7 Years

I'm so emotionally exhausted I don't even know where to begin.

The past few weeks have been rough. My birthday was absolutely wonderful, but it's been downhill from there on. For one, I haven't been feeling well physically. I've had some things going on that had me thinking I could be pregnant, even though there's no reason I should be, which really toyed with my emotions. Excitement, worry, nervous, disappointment, and all that. I'm not pregnant, and the symptoms have continued. I saw the doctor and she thinks I may have a sinus infection so I'm on an antibiotic for a few more days. Hopefully that will help clear things up.

On the other hand, I've entered a new phase of therapy, one focused on my body and where it stores memories. I believe that had a lot to do with dream I shared in my last blog. But the back and shoulder pain has continued since then. But the icing on top of the cake was the anxiety attack I had last Thursday night. 

A paper bag probably would have come
in handy...

It was my turn to run Bingo at work. I was assisting the very last resident back to her room. I started to feel my heart pound as we got closer to her room and broke into a full-body sweat. Once in her room, she asked me to adjust her light. When I reached up to pull the cord, everything went black and I had to freeze so I didn't trip on anything and fall to the floor. As soon as my vision returned and I said goodnight, I left her room and grabbed onto the railing along the wall in the hallway. I put my hand on my chest and felt my heart pounding. I figured if I waited a few seconds and took a few deep breaths I could calm back down. That's how it usually goes if my heart starts beating harder than usual. But not this time. I was breathing too hard to take a deep breath. I walked to the nearest nurses station and asked the nurse if she could take my pulse. Shockingly enough, it wasn't ridiculously high. So she took my blood pressure and checked my blood sugar as well. Everything was within the normal range, but my heart was still pounding. After 10 minutes or so I was finally able to get back to work, but the whole thing was really scary. I'm still not sure what set it off. I've been a little nervous since then that it's going to happen again, and I swear my heart hurt the next day.

Today I realized that yesterday was the 7th anniversary of the day my family and I left my dad. I suspect a lot of this anxiety has been related to that. It was a dramatic and traumatic end to the years of abuse, but it had to be. And I think I was subconsciously aware that it was that time of year again. I'm hoping that being aware of that is going to help me turn my mood around, because I have just been on a roller coaster lately, and it is exhausting. 

The other thing that has been bothering me lately is how lonely I feel. I had some alone time yesterday so I used the time to write (with pen and paper no less!). I just feel so disconnected from people. I'm learning that this is common with PTSD, but I'm struggling with how to overcome this one. I think it also stems from the fact that I learned from my family that those closest to you can't be depended on, a form of rejection. By not getting to close to anyone, they don't get the opportunity to let me down or reject me. Is it a trust issue? Maybe. Sounds more and more plausible the more I think about it.

So, the good news? 7 years of freedom!

The bad news? The effects continue to linger...

Rachel

Rattled

I'm struggling.

As suspected a couple weeks ago, I'm getting closer to facing the sexual abuse. I cry about it far easier than I ever did in the past. It happened again today. Have any of you seen the "rape analogy" going around Facebook recently? I was worried it was going to be a tasteless joke, but it wasn't at all. Here's the link.

I made a comment on Facebook about the awful things a defense attorney will say in that kind of situation. Then I thought about how it's not always an attorney being paid to say those things. There are "average" people walking around that believe those things. They believe a woman "asked" to be assaulted. That they may be complaining now, but they actually enjoyed it. That the woman has some kind of ulterior motive or bone to pick with the man. That was the main argument in my case. My mom and dad were going through an ugly divorce and the defense, meaning my dad and his attorney, said that my mom and I "cooked up" the allegations so that my mom would win complete custody of my sisters. I wasn't in the court room for most of the case aside from my testimony and the closing statements. The prosecuting attorney and detective warned me that the defense wouldn't be kind, and they were right. Even though I knew it was his job, I had to fight to stay seated and not stand up and scream at him. It was a horrible experience. But do you know whats  worse?

When your own family believes those things.

