This has been a week from hell, hence my absence from the blogosphere. Apologies to all of you for not replying to your comments in my previous post – I truly appreciate them, but haven’t been in the space to think about anything this week. Except one thing.
Things at work have come to a big pointy head with my boss (yes, that boss). To cut a long story short, he effectively offered me a demotion unless I could guarantee I would not get sick or take any more sick leave. (WHAT THE…? Yes, I KNOW…)
He said that the work I’ve been doing is good, but I get sick a lot and can’t attend work, which has a negative impact on him and people in my team. He said he doesn’t think I’m malingering, and understands I’m dealing with multiple health issues, none of which he suspects are helped by the stress of the work environment. He did question my commitment to the job – actually to the “game” that comes with the job – but to his credit he apologised for making me feel devalued and deskilled.
I’m torn between transferring to another area, which could be a good outcome for me (though not at a lower salary), and fighting this out. I need to investigate this properly but my initial reading of our anti-discrimination laws suggests it’s illegal for him to demote me like this.
My therapist thinks I should: (a) take this bull by the horns and wrestle his illegal a$$ to the ground, or (b) take a leave of absence and start working for myself, which I think is what I want to do in the longer term but really don’t feel ready for yet, or (c) take a job in another area while I continue to look for something else. Who knows?
I have ridden the full gamut of emotions this week, from hysteria to anger to … I don’t really know what. I am completely exhausted and totally confused.
I know this won’t be news to most of you, but… I live much of my life in fear.
Fear of noises.
Fear of smells.
Fear of people.
Fear of places.
Fear of situations.
Some days, even fear of my own shadow.
Some of these fears have a direct and obvious link to my past; others are more indirect.
I realised too that much of my healing – if not all of it – is about getting over these fears. Or at least learning to live with them so that I’m not paralysed by them all the time.
I could list for you a trillion times I’ve felt afraid – that familiar feeling of stomach flipping, heart beating faster, can’t get my breath, breaking out in a sweat. You know the feeling, I’m sure.
One particular situation is front of mind. For ages (years) I’ve loved photography, and wanted to do it. More. Properly. Better. But I’ve been too scared. Despite the fact that many of you have told me my photos are great, I never believed you. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it’s true. I’m sorry. I thought you were just being polite – just like my friends in the real world who are not only being polite about the photos, but also only being friends with me out of pity, or obligation, or…I don’t know what. I didn’t believe that this photography thing was may be something I could do. Not until my therapist told me how good she thinks some of my photos are. So why did I believe her, and not you? Well, I guess I trust that she doesn’t BS me. Not about stuff like that anyway.
So she convinced me to enrol in a photography short course. The first class was last night and I can’t tell you how afraid I was. Afraid of going, afraid of not going. Afraid of the people and looking like an idiot. Afraid of being the dumbest and most hopeless person there. Afraid of failure and not being any good at photography at all.
On the way there I had to deal with my fears. With all these things as well as my fear of being late and
getting lost and
being trapped in the lift and
the crowds in the city and
a creepy man in dirty clothes standing outside his shop who I thought was going to grab me and
having to talk to people in the class who I was sure were thinking I’m an idiot and
not having a good enough camera (even though I do) and
not wearing nice enough clothes (even though I did) and
having to walk back to my car by myself after class (even though it was still light) and
and and and…you get the picture.
But I went to the class. To quote the cliché, I did “feel the fear and do it anyway.” I’m still afraid of all those things, but I went. I’m pleased I faced the fear, even though I know I’ll have to face it all again next week.
I guess this is why my therapist says I’m “gutsy”.
***
In other news my (half) brother-in-law had a stroke this morning. They are still testing but it sounds serious. I am freaking out. Selfishly I don’t think my freaking is for the bro-in-law (who I have only known for a few years and who gives me the creeps) but because I’m flashing straight back to when my father had his strokes last year. Please don’t worry, I’m ok. I have rested, refreshed and seem to be “back to a mild panic.”
Oh, and thanks to Wordle for helping me make this image.
I feel miserable. Utterly miserable. I’ve been thinking bad things and wondering what the point of anything is; it all seems so hopeless. My rational brain keeps hoping things will get better. They will, right? I can’t do this misery thing for much longer. It’s too…I don’t know – miserable.
