House is a Four

I've talked about the Enneagram, the personality system, on here before. Recently, I've purchased a book about the system, in an effort to better understand my type and, more importantly, to learn how to use that information for growth. After "Fifty Shades of Grey", it's pretty dry reading. Interesting, but dry. And slow. But, insightful.

I've recently learned the Type Fours (my type) tend to be under-expressive in their emotions. At first I thought "There is no way this applies to me! I'm super emotional!". But as I read on, it explained that Fours feel just as much, however they channel those feelings into creative outlets, such as music, poetry, art or maybe blogging *ahem*. I put the book down and really started to reflect and examine this new revelation.

I get so caught up in feeling all these emotions, but I don't know how to broach the topic with people. I desperately want people to reach out to me. I have friends and family who I know are there for me, and have told me on multiple occasions that I can always turn to them. But I just can't do that. I don't know what I'm afraid of.

"You're so afraid if you change, you'll
lose what makes you special."
-Dr. Wilson to House 

The source of this is obvious. In my home growing up, we were not allowed to express ourselves. We were supposed to be obedient little Stepford children. If we cried, my sisters and I were told "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about!" [May the good Lord strike me down if I ever utter this to my children!] I didn't know how to express any emotion appropriately. So I went to school and work and did my best to wear a mask, hiding the torment inside. Generally, I think I was pretty good at it.  I once had someone tell me that they assumed I had lived a "charmed life" because I just seemed happy. But it's not something I could just "turn off" when I was no longer being abused. It was a well-learned habit. There are times in life when this serves me well. For example, any job where I've had to deal with the public. "Happy" is what they are paying for, whether it be at the Burger King drive-thru, Blockbuster check-out or attending activities in the nursing home. The "mask" is appropriate at those times. 

But it becomes a problem when I'm unable to take off the mask around other people. People I could be friends with. The concept of the mask isn't really new to me, but understanding just how much I under-express feelings is.

Because of this, I naturally hold people at an arm's length. Which feeds the feeling of being different from others. Which feeds the act of holding people at an arm's length. Do you see the vicious cycle here?

This all also plays a part in holding on to feelings that make me feel different as well. Melancholy is defined as:

1. a gloomy state of mind, especially when habitual or prolonged; depression.

2. sober thoughtfulness; pensiveness.

It is pretty common for me to feel melancholy. I start to dwell on all my "deep, dark feelings". I get annoyed that "no one" understands me, and that I feel unconnected with those around me. It's taken some time, however I'm now able to recognize these feelings when I'm experience them. But it's still difficult to stop them. It's so comfortable. Like baked macaroni and cheese and Studdly Hubby's pajama pants. None of it is good or attractive, but man, does it feel comforting. 

I don't want to say I'm "stuck" here, because I am making progress. I understand this particular issue more and more all the time. But I don't like being in this space at all, because finding comfort in these feelings is not something I'm proud of. 

But it is the truth. 

I feel so close to the edge of a breakthrough here, so I'm not going to give up!!

Rachel

In Need of a Pep Talk

There is a phrase in the German language, "Ich habe die Nase voll" meaning, "My nose is full/congested." Interestingly, it also means "I've had it up to here!" When I saw Simone on Tuesday, she noticed I wasn't myself. When I shared with her some things I have going on right now, on top of a month long, antibiotic resistant sinus infection, she shared that German phrase with me, which seemed eerily fitting.

The semester is finally coming to an end. I only have a few weeks left, which includes 2 major papers, and my math final, as well as the usual weekly assignments. I petitioned for Concordia to accept the math class I'm in to count for the math credit necessary for my degree. That's great, expect if I don't get a C-, it won't transfer. Even though I average 98% on the homework, and 86% on the quizzes, I will need a 96% on my final to achieve that, thanks to bombing the mid-term. Let's assume I pull that off. I also realized I will need 17 more credits to graduate. So I'm currently registered for 17 credits for Spring 2012. Now let's assume I DON'T get a 96% on my math final. Then those 3 credits won't transfer and I'll need 20, which I cannot do in one semester. Which means I still won't graduate in May. 

I've already been running out of steam a little bit for this semester, but the prospect of graduating soon was really propelling me forward. But now it feels further and further away. I'm so frustrated by the whole thing and feel depleted of energy, motivation, determination, and so much more. It feels like all of my resources have been tapped out. My house is a mess, I barely get to blog anymore, I can't just pick up a book and enjoy it, because I know I should be studying instead. I don't feel like I can even spend much time working on myself, emotionally and mentally, which has slowed things down in therapy, in my mind anyway. And part of that is probably related to the fact that I haven't been writing about it all as well.

On top of all that, I've been feeling really lonely and kind of isolated lately. One of the problems with that is that I sometimes isolate myself even further when I feel that way. I briefly considered not going to Aaron's family's Thanksgiving, but I know going would be better for me. Today I texted my mother-in-law about Black Friday shopping, and then texted my little brother(-in-law) about staying with us that weekend. That made me feel a little better about the holiday, especially when my brother offered to go Black Friday shopping with me if I was going to be going alone. Seriously, what almost 16 year old volunteers to get up at 3am to go shopping with his 26 year old sister-in-law? I adore him. He is the little brother I always wanted and never had.

Anyway, my point is, I am in need of a pep talk. Or some time off. Or a therapeutic retreat. Or a really good professional massage. Or taking the rest of the semester off from work. Although somehow I don't think my boss or my bank account would appreciate that much.  

I don't know what I need.

Rachel

A Few Things...

I have about a billion things on my mind right now, so I'll just dive in.

It's very difficult to describe how difficult it is to let go of my past, to let go of being a victim. I want to be strong and to overcome, but giving up the familiarity of everything that happened has felt a bit like giving up a part of my identity. I want to feel something about it all. I want it to matter for something. I have to find a way to find meaning in it all. But finding the balance between respecting the past and moving forward is not as simple as it sounds. But something clicked today. I deserve everything this life has to offer. I deserve a family. I deserve a happy marriage. I deserve to be happy...because of the past. I've been as low as can possibly be. And I think I'm about ready to come out on the other side. To take a deep breathe in the sunlight. To let go of the angst. None of this means that I'm going to stop processing any of it or working through it in therapy. On the contrary, I'm ready to take the next step, whatever that may be, instead of being held back by the past. I'll still have difficult days. I may still have nightmares. I may still feel like an alien walking around this world, but I'm determined to find accept happiness. 

