I had my first session of EMDR this last week. It has helped tremendously, so far! I have not yet had to terrible of nightmares and I've been able to remain in the moment better than I had been in the past couple of weeks. I'm really hoping that this continues to be a good form of therapy for me.
Just in case you guys are at all curious about it, I wanted to share a little bit about what my experience was like.
So first thing that happened when I went in was that the therapist asks what I want to work on. I went in with a very specific plan to work on exbest friend's stuff because it has been causing me a great deal of distress for a long time now.
She gave me the little buzzing paddles and asked me to pick the intensity and speed that I wanted to use for the memory. I set it accordingly and she had me describe the memory. She says I can tell her as little or as much as I want. She kept asking questions, as counselors/therapists do, but I didn't go into as much detail as I had to using exposure therapy (you have to use as much detail as possible).
We started with e getting comfortable and holding the paddles. We started with letting my mind go to the memory. She checked in with me to have me describe what I was feeling and going through. We went another cycle and the memory and feelings got more intense. She checked in again. This cycle lasted several times, then she had me sit with the memory and the physical feelings and the thoughts that came up. After a few cycles of that (memory + buzzing, then a check-in), the memory started to reveal several things to me.
Personally, this process brought up the ways I tried to fight and then showed me the 7+ ways I was triggered that reverted my brain into trauma mode and sent it back to it's original conditioning. While this likely does not make much sense without going through the process, it was incredibly freeing to be able to go back into a memory that my brain was constantly reliving for months and to be able to process it with such clarity.
Then, as I started to process the triggers, and what I had done to prevent the cursed even from occurring in the first place, the oddest thing happened in my brain and I saw it as clear as a movie: the memory faded and started going down a tunnel. It was partially filed in said tunnel, but not like my normal filing where I put it away to try to process it later with my counselor. No, this time it was filed as something I had survived and what I had done right and why I couldn't stop it.
Now, this memory is much less disturbing and my brain has released it from continually coming up and causing nightmares, flashbacks, and the subsequent dissociation/depression. I've been able to wake up without sleeping 14+ hours, be on time, get ready without losing track of time, and I've been engaged and happy instead of a constant flat affect and no energy. All of these things are my signs of dissociation and depression.
I'm not saying that this process was not difficult. I cried. I cried like big, burning tears from a place of deep hurt and betrayal. However, it was far less distressing than continually having your brain try to process a memory and failing because you are stuck between short and long term memory, and you can't find the reason/logic/emotion between anything. My brain was ridiculously overwhelmed and this allowed me to process it effectively.
Guys, I'm very grateful for my counselor recommending this type of therapy. I had come a long way in counseling, but there are things that set us back on our road to recovery. Sometimes these roadblocks refuse to move and our brains cannot go "there" to knock the block down because it is too distressing. At this point in my recovery, I was able to go through the EMDR process and receive relief and help. When the counselor at my college (who was 1] untrained in trauma help and 2] unpracticed in EMDR) tried to use this therapy, I was too far in the trauma brain and had not processed anything at all. By starting in therapy/counseling first, getting to a place of healing, then trying this intensive therapy, I was able to finally have coping skills in place and be able to understand my recovery process much better.
I'll keep you guys posted on if it continues to be helpful or if I start getting some of the terrible side effects. So far, however, I'm hanging in there.
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Thursday, July 12, 2018
Monday, April 23, 2018
Ends to New Beginnings
This week was the end of group therapy and my bible study. It's been rough. I've really enjoyed the friendships that have come to be in both groups, the growth that I've shown, and having places to be to get me out of the house. Those few things can really help improve a person's outlook on life and well-being!
I'm fixin' to tell my sweet little counselor that she was right... right about finding community, right about people being out there that are willing to support me, and right about being able to share and not scaring everyone away. She has been such a blessing.
As is normal with the final bits of anything, there is time to remember how far you've come and what has happened. We share thanks for the people that we've met and the things we've learned. There is an exchanging of phone numbers, encouragement, and a "I hope to see you soon" or "email/text me when you get news about..."
And, as G-d tends to do in my life, there is a theme.
It dawned on me partly in the car today, and I began weeping... in traffic... with my dog sniffing out the window and warm spring air blowing in. Then, as I sat down to begin processing all of the things that have happened this week (by typing them here) G-d flat out told me because I wasn't fully getting it.
Then He keeps bringing up more examples as I continue to write!
So here it is: the theme for this week is sex. What it costs, how it's abused, how it's affected me, and how it has shaped the course of history.
You guys know, because I talk about it in most every post, but I have a history of sexual abuse. Not once, not twice, but countless times. And not at the hands of just one, nor two, but at least three guys. It was a realization that hit me hard this week.
In group, we were encouraged to talk abut something on our last day of group that we would regret not saying while we were in group. I couldn't think of anything. And, since my personal counselor is also the leader of the group, she encouraged me again in my personal session and even prompted me on what I could and should consider talking about. I spent all of 2 weeks pondering what it is that I should share, with nothing to say for myself until the day of group. I wrote it down on 3 pages of my journal and walked in.
Group was nearly over when my counselor asked if I had anything to say. I warned them that I was just going to read it, because I needed to say these things but they are hard for me to say (I left out that I often "shut down" *read dissociate* when I begin thinking/talking about these things).
I wept.
I cried as I read.
I couldn't see the pages so I had to lift my journal up in front of my face so that the tears weren't blocking all of the writing.
And I said it. I said the things that I have had such a hard time saying. I spoke the words, "... I have suffered through countless acts of sexual and other abuse. I have never once gotten to choose to have sex or not have sex, these things were forced upon me. I battle daily with my dreams, desires, and my broken sense of the world.
"However, I can see my healing. I have been made clean, and pure, and have been dressed in white. I've seen it!
"Somehow, these evil things will be used for good. I don't know how, but it'll happen."
Of course, I share a little bit more, but those are things that I have had such a hard time being able to say. I couldn't even admit them to myself a couple of months ago and now I've said them out loud.
Then, another girl in our group shared and she cried through her part of sharing. I cried right along with her. It was so difficult to not just reach over and hug her tight! But, knowing how I deal with things, I don't want to be touched when explaining how somebody else has used touch to so seriously damage me. I asked her, when it was all done, if I could hug her and she accepted. My heart breaks that she has experienced the things that she has. I have gone through many of the same things, but it hurts even more hearing that someone else has had to endure that crap.
I told you guys the theme for the week was sex... Well, even in bible study, the video at the end of the study was of the Q&A portion of the conference that the study was based on. Again, for those who have forgotten or who didn't know, I was doing the study Anointed Transformed Redeemed about David. We can't talk about David without talking about Bathsheba, right? But that was such a small part of the study and it was weeks ago!
This week, in the bonus video, it was the filmed portion of the conference that was the Q&A (I already told you guys that). However, this is important because somebody asked something about marriage or how to minister to husbands or something... and Kay Arthur, Priscilla Shirer, and Beth Moore (not so much Beth), began this whole thing about sex!
In a room full of married women, at church, this was a time of great amounts of laughter for them! For me, surely the only single girl under the age of 30 who has not had a great relationship with the subject of sex, this was a serious struggle. Kay touched on singleness and the relationship you should have with sex: she said we should not be having it. Well, duh, and I'm not. It was just a moment where being left out converged with a moment of being triggered and disappointed and all of that happened at church.
*deep breaths*
Through several things, I have been convicted of something that I have not come to terms with, and a huge reason why I'm probably having a hard time this week: sex and I do not have a good relationship. I'm not saying that if we did, that I would be partaking before marriage. But it has been used as such a strong force of evil and destruction in my life that I don't look forward to it. I don't hope for it, I don't look forward to my wedding night or to being married. I don't look forward to "making" kids or to birthing them because it is all a reminder of sex.
