No matter your age or abilities or situation Loneliness is it just is
It ebbs and flows you can be the happiest busiest person and still be lonely feel lonesome feel so alone in the midst of a busy room be alone in a crowd feel empty
Loneliness is an emptiness it is tears escaping for no apparent reason it is a void a blackness abandonment
Loneliness can begin through no fault of your own from grief loss estrangement abuse physical proximity social isolation emotional isolation feeling different feeling unacceptable feeling misunderstood removing yourself in your head because it hurts removing yourself before it hurts again self protection not allowing anyone in building barriers closing people out
Loneliness can be just there but you don’t know until you do
Most people who read this know my story (If not then cruise on back through my posts and you’ll soon figure it out) And you will know that I have been in therapy for over 10 years now it was actually quite a cataclysmic event that I am able to pin point my breakdown to – the Christchurch NZ February 2011 earthquake happened exactly one month after I broke. Not sure if there is any rational transcendent reasonings behind that timeframe but its definitely a hinging point for my memories
I have learnt and am still learning about me And how the traumas have affected and altered me I’m sure it has been beneficial No, I know it has been incredibly beneficial It hasn’t changed my past But it has altered how I deal with my future My trauma based brain that I operate from still sends out triggers on a daily basis But I have learnt to how to identify them and cope with them more readily
I’ve also learnt a whole heap of new vocabulary And for someone like me who processes in the written word Who loves words Who loves to research This helps me immeasurably
Recently I was talking with my therapist about how people perceive me and how I see myself I am usually seen as being strong and outspoken and independent But inside I am often a quaking mess, unsure, afraid of being hurt and afraid of upsetting proverbial boats
I present this exterior persona of being strong and in control Which I also am I’m both Because the me that is now I Was shattered into pieces And I am trying to meld my pieces back together again Confused much Yeah me too
This quote pretty much sums it up though
10 years of therapy sounds a such a long time But so much else has happened within those years that have rabbit pathed my focus so my therapy has been often stretched sideways I relaxed into it more easily once I was told in the earlier days by one of my case managers that my abuse/trauma would take a very long time to heal from
So anyways, recently my therapist shared these words with me when I was asking her how the hell do I present so together when I’m actually not…
Firstly Dissociation (when we numb out or block painful feelings) I’m already very familiar with this I do it often It makes life so much easier to cope with But it makes others feel like you don’t care
Over identification (when swamped and overwhelmed) oh my Lord! This is way too familiar I know one of my ptsd cover ups has been, and often still is, to keep very busy So I do And then there gets to be too much happening in my brain And I start spinning And one small trigger tips me over And my brain crashes Like the wheel spinning on the computer screen And I blank out drowning in an absolute lost mess
But the third one is the word I needed to understand to answer my question
Disidentification (when keeping at arms length and know it’s not about me) This is the word I had not heard before But it sure is a good one And it is most definitely me A lot of the time It’s the suck it up and do what is deemed right part of me It’s the brave face It’s the masks I wear to protect me And it’s the masks I wear to actually protect others Because no matter how much I break my silence there are still those who do not know, who can not know, who I still protect
This was the me that was able to stand up the front of the church and speak at my own father’s funeral I never understood how I did that But it was expected of me I was the eldest of the siblings Eloquant Strong Someone who gets shit done So I did what was expected And I spoke I remember absolutely nothing My mother of course kept all the words and on her death I probably inherited them along with all the other words she passed on to me I choose not to go searching for them I choose to stay in a state of insulation to protect my very vulnerable self.
Did I speak at my mother’s funeral I absolutely cannot remember I know I organised her funeral I know so many intimate details of the day, the weeks prior and the weeks & months following But I have completely buried that part of the day My mother was an important part of my development but her ultimate betrayal is still too painful and deeply embedded so dissociation wins
But I do know I stood and spoke at my husband’s funeral This was the me that was so broken, so lost, so overwhelmed with pain But I did it Cuz I had to For me For him For the kids I disidentified and dissociated
“Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone.”