I find it strange that this is what I've been considering today. Last night, I had a terrible nightmare. I ended up crying in the middle of the night, which never happens. Without going into all the details, I can tell you that in the dream, I am being mercilessly beat by my dad. My tears and sweat were mixed with my own blood. I felt like a dog, cowering in a corner. Have you ever seen a dog being punched and beat by it's master? It's a horrible sight, that always makes my stomach turn. I woke up in physical pain. My lower back, pelvis and right hip hurt terribly. I pulled out my heating pad and that seemed to alleviate most of it, although when finally woke up again at 10:00 in the morning, I felt like I had been hit by a truck. It seemed like my whole body hurt. I had a headache, my heart hurt and my hips, pelvis and back were aching again. As the day has gone on, I've started to feel better, except for my hips.  It seems counterintuitive that accepting happiness would be on my mind after all this.

On the other hand, Aaron and I have been discussing family planning, and I've been a little obsessed with that as well. Also, I had a graduation audit done through Concordia to see where I was at. I've been planning on taking one class next semester, but I wanted to make sure I didn't need anymore. I don't want to draw this out any longer than I have to! Word came back that I will be done this semester. That's right ladies and gentlemen, I'm getting a college diploma for Christmas. Its so close I can taste it. This is a dream I've had for almost a decade, and I can't believe it's about to come true. 

I also can't believe what an amazing husband I have. Aaron is a good man. I am a strong person and I've worked hard to overcome a lot so far. But I honestly believe that I may not still be alive had I not met him when I did. Either my dad would have beat me within an inch of my life to shut me up and I would just give up, or, I hate to admit it, I would have taken my own life. My life was becoming more and more dangerous, and Aaron was right by my side, encouraging me, supporting me, and giving me the strength to make the necessary changes in my life.  Other than a handful of people who were with us everyday on campus, I don't think many people understand everything he did for me, and continues to do. Eventually, I was in a place emotionally where I could give back to him as well, which is easy to do, all things considered. I guess all I'm trying to say is this: Aaron is a man that adds to my happiness daily, and I love him more daily. 7 years of love and counting. <3

"Sometimes your nearness takes my breath away; and all the things I want to say can find no voice. Then, in silence, I can only hope my eyes will speak my heart." - Robert Sexton

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

New Territory: Part 2

Off to dreamland...

In Part 1 of this post, I shared a couple dreams I've had lately. The final in this trifecta of  dreams was a bit more vague than the first two. I know there was a lot to it, but when I woke up, all I know is that my house was on fire, and there was someone there with me. I believe it was a female, although I never really got a good look at her. 

Now comes the reason these posts are entitled "New Territory". Simone suggested I do some inner work to "return" to the dream. Instead of going straight to my happy place, I planned to go to the house. On the way, something unusual happened. I found myself looking into a forest. There stood a little girl, me at around 4 years old, wearing a dress and clutching a teddy bear. She was looking up, as light seemed to be streaming down upon her. After a moment, my actual self walked in hugged her. I got the feeling that the light pouring down was instilling in her the skills to survive her future and protect her actual self. This was actually a very beautiful image, one I hope to get down on paper. I started a pencil sketch, but I'm not particularly skilled in the visual arts!

From there, I moved on to the house in the dream. I was standing in the bedroom that I recognized to be from the first dream I had. I took in my surroundings and saw a wardrobe. At first I thought this was strange - how many bedrooms have a wardrobe instead of a closet? Then it dawned on me that it was the same wardrobe I had in the last house I lived in with my family. As I continued to look around, I saw the bed I had at that time as well as the end table I had been using as a night stand. I knew there was someone to my right, but wasn't able to see her. It was almost as if there was a void where she should have been. Although my room was well lit, the door was open and I could the flames throughout the rest of the house. The strange thing is, they didn't seem to be burning anything...they were just "there". 

Suddenly, an image appeared in the doorway. It looked my dad, and at the same time didn't. His face seemed smooth and young, and he seemed small and thin even though he was wearing his clothes and had his hair and facial hair. He came towards me and grabbed me between my legs. I pushed him back and said in a strong voice "You need to stop. I don't have time for this!" Of all things to say!! As I pushed him back, I stepped out into the hallway, seeking an exit. I saw a stairway leading downstairs and felt like I was in the house on Monroe St. It didn't feel safe to go that way for some reason. I looked back and saw the "image" standing where I had pushed him, simply watching me. I walked back into my room and looked around again. There were two windows, on opposite sides facing each other. I didn't look out one of them, but outside the other I could see that I was on the second floor and down below were firemen. I also sensed that there were others. No one seemed panicked, but they all seemed aware that I was there.

It's hard to analyze every aspect of this particular experience because there was so much going on. I plan on coming back to it, partly because I want to talk about it more with Simone, and partly because I am too tired tonight to process it anymore thanks to jet lag. Perhaps there will be a Part 3!

Rachel

Drugs

First of all, I have never tried any kind of illegal substance. I haven't even touched a cigarette. I never really saw the point in either. I also have a near phobia of being drunk. I've only let it happen once, and didn't really care for it.

There was a time in my life when I wasn't really facing my demons. I knew that many survivors of abuse turned to drugs or alcohol, but at the time, I didn't completely understand why.

Confession: Over the last few months, I've come to understand. I've been sick to my stomach, had headaches and chest pain, all unrelated to anything physical. Also, PTSD can leave you feeling really jumpy and agitated sometimes. No, I haven't tried any drugs or turned to alcoholism, but the thought has crossed my mind. There were several occasions when I thought a little pot would really help me relax. I can easily imagine how someone with a history like mine would easily become addicted to a narcotic. Maybe I should rephrase that...I can easily imagine how I could easily become addicted to a narcotic. After all, willpower isn't my strongest point.