I learned this week that many victims/survivors have such a bad relationship with sex because of the abuse, that some of the self harm can be in the form of touching themselves. Trying to find pleasure from how the body reacts and the way that their body probably reacted in the face of abuse. One thing I haven't confessed before is that I have struggled with this myself.
After my first assault, rape, weekend of horror, I was convinced that my body was broken. He was touching me, doing these things that he knew would get a response from my body because he had had sex with other girlfriends in the past. Me, having never done any of that before and having not wanted to do it then, did not react. There was no pleasure, no excitement, no enjoyment. So, I concluded that my body was broken and that I was one of the few people that suffer from not being able to find any pleasure from sex and from being touched.
So, I tried to "recreate" the things that should bring about a sensation that people had described as fun, or pleasurable, or even a need. My body kind of reacted, but I was filled with so much shame and despair and sadness.
Even with this misery, it became a compulsion. I wanted to cut. I wanted to hurt myself. I wanted to feel something.
I didn't cut. I did hurt myself. And the only thing I ever truly felt was hatred, disgust, shame, despair, regret, and ridiculous darkness.
I stopped shortly after attempting this act.
Then came exfiance. After his initial rape, I couldn't get away. There were so many assaults. So much manipulation. So many excuses, bullshit stories, bible verses he used to tell me I belonged to him and that my body was no longer my own. Blah, blah, blah. He introduced me (read *forced me*) to do things I had never imagined. Things that truly revulsed me and I actually begin cutting and self harming and things that made me want to die.
After that, touching myself became a way that I could control things. I got no pleasure from what he did. Sure, my body would react, but I did not like it. So my brain, making its new pathways, associated those reactions with not being a good thing. In fact, it was associated with pain and depression and all terrible things!
By controlling it myself, when he was not with me, I felt like my body wasn't actually broken, like someday it might be okay... aaaaaaannnd it increased my shame and despair ten-fold.
Fast-forward to this week: Things that I did not expect, but that definitely needed to happen, in fact happened. This topic was brought up and somebody that I have admired and loved learning from/with shared about her struggles with this. Then, to her, I whispered "me too."
It was something that needed to happen. That I was terrified of anyone else finding out about. And now, I have to face it. I have to fight this. I have to work through it and learn to deal with these things. Then, I have hope for healing.
I've been studying the ladies of the bible, primarily the Tamar's, Rahab, Bathsheba, and various others (especially those with abuse, sexual misconduct, and those who were broken [all of us]). I'm finding encouragement and hope, but it's also allowing G-d to expose many of my deep, dark secret places. It hurts, but I hope that someday it'll be worth the pain of debriding (I think I spelled that wrong...)
I'm fixin' to tell my sweet little counselor that she was right... right about finding community, right about people being out there that are willing to support me, and right about being able to share and not scaring everyone away. She has been such a blessing.
As is normal with the final bits of anything, there is time to remember how far you've come and what has happened. We share thanks for the people that we've met and the things we've learned. There is an exchanging of phone numbers, encouragement, and a "I hope to see you soon" or "email/text me when you get news about..."
And, as G-d tends to do in my life, there is a theme.
It dawned on me partly in the car today, and I began weeping... in traffic... with my dog sniffing out the window and warm spring air blowing in. Then, as I sat down to begin processing all of the things that have happened this week (by typing them here) G-d flat out told me because I wasn't fully getting it.
Then He keeps bringing up more examples as I continue to write!
So here it is: the theme for this week is sex. What it costs, how it's abused, how it's affected me, and how it has shaped the course of history.
You guys know, because I talk about it in most every post, but I have a history of sexual abuse. Not once, not twice, but countless times. And not at the hands of just one, nor two, but at least three guys. It was a realization that hit me hard this week.
In group, we were encouraged to talk abut something on our last day of group that we would regret not saying while we were in group. I couldn't think of anything. And, since my personal counselor is also the leader of the group, she encouraged me again in my personal session and even prompted me on what I could and should consider talking about. I spent all of 2 weeks pondering what it is that I should share, with nothing to say for myself until the day of group. I wrote it down on 3 pages of my journal and walked in.
Group was nearly over when my counselor asked if I had anything to say. I warned them that I was just going to read it, because I needed to say these things but they are hard for me to say (I left out that I often "shut down" *read dissociate* when I begin thinking/talking about these things).
I wept.
I cried as I read.
I couldn't see the pages so I had to lift my journal up in front of my face so that the tears weren't blocking all of the writing.
And I said it. I said the things that I have had such a hard time saying. I spoke the words, "... I have suffered through countless acts of sexual and other abuse. I have never once gotten to choose to have sex or not have sex, these things were forced upon me. I battle daily with my dreams, desires, and my broken sense of the world.
"However, I can see my healing. I have been made clean, and pure, and have been dressed in white. I've seen it!
"Somehow, these evil things will be used for good. I don't know how, but it'll happen."
Of course, I share a little bit more, but those are things that I have had such a hard time being able to say. I couldn't even admit them to myself a couple of months ago and now I've said them out loud.
Then, another girl in our group shared and she cried through her part of sharing. I cried right along with her. It was so difficult to not just reach over and hug her tight! But, knowing how I deal with things, I don't want to be touched when explaining how somebody else has used touch to so seriously damage me. I asked her, when it was all done, if I could hug her and she accepted. My heart breaks that she has experienced the things that she has. I have gone through many of the same things, but it hurts even more hearing that someone else has had to endure that crap.
I told you guys the theme for the week was sex... Well, even in bible study, the video at the end of the study was of the Q&A portion of the conference that the study was based on. Again, for those who have forgotten or who didn't know, I was doing the study Anointed Transformed Redeemed about David. We can't talk about David without talking about Bathsheba, right? But that was such a small part of the study and it was weeks ago!
This week, in the bonus video, it was the filmed portion of the conference that was the Q&A (I already told you guys that). However, this is important because somebody asked something about marriage or how to minister to husbands or something... and Kay Arthur, Priscilla Shirer, and Beth Moore (not so much Beth), began this whole thing about sex!
In a room full of married women, at church, this was a time of great amounts of laughter for them! For me, surely the only single girl under the age of 30 who has not had a great relationship with the subject of sex, this was a serious struggle. Kay touched on singleness and the relationship you should have with sex: she said we should not be having it. Well, duh, and I'm not. It was just a moment where being left out converged with a moment of being triggered and disappointed and all of that happened at church.
*deep breaths*
Through several things, I have been convicted of something that I have not come to terms with, and a huge reason why I'm probably having a hard time this week: sex and I do not have a good relationship. I'm not saying that if we did, that I would be partaking before marriage. But it has been used as such a strong force of evil and destruction in my life that I don't look forward to it. I don't hope for it, I don't look forward to my wedding night or to being married. I don't look forward to "making" kids or to birthing them because it is all a reminder of sex.
I learned this week that many victims/survivors have such a bad relationship with sex because of the abuse, that some of the self harm can be in the form of touching themselves. Trying to find pleasure from how the body reacts and the way that their body probably reacted in the face of abuse. One thing I haven't confessed before is that I have struggled with this myself.
After my first assault, rape, weekend of horror, I was convinced that my body was broken. He was touching me, doing these things that he knew would get a response from my body because he had had sex with other girlfriends in the past. Me, having never done any of that before and having not wanted to do it then, did not react. There was no pleasure, no excitement, no enjoyment. So, I concluded that my body was broken and that I was one of the few people that suffer from not being able to find any pleasure from sex and from being touched.
So, I tried to "recreate" the things that should bring about a sensation that people had described as fun, or pleasurable, or even a need. My body kind of reacted, but I was filled with so much shame and despair and sadness.
