Anger and the Hunger for Perfection

"I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal." ~ Groucho Marx

My therapist and i discussed my body dysmorphia issues last week. I told her I'd been avoiding making an appointment for my annual physical because I don't want to know how much I weigh. I chose not to work out one night last week because I was exhausted from doing some serious cleaning the night before. I was able to allow myself to lie down and rest, but the next day all I could think was, "Oh god, I should have worked out. Maybe I should eat less today. Maybe I should work out longer today. Maybe I should do both." My rational mind knows this is nonsense. I'm 5'6" and wear a size 8 dress. I know that that is not fat. I am a little heavy because of the amount of muscle mass I've developed, but that's good weight, not bad. As I undress or notice myself partially clothed in some mirror, I start obsessing again about how I should just lose about five pounds and I'll be fine.

My therapist pointed out to me that there is a direct link between eating disorders, body dysmorphia and sexual abuse. Of course I already knew that. I just hadn't thought to apply it to myself. She suggested that, instead of berating myself for being fat, maybe I should focus on to whom the anger should be directed...the perpetrator.

Well, that's easier said than done. when I start thinking about that, I tend to get overwhelmed by my anger and start to feel like I'm going to implode. It truly feels unbearable to me. I've been trying to increase my tolerance for anger by hanging onto the feeling for as long as I can stand it. As we discussed that, I started to dissociate. That's what I do when I'm angry. I just numb out and lose my train of thought. I really hate it when that happens. So I'm trying not to feel fat today. Is it working? Not really.

America held hostage day 1801

Bushism of the day;
"In my sentences I go where no man has gone before."

website of the day:
Fashion Alley: A Place Where Fashion, Trends and Style Resides
http://www.fashionalley.tv/

Staying in The Present

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."~ Henri Nouwen

I'm not in any place for reflection regarding the past. Today I'm staying firmly anchored in the present.

My stepson and his wife were in town for the weekend. They finally got around to calling us at 4:00 p.m. on Sunday. I had rushed through all of my usual Sunday errands so that I would be sure to be around when they came by. They wished to have dinner at 6:00, so we went to a restaurant they selected. It was expensive, but the ambiance was pretty funky. They were also out of a large number of menu items. I had eaten an apple around 4:30, knowing I couldn't fast until 6:00. I wasn't very hungry, but there were no entrees that weren't enormous. I ended up having a small salad with some turkey on top. I regaled them with stories about my boss' wife.

Then we went over to their friends' house to meet their dog. After that, they came over to our house and stayed until about nine. They invited us to come to their house for Christmas, but I wasn't inclined to leave my mom here alone. I'll be the only person in town over that weekend to take care of the office kitties--another big stumbling block to being out of town. I think my husband was annoyed with me, but I really didn't care.

I had to take one of my dogs to the vet this afternoon. He's been having some difficulty getting up when he lies down. I thought perhaps it was because his toenails were getting long and he couldn't get any traction. We went to the vet to get them cut, but the vet was available so we had her look at him to see if there is another problem. She thinks he has arthritis and gave me some nsaid medication to give him. He's a senior dog and weighs 75 pounds, so it's not terribly surprising that he'd have some joint problems at this point. As usual, though, the bill was staggering. We have to take him back in two weeks when the bill will be staggering again. Merry Christmas to me.

I've been paying bills all day at work. very, very tedious. I don't even have an online trial to entertain me while I do it. the Scott Peterson trial is over, finally. He received the death penalty and, even though it's unlikely he'll ever be killed in California, it made me sad nonetheless. I'm opposed to the death penalty generally, but I thought his life would be much more difficult if he got life in prison. There would be much more interaction with other prisoners. having gotten death, he'll be housed in his own cell. I guess I was also sad because it was another opportunity to wish none of it had ever happened. Such a stupid, stupid crime.

That's about it for today.
america held hostage day 1800

bushism of the day:
"I mean, there needs to be a wholesale effort against racial profiling, which is illiterate children."

website of the day: The Irish Potato Famine
http://www.humboldt1.com/~history/lexiso/

The End of My Father

even though the sun is finally shining, i'm having a terrible day. last night i was watching a television program (without a trace) when they unexpectedly started talking about one of the characters' mother who committed suicide. sometimes it's too difficult for me to hear, even when i know suicide is going to be discussed. the character felt responsible for his mom's death because he had concealed an earlier attempt from his father. i've been watching a trial on courttv live in which a battered woman is being tried for the hatchet death of her husband. i just listened to lenore walker testifying about battered women and their children who grow up in violent homes. very triggering.my own father's death has been on my mind recently. he'd been actively psychotic for some time prior to his death. he saw several different psychiatrists before his death, but they were not medicating him sufficiently. just before he died, he was only taking paxil, which is completely ineffective for psychosis. my mom said that shortly before his death, she had found him standing on the front porch with a butcher knife in his hand. she asked him what he was doing and he said he wasn't doing anything. he came inside and laid the knife on the corner of the kitchen counter. the day he died, she had gotten a phone call from her sister and was trying to get her off the phone without being rude. she heard my dad in the living room making animal noises. this is a detail which haunts me still. by the time she got off the phone, he was gone. he went to a neighbor's house and asked for some bullets because my mom had hidden the bullets which were in their house. he still had the gun. he told the neighbor that he wanted some bullets to kill some cats with. they gave him some. he walked out of their house, opened the passenger door and blew himself away. my mom got off the phone, noticed he was gone and went to look for him. she saw his truck parked at the neighbor's house. by the time she got there, he was already gone. she said he was still warm when she got there. the neighbor who gave him the bullets came out and asked if he should call 911. my mom stayed with my dad.when the police got there, they actually performed a gun powder residue test on her hands. that was the end of my father, the beginning of five years of living in hell for me. maybe more later. this is very hard to talk about. i need to try to calm myself down.

