tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46652954166849970372024-03-14T00:36:20.947-07:00Give a Flying FigFlying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-85636739777984274102021-09-07T10:30:00.002-07:002021-09-07T10:30:20.542-07:00Blister bluster ...<div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div><div class="ecm0bbzt hv4rvrfc ihqw7lf3 dati1w0a" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id="jsc_c_f7"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t ew0dbk1b irj2b8pg"><div class="qzhwtbm6 knvmm38d"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql lr9zc1uh a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d3f4x2em fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb iv3no6db jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v b1v8xokw oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">This past month (5 weeks actually!) has been the roughest I've had in a while, and I'm SO glad it's over! </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I
woke up one morning with a sore spot on the side of my tongue. I
figured I'd bitten it in the night, got a canker sore, it'll clear up in
a few days. Nope. Instead of getting better, it got worse. WAY
worse. It got bigger, for one thing, and more started showing up ...
your regular run of the mill canker sores don't do that. I had various
sizes of blisters all over the inside of my mouth ... on and under my
tongue, inside my cheeks, on my gums, the roof of my mouth, and down my
throat ... I couldn't eat or drink without severe pain; I could barely
talk. I ate tiny bits of oatmeal when I could, sipped water when the
pain wasn't too bad. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I
went to the outpatients department at the hospital twice (my dr was
away) and they barely looked at me, said it's nothing, sent me home. I
should own shares in Oragel by now, I've gone through dozens of tubes of
the stuff to help ease the pain, but nothing helped solve the problem.
When it finally started to get a little better, the blisters spread to
my lips. I looked like I had the worst chapped lips ever, with crusted
scabs on and all around my mouth. I barely left the house, it was so
painful and embarrassing. </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I
spoke to pharmacists about it and then finally my dr, and it was
suggested that it might have been caused by wearing a mask. When we had
our last lockdown and some local cases, the stores got very strict and I
forced myself to wear one whenever I had to. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Asthma
& breathing-wise, it's difficult. PTSD makes it even harder. But
they say that masks keep the goobers out and keep your own goobers in,
so I wore it. But what about if you're basically allergic to
everything, and when you put on a mask you actually trap the allergens
in there close to your face? The only thing anyone could come up with
that could have caused this huge reaction I was dealing with was that I
was exposed to an allergen that likely got trapped in my mask and I was
repeatedly re-exposing myself to it every time I wore it, then it spread
like wildfire and got out of control. I have no proof that this is
what happened, but it's the only thing anyone could come up with that
makes any sense.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">After
the blisters spread to my lips my dr got concerned that they were
getting infected and wanted to prescribe me an antibiotic ointment. I'm
allergic to antibiotics of all kinds. I've ended up in the hospital
with anaphylaxis for using eyedrops for pinkeye. So of course she was
really hesitant in even mentioning it to me. This was at the 5 week
mark and I was desperate, so I said that in my experience with
antibiotics, it takes 48 hours before the reaction is at its worst. I
told her that I know I can survive 2 days for sure and that if she could
hit me hard with antibiotics for that long, I would be ok. OMG the
look on her face was priceless. But I know what I can handle and she
knows that, so she went along with it with a few conditions. When I saw
the name of the ointment when I picked it up I have to admit I got a
little nervous. I've used it and reacted badly before. But I knew I
had 2 days. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They
were a miserable 2 days, and I did use 2 epipens and a lot of benedryl,
but it worked. The mess didn't spread any further, and after the 2
days I tapered off using the ointment unless it felt absolutely
necessary. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Then
I found an absolute miracle cure for the residual chapped lips. Once
the crusty part was gone (yep - ick!) it was still raw and sore, but I
got thinking about when my sister had told me to use Vitamin E on my arm
when I burned it last month. (Yes, I'm a walking disaster). So I got
the Vit E gelcaps ... I pierced a hole in the end of one and squeezed
out the oil, spread it on my chapped lips off and on through the day,
and within 3 DAYS it was cleared up completely. I will never be without
this stuff in my house from now on. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I
had a couple of small blisters pop up inside my cheek the other day ...