On the other hand, I've considered legal drugs as well. So far, I've been doing all of this without anti-depressants or anti-anxiety meds. Simone hasn't suggested them, and I haven't asked. I want to be able to do this without the help of chemicals, but there have been some moments in the past few months when I've felt like an "as needed" Xanax would be helpful. But I've always get through and find the light on the other side. As long as I can keep doing that, I think I can avoid the drugs. I think. 

Things have been tough lately. I remember several months ago when I was feeling very in-touch with my "actual self". I was making great progress and just feeling very balanced and spiritual. I walked a little taller and felt like I had an inner light just bursting out my pores. I had 2 people ask me if I was pregnant because I apparently had a glow or an aura about me. I haven't felt like that in a while now. And I really miss it. Right now I feel bruised and tired and old. I'm still optimistic and feel good about my choices, but right now, it's not fun. My blog got a little quiet for a few weeks (which feels like an eternity to me), but now that I'm writing again, I feel a little better. Usually my mood affects my writing which affects my mood. So if I'm in the wrong state of mind, I just can't find any inspiration, and then I'm irritated which puts me in a worse state of mind!

I guess the point of all this has been just to say that I'm proud that I've made it this far without the help of pharmaceuticals, although I haven't ruled them out completely. I believe there is most certainly a place for those kinds of drugs, although I do believe general practitioners over-prescribe them.

Have any of you had success or a bad experience with mood enhancing prescriptions?

Rachel

Doppelganger Dad

There is a symptom of PTSD that has really been bothering me lately. It's been a problem all along, but once I notice it, it comes up more frequently. 

Do you ever see someone who briefly looks just like someone that you know it can't be? Maybe your grandmother that has passed away, or a friend that lives hours away and has no reason to be where you are at the moment? For those that don't know, a doppelganger is a look-alike. It also has some other, more traditional and very interesting meanings which you can view here. (You're welcome) I have this all the time, except its my dad who is actually locked up in prison in northern Michigan. 

Usually this is a very brief feeling. I see someone that walks like him, or has hair like him or sometimes just reminds me of him for some reason. A split second later, I am back in reality, but still feel very shaken. I feel foolish for even having that reaction when I know he's locked up. I even check his prison page routinely to give myself a reality check and reassure myself that he's still there. (BTW, if they would update the photo more often, it would feel more real.)  I feel frustrated that this is even a part of my life. I feel vulnerable and unsafe, because someday, he won't be locked up. 

When I first disclosed the abuse, I was living in a dorm. I gave his photo and information to security and let them know he wasn't allowed near me. It actually made me feel more protected. I also had multiple male friends that I knew would protect me if it came to that.

But what about now that I'm the real world? I spend the day in the workplace, surrounded by co-workers, not close friends. If he walked through the door, no one would question it. We get all kinds of people visiting our residents. No one would warn me. No one would send him away or call the police. They would have no idea. I don't even want to think about what would happen if he showed up at our apartment when I was alone. I already have nightmares about it. 

I know the likelihood of him showing up within the next 3 years is 1 in 1 billion. But this isn't about what I think will really happen. It's about the feeling I get when I see someone like him. 

It actually happened today at work. I saw someone coming down the hallway while I was standing at the nurses station. I can't even tell you why it reminded me of him. I couldn't even tell you what the man looked like, because it doesn't matter. But I had to fight back tears. Not because of this single incident, but because earlier that day I saw someone in a pick-up truck (his vehicle of choice) that reminded me of him. And because there have been several other incidents lately. I feel like my life is being intruded upon.

In theory, this will get better once I "defeat" the power he has in my mind. Maybe then I will feel safer.

For now, I need to relax more. Anyone know of a good place to get a massage around here? :-P

For the record...here are a couple of my dopplegangers:

MyHeritage: Celebrity Morph - Old photos - Roots

MyHeritage: Family trees - Genealogy - Celebs

Rachel

Beauty in the Breakdown

I know my last post sounded dramatic. My knee-jerk reaction is to apologize, but in reality, it's exactly what I was feeling and that this blog is about being honest about life after abuse. Moments of depression and anxiety are most certainly a significant part of that.

So I've shared how I felt, by what's more important is why I felt it. There were a lot of things going through my mind the last couple weeks. While each issue played a part in my mood change, there was one hanging over my head that I put off exploring. It struck me that I could be clinging to my label as "Survivor". With all this thought being put into defeating Dad in my mind, I've been forced to consider "What's next?" 

Like anyone else, I am sometimes afraid of change, and I know that there is one on the horizon. But I don't know exactly what that change will look like. Let's say I defeat him. Then what will I write about? Where will I find my inspiration? I've found an incredible amount of strength and inner confidence in the past 7 months or so. Without the pain, what more will I have to overcome? How will I feel strong and centered and inwardly beautiful? At my highest points throughout all this, that is exactly how I felt.

I know this sounds illogical. Why would I want to be in pain? Isn't the point of all this to heal? It certainly is, and of course, I don't want to be in pain. But on some level, it's all I know. Who am I without it? What kind of depth will my character have?

I've always had an overwhelming desire to feel special. Maybe that's part of what made me a good easy victim. I was eager to please, to be the "good child" and that was taken advantage of. However, I've felt like surviving my past without turning to drugs or alcohol or another abuse relationship made me special. Not giving up made me special. Being able to write about all of it made me special. So what makes me special when I'm not dealing with it anymore? When it's all been sorted through? Why should it even matter?

