Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Pema said
To pick one thing-something we do everyday obsessively-and not do it for a short period of time. Two days. Try and discover what you're trying to avoid. I m going to stop plucking chin hairs with my pointy tweezers.
I was thinking yesterday about past therapists telling me that I was a victim and not to blame, not complicit in the incest forced upon me by my brother. From age five to age twelve I told people. I was rewriting my own history. The image of a twelve year old seems innocent free from blame. I was either a freshman or sophomore so I was either 13 or 14. I wanted to distance myself...from what? Blame, persecution. My own most likely. Alice I think was trying to help me deal with all the complicated feelings and I was resisting my own forgiveness. One therapist that Alice sent me to said "I can see the pain around your eyes. It represents the part of the experience that was pleasurable." How can a victim enjoy any part of the abuse experience?
Because he was paying attention to me. It was never overtly violent or forced. Coerced but as an adult looking back it has taken years to understand that there is a kind of violence in being coerced.
I have distanced distracted ignored suffered because of self hate. Called myself names. Bad no good horrible deviant dirty girl. Obsessed with memories.
Therapists told me about boundaries. But I could not tell them - although I would imagine telling them- like a confessor seeking forgiveness. Imagining their kind and loving words assuring me I was not a monster I was normal and as good as anyone else. But I always felt crushed by the mere idea of speaking out loud my shame. And here at 59 I still am. All the journals and writing and therapy and not a word.
Therapists did not help me resolve the part of the experience that I desired. And I must have for the length of time it went on, and the ease with which I was able to end it. The last time -another lie- was when I heard his car come into the driveway. I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. A first. He found me and asked to come in. I said no. I said no and he went away and he never tried again.
Then the real pain comes from being sexualized so young. Seeking sexual pleasure with others around me, such as boys in junior high and even the family dog and cat. I was in a highly aroused state.
The greatest pain-shame- comes from the last incident. After my divorce, age 23. Willingly in my brother's bed. Fondling, masturbating but no penetration. Who was I that day?
Because he was paying attention to me. It was never overtly violent or forced. Coerced but as an adult looking back it has taken years to understand that there is a kind of violence in being coerced.
I have distanced distracted ignored suffered because of self hate. Called myself names. Bad no good horrible deviant dirty girl. Obsessed with memories.
Therapists told me about boundaries. But I could not tell them - although I would imagine telling them- like a confessor seeking forgiveness. Imagining their kind and loving words assuring me I was not a monster I was normal and as good as anyone else. But I always felt crushed by the mere idea of speaking out loud my shame. And here at 59 I still am. All the journals and writing and therapy and not a word.
Therapists did not help me resolve the part of the experience that I desired. And I must have for the length of time it went on, and the ease with which I was able to end it. The last time -another lie- was when I heard his car come into the driveway. I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. A first. He found me and asked to come in. I said no. I said no and he went away and he never tried again.
Then the real pain comes from being sexualized so young. Seeking sexual pleasure with others around me, such as boys in junior high and even the family dog and cat. I was in a highly aroused state.
The greatest pain-shame- comes from the last incident. After my divorce, age 23. Willingly in my brother's bed. Fondling, masturbating but no penetration. Who was I that day?
Friday, October 12, 2012
change
I want change, and changes
I am afraid of both.
Change is one thing you can count on. My dad taught me that.
I get within 2 pounds of being under 200 pounds and what do I do? I fall off the wagon and put back on weight and smoke pot every day wake and bake style for two whole weeks. For two years I was able to change..until I was working out 6 days a week. Have not gone in two weeks.
What feels good about it? The change of feeling. I don't feel as lonely. I am off the grid which oppresses me and triggers me with bad memories. Every day trauma images in my head. I would give almost anything to make them stop and go away forever. I think sometimes when I fantasize suicide ... it is to escape memory. I say fantasize because I would not commit suicide outright. Slowly kill myself through neglect is familiar. As much as I really liked the new margaret I did not know her.
Every day I can have my friend-a joint-hang with me and make it okay to live with my feelings. Your worst fears are your oldest ones.
No one would love me if they knew.
I am afraid of both.
Change is one thing you can count on. My dad taught me that.
I get within 2 pounds of being under 200 pounds and what do I do? I fall off the wagon and put back on weight and smoke pot every day wake and bake style for two whole weeks. For two years I was able to change..until I was working out 6 days a week. Have not gone in two weeks.
What feels good about it? The change of feeling. I don't feel as lonely. I am off the grid which oppresses me and triggers me with bad memories. Every day trauma images in my head. I would give almost anything to make them stop and go away forever. I think sometimes when I fantasize suicide ... it is to escape memory. I say fantasize because I would not commit suicide outright. Slowly kill myself through neglect is familiar. As much as I really liked the new margaret I did not know her.
Every day I can have my friend-a joint-hang with me and make it okay to live with my feelings. Your worst fears are your oldest ones.
No one would love me if they knew.
Monday, October 8, 2012
when will it stop being attractive?