I literally felt them appear ... but I popped them and rinsed them out
repeatedly and nothing more happened. 5 weeks of misery and no absolute
definitive cause except for a theory. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I
get that masks are important and safe for many reasons and for many
people. But if there's even a chance, and there is, that this is what
caused my misery, I'm out. I can't and won't go through that again and I
wouldn't wish it on anyone. Well, maybe a couple of people .... <span class="pq6dq46d tbxw36s4 knj5qynh kvgmc6g5 ditlmg2l oygrvhab nvdbi5me sf5mxxl7 gl3lb2sf hhz5lgdu"><img alt="😈" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td6/1/16/1f608.png" width="16" /></span></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-58448646135755449372021-03-07T03:49:00.000-08:002021-03-07T03:49:05.013-08:00PTSD and sound ...<p style="text-align: justify;">A few years back I was explaining to my doctor some things that I had known about myself for a long time but was noticing that it was getting increasingly worse. I have an intolerance to certain sounds. It doesn't have to be a particularly annoying sound, or abnormally loud, and it's often things that are just written off as "background noise" and hardly even noticed by most people. This intolerance developed about halfway into my first abusive relationship and has gotten incrementally worse over time. The things that trigger me most are running taps and fans. I cannot stand the sound of a running faucet or fan (mainly exhaust fans, like over a stove or the car heater) for more than a few seconds. It becomes all I can hear, no matter what else is going on in the room. It builds up to a deafening sound in my head so that I can't focus, can't think ... I'm disoriented, annoyed, easily irritated, I drop things, I can't carry out simple tasks or finish whatever it was I was doing when it was turned on. Often I get a sharp pain, similar to a headache but not quite, way in the lower back of my head which doesn't go away until long after the sound is gone. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">When I described this to my doctor she had some tests run and I was diagnosed with Hyperacusis and Misophonia. She was surprised I'd never heard of them before, expecting that I'd looked it up since I was able to so clearly describe the exact symptoms of it. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">So, what are they? Here are a couple of simple definitions:</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Hyperacusis is a condition where you have trouble tolerating sounds that do not seem loud to others, such as water running, fans, dogs barking, walking on leaves, household appliances, tapping fingers,rustling papers, even laughter. The sounds that are your triggers (they are not the same for everyone) are amplified to unmanageable heights and cause reactions like I described above. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Misophonia is similar but in this case the sound triggers an emotional or psychological response.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The two conditions are compared as Hyperacusis causes a physical response, while Misophonia causes an emotional reaction. Both are fairly uncommon, but do occasionally coexist. Neither are a definite indication of a hearing deficiency ... my hearing is fine. They can be caused by head trauma and exacerbated by TMJ and PTSD ... yep, I check all those boxes. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">My most recent ex knew that I had this problem, particularly with running water. Being who he is, he would sometimes turn on all the taps in the house with screaming instructions forbidding me to turn them off. They often ran all night long, with me lying in bed wide awake, head pounding, anxiety through the roof, in a state of complete panic until long after they were finally turned off. Times like those can make you feel like you are slowly going mad. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">In my years of dealing with ptsd, both on my own and in group or individual counselling sessions, I've become pretty good at recognizing and managing situations that I can anticipate being a problem for me, particularly where sound is involved. I do have the exaggerated startle response too, which is a real treat when your autistic kid comes up behind you and presents you with a loud CLAP out of nowhere. Some things can't be anticipated so much and you just suck it up and deal with it as best you can. Other things can be managed more easily. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I choose my phone's sounds very carefully. I had a couple of "ding" sounds for when my sisters text me ... one ding for one, two for the other. But if they got chatty, or even just sent more than 2 messages, the multiple dings would start me down the rabbit hole. So I changed them to a gentle "whoosh" sound. I also often just mute my phone completely. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Often the dogs are in the kitchen when I'm cooking or doing dishes, with the tick tick tick of their toes on the floor, plus the faucet could be running, or the stove fan might be on, so the kitchen is a big trigger area. I try to keep the dogs out of the kitchen completely, partly because I don't want them underfoot and possibly getting stepped on or tripped over, but also to keep that tick tick tick sound away from where I'm already dealing with the other sounds that I can't eliminate. I run water minimally. I use the ceiling fan and open a window to avoid using the cooktop fan. I run the dishwasher when I'm completely finished everything else in the kitchen so I can leave the room. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I have yet to figure out how to turn off the music that plays when the laundry machines finish their cycles but hopefully it's possible.<br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Multiple people in the house plus critters means that often the tv or tablet or whatever is playing a video or music or something is turned up so it can be heard above everyone. If I can control the rest of the environment so that there are no other triggers, then I can sometimes tolerate this ok ... but if it's just me in the house I usually don't even have any on. No tv, no computer, no videos, nothing. I sometimes have music on in the kitchen when I'm cooking alone, but as soon as there are other noises added to the space it gets turned way down or off. Unless I'm listening to music or playing a game, I don't have sounds turned on my phone or computer most of the time. As soon as I download a game the first thing I do is shut off the sounds.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">When I go for a walk, I wear headphones. Then I do listen to music. But this is my music, chosen by me, for me, nothing unexpected or annoying, and it helps block out unwelcome other sounds.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'm writing this at 5am, the house is quiet, I'm the only one awake and my mind is at rest. Soon, though, the day and its many sounds will begin and I'll get busy dealing with them as they come. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">So if I'm at your house, and it gets busy with people, critters, electronics, music .... don't be offended if I have to just step away for a bit. I will come back.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">** note ** It has been suggested by some good friends of mine that I try EMDR as a therapy for my PTSD. I know they mean well, and I do appreciate that, but I've looked into it and spoken to many therapists about it over the years and it is not a viable option for me. I have so many types of trauma spread out over so many years by multiple sources that it would take an impossible amount of time and money to even begin it, and because of all of that it's unlikely to be effective. So I do thank them for their concern and suggestions, but it's not for me. <br /></p>Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-25237676339144939222020-08-01T17:13:00.003-07:002020-08-01T17:15:00.730-07:00Masks come in many forms ...<div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="6b7p8-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6b7p8-0-0"><span data-offset-key="6b7p8-0-0"><span data-text="true">We are now 2 days into our "mandatory" mask wearing in public enclosed spaces, such as stores, offices, etc. As I've said before, I'm one of those who can't wear a mask, and today for the first time in a long time I was literally humiliated for that fact. </span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="523nt-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="523nt-0-0"><span data-offset-key="523nt-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="4altj-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4altj-0-0"><span data-offset-key="4altj-0-0"><span data-text="true"> I had to pick up a few things in town, went to a few stores. I actually went to a lot less places than I had planned to, because I ended up sitting in my car in the parking lot just waiting for the crying to stop so I could drive home safely.</span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="ebtc1-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ebtc1-0-0"><span data-offset-key="ebtc1-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="3fifv-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3fifv-0-0"><span data-offset-key="3fifv-0-0"><span data-text="true">People with asthma can't breathe easily in a mask, sometimes not at all. I have asthma, but that is not the main reason I can't wear one. As I got out of my car I was quite aware of all the people in the area wearing them, and I was and am sincerely grateful for that. I have such a crappy immune system and am allergic to so very many things, some of my friends joke that it's amazing that I'm still alive, or say "don't get attached" because I won't last long. I laugh with them because they're right, and sometimes it is just so ridiculous that all I can do is laugh. I'm also allergic to all ... yep ALL ... antibiotics, so if/when there's a Covid vaccine, I can't take it. So if Covid doesn't kill me, the vaccine will. So from the bottom of my heart I truly am grateful for all the mask wearers out there for protecting me.