Well, I don't have an answer to that last question. When I figure that out, I'll let you know. However, I have some kind of answer to the rest. As part of my therapy tonight, I went to my happy place to have a pow-wow with my Actual Self. I needed to better understand this new realization and what it would mean for the future. She reminded me that even though I may deal with my past, I'll have learned a whole new skill set in terms of dealing with any of life's pain, because pain is inevitable in all human lives. In fully processing my past and my emotions, I will better be able to identify it in others, and be able to relate to them on a whole other level. If I can learn to write while dealing with all of this, there is no reason I can't write about other things in life later. And speaking of later in life, my Actual Self also reminded me that at different times in my life, I may have a whole new set of things to deal with relating to my past. For example, he may be a free man 2 weeks after my birthday in 2015. The reality of him being able to physically be out in the world again is a scary thought right now. Having children will certainly change things, as I imagine I will struggle with being over-protective and paranoid. So I will need to revisit things from time to time.

Another thing I realized tonight is that defeating my dad in my mind, is really defeating his power over me. I hope that this will make his prison release easier for me to deal with. If I can know in my heart and not just my mind that he is a weak old man, I will feel much safer. 

Today, I am feeling much better. Having explored that feeling has lifted a weight off my shoulders. I know there will be more difficult days ahead, but that's life and that's healing. I'm ready to face the next portion of my path. It looks a little brighter now than it did before. In my imagination, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and once I reach it, I explode into a burst of colorful light, freed, empowered and ready to fly.

Yeah, it's abstract. Just roll with it.

Thank you to everyone that has been so supportive since I shared how I was feeling. Studdly Hubby has been especially attentive to my "Love Tank" this week and I know I would have sunk much deeper into the dark place had he not. My (2nd) adopted big brother has really had my back as well. He really puts a lot of thought into the words he chooses. Ironically, my first adopted big brother is a lot like him in that sense. What can I say, I know how to pick 'em. :-D Thank you to those of you who shared that you could relate. Feeling special and feeling alone are two very different things, and you helped me feel less alone.

And because I love music (and I <3 Frou Frou):

"Drink up baby doll
Are you in or are you out?
Leave your things behind
'Cause it's all going off without you
Excuse me too busy you're writing your tragedy
These mishaps
You bubble-wrap
When you've no idea what you're like

[Chorus:]
So, let go, let go
Jump in
Oh well, what you waiting for?
It's all right
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown
So, let go, let go
Just get in
Oh, it's so amazing here
It's all right
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown

It gains the more it gives
And then it rises with the fall
So hand me that remote
Can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow?
Such boundless pleasure
We've no time for later
Now you can't await
your own arrival
you've twenty seconds to comply"

Have a great weekend!!

Rachel

Deep Inside I'm Bleeding

*(Lyrics below...)

I am in a funk. A deeper funk than I've been in for quite a while. I don't know why and I'm not sure what's wrong. I haven't even felt like blogging lately, and that is very unlike me.

I don't feel inspired to change the world. I feel like there's nothing I can do. I'm only one person. I don't have the focus it takes to make a difference. I've started to write my book and feel completely overwhelmed. I don't even know where to start.

I just feel deeply unhappy right now. I love my husband and I love my job. But none of that is enough to crack through the walls that are keeping me locked up in my dark place. 

I've been feeling like this for a couple weeks. It started gradually but picked up steam this past week. I've been feeling completely rundown and like I was getting sick. I almost started crying at lunch at work the other day. Tuesday night I was feeling miserable with a headache and a sore throat. Wednesday, I spent the whole day in bed, napping and watching TV. I even watched a movie that I thought would help me feel really empowered and I got nothing out of it. Today I just felt completely wiped out and exhausted, just by getting ready for work. Maybe I stressed myself into getting sick. Maybe I was getting sick and feeling down weakened my immune system. I don't know, but feeling sick certainly didn't help anything.

I'm feeling weak, and not just in the physical sense. I usually feel pretty empowered, and in touch with an inner self that feels enlightened and strong. I usually feel like one day, I can do something good for this world. Right now, I'm crying because I feel the exact opposite of all of that. 

I just feel so darn sensitive sometimes, but not to everyone. Facebooking (shut-up spell-check, it's a word!) with my family has been an interesting experience. My sisters and I have different ideas about what is funny. We also have different ideas about what may hurt my feelings. I don't think they leave comments to intentionally hurt me (at least I would hope not), but some things they say really do. If I'm already feeling down and vulnerable and they leave what I perceive to be a rude comment, I feel incredibly alone. I suppose I've always had maternal feelings towards them and did all I could for them when I was home, so when things like that come up, I guess I feel betrayed.

I also feel odd and out of place. I feel different and like no one really knows me other than Studdly Hubby. Maybe that shouldn't matter, but I feel isolated. I don't have many friends out side of work, which is a bad idea. In the workplace, there's only so much you can share, for a variety of reasons. And I'm not saying that's good or bad, but that's the way it is. I also find that I'm over sensitive to appropriate boundaries. My co-workers have shared different things with me about their childhoods and their families, but I'm always a bit apprehensive to put all my baggage out there because I have more than a carry-on and I have sometimes have trouble carrying it all. One of them has a tendency to say "No family is perfect" or something along those lines, and I'm not sure if she means "So what, we've all got our crosses to bear so suck it up" or if she's saying "It's ok, my family has problems too." So between my oversensitivity and amazing skill to over think things, I tend to wait for an invitation to share, and it doesn't always come because that's not always how conversation works.

When I'm doing a depression screen on a new resident, I ask them if they've felt down and depressed or if they feel like a failure. Sometimes, their lip quivers and tears well up in their eyes. I have to try not to cry right along with them. Why isn't my guard up better than that?!

I'm not crying out for sympathy here. I'm just being honest. Maybe a good hard cry is all I need...

*I know this song sounds ripe with teen angst, but I was looking for a song I could relate to right now, and when I listened to this one I started crying, so I think it's a winner:

"Do you ever feel like breaking down?
Do you ever feel out of place?
Like somehow you just don't belong
And no one understands you
Do you ever wanna runaway?
Do you lock yourself in your room?
With the radio on turned up so loud
That no one hears you screaming

No you don't know what it's like
When nothing feels all right
You don't know what it's like
To be like me

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one's there to save you
No you don't know what it's like
Welcome to my life

Do you wanna be somebody else?
Are you sick of feeling so left out?
Are you desperate to find something more?
Before your life is over
Are you stuck inside a world you hate?
Are you sick of everyone around?
With their big fake smiles and stupid lies
While deep inside you're bleeding

No one ever lied straight to your face
No one ever stabbed you in the back
You might think I'm happy but I'm not gonna be okay
Everybody always gave you what you wanted
Never had to work it was always there
You don't know what it's like, what it's like"


Rachel

I have PTSD too.

