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

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

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

Love me, love my scars!

What do you think of when you hear the word "scar"? Do you think of a mark on your body? Maybe from an incision or an injury?  I have a few of those. The skin on my knees is a little blotchy from falling too many times as a clumsy kid. I have a small white scar on my neck from when my step-dad grabbed me in a fit or rage and threw me to the floor and his fingernail scratched me. There are many people walking around this world with visible scars. Sometimes they are hidden with clothing or even make-up. Other times they are there for the world to see.

But there are just as many (more?) out there with emotional scars - invisible scars. These are harder to explain. If a new friend sees a scar, they may ask what happened and you can then share. The visible scars are proof of your trauma whether it be significant or not. But emotional scars can be just as painful and often more painful than that. Surgery can't correct them. There is no pill that will help you heal, although there may be some to help you deal. 

My scars are many and run deep. I'm fortunate that they are hidden from sight. I can only imagine that if they all manifested physically, I would look like a grotesque monster. People would gasp when they saw me and could only imagine my pain and the trauma I endured. 

While I may grow use to them and maybe even come to accept them, they will always be there, ingrained on my person. There are a part of me as much as the scars on my beat-up little knees.

So today I am exclaiming "Love me, love my scars!"  

I borrowed "Love me, love my _____!"  from one of my favorite bloggers, Moosh in Indy. 

So now it's your turn to fill-in-the-blank. Say it out loud! "Love me, love my _____!"

Rachel