― Fred Rogers
I was watching the movie “A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood” recently and these words really spoke to me They are so true So wise
We have had so many taboos in societal exchange And those taboos create so much stress trauma generating room for abuse of many kinds to perpetuate
If we cannot talk about death life sex mental health relationships etc in normal fashion using real terms and real words
We create prohibitions secrets silences darkness damage
Allowing misconceptions to exacerbate Allowing lies to spread Allowing abuse to continue
Let’s manage our (un)mentionables Let’s talk honestly Let’s talk openly Let’s be supportive Let’s be trustworthy
I know if I had had just one person Just one Who could’ve seen Who could’ve been supportive Maybe, just maybe, life would’ve been so different for the little girl that was me
Unfortunately The one person that spoke up for me all those decades ago was just another small person a witness but also a victim, yet another victim Whose parents couldn’t hear her wouldn’t hear her couldn’t see wouldn’t see And because of their inability to manage the unmentionable she was unheard she was physically abused she was verbally abused she was ridiculed for saying such unmentionable dirty things she was silenced
one victim became two victims and on and on and on
until decades later the ripples in the pond of abuse that my father began have become so big and so far reaching so damaging in so many realms of my life
Ever since I found my voice 8 years ago and began mentioning the unmentionable I have been hearing from more of his victims and from other victims who have found their voices cuz I found mine Finding your voice empowers others
Sadly I am still hearing stories from other victims today It is never ending But as we manage our humanity we find support we find we are not alone
Trust me The landrover’s not gonna go over the bank We’ll be fine Bullshit
Trust me I’m just gonna go to town today I’ll see you tomorrow when you come out with the kids Bullshit
Trust me I’m your friend I’ll have your back Bullshit
Trust me…
Trust me…
Trust me…
When I hear those words… My stomach churns I’m feeling sick My heads pounding I’m crying inside I’m breathing deep Trying to contain my fears My whole body is fighting Trying to release my fears
Trust me… It’s not that I don’t trust you It’s that I can no longer trust myself to trust
We are all asked at some point in our lives to write a CV or a resume It is actually a really tough call for many of us Some of us who have dedicated our lives to our families who have not ‘worked’ outside our homes for decades Some of us don’t feel comfortable blowing our own trumpets selling ourselves isn’t easy in this society of diminishment to embolden ourselves is not something we are comfortable with
But try writing your life CV Wow! Thats another story Where do I begin What do I write What do I hide What can I say
There are some things that are on my life CV that I unfortunately can’t do anything about Things that have damaged me Things that have caused me trauma Things that hold me back Things that silence me Things that make me angry Things that scar me Responses I have made Behaviours I have inflicted Words uttered in haste Words delivering pain Those things are there and only I can choose how I use them
I heard a great quote from Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl who went through far, far more than I could ever imagine but his words resound loudly
Everything in life can be taken from you except one thing The freedom to respond to the situation you are in This is what determines the quality of the life we live, not our circumstances
I am learning to control my reactive emotive responses Those damn ptsd reactions… Trying not to respond to a situation immediately When I do it is often with unthought out reaction A reaction coming from my ptsd or my anxiety or my child self
I am trying to stop and breath and allow time Time to think Time to try and view the situation from the otherside Time to diffuse
I am learning how to rewrite my CV I cannot erase the pages already written The past of damages I have lived and damaging I have caused Those pages have already been delivered & read Burning my copy doesn’t erase the copies received I cannot cancel that history But I can begin writing new pages
The pages ahead are still clear and clean My pencil is sharpened I am aware and on guard I know there will be blots on the pages From inadvertant reactives I unleash But I can choose React or retaliate or Respond
Whatever I choose will predicate the outcome It is my choice
Living with the results of trauma is something many of us do Many more of us than you can imagine Trauma response is very individual No one can relive your trauma No one can tell you how you ought to respond No one can tell you what you feel Or how you should feel No one has the right to make you feel guilty No one has the right to tell you to forgive
There are recognised symptoms that cover the wide variety of PTSD’s Not all will apply to you Or to him Or her They are a generic guide for diagnosis The base though is that they are/can be your bodies response to trauma inflicted on you that you could not control The wounds are very often externally indiscernible But the responses are embarrassingly visible And can often be emotionally, physically and socially crippling
For me personally I can identify with most of the above symptoms and at least half of those would be affecting me on a daily basis
Trauma changes our basic brain functionings Thats a fact No argument
One of my sorrowful questions has often been What/who would I have been if I hadn’t endured 10 years of childhood sexual abuse? Who would that little girl have become? What would her life have been like? Would she have been a better mother, a better wife? Would she have had more confidence in herself? Would her experience of sex and relationships have been more healthy?
I know I am the person I am today because of my abuse I don’t want the abuse to define me But in an intrinsic way it has I had no choice in that But I do have a choice now I have a choice to do the best I can with who I am now I will not let my abuser win this I am inherently stronger because I have had to be I had to fight from such a young age to hang on to my identity
Childhood incest inflicts such massive confusion on a child Love Loyalty Respect Trust All things that should be an integral part of a safe normal parent/child relationship Are confused by Manipulation Secrets Emotional bullying Passive agressiveness Powerlessness Conflicted loyalty Guilt, blame & shame Betrayal
When you finally escape you don’t know how to experience real love You are so used to your body being used as a ‘love tool’ That you unwittingly continue that toxic behaviour
According to research the younger the age the abuse begins, the frequency of the abuse, plus the longer the duration, effects the intensity of trauma response. The average length of incest abuse is 4 years – when I read this today it blew my mind, I am crying as I type, I feel sick to my stomach as the reality & roots of my constant fight is hitting me…
My recollections are that I was around the age of 7-8 yrs old, the frequency was almost daily, and I wasn’t able to escape my abuser until I was 18 years old. 10 years of almost daily incestuous abuse…
No wonder I struggle to support my inner child It is a constant Daily Overwhelming fight To separate my adult self from my child self To not be her anymore I just want to grow strong enough to build a healthier relationship between us.