Even with this misery, it became a compulsion. I wanted to cut. I wanted to hurt myself. I wanted to feel something.
I didn't cut. I did hurt myself. And the only thing I ever truly felt was hatred, disgust, shame, despair, regret, and ridiculous darkness.
I stopped shortly after attempting this act.
Then came exfiance. After his initial rape, I couldn't get away. There were so many assaults. So much manipulation. So many excuses, bullshit stories, bible verses he used to tell me I belonged to him and that my body was no longer my own. Blah, blah, blah. He introduced me (read *forced me*) to do things I had never imagined. Things that truly revulsed me and I actually begin cutting and self harming and things that made me want to die.
After that, touching myself became a way that I could control things. I got no pleasure from what he did. Sure, my body would react, but I did not like it. So my brain, making its new pathways, associated those reactions with not being a good thing. In fact, it was associated with pain and depression and all terrible things!
By controlling it myself, when he was not with me, I felt like my body wasn't actually broken, like someday it might be okay... aaaaaaannnd it increased my shame and despair ten-fold.
Fast-forward to this week: Things that I did not expect, but that definitely needed to happen, in fact happened. This topic was brought up and somebody that I have admired and loved learning from/with shared about her struggles with this. Then, to her, I whispered "me too."
It was something that needed to happen. That I was terrified of anyone else finding out about. And now, I have to face it. I have to fight this. I have to work through it and learn to deal with these things. Then, I have hope for healing.
I've been studying the ladies of the bible, primarily the Tamar's, Rahab, Bathsheba, and various others (especially those with abuse, sexual misconduct, and those who were broken [all of us]). I'm finding encouragement and hope, but it's also allowing G-d to expose many of my deep, dark secret places. It hurts, but I hope that someday it'll be worth the pain of debriding (I think I spelled that wrong...)
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
My Session of Healing Prayer
As mentioned, my counselor lead me through a session of Healing Prayer. At first, it was really difficult. I felt my mind go blank and I couldn't go anywhere.
Eventually, though, G-d brought me to my NICU in Small Town. The NICU where I find such comfort, such joy, such realization of my dream to care for babies coming true. I absolutely loved this NICU when I was there and I miss it so much!
Anyway, I was there, standing at the entrance to one of the NICU bays. I didn't go in, there was no baby there, but I was comfortable.
Then He then brought me to a dark place. There were no walls, it wasn't pitch black, and I was not scared. I was just there sitting with my eyes closed, still not scared. When my vision came back a little, I could see myself sitting there, in Yeshua's lap as a little child, and he was simply rocking me. My eyes were closed, I was comfortable. His eyes were closed, and His face was so serene and peaceful.
I remembered my time spent in the nursery at church, with the little 1-2 years olds, and little 3 year olds that experienced so much separation anxiety. I remember helping to start with a church startup. I worked the childcare, of course, as my whole life had prepared me for. I worked with the nursery of children up to 1 year old, and then the next class of children going up to about 3 years old. With each week, I learned the children's personalities, and how to help them the best. I remember this one little boy who rarely stayed in the class, because he would cry so hard that we would have to call his mom back most weeks within 10-15 minutes of him being dropped off. Week after week, I tried my best to pull out all of my tricks to comfort him, and then some. I wrote little sheets to help other volunteers know what tricks worked best with each child. Thinking back, I was writing up careplans at the age of 16, before I ever knew what a careplan was. Now it just seems to make sense to me, having been through nursing school and working as a nurse for the last couple of years.
This particular little boy finally settled down one day, in my arms. I sat with him, on my lap, with my hand bringing his head to my chest. I "shhhhhhh" over and over, while my hand supported the area around his sweet little ear. Eventually, he calmed down. I released my grip and he brought my hand back to the side of his face, to resume the comforting pressure.
When I saw myself sitting in Yeshua's lap, He was supporting my little face against His chest in this fashion. Finally, after being the comforter for so many babies, children, friends, and others, I was finally being comforted by The Comforter. I was supported, protected, cherished, and a source of joy for the One who loves me, made me, and has walked with me my whole life.
Shortly after, I saw myself with Him in an open field. I was a child, in a white dress, dancing and enjoying my time in a field of little white flowers. I spent time dancing around with Him and other time laying in the soft grass enjoying the warmth and peace of His presence. Everything was bright and beautiful and clean. I was white and pure and innocent. I was loved and secure in my knowledge that I am loved. I was joyful and able to enjoy time being carefree without a care in the world.
I thanked Him for my time with Him, for Him showing up to be with me, and for what He's shown me. I thanked Him for all of the healing He brought about in such a short period of time and for the joy He's reinstated in my life so quickly.
I still tear up at the memories of the White Robe and what He did for me in the Healing Prayer session. I had never experienced visions before, and I truly believe that is what I experienced in these moments.
Eventually, though, G-d brought me to my NICU in Small Town. The NICU where I find such comfort, such joy, such realization of my dream to care for babies coming true. I absolutely loved this NICU when I was there and I miss it so much!
Anyway, I was there, standing at the entrance to one of the NICU bays. I didn't go in, there was no baby there, but I was comfortable.
Then He then brought me to a dark place. There were no walls, it wasn't pitch black, and I was not scared. I was just there sitting with my eyes closed, still not scared. When my vision came back a little, I could see myself sitting there, in Yeshua's lap as a little child, and he was simply rocking me. My eyes were closed, I was comfortable. His eyes were closed, and His face was so serene and peaceful.
I remembered my time spent in the nursery at church, with the little 1-2 years olds, and little 3 year olds that experienced so much separation anxiety. I remember helping to start with a church startup. I worked the childcare, of course, as my whole life had prepared me for. I worked with the nursery of children up to 1 year old, and then the next class of children going up to about 3 years old. With each week, I learned the children's personalities, and how to help them the best. I remember this one little boy who rarely stayed in the class, because he would cry so hard that we would have to call his mom back most weeks within 10-15 minutes of him being dropped off. Week after week, I tried my best to pull out all of my tricks to comfort him, and then some. I wrote little sheets to help other volunteers know what tricks worked best with each child. Thinking back, I was writing up careplans at the age of 16, before I ever knew what a careplan was. Now it just seems to make sense to me, having been through nursing school and working as a nurse for the last couple of years.
This particular little boy finally settled down one day, in my arms. I sat with him, on my lap, with my hand bringing his head to my chest. I "shhhhhhh" over and over, while my hand supported the area around his sweet little ear. Eventually, he calmed down. I released my grip and he brought my hand back to the side of his face, to resume the comforting pressure.
When I saw myself sitting in Yeshua's lap, He was supporting my little face against His chest in this fashion. Finally, after being the comforter for so many babies, children, friends, and others, I was finally being comforted by The Comforter. I was supported, protected, cherished, and a source of joy for the One who loves me, made me, and has walked with me my whole life.
Shortly after, I saw myself with Him in an open field. I was a child, in a white dress, dancing and enjoying my time in a field of little white flowers. I spent time dancing around with Him and other time laying in the soft grass enjoying the warmth and peace of His presence. Everything was bright and beautiful and clean. I was white and pure and innocent. I was loved and secure in my knowledge that I am loved. I was joyful and able to enjoy time being carefree without a care in the world.
I thanked Him for my time with Him, for Him showing up to be with me, and for what He's shown me. I thanked Him for all of the healing He brought about in such a short period of time and for the joy He's reinstated in my life so quickly.
I still tear up at the memories of the White Robe and what He did for me in the Healing Prayer session. I had never experienced visions before, and I truly believe that is what I experienced in these moments.
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Chicago
I recently got the opportunity to go with Big Red (a very petite little redhead) and Beauty to Chicago. They are friends from nursing school that have now moved away from College Town and we decided to go be adventurous.
