Forgive me if I don't go into much detail in this post. Today was a very important, meaningful, as well as exhausting day. So I am very tired and as soon as I finish this post, I am going up to bed. And it's only 8pm.
Today I went with my therapist to the school where my trauma took place. I didnt sleep well at all last night. because I was so nervous, and in so much pain. I think I have a pinched nerve in my back. So I woke up this morning for therapy and I wasnt as nervous as I thought. So, as we drove up to the school, I kind of stopped breathing. It was...crazy. It looked pretty much the same. Then we started walking the grounds. And the first place we walked was to the side of the building where the rooms were that it happened. That was kind of a scary moment. My therapist peeked in the windows, while I just sort of looked around. And then I looked in the windows. And I saw the staircase that I used to go down to the basement where it happened. And it looked the same. Dark and dreary. And I had to step away at that point. That was really...intense. All the memories came flooding back. So then we walked around to where the art building and music building was, and the back yard (the school is an old mansion that was turned into a school. So it's not a typical looking school). And that was cool to reflect on like the good memories and things I had forgotten about. And then we walked back to the part of the building where the abuse took place. We sat down and I read out loud the letters I had written. I wrote one to my abuser, and one to my 11 year old self. That was hard. I had to stop and take deep breaths a couple of times. And, I just thought I was going to take the letters back with me. But my therapist was like, well why dont you rip them up and throw them in the dumpster (which was right near where we were sitting). And I hadn't thought of that... and honestly it made me a little bit sad. I felt like if I did that, then I was like...losing the parts of myself that had conquered my past and grown from it. I know that sounds strange. But then I thought, well I want to let go of the shame, guilt, and regret. And this would be appropriate. So I ripped them up and threw them in the dumpster. After I did that, I looked down on the ground...and there was a heart shaped rock. And I of course picked it up and took it with me. You know it's weird. I thought I was going to be like a super mess and overwhelmed. And in between jobs today I did sit in my car and cried for a while. I think it was just relief that I felt. Now I feel...tired, and proud.
So that was my day. I officially made the decision to cut back on therapy, and I am confident in my decision. So I won't be seeing my therapist until two weeks from now. I of course can email/call/text her if I need to. I see my dietitian tomorrow and that should go well. Things have been a little difficult with food lately, but nothing horrible. I am sure I will get back on track.
Today marks 8 months in recovery. I honestly have never felt better and as hopeful as I do now. It's amazing. Recovery is amazing. I am so proud of all the super hard work I have done, and am still doing. I never thought recovery was something I could do, or even deserved. But now I believe in myself and recovery. It just seems to keep getting better. Never imagined that!
Well, I am off to bed. Thank God tomorrow is Friday! My family and I are going to cut down a Christmas tree this weekend! I love Christmas time!
Showing posts with label sexual abuse survivor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexual abuse survivor. Show all posts
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Re-visiting the past
I saw my therapist yesterday. We talked about the email that I had sent her. Which was the same blog post I wrote last week about my trauma. I was terrified to talk about it. But she led me through it, and supported me the whole way through. It was tough. When talking about my trauma are the moments when I have the most trouble finding my voice, which makes sense I guess. I don't want to get into details on my blog. I don't really like to go into details about my abuse on the internet. Only 4 people in the world know exactly everything that happened. That would be me, the people who abused me, my current therapist, and my therapist from Remuda.
But it was a really hard session. I told her something I have never spoken of before. Something I beat myself up for. I realize that I still hold on to a lot of shame. I still blame myself. My therapist talked about how it was not my fault. My reaction of being paralyzed physically and emotionally, was something that occurs quite often to abuse victims. When she said that, it made sense. I can understand that. But I feel like I still need to get to the point where I can say to myself, "I did everything I could in those moments. I was just a little girl. It was his fault, not mine." I think I can get there one day. It will just take time.
I told my therapist about how lately I have been wanting to go back to the place it occurred. She thinks it's a good idea. She mentioned that maybe we can take a field trip together to do that one day. I might take her up on that offer if she truly meant it. I think it would be good to go back there and remember all the good things that happened there, not just the terrible things. I think I would be able to make peace with it, to forgive myself, to take a step further in my healing process.