I was messing around on the internet this morning and came across this little story:

"Today, at a neighborhood BBQ my neighbor’s son - a 25 year old Marine – dropped to the floor and started crying when one of the other guests lit off a round of firecrackers. " -Marc and Angel Hack Life

It was really touching and I could easily imagine this man, full of fear, and ashamed of his inability to cope better in a safe setting. 

I could also imagine the other people at the BBQ. They were probably touched as well. I'm sure they comforted him, maybe some of them went into the house with him to be sure he was ok. Then they probably started talking about how he's been "different" since he's come home. They probably talked about how terrible war is, which may have led to talks about whether or not our country should even be involved in one, and putting American lives at risk.

But I would be willing to bet that nobody there judged him. No one would deny that he has been through hell. No one would be surprised to see that he is still dealing with it all. No one would blame him for not being stronger.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is ugly and unfair. Having survived the trauma isn't enough. Your body is still on high alert, ready to protect you at any given moment. This causes your emotions to be raw and in a touchy state. You relive the event whenever something reminds you of it. 

PTSD was first recognized in veterans. Historical records show soldiers with symptoms to varying degrees, depending on cultural implications, but the the term post-traumatic stress disorder was coined in the 1970s. Eventually, some smart people figured out that people who experienced other kinds of trauma were experiencing the same symptoms. 

But how does the community respond to those other victims? They seem willing to accept that our men in uniform may still be struggling with life after war. But with victims of abuse, it seems the community is quiet. They are generally willing to see that it is a problem. Abuse happens, and that much we can face. But once those victims are no longer being abused, what kind of support is out there? Its seems fairly limited. In the greater Lafayette area, there is one support group that I have been able to find for survivors of sexual assault. ONE. What about the workplace? Do you think employers would be a little more understanding if a veteran had a reaction to something rather than a survivor of abuse? I believe that they would see the survivor as weak, and that they need to "get over it" because, after all, that was 7 years ago! 

A lot of this is just my perception, so it's possible that it's not entirely accurate. But I have to wonder, are other survivors perceiving it this way as well? What can we do to change this? Is it all in my head?

This is something I feel really strongly about. I would really appreciate it you would please take a few moments to visit The United States Department of Veteran Affairs and look over their information on PTSD. A little education goes a long way. Thank you.

Rachel

Happiness

I have a problem. I have trouble being happy and staying happy. I am so used to something being wrong, that I don't know how to just be happy. When you're used to being unhappy that long, it's a touch habit to break. It becomes a state of mind and I want to kick it to the curb!

We've been back from our honeymoon for almost a week now. I've been over emotional the whole time. I've felt angsty and malcontent. Nothing is really wrong, so I find something to be unhappy about. Sometimes that means crying over fictional characters on TV, sometimes it's because I'm feeling selfish and want Studdly Hubby to drop everything every time I want to be held or need excessive attention.

My life is good. I have a whole heck of a lot going right. Things are looking up in most aspects. It's such a foreign concept for me to actually be in this place in my life, even though it's been the goal all along. 

Has anyone else felt this way? What do you do about it? It is incredibly frustrating!

Rachel

Our Honeymoon

3 years, 8 months and 1 day from our wedding, Studdly Hubby and I finally departed on our honeymoon. It was my first vacation since I was a teenager (not counting visiting family). We had been talking about going to Disney World for a couple years, and finally decided to use our piddly little savings and tax return to make it happen. And let me tell you, even if we have to eat Ramen noodles for the next 2 months, it was totally worth it.

We flew out on Tuesday night after I got off work. It was my first flight and I was really nervous. My boss in activities suggested I swallow a lot during take-off and the landing to prevent my ears from popping. I tried but my mouth was so dry from my nerves that I couldn't do it! Once the plane started, I grabbed Aaron's hand and closed my eyes. I used some skills I had learned in therapy to calm myself down and managed to make it into the sky with much less anxiety than I would have experienced otherwise.

After we landed, we hunted down a taxi van that was also shuttling a man and a group of 3 women. The man was dropped off first at a gorgeous, probably 5 star, hotel. I jokingly started to follow him out of the van and told Aaron I'd see him in the morning! After he had his luggage, we were one our way. We pulled up at another beautiful hotel, and Aaron said "Is this one ours?" I laughed and told him it was not. Ours was $50 on Priceline. The three women got out and we drove on, passing other beautiful hotels. We held our breath, waiting to see where ours was and what it looked like. Finally, we pulled into a parking lot shared by Country Inn and Suites and several other restaurants and stores, including the one right in front of the hotel - Kabob and Curry. After the big 4/5 star hotels, the difference really tickled me. But the hotel was clean and the staff was friendly. They had a good free breakfast as well as a free shuttle to Disney (that was an adventure of it's own, by the way). But the best part of all, was the jacuzzi. That's right. I upgraded our room to a jacuzzi suite. It was normally $30 a night, but I used my super negotiating skills to get it for $15. I was worth every penny.

The next day, we were off to our ultimate destination. Disney World truly is as magical as the commercials claim, particularly the Magic Kingdom. There was a show right in front of Cinderella's Castle right after we entered the park. We missed the beginning, but we did see that it featured Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, Donald, Maleficent, Hook, Peter Pan and more. I got so swept up by the whole thing that I actually got a bit teary-eyed. The fact that I was PMSing led to my emotions being close to the surface and I could not hold it back! It was a perfect start to an amazing day. We went to the Hall of Presidents, rode Aladdin's Magic Carpet, the Jungle Cruise, It's a Small World (never again!), Pirates of the Caribbean and on and on. 

Here's a link to the photos!