For those that may/may not know, I love the Divergent series and the Hunger Games series. These movies had just released their first movies when I was newly going through the after effects of my first sexual assault from exboyfriend and the problems following Country Boy's suicide.
At first, I could not handle these movies. They are intense. Divergent has a scene where Tris is attacked by 3 guys who attempt to throw her into this cavern to her death. Tris also experiences the aftermath of a friend committing suicide.
After a couple of tries of watching the movies (yes, it took me multiple times of watching a few minutes at a time before I could get through the movies. However, once I got through them, I began to watch them over and over. I felt comforted by them, but could not peg why such dark movies meant so much to me and were able to comfort me so well.
After months and months of thinking about it, I came to this conclusion: I felt like Tris and Katniss.
They were experiencing constant war; I was fighting an epic battle of my own. They were outcasts with something to fight for; I too felt like an outcast with things to do in my life and something to fight for. They experienced much heartache, trauma, and flashbacks; sound familiar to anything I have written about? These young women survived, against all odds, terrible circumstances. I survived a friend's suicide, multiple sexual assaults/rapes, self harm, suicide attempts, domestic violence, loss of friends, college (against all odds, and nursing school was difficult without the addition of my PTSD), and yet I continued on.
When Big Red first suggested taking a trip, I didn't want to go. I didn't want to spend the money and go be triggered for a solid 4 days with no relief (as I knew would happen). I didn't want to do anything. It was proposed in one of my seasons of depression and exhaustion. Working two jobs, navigating the ups and downs associated with getting into counseling again, and struggling with friendships that had had their ups and downs that I still haven't fully healed from.
Eventually I agreed to go. One night I got this sudden wander lust and one of my bucket list destinations just so happened to be Chicago. Big Red had suggested 2 places and I immediately jumped on the "Chicago train". As we proceeded to plan, buy tickets, and get things in order, I realized (slowly) that Chicago is where the Divergent stories took place!
We started picking places we wanted to go and I chose the John Hancock Building (360 Chicago now) and the Navy Pier. The Pier is where Tris dominated capture the flag by climbing up the ferris wheel and Tris ziplines with the Dauntless Born initiates from the top of the John Hancock building (I think, don't quote me on that). Whatever, the John Hancock building had AMAZING views of the Pier and the rest of Chicago, especially at night, which is when we went.
My mom had often described her college experience as a very "romantic" time in her life. She came from a family that did not go to college, where she grew up without food most days. When she went to college, she was so excited and in unbelief that she had made it that far.
I never understood that feeling, until I got to Chicago. It felt like coming home. Not because I'm from there, or because I had ever been there, but it seemed like a place that had provided a backdrop to a story that got me through so many rough times. Basically, I'm secretly super sentimental and I was processing how far I had come from the time I first started attempting to watch Divergent and the Hunger Games Series to get to the point where I am now.
I did not share this reason for wanting to go to the Navy Pier, or Chicago for that matter, until my last night there with my friends. There was a time that I relied on them too much for support in my immediate post-trauma period, and I ended up overwhelming Beauty. When I had originally told Big Red what had happened to me, she cried in the middle of the mall as strangers strolled by and stared at us. Big Red does not cry, and I made her cry. Because of these experiences, I felt like I needed to avoid telling people my story. I didn't want to burden anyone with this overwhelming, crushing pain. It broke my heart to feel like I had hurt others because I shared my story with them. Looking back, I told Beauty far too much and "word vomited" my pain onto her. As far as Big Red goes, she was simply hurt because I had been hurt so horrifically and she was joining with me to feel that pain. She was mourning the injustices forced upon me. I didn't break her, she was validating how unfair it was for anyone, let alone her friend, to have to go through that. Especially from my first ever boyfriends.
I am now learning to be vulnerable and to share, without over-sharing. By sharing my reasoning for wanting to go to Chicago and see the Navy Pier after they had already agreed to go, they were able to share in my gratefulness and growth. They joined in my gladness because they had walked the most raw parts of my journey with me.
I can see G-d moving in my life friends. It's been awhile since I had been able to see it, but He's showing up so clearly I'm often dumbfounded.
For those that may/may not know, I love the Divergent series and the Hunger Games series. These movies had just released their first movies when I was newly going through the after effects of my first sexual assault from exboyfriend and the problems following Country Boy's suicide.
At first, I could not handle these movies. They are intense. Divergent has a scene where Tris is attacked by 3 guys who attempt to throw her into this cavern to her death. Tris also experiences the aftermath of a friend committing suicide.
After a couple of tries of watching the movies (yes, it took me multiple times of watching a few minutes at a time before I could get through the movies. However, once I got through them, I began to watch them over and over. I felt comforted by them, but could not peg why such dark movies meant so much to me and were able to comfort me so well.
After months and months of thinking about it, I came to this conclusion: I felt like Tris and Katniss.
They were experiencing constant war; I was fighting an epic battle of my own. They were outcasts with something to fight for; I too felt like an outcast with things to do in my life and something to fight for. They experienced much heartache, trauma, and flashbacks; sound familiar to anything I have written about? These young women survived, against all odds, terrible circumstances. I survived a friend's suicide, multiple sexual assaults/rapes, self harm, suicide attempts, domestic violence, loss of friends, college (against all odds, and nursing school was difficult without the addition of my PTSD), and yet I continued on.
When Big Red first suggested taking a trip, I didn't want to go. I didn't want to spend the money and go be triggered for a solid 4 days with no relief (as I knew would happen). I didn't want to do anything. It was proposed in one of my seasons of depression and exhaustion. Working two jobs, navigating the ups and downs associated with getting into counseling again, and struggling with friendships that had had their ups and downs that I still haven't fully healed from.
Eventually I agreed to go. One night I got this sudden wander lust and one of my bucket list destinations just so happened to be Chicago. Big Red had suggested 2 places and I immediately jumped on the "Chicago train". As we proceeded to plan, buy tickets, and get things in order, I realized (slowly) that Chicago is where the Divergent stories took place!
We started picking places we wanted to go and I chose the John Hancock Building (360 Chicago now) and the Navy Pier. The Pier is where Tris dominated capture the flag by climbing up the ferris wheel and Tris ziplines with the Dauntless Born initiates from the top of the John Hancock building (I think, don't quote me on that). Whatever, the John Hancock building had AMAZING views of the Pier and the rest of Chicago, especially at night, which is when we went.
My mom had often described her college experience as a very "romantic" time in her life. She came from a family that did not go to college, where she grew up without food most days. When she went to college, she was so excited and in unbelief that she had made it that far.
I never understood that feeling, until I got to Chicago. It felt like coming home. Not because I'm from there, or because I had ever been there, but it seemed like a place that had provided a backdrop to a story that got me through so many rough times. Basically, I'm secretly super sentimental and I was processing how far I had come from the time I first started attempting to watch Divergent and the Hunger Games Series to get to the point where I am now.
I did not share this reason for wanting to go to the Navy Pier, or Chicago for that matter, until my last night there with my friends. There was a time that I relied on them too much for support in my immediate post-trauma period, and I ended up overwhelming Beauty. When I had originally told Big Red what had happened to me, she cried in the middle of the mall as strangers strolled by and stared at us. Big Red does not cry, and I made her cry. Because of these experiences, I felt like I needed to avoid telling people my story. I didn't want to burden anyone with this overwhelming, crushing pain. It broke my heart to feel like I had hurt others because I shared my story with them. Looking back, I told Beauty far too much and "word vomited" my pain onto her. As far as Big Red goes, she was simply hurt because I had been hurt so horrifically and she was joining with me to feel that pain. She was mourning the injustices forced upon me. I didn't break her, she was validating how unfair it was for anyone, let alone her friend, to have to go through that. Especially from my first ever boyfriends.