This is The Way Violence Sometimes Ends

i'm not feeling much like writing today, but here i am anyway. we had dinner with an old friend from out of town last night. that necessitated a brief cleanup, which must have really zapped my energy level because i feel really tired today. i was supposed to go to the grocery store at lunch to get some more kitty food for the boys, but i didn't. i'll end up buying it at a convenience store again, like i did this morning, and paying twice as much for it.i've been watching the trial of a woman, about my age, who murdered her husband with a hatchet. well, she murdered him with the hatchet and then stabbed him a number of times and then beat him. she says she wished to make certain he was dead. she alleges to have been physically abused in the relationship for decades. the state is arguing against that last allegation, presumably because there were no hospital records or police reports to verify the abuse. she has two sons, both of them in their early twenties. one of them took the stand to bolster the abuse accusation, the other denied there was any abuse.i'm inclined to believe she was abused, but primarily because i find it hard to accept that some school teacher who's never been violent in her life would resort to the level of overkill unless she had been abused by the man. the really interesting part of the trial for me was when she testified in her own defense. that's usually a very, very bad idea. unfortunately for her, i think it was a bad idea in her case, too.of course, i have no way of knowing how the jury received her testimony. she became very passive aggressive with the female prosecutor who cross-examined her. she kept asking the attorney to repeat the question when they seemed to pin her down on some lies that she told, for instance. the defendant seemed to be a person who rattled people's cages without regard to the consequences. some of the things she said to her husband would have been guaranteed to enrage him. she questioned his masculinity by accusing him of "playing house" with another couple. there was never any real explanation of the situation, but regardless of what was going on, it's usually unwise to say those sorts of things to someone who is abusive.i noticed the same thing in my own mother. i'd be doing my best to keep things peaceful between my parents and she would say something that i immediately knew was going to result in violence. i used to get exasperated with her for not recognizing the sorts of things that triggered him. the other thing i noted in the trial was the peculiar relationship between her and her sons. it was clear to me that everyone had been forced to take sides and mom was cherishing the victim role. it seemed like her sons had been parenting her by attempting to protect her from their father. one son had been trying to resolve her legal problems (the murder) for her, but that clearly wasn't going to be too successful. mom kept saying that she just wished she could die. the striking thing wasn't that she said it--that makes perfect sense to me. it was that there was a subtle undertone in the statement that communicated some serious anger. here's the quote of the day:"Anybody can become angry, that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is not within everybody's power, that is not easy."~Aristotleamerica held hostage day 1796bushism of the day:"We must all hear the universal call to like your neighbor just like you like to be liked yourself."website of the day: Boycott China for Tibethttp://www.buyhard.fsnet.co.uk/non_chinese_products.htm

Where I'm Supposed To Be

this weekend when my husband and i were driving to dinner, i remembered something i just read in a workaholics anonymous book. it said that we should operate on the assumption that we are exactly where god wishes us to be. all of the time. no matter where we are. it was absolutely amazing. i felt so liberated...at that moment i didn't need to struggle anymore. i generally operate under the assumption that, since i was spared the predictable aftereffects of my childhood, i need to do something to pay the universe back. it's like i feel that i need to pay back god for his/her investment. i generally end up feeling frustrated and a little frantic because i have no clue what it is i'm supposed to be doing here. at this moment, i can let that go. i can relax into the present and be grateful for whatever appears in the eternal now.

here's the quote of the day:"We must not, in trying to think about how we can make a big difference, ignore the small daily differences we can make which, over time, add up to big differences that we often cannot foresee."~Marian Wright Edelman

america held hostage day 1795
bushism of the day:
"I mean, there needs to be a wholesale effort against racial profiling, which is illiterate children."

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."