</span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="4dcfk-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4dcfk-0-0"><span data-offset-key="4dcfk-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="f459o-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f459o-0-0"><span data-offset-key="f459o-0-0"><span data-text="true">But while I was so clearly aware of all of them wearing masks, they were also very aware that I was not wearing one. Some literally pointed at me as they said things loud enough for me to hear about my irresponsibility. Some just stared. As I went into one store there were 2 women working the entrance and one told me I had to wear a mask. I told her I couldn't. The other told me I HAD to and said they could provide me with one. I said again that sorry, I cannot wear one. One snorted and as I walked away they were talking quite loudly about MY rudeness and that I thought I was better than them, or above them, they said a lot more and I heard it all, as I'm sure they intended. I won't be going back to that store and I tweeted about it.</span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="aqn43-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="aqn43-0-0"><span data-offset-key="aqn43-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="dg4ts-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dg4ts-0-0"><span data-offset-key="dg4ts-0-0"><span data-text="true">I got what I went there for, shaken and trying not to let it show, very conscious of all the stares and things other people said until I got out, then when I could, I drove home.</span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="17vsl-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="17vsl-0-0"><span data-offset-key="17vsl-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="8pelo-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8pelo-0-0"><span data-offset-key="8pelo-0-0"><span data-text="true">There are a lot of things I could have said to people, but didn't. I'm often not known for holding my tongue, but I did. I was half afraid that once I got started I wouldn't be able to stop. And I was also just trying to get through what I had to do and get out. People think they know things, they make assumptions, they judge. </span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="7gaua-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7gaua-0-0"><span data-offset-key="7gaua-0-0"><span data-text="true">I suppose asthma sufferers could wear a t-shirt that says they have asthma, so people would go "ooohhh ok, that's why she can't wear it". But I don't think they make t-shirts that say "I can't wear a mask because I have PTSD from my ex strangling and smothering me while he tried to kill me hundreds of times". </span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="elagm-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="elagm-0-0"><span data-offset-key="elagm-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="bsprq" data-offset-key="f592b-0-0" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f592b-0-0"><span data-offset-key="f592b-0-0"><span data-text="true">I guess I'll have to have that one custom-made.</span></span></div></div>Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-33227682837275461872020-07-15T12:47:00.016-07:002020-07-15T13:06:17.322-07:00Jack<div style="text-align: justify;">From the first day I started planning my escape a big part of it all was this guy, Jack. Jack is 13, I've had him since he was a kitten. He actually has/had a sister, but she didn't make the trip with us. She wasn't really my cat, she followed my ex around like a puppy, he called her his "one true friend" (in reality she likely is his only friend). Although we got them at the same time and they are blood related, I never really bonded with her, but Jack was mine from the first time I laid eyes on him. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NRnW8bn-K1k/Xw9K9HhQvXI/AAAAAAAAAPk/MbpjLfroClEGVwTaUQzWCwBpVU6JP5C2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s750/bag%2Bkitty.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="562" height="270" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NRnW8bn-K1k/Xw9K9HhQvXI/AAAAAAAAAPk/MbpjLfroClEGVwTaUQzWCwBpVU6JP5C2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/bag%2Bkitty.jpg" width="202" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'd never had a black cat before, so I didn't know how awesome they are. He can hide in plain sight just by sitting on a dark chair or in a dark window. I love the deep dark richness of his black fur. His eyes are bright and show up even more since the rest of him is so dark. He's my baby. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So when I finally made the decision that it was time to go, there was no question in my mind that Jack was going with me. He had been through almost as much as I had, on a cat level. My ex insisted that they both get declawed, so biting is his only defence, as is hers, and she used it a lot. His sister beat him up regularly, he often had to hide from her just to keep her from biting out chunks of his fur. My ex is very superstitious, so he wasn't crazy about Jack from the start, so if he wasn't abusing me, he would often take out his frustrations on my cat.