I am now learning to be vulnerable and to share, without over-sharing. By sharing my reasoning for wanting to go to Chicago and see the Navy Pier after they had already agreed to go, they were able to share in my gratefulness and growth. They joined in my gladness because they had walked the most raw parts of my journey with me.
I can see G-d moving in my life friends. It's been awhile since I had been able to see it, but He's showing up so clearly I'm often dumbfounded.
Saturday, February 17, 2018
Low Pressure System = Raining Babies
I went to a hot springs resort for a few days with my mom and brother about 2 weeks ago. Everything at work was fine before work, but when I started back with labor and delivery... the unit broke. We had so many emergency situations, babies that were not at all tolerating labor, and excessive amounts of blood. Of the last 8 days, I worked 7 and most of those were spent with me stressing over the moms and babies around me. I don't know what happened!!!
We had a low pressure system/pretty bad snowstorm role in and had 6 deliveries in one night and 3 as soon as shift change was complete in the morning. An emergency c section nearly every night and sometimes 2. We had several OB hemorrhages and even bleeding moms come back into the hospital from being at home.
This was my week and I'm so glad it is starting to simmer down for the patients. Now we just have to deal with our staff being sick and recovering from this ridiculous flu that has taken over everybody.
Meanwhile, I've felt so much lighter in my person struggles with sexual assault and trauma, plus the bullshit exBest Friend pulled.
I texted him, because he had been on my heart for awhile, but that ended quickly. He started making jokes about "doing it again" and saying it was a "fun night". Utter betrayal. I guess I was hoping for understanding, for support, for anything of what I though he had been. I needed the guy that drove me to the police station and waited in the lobby for 5 hours. I needed the friend that fought so hard to make me feel better and helped me to study when freshman year of college was getting to be too much.
I don't understand how I held out for his friendship for so long. I've struggled for so long with the way that he's treated me, and others, and his philosophies of life. He was never abusive or mean, but he definitely expected others to take care of him, even though he's a grown ass adult. He's one of those people for other people having millions of dollars, and he wants to live the rich life, but he's not about to go work a different job where he can work up the ladder. Nor would he want to work anything more than his max of 8-4 or 9-5, but let's be real here, he gets out a few hours early every day because he's salary. Then he expected me to make time, out of working 2 night shift jobs with shifts of 12 hours (so essentially, he wanted me to sleep a mere 4 hours a day for 6-7 days of the week). Plus, I was supposed to pay for me and/or him, when we went out places.
Moral of the story, it's been rough because I miss what life used to be, but I must have been delusional about what kind of friendship we had. Think about it, he only hung out with me because he wanted to date me. It's impressive to keep that crap going for over 5 years, but it helped that the crush took a little while to develop in college, and in nursing school, I didn't see him much. Then he had a long term girlfriend. So, what was our friendship anyway?
Lately, between my support group, personal counseling, bible study, and various other places, it seems as though I need to share my story. I'm trying to be articulate about what has happened, but more than the trauma, I was to articulate what G-d has done to get me through. I feel like I've come further in my healing in the past couple of weeks, after weeks of hardcore, constant wrestling with G-d. The yelling at Him; crying, scratch that, sobbing so hard that I couldn't breathe; and otherwise wracking my brain and demanding He tell me why things happened to me the way that they did. Begging Him for peace and comfort and help. I'm still working on some stuff, and He's still showing me things and working on me too. It'll take the rest of my life, but for the first time since Country Boy died (in March 2014), I feel like I can breathe. I feel like I am now being challenged to know and be able to explain why I have the hope and faith in G-d that I do, despite what's happened.
We had a low pressure system/pretty bad snowstorm role in and had 6 deliveries in one night and 3 as soon as shift change was complete in the morning. An emergency c section nearly every night and sometimes 2. We had several OB hemorrhages and even bleeding moms come back into the hospital from being at home.
This was my week and I'm so glad it is starting to simmer down for the patients. Now we just have to deal with our staff being sick and recovering from this ridiculous flu that has taken over everybody.
Meanwhile, I've felt so much lighter in my person struggles with sexual assault and trauma, plus the bullshit exBest Friend pulled.
I texted him, because he had been on my heart for awhile, but that ended quickly. He started making jokes about "doing it again" and saying it was a "fun night". Utter betrayal. I guess I was hoping for understanding, for support, for anything of what I though he had been. I needed the guy that drove me to the police station and waited in the lobby for 5 hours. I needed the friend that fought so hard to make me feel better and helped me to study when freshman year of college was getting to be too much.
I don't understand how I held out for his friendship for so long. I've struggled for so long with the way that he's treated me, and others, and his philosophies of life. He was never abusive or mean, but he definitely expected others to take care of him, even though he's a grown ass adult. He's one of those people for other people having millions of dollars, and he wants to live the rich life, but he's not about to go work a different job where he can work up the ladder. Nor would he want to work anything more than his max of 8-4 or 9-5, but let's be real here, he gets out a few hours early every day because he's salary. Then he expected me to make time, out of working 2 night shift jobs with shifts of 12 hours (so essentially, he wanted me to sleep a mere 4 hours a day for 6-7 days of the week). Plus, I was supposed to pay for me and/or him, when we went out places.
Moral of the story, it's been rough because I miss what life used to be, but I must have been delusional about what kind of friendship we had. Think about it, he only hung out with me because he wanted to date me. It's impressive to keep that crap going for over 5 years, but it helped that the crush took a little while to develop in college, and in nursing school, I didn't see him much. Then he had a long term girlfriend. So, what was our friendship anyway?
Lately, between my support group, personal counseling, bible study, and various other places, it seems as though I need to share my story. I'm trying to be articulate about what has happened, but more than the trauma, I was to articulate what G-d has done to get me through. I feel like I've come further in my healing in the past couple of weeks, after weeks of hardcore, constant wrestling with G-d. The yelling at Him; crying, scratch that, sobbing so hard that I couldn't breathe; and otherwise wracking my brain and demanding He tell me why things happened to me the way that they did. Begging Him for peace and comfort and help. I'm still working on some stuff, and He's still showing me things and working on me too. It'll take the rest of my life, but for the first time since Country Boy died (in March 2014), I feel like I can breathe. I feel like I am now being challenged to know and be able to explain why I have the hope and faith in G-d that I do, despite what's happened.
Monday, June 20, 2016
Odd Feeling
I've been feeling strange for quite some time now. It's hard to explain, but it's one of those things that you can just sense you, yourself, are "off".
Looking through Facebook tonight, because I have very little to do in Small Town without a current graduate nurse permit... anywho, it occured to me that I have had to train myself to live in the present moment for the last several months. Actually, about a year and a half now. Don't get me wrong, I'm excellent at "tuning out" and dissociating. However, my dreams of the future have been dampened dramatically to trying to focus on the "here and now" so that I can get myself through each new hour that I am left breathing here on this planet.
There are still days I wake up startled from nightmares.
I still have several panic attacks a week/month (on a good month).
My eating and self-care is not nearly where it needs to be.
Flashbacks still occur several times every hour.
I don't like people at the door, it freaks me out.
Even in a different state, the sight of trucks freak me the fuck out. Doesn't matter if they're red, green, purple, neon orange, any color of the damn rainbow; they freak me out... again...
Ragardless, these things have become my new normal. Flashbacks and nightmares and trucks still frighten me to my core, but I am not as notably shaken to everyone else because I've been battling this shit for over a year now.
