Loneliness

i've probably talked here about aloneness and loneliness. i'm not accustomed to feeling lonely and this weekend i remembered why that is. in high school and college i had some close friends with whom i spent a fair amount of time. i was closest with my college roommate, my former english teacher and a dear high school friend. i had boyfriends, some serious and some not so. my inability to open up to boyfriends is legendary, as a matter of fact.

even though i had dear friends and dear boyfriends, i was always aware of being alone. at the heart of all of my interactions with people was the knowledge that i would eventually be going home to my parents' house. i went there alone. i lived there alone. no matter how comforting my friendships were, no matter how much light-hearted fun i managed to have, the road always led back to my home. no one, least of all me, knew what awaited me there on a daily basis. i was certain of one thing, though. as long as i lived there, i was going to suffer. even if the suffering was only because there was no heat in the house. even if the suffering was because there was next to no furniture in the house. generally, i'd say it was an exceptional day when those things were the only sources of my suffering.

in many ways, i experienced my friendships (but especially my boyfriends) as diversions. not only could my friends not help me, but they would never truly understand my experience. i knew how my friends lived. i stayed in their houses, sometimes overnight and sometimes for extended periods of time. nothing in my friends' lives could provide them with even the slightest understanding of how i was forced to live. though my living circumstances have changed radically, even now no one knows what it felt like to live through the harshness of my life. no one knows what it feels like to live with the memories of my earlier life. no one knows how those experiences continue to infect my daily existence. in my mind's eye, i am still a solitary figure.when my therapist asks me if i'm lonely, it's a question i have some difficulty answering. i guess i would counter with, compared to what? compared to when i was 16, i'm definitely less lonely. compared to other people, though, i guess i'm profoundly lonely. my world view isn't one that's shared.

here's the quote of the day:
"The most terrible poverty is loneliness and the feeling of being unloved." ~ Mother Theresa

america held hostage day 1848
bushism of the day:
"They said this issue wouldn't resignate with the People. They've been proved wrong, it does resignate."
website of the day: Consortiumnews.com
http://www.consortiumnews.com/

Broken Or Not

i tend to see myself as profoundly broken, but no one else does. i've focused a great deal of time and energy to repairing myself. since i had so little experience with normalcy, i've had to observe others and then try to emulate them. i was much more consumed with this when i was a young. i'd reallly like to get to the point that no one, not even i, can tell that i wasn't raised in a healthy family. my therapist points out to me on a regular basis that my goal is unattainable.i know she's right about that. i guess it's gotten to be such a habit that it's hard to stop myself. at one of my recent sessions, i talked about my husband's bad habit of slamming doors and throwing things on the floor when he's in a bad mood. it's not directed at me or anyone else; it's just a thing he does. unfortunately, it's very triggering. i have an extremely hard time lowering my anxiety level; sometimes it causes flashbacks. my therapist asked me if my husband knows how it affects me. i've never said anything to him about it because it's one of those things i think i should get over. i have a lot of issues around sexuality. for a long time, i think i believed my uncle when he used to say that his behavior was my fault. i had a really hard time allowing myself to be vulnerable with men. if i was having a sexual relationship with some guy, i was very competitive intellectually. for me, the power dynamic of sexuality has always been abundantly clear. i've already spoken about a couple of my relationships. here's more. after i stopped seeing the guy i got pregnant with, i went back to college in a different city. i was taking a class in eastern religion and somehow got involved with the professor. by involved, i do not mean having a sexual relationship. i was so paranoid about getting pregnant that i was extremely reluctant to be sexual with anyone. after a couple of classes, he called me up and asked me to dinner.that really flipped me out. i don't know why, really. he had a phd from harvard and had lived in france for a while. i think it made me a little awe-struck, which isn't necessarily the basis for a good relationship. in my case that was particularly true. nonetheless, he was pursuing a long-term (as in marriage) relationship. i didn't think i wanted to do that, but what could i do? i told him i wasn't sure i was going to be around the following year because i was thinking of transferring. so we saw each other for the winter semester and i went home for the christmas break. another important relationship was also developing with a guy who was a year younger than i. he went to the same high school i did, though i didn't meet him until he was in college in a town not too far away. i think i was quite smitten with him, but he was so young. i mean, i've pretty much been 40 since i was 5 years old. he seemed very immature to me and i wasn't crazy about that.oops. someone just brought in some additional work. i guess the story will wait until tomorrow. here's the quote of the day:"In the middle of every difficulty lies opportunity."~Albert Einsteinamerica held hostage day 1792bushism of the day:"You teach a child to read, and he or her will be able to pass a literacy test."