Facing The Hard Truths

after a point, my own history just ceases to interest me. i mean, it's all so huge and unmanageable that it's hard to keep the panoramic view in sight. although a closer inspection of any single event or time period can be overwhelmingly painful and the residual effects of such an examination can be difficult to shake. once i enter into the memory, flashbacks are inevitable. they leave me breathless with fear and it can take hours to calm myself back down. the other danger is that, at some point in many of my memories, i can fall into that great black void inside where the pain seems unbearable.it's not easy to live with the certain knowledge that i was never of much value to either of my parents. my father, psychotically narcissitic and sadistic, was never much interested in me. he used me for bolster his own ego and fostered in me a deadly drive to both achieve and die. my intellect and drive for achievement was, in his mind, just a reflection of his own intelligence passed on to me and further evidence of his houdini-like ability to mold me into the perfect child. of course, the molding is never really done and so it also gave him a long term project. even when i was 40, there was plenty of molding left to do. he also enjoyed hurting me. what a difficult thing to say. what a difficult thing to face. when i was a little girl, he was never happier with me than when he was telling me some sad story about himself and making me cry. i was a compassionate child, but i did not have a compassionate father. he liked to engage in all-day (or longer) torture sessions, whether that torture was physical or psychological or both. he must have found my pain and terror very gratifying. no one is easier to hurt than a little child, especially one's own little child. my mother was so focused on my father that there really wasn't much left over for me. she was doing her best to survive. i understood at a young age that there was a good possibility my mom wouldn't live long. i was committed to helping her survive. i did my best to distract or defuse rage when i saw it rising in him. i wasn't always successful. i've felt a lot of guilt over my inability to protect her.my therapist likes to remind me that i was the one who was supposed to be protected. i understand that. however, i knew that if something happened to my mom, the chances of my survival dropped precipitously.as usual, this line of thought is getting to be unbearably painful. enough for today. here's the quote of the day:"We can discover this meaning in life in three different ways: (1) by doing a deed; (2) by experiencing a value; and (3) by suffering."~Victor Franklamerica held hostage day 1790bushism of the day:"I am mindful not only of preserving executive powers for myself, but for predecessors as well."website of the day; Enneagram Institutehttp://www.enneagraminstitute.com/

What Am I Afraid Of?

thanksgiving was relatively painless this year. i gave up cooking after my dad died, when i decided that i wasn't going to be doing anything any more that didn't entail some fun for me. cooking has ceased to be fun for the time being.i'm actually having a christmas tree this year. the past several years i've been too tired and/or too depressed to take on the job. i have the ornaments out and the tree up so i'm well on my way. i just hope i can stave off depression until i finish it.appropos the list of questions i posted earlier, i think i'll start with what frightens me. such an easy question to answer. what frightens me is the prospect of somehow reliving my past. i'm afraid of being alone and terrified with no hope of things improving. the irony is that i'm always alone. i've always been alone and i probably always will be. it's a choice i make to some extent. some part of it is my extreme introversion. if survival depends on creating a safe haven in your own mind, i think being introverted becomes a survival skill. i think there's some scientific indication that introversion may be an aspect of personality one comes equipped with at birth. when i was younger, i thought i really wanted to develop a network of friends. by younger, i mean around college age. i could have that now if i wished. i just don't care anymore. i have relationships with others that center around one or two interests that we share. however, i have many, many interests and i haven't found anyone yet who shares more than a couple. (notable exception here is my husband.) that's fine with me.as for emotional support, no one--not even me--knows the full story of my life. i've related a lot of it here, but there are still things i'm unwilling to write about even in my only anonymity. the people who know bits and pieces of it have absolutely no comparable personal experiences. what i feel is a mystery to them. my world view was shaped under dire circumstances and is not so easy to understand, even when people really try.that is true existential aloneness. the type i'm still afraid of. the type i live in every day. what a conundrum. i'm afraid of the very life i'm living. it's bearable because i'm not in any ongoing physical danger and because i'm not constantly being bombaarded by traumatic events. sometimes i think i wish that i could be more connected. but then i think better of it.here's the quote of the day:"I write from solitude and I speak from solitude...However I did not seek solitude. I found it. And from my solitude I think, work, and live - and I believe that I write and speak with almost infinite composure and resignation."~ Camilo Jose Celaamerica held hostage day 1789bushism of the day:"We must all hear the universal call to like your neighbor just like you like to be liked yourself."website of the day: Edgehttp://www.edge.org/

Great Questions

i read this just a moment ago and i didn't want to lose it. important questions. Excerpted from LIVING YOUR BEST LIFE, by Laura Berman Fortgang.
"The way to your life blueprint requires asking deeper, more useful questions in order to get better answers and more effective action. The questions that will help you do that are access questions, which I like to call Wisdom Access Questions. These questions access your innate wisdom to create positive, forward motion.
What do you want?
What are you afraid of?
What is this costing you?
What are you attached to?
What is the dream?
What is the essence of the dream?
What is beyond this problem?
What is ahead?
What are you building toward?
What has to happen for you to feel successful?
What gift are you not being responsible for?
What are your healthy sources of energy?
What's stopping you?
What's in your way?
What would make the biggest difference?
What do you like to do?
What can you do to make you happy right now?
What do you hope to accomplish by having that conversation?
What do you hope to accomplish by doing that?
What's the first step?
What would it be like to experience the excitement and the fear at the same time?
What's important about that?
What would it take for you to treat yourself like your best client/friend?
What benefit/payoff is there in the present situation?
What do you expect to have happen?
What's the ideal?
What's the ideal outcome?
What would it look like?
What's the truth?
What's the right action?
What are you going to do?
What's working for you?
What would you do differently?
What decision would you make from a position of strength?
What other choices do you have?
What do you really, really want?
What if there were no limits?
What haven't I asked that I should ask?
What needs to be said that has not been said?
What are you not saying?
What else do you have to say about that?
What is left to do to have this be complete?
What do you have invested in continuing to do it this way?
What is that?
What comes first?
What consequences are you avoiding?
What is the value you received from this meeting/conversation?
What is motivating you?
What has you hooked?
What is missing here?
What does that remind you of?
What do you suggest?
What is underneath that?
What is this person contributing to the quality of your life?
What is it that you are denying yourself right now?
What do you need to put in place to accomplish this?
What is the simplest solution here?
What would help you know I support this/you completely?
What happened?
What are you avoiding?
What is the worst that could happen?
What are you committed to?
What is your vision for yourself and the people around you?
What don't you want?
What if you knew?
What's your heart telling you?
What are you willing to give up?
What might have you done differently?
What are you not facing?
What does this feeling remind you of?
What would you do differently if you tapped into your own wisdom?
What does your soul say?
more later.