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jack has been physically thrown across a room. He has had many things thrown at him, from a pillow to a book. He has been thrown in the shower with the water turned on full blast and hot. He has been thrown in the tub while I took a bath. He has been kicked, screamed at, terrorized for his entire life. But throughout all of that time he always knew that I was his safe place. If he was afraid, he would sometimes hide in the bathroom behind the litterbox, or if my sewing room was open he'd go way under the table in the back. Once the coast was clear and it was safe for me to do so, I'd go get him. He was a pretty big kitty, about 14 lbs, but when I'd pick him up to take him to sit quietly and safely with me, he'd snuggle up to me and make himself as small as he could. We'd go out to the living room and sit in my chair together, with him snuggled up beside me or in my lap. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jack's never been a real cuddler, or fond of a lot of touching ... he'd tolerate just so much and then he'd be done and either hiss or bite or just run away. He never slept on the bed, he preferred to sleep on a chair by himself out in the living room. He's not a real touchy-feely cat, unless he's scared, then he desperately needs his mommy. Unfortunately, he spent a lot of his time there afraid and hiding or lashing out, but he's always been my sweet black kitty who loves paper bags, catnip toys, and ice cream. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then suddenly one day out of the blue he was put in a cage, then took a ride in a car to a strange place where his cage was put on a wagon and taken to a strange room, where he was finally let out. He was in his first hotel. This was the first time he'd ever left his home since I got him 13 years ago. He was terrified. He snooped around and tried to hide behind the bed, I had to stuff pillows around there so he wouldn't get stuck somewhere that I couldn't get him out of. He wouldn't eat, or use the makeshift litterbox I'd brought along. That night Jack slept on the pillow literally wrapped around my head. The next day he went back in the cage, then in a plane, another plane, a bus, then another hotel. I had put an old sweatshirt of mine and a toy of his in his cage so he'd have familiar smells around him. He must have held out as long as he could but by the end of the trip he did pee on the sweatshirt, but not so badly that he was all gross ... I just tossed the shirt & toy and he was fine. Of course I had his favourite blankey packed with me and a backup toy.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We were at that hotel for 2 nights, he finally did eat but still wouldn't use the litter box. It was strange and not what he was used to and he was still scared. Again he slept wrapped around my head. If I was sitting in a chair, he sat beside me. If I sat on the bed, again he was right beside me. He didn't meow, didn't hiss, no biting, not a sound, just made sure he knew where I was at all times. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then we went to the place where we were to do the rest of our 14 day Covid-19 quarantine. We had a borrowed camper to stay in, it was roomy and very nice, lots of places for him to snoop around and an actual litterbox that he finally used. He hid under a bed every time I opened the camper door for any reason, and sat tight against me whenever I sat down, and of course slept wrapped around my head.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DsnSF34qKEY/Xw9QGmZjzrI/AAAAAAAAAPw/DWIo6X2WXPgz52MfNxU-Bwv-0khOdlj3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/Cabin%2BJack.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="190" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DsnSF34qKEY/Xw9QGmZjzrI/AAAAAAAAAPw/DWIo6X2WXPgz52MfNxU-Bwv-0khOdlj3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Cabin%2BJack.jpg" width="149" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was early April, still quite cold, especially compared to where we'd moved from, so we relocated to an airbnb cabin. There we had a wood stove, so it was nice and warm all the time, more space to stretch out, a borrowed laptop to watch movies on, we brought along the litterbox and we were all set. He hid for most of the first day, but by the second he was much more comfortable, though he still ran and hid under the bed every time I opened the door or he heard a noise. We were at the cabin for a week, then back to the camper once the cold snap had mostly passed. Jack had now graduated to sleeping on the pillow beside my head, instead of ON my head. It was a refreshing change not to have a "cat hat" every time I went to bed. This is him in the camper on his favourite blankey with his toy, right beside me, of course. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When our isolation time was complete, we moved into the house. For me, this was heaven. I was and am now surrounded by my people, people who I love and who love me back. I am safe and no longer afraid (most of the time). For Jack this was another huge change in his now constantly changing life. He went from first spending 13 years being abused by a monster, then in the matter of 2 weeks he went into a cage, in a car, a hotel, 2 planes, a bus, another hotel, another car, the camper, another car, the cabin, another car, the camper again, then into a strange house filled with people and pets he doesn't know. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1BSo6Py8wTQ/Xw9S6bAs-QI/AAAAAAAAAQA/ZKeRi5UJ1y4WEqe_MmyNOFSJwhmoczXCQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Pepsi.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="146" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1BSo6Py8wTQ/Xw9S6bAs-QI/AAAAAAAAAQA/ZKeRi5UJ1y4WEqe_MmyNOFSJwhmoczXCQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Pepsi.JPG" width="109" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;">First there's Pepsi. She's tiny, fluffy, looks harmless, but is obviously the queen of the house as she is the oldest (she's a year older than Jack) and she hates all of the other animals in the house and makes it crystal clear. They all know to just steer clear of her and all will be well. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I75CO1MTOfo/Xw9S9rb6ulI/AAAAAAAAAQE/XAafCMROWU4VrP-SRIr-76l63g7IiwzBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Mort.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="148" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I75CO1MTOfo/Xw9S9rb6ulI/AAAAAAAAAQE/XAafCMROWU4VrP-SRIr-76l63g7IiwzBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Mort.JPG" width="108" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is Mort. He's the Alpha Male cat in the house. He spends most of his day sleeping because he spends the whole night outside hunting. He brings home squirrels, mice, rabbits, all sorts of critters and leaves them on the deck for us to find in the morning. He likes to sit where the kitchen floor steps up about an inch or so to the back entrance, with his furry arm leaning there like a little man keeping an eye on the stairs and the back door.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Both Pepsi and Mort of course have claws, they're both indoor/outdoor cats. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ovdOkl-vGP0/Xw9S6TrawzI/AAAAAAAAAP8/qEfqRlQylh8xU3UyBhoecDm5CxRY0fIagCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Chester.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="152" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ovdOkl-vGP0/Xw9S6TrawzI/AAAAAAAAAP8/qEfqRlQylh8xU3UyBhoecDm5CxRY0fIagCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Chester.JPG" width="203" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then there's Chester. Chester is about 6, he's a black lab/german shepherd mix and he's basically a huge puppy. He loves the kitties. He loves everyone. He's barky and big, but not nasty at all. He and Mort often sleep on the couch together. There are no bad vibes coming from Chester unless you're the mailman or the UPS guy. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The only other animal Jack has ever known in his life was his nasty sister. Now he lives in a house full of other animals. I'm sure the first time he saw Chester he was thinking "what happened to make that kitty SO BIG?". He'd never met a dog before, didn't have a clue what he was or what to expect from this gigantic exuberant kitty. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We started our journey on March 28, finished our isolation on the Easter weekend. Jack went back to sleeping ON my head and didn't leave our bedroom for over 2 months. Since then he gradually started to make an appearance ... one of the kids asked me one night if Jack was allowed to leave his room. I said he's <i>allowed</i> to, he just never does. Apparently he had decided to take a little walk down the upstairs hall. Interesting. (note: we keep a flimsy cardboard barrier across the lower part of the bedroom door so he can jump in and out IF he chooses, but to deter the other kitties and Chester from going in. Oddly enough Chester COULD just nudge it over, but never does)<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Pepsi was brought in one day to meet Jack (she had been using that bedroom as her own personal space until we got there, sorry kid, it's ours for now). She growled at Jack, he hissed and growled at her, such sweet cousins greeting each other. Then she looked around and you could almost hear her thinking "what the --? he's got catering? and an en-suite???" She took a swipe at him and was quickly ushered out. Since then she's only leapt the barrier once (at 3am - yay) and a full-on catfight ensued. We take major steps to avoid them even seeing each other now.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jack very slowly, very gradually started venturing out of his room more often, a little further each time, usually when the house was really quiet late at night. Chester can be noisy, his toenails clatter a little when he walks on the wood floor, but Jack got used to that. He no longer hisses every time he walks past the bedroom next to us when Chester is in there for the night. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h3NZh9byfzo/Xw9heg9TOSI/AAAAAAAAAQk/o-b2ElfZMhoHrHQo2bTohRQ5NlTzYspIACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/jack.