A special thank you to those who have chatted to me and helped lift the clouds. It has helped, even if the dark clouds are still circling, so thank you.
** Caution: Could be triggering. **
Last night I was reading a book about a man and his dog. I’m not going to mention the name of the book here (or the movie) because I don’t want a bunch of traffic looking for cutesy pictures of doggies or touching tales of man’s best friend. I’m not a huge fan of dogs. They’re cute and all, but they’re licky and slobbery and jumpy and…well, let’s just say I prefer cats.
As with most books about men and dogs, this one ends in the expected way. I didn’t think this would affect me, but I broke out in wracking sobs… so much so that I saturated both sides of my pillow! After berating myself for being ridiculous I realised this wasn’t about the dog at all. It was actually about my last cat (and probably some other stuff in there but I’ll start with the cat).
She was a dear little soul (only not so little, as you can see). Full of love and personality – even when she was gnawing on my toes to get me moving for her breakfast, climbing up the cupboards looking for food, or bringing me “presents” in that instinctive kitty way. She died some years ago, but in my time-honoured way, I never grieved her loss. Just buried those feelings under food and other stuff. They hurt too much, damnit!
Hers was quite a long and slow death – most probably stomach cancer of some sort. About a year before she died she started vomiting after meals, sometimes vomiting blood. I took her to a couple of vets but they said nothing was wrong, most likely just an ulcer that would get better in time.
It wasn’t until later, when she’d chucked up most food I’d given her and lost almost half her body weight that a vet finally told me what was wrong. By that time there was little I could do. I should probably have done something then but the vet said she probably wasn’t in pain and would last a bit longer, so I took her home again.
A couple of months, and a few more kilos later, she was in pain. She was about 14 by then and spent her days lying on the floor, totally uninterested in her food. She could barely walk. She didn’t even much like cuddles by that point, just a pat on the head occasionally. I knew the time had come and so I did what many good pet owners eventually have to do.
I remember that day like it was yesterday – probably better. It was Good Friday, and none of the regular vets were open, so I took her to the animal protection shelter. The vet was very good, but kitty knew what was coming. She didn’t want to be there, and she certainly didn’t want the nice vet shaving her arm or giving her an injection.
I went home with an empty kitty box. I didn’t cry, just a tear or two. Hell, even my mother – the queen of all ice queens – shed a tear that day. I went home determined never to have another pet – they just die on you anyway.
I miss my Beautiful Girl, though I love my new kitty. I’m sad about how I dealt with this. If I had my time over I would find another vet, much earlier. Someone who knew what they were doing so that something could be done. If you are reading, Beautiful Girl, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were so sick. I’m sorry I didn’t take good enough care of you or get you treated properly sooner. I’m sorry the nice vet had to shave your arm and give you an injection. I’m sorry you were afraid that day. I miss you and I still love you.
Now, years later, reading a book about a man and his damned dog, all this comes back to haunt me. Some days I think I should have stuck by my vow not to have another pet, despite my beautiful new playmate. This too will surely end in the usual way. And now that I’ve learnt how to feel, it will surely be hurtful and hard and upsetting.
I saw my therapist yesterday. It helped – sort of. I still feel like a mess, and have been in tears for much of this week. My therapist says it’s better to let the tears out. I guess, but it’s hard now that my mother has helped me bottle them up again.
I told my therapist the good news about seeing something positive in my toes and my eyes. She looked like she thought I was a bit weird. At least until she asked me what was wrong with my eyes before? When I told her, she just looked at me with such sadness and said, “Oh, Kerro.” So now I feel bad for upsetting her. Doh.
I came away from the session craving junk food. This sometimes happens, and more often happens when I’m at work and things turn stressful. I don’t always give in, but I did yesterday, albeit unconsciously. I ate…and I ate…and I ate…and then I ate cream cake until I was sick. Binge binge binge. It’s been a while since I’ve done that. And of course this is more heroin for the inner critic. (Yes, I am deliberately glossing over this.)