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

The End Of The Marriage

"Lying is done with words and also with silence."~Adrienne Rich

After the ninth grade, I transferred to another school. My dad insisted that I do it because, he said, it was a better school. I thought it was because he wanted to get me away from my friend. As much as I hate to admit it, he was right, it was a better school.

I made a couple of new friends after I'd been going there for a couple of months. We weren't particularly like one another, but then none of my friends had ever been very much like me. My home life was just the same as always. Dad still married to the girl, mom still sleeping with me. No furniture. By that time, I had devoted myself to school work because it meant I could phase out and forget how it felt to be living my life. I didn't want to be around my father or his wife. The smell of baby shit depressed the fuck out of me. Furthermore, if my father could see me, there was a good possibility he'd start harassing me. Occasionally, he'd make me hang out with him. I always wondered why. I assumed he was aware of how much I hated him. I don't know why I thought that; I did my dead level best to keep my feelings to myself. To this day, when i'm angry I frequently adopt a distant, preoccupied look. I was never aware of it until my therapist mentioned it.

By the time I was a junior, I had found a true friend. She was my english teacher. I met her because I wanted to be in the accelerated english program. I went to speak with her and she encouraged me to give it a try. I was also submitting poetry to the high school literary magazine she sponsored.

She came to give me safe haven when I couldn't stand my life anymore. She kept me alive when I was suicidal. She gave me hope. She loved me. The world was a little less lonely.

Somewhere before christmas of my senior year, my father's wife once again decided she'd had enough. She left and I believe she took her daughter with her. Somehow my father got her in his clutches and absconded with her. He finally had to acknowledge she was his child. Even though I already knew that, his admission just further enraged me.

My dad left the state with the child and went to see his mom. I don't recall how long he stayed there, but I'm sure it wasn't long enough, as far as I was concerned. I actually hoped never to see him again. Wrong again. He decided the coast was clear, apparently, and returned with his mother and child in tow to a small town not far away from where we lived. My mother started visiting him (brilliant, right?), but I refused.

At some point in that period of time, my father's wife, her brother and sister and maybe a couple of other people broke into our house in the middle of the night. They were fortunate that I was unable to get to the gun I knew was in the house. I was also fortunate because I might well have killed someone. We left the house and returned another day to find that all of my stuff had been taken. Since there wasn't much else in the house, they just decided to steal things from me.

I've always read a lot and kept those books which were meaningful to me for one reason or another. They took my books. Trust me, they did not take them to read them. No one in her family was bright enough to read them. My mom and I moved into a garage apartment.

Also about that time, my dad's wife and sister in law would show up at my school in the afternoons. I lived outside the area the school bus served, so I would wait for my mom till she got off of work. Walking out to my car, they would surround me and threaten me.

All of that ended when they figured out where my dad was. He was arrested and put in jail. My mother and i were required (by my father) to show up for his court date. I'm not sure what good that was supposed to do, but I didn't have any control over the situation, as usual. once again, I was humiliated by the circumstances in which I lived.

america held hostage day 1783

bushism of the day:
"There's an old saying in Tennessee -- I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee...that says, fool me once, shame on...shame on you. Fool me...you can't get fooled again."
website of the day:
The deCode Projecthttp://sunsite3.berkeley.edu/biotech/iceland/

Isolation

"You can have power over people as long as you don't take everything away from them. But when you've robbed a man of everything, he's no longer in your power."~Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn

It's still raining. It's been raining off and on all weekend. I'm talking downpours. Right now there's a break in the rain, but the skies are still gray and there's more rain to come.

So when I was 13 I met two friends. I actually had a couple of other friends, but only two with whom I was very close and knew about my home life (to some extent). I later learned that my friend Gale had been sexually abused by her father for years and years. She was also a Jehovah's Witness, which didn't matter to me, but became a means to an end for my father.

Gale had a kind and gentle heart. She was also hilarious and far more outgoing than I. of course, even then I brought new meaning to the word "introverted." I can't tell you how it cheered me up that she thought I was worthy of being her friend. Remember that I had had no friends for quite some time. At that point, I was just pleased that people would allow me to sit in the same room with them. I think of Gale frequently even now, hoping she's found a safe and loving place to be.

I was also hanging out with another girl, Kathryn, who had a very bad reputation. It was 1967 and she was a hippie. I smile now to think about it. She was pretty comfortable with broadcasting around the school that she had a lover, a 13-year old boy named Clifford. Clifford was kind of a mess. In retrospect, he was quite clearly a neglected child and, perhaps abused in other ways, too. Given the fact that she was sexually active so early, I'd be willing to bet anything that she was sexually abused, too.