I left therapy feeling better. But it didn't last long. I got to my first job and my anxiety re-surfaced. I was a mess. No appetite, trembling, unable to breathe, exhausted. I was miserable. I went to my second job, the house to babysit the kids. I had about 20 minutes before I had to walk up to the bus stop. So I did something that my therapist had suggested in our session that day. I laid down on the couch, put on my favorite relaxing Pandora station on my iPod touch, and tried to take some deep breaths. Within about a minute I was crying. I thought about how much I loathe talking about my trauma, even though I know it's what I need to do in order to fully heal. I thought about how much I just want to ignore it and run away from it. And then I started crying more because of how much I hate my anxiety. It's the worst feeling in the world in my opinion. I don't just suffer from your normal anxiety. I have an anxiety disorder and it absolutely sucks. It's more than just a feeling in your head, it attacks my body. Anxiety scares me more than any other feeling. It just pisses me off when it gets this bad. It makes me so angry. And so I was crying because I just want it to go away. And then I started crying because I was missing my grandmother. She passed away 11 years ago, but I guess talking about the abuse (which happened a year before she passed away) made me think of her. At this point I was practically sobbing. I had to pull myself together and go walk up to the bus stop. I was breathing easier, and my anxiety had decreased. And the cold weather outside was soothing. I was doing pretty well all throughout the rest of my time babysitting. And then when it was time to go home, my anxiety popped back up. It wasn't so much anxiety as it was, just pure exhaustion and sadness and being overwhelmed. I had already taken my as needed Klonopin dose when I got to work. And then when I got back to my house I took another dose. I'm allowed to take up to 3 a day, so it's no biggie that I took two. So I put on my sweatpants and hoodie and crawled under my covers and fell asleep. I slept for the next 4 hours. When I woke up, my anxiety was gone, but I started crying again. I stayed awake for a couple hours and then wrote an email to my therapist (the second one that day) and then went back to sleep.
Today has been better. No crying, almost though. My anxiety has been better, but not all the way gone. I was able to eat lunch without almost having a panic attack. Now I'm at my parent's house because we are going to my godmother's surprise birthday part in about an hour. That should be fun. My little sister is home from college this weekend, and it will be nice to see family tonight. I'm not too worried about the food. Hopefully it won't cause a lot of anxiety.
I texted one of my best friends, Michelle, today. I love that girl. She was at the walk last weekend. She told me how great of a week she has been having since the walk. I told her about my day yesterday and she was super supportive and understanding and caring. I told her that we HAVE to see each other over Christmas. I can't wait.
I don't have anything going on this weekend. I will probably sleep late both days and spend time with my dogs and my family and watch lots of TV and movies. I am getting a much needed massage on Monday morning from my good friend Karen. And then I have an appointment with my dietitian on Monday night. I am REALLY looking forward to that. I know it will be a good session. I will be opening up to her about my abuse for the first time. She is the most supportive and caring person I know and I know I will feel better after telling her.
That's all for now. My hope and belief in full recovery is still alive. As hard as the past couple of weeks have been, I still feel strong and have a will to fight and survive. It feels great.
But it was a really hard session. I told her something I have never spoken of before. Something I beat myself up for. I realize that I still hold on to a lot of shame. I still blame myself. My therapist talked about how it was not my fault. My reaction of being paralyzed physically and emotionally, was something that occurs quite often to abuse victims. When she said that, it made sense. I can understand that. But I feel like I still need to get to the point where I can say to myself, "I did everything I could in those moments. I was just a little girl. It was his fault, not mine." I think I can get there one day. It will just take time.
I told my therapist about how lately I have been wanting to go back to the place it occurred. She thinks it's a good idea. She mentioned that maybe we can take a field trip together to do that one day. I might take her up on that offer if she truly meant it. I think it would be good to go back there and remember all the good things that happened there, not just the terrible things. I think I would be able to make peace with it, to forgive myself, to take a step further in my healing process.