Please note – below is not where I am now – it is a description of where I have been.
I was processing a very distressing time with my therapist recently when she stopped me and asked me to describe what a meltdown ‘looked like’ to me?
She stopped me in my tracks. She knows me too well. She knows I ‘paint with words’
But I’d never been made to actually ‘paint’ this painful picture before. Normally I’m a vibrant colour lover. But in times like this the only colour I see is black. So I tend to stop ‘painting’.
What does it look like for me? And what does it look like for others looking on?
Heaven forbid! – I never stopped to think what it looks like to others. I guess I look like a total psycho mess. I hide a lot so only those closest to me see the real truth of my emotional crises.
So describe what’s happening within me during a meltdown. Whew! …well the days/months preceding I’m slowly descending into depressional darkness, at the same time (and unnoticeably I thought but now I know my closest can see what I can’t) I’m getting wound up internally like a top. And then something, (usually relatively minor but linked inextricably to a past trauma) will trigger me which snaps the now very taught rubber band and everything in my head starts spinning.
Physical agitation builds, I can’t sit still, I have an overwhelming need to run. Then my brain just implodes. Feelings of hopelessness, fear, stupidity, anger at myself for my inability to cope… Tears which have been building below the surface erupt uncontrollably, and then are constantly there for days, sometimes weeks.
I feel weak, hopeless, out of control, lost…
There’s usually two outcomes depending on the circumstances and the reactions of those nearest me. The length of recovery is somewhat determined by them too.
‘Before therapeutic education & understanding’ I would usually run straight into ‘fright/flight’ – retreat to the inside of my head. On the outside I now know I would appear bitchfaced, sad & angry. But inside I had just shut down because I didn’t know how to process and communicate my pain. Because of this inability my meltdown could take days or weeks to recover from.
Definitely not pretty & much less of a reaction now.
The second is outcome is 95.9% better and is only possible due to the past 10 years of therapy which has slowly helped me understand the how’s & whys of my traumas & responses and how to manage & communicate them.
If/when meltdown crisis hits and those nearest me can see & embrace me in my pain, which is hard for them because like most hurting trauma sufferers I push away those trying to help me, then my reaction changes momentarily to ‘freeze’ until and I can allow myself to feel safe. Being held and not questioned is imperative. Then I collapse into fetal and rest. Rest in a quiet safe place with all stresses removed is essential at this point because I am emotionally & physically exhausted.
Recovery from a crisis meltdown is not immediate but once the dam breaks the tensions & tears lessen and the colours begin returning to my world.
PTSD is a hidden trauma inflicted disability which is exhausting to live with. It’s a constant daily fight that I have been living with for decades 🥺 But now my fight is be that victorious survivor not to just survive.
I’m so grateful for the recognition & understanding I received from my very first ACC case manager who gave me permission to take as much time as I needed when he said ‘this could take you many years to heal from’
Here’s to celebrating being this Beautiful Mess who has successfully climbed out of yet another dark hole Thank God my sun is shining again and my colours are vividly happy today 🙂
Each of us has our own narrative We can be part of the same story But we see with clarity only our part of it
I remember my part of the story that broke us all I remember A day of normalcy A day of planning ahead We were all going to town the following morning But Tim decided to go alone on Monday He wanted to go help Graham pick vegetables because Graham always brought us bins & bins of seconds which he gathered up on his own and brought down for us to process to help feed our large extended family He wanted to do his bit towards this incredibly generosity So He did some mussel ropes with Azzan, some boat work with Seb I remember he raced through the shower and I helped him pack an overnight bag He packed up the Safari I remember we were alone at the back of the 4WD as he loaded in bins of mussels to give away It was to be my last moments with him But neither of us knew I kissed him goodbye and arranged to meet him in town on Tuesday afternoon. He took Seb & Phoebe home and left around 2pm on Monday afternoon I was to drive out with the 3 youngest the next morning to meet him in town.