One of my favorite things about her, aside from her intelligence and artistic abilities, was that she was rebellious. I had worked up a serious distaste for virtually every adult I met. I just wasn't as vocal about it as Kathryn. With her,Ii could allow that part of myself to come out and play.

I remember once in algebra class, my teacher told me that I should pick my friends more carefully because it was on the basis of my friends that people judged me. Once again, this information was imparted in front of everyone in the class. Thanks, dickhead. He seemed to believe I could just pick and choose who I hung out with. The "nice" kids didn't want to have anything to do with me. What the hell was I supposed to do, just continue to be completely alone so that the idiotic adults around me would think better of me? I was contemptuous.

The problem with Gale began in the summer of the seventh grade. My father had done something that enraged me--I no longer know what it was. I wrote a letter to Gale in which I told her I thought he was insane. Before I had a chance to send it, he managed to read the letter. He was enraged with me, of course, because I had hit upon the truth and he knew it. He forbade me to have any further contact. Once again, I was totally isolated. Worse yet, he decided not to speak to me for the rest of the summer. You would think that would have been a good thing, but when my dad wasn't talking to you, there was no telling when things might escalate into a situation where I could be physically hurt. I had already decided that I'd had about enough of the hitting and that the next time he hit me would be the last. I have no idea what I thought I would do. I had considered running away from home, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that wasn't a workable plan. I had nowhere to go, no money, no friends. Leaving was out of the question. Luckily, the need never arose because he never hit me again.

Nonetheless, it was like living in a prison. My father was not a guy who could let things go. I wasn't in much of a mood to apologize and it wouldn't have done me any good anyway. He wanted me to believe that the reason he didn't want me to see Gale was because he was afraid I would become a Jehovah's Witness. I recognized that for exactly what it was. A lie. The latest self-serving lie in a long line of them. I just learned how to be a little sneakier. I appeared to comply, but I continued to see my friend. That incident marked a further deterioration in my relationship with him.

america held hostage day 1782

bushism of the day:

"There's only one person who hugs the mothers and the widows, the wives and the kids upon the death of their loved one. Others hug but having committed the troops, I've got an additional responsibility to hug and that's me and I know what it's like."

website of the day:ikosmos: Portal for Cultural Creativityhttp://www.ikosmos.com/

What Do You Mean, Depressed?

"The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven's lieutenants."~William Shakespeare

I guess it's worth mentioning here that all this old stuff I'm dredging up is making me depressed as hell. My therapist suggested that it might be why I've been so down lately. Oddly enough, I hadn't considered that.

I had also not considered that one of the (many) sources of my depression is my recognition that no one ever considered my needs important. Sometimes I felt like Athena, sprung from my father's forehead. He thought me into existence. When i was younger, I had a lot of trouble determining what I might be other than what my parents wished me to be. of course, I've figured it out since then.

Nonetheless, I have to acknowledge that neither of my parents--for different reasons, probably--was capable of seeing me as a small human. If they told me I was supposed to sit somewhere, they expected to find me there when they came back, irrespective of how long they stayed away. I was like a doll for them. They were actually the only important people, only their needs and desires were worth noting. Do I find that depressing? Well, I guess so. The problem is that one can only have one's own life. Had i had a different, better life before I lived with my family, I'm certain I would have recognized the problem for what it was.

I have some friends who had good childhoods, but I can't really compare. I have no real idea what it is to have a sane family. I have no idea what it must be like to have a mother and father who acknowledge your humanity on a daily basis. I have no clue as to what it would be like to have my parents do something for me when they couldn't see how it would directly benefit them.

That's about enough for today.

american held hostage day 1771

bushism of the day:
"There's only one person who hugs the mothers and the widows, the wives and the kids upon the death of their loved one. Others hug but having committed the troops, I've got an additional responsibility to hug and that's me and I know what it's like."

The Baby Comes and My Dad Finds Someone Else He Likes More Than Me

"It is a sin to believe evil of others, but it is seldom a mistake."~ H.L. Mencken

Before I begin my continuing litany of what went wrong with my life, just an update on what's going wrong now. My hubby is somewhat bipolar, I think, and he's in the midst of a slight upswing into the manic mode. Unfortunately, this is not the type of mania that leads to euphoria. He's been in a bad mood for at least a couple of days now. I'm much better about dealing with it than ever before. I pretty much leave him alone to work out his own mood disorder. I try not to get anxious. Unfortunately, he has this nasty habit of slamming doors when he's irritable. Every time he does it, I can feel a tremor run through my nervous system. I consider it a triumph that I'm able to recognize what's going on and detach from it a little. I guess this is really just desserts after my little tirade about triggers yesterday. Yes, boys and girls, I do have triggers. I have many. I generally just manage to carry on, nonetheless. As i am doing now. It's just a little blip on the radar screen of unpleasantness. It is unpleasant, though, and maybe a little scary.