I left therapy feeling better. But it didn't last long. I got to my first job and my anxiety re-surfaced. I was a mess. No appetite, trembling, unable to breathe, exhausted. I was miserable. I went to my second job, the house to babysit the kids. I had about 20 minutes before I had to walk up to the bus stop. So I did something that my therapist had suggested in our session that day. I laid down on the couch, put on my favorite relaxing Pandora station on my iPod touch, and tried to take some deep breaths. Within about a minute I was crying. I thought about how much I loathe talking about my trauma, even though I know it's what I need to do in order to fully heal. I thought about how much I just want to ignore it and run away from it. And then I started crying more because of how much I hate my anxiety. It's the worst feeling in the world in my opinion. I don't just suffer from your normal anxiety. I have an anxiety disorder and it absolutely sucks. It's more than just a feeling in your head, it attacks my body. Anxiety scares me more than any other feeling. It just pisses me off when it gets this bad. It makes me so angry. And so I was crying because I just want it to go away. And then I started crying because I was missing my grandmother. She passed away 11 years ago, but I guess talking about the abuse (which happened a year before she passed away) made me think of her. At this point I was practically sobbing. I had to pull myself together and go walk up to the bus stop. I was breathing easier, and my anxiety had decreased. And the cold weather outside was soothing. I was doing pretty well all throughout the rest of my time babysitting. And then when it was time to go home, my anxiety popped back up. It wasn't so much anxiety as it was, just pure exhaustion and sadness and being overwhelmed. I had already taken my as needed Klonopin dose when I got to work. And then when I got back to my house I took another dose. I'm allowed to take up to 3 a day, so it's no biggie that I took two. So I put on my sweatpants and hoodie and crawled under my covers and fell asleep. I slept for the next 4 hours. When I woke up, my anxiety was gone, but I started crying again. I stayed awake for a couple hours and then wrote an email to my therapist (the second one that day) and then went back to sleep.
Today has been better. No crying, almost though. My anxiety has been better, but not all the way gone. I was able to eat lunch without almost having a panic attack. Now I'm at my parent's house because we are going to my godmother's surprise birthday part in about an hour. That should be fun. My little sister is home from college this weekend, and it will be nice to see family tonight. I'm not too worried about the food. Hopefully it won't cause a lot of anxiety.
I texted one of my best friends, Michelle, today. I love that girl. She was at the walk last weekend. She told me how great of a week she has been having since the walk. I told her about my day yesterday and she was super supportive and understanding and caring. I told her that we HAVE to see each other over Christmas. I can't wait.
I don't have anything going on this weekend. I will probably sleep late both days and spend time with my dogs and my family and watch lots of TV and movies. I am getting a much needed massage on Monday morning from my good friend Karen. And then I have an appointment with my dietitian on Monday night. I am REALLY looking forward to that. I know it will be a good session. I will be opening up to her about my abuse for the first time. She is the most supportive and caring person I know and I know I will feel better after telling her.
That's all for now. My hope and belief in full recovery is still alive. As hard as the past couple of weeks have been, I still feel strong and have a will to fight and survive. It feels great.
Friday, November 4, 2011
The road
I had an appointment with my dietitian tonight. We figured out together why my anxiety has been so bad. She asked me to go home and write about it, and then email it to her and my therapist. I did that and now I'm sharing it on my blog. This is probably one of the rawest, honest, and painful essays I have written. So I'm a little nervous about posting it. I'm not asking for anything, just maybe some encouragement, or if you are going through, or have been through something similar, to maybe add some words of wisdom. Thanks.
I have this image in my head that won't leave me alone. I'm walking down the road leading up to the school where the abuse took place. I walk through the big iron gates, past a wooded area, past the soccer field and the play ground, but then the images stop, right before I see the school. I think I am too scared to walk any farther. I don't want to go inside. Why would I? But I don't want to see the iron gates or the soccer fields or the play ground either. Because they remind me of the happy girl I once was. The girl I was before he stole my happiness, my power, and my safety.
When I left Remuda, I didn't think I was scared of him anymore. But I am. He still has power over me, even though it's been 11 years. I know he shouldn't, and I really don't want him to. But the fear he left me with still lives inside me today. I think part of me still feels I was at fault. I have said it and written it many times. That even though I was younger and smaller, I was strong as an ox from gymnastics. I could have pulled away, run away, hit him, or screamed. And I did none of those things, for reasons I may never understand. I think in order to really heal, I need to forgive myself. I don't know how to do that.
The flashbacks are not as intense nor as frequent as they once were, but they are still there. I have learned to deal with them. But the feelings are still so, so intense. Sadness. Pain. Hurt. Fear. Grief. Helplessness. Loneliness. Cold. Dirty. But mostly fear. The sounds and smells of the times he abused me are still very real in my head.
I have been thinking about what happened quite a bit lately. I'm not sure why. Maybe I need to figure that out. I want to talk about it in therapy, but I hold myself back. It's still a very painful place for me to visit, and I hate how hard it is for me to talk about.
I am usually really good at expressing my feelings. But it's hard for me to express my feelings about my abuse. There don't seem to be enough words to fully and truly explain how sad and hurt I feel. I guess I get frustrated by that.
I have been wanting to express my feelings about this for quite some time, but haven't because I'm scared to talk about it. So my feelings about it have been manifesting into anxiety.