Having Come Full Circle

"At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us."~Albert Schweitzer

After my father's marriage was over, he started taking medication. This may have been a result of the arrest for child kidnapping (and whatever else). He did go through a period when we all had to regularly go to the emergency room with him because he thought he was having a heart attack. I'm talking twice a weekend, every weekend, at least. Sometimes more. I

t's possible that the Court made the suggestion that he seek psychiatric help. Otherwise, I can't imagine him even acknowledging he had a problem. The medication seemed to diminish his proclivity for violence, but we were engaged in a cold war. I had to spend time in the same room with my father, but I wasn't interested in engaging in any kind of dialog with him.

He had regularly scheduled visitation with his daughter. Of course, I was fearful that all of this contact might result in the return of his wife to my life. Fortunately, that didn't happen. Many years later, I learned that he'd given his daughter up for adoption to whatever man his ex-wife married. They moved toMinnesota, I think.

Backing up a bit, I started dating when i was a junior in high school. That year i went to various school dances, but never had a relationship of any sort with my dates. They were all in accelerated classes and, even though I might have found their minds interesting, I wasn't interested at all in their hearts or bodies. I didn't have any particular interest in relationships until around Christmas of my junior year when I just woke up one day and decided I was in love with someone who participated in the literary magazine. He was not interested. I pined away for him for the rest of the year.

Michael and I did get together at Christmas of my senior year and started dating as regularly as possible. He was attending college in another city about 5 hours away. The problem with Michael was that he was a lot more interested in my body than my mind. However, he was making a valiant stab at improving my mind, too, by sending me books to read. I was not charmed by that behavior. I knew that I was his intellectual equal, whether he knew it or not. also, I believe(d) that sort of relationship was inherently unequal. I'd had a pretty good look at unequal relationships in which one party believed themselves to be brighter than the other half and I had absolutely no intention of having that kind of relationship with Michael or anyone else.

Since he was away at school, I started hanging out with some guys who were also in my literary magazine meetings. I had something of a romantic relationship with one of them, but I think my motivation was simply to see if I could make someone fall in love with me. Thus began the practice of having two boyfriends, one in the city where I lived and one who lived somewhere else. It wasn't until just recently that I came to see the parallels to my father's relationships.

There were some profound differences, though. I only slept with one person at a time, usually the one who lived out of town. I didn't play them against each other and I was very open about the fact that I had a "serious" boyfriend with the person I was having a non-sexual relationship with. There was no violence in my relationships.

At the end of my senior year, I broke up with Michael. I could see that, the way things were going, we'd be having sex by the end of the summer. I was very aware of the possible ramifications from my sexual abuse. I was afraid that if we had sex, I would hate him. In the meantime, my other boyfriend had found greener pastures. I worked and prepared to leave for college in the fall.

I think I've now come full circle from where I started this history. I may continue to tell the tale a bit more, because my childhood never ends. It's a living part of my life even now and I suppose it would be silly for me to assume it would ever be otherwise. There are darker stories I haven't told yet; I have to find additional courage to speak those truths. That's for another day, though.

Since it's thanksgiving tomorrow, here are some of the things I'm grateful for today. I'm grateful for sunshine (it stopped raining finally yesterday). I'm grateful for all of the people who have loved me or been kind to me. I'm grateful for all of the opportunities I've had to love other people. I'm grateful for hitting the genetic jackpot and surviving my hellhole childhood. I'm grateful for being able to hang on to compassion. Probably enough for today.

america held hostage day 1784

bushism of the day:
"Our nation must come together to unite."

website of the day; Disaster News Network
http://www.disasternews.net/index3.php

Fuzzy Blankets and PTSD

This weekend, appropos of nothing really, I remembered that the person who assaulted me had one of those vellux blankets (those soft, fuzzy, lightweight blankets). Suddenly I remembered that I've only recently been able to sleep with one because of the memories of that night. It's amazing that I could have forgotten that.

when I told Gabrielle that she was the first person I've ever told about the experience, she told me to expect some emotional fall-out. She said it's a little like opening Pandora's box. The funny thing is, aside from the blanket memory, most of my ptsd difficulties this weekend were actually related to my father. But more of that later....

What's Rape Got To Do With It?

"Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it."~ Helen Keller (1880-1968)

Okay, back to the examination of sexual history in light of my new-found admission that I was raped in college. So russ and I were together and he broke it off and I went absolutely crazy. Then I got strep throat and was quarantined in the school infirmary. Russ' friend, David, decided that, since I was available again, he might like to get some kind of relationship going. Big mistake.David and i never actually had sex. I don't think I liked him very much and I'm pretty sure he didn't like me, either. Just a sexual thing for him, you know. We went out together a couple of times and it became abundantly clear that I needed to make him go away. Luckily, as it turned out, the end of the semester was at hand. I left school for the upcoming semester on the urgings of my parents. That worked out great. I didn't even have to be mean to him...yet.

He wrote letters to me that spring semester and I responded. I really don't know what prompted me to do this, but eventually I pointed out to him that he should just go ahead and have sex with Russ and cut out the middle(wo)man. He stopped writing to me. It seemed like a logical thing to say (even though I'm sure I knew he'd be upset). It wasn't like we were in love or anything.

I didn't date anyone at all that spring, but when summer came around I registered for some classes at a local college. I had a job, working at an electrical supply company. It was there that I met my next mistake. This guy used to come in regularly to pick up parts and I was immediately attracted. Somehow I managed to get him to ask me out. Right here you might say, "Hey, probably not such a good idea." Good point.

I had absolutely no intention of getting emotionally involved with him. He was a blue-collar guy, not much interested in knowing anything and not much interested in ever leaving my hometown. Totally unsuitable for long-term relationship, but quite suitable for sex. Notice how every time I pick the guy it turns out the only thing I'm looking for is sex? Hmmm...seems to be a pattern here.

At first, I refused to fuck him because I wasn't doing any kind of birth control. At some point in our "relationship" he told me he was using a condom, but that was a lie. Everyone I knew at that time of my life was baffled as to how I could be fooled. They didn't really know my history though. I was adamantly opposed to actually touching penises...it was far to reminiscent of the abuse suffered at the hands of my uncle. No touching. Ever.

As you might guess, I became pregnant. So what the hell, Don and I spent the summer having incredible sex whenever we could. There was absolutely no way on god's green earth that I was going to have that baby and be forced to live in my hometown permanently. No way I was going to marry don. I knew exactly what I had to do and I did it. All alone. I paid for the abortion and I went to have it alone. All of that part of the tale occurred when I went back to the other university. Once again, just like with the date rape episode, I accepted total responsibility for my mistake. That's one of the good things about me...I don't shirk responsibility. After i went back to school, I didn't really need don anymore. Don't get me wrong...I doubt that he missed me at all. I'm sure I served the same purpose for him as he did for me.

I'm not so sure that my need to be in control of sexual relationships has anything to do with the date rape episode. I think it's probably more a product of my upbringing, which I will get around to talking about sooner or later. I guess the big revelation for me is just how angry at men I must have been. Had you asked me about it then, I would have said i wasn't angry at all, except in a broad feminist context. I don't feel particularly angry now, either, as I contemplate the past. I guess mostly I feel sorry for that young person who suffered through such great difficulties.

Love and Despair

I started the morning by reading some email from a post traumatic stress disorder group to which I belong. It's amazing...even that made me quake inside. None of the posts detailed the causes of people's ptsd; they were descriptions of the challenges people still face in their lives many, many years after the traumatizing event(s). I haven't contributed to the list yet and I may never do so. I fear the possibility of triggering more symptoms, which I have pretty regularly without any clear reason. I mean, I know the reasons why I have ptsd; I'm just not always sure how reactions get triggered.

Yesterday I was talking about trying to fit the "new" rape information into my understanding of how I became who I am. After the sexual assault, I embarked on a relationship with a guy who was a junior at the time. We dated for a while before I agreed to have sex with him. Finally, I decided to go over and spend the night.

In retrospect, I'm not sure why i made the decision. It may have been that I believed he cared about me or it may have been that I just wanted to have sex. It was less than fabulous. I remember thinking "hmmm...this doesn't really feel very good." I was very aware of a faucet dripping in the bathroom and I knew that sound would lodge in my memory. I think I was probably dissociated. That would be a good guess considering my childhood and my recent experience at college. I was really good at dissociating...I still am, as a matter of fact.

I'm not sure how long it took to become proficient in slipping away from my body. I know that when I was left alone with my uncle when I was five, I decided that, though he might be so big as to make physical resistance impossible, I could prevent him from having access to my mind and heart. The television was on and there were cartoons, so it must have been a Saturday. While he proceeded to do as he pleased, I turned my head away from him and concentrated on the cartoons. He didn't like that. He wanted me to pay attention to him and what he was doing. After he turned off the television, I started studying the ceiling. After that, my memories of that episode fade away. I was very angry with him and I knew that by ignoring him, I was in some way thwarting his desires. A little child's body may be easy to control, but it was not in the least bit easy to control my mind. I guess he made do with what he had because he did not stop.

