from his ranting most of the time).
I hung on for dear life
To my sanity,
And repeated the simple rules
That life had taught me:
"Red means stop.
Green means go.
Don't go too fast.
Don't go too slow.
Don't leave the road,
Don't be too early.
Don't be too late.
Keep it between the lines.
Hold the wheel straight."

I got pulled over and detained a few times
By those who saw the warning signs --
Like my vehicle swerving back and forth
Or driving right off the road at times. 
"Have you had anything to drink, young lady?"
"Only pain," I said, as though they'd understand.
Hoping that somehow maybe
They were different than every other man.
I would eventually jump through their hoops --
I would touch my own nose
And walk a straight line,
And somehow convince them that I was "just fine."
They'd smile at me,
Pat themselves on the back,
And let me go back for more --
With the lamest of warnings
To drive a bit slower.

As if I could control the speed at which life raced by,
As if I could predict when I'd break down and cry. 
"Just keep it between the lines," I would think,
And please, Lord, let there be no more
That I am forced to drink."

You see, I never chose to put the cup to my lips.
I never wanted a single one of those evil sips.
Now here I am, still sloshed from the shame,
Wondering how to play this confusing game.
Some make it seem so simple,
But to me it's a mystery
How some can walk through life unscathed,
While others end up scarred like me.

Just keep on driving, I tell myself,
Just follow the road and see where it goes.
But at the rate I'm going,
My destination is one that nobody knows.

I often veer from one side to the other,
Trying to find my way.
I hit the curbs, I cross the lines,
And I run a stop sign almost every day.
I try to go when I see green,
I try to stop when I see red.
I try to follow the rules of the road,
But inside I feel like I'm already dead.
Just a dummy behind the wheel,
A crash test dummy --
That's how I feel.

I want to believe there's a higher power
That will guide me along this road,
But day by day and hour by hour,
It seems I carry a heavier load.

What would they say if they could see inside?
There's no way to count the tears I've cried.  
How many years was I Frankensteins's bride?
In the end, does it even matter how hard I tried?

I don't know how much longer
I can hold the steering wheel steady,
How long it will be til I'm stronger,
How long it will be til I'm ready
To face the pain that's intoxicated me,
To sober up,
To finally be free.

I want my life back, and my sanity too.
I don't want to be a zombie
Merely stumbling my way through.
Still I sense that it's apparent to all
When they see me stumbling around
That I must have stayed through last call,
That I'm five minutes from collapsing on the ground.

I watch as other vehicles pass me by,
As I struggle along in the slow lane.
I try not to crash as I break down and cry,
And pray that I don't go totally insane.

Sometimes it seems nobody really even cares
That I'm a multiple trauma survivor.
They look at me and all that they see
Is just another drunk driver.








 

An Army of Many, But One (sonnet)

The war's been over for many years now,
And most of the troops have long since gone home.
A few soldiers still remain, though, somehow,
And continue to battle on their own.
I don't remember when the first draft was,
Or just exactly why it was needed.
I thought the cadets all went home because
The last of the foes had been defeated. 
But apparently the news never reached
The deepest part of my fragmented soul.
Some must have missed the sermons that I preached.
It may take some time until I am whole.
The war's over, but the work's just begun.
I am an army of many, but one.

I See Some Light (sonnet)

Ugly demons from the past, running wild,
Tear at the very fibers of my soul.
Although I am grown, I feel like a child,
Trapped alone at the bottom of a hole.
Bags of crap are falling down around me --
The old and new, they scatter on the ground.
I close my eyes so that I will not see
The horror that is piling up around.
Determined not to drown beneath this shit,
I grasp at some roots and begin to climb.
More's raining down, but I just ignore it.
I will not lose this battle of the mind.
I see some light shining down from the top,
And until I reach it, I will not stop.