I guess I need to talk about it. But I am scared, and I need your help. Because although I can talk about how it makes me feel, I don't know what to do beyond that. I feel stuck.
I have this image in my head that won't leave me alone. I'm walking down the road leading up to the school where the abuse took place. I walk through the big iron gates, past a wooded area, past the soccer field and the play ground, but then the images stop, right before I see the school. I think I am too scared to walk any farther. I don't want to go inside. Why would I? But I don't want to see the iron gates or the soccer fields or the play ground either. Because they remind me of the happy girl I once was. The girl I was before he stole my happiness, my power, and my safety.
When I left Remuda, I didn't think I was scared of him anymore. But I am. He still has power over me, even though it's been 11 years. I know he shouldn't, and I really don't want him to. But the fear he left me with still lives inside me today. I think part of me still feels I was at fault. I have said it and written it many times. That even though I was younger and smaller, I was strong as an ox from gymnastics. I could have pulled away, run away, hit him, or screamed. And I did none of those things, for reasons I may never understand. I think in order to really heal, I need to forgive myself. I don't know how to do that.
The flashbacks are not as intense nor as frequent as they once were, but they are still there. I have learned to deal with them. But the feelings are still so, so intense. Sadness. Pain. Hurt. Fear. Grief. Helplessness. Loneliness. Cold. Dirty. But mostly fear. The sounds and smells of the times he abused me are still very real in my head.
I have been thinking about what happened quite a bit lately. I'm not sure why. Maybe I need to figure that out. I want to talk about it in therapy, but I hold myself back. It's still a very painful place for me to visit, and I hate how hard it is for me to talk about.
I am usually really good at expressing my feelings. But it's hard for me to express my feelings about my abuse. There don't seem to be enough words to fully and truly explain how sad and hurt I feel. I guess I get frustrated by that.
I have been wanting to express my feelings about this for quite some time, but haven't because I'm scared to talk about it. So my feelings about it have been manifesting into anxiety.
I guess I need to talk about it. But I am scared, and I need your help. Because although I can talk about how it makes me feel, I don't know what to do beyond that. I feel stuck.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
scream
Today was such a fucking mess.
I woke up and I was SO tired and SO anxious. I forced myself to take a shower and make myself look presentable. I headed off to therapy. I had a lot on my mind. My therapist asked how I have been doing with my food and I told her the truth...that I have been struggling. Her response was short and to the point..."You need to get back on track." She's right...but it still stung. I should have said why I have been struggling. But she didn't ask and I didn't offer. My fault. I told her how discouraged and defeated I have felt towards my recovery lately. She said she truly believes full recovery is possible for me, that I am no different or any more messed up than anyone else. It felt good to hear her belief in me. I know that recovery is a long road, and that it will take a while. And deep down I know I can do it. It's just been really hard to believe in myself lately.
Therapy brought up a lot of emotions that I just was tired of dealing with and it was just overwhelming and it sucked.
After therapy I went to Starbucks to get some coffee to wake myself up. But with all that caffeine, I still didn't wake up enough. I struggled through my shift at the restaurant. I was so low on energy and motivation. My co-workers noticed it. I was not hungry at all. But I knew I needed to order something to eat before going to nanny. I settled for a cup of chili. I went to my nannying job and my anxiety was just continuing to climb. After work I went home and changed and re-applied make-up to get ready for the event at the art gallery. My second mom texted me and told me she was only going to be able to stay for a half hour, so that was a bummer. My anxiety was climbing and so I took a Xanax to calm myself down. I got to the art gallery and bought our tickets and waited for Mrs. Robson. The event was really cool. I admired the courageous women who told their stories and believed that, I too, could one day come to a place of healing with my trauma. Mrs. Robson left and I was sitting by myself, which was fine. I wish she could have stuck around longer so we had a chance to talk, but I think we are having dinner next week. My therapist was at the event too. But I didn't talk to her other than to say hello. I think that would have been kind of awkward to have a casual conversation with my therapist out in public. My friend Karen was there and it was good to chat with her for a little bit, and a girl from my group was there too and we talked some as well. But there really wasn't a lot of time for talking because they had a bunch of speakers. There was a Q&A at the end and I was moved to tears when the speakers continued to tell the details of their stories and how they have come to heal. It gave me hope, but also left me with sadness. I was triggered a little bit, but not as much as I thought. I thought the event was going to focus more on sexual abuse, but instead it focused more on domestic violence and partner abuse. I would have liked to have heard a woman tell her story about sexual abuse. But oh well.