For a year I haven't been able to dream for my future. I can't think about a time when I'll be completely free of these burdens because that day will never come, until the day I die. The suicidal thoughts have subsided a bit. I've been able to cut down on my self-harm and the way I used to take mass amounts of Benadryl, Tylenol, and Ibuprofen to self-sedate my brain into sleep for a few days. Most days, I am able to get myself something to eat and I'm drinking more water than wine, again.
Still, my hopes for a future are essentially nonexistent at this point. On one level, it's a little nice to not keep getting my hopes up, just to have them crushed year after year. On a deeper level, of me as a 22-year-old young "lady" (quotes because let's be honest, I'm a complete tomboy besides these past few months of ridiculous whiny posts) still wants to be able to dream about G-d providing a husband for me, a white gown and walking down the aisle. Someday having children, continuing on with my nursing education, teaching my children how to live with lots of animals and teaching them about the various things in life. This, teaching them about life, is usually where I shift into reverse and convince myself a future needs to not happen.
Getting to the point in my imagination that there is a husband and there are children is a long, long process. It used to be something to look forward to, ponder, and pray about. Now, it feels like pulling teeth and I find myself begging the Good L-rd to have someone who is patient and kind enough to be able to handle my crap baggage. Then it slows even more because I get to thinking about how being with me would not be fair to a single soul. That's about the time that all past roommates and all the negative comments about how badly I suck start playing through my mind...
Anyway, in the off chance I get to the point where I think about the things to teach my imaginary children, I come to a complete stop when I think about them being any older than an infant. How can I handle them going to a sleep over where I'm not there? What if the friend has older siblings? Are those older siblings supervised? What happens when we have to have the "sex talk"? Do I tell them about what happened to me? Will that cause trauma? Will that make them over-paranoid? When they are in high school/college, will they be able to stay safe from the horrors inflicted upon me? Will I have days where I stay in bed and call my mom or mother-in-law to deal with the kids because I simply can't? How do I explain to them the days when I'm weepy, dissociated, sad, numb, or completely unable to function? How is this fair to kids? How would this be fair to a husband?
How the hell is any of this shit fair to me? I didn't ask for any of these assaults.
A year and a half ago, I was going about life, excited to be a nurse and to see what my future had in store. One absolute shitty year changed it all for me.
I'm still taking my life hour-by-hour, sometimes I work myself up to a day-by-day mentality. Those days, where I'm not living hour-by-hour, are surprisingly my "good" days.
Maybe someday I'll get to a point where I can dream about a future. Maybe, someday, I'll have a future.
June 12 was supposed to be my "wedding day". Haha, that was the date I picked for the wedding of exfiance and I. That day came and went and it was one of the best, most freeing days I've had in a long time. It was a day where I woke up knowing that I dodged a bomb. No, he was not bullet to dodge, he was a fucking bomb!!! I'm by no means completely safe, and I have a long way to go before I am healed, but I am free. Praise the L-rd for that.
Looking through Facebook tonight, because I have very little to do in Small Town without a current graduate nurse permit... anywho, it occured to me that I have had to train myself to live in the present moment for the last several months. Actually, about a year and a half now. Don't get me wrong, I'm excellent at "tuning out" and dissociating. However, my dreams of the future have been dampened dramatically to trying to focus on the "here and now" so that I can get myself through each new hour that I am left breathing here on this planet.
There are still days I wake up startled from nightmares.
I still have several panic attacks a week/month (on a good month).
My eating and self-care is not nearly where it needs to be.
Flashbacks still occur several times every hour.
I don't like people at the door, it freaks me out.
Even in a different state, the sight of trucks freak me the fuck out. Doesn't matter if they're red, green, purple, neon orange, any color of the damn rainbow; they freak me out... again...
Ragardless, these things have become my new normal. Flashbacks and nightmares and trucks still frighten me to my core, but I am not as notably shaken to everyone else because I've been battling this shit for over a year now.
For a year I haven't been able to dream for my future. I can't think about a time when I'll be completely free of these burdens because that day will never come, until the day I die. The suicidal thoughts have subsided a bit. I've been able to cut down on my self-harm and the way I used to take mass amounts of Benadryl, Tylenol, and Ibuprofen to self-sedate my brain into sleep for a few days. Most days, I am able to get myself something to eat and I'm drinking more water than wine, again.
Still, my hopes for a future are essentially nonexistent at this point. On one level, it's a little nice to not keep getting my hopes up, just to have them crushed year after year. On a deeper level, of me as a 22-year-old young "lady" (quotes because let's be honest, I'm a complete tomboy besides these past few months of ridiculous whiny posts) still wants to be able to dream about G-d providing a husband for me, a white gown and walking down the aisle. Someday having children, continuing on with my nursing education, teaching my children how to live with lots of animals and teaching them about the various things in life. This, teaching them about life, is usually where I shift into reverse and convince myself a future needs to not happen.
Getting to the point in my imagination that there is a husband and there are children is a long, long process. It used to be something to look forward to, ponder, and pray about. Now, it feels like pulling teeth and I find myself begging the Good L-rd to have someone who is patient and kind enough to be able to handle my crap baggage. Then it slows even more because I get to thinking about how being with me would not be fair to a single soul. That's about the time that all past roommates and all the negative comments about how badly I suck start playing through my mind...
Anyway, in the off chance I get to the point where I think about the things to teach my imaginary children, I come to a complete stop when I think about them being any older than an infant. How can I handle them going to a sleep over where I'm not there? What if the friend has older siblings? Are those older siblings supervised? What happens when we have to have the "sex talk"? Do I tell them about what happened to me? Will that cause trauma? Will that make them over-paranoid? When they are in high school/college, will they be able to stay safe from the horrors inflicted upon me? Will I have days where I stay in bed and call my mom or mother-in-law to deal with the kids because I simply can't? How do I explain to them the days when I'm weepy, dissociated, sad, numb, or completely unable to function? How is this fair to kids? How would this be fair to a husband?
How the hell is any of this shit fair to me? I didn't ask for any of these assaults.
A year and a half ago, I was going about life, excited to be a nurse and to see what my future had in store. One absolute shitty year changed it all for me.
I'm still taking my life hour-by-hour, sometimes I work myself up to a day-by-day mentality. Those days, where I'm not living hour-by-hour, are surprisingly my "good" days.
Maybe someday I'll get to a point where I can dream about a future. Maybe, someday, I'll have a future.
June 12 was supposed to be my "wedding day". Haha, that was the date I picked for the wedding of exfiance and I. That day came and went and it was one of the best, most freeing days I've had in a long time. It was a day where I woke up knowing that I dodged a bomb. No, he was not bullet to dodge, he was a fucking bomb!!! I'm by no means completely safe, and I have a long way to go before I am healed, but I am free. Praise the L-rd for that.
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Life After Sexual Assault
I feel like I scare my friends, and you all in blog land, on a regular basis by the words I put forth from my brain. There are ridiculous amounts of anger, explicit language, and some emotions that have never been put on a radar for humans and have no labels for them.
I hate some things that should be beautiful. I despise my body for the things others have done to it. And, let's face it, I'm a regular downer. I'm processing life and I went from a more up-beat person to one filled with rage and pain.
Today, I read an article by Bethany about birthing after sexual assault. In fact, I think that's the name of the article... You can see how well my brain is working tonight...
She mentions many similar emotions to what I express, but she simply names them to keep focus on her goal. Her goal was to explain how birth actually helped her heal and see the beauty in her body. Her body is not a toy or piece of amusement for some person. Her body grew and housed a tiny, brand-new human being. He body produces milk to feed said infant. Her body is a work of art that produces and sustains life. It brought about her daughter, who is proof that goodness comes from sex. She is with a man who loves and appreciates her and does not take her body for granted. She is in a stable, committed relationship full of love and that love resulted in a baby, whom she absolutely loves.