I remember relaxing with Anson & Marah before they went home Having dinner with the kids and putting them to bed I remember enjoying a peaceful evening
Then with incredible clarity I remember receiving a text from Anson just before 9pm saying he’d heard there had been an accident on our road In my mind ‘our road’ meant anywhere from Port Ligar to Rai Valley I remember making phone calls I called David where Tim was supposed to be staying ‘No we haven’t seen him’ I called Graham ‘No I haven’t seen him, call the police’ I phoned Ian at Okiwi Bay who was our local ambulance responder ‘No, we had a call out but were turned back because the choppers were flown in. Call the police’ So I called the police thinking I would get our local station I remember talking to a lady who had no idea where I was She was in Wellington I remember her telling me she would ask and call me back I remember the heightened fear, adamantly refusing to let her hang up I remember the lightbulb moment whilst waiting for her return – ‘Anson heard it was on the news’! I remember racing to my computer and typing in Stuff.co.nz I remember seeing the news bulletin A lone male was killed on the Port Ligar-Te Towaka Road
I knew instantly I absolutely knew I was hyperventilating I was holding my breath I remember her returning saying she would transfer me to Blenheim Police I remember the voice of the police sergeant… I remember his name I will never forget his name …confirming without compassion or hesitation that yes Tim was dead & had been taken to Nelson I remember frantically asking him where he was and what do I do?? I remember him saying “I don’t know. I’m going off duty now and have handed over to Picton police.”
I remember texting Anson saying Please Come Now! I remember screaming NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
I remember the 3 little ones coming out thinking I was laughing at a movie and their confused faces in total disbelief at what I was sobbing I remember Marah holding me I remember Anson bravely making the worst phone calls he would ever ever have to make Telling his siblings the worst news I remember Seb & Phoebe coming by boat Still numb from losing their wee one only 2 weeks earlier I remember them sitting outside in stunned silent pain I remember having to call Australia I remember Jesika answering, she was so happy at her dance class I remember the anguish of having to tell her I remember her screams as she collapsed I remember the pain of not being able to hold her
I remember receiving a message from a Blenheim cousin at 9:30pm saying how sorry she was and discovering she had heard it from a local person I remember the disbelief that obviously so many others knew long before I did I remember our neighbours Liz, Harry & Jude arriving an hour later I remember them telling me their story Their story confirmed how badly the sergeant had handled the whole situation That Tim had died over 6 hours before only 20mins from home
I remember my pain was so intense that even though I was trying to be everything for everyone that night I completely failed
I have carried all my children’s pain along with my own It has been an incredibly heavy burden I have felt torn in so many directions Grief is a tortuous creature It attacks us all at different times and in different ways
I have watched each of them walk their own journeys, process their own trauma, and know they hold their own narratives of that night Some have vocalised Others have kept theirs hidden deep I cannot tell their stories Just as they can’t tell mine But we can hold each other and listen
Eight years ago 0r 96 months 0r 416 weeks 0r 2922 days
It doesn’t matter how you count It is a long time But it is also a very short time
The memories of that terrible, horrible, no good, bad, day are forever embedded in my soul the memories are implanted in my body held fast in my very being
Grief holds no time line It is not a considered thing It lies in the subconscious The effects affect and trigger when least expected
That one action That one disaster has torn our family into pieces has forced us all to face emotions and pain Such devastating pain far far too big to know what to do with
Even eight years on The waves of grief are still pounding They smash on the shores of our hearts They tear our emotions into shreds But we hold them close Scared to let them go Protecting our vulnerabilities
We share special moments Memories We can laugh We can talk and reminisce But the loss we endure is ours and ours alone Held tight Such a private thing And yet so known We can share But we can’t It’s so hard…
“Being unable to tell your story is a living death, and sometimes a literal one.” Rebecca Solnit
For the past 10 years I have been learning how to be the adult to my broken child The child who endured traumas no child should ever have to The child whose trust was broken over and over The child who was continually silenced The child who lived a double life In constant trauma In fear of many fears
The adult in me continues to live that double life Because the silencing continues No matter how strong this adult becomes The fear And the hurt And the betrayals The repercussions of all the damage of all the traumas Keep reappearing when least expected When vulnerabilities are low When circumstances allow the cracks to widen So the strengths gained are cruelly eroded
No matter how hard I try The voices of the non understanding ones The antagonists continuing the victimisation of the perpetrators Keep penetrating the mind of the unheard child
‘keep clear of her, she’s a total fruitloop, making allegations’ Seriously? And they were there? No they weren’t there And they are still not there The ones she needed The ones she thought she could trust The ones she should’ve been able to trust Were not there Are still not here
Protecting my inner child is exhausting It is a constant daily Her story deserves to be heard She deserves to live And I will fight to my death to allow her to live
Your inner child needs to trust you as the adult in their lives. An adult who can watch over, protect, witness, honor, guide, lead, and love you. This relationship between adult you and little you in one of the most sacred ones there is. Vienna Pharaon
Thankfully this adult has been blessed With a circle of support and love That surpasses blood That holds me when when my anguished child breaks For this I am truly grateful
