by Band Back Together | Oct 24, 2010 | Abuse, Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Anger, Child Sexual Abuse, Fear, Guilt, Incest, Shame, Therapy |
When I began counseling for childhood physical and sexual abuse, I was broken. A broken heart, a broken spirit. I had carried the guilt and shame of my childhood abuse for so long that it was like an old winter coat. So heavy to carry around each day. So hot that some days it was stifling. And yet it had the comfort of the known. It was scary to throw off that old heavy coat of guilt and shame and face what else was under there.
I thought we would begin slowly. I thought I would share just a bit at a time. My counselor agreed to go at the pace I set. But once I began talking, I kept right on talking. I told her EVERYTHING I could think of. If I thought of something in between sessions, I wrote them down so I could tell her next time. It seems that once I felt a crack in the dam that I’d built to protect myself, the floodwaters couldn’t run fast enough.
I let it ALL out.
It was scary. I shook like a leaf in a hurricane the first session and sometimes after that. But the overwhelming feeling was relief. My need to let it all out was greater than my fear of what my counselor would think of me (of course, that was my insecurities and had nothing to do with my counselor). It was such a RELIEF to release all the secrets I had been carrying.
Once the rush of information was over, we started working on issue after issue.
At some point in counseling, my shame and guilt turned into anger.
ANGER that the abuse occurred. ANGER at those adults who knew and did nothing to protect the little freckled girl with long braids that I had been. ANGER that I carried the guilt and shame of the abuse for so long. ANGER that my stepfather never was held accountable for his actions. ANGER at the days and nights of fear and pain and abuse I endured as a child unable to protect herself. ANGER at the bruises, welts and blisters I had to hide outside of our house. ANGER. ANGER. ANGER.
My counselor encouraged me to feel the anger, but I was terrified of the anger. I remember one conversation where my counselor asked my what about the anger made me so afraid. My reply was “I am afraid that the anger is so huge and so overwhelming that if I tap into it I won’t be able to control it.”
She asked me what I thought losing control of the anger would look like.
I told her I was afraid that the anger would take over and I would just scream and scream and scream until my throat was so raw I wouldn’t be able to scream anymore or that the anger would take over and I would break every single thing in my house. I truly was afraid to let myself feel the level of anger that I knew was raging inside of me.
Then she told me she had a plan, if I was willing. She took me out to her car in the parking lot. She opened the trunk. There in her trunk and in her back seat were huge plastic garbage bags of glass bottles. She had been saving glass bottles for a month or so. Not just hers, she had also asked friends, relatives, and neighbors to save their glass bottles for her.
Her idea was for me to find a place and time where I could be alone (or have a trusted person with me if I chose) and break the bottles. I could scream, cry, or “talk to” the people who I was angry at with each bottle I threw.
Her only “warning” – wear safety glasses.
I won’t lie. It sounded kind of corny to me. But I really trusted her by this point and I was aware that I really needed to deal with this anger before it exploded in some uncontrolled way.
My husband took the kids for a Saturday to go to a park, out to lunch, etc. I went into our basement and set the stage for a safe anger experiment.
I wanted to be able to contain the flying glass so I could avoid anyone being cut later on an overlooked shard. I hung up some plastic sheets so the glass would stay in one area of the basement. I lugged bag after bag of glass bottles to the basement, knowing there was no way I could break all of these bottles at once. I put on long sleeves to reduce the chance of me being hurt by flying glass and donned the ever-so-lovely safety glasses.
I felt stupid. I felt ridiculous setting all of this up. Do “normal” people have to go through all of this just to deal with some anger? But I soldiered on. I wanted to at least be able to say that I tried.
I threw the first bottle. It shattered, but I felt nothing. I threw the second bottle. Again, nothing. I threw the third bottle with some real gusto. Oooh, that felt GOOD! I started throwing the bottles as hard as I could. I eventually started yelling things like “THIS IS FOR NOT PROTECTING ME” or “YOU BASTARD, ROT IN HELL” or “YOU SHOULD CARRY THE GUILT AND SHAME” as I threw the bottles. IT. FELT. AWESOME.