My sister believed my dad that my mom and I made it up. He told my sisters that we were going to "cook something up" before I even told anyone, so to her it made complete sense. He said it would happen and it did.  My own sister. There was a friend of the family who also chose to believe this, and while that hurt, it was easy to cut her out of my life and move on. But my sister was there. She knew he was crazy, violent, abusive, manipulative and angry. But all she could see was her family being torn apart, and someone had to be blamed. It couldn't be him - he wanted to stay home, to work things out. 

My Bruised Heart by ~murtada-king on deviantART

On a related note, I have been thinking about how difficult it is to really face what happened to me and how horrifying it all was. So I seek validation from outside sources. No matter how much I get, it's never enough. No matter how many people I tell the story to, how many people are shocked by or how many people tell me how strong I must be to have survived, I need more. The only way (at this time) I know to face it is be reliving the memories, which would only lead to retraumatization. Part of me feels like the people that should really get it, my family, do not. (This is not about everyone in my family by the way.) Right now, the pain of that realization feels fresh. What comes to mind is that my heart is bruised. When I most needed their support to heal my heart, they assumed I "had Aaron" and their job was done. After all those years of abuse, don't you think that is an awful lot put on one person? Don't get me wrong, he's handled it beautifully (I swear, I don't know how I got so lucky), but I, like every other human being, need a support system. I can't help but feel I would be more at peace, content and generally happier if I had that. I have Studdly Hubby's family now, but that relationship is still growing. I have trouble depending on other people in some ways, and so I haven't reached out to them as much as I probably could. It's a difficult spot to be in to gripe about not having it and then not reaching out and taking it when it's offered.

But I digress.

During my inner work yesterday, I came across a memory/flashback. I saw myself standing in the basement, and my dad was pushing his finger in my anus. I've had these graphic and ugly mental images come up for, and quickly try to think about something else in an attempt to get rid of it as quickly as possible. I had to end the experience and open my eyes.

The whole thing left me rattled, for lack of a better word. I'm feeling vulnerable. Paper thin. I'm getting closer and closer to the memories and it's terrifying. I'm glad I've stayed in therapy this long, because clearly there is work yet to be done that I cannot and should not do alone. 

So that's where things stand for now. I do miss blogging, but I've really had to make schoolwork a priority, so something had to give, and unfortunately it was frequent blogging. I'm still here, with plenty to write about though!

Rachel

SOC

I've been feeling a bit uninspired lately when it comes to writing, so I'm stealing a page out of Momma Resa's book and doing a "stream of consciousness" post - basically just writing what comes to mind.

At the moment, I'm feeling lonely. I have Studdly Hubby here next to me, and we're great. My "marital love tank" is full. But something is missing. This is something I feel from time to time. For a while I thought perhaps it came from living in too-small houses with a too-big family to being just the two of us. And maybe that is part of it. But it's not really about quantity; it's about quality. I'm feeling a need for connections. I've kind of lost touch with a couple of my best friends. One recently married and moved to California. The other recently married and is living in Michigan (we were in her EPIC wedding). I'll be the first to admit that I am terrible with long distance relationships. And I don't completely connect with that many people. There is only a small handful of people that I consider to be my sisters. (That means you Kristina and Alaine!) 

Me on the left, Studdly Hubby on the right

My Kristina and I

Now I have a new job and I'm longing to make connections there. But it's not the kind of job where there is a lot of time to sit and chat. I should probably make more of an effort to see some of my co-workers outside of work, but I have realized in this past year that I have some mild social anxiety. I blame this on not being allowed to go out or to visit friends when I was younger and especially a teenager, along with carrying around a disgusting secret. 

Regardless of the reason, I get nervous. I really have to psych myself up if I'm going to go to something outside of work. One-on-one and very small groups are better than parties and big groups. Those almost cripple me socially. I panic and worry that I'm going to be judged. An example of this is the NYE party Studdly Hubby and I went to this year. It was at his friend's house in New Palestine. I really like his friend and his friend has really great friends from what I can tell. They were all playing Dance Central. The whole time they were playing, I kept thinking "That looks like so much fun! We need to get this game!" But to embarrass myself by playing it with an audience of strangers? There was no freaking way. Inhibited does even begin to describe it.