But the most significant part for me was that night. I've written about our wedding night before. It was a shamble and probably one of the biggest disappointments of my life. I've been working on healing vaginismus since then, and have made progress, but our wedding night still hung over my head. On some level (not a logical one), I felt some guilt about it. It was my issues and my history that was preventing my husband and I from enjoying a normal healthy sex life, from having intercourse as newlyweds. But the night after the Magic Kingdom, I reflected on our first attempt as we had sex. I mentally and emotionally re-wrote that  failed attempt. I allowed this time to truly be our honeymoon and finally let go of the previous. I've come far enough now that I no longer feel guilt. I'm still momentarily frustrated when things don't go as well as I would like, but we've come so far and have finally had the honeymoon we needed.

The next two days we went to Animal Kingdom and Epcot. Animal Kingdom was a let-down for me, but still nice. I guess I expected more animals or more animal interaction. It felt a bit like a really amazing zoo that didn't have enough animals. Epcot, on the hand, was amazing. We got there at open and stayed through the fireworks show and barely had time to see it all. We didn't even have time to go on some of the rides we wanted to!

On Saturday, we rented a car and started the long drive home. While we would have liked to have flown back, tickets were over $300/person, so that made the choice for us. This cut off a day that we could have gone to Hollywood Studios, but I'd never seen anything south of Indy, so this was a great opportunity to see some more of the good old US of A. We stayed overnight near Chattanooga and finished the drive on Sunday. We got home that night, unpacked and collapsed on our bed. Monday morning was back to work and school.

Rachel

MDMA: A Miracle Cure for PTSD?

I have a bad habit of subscribing to magazines and then letting them pile up on my coffee table. As part of my seemingly never-ending spring cleaning, I've been going through them, reading the better ones and scanning the others for pictures for my dream board.  I got my Oprah Magazine and expected it be one of the better ones, chock full of inspiration and intriguing stories. Unfortunately, this one wasn't doing it for me, that is, until I came across an article almost at the end entitled "Can a Single Pill Change Your Life?"

Apparently, there have been some therapists utilizing the active ingredient in the drug Ecstasy, MDMA, to help treat post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I had not heard of any drugs being available for it so I dove in. A small study was done in Charleston, South Carolina in which 20 individuals with diagnoses of PTSD were given the drug during 2 to 3 therapy sessions. In the end, 17 of them were cleared of the diagnosis. This results seemed significant enough to require further investigation. 

From the article:

                  "With MDMA, you not only see your fear but trust yourself to go past it," says Marcela Ot'alora, 52, a Colorado therapist who took MDMA under a psychologist's care in 1984 to treat PTSD stemming from an abusive relationship. "It shows you how to be kinder to yourself, and how much you're capable of. It allows you access to a place in your mind that's compassionate and full of love. You might have abandoned that place, but it never abandoned you."      

That last part was especially interesting to me as it is my ultimate goal in therapy - to become a better, kind person. To find a place within myself that is good. A place that was abandoned as a child because I had to be protective and cautious, rather than giving love and being vulnerable.

From Oprah.com by Dan Saelinger

So what's the deal? Is MDMA safe? How does it work? Is it really a magic pill?

From what I understand, the drug is taken during a therapy session that last about 8 hours. During that time, clients totally relax and mentally revisit the trauma they experienced. They are able to face their abusers in a way that their psyches normally would not, well, at least not in their first session. Dr. Mithoefer, the physician who ran the study, claims that MDMA acts as a catalyst for internal healing. (For more examples and a more thorough explanation, read the original article here).

Obviously, there are risks involved, as there are with any kind of drug. Those that take it experience an increase in heart rate and blood pressure, as well as a decreased efficiency in the way the heart pumps. It can cause sweating, tremors and hallucinations. 

So what is the alternative for those of us suffering from post traumatic stress disorder if we don't want to subject ourselves to questionable drugs with dangerous side effects? Traditional therapy works, and even has its advantages.

While traditional therapy takes longer than 3 sessions, part of that requires a certain amount of personal commitment and work. Following through with that can lead to greater self esteem and pride. Often times, a part of that therapy is find a place within yourself, where you are able to center yourself and find inner peace, not dissimilar to what is experienced while under the influence of the drug. 

But there is a benefit to doing this "sober". A time will inevitably come when something will trigger a survivor who has already gone through a significant healing process. Or maybe something unpleasant will come up in life, as it always does. Something that tries your patience or frightens you. If you relied on the drug in the past to "heal", where will you turn when it is no longer available? If instead, you took the time to learn the necessary skills to heal and know you have a sense of peace within yourself that you can access, then you can do just that if the situation calls for it. To me, this has been one of the great outcomes of therapy so far. It's something I even use when I'm having a difficult time with Vaginismus. I use it when I'm panicking about paying the bills or feel some social anxiety creeping up on me. It's truly been life changing and I hope I never lose touch with it.

Some experts suggest that the current uses of MDMA may lead to finding a way to tone it down for safer therapeutic use. Until then, it is being accessed by therapists that utilize it on a, shall we say, less than legal basis. Personally, this is not something I would seek out at this time, but we will see what the future holds in research.

Rachel

A Letter to My Younger Self

Dear Rachel,

Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid to stand up for yourself. In retrospect, you'll always wish you had. Remember: "Those who matter don't mind and those who mind don't matter." It's good advice, but can be hard to follow.

People are going to disappoint you in your life - people you love. It's best to just accept that fact and move on. If you want it done right, do it yourself! Or find someone you can really trust.

Speaking of which, be patient. You will find him. You'll jump in with both feet. There will be another, and you will know in your gut that he's not "The One". Hang in there. It won't take long and it will totally be worth it. You'll get your Prince Charming.

Enjoy life! Relax! Don't be afraid to have fun. To Laugh and dance. Sing your heart out. You know it makes you happy.

Listen when people tell you you're good at something, but don't expect it to come from the people you need it from the most. Figure out what you're good at and what you enjoy. Then do it some more!

