being honest with you guys

I started this blog because it was one place that I could be heartbreakingly real with my emotions and thoughts, something I haven’t learned to do in my non-blog life.  Last weekend I realized I have been very hesitant to be honest on here about something that I haven’t even told my counselor and don’t plan to.  I am having a hard time coming clean with the truth because I have realized that there are some out there who really care and I don’t want to worry or cause any pain to someone else.  But, in worrying about others I have shut down my voice and it has taken 48 years to finally find my voice.

I have been having suicidal thoughts for the last few weeks without a means to carry out the way I “need” to.  Since a serious attempt two years ago my husband doles out my meds, one at a time.  I really think all these thoughts are a security issue in that I don’t have plans to actually kill myself.  Really, I don’t know what I actually have plans for.  Anyway, a few days ago, I started pretending to take a certain medication and then hiding them away somewhere.   This certain medication is one that I researched two years ago and if mixed with alcohol it is lethal.  I do not have any plans on taking the lethal dose or mixing it with alcohol.  But, I guess I am holding on to it for such a day as I feel a need to have them.

I know this isn’t safe or sane.  I know that the 14 year old in me is the one driven to escape pain, but I have been actively helping her have preparations available that my counselor and husband have helped me see are “dangerous” for me.  Certain music takes me away but always makes me suicidal.  Well, I have the music, now the drugs just in case.

Before today the plan was to take them next week but now the plan is to wait until my son comes to visit and I hear about his overnight stay with my dad (my abuser).

Okay, so now I have been honest with someone at least.

 

 

My 20 yr old son is going to visit my dad

and I don’t know how I feel.  But there are a lot of feelings swirling around, I just can’t identify them.  I am fearful because this seems to me like this is an opened door to my life for my dad.  He will be able to ask questions, my son may willingly give information, it just seems like a big unknown.  I won’t know what all was talked about and discussed.

I know my son wants to make a connection with his grandfather for various reasons.  And I am okay with that.  It’s just that for the first time, I’m getting over my extreme fear of my father and have gotten in touch with my anger.  Now, that extreme fear is creeping back in.  I don’t want him to know anything about my life.  Nothing.  Now, he’s going to know something and I won’t know what it is that he knows.  And I don’t like that.

I don’t feel safe.

I haven’t sent my angry letter to my dad.  And I fear that whenever I do there will be attempts to win over my son to their side.  Or, they will share with him how I have hurt them and how undeserving they are of it.  Again, it feels like the door will be wide open for his evilness to invade my life.

I know it wouldn’t be healthy or appropriate to put any restrictions on my son’s conversing with my dad, or quiz him about the time he spent with him.

Once again my dad has tied my hands.
 I have no choice.
I have no options.

Only consequences.

Little Girl Desperate

Little girl in bright yellow dress
Twirling and jumping
Dancing to her own tune
Trying to be noticed
Wanting to be loved
Desperate for care while hope is at home

Little girl in bright yellow dress
Resting her head waiting for sleep
Someone she trusts, someone she loves
Interrupting the dreams to give the nightmares a beginning

Little girl in worn out blue dress
Her love turning to fear and her trust to despair
No longer in safety, experiencing agony of loss
Betrayal giving way to grieving and pain drifting to dissociation

Little girl in worn out blue dress
Trying to be noticed
Wanting to be loved
Desperate for care but hope starting its escape

Before, there was belonging
and connections being made
Now, the throbbing ache of separation confuses
and emptiness is well lit

Little girl in worn out blue dress
Trusting again, hoping to have closeness
The smile and gentleness capturing unaware, trapping her little mind and tying it to evil
the deception
the panic
the splitting pain
Dying to self and praying for the end

Little girl in shabby and torn red dress
Trying to hide
Wanting to be loved
Desperate for care when no hope exists

Dear God, I’m angry at you

I’m angry you chose not to protect me. How could you just watch and do nothing? What does your son dying have to do with my abuse. It still happened, I still have to live with all the consequences. I have to live with the pain, the anxiety, and the fear. You call me a daughter but I would NEVER sit back and allow a man to sexually assault my child over and over and over again. It was a never ending nightmare. And You never rescued me. You never loved me. You never comforted me. You never cried in pain. I was left alone to tend to my wounds and wait for the next attack. I was taught, as a daughter, to give my body, heart and soul to my dad to use to meet his own disgusting needs.

If you were a loving compassionate God you would have rushed to my tears held me tight and delivered me from my family. But You didn’t. How do You call yourself LOVE? You are just another man that abandoned me and left me empty. How am I supposed to learn to trust You? I don’t like You. I don’t trust that kind of love. Your type of love hurts. This is why I am self-sufficient now because I’ve had to be.