This Food Thing and the endless tears lead me to think that something’s not quite right. I’m perhaps not ready to face it, but I am sick of this pain and the dark clouds that are following me about. Perhaps, to use David’s analogy, I’m trying to walk again before the latest round of toxic infection has been dealt with? My therapist says I need to cut myself some slack after the time away with my mother. I guess.
In other news, I had another Pilates session today. And again I received a barrage of PTSD related information and tips from the Instructor. I came away stressed and upset – mostly upset with myself for not telling this woman to shut up. She’s one of those people who could talk under water, and it’s downright annoying. Not to mention that I generally don’t want to hear what she’s saying. Yak yak yak. Incessant banter about her own traumas and her own experiences with PTSD and all the varied things that have and haven’t helped her and all the people she’s met who have PTSD and who she’s rescued helped. That’s all fine, but I can’t deal with all that as well as my own mess. I did a better job this week of letting her yakking just float off into the ether but it still affected me.
David was right when he said that she needs to “stay in her own space”. I don’t need this. I see that now. Yes I experienced trauma and yes, I have PTSD, but I need to heal in my own way. I know that my healing needs to include something for my body as well as my mind – and Pilates will help with that – but I don’t want to have breakfast with her. I don’t want to write a book with her. And I don’t want to go to her retreat in Bali. The best thing she can do for me is focus on Pilates. Pilates will be good, but only if it doesn’t come with all this mess. I feel mean saying that, but I really need to set this boundary or she’ll do me in.
I’ve been walking around in a daze for days. Weeks, actually, including while I was away. How is it that you can be with people 24/7 and yet still feel so isolated? So completely alone and empty inside?
My head is a muddled, jumbled mess. In many respects I feel like much of my progress over the last few months has evaporated. I’m not sure how this happened – was it spending too much time with my mother? Or not enough time alone? Or just too much time stuffing down every conceivable emotion while with my mother? Or … who knows?
I’m hoping that writing will help. I went to the gym earlier and treaded the treadmill for an hour, almost completely unaware of what I was doing. I think it worked, emotionally at least. As soon as I got in the car I burst into tears. I’m not sure why, I guess the proverbial flood gates just opened.
So here we are. I suspect this will be a rambling dump of things swirling about in my head. Apologies.
- My mother: From the moment she arrived two weeks ago she started messing with my head and unwinding any shreds of confidence I had started to build. One of her first comments to me on arriving was “your bum is getting bigger again”. Sigh. In the time we were away she added to this happy moment saying I have to lose weight; that I shouldn’t eat nuts because they’re fattening; that I’ll never know what it’s like to be a mother; that I’m too old for a relationship; that a skirt I tried on was too short – or rather, needed to be longer to cover my legs because they’re too fat. She doesn’t mean any of this maliciously, but doesn’t understand the impact it has on me. My therapist said something like “God, if I asked your mother what she thought of anyone who said all that she’d probably realise just how awful it is.” Possibly, but it’s unlikely my therapist will ever get to ask her anything again because my mother flatly refused to go and see her. She even referred to my therapist as “that woman”. Sigh.
- My therapist says that my father, my mother and I have a nice little malicious circle going on. My mother puts up with rudeness and nastiness from my father in the same way that I put up with it from my mother. That she uses my father as an excuse for not having a life in the same way that I have used my mother. I’m not quite ready to delve into this yet, so just throwing it out there.
- Being triggered: I was triggered a couple of times while away. Especially by fish. Somehow my mother convinced me to try barramundi, which she says is beautiful and very unfishy to eat. Stupid, stupid me for agreeing to try it. I could smell it before it even came to the table and started freaking out and shaking and panicking and flashbacking and wanting to run away. Every morsel I put in my mouth made my throat close over and made me want to gag. Of course, I had to sit there like everything was fine. Pretend I’m normal and not a complete freak. Thankfully I had that old pattern down pat after spending so much time with my mother already.
- I was also triggered by relationships. Specifically couples. Couples everywhere. Old and young. On the beach, by the pool, at the shops, on the boat, on the plane…. surrounded. Feeling like the only single person in a paired-up world. In many ways I long for a lasting and meaningful relationship. For the companionship. For knowing someone and someone knowing me. Connecting, even when you don’t speak. Even for holding hands. Trouble is, I’m too afraid to even admit I want this, let alone do anything to make it happen. I’m so afraid that everything I’ve always been told will be proven true – that I really am an ugly, nasty and horrible person and that no one will ever love me.