Anyway, I came home and was still really anxious and just pissed off at life. I ate my dinner, sort of. Whatever. This day is done and I can start over tomorrow.
I woke up and I was SO tired and SO anxious. I forced myself to take a shower and make myself look presentable. I headed off to therapy. I had a lot on my mind. My therapist asked how I have been doing with my food and I told her the truth...that I have been struggling. Her response was short and to the point..."You need to get back on track." She's right...but it still stung. I should have said why I have been struggling. But she didn't ask and I didn't offer. My fault. I told her how discouraged and defeated I have felt towards my recovery lately. She said she truly believes full recovery is possible for me, that I am no different or any more messed up than anyone else. It felt good to hear her belief in me. I know that recovery is a long road, and that it will take a while. And deep down I know I can do it. It's just been really hard to believe in myself lately.
Therapy brought up a lot of emotions that I just was tired of dealing with and it was just overwhelming and it sucked.
After therapy I went to Starbucks to get some coffee to wake myself up. But with all that caffeine, I still didn't wake up enough. I struggled through my shift at the restaurant. I was so low on energy and motivation. My co-workers noticed it. I was not hungry at all. But I knew I needed to order something to eat before going to nanny. I settled for a cup of chili. I went to my nannying job and my anxiety was just continuing to climb. After work I went home and changed and re-applied make-up to get ready for the event at the art gallery. My second mom texted me and told me she was only going to be able to stay for a half hour, so that was a bummer. My anxiety was climbing and so I took a Xanax to calm myself down. I got to the art gallery and bought our tickets and waited for Mrs. Robson. The event was really cool. I admired the courageous women who told their stories and believed that, I too, could one day come to a place of healing with my trauma. Mrs. Robson left and I was sitting by myself, which was fine. I wish she could have stuck around longer so we had a chance to talk, but I think we are having dinner next week. My therapist was at the event too. But I didn't talk to her other than to say hello. I think that would have been kind of awkward to have a casual conversation with my therapist out in public. My friend Karen was there and it was good to chat with her for a little bit, and a girl from my group was there too and we talked some as well. But there really wasn't a lot of time for talking because they had a bunch of speakers. There was a Q&A at the end and I was moved to tears when the speakers continued to tell the details of their stories and how they have come to heal. It gave me hope, but also left me with sadness. I was triggered a little bit, but not as much as I thought. I thought the event was going to focus more on sexual abuse, but instead it focused more on domestic violence and partner abuse. I would have liked to have heard a woman tell her story about sexual abuse. But oh well.
Anyway, I came home and was still really anxious and just pissed off at life. I ate my dinner, sort of. Whatever. This day is done and I can start over tomorrow.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
survival is strength, not shame
So, I am currently watching the 2 hour Diane Sawyer special on Jaycee Dugard, the girl that was held captive by a sex offender and his wife for 18 years. She has said two very powerful statements that have hit me so deep and so hard. "Survival is strength, not shame." And, "It's his shame, not mine.". And it also hit me that she was 11 years old when she was kidnapped and abused, the same age I was when I was sexually abused. Hearing all of this has really helped put what happened to me into perspective. I have always thought of myself at the time of my abuse as someone older and bigger than I actually was. In reality, I was a very small, young girl. Yes, I was a very muscular and strong 11 year old, but I was still 11 years old. And I guess I have to remember that. I always have faulted myself for not saying no, not trying harder to push him away, and not telling anyone at the time. Therapists at Remuda, and my own therapist here at home have told me it was absolutely not my fault, there is no way it could have been. I was too young to understand what was going on. I know they are right, I know it in my heart. But it's so hard because I feel like there must have been SOMETHING I could have done, but didn't.
But then I think about the statement that survival is strength, not shame. And that is such a powerful and true statement. So, somehow I survived it. And my coping mechanism for 7 years was blocking it out. It was too much to bear. I survived the abuse during the worst year of my life. I somehow continued to thrive in athletics, and found my creativity in writing. I was definitely changed after the abuse, how can you not be? But I survived...I guess that's what matters most.
But then I think about the statement that survival is strength, not shame. And that is such a powerful and true statement. So, somehow I survived it. And my coping mechanism for 7 years was blocking it out. It was too much to bear. I survived the abuse during the worst year of my life. I somehow continued to thrive in athletics, and found my creativity in writing. I was definitely changed after the abuse, how can you not be? But I survived...I guess that's what matters most.
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