It's been raining here for two days now. The sun has been out for about half an hour now and I'm so thrilled to see it. Relentlessly gray skies wear me down emotionally. It's supposed to be clear for a couple of days, so maybe I can regain my emotional equilibrium.

Okay, so where was I in the saga of trauma? Oh yeah, the baby. When i was around 13, I noticed what appeared to be a growing pregnancy in my father's wife (yes, that would be the 15 year old). There was, of course, general denial, although I don't think I ever actually mentioned it to anyone. You know, what would have been the point? After the baby was born and returned to my house, my dad told me it was someone else's kid. Yes, this pisses me off even today. I endured. what else can I say? I was enraged and contemptuous of him. Somewhere in there, before the whole baby thing, my father decided he'd found someone else he liked more than me.

We went to visit his family in Hillbilly USA because, I guess, he wanted to demonstrate to his mother and siblings what a cool thing he was doing. He took the wife with us, along with my mom. If you'd buried me in a hill of fire ants, you could not have caused me any more torture than sitting in a fucking car with all of them for a good 7 hours (one way). While we were visiting the folks, my father dropped in on his oldest sister at her house. She had several kids, including a girl who was my age. Se seemed to hit it off. Of course, it's easy to hit it off when you're looking for any distraction available so you don't have to think about what a huge fucking mess your life is through no fault of your own.

My dad's great idea was to bring her back with us for a visit. I don't know how long the visit was supposed to last, but in retrospect, it seems like several months. Well, guess what? Once she got there, my dad used every opportunity to point out how she was better than I was. She dressed better. She had less acne. She was smarter. Goddamn it. Just in case I wasn't getting the message already that he thought I was just a huge piece of shit, here was further evidence.

Have i mentioned how much I hated him? I worked up a pretty fair hatred of my cousin, too. By the time she left, I never wanted to see her again and, in fact, I never have. I understand that she's been living with another cousin of ours for about the past 15 years or so. Just to be clear, the cousin is a male and yes, they're having a sexual relationship. No children, luckily. It's the scandal of the family. That would make me laugh if it weren't so grim. Let's see now. We have a father (my grandfather) who definitely sexually abused at least one of his daughters, but I'm guessing all of them. He also allegedly sexually abused his sons. It's my own personal guess that his wife (my grandmother) also sexually abused the boys.

I have at least one uncle who sexually abused at least three of his nieces. he may or may not have raped someone. He definitely sexually abused his own daughter. I have a father who's also a pedophile and a sadist. My father said that he once caught his mother in bed with some guy who wasn't his dad. I don't know about that...it's definitely possible, but with my dad you could just never be sure whether he imagined it. He also told me he'd interrupted a conversation between my grandmother and one of my aunts about murdering my grandfather. My personal take on this is, wouldn't you? So given all of this, they all consider it surprising and scandalous that my two cousins are cohabitating? I also have a cousin who's gay. He's been officially excommunicated from the family. He might actually be one of the lucky ones. There are more fun stories from my father's family, but no time now to delve into them.

This seems like about enough for today.

Okay, I'm A Bitch

I can't believe how mean spirited I was being about people suffering from ptsd. It must be the root canal talking....

Could You Possibly Just Buck Up?

"I seldom think of my limitations, and they never make me sad. Perhaps there is just a touch of yearning at times; but it is vague, like a breeze among flowers."~Helen Keller

I had part 2 of the root canal today, so I'm feeling a little worn out already and it's only mid-afternoon.

I've been reading some more messages from folks in my complex post traumatic stress disorder group. I'm once again struck by how many of them have found themselves completely unable to function normally. (Whatever "normal" means.) A few of them have been homeless off and on, most are unable to hold a regular job. It sort of takes my breath away. I mentioned this to my therapist a couple of weeks ago and she was also surprised at the number of people who've given up.

Even though I can appreciate the extreme difficulty of finding and keeping a job, there is defintely some part of me that thinks people should just pull themselves together and try hard to function. They speak of being triggered on a regular basis. Hell, life itself is triggering. I mean, sometimes the way light fills a room can trigger flashbacks or dissociation for me. People being angry is triggering. People startling me is triggering. Anyting and everything carries some terrible memory; nothing is untouched.

Nonetheless, I've been employed for most of my adult life. Furthermore, I've been employed in highly demanding jobs. I never thought there was an option. I need to eat and I'd prefer not to live under a bridge somewhere. I'm incredibly independent and would never be able to tolerate depending on someone else's charity. (Several of the people are staying with friends while they await word on their disability status.)

I know this sounds like I'm denigrating people who are in more difficult places in their lives. I guess maybe I am, as much as I hate to admit it. I'm a very compassionate person and I'm a little surprised at my reaction. I know it's exhausting to continually push yourself forward when all you want to do is lie down somewhere and sleep for about a decade. If you decide to give up, though, there's no hope you'll ever be able to care for yourself. Caring for one's self is critical. If you depend on others, you invite continued abuse (of many different types).

The members of the group also tend to discount what "normal" people say because they believe that no one understands ptsd unless they've lived through it. Well, okay. I suppose it's true that most people don't know what it feels like to have images of incredible violence arise in their heads because they just picked up a stick from their front yard. Do I need for them to understand? It would probably be nice, but it's certainly not mandatory for adequate treatment. When their therapists tell them to buck up, they get really pissed off about it. When their psychiatrists prescribe anti-depressants/anti-anxiety/anti-whatever, it pisses them off that the doctor is only "masking" the underlying pain. Hey, take what you can get. If masking the pain helps you to get out of bed and go to work, then use it.