Oh, I was ANGRY. REALLY, REALLY ANGRY.
But I can’t even describe how it felt to have an outlet for that anger.
Bottles were flying fast and furious! There were clear bottles, green bottles, amber bottles and blue bottles (the blue ones had the most spectacular shatter for some reason).
When I had thrown EVERY. SINGLE. BOTTLE. I was breathing hard and exhausted. But I realized I had felt my rage, really felt my RAGE, and the world had not stopped turning. My house was still standing. My family was fine. All was well. Better than well. Not only had I started my anger work in a very satisfying way (I can not describe the satisfaction of yelling out “YOU ARE A SICK FUCK WHO TOOK ADVANTAGE OF A LITTLE GIRL ” and then hearing the shattering of the bottle) but I had also proved to myself that I could handle the anger without losing control.
I know it sounds a little “nuts.” I know it sounds kind of corny. But I am here to tell you – this exercise opened the door for me. It helped me get past my fear of the anger and bring it out in the open so I could work on it.
So thank you SR for being such an awesome therapist that you collected bottles from far and wide for me. Thank you for showing me a way to tap into that anger safely.
I saved a little glass jar of the multi-colored shards of glass. Blue, green, amber, clear. I smile when I walk past it now. Beautiful reminders of my righteous anger and SR’s lesson that helped me release it.
by Band Back Together | Oct 21, 2010 | Eating Disorders, Guilt, Health, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, Shame |
Disclaimer: This is written from a really dark place. If body image issues or food relationship hangups could trigger you, please don’t continue. This post sounds dire and desperate and awful, and I suppose it is… but despite the darkness, I am actually quite happy with my life overall. It’s just this one head space that I can’t get right.
I haven’t been blogging… and this morning I finally realized why. I was reading Mish’s post (I am guilty if I eat) and here was my comment:
Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!! I could have written exactly this today. I have been really struggling lately because I have lost 40 pounds, but with the stress of grad school, working from home, a toddler, a marriage and my health journey… I’m slipping. I gained three pounds in two weeks, and so far this week isn’t looking good either. I’m eating terrible for me things on purpose, in crazy amounts, allowing myself to consciously and purposefully choose the worst options even when they aren’t what I really want. I don’t know how to stop it… I am terrified that I’ve done it again, had some success only to turn around and sabotage it all and end up so heavy, unhealthy and miserable again.
While I typed out that comment, I realized… I’m not blogging because I have nothing good to say.
I’m overwhelmed. Maybe even depressed.
I’m putting myself last because something has to give and I don’t know what else can, but me. I know how important it is to take care of myself, but when the other categories are my marriage, my daughter and my graduate classes, I’m the only thing that I can let go of without destroying some bigger dream.
(Well, without destroying some bigger dream for all of us.)
Health is my bigger dream… but now I’m terrified that I just can’t get there. I’m purposefully making terrible food choices. And the worst part is that it’s not really about the food, but that I am choosing the worst options strictly because they’re bad. I’m not exercising. I feel unmotivated, uninspired, and unhappy.
All of my old thoughts about my body have returned, and all I seeing the mirror is a fat, unattractive woman and it makes me wonder why I bother. If this is me anyway, why bother?
I’m sneak-eating again. I’m buying food when I’m out and eating it in the car. Then I stop somewhere to throw out the “evidence” so that no one knows. Some of my smaller pants are already getting too tight again.
I know how this works. I’ve been here before. I know all of the arguments. I know how much better I look and feel now. I know how hard it was to lose 40 pounds and how much I don’t want to gain it back. I know how proud I am of the work I’ve done, and I know exactly what I need to do to keep it going… so why am I not doing it? Why do I continue to make poor choices?
How do I choose myself when it means taking something away from my daughter, my marriage, or from the job that brings in a tiny but absolutely necessary amount of money each month? How do I choose myself when I’m taking away from the graduate work that will mean a better life for myself and my family someday soon?