While, at this point in my "healing" process, I don't fully trust that my body will be loved and respected the way I so desired to be treated, her article brings to light some important details that were absent from my irrational rant from last night.
1) Sex is supposed to be wonderful, fun, healthy, and an expression of love.
2) Such sex is possible after sexual assault and rape.
3) Having a child may not re-traumatize a sexual assault victim. In some ways it might, but it may also help to empower the woman and prove to herself how strong she is.
4) Healthy relationships exist (though I'm not certain I've really seen one...)
5) My negative emotions are okay and understandable after what has been done. If you've gone through a similar experience, it is okay to be upset and angry and frustrated. Just remember not to take it out on those who love and cherish you. Those in your life who are trying to help you heal should not be hurt on your path to healing.
I'm still not convinced sex will ever be a positive experience in my life, but I'm 21. I might have a lot more life to live and G-d may choose to prove me wrong and make it okay someday...
For right now I don't like it. It makes me angry thinking about it or hearing about it.
My poor dear friend got to hear a shortened, sweetened version of my rant today. I don't think she was prepared. I told her I hated it and that it has completely ruined my life. She was shocked and asked if I ever liked it. I told her I never did because it was never my choice. She didn't know how to respond. I didn't expect her to know how. I ended the conversation on a few jokes, but I think I upset her.
Maybe someday I'll learn to keep my thoughts to myself. In the meantime I get to deal with the aftermath of my runaway mouth, broken brain, and abused body.
I hate some things that should be beautiful. I despise my body for the things others have done to it. And, let's face it, I'm a regular downer. I'm processing life and I went from a more up-beat person to one filled with rage and pain.
Today, I read an article by Bethany about birthing after sexual assault. In fact, I think that's the name of the article... You can see how well my brain is working tonight...
She mentions many similar emotions to what I express, but she simply names them to keep focus on her goal. Her goal was to explain how birth actually helped her heal and see the beauty in her body. Her body is not a toy or piece of amusement for some person. Her body grew and housed a tiny, brand-new human being. He body produces milk to feed said infant. Her body is a work of art that produces and sustains life. It brought about her daughter, who is proof that goodness comes from sex. She is with a man who loves and appreciates her and does not take her body for granted. She is in a stable, committed relationship full of love and that love resulted in a baby, whom she absolutely loves.
While, at this point in my "healing" process, I don't fully trust that my body will be loved and respected the way I so desired to be treated, her article brings to light some important details that were absent from my irrational rant from last night.
1) Sex is supposed to be wonderful, fun, healthy, and an expression of love.
2) Such sex is possible after sexual assault and rape.
3) Having a child may not re-traumatize a sexual assault victim. In some ways it might, but it may also help to empower the woman and prove to herself how strong she is.
4) Healthy relationships exist (though I'm not certain I've really seen one...)
5) My negative emotions are okay and understandable after what has been done. If you've gone through a similar experience, it is okay to be upset and angry and frustrated. Just remember not to take it out on those who love and cherish you. Those in your life who are trying to help you heal should not be hurt on your path to healing.
I'm still not convinced sex will ever be a positive experience in my life, but I'm 21. I might have a lot more life to live and G-d may choose to prove me wrong and make it okay someday...
For right now I don't like it. It makes me angry thinking about it or hearing about it.
My poor dear friend got to hear a shortened, sweetened version of my rant today. I don't think she was prepared. I told her I hated it and that it has completely ruined my life. She was shocked and asked if I ever liked it. I told her I never did because it was never my choice. She didn't know how to respond. I didn't expect her to know how. I ended the conversation on a few jokes, but I think I upset her.
Maybe someday I'll learn to keep my thoughts to myself. In the meantime I get to deal with the aftermath of my runaway mouth, broken brain, and abused body.
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Acceptance
Turns out Country Boy was cremated, but then buried. So, when I went right after his death in 2014, I could have visited him. However, they told me he had just gotten cremated and that they were sorry. Whatever, not a huge deal. Exfiance called again because I told him he didn't have a grave. Turns out he does. His ashes were buried near his dad's and the rest of his family that had passed away already.
When I called to see where he was, the lady told me to come into the office when I arrived and she would give me a map. So I went in and got the map. I wondered around in the area he was supposed to be for nearly 20 minutes and couldn't find him. So, I sat at an unmarked plot wondering if he had a headstone because they hadn't gotten one for his dad for about a year after he died because the wife just couldn't handle making it that official. After sitting for another 15 minutes and feeling stupid because my mind was wondering and wondering how they buried couples... I decided I should leave. As I was walking back to my car, I looked down and finally found his headstone.
It wasn't where I was told to go, the map kinda lied. As soon as I saw it my stomach dropped and tears flooded my eyes. I sat at his grave for over an hour thinking about him, his dad, his mom and sister who were now left with no guys from their family. I yelled at him for leaving me and not taking me with him. I told him we could have gone together if he would have taken me for a car ride. I apologized to him for being mean and I apologized because I believe I may have said the last thing that caused him to go over the edge and finally go through with it.
I was supposed to have hung out with him a couple days before he died but I cancelled because my other friends cancelled on me and I was "going out" with Best Friend at the time but didn't want to tell Country Boy. So, when CB asked if I wanted to hang out since I was cancelled on, I said "no thanks". That was it. That was the last time I talked to him and he died a few days later. I know he was struggling with his dad being gone and he seemed to have severe depression. He had moved out of his mom's house because of too many memories of his dad. He moved out to where my uncle and Exboyfriend live (also where exfiance lives, coincidentally enough) with his aunt and uncle because he loved the country. Well, that was it.
I had wanted to text him those few days and I had urges to, but I never did because he usually ignored my texts when I texted first. I don't know if he didn't want to talk to me, he was trying to make it seem like he was busy, or if he really was busy. I spent so many months waiting for him to text me. He would contact me, talk with me for a couple days, then go completely radio silent for several weeks. That was hard for me to live with. I was sick of getting my hopes up and checking my phone every 5 seconds because I was waiting for him to talk to me again. However, I should have texted him those days. I was waiting for his birthday. I found out a week after my 20th birthday and a few days before his that he died. Nobody told me, I just found his obituary online.
I told exfiance (Jacob) that he was not allowed to tell me that being sad that CB died was selfish. I'm allowed to be angry and sad and cry because I am grieving still. It's been almost two years and I still think about him almost every day. I still see him in the faces of a lot of actors and people I run into on a daily basis. I see his truck occasionally and I remember him when I do some of the stuff he used to like to do. Jacob finally told me okay that I'm allowed to cry and I guess he didn't realize I blamed myself (I didn't need his permission but he needs to not tell people how to feel!). I talked with him last night and told him the story at the beginning of this post. I thought I had told him all this but he said he didn't know before that I blamed myself. After that he understood why I'm angry and sad and cry so much. He said I should be understanding about why the kid killed himself, but I told him that I'm going to feel how I feel. I understand he was going through rough stuff and had depression before but it was getting worse now that his dad had died unexpectedly, but I'm sure there was much more going on. I'm not apologizing for that anymore and I'm not pushing it away so that I can be strong for other people. Now it's my time to sort out my head because there is too much all mixed up in there right now.
The hour I spent at CB's grave was good. It was healing. I felt stuff that I haven't felt in a long time and I was able to cry. I don't know why, but I've been needing to very for a long time but the tears won't come. I feel so numb and just there but not present. It's weird to me to want to cry and also weird that I cannot. Yesterday I did. I yelled and apologized and just sat in remembrance. I also said sorry for not coming sooner. Someone left a cigarette on his grave. It was unlit so I know it was on purpose. I know he wouldn't want flowers so a cigarette made a lot of sense. He wasn't even 20 yet. I have a feeling I'll probably go there a lot in the next few months when I need a place to think. I used to drive up into the woods and think of him often, but it somehow feels better to imagine him being there and able to hear me.
