It’s funny how memories creep up on you sometimes. For instance, the memory about how clearly I wanted to call bullshit on my mom when she told us, after her mother’s murder, that because we never know when a loved one is going to die that she always says that we must just love one another. But at twelve, all I had was a feeling, the disconnect about what was said and what was acted upon. That love was not unconditional, it was a treat to be doled out, and ripped away as punishment.
I’m currently working through my issues with a wonderful therapist and she gave me this story adapted from the Four Spiritual Laws of Prosperity by Edwene Gaines, and it is worth sharing:
I was a victim of childhood sexual abuse, so I know full well the devastation that kind of betrayal can cause in a person’s life. From the time I was four months old until I was four years old, I was sexually abused so badly that it almost killed me.
I had a particularly difficult time dealing with the effect it had on my self-esteem, and for many years I played the victim.
I will be eternally grateful for a teacher who one day abruptly called me on my act.
In order to heal this childhood trauma, what you’ve got to do is create a new story about it, he told me.
Okay, here’s your new story. Try this one on and see if it works for you. You came onto this planet to be a woman of power. Your soul chose this pathway, and because you chose it, you also chose to take an initiation in the misuse of power at a young age. During this initiation you leaned what it feels like when power is misused, and it is horrible. Therefore, it is now safe for you to be a woman of power in the world because you know now that you would never misuse nor abuse this power. And in this process, you have gained the most valuable of all spiritual gifts — the understanding heart.
My world reeled from this and cracked open a bit. It didn’t happen overnight, but little by little, one day at a time, I began to embrace this wonderful new story, a saga that completely reordered my personal history. It made me feel powerful rather than helpless, and it allowed me to give up the role of victim.
It also brought to mind the coaching of another teacher who told me
Never ask a ‘why’ question. There are no absolute answers to why questions. But if you absolutely have to ask why, at least have the good sense to make an answer that pleases you.
Reframing the abuse has helped me to achieve peace of mind, and that is a joy.
Yesterday’s post was very down but the amazing thing about speaking about the darkness is it allows cracks of light to come through. I’m still not doing well but I’m doing better than yesterday. And that my friends is progress.
At the moment the only thing that is allowing me to have some semblance of normality, of sanity is keeping everything tightly wound. So tightly wound that it is unhealthy. Cracks are beginning to show…I’m irritable. I’m scared. I’m scared of the darkness inside my head. The liar inside telling me that I’m worhtless and that everyone else things that I’m stupid. That I’m incapable of loving being loved.
The darkness it creeps up on you. You have no real idea that it’s tide has turned until suddenly out of the blue it looms over you. Cold, dark, miserable. Engulfing you and silencing you.
I know there is light out there somewhere and I know that I need to let myself feel numb. Because for me when I’m depressed I don’t really feel down…I feel numb. Using the word feel is incorrect because it implies that there is far more sensation than there actually is.
Today’s depression is probably more hormonal and stress induced than anything else. But just because I know why it’s here doesn’t make it go away.
I battled to sleep last night. We turned in around 11 and I read until about midnight, but it took me about an hour to get up to sleep. Then at about quarter to four one of our dogs decided to wake us up and then it took me until five a.m. to give up and take a sleeping tablet.
There is something my subconscious is trying to tell me. Something about hidden and unexpected treasures being stolen and returned. Something about an adventure. But I’m just not able to figure it all out.
Anxiety is a bitch but since the psychiatrist has doubled my dose of meds I seem to be less on edge…but the flip side is the side effects are back. Dry-mouth and headaches with a side order of nausea.
I’ve figured out that an “objective” indicator of how depressed I am is my interest in the fish. It seems to be a good scale and I’m keeping track of my mood on a site prescribed by my doc.
Not looking forward to tomorrow, it’s my mum’s birthday.
Remember me? I know it’s been a while since I posted. I just needed to take a break from everything. Take some time for me. Part of this time involved me going to the doctor and getting a prescription for anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication. The strange thing is that I did not even realize that I was anxious the whole time, I was not even convinced about th diagnosis. I think being anxious had become such a way of life for me that I barely noticed it any more.
I’m not okay yet, but I am definitely on the road to recovery. I am working with a wonderful therapist who is guiding me through this process of healing myself.
I am excited about becoming an aunt in the very near future, and am planning my own family. I have set some realistic goals and I am on track to achieving them.
I don’t know when I will post again, for now I think I still need to spend some time in my own head. Confronting the demons of my past.
I’m still not okay, but I’m getting there.
My depression is a dark secret. Very few people in real life no about it. Even less of them know how bad it is. And the effort of hiding it is becoming exhausting. An unexpected visit at the weekend exhausted me.
I get consumed with feelings of self-loathing. Angry at myself for being so pathetic. Their is a tiny voice inside my head that speaks out and tells me that I’m being irrational, but it is drowned out.
I think one of the things that makes it worse is that I feel like I don’t have any right to be depressed. That I’m a liar and a fake and that I should just happy the fuck up. I should be grateful for what I do have. I should be out in the world riding rainbows. But at the moment it is just too much effort.
Perhaps I am just exhausted, tired out of pretending to be okay. Because right now I am not okay. I will be one day. But today is not that day. And it’s alright for me to cry a little bit.
I know I need to get help, the thing is I suck at asking for it. I don’t know if it is a hangover of being an abused kid or if it is just stubbornness, of wanting to exist in a reality where I don’t need help. Where I am completely independent. But that would be just another form of delusion.
So for now I’ll just get it off my chest, I’m not okay…but I will be.