I know i've been blessed with an extremely hardy constitution and an iron will. They've propelled me through life and helped me to live a normal life even though deep inside I'm in great pain. My compadres talk about wanting to be strong and independent...but only if they can be on ssi. I wish them luck, but i don't think that's how it works. Instead of being dependent on family and friends, they're dependent on THE STATE. That might be even worse.

Well I'm clearly not feeling very charitable today and I'm in no mood to go traipsing through old memories.

america held hostage day 1659

bushism of the day:"The law I sign today directs new funds and new focus to the task of collecting vital intelligence on terrorist threats and on weapons of mass production."

website of the day: CTheory.nethttp://www.ctheory.net

Root Canal and Distrust

Trust only movement. Life happens at the level of events, not of words. Trust movement."~Alfred Adler

I had a root canal on Thursday afternoon and I'm just now feeling better. I haven't been able to open my mouth more than about half an inch all weekend...makes it a little difficult to eat. I have part two tomorrow at 11:00, so I may be missing a couple of days this week, too.

When I saw my therapist on Friday, we spent most of the session talking about my early sexual abuse. Sexual abuse in my life came in many forms, but we were specifically addressing that perpetrated by my uncle. I noticed sometime last week (maybe Wednesday) that whenever there were moments that my mind wasn't actively engaged, a nasty little internal voice would jump right in with, "I hate myself" "I'm a terrible person." You get the drift. when I noticed it happening, I tried to counter it with more loving messages. They were completely ineffective. My brain just completely disregarded those thoughts in favor of the destructive ones. I also noticed at some point that I seemed to be disengaged from my body. The feeling was somewhat different from my usual dissociative state. It's difficult to really describe the difference.

Once I realized I was slipping into a sort of hypnotic state, I was able to shake it off for the most part. had to force myself to really focus on the physical surroundings, in addition to focusing on re-establishing the mind/body connection. I've never noticed any similar states of mind.

My therapist suggested that it sounded like it might be related to my sexual abuse. Any mention of traumatic episodes guarantees that I'll have some flashbacks. We spoke about those flashbacks as they arose. It's been a very long time since I've discussed those memories with anyone. Just talking about it makes me feel like I'm going to implode.

My stepson and his wife were in town briefly on Sunday. They came by to have lunch, but I was doing grocery shopping for the week. I only got to see them for about ten minutes. Just as well, really. I'm very ambivalent about that relationship at the moment, but I need to be able to conceal my distrust and anger with my daughter-in-law. She told my step-son that she'd divorce him If he doesn't address his alcohol problem. My husband and I never knew about him abusing alcohol, but both of us support her decision. Since that time, she's taken a couple of trips out of town. The critical information here is that, before she married my stepson, she was married to someone else. My stepson and she began dating while she was still married. Her behavior now is very similar to her behavior then. If she doesn't wish to be married to my stepson, I can understand and accept that. I'm just having some difficulty trusting her at the moment. Of course, since this is completely between her and my stepson, all I can do is pray for them both. I don't wish to betray my feelings to either of them. Okay, I'm actually boring myself at this point. must be time to go.

america held hostage day 1658

bushism of the day:"The administration I'll bring is a group of men and women who are focused on what's best for America, honest men and women, decent men and women, women who will see service to our country as a great privilege and who will not stain the house."

website of the day:http://thecropcirclewebsite.50megs.com/

You Just Can't Make This Shit Up

"If you're going through hell, keep going."~Winston Churchill

Well I might as well just get on with this. I'm already actively depressed, so what the hell. Actively depressed means I recognize that I'm feeling sad and maybe worthless. I'm depressed a lot and don't even recognize it.) I actually watched the news this morning for the first time since the Bush debacle. Of course, I was getting dressed for work etc., so they may have had something about him, but I missed it. i don't wish to look at him and I certainly do not wish to hear him. I know this guy really well. He's just like hundreds of other good old boys I've met before. A lot of those good old boys were just a rich as W, but without the long record of abject failure that propels someone into politics. Remember that old axiom, "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach?" It actually really applies to politics.

Now the hard stuff. I'm not sure exactly where in time these events occurred. I know that they were sometime between the ages of 13 and 15. As I said before, time is quite mutable when you're living in hell. i may have neglected to say that my father's wife had been getting beaten up for a couple of years on a fairly regular basis. if there was an up side to this whole situation, it was that my dad no longer beat up my mom. ( also recognize that 've neglected to talk about the actual wedding between my dad and his 13 year old girlfriend. that will take some working up to, but eventually I hope to steel myself enough to write about it.)

At some point, I guess she got tired of it or maybe she thought he might kill her (that would have been a reasonable fear). She went back to her mother's house and everything was in chaos. My father knew it was wrong to hit women. In addition to being actively psychotic, he just didn't give a shit.