Rachel, life is going to be tough for a while. You're going to want a way out and will consider some scary exit strategies. But you're stronger than that. The time will come when you will be more free than you can even imagine right now. There will be days when you will look in the mirror, at where you are and what your life has become and you will be blown away. You will feel so much love and happiness. You will even be so fortunate that it will be your everyday life and you will have the luxury of taking it all for granted. You'll be a grownup. Happily married to a man that treats you like his queen. You'll have a real job and a nice place to live. You won't have to live in fear everyday. You will make the decisions in your life. If you want to cut your hair (you will), then you do it! If you want to go to bed at 8pm, then you can! If you want to go to the mall, stay out all night, watch what you want on TV, YOU CAN!!! I know, it's mind boggling! I know you can't even allow yourself to imagine it right now, but just know that you'll get there. It'll be awesome. You're going to feel a lot better about yourself too. You'll still have your insecurities, like anyone else, but eventually you'll find things to be proud of within yourself. And you'll start writing. So pay attention in English class!

I guess what I'm trying to say is don't give up, on life or on yourself. Be kind to yourself and forgive yourself for your shortcomings. You're not going to lose control if you relax and feel, even if what you feel is anger. (That's going to be some tough advice to take as well.)

Love,

Rachel

P.S. "Kid, you’ll move mountains!

So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea, you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!" - "Oh! The Places You'll Go!" Dr. Suess




Linked to this blog: "A letter to my younger self" at Multiple Voices

Post 100 - His Identity

I've been reflecting lately on the way I deal with my step-dad in my mind and my memories. As I mentioned before, for the most part, he isn't really all that present, which I realize seems illogical. 

I don't even know what to call him. I grew up calling him "Dad" because I thought that was who he was. But he doesn't deserve that title. When talking to Aaron, I usually just use pronouns, and he generally knows who I'm talking about from the context. In my blog, I refer to him as my step-dad. Today, I referred to him as my "a**hole dad" to someone who I've never really talked to about him much. In reality, he was my adoptive father. His name is Tim. He's a prisoner and a sex offender.

But, once upon a time, he was a child. He was James and Mary Moore's little boy. He was the brother to 6 boys and 3 girls. In theory, he was as innocent as any other young boy. I don't know all that much about his upbringing. I know they were poor. With 10 kids, it's no wonder! I know the boys all shared a bedroom. But I don't know when things changed. As an adult, he didn't seem to have a close relationship with his siblings. There seemed to be some kind of tension between him and them that I didn't understand. It seemed like something had happened a long time ago to cause a rift, but I was never sure what that was.

It's just so difficult for me to think of him as anything besides pure evil. I'm sure there are happy anecdotes from my childhood in which he is involved. But I don't want any part of them. My mind is closed off to it. I feel like any warm feelings towards him would make be vulnerable to him. And I feel like I can't afford to be weak where he is concerned. If I had shown any kindness to him in the past, he would have taken it as an invitation, a seduction. 

A flawless performance...this time.

It was a strange dance I had to perform. I had to be the obedient loving daughter, while at the same time, protecting myself the best I knew how.  Like a prima ballerina, each step was calculated and needed to be flawless; the stakes were high. He would sometimes ask me, "Do you hate me?" My practiced response was always the same: "No, but I hate what you do." Whenever this conversation happened it was after the abuse, after his lust was sated. I knew I could get away with at least that much. The ballerina would get a standing ovation for her performance...this time. However, if I told him I hated him, it would have certainly come up later. If he was drunk, he would either cry pitifully or be very angry, clenching his teeth together while ranting incoherently.

And I've gotten off my main point. I have a hard time even writing about him directly like this, because it is that difficult to let my mind really explore the topic. It leaves me feeling vulnerable and angsty. I need to cry. I can feel it just below the surface, the tears threatening/needing to spill with the right provocation. My husband has a thick scar on his chest, from a surgery he had as a little boy. When I touch it, he says it is numb, but he can feel the pressure of it being touched underneath. He can feel my fingers on the skin around it. As far as my step-dad is concerned, he is a scar that is still numb. I fear I'm going to need to cut it open to allow it to heal properly.

I don't usually do well when I'm writing about something I haven't really processed. It tends to be all over the place and not have any real answers. So I guess I'm for now. I'll leave you with a song that's been on my mind a lot lately. One of those great "singing through tears" songs, filled with raw emotion.

"It took so long just to feel alright, Remember how to put back the light in my eyes...and who do you think you are, running 'round leaving scars, collecting your jar of hearts, and tearing love apart?"

Rachel

Raging Goblin

My danders up. It started yesterday. Something deep inside me started simmering after I wrote my last blog post. I wasn't sure what it was at the time. I just had this uncomfortable restlessness - an agitation. I slept terrible all night long. I had nightmares about my step-dad, although now, I couldn't even tell you what happened in most of them. The one I do remember, I'd rather not share on here, because it was too terrible. I woke up feeling tired and emotionally needy. 

I went through the day like this, not sure exactly what all the emotions were bubbling up towards the surface. I came home, and watched an episode of Dr. Phil on DVR. It was an episode about a man with a sexual addiction. He had a pretty extreme problem, and his wife apparently had decided that the best course of action was to go to Dr. Phil. That same wife is also the mother of their 2 year old daughter. I'm not going to spell out all of this man's problems, but he did admit that he had felt aroused by his daughter sitting on his lap on 2 separate occasions. 

WHAT THE BLEEP IS WRONG WITH THIS WOMAN?!?!

Why in the world is she still living with him and putting her daughter in that situation? From everything that he had already admitted to, I would not be the least tiny bit surprised if he had already behaved inappropriately with her. And instead of leaving him, she goes on a TV show? Don't get me wrong, I'm a Dr. Phil fan, but for the love of Pete, use your brain! Use your maternal instincts! Don't you have any? She claimed she had wanted to take her daughter and run and never look back. Bullsh*t. If she wanted to, she would have. I was getting very angry. Then, the man starts "crying". I put it in quotes because there were ZERO tears.