I felt good. Sometimes almost giddy. Those are not familiar feelings. I also felt very lonely. I usually do not feel lonely-not because I am surrounded by folks-but because I numb out not to feel lonely. I have learned that by being present I could feel the mass of my loneliness-I am 59-alone-living in a town anonymously-isolated-it is up to me to change that "state of being" but like a child I still "wait" for some other person to rescue me and make me happy-but it never happens. Odd I still wait.
I fell off the wagon again...a long destructive binge. I have been stoned since Friday September 28. It is now Oct, 8. Went to work as little as possible. Stopped working out. Ate what I wanted. Been hiding, numbing, disappearing, not showing up, sleeping, failing to medicate...I am again acting out. But it is so destructive and unhealthy. Kills me. Kills me. It is like a suicide slow but never the less deliberate. This feels familiar. I know this existence and it sucks. I hate it. Why do I keep returning to it? This where I feel ugly and ashamed of me just for existing. It is a most hateful place.
I will never win any prizes..all my youthful dreams unfulfilled. My usual game plan? Run. Run away from this physical place and your feelings. But your feelings come with you. You have to run away again to get away from the feelings that will come with you.I have fantasies lately of quitting, packing, cashing in 20K 401K and going home to Buffalo. Find a job back home. But home seems a tired place. And by the time I get to that thought I know I will never do that. But I will always want to.
I fell off the wagon again...a long destructive binge. I have been stoned since Friday September 28. It is now Oct, 8. Went to work as little as possible. Stopped working out. Ate what I wanted. Been hiding, numbing, disappearing, not showing up, sleeping, failing to medicate...I am again acting out. But it is so destructive and unhealthy. Kills me. Kills me. It is like a suicide slow but never the less deliberate. This feels familiar. I know this existence and it sucks. I hate it. Why do I keep returning to it? This where I feel ugly and ashamed of me just for existing. It is a most hateful place.
I will never win any prizes..all my youthful dreams unfulfilled. My usual game plan? Run. Run away from this physical place and your feelings. But your feelings come with you. You have to run away again to get away from the feelings that will come with you.I have fantasies lately of quitting, packing, cashing in 20K 401K and going home to Buffalo. Find a job back home. But home seems a tired place. And by the time I get to that thought I know I will never do that. But I will always want to.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
whats goin on?
2009 zoom ahead to October 2012
Very much different and very much the same. Still at HRWC, six years now. I believe outside of Ujima and or HAG that is my longest stay at a job. I have not been in talk therapy for four years now. Another new record. My learning curve has been steep. For a year now, I have been involved with a meditation group, a once a week meeting that I enjoy and is of benefit. Asa died. Kate married Erin. Garland and Nancy have two little girls and are married. Sarah and George remain a couple. Carmen is in NYC, Robbie and Lorna both had cancer. I lost 70 pounds, lowered my bp, cholesterol, visit my doc every month, work out at rec center, have a personal trainer, take wellbrutin now for two years. I no longer take short acting/corrective insulin, and I take less than half of what I was taking of lantus/long acting insulin. Most helpful were the workshop classes that I took -three times- with Marilyn Migliore's and her Hunger Within Workshop.
It would appear that I have found compassion for my self. Maybe it is that the boogieman died. Never ever to return. I do believe that there is relief there for parts of myself that have remained afraid all these years right along and next to my forgiveness of and fondness for that same boogieman. The brother that I miss. Someday the universe willin-I will be older then him. If I live to be 66. I will have grown older, than my oldest brother. It is safe now to be angry towards him. I can't hurt him by hating him or being angry at him. Nothing to loose that I haven't already learned to live without.
I still doubt my self. I second guess. I mourn. I live in memory of past traumas.
Living in memory...
Very much different and very much the same. Still at HRWC, six years now. I believe outside of Ujima and or HAG that is my longest stay at a job. I have not been in talk therapy for four years now. Another new record. My learning curve has been steep. For a year now, I have been involved with a meditation group, a once a week meeting that I enjoy and is of benefit. Asa died. Kate married Erin. Garland and Nancy have two little girls and are married. Sarah and George remain a couple. Carmen is in NYC, Robbie and Lorna both had cancer. I lost 70 pounds, lowered my bp, cholesterol, visit my doc every month, work out at rec center, have a personal trainer, take wellbrutin now for two years. I no longer take short acting/corrective insulin, and I take less than half of what I was taking of lantus/long acting insulin. Most helpful were the workshop classes that I took -three times- with Marilyn Migliore's and her Hunger Within Workshop.
It would appear that I have found compassion for my self. Maybe it is that the boogieman died. Never ever to return. I do believe that there is relief there for parts of myself that have remained afraid all these years right along and next to my forgiveness of and fondness for that same boogieman. The brother that I miss. Someday the universe willin-I will be older then him. If I live to be 66. I will have grown older, than my oldest brother. It is safe now to be angry towards him. I can't hurt him by hating him or being angry at him. Nothing to loose that I haven't already learned to live without.
I still doubt my self. I second guess. I mourn. I live in memory of past traumas.
Living in memory...
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