I remember riding in his truck with him around this time and he was urging me to lie on his behalf. I clearly remember him saying that we needed to "stick together." I think he may have even cried. He did that a lot when he was afraid, but I never saw him cry for anyone other than himself. I'd already determined that he was my enemy, so I was not feeling very much like doing anything for him. However, I realized that letting him see how I felt could be dangerous.

After she'd been gone for several days, I was actually starting to cheer up. I thought maybe we could go back to being "normal" again. (That's just sad, isn't it?) But then she came back. My father broke the news to me in the garage. I have no idea what the deal was with his family and garages. Anyway, I just completely fell apart. I started crying hysterically and I couldn't stop. I almost fainted, but my dad caught me before I could injure myself falling on the concrete floor.

Leave it to my father to come up with the perfect antidote to my despair. He asked me if I'd like to go get an ice cream cone. (Let's just pause for a moment and contemplate the sheer lunacy of that suggestion.) This is one of those many fragmented memories and I don't remember how the garage scene ended, but I know it didn't end with ice cream. She stayed and I focused my energies on not killing myself or anyone else.

I was going to talk about the baby, but I just can't manage that today. I'm feeling a strong need to start screaming and breaking things. Of course, I won't. I'm going to need to calm myself down now, so I'll continue this dreary tale tomorrow.

Dreams of Bridges

I rarely remember my dreams, so when I do, I think there must be powerful meaning behind it. Last night I dreamed my husband and I were going over a very high bridge. He was driving. Once we got on the bridge, a dense fog wrapped around us, making it impossible to see anything. I was very afraid. It seemed to me that we were driving in a straight line, but I couldn't be sure. I recall trying to sense with my physical being how far we had come and how far we had left to go. There is no end to this dream. I think I must have been so frightened that I woke up briefly, which would explain why I remember the dream.

I've dreamed of bridges for as long as I can remember. Bridge dreams generally follow the same trajectory. I'm driving up a tall bridge, but when I arrive at the top, I find that the bridge ends and I fall into empty space. One of the dreams I frequently had as a child involved arriving at my home to find that my parents had moved out. They did not leave a note saying where they went or why they left. I would set off on foot to find them and, inevitably, have to cross a tall bridge. The bridge ended at the top and I would begin a freefall.

I can think of several interpretations to my dream last night, but I'm going to meditate upon it for a while. Sometimes things are not as simple as they appear.

Nothing Left Untouched

"Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved."~Helen Keller

When my therapist and I got together on Friday, we talked at length about why I hate birthdays (and Christmas and all other gift-receiving events). It has nothing to do with age.

Whenever I received a gift from my parents, I always tried to seem as grateful as possible. If I hated the gift, I lied. (And I often hated the gift, because my dad always bought gifts that he wanted as a child.) Despite my efforts at expressing my gratitude, my father would say,"You didn't say thank you for your present." Well, of course I had said thanks...I'd practically carved "thank you" on my forehead. But I said thank you again. All day throughout the day, I was reminded that I hadn't said thank you for the gift. Sometimes I was reminded for days on end. Thank you thank you thank you fucking thank you.

When I receive gifts now, I can't figure out what's enough and what's too much. I don't want to express gratitude too effusively; people might not believe I really like the gift. On the other hand, I don't want to seem ungrateful by not thanking enough. I end up getting so confused that I'd rather people just didn't give me anything.

There was usually the mandatory photo of my on my birthday (Christmas, Easter, etc.). That meant that without a doubt I was going to be hit at least several times. Pose me, hit me, trying hard to hold the correct pose. Hit me, pose me. I valiantly tried to stay completely still so I could hang on to the exact pose my dad demanded. He generally didn't like the way I smiled, either. If you wish for someone to smile broadly the obvious answer is to just to hit them. Yhat'll make them smile.

My therapist pointed out to me that there's isn't even a small corner of my life that hasn't been tainted by my past. I never think of my life that way. I think viewing my life in its totality is just too overwhelming. That is what i'm trying to do here. There are many years for which I have no memories or maybe just one or two memories. I'm fine with that. If there are any memories buried because they're too painful to remember, I really don't want to know what they are. I suspect many memories aren't available because it was just more of the same. It's difficult to pinpoint specific incidents of abuse when the abuse occurs daily. I also think perhaps it's related to the fact that I knew there was no escape so I retreated into my head just so I could bear to get up every day and go on.

I think when I left off, I was talking about the fifth grade, but I think I've covered the high points. The entire sixth grade is missing from my memory. I'm certain I had no friends. I'm also certain that I was enraged at virtually every adult in my life for not taking care of me. I tried hard to get good grades and stay under the radar at school.

The summer before the seventh grade, I withdrew. I had no intention of talking to my father's 15 year old wife. I hated her. My solution was to sleep. I must have been sleeping 19 hours a day. I would get up when my mom got home from work. I was required to eat dinner with everyone. I wasn't allowed that respite for long.

My father made me get up and get out of my (and my mom's) bedroom. I hated my father a little more. So i was out of my room, but I never acknowledged her presence in any way. I win again, even though it was a hollow victory.

When I started the 7th grade, I became obsessed with not being like my father. If he liked something, I was guaranteed to hate it. I discounted everything he said to me because I believed he knew absolutely nothing about me.