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="159" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h3NZh9byfzo/Xw9heg9TOSI/AAAAAAAAAQk/o-b2ElfZMhoHrHQo2bTohRQ5NlTzYspIACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/jack.JPG" width="119" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He spent a lot of his first encounters with Mort with both of them just looking at each other from about 6 feet apart. I don't think they were social distancing, I think it was more about how neither knew what the other could do and were weighing out their options. I used to think Jack was a big kitty. Since we've moved he's lost about 4 lbs, so he's smaller than he was, and he's definitely smaller than Mort. Mort is a substantial kitty, all muscle (and very snuggly). If he wanted to, Mort could kick Jack's butt. Jack started out just hissing and growling every time he saw Mort, then eventually he took a swipe at him. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, when a declawed kitty takes a swipe at you, it's like being smacked lightly with a mitten. He usually does a few in a row, like bop bop bop then runs away. I'm sure the first time it happened Mort was just like "what the heck was that?" <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Since then Mort has swatted back, but never with his claws so far. If Jack was smart he'd just leave him alone, but I'm starting to question his intelligence these days because he can't seem to do that ... though some days he does give him a wide berth. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cNsGF7IGc2w/Xw9bnDwIN5I/AAAAAAAAAQY/oig6Wf-tSSkA4AO8VHrsfSxNz_oNqhHjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Jack%2B%2526%2BChester.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cNsGF7IGc2w/Xw9bnDwIN5I/AAAAAAAAAQY/oig6Wf-tSSkA4AO8VHrsfSxNz_oNqhHjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Jack%2B%2526%2BChester.JPG" /></a></div>We had thought if any house animal would be ok with Jack it would be Pepsi, since she doesn't like the others and keeps to herself, maybe they'd be allies. Nope. The one animal that he got used to first was the gigantic mutant kitty - aka Chester the dog. Jack was snarly and hissy at first, but not for long. There is no animosity coming from Chester, he's a happy guy who loves kitties. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">3½ months ago nobody would have thought that firstly, Jack would ever leave his room, and secondly, that his main ally in the house would be Chester. Now Jack is often found wandering the house, he just pops up randomly all over the place. He is still hissy at people when he's surprised or startled, but fortunately the only person he has ever bitten (I did mention he's a biter) has been me. I wouldn't want him to bite the others in the house, especially the kids (they're teens, not little kids). Unfortunately the one person he does bite is the only one allergic to his "venom" (it's landed me in the ER for anaphylaxis already). But this picture here, with Jack sitting there after having just had a drink from the communal water dish with Chester just laying there chillin', is proof of how far this kitty has come. I have survived a lot, and so has he, and like a Timex we take a licking and keep on ticking. Jack is my sweet black kitty who has done so much in such a short time, I'm so proud of him every time I see him come carefully poking his head around a corner. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And yes, he does still sleep on my head or right beside it on the pillow. I don't think that's stopping anytime soon.</div>Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-74272464237099092652020-07-09T07:07:00.004-07:002020-07-09T07:28:11.109-07:00Ain't missing you at all ....<div style="text-align: justify;">Remember that song that came out in 1984 called<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9e157Ner90" target="_blank"> </a><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64Xs1M7-nsg" target="_blank">"Missing you"</a>..... it was meant to be ironic, saying I don't miss you but hearing your name or thinking about you makes me want you back, breaks my heart, etc. For me it's not ironic, it's absolutely literal.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I reckon most of us have gone through at least one breakup in our lives, some more than others, though there are the few lucky ones who find that special someone right off the bat and that's it forever. I'm not one of those lucky ones. I had my share of teenage breakups that would send me listening and crying to that song (it did come out in my prime), but then when I was 24 I met the man I ended up marrying. He abused me horribly for 14 years, threatened and tried to kill me many times, then after I left him I met the one who promised to make it all better and take care of me for the rest of my life. Nope, that one was a dud as well, once again abusing me in some of the same and some different ways as the first. Neither was any better or worse than the other ... both abusive <a href="https://www.verywellmind.com/understanding-the-narcissistic-sociopath-4587611" target="_blank">narcissistic sociopaths</a>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">What strikes me as odd sometimes, though sometimes not so much, is how I really am not missing either of them at all. The first one is no surprise, it's been 16 years since we split. The second was just a few months ago, though in my heart I'd left him years ago when he first started hitting me. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I was first contemplating leaving him I had my share of second thoughts ... I hadn't been alone in a very long time. I'd spent the last 30 years being beaten down mentally, emotionally, and physically, and constantly reminded that I was nothing and could do nothing without either of them. Or could I? I had no idea, but I knew I had to try. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For 16 years I've had to be constantly accountable for my whereabouts and what I was doing and who I was with. He would text or call me repeatedly throughout the day to check up on me. He'd time me when I said I was leaving somewhere to go home (like from the library or something) then quiz me on why it didn't take the amount of time he figured it should have. If my answer wasn't acceptable then I paid the price. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I finally did leave him, I was alone (with my cat) for the first time in a very, very long time; and rather than wondering when he was going to message or call, or try to come up with answers to whatever questions he might have for me, or worry that I was doing something he wouldn't like or that he'd scream at me for stepping out of line, or punch me for making a sound in my sleep ...... for a little while all I did was sit there in the quiet. I just sat. I didn't have to say anything, do anything, all I had to do was just BE. I didn't even cry, I just sat there. It was terrifying and liberating at the same time. I had blocked his phone so he wasn't calling or texting. He didn't know where I was, and had no way of finding me, and I was so relieved that from that point on I was only answerable to myself. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Up until the day I left I had wondered to myself if I would miss him. I had no doubts that I had to leave, but I did wonder if I would miss anything at all about him. Nope, not a thing. I miss nothing of him. I don't even think about him. His face doesn't come to mind at all, ever. I don't wonder how he's doing, I honestly don't care how he's doing. He tormented me for so long that of course I do have PTSD, on top of the PTSD I already had from the first one, so that's extra special .... I get nightmares, flashbacks, all the usual stuff. But do I miss him? Absolutely not. I truly ain't missing him at all.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's a strange feeling to suddenly be your own person. To be responsible for making your own decisions, things that you haven't done for a really long time. I went to a store to buy cutlery (I am literally starting over from scratch) and when I found a set I liked I was hesitant at first. I looked around for someone to tell me yes, you can buy that if it's what you want. There was nobody to do that, this was MY decision, and mine alone. If I ended up not liking it, then that was my problem too, but I don't ... I LOVE it. I've been gradually picking out things for my new life, taking my time and getting only things that I love, things that mean something to ME, that are special to ME, that shout out to the world that I chose it and it represents who I am and what I like and if they don't like it, I really don't care. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's also terrifying and often overwhelming. It's a huge thing to just start all over from nothing at this stage of my life. As I mentioned, I'm having to buy literally everything I couldn't get out of the house with, so that's pretty much everything I need to fill a house. I did get my clothing, books, my quilting fabric and tools, some dishes I'd collected in anticipation of this hopeful future, and not much else. I often find myself walking through a store looking at kitchen supplies and comparing things like the various slow cookers and then I'm looking at knives, pots, toasters, kettles, moving on to area rugs, lamps, literally everything starts piling up in my head and I just have to get out of the store ... it's too much. Thankfully I'm able to collect what I need slowly. I see an item or a good deal, and if I like it, I grab it. Then I can cross one thing off the list. Maybe the next day or week I'll see another thing or two, but there's no way I can do it all at once. For one thing, I can't afford to. And I have no place to put it all even if I could. Not yet anyhow. But fortunately for me I'm surrounded by people who love me and are helping me deal with that.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I do wonder sometimes if he ever misses me at all, or thinks about me. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The day I left, once he realized I was gone he sent me an email saying he had no idea it was so bad for me ... really? Maybe he thought the bruises were what - decorative? What about the times when he would laugh and brag about how he loved the thought that he could terrify me with just a few words or the tone of his voice. Or all the pain meds I had to take and x-rays I had to get because of him ... I guess all those things were just for fun. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He said he was sorry for yelling ... no he wasn't, he loved yelling, often just screamed AAAAHHHHH in the middle of the night just to make sure I