I know I’d have more to give, in some ways, if I made time to take care of myself… but how do you do it? When you’re standing there, making the decision between cuddle time with your daughter and getting up to exercise, or between making a healthy dinner and caving to take-out pizza so that you can finish your homework without staying up until midnight…
How do I choose me?
by Band Back Together | Oct 20, 2010 | Bipolar Disorder, Happiness, Hope, Mental Health |
Bipolar Disorder is a tough diagnosis.
This is her story of hope:
Having Bipolar sucks sometimes.
Having bipolar disorder means that there are cycles that the meds will never fully be able to control. It means never being able to fully “let go” because letting go means not checking yourself every five minutes to make sure you’re within the normal range.
It means having people look at you funny and then avoid you altogether once they find out. It means being unable to just “be yourself,” because like it or not, bipolar disorder is like a wild, out-of-control animal. The medication give you reins and a saddle so you can sometimes steer the beast, but the disease has control.
And I’m one of the lucky ones.
I am one of the rare cases who found a medication regime four years after onset and haven’t had to change it since. I’m graduating college with honors and have been accepted to grad schools. I.am.lucky. and yet most days it’s a struggle to fit in with “normals.”
What I’ve found after years of studying other people to try and figure out how they have stability so easily is that most of them have skeletons, they just don’t acknowledge them and take them out to dance.
That’s a terrifying thought, but a relieving one, too. Relief to know I’m not the only one who struggles, frightening to know that everyone goes through their own shitstorm. Their heartbeat puts them on the list and the rest is a matter of which nouns and verbs you use to describe the “w’s” (who, what, when and where).
We all should keep fighting. We keep fighting and pulling ourselves off the ground. The truth of life is that sometimes, well, shit happens.
But I’ll say one thing; I wouldn’t trade having bipolar disorder for anything. Without it, I would be half the person I am today. It’s hard, so hard that some days that I’m afraid to be around myself, but I’m so much stronger with it then I ever would have been otherwise.
Surviving bipolar disorder is an amazing feeling. The enormity of what we go through is huge. We walk through fire every day and while sometimes we scar, there is a section of cool water is on the other side if you allow yourself to feel for it.
Keep fighting.
by Band Back Together | Oct 20, 2010 | Coping With Depression, Major Depressive Disorder, Mental Health |
Depression lies, often telling us that we don’t need the medication that keeps us sane. Depression is a lying liar who lies.
This is her story:
I’ve been on and off anti-depressants for years. I first went on them when I was married to an abusive asshole. It’s not hard to imagine why I needed them. I probably needed treatment for PTSD back then, but it wasn’t as widely accepted as it is now. Maybe my therapist at the time didn’t know much about it or maybe she thought I didn’t have it. I don’t know. What I do know is that I have had my own issues with admitting I suffer from depression and admitting that I need brain altering drugs to deal with it.
Logically I know that there is some sort of chemical imbalance in my brain that causes me to enter The Dark Place.
Emotionally, I think I’m just fucked up and should be able to just pull myself out of The Sads when I get them. I feel like I’m admitting some sort of weakness by taking the drugs. There is absolutely no mistaking the difference I feel when I’m on them. Not only am I happier in general, but I’m a fuckton less bitchy. The most minute details won’t set me off when I’m on meds. When I’m not? Watch out. Look at me the wrong way at the wrong moment and I can’t promise that I won’t stab you. This makes living with me not so much fun sometimes.
Lately I’ve had a pretty good run off the meds; a couple of years this time. So good, in fact, that I fooled myself into believing that I was right all along. I didn’t need meds. I just needed to bully myself out of The Dark Place. It worked. Until it didn’t.
I’m in The Dark Place now. Way deep inside it. So far down the light above is just a pinhole. I’m struggling to claw my way back out. I need to make the appointment. I need to get back on the meds.
I need a kick in the ass. I need to realize it’s not a weakness to take the drugs.