And this was when my rage peaked. I wanted to call CPS right that minute. A lot of good it would have done - "Uh, yeah...I'm calling about the people on Dr. Phil..." I also realized that I had been feeling angry all day. I had been looking for a fight. I wanted someone to say the wrong thing about sex offendors or victims or children. I was angry and needed someone to be angry at. 

Once I understood the emotion, I realize that that has happened to me before. Some days I just want to go on a rampage. PLEASE, give me an excuse! I want to get angry and lose control!

Of course, it never happens. And truthfully, it's displaced anger. I should be angry at my step-dad. But he's not here. I can't see him. I can't scream at him. I can't shoot a gun in his face. 

So I need to find something to do with this anger before I just become a "Raging Goblin".

"He raged at the world, at his family, at
his life. But mostly he just raged."

I don't want to be angry at the wrong people. But right now, if I were to cross paths with any of the "right" people...heaven help them.

Rachel

Facing a Demon

Last week in therapy, I talked about a whole slew of memories. They just kept coming to me, one after the other. I haven't even gotten around to writing them all down yet. At one point, my therapist asked me what I was feeling at the time some of the memories took place. There was a couple where I was able to tell her. The rest - I had no idea. I could tell her what happened, but I had no idea how I was feeling at the time. I spent so much time detaching myself from the present, that I detached the feelings as well. (That ability to escape in my mind doesn't help my concentration by the way.)

One of the memories that I could link to a feeling was one that I really don't like to remember or talk about. It was when I was around 11 or 12. I remember standing in the kitchen and my step-dad tried to kiss me...with tongue. I pulled back and was absolutely mortified and disgusted. It gives me the willies to even think about it.

Around that time, I had gotten up early to surprise him by making him breakfast before he left for work. I realize this may sound contradictory to some if they've been fortunate enough to not experience an abusive parent, but I was still longing for his approval, the way any child would. I had recently gotten a second-hand swimsuit (people were giving us their old stuff all the time) that had a built in skirt. It was white with a red floral design. Very tropical I thought. Anyway, I loved it, and for one reason or another that I do not recall, I decided to use it for pajamas. I happened to be wearing it this particular morning, and he later made a comment implying that I was "offering" myself to him because I cooked him breakfast and wore that. After that I learned I had to be more careful so he didn't think I was trying to seduce him. Truthfully, it really pisses me off. It is just so insane that I even had to worry about that. No girl should ever have to be concerned that she may be unconsciously arousing her father.  (For those of you newer to my blog, I didn't know he wasn't my biological father until I was 19.)  

Not long after that, I wanted to leave some little notes around the house that said "I love you Mom!". I knew he would be offended if I left him out, so I wrote some for my step-dad as well. However, I didn't want him to get the "wrong idea" so on his I wrote "I like you Dad". (For those of you newer to my blog, I didn't know he wasn't my biological father until I was 19.) 

Anyway, when I rattled off all those memories last week, my wall came back up. I felt nothing about them. A bit emotionally exhausted from digging them back up out of their graves, but otherwise detached. I wasn't even that aware of it until this week.

I did some more inner child work. I haven't been writing them all, for a few reasons, so this may not make a ton of sense if you've read my last posts on the topic. Anyway, I went to my happy place and met with my "Actual Self". She was there, wearing a small crown this time, and sitting atop a horse. I asked her why she would never come with me down the stairs, and she didn't answer. We walked together to the cellar doors, and I walked down, alone. When I got to the hallway that had been behind the locked doors, I quietly observed it, not sure what I was looking for. I walked to the end of the hallway and looked to the left. I expected to see stairs but there was nothing. I turned to the right, and there was a flight of descending stairs. I considered walking down them to investigate this new area, but decided it would be better to check the other doors in the hallway that had not opened yet. I turned back towards them, and a door that had opened to an empty cell previously, now held my step-dad. He was sitting in it, looking at me with a blank expression. 

I was terrified.

I shut the door, locked it and hurried back up the stairs. I left from my safe place and came back to reality.

Finding him there was incredibly disturbing to me, and also led to a realization. First of all, he has never shown up in my inner child work. It all takes place in my mind, and he is not welcome there. I can't even look at his photo on his prison profile page (although I still check it to make sure he's still there). It's too scary for me. So when he popped up out of nowhere, in a place that ultimately I control, I was not happy. But it made me realize, he was really missing from my memories. It's hard to explain, but it's almost like I knew he was there, but I couldn't allow myself to actually visualize him.

He is the scariest thing I have ever faced in my life.

Where he is concerned, I still feel like a tiny little girl, powerless against a much larger, much scarier force, one that had complete authority.

But by not facing the whole picture, I'm only processing half the memory, half the feeling, half the reality. I can cry over what happened to me, but why don't I feel more anger towards him? I can feel anger towards my mother, and she wasn't even on the same level as him. That's a whole other ball game. But I think I still feel numb towards him. I remember testifying against him in court, and was far too numb at that point to feel anything but fear and nerves. It reminds me of my "safe place". It's empty and neutral because numb is safe. After that, I locked the whole issue away, just happy that he was locked up and I didn't have to live in fear anymore. I never let myself get really angry at him. He is that locked away. He's not even human anymore. I can't allow him to be that real. When I cut him out of my life, it was completely.

I don't know where I will be in 4 more years when he is released from prison, but I suspect I'll be feeling a lot of anxiety. The problem is, my whole family hasn't cut him out of their lives. Three of my sisters still talk to him on the phone from time to time, for various reasons. One thinks he's been innocently imprisoned, and I worry about her the most. I believe she will allow him around her future children, and I don't know who will protect them. I know he will also try to have a relationship with my other sisters. Because they are a part of my life, he enters into it as well. And I don't want that to happen. I also don't want him to know anything about my life. NOTHING. I don't want him to know what I'm doing, where I am, who I'm married to, if I have children, what I look like now, etc. I get sick just thinking about it.

But I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

In the meanwhile, I have to face him in my memories. I have to allow myself to see the whole picture and to be honest, I don't want to. I don't even want to go back down "the stairs". I don't want to run into him. 

Rachel