- I also got mildly triggered by some friends, and listening to them talk about children and childhoods and our past. I’ve known these people since … well, for a couple of decades or more though they don’t know about my past. I found it hard to sit there and listen to the memories of teenage years, of boys, of families, of … all sorts of things. I ran away to the kitchen where I could bury myself in preparing food without fear of freaking out.
- The Body Image Thing: The hell of the body image continues. It was hard being away in a hot, summery environment where I was seemingly surrounded by models in bikinis 24 hours of the day. I did wear bathers/togs/swimmers (whatever you call them), though I felt hideous. And more hideous as time wore on because of my mother’s comments. Something odd happened when I got home, though – despite the mess in my head. I looked at my sun drenched toes and I thought, “hey, they’re not so bad.” I also looked at my eye in the mirror as I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup and thought, “that looks good.” Rationally I know these are good things. But they’re completely alien to me and with all the mess in my head I can’t accept or understand them.
- The Weight Thing: This is still an issue as well. I’m still embarrassed to be seen. But one thing I realised while away is that gaining weight is a MASSIVE trigger for me. When I gain weight I think I don’t deserve to look nice, and “have to” buy whatever ugly potato sack fits. Somewhere in my crazy head I think fat is ugly and fat means you can’t look nice and fat also means you have to buy what you can because you might not find anything else that fits. So I buy whatever I can, which generally doesn’t suit me, or fit my personality. And then I feel worse.
- Social Phobia: This is back with a vengeance. Somewhere over the last few months I’ve managed to come out of my shell enough to speak to people. Randomly, I mean. Like people in shops. Somehow that’s disappeared. A couple of friends from the past have been in touch with me via Facebook. People I lost touch with long ago. They’ve suggested catching up. Part of me wants to but the rest of me is too afraid. Of what I’m not exactly sure. Just too afraid. Afraid that they’ll judge me, I guess. All that stuff about me not being good enough has come right back again.
- Pilates: I started back at Pilates just before I went away. My instructor is healing from PTSD as well, from what I’m not sure though I have some suspicions from clues she’s given. She somehow understands this thing. She even wants to talk more about it, outside Pilates. Part of me wants to. Part of me doesn’t. I don’t trust her (yet). And she carries a lot of anger, which is fine except I’ve been working hard on just accepting that what happened happened and not carrying that anger around anymore. I don’t want to get sucked into that again. And I don’t want to carry her anger. So I feel mean and horrible for not catching up with her this week. And weak and pathetic for not being able to say I can’t. And a bit angry at myself for being unable to have the kind of compassion I’d like to have for fellow survivors.
- Abandonment: Somewhere in all this my fear of being abandoned by my therapist has come back as well. It’s always there, lurking in the background, but the last couple of months I’ve been able to convince myself of its irrationality. Not anymore. I hate this feeling because I know it’s stupid. I talked to my therapist and she did what she could to reassure me that she’s not going anywhere. The fear lessened, but still peaks. Or flip-flops between that and my terror at having to end therapy somewhere in the future. We’ve had no conversations about ending (in fact, quite the opposite), but I’m still afraid. I know it has to end someday, and I used to think that when that time came I would be ready. Or more ready, at least. I’m far from being ready now, and I’m scared to death of the end. Part of me thinks I should quit now so I don’t have to deal with that. I feel hopeless and that therapy is pointless. Nothing will ever change, so why bother putting myself through the hell of therapy?
I have rambled. I’m just dumping. I haven’t really processed much of this. Just needed to break it down. I’m sorry.
Some of you seem as taken with the crab patterns as I was, so here’s a couple more pics for you.
I love the patterns. They also remind me of embroidery or fabric. And I was struck by how many of the patterns, images and designs we see in the man-made world have their roots in nature. Like the pattern on this shell I found on Cape Trib beach (in real life the shell is only about one centimetre across).