The weakness is NOT taking the drugs.
by Band Back Together | Oct 19, 2010 | Addiction, Addiction Recovery, Alcohol Addiction, Baby Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Depression, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loss, Major Depressive Disorder |
Three months after my third pregnancy loss, I started drinking.
In my mind, I’d done everything I was, as a faithful Mormon woman, “supposed” to do. I was married in the temple. I attended church regularly. I prayed, read my scriptures, paid my tithing…all the things I was taught would bring me true happiness.
I wasn’t happy.
Every time I heard “multiply and replenish the earth” I started crying. Nothing in my Mormon upbringing had prepared me to give birth to a dead baby. I was supposed to stop taking birth control, get pregnant and then have a baby. End of story. Nobody mentioned the awful things that might happen between point A and point C.
I was angry.
God told me to multiply and replenish the earth and I tried, dammit. What kind of messed up God tells someone to do something and then totally messes with them?
I was disconsolate. I was livid. I was miserable.
I had a plan.
I’d done everything I was “supposed” to do, but it obviously wasn’t working for me. Now I would do whatever I wanted, because really, it couldn’t possibly get worse.
So I went to a bar. I chose it carefully, because I had no idea what I’d be like or what might happen. I just knew there was the potential to feel better. I went to a bar where I knew the bouncer–we’d been on a few dates before I got married–and I felt like I could trust him to kind of watch over me.
Darin, if you ever read this…thank you. For more than I’m willing to discuss on a public forum.
I don’t remember what that first drink felt like, but it must’ve been decent, because it wasn’t my last.
I learned to drink.
I learned which drinks packed the most bang for my buck. I learned which ones made me gag but were totally worth it because once they were down they made me feel warm and fuzzy and like everything was okay in the world.
I didn’t drink every night, or even every weekend. Most of the time I was achingly sober, which gave drinking an allure that seemed not only difficult but pointless to resist. Why would I not do something that brought me a moment of respite?
I’ve had a lot of trite phrases thrown my way during this whole journey, and this is the one that always makes me laugh: “It’s not true happiness. When the glow wears off, you’ll be even more miserable.”
Bullshit.
At that point there was no such thing as more miserable, and if I could get 30…60…120 minutes where I didn’t think, I’d take it. Anyone who throws that phrase around has no idea what true depression feels like, and I’m happy for them. I’d prefer nobody feel that way.
So I drank. And I distanced myself from my husband, my family, my church. I still participated in all the things I had before, but it seemed empty. That was the one problem with alcohol–it wore off, and I certainly couldn’t spend every waking moment drunk. After all, that’s what alcoholics do, and I certainly wasn’t an alcoholic.
I couldn’t admit that I was drowning. I had to be strong, because that’s what you do when horrible things happen. You pull on your big girl panties and press forward. You don’t say that all your dreams and hopes for the future vanished overnight and now you feel like there’s nothing to live for.
That might make other people sad, and I was sad enough for everyone.
Luckily, I found a solution. I didn’t have to drink all the time, because there was something even better! It was cheaper, more accessible and, best of all, every bit as legal as alcohol.
by Band Back Together | Oct 18, 2010 | Loving Someone With Bipolar Disorder, Mental Health |
When does it become too much? When do you throw in the towel, and say,”You know what? Screw it! I thought I could do it, but I’m not going to be able to!”
Living with and loving a person with an mental illness is no walk in the park. Living with two people that have an mental illness, well, lets just say that puts a strain on you.
The simple fact that I wrote the above, hurts, and well, to be honest, FREAKS ME THE HELL OUT. I know I’m just stressing from my family members outbursts this morning, and when I calm down, I’ll feel better. BUT. I feel the need to put this out there. I feel the need to tell others that they’re not alone. That its okay to be stressed and overwhelmed when you deal with this kind of thing.
I constantly tell my family member, I love YOU not the disease, when they are going through a depression cycle. I try and put on the happy face, and help them through it. I can look past the disease, and see you there, and I’m content to wait until you show back up, again.