In other news, I'm hoping to begin monthly get-togethers with my mother-in-law and aunts-in-law. We're trying to get a date nailed down for February to meet for dinner. There the closest family I have (geographically speaking) and they are awesome women. I could really benefit from having them in my life more than 2-3 times a year! I think this will help my feelings of loneliness as well. I have no doubt that part of it is due to the relationship I have with my mom right now and not knowing my father. These are things that are really important to me right now. 

Anyway, thanks for reading. It feels good to flex my blog muscle a little. ;-)

Rachel

Anorexia

Isn't she stunning?!

Yesterday, Portia de Rossi was on Oprah to promote her new book "Unbearable Lightness". It is a memoir about her struggle with anorexia and bulimia. Although I never have a shortage of things I could potentially write about, watching Oprah reminded me that my past eating disorder is another "layer" in this mess. 

When I was in 8th grade, I was, what I would call, "robust". I was horribly self-conscious about everything. I felt unpopular and ugly. My clothes never fit right thanks to a growth spurt that made me 5'7" by the time I was 13. My family couldn't afford to buy new clothes, so my sisters and myself were usually at the mercy of whatever bag of hand-me-downs some well intended individual would give to our family. Not only were my pants always too short, but everything was always well out of style. As an adult, it's easy to say that these are things that don't matter, but they sure do to a young girl in a small private school. But to this day, if my pants feel even a little shorter than I feel like they should be, I am incredibly uncomfortable. I remember a time when a fellow student called me "smokey" because I smelled like my parents' cigarette smoke. I had stopped doing all my homework several years ago. I wasn't in the smart crowd, the sporty crowd, the good looking crowd, or any other crowd. . Add to all this the issues at home, and I felt completely ostracized. Just to be clear, I'm not saying I was bullied, but kids were all that nice and I only heard the negative comments. I didn't even know how to respond to anything positive.

My Class Photo in 8th Grade

After 8th grade, I got a chance at a new start and began my freshman year at Lutheran High South. It was the schools very first year open and consisted of about 14 students at the time.  I was horribly nervous. The principal told my Mom that I was quiet the first day. Anyone who knows me knows that is very unlike me! It wasn't long though before I started making friends, and, even better to me, attention from the opposite sex. I loved every second of it, but the new attention from the boys made me more aware of my body.  It wasn't long before I started skipping breakfast. The weight started to come off. The next step was skipping breakfast and lunch. The pounds were melting away. I remember celebrating when I got on the scale one day. Mom cautioned me not to lose too much weight. But I was still getting male attention, got my first boyfriend, and was getting comments from people in general about how great I was looking. I remember my mom saying later that she wasn't aware that there was ever a problem. She thought I was just naturally losing weight the way teenagers do at that age. But I lost 11 more pounds after she had warned me not to get carried away.  Because I don't want others who read this that may be dealing with body image, I am not going to share how much I weighed at my smallest. I will say that it was very, very unhealthy. 

My friends started to notice my weight loss and reached out to me. A teacher commented on it as well. I took it as a sign that I was doing well. I was glad that they were noticing that I was thin. I was actually proud. I was also tired, all the time. I was completely worn out. I was not eating enough to give me the energy necessary to get through the day, let alone learn anything.  My periods were irregular. I could go 4-6 months without having one at all.

My 18th Birthday with my best friend, Kristina

I don't know what changed things. I imagine I just got really hungry and lacked the willpower to continue on that path (Thank God!). I started eating lunch again by sophomore year. I was still thin, but I had put on a few healthy pounds. 