But back to the crabs… they are tiny. The smallest one I saw was barely a few millimetres across (including legs) and the largest was about two centimetres (I think that’s about an inch). Amazing. Even more amazing was looking along the beach and seeing the sand appear to move with all the crabs scurrying about.
In the middle of each pattern (or thereabouts) is a little hole. The crab digs the hole, and in so doing makes the “bumbles” that he brings to the surface and lays out in the beautiful pattern. I don’t know how he knows to do this, or why he does it. But he does (at low tide, at least). And the results are beautiful.
Hello again. It feels a little weird blogging again after a break, even if it was just a short one. There’s so much I want to write about, yet still not quite sure where to begin. I almost feel like I’ve lost the knack of writing, so I’ll start with the easy stuff, and share my holiday with you. The “fun” stuff can come later.
So… eight days in Port Douglas, Far North Queensland. It’s a lovely area. The weather was hot (and humid – bleuch) – just perfect for snorkelling on the Great Barrier Reef, walking on the beach, eating ice cream and lazing by the pool.
I won’t bore you with a day-by-day account of my trip, but will share a couple of my favourite spots:
Cape Tribulation – where the Daintree Rainforest meets the Great Barrier Reef. A beautifully peaceful stretch of pristine white sand, surrounded by lush tropical rainforest. Absolutely magnificent.
Great Barrier Reef – stunning islands, crisp blue waters filled with beautiful corals and sea turtles and fishies. Beautiful beyond imagining. I even went snorkelling which, for me at least, is quite adventurous. I loved it! I didn’t so much love the storm that came up and rocked our lovely catamaran into 30 knot swells, but hey, what’s a bit of seasickness between strangers??
I also marvelled at these little crabs and the wonderful patterns they make in the sand. Ain’t mother nature amazing?
And the beautiful frangipani, which grows EVERYWHERE there.
There’s a few more pics on my Flickr site, including more flora and fauna (even the crocodile I saw on the Daintree River), and on Facebook for those who know me there.
A lot went on in my head while away, but I won’t spoil these beautiful images with that now. Stay tuned.
I’m back – from the holiday at least, if not fully back in the blogosphere yet. In some respects the holiday was lovely, but in others it wasn’t. I’ll explain more in the coming days, though I’m not really sure where to begin.
I will say it was lovely to hear all your messages of support while I was away, and to know that some of you missed me. I also missed you, and meant what I said about receiving those messages at just the right time.
There must be something in the universe because I needed those messages again earlier today, when I read this line in a recent post by the marvellously cynical Trench Warrior:
“Don’t you dare think no one cares. No one loves you. No one will notice. Because they do. And they will.”
I hope to catch up on everything soon. I hope you are all taking care out there.
I’m going on holiday. This time tomorrow I hope to be sitting on this beach relaxing (though I suspect I’ll be complaining about the heat). I’m taking my baby laptop with me, but am not sure if I’ll be able to blog, tweet, post in the forum etc. I need a break and just want sun, sand, surf and a drink with an umbrella in it. I figured this looks like a good location for those things.
In other news, many of you will know that Same Sky has been doing some really interesting work with her inner children. In a recent post comment, she said:
“A lot of trauma is held in the body, we have somatic memories and to work with them requires a shift in the way we do therapy. Talking doesn’t stimulate the neural pathways in the right way (it’s important to connect the cognitive, physical and emotional memories together).”
The stars must be aligned somewhere because I had my first session with my new Pilates instructor yesterday, who described herself as a “spiritual healer” (groan). We did some breathing work, and at one point she said (I quote):
“Geez, girl, what trauma have you suffered? Could you bring yourself back to a mild panic please?”
Sigh.
She told me about her own experiences with post traumatic stress. I burst into tears and she declared, “our spiritual guides meant us to meet today.” (Probably true, but my rational side groaned again.)
Between Same Sky’s comments and those of the instructor, I guess it’s time for me to start doing the body work that I need to do to heal. Who knows, may be this will help with the other Body Image issues as well. As I’m going on holiday tomorrow, I plan to use that time to absorb the energy of the sea for what appears to be the next part of my journey.
Take care everyone, I’ll see you soon.