I had this thought about a song I haven't heard since I was a child. Since I was so little, I knew it was a sad song but I never understood it. At the grave I just had "Whiskey Lullaby" playing over and over in my head. Why is it helping me feel better? I have no clue. I have played it nearly a hundred times since the visit and it helps me more and more each time.
I don't know why I keep getting songs popping up in my head. I don't know if the L-rd is putting them there or if my brain is making connections or spazzing out or what. But these songs are helping me little by little.
When I called to see where he was, the lady told me to come into the office when I arrived and she would give me a map. So I went in and got the map. I wondered around in the area he was supposed to be for nearly 20 minutes and couldn't find him. So, I sat at an unmarked plot wondering if he had a headstone because they hadn't gotten one for his dad for about a year after he died because the wife just couldn't handle making it that official. After sitting for another 15 minutes and feeling stupid because my mind was wondering and wondering how they buried couples... I decided I should leave. As I was walking back to my car, I looked down and finally found his headstone.
It wasn't where I was told to go, the map kinda lied. As soon as I saw it my stomach dropped and tears flooded my eyes. I sat at his grave for over an hour thinking about him, his dad, his mom and sister who were now left with no guys from their family. I yelled at him for leaving me and not taking me with him. I told him we could have gone together if he would have taken me for a car ride. I apologized to him for being mean and I apologized because I believe I may have said the last thing that caused him to go over the edge and finally go through with it.
I was supposed to have hung out with him a couple days before he died but I cancelled because my other friends cancelled on me and I was "going out" with Best Friend at the time but didn't want to tell Country Boy. So, when CB asked if I wanted to hang out since I was cancelled on, I said "no thanks". That was it. That was the last time I talked to him and he died a few days later. I know he was struggling with his dad being gone and he seemed to have severe depression. He had moved out of his mom's house because of too many memories of his dad. He moved out to where my uncle and Exboyfriend live (also where exfiance lives, coincidentally enough) with his aunt and uncle because he loved the country. Well, that was it.
I had wanted to text him those few days and I had urges to, but I never did because he usually ignored my texts when I texted first. I don't know if he didn't want to talk to me, he was trying to make it seem like he was busy, or if he really was busy. I spent so many months waiting for him to text me. He would contact me, talk with me for a couple days, then go completely radio silent for several weeks. That was hard for me to live with. I was sick of getting my hopes up and checking my phone every 5 seconds because I was waiting for him to talk to me again. However, I should have texted him those days. I was waiting for his birthday. I found out a week after my 20th birthday and a few days before his that he died. Nobody told me, I just found his obituary online.
I told exfiance (Jacob) that he was not allowed to tell me that being sad that CB died was selfish. I'm allowed to be angry and sad and cry because I am grieving still. It's been almost two years and I still think about him almost every day. I still see him in the faces of a lot of actors and people I run into on a daily basis. I see his truck occasionally and I remember him when I do some of the stuff he used to like to do. Jacob finally told me okay that I'm allowed to cry and I guess he didn't realize I blamed myself (I didn't need his permission but he needs to not tell people how to feel!). I talked with him last night and told him the story at the beginning of this post. I thought I had told him all this but he said he didn't know before that I blamed myself. After that he understood why I'm angry and sad and cry so much. He said I should be understanding about why the kid killed himself, but I told him that I'm going to feel how I feel. I understand he was going through rough stuff and had depression before but it was getting worse now that his dad had died unexpectedly, but I'm sure there was much more going on. I'm not apologizing for that anymore and I'm not pushing it away so that I can be strong for other people. Now it's my time to sort out my head because there is too much all mixed up in there right now.
The hour I spent at CB's grave was good. It was healing. I felt stuff that I haven't felt in a long time and I was able to cry. I don't know why, but I've been needing to very for a long time but the tears won't come. I feel so numb and just there but not present. It's weird to me to want to cry and also weird that I cannot. Yesterday I did. I yelled and apologized and just sat in remembrance. I also said sorry for not coming sooner. Someone left a cigarette on his grave. It was unlit so I know it was on purpose. I know he wouldn't want flowers so a cigarette made a lot of sense. He wasn't even 20 yet. I have a feeling I'll probably go there a lot in the next few months when I need a place to think. I used to drive up into the woods and think of him often, but it somehow feels better to imagine him being there and able to hear me.
I had this thought about a song I haven't heard since I was a child. Since I was so little, I knew it was a sad song but I never understood it. At the grave I just had "Whiskey Lullaby" playing over and over in my head. Why is it helping me feel better? I have no clue. I have played it nearly a hundred times since the visit and it helps me more and more each time.
"Whiskey Lullaby"
She put him out like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette
She broke his heart he spent his whole life tryin' to forget
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind
Until the night
[1st Chorus]
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees
We found him with his face down in the pillow
With a note that said I'll love her till I die
And when we buried him beneath the willow
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby
(Sing lullaby)
The rumors flew but nobody knew how much she blamed herself
For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind
Until the night
[2nd Chorus]
She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees
We found her with her face down in the pillow
Clinging to his picture for dear life
We laid her next to him beneath the willow
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby
She broke his heart he spent his whole life tryin' to forget
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind
Until the night
[1st Chorus]
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees
We found him with his face down in the pillow
With a note that said I'll love her till I die
And when we buried him beneath the willow
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby
(Sing lullaby)
The rumors flew but nobody knew how much she blamed herself
For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind
Until the night
[2nd Chorus]
She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees
We found her with her face down in the pillow
Clinging to his picture for dear life
We laid her next to him beneath the willow
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby
I don't know why I keep getting songs popping up in my head. I don't know if the L-rd is putting them there or if my brain is making connections or spazzing out or what. But these songs are helping me little by little.
Friday, July 4, 2014
Healing at Random
Months after Country Boy's death and my subsequent daily breakdowns for a couple of months, G-d has been showing me how far the grieving has come in the most random ways. Yes, I am still heart-broken that it happened and I am selfishly mad that he left, but I've come a long way.
Today while catching up on some of my favorite blogs, I came across this article by Shepherd of the Gurneys. He then added a link to Eat, Think, and Be Merry's article, "A Perspective on Suicide." Needless to say, it brought tears to my eyes and my heart is currently feeling a bit bruised, but I'm reminded that G-d has brought me so very far. He also has the mercy to give me a heart that still cares and can still be broken, though. Even though it sucks right now, I'm glad that I can feel sad and be able to mourn the death of a young man I had just barely met.
I encourage you to read the article linked above. One quote says, "Suicide was not a choice he made, but rather a choice he happened onto when his pain was greater than his ability to cope." How fitting for CB. Unfortunately, I am still under the impression that I may have been a slight adage to the pain, but I don't think it was my fault.
I'm gonna go grab some tissues...
Today while catching up on some of my favorite blogs, I came across this article by Shepherd of the Gurneys. He then added a link to Eat, Think, and Be Merry's article, "A Perspective on Suicide." Needless to say, it brought tears to my eyes and my heart is currently feeling a bit bruised, but I'm reminded that G-d has brought me so very far. He also has the mercy to give me a heart that still cares and can still be broken, though. Even though it sucks right now, I'm glad that I can feel sad and be able to mourn the death of a young man I had just barely met.
I encourage you to read the article linked above. One quote says, "Suicide was not a choice he made, but rather a choice he happened onto when his pain was greater than his ability to cope." How fitting for CB. Unfortunately, I am still under the impression that I may have been a slight adage to the pain, but I don't think it was my fault.
I'm gonna go grab some tissues...
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