There were plenty of other times in my life when I continued to practice dissociating. So many, in fact, that I ceased to recognize it as an altered state of consciousness. by the time I got to russ, I could choose to not be present without actually realizing that's what I was doing. I know that's very paradoxical, but I guess learning to regularly survive dangerous situations at some point becomes commonplace. Being absent from self can also become mundane and difficult to identify.

Russ and I continued to see each other for a month or so. I recall being very intellectually competitive with him. He was an engineering student of some kind, but I didn't have much respect for that kind of knowledge and I strongly suspect I let him know that. Some people who had known him for a while told me about his history. The semester before he met me, he had been involved with some young woman who had become pregnant. She had an abortion before she left to continue her education somewhere else. Apparently, the breakup wasn't his idea. I do know that she didn't wish to have further contact with him. According to his friends, he was still trying to regain his bearings. Starting a relationship with me probably wasn't the most mentally healthy thing for him.

Eventually Russ decided to break it off. It was then that I hit the wall. All of my feelings of abandonment rose up like some monster inside of me. I thought about suicide a lot, but didn't attempt it. Since my attempt when i was 11, I had managed to stop myself from trying to die. The lack of russ. I wanted to get him back...really, really badly. Other young men, including David, wanted to get to know me, but I was angry with them and I didn't trust them. I guess I wanted to get Russ back so I could continue to dislike him.

I must go now...the person I'm supposed to meet has just shown up. more psychobabble later.

One Damned Thing After Another

"Rape is a culturally fostered means of suppressing women. Legally we say we deplore it, but mythically we romanticize and perpetuate it, and privately we excuse and overlook it." ~ Victoria Billings (1856-1950) Pseudonym of Henry Wheeler Shaw Irish playwright & critic

"Life is just one damned thing after another." ~ Elbert Hubbard

Last week the topic of conversation with my therapist was the ways sexual abuse altered my life. The obvious first answer to that would be the profound lack of trust I have in men. That doesn't mean all men, nor does it mean that I'm unable to be emotionally close with men. After all, I've been married for almost 31 years now to the same man. It's further complicated by the fact that my upbringing and the years of abuse I suffered in my childhood has also had a very negative impact on my ability to trust, generally.

In the course of exploring this issue, I related to her the circumstances of my first chosen sexual experience. The boy I dated in high school applied a lot of pressure to get on birth control pills so we could have sex. I didn't do it, in part because I thought there was a very strong possibility that sex had become so contaminated for me that I might find myself hating anyone I slept with. I loved Michael, but I broke up with him because of that fear. I decided that the best course of action for me was to find someone with whom I had absolutely no emotional connection and use that person as a test case.

My first week or so in college gave me the opportunity to carry out the plan. I kept seeing this great looking guy around campus, but I thought I probably wasn't good looking enough for him to notice me. One of my friends and I ran into him (Dave) in one of the co-ed dorm hallways and he invited us back to his room. Needless to say, we went. I'm not exactly sure of what the sequence of events were, but finally we were alone. We had been making out before, but when everyone else left, things just naturally proceeded down the road toward making love. That was fine by me. However, as he entered me, I began experiencing a lot of pain (I mean a lot). I asked him to stop, but he didn't. at some point, I began screaming for him to stop, but he didn't.I slept over that night and when we got up the next day, it was apparent that he wanted to have a relationship with me. I gave it my best shot, but I think I was enraged with him that he didn't stop. (Unfortunately, it's taken me 30 years to figure that out.) He continued to call and we continued to hang out together, but we never had sex again. After a couple of weeks, I managed to extricate myself from the situation.

The curious thing about all of this is that, up until last week, I didn't really count that experience as rape. If anyone else had related the same events, I would never have any hesitation to label it as such. I'm a feminista....how could I not see it as rape? Well the answer to that question is obvious in some ways. Gabrielle, my therapist, had no trouble whatsoever in identifying it as rape. At some point Saturday, I started to try to put that experience within the context of all of my relationships. It was quite unsettling. It was so unsettling, in fact, that I was too overwhelmed to continue. I think I need to make this exploration slowly, but now isn't the time. for now, I'm holding it in my heart and allowing things to come to fruition without intellectualizing.