Christmas in Reverse (sonnet)

It's almost like Christmas, but in reverse.
There are "gifts" to be opened and explored.
Known or unknown, I'm not sure which is worse --
One thing's for certain, I will not be bored!
I wrapped each mem'ry and stowed it away
Because the pain it held was much too great.
The time has come and today is the day --
No more excuses, no more time to wait.
Do I shake each "box" to see what appears?
Do I judge what is inside based on size?
Do I measure the impact based on tears,
Or do I poke and hope with tight-shut eyes?
I must admit, of this I'm most perplexed,
Which "present" shall I choose to open next?

A Journey Just Begun (sonnet)

Eenie, meenie, miney, mo -- just pick one.
The good, the bad, the ugly; all are there.
Nobody said this process would be fun,
But without pain, I won't get anywhere.
Don't want therapy to be my career.
I will do the work that needs to be done,
Break the bonds of trauma that hold me here,
Won't hide from anything or anyone.
Life is too short to live in yesterday,
Far too precious to wallow in sorrow.
No matter what, I'll try to find a way
To always keep focused on tomorrow.
This journey may be one I've just begun,
But I will not give up until I'm done.

What's the Hold Up? (sonnet)

Is it too disturbing, even for you?
Are you afraid of what I have to say?
Are you afraid it's more than you can do?
Are you afraid that you don't know the way?
First you said to wait a little longer.
Then you said we must wait a little more.
All this time the feeling's growing stronger,
The burning urges I cannot ignore.
You said that you could help me sort it out.
You said you had experience with all this.
Well, tell me what the wait is all about?
Is there something important that I missed?
Please tell me that you won't give up on me;
There's no one else to help me through, you see. 

Purging My Soul (sonnet)

Greeting memories of days now gone by,
Embracing emotions I could not feel.
Questions remain, and I still don't know why
The pain inside feels so real.
Releasing judgment and giving up blame,
I try to find a way to understand.
There's no reason for me to own this shame.
Letting go, I find a way to stand.
Purging my soul of the trauma within,
White-washing the walls of my heart with peace,
Believing that each trauma had an end,
I can fin'lly find some form of release.
From chaos to cathartic expression,
There's healing in each honest confession.

7-7 New artwork (trigger warning)

I've been having such trouble with nightmares lately.  And what I call "daymares" LOL . . . I'm awake, but it feels like when you're trapped in a nightmare and you KNOW it's a dream, but you can't wake up.  Anyhow, there's a lot of stuff that I can't really talk about yet, but I've been able to "draw about it."  I can't even really say much about these except that each one took several hours to complete. 

Anyhow, I hope you didn't find these too disturbing.  I'll post one in a new post that's a little bit more conventional that I've just finished today (Shadow Girl).

New Artwork - Comfort

My therapist told me last week that I need to imagine what it would have been like if someone would have comforted me after the abuse, to imagine what "comfort" would look like to me. I told her I wasn't really sure, but that I'd always imagined how nice it would have been to be wrapped up in my mother's arms and cry on her shoulder, to have her say "it's okay, it's not your fault," etc. So this picture/project is very different from most that I've done recently in that it is more positive and potentially inspirational.

What I would say to survivors of abuse is this -- maybe there wasn't anybody there to rescue you way back when. Maybe you were afraid to tell anyone. Maybe you DID tell someone, but weren't believed. Whatever the case may be, it's NEVER to late to be comforted . . . even if you have to do the comforting YOURSELF.


In my case, I'm simply trying to learn to nurture that part of me, my "inner child," so to speak . . . to hold her and reassure her that everything's okay now, that she's special, she's safe, and she's LOVED.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie (Acrostic Sonnet)

Let's just pretend you never heard it said.
Except for knowing, talk won't change a thing;
There is no point in digging up the dead,
So just ignore the feelings it might bring.
Let's just imagine I don't care at all.
Expect life to go on just as it should.
Energy's wasted tearing down that wall,
Perhaps if I were stronger, then I could
Investigate the agony I feel,
No doubt I'd understand a little more.
God knows the guilt and sorrow are still real,
Despite how deep I've buried them before.
On top of all I'm dealing with right now,
Great pain may simply push me to the edge.
So maybe it is best if I somehow
Leave it alone, and climb down from this ledge.
It's not that I'm avoiding this -- not true ...
Except the fear of what pain's made me do.