You want me to depend on YOU? REALLY?? I can depend on You to watch my pain but not be there? Depend on You to feel my pain but not rescue me? Depend on You who let my abuser continue the abuse?

I needed a rescuer. I needed a comforter. I needed to be held. And you did none of these.

I want to be rescued out of the pain now. I am in pain. Why can’t you take the darkness away? Why won’t you?

You’re supposed to be able to make dark days bright. You’ve said you won’t give me more than I can bear so tell me, how does a four year old bear the physical and emotional, spiritural and sexual abuse by her Daddy, year after year? I am proof she cannot bear it.

Surrounding Darkness

Drowning in the swells
Burning on the surface
Cutting to expose

Surrounding darkness
I’m dropping in, drifting down
Swallowing mouthfuls
Nothing left

Choosing pain, the only reality
Giving in, passion for the darkness
Leading me, drawing me, calling me home.
I’ve found the greater evil…and it is ME.

Spoken in the gloom
“You’re no longer a captive,
A child no more.
There’s a greater truth,
A deeper passion,
Freedom to be had.”

Surprise and shock
Maybe hope
Can I wait?  Can I trust?
Can I allow the love to be felt?

Room

is a movie about a young mother and her son held captive in a small shed by her abuser.  When I first watched this movie I was most affected by and reacted to her severe PTSD symptoms.  Hmmm….now I am thinking I was numb to her abuse because it hit too close to home.

Room.  Isn’t that what happened to me (and to many of us)?  Held captive by my father in order to be available 24-7 to his passing whims?  I was allowed out of the house only under his watchful eye.  Mostly though,  I had to live life in my room never knowing when he would strike.  Life evolved around one abuse to the next.  Having to be hyper-vigilant to all sounds, especially footsteps.  Having to be a master, as the tender age of 4, to facial expressions, tone of voice, and the emotions of another.  I was locked in his sexual perversion.  Screaming would have been of no use because my supposed protector was also my abuser.  My mouth was taped with his manipulative lies.

Room.  My own room consisted of a bedroom, bathroom and car.  All places of terror that would begin when my abuser entered the kitchen door.  Punishment for any type of resistance meant being tied down.  All emotion and reaction was hammered deep into the recesses of my mind.  I became lost in the trauma.  All that existed was the pain and fear.

Was survival even a choice?

No, I had to be a puppet to their sick games and pretend all was well.  There was no choice.  If there had been, I would have chosen death, easily.

Stronger now…Nope, falling apart

Last week someone told me that I was very self-aware and obviously a lot of healing at taken place this past year.  I felt strong and whole as I sat with her.  Yes, last year I was having almost daily panic attacks, severe depression at least once week, suicide ideation, and in recovery for alcoholism.  Today, I am able to hold down a  job, attend church,  think about  starting to trust in friendships again, alcohol free for two years, and getting in touch with my emotions.  Yes! I am doing better!

But, as soon as I spoke that out loud an inner turmoil began.  What I felt was overwhelming alarm bells going off.   A tidal wave of emotions kept dragging me under and I couldn’t figure out what was hitting me much less what the emotions were.   All I could do was label it as pain.

I told myself that because I was “doing better” I shouldn’t email my counselor about the pain because that would indicate that I am not “doing better”.  I white knuckled it until I dissociated. Meaning,  life was going on around me but I couldn’t reach out and touch it.  I was doing what I needed to do but I couldn’t grab hold of life and participate.

Also, around this time, I had convinced myself that because I was experiencing transference with my counselor (as a father figure) I needed to stop needing that support and I needed to back off and not depend on him.  So not contacting him meant I had to hold onto all of this transference business (Oh my GOSH I HATE KNOWING WHAT TRANSFERENCE IS).    It also meant that I had to pretend all this fear wasn’t there so I could put on the appearance of Strongness.

But, this risk of holding on to all my “truths” became too much of a burden to bear so I unloaded it all today in counseling.  We discussed each and everything that came up, all difficult, but sharing the load made me glad I had someone I could depend on for support.

Also, a first for me, I felt a bit of anger at my counselor today and I told him about it!  That was frightening because of a huge fear of abandonment but with him, he tells me EVERYTHING is discussable. So, we discussed my anger.  By the way, I was angry that he questioned me about a memory that I didn’t want to focus on because it was so painful.  And lo and behold, he didn’t reject me, shut down, or become defensive nor did he abandon me.  I think this counseling thing might just work out all right for me!