My freshman year of college, things changed again. I had access to a prepaid, all-you-can-eat cafeteria. Having grown up in a large family of limited means, meals were not large. I went a little crazy in the cafeteria. That first semester, I also came down with a horrible case of mono, at the same times I was dealing with everything at home including the disclosure, the Halloween incident, etc. I had to much to deal with to worry about what I was eating. Or to worry about school for that matter. But we'll save the academic portion for another post. The following summer, I found out I had been selected to represent Monroe County in the Miss Michigan USA Pageant. I had never been allowed to do those things in the past, so I applied partly as an act of rebellion. I did not expect to be chosen! I made a half-hearted attempt at a diet, while holding down a summer job at Burger King. The exercise went just as well. Needless to say, I didn't win.

Studly Hubby looked great!

After I had my fill of the all-you-can-eat smorgasbord, I didn't want to eat anything the cafeteria had to offer. None of it was appealing. Of course, everyone felt that way, but it took me longer to get there. After college, I had a temp job. There were several males there that I had an innocent flirtation with. The male attention caused me to have a bit of a decreased appetite again, and I lost a few extra pounds. I was thrilled. At my next job, I worked with all women. The appetite came back, as did a few pounds. After that I worked at Curves. Working out during my shift was perfect! I was eating whatever I wanted, losing fat, and gaining muscle. After about 6 months, I was down to a smaller size than I had been in years, but it was very healthy. Once I left there, I started at Comfort Keepers. I ate out more, and stopped exercising. The muscle went away very quickly, and then the fat came back. I was fitted for a bridesmaid dress in February or March while I was still working at Curves. By the time the wedding rolled around in August, the dress didn't fit anymore. I had to use the dress of a girl that was no longer a part of the bridal party. I was horribly embarrassed and ashamed, because I knew that it was my own lack of self-control that had gotten me there. It was made worse when I saw some of the photos from the wedding. My face looked puffy and pale, and I thought I looked fat. My waist went from curving inward, to straight down on the sides.

None of this helps with vaginismus work. It's hard to feel sexy when you're worried about your stomach not being flat anymore, and your thighs being massive. I hate wearing lingerie when I'm not feeling confident.

I know, logically, that I am not very overweight. I'm not writing this because I'm fishing for compliments or anything like that. I'm writing it because I know I am not the only individual who has been sexually assualted or molested that has body image issues. It's a piece of the same puzzle.

A Piece of Happy

Me and my studdly hubby

With all these posts about the pain I felt (and feel), and horrifying memories, it only seems fair to other survivors that I share the flip side. There is still a lot of joy in my life. For example, I'm very happily married to man more amazing than I would have even dared to pray for. He treats me like a princess, and I probably take advantage of it more than I should. ;-) I had an unexpected moment of peace and happiness tonight, so I thought I would share.

But first, some explanation. As a result of coping with the abuse, I have become very disconnected from my body. I sometimes joke that I'm going through an awkward phase called "my life". I don't think it's a stretch to say that it contributes to my sexual problems. I've been doing some "body work" in therapy to help this. We play some music, and I attempt to move in any way that is comfortable with the music. For me it is horribly awkward and uncomfortable. It was a little better when my therapist agreed to face the other way, but it still feels unnatural to me. 

Anyway, tonight I decided to take a bubble bath. I take them fairly often, but usually take my laptop with me and watch something on Netflix at the same time. It's enjoyable, but not the most relaxing. Tonight I brought the laptop, but played some very relaxing music. I lit some candles, and turned the lights off. It took awhile, but I eventually allowed myself to relax. I paid attention to how things felt physically. I felt the water sloshing gently, the water level slowly rising and falling against me. I felt the wrinkles on my pruny fingertips from soaking in the water. I listened to the sound of the bubbles popping little by little. I was so relaxed, I thought I may fall asleep.

This might sound like something very trivial to many, but it isn't for me. I don't relax. I truly do not remember the last time I was the relaxed. As part of PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder), I am constantly on alert. My muscles are tense and my mind jumps from one thing to another. This is something that some people witness in conversation with me when I'm relaxed. If you haven't seen it, I was trying very hard to focus.

I hope this new feeling is something I can experience more often with practice. It was really wonderful. I may even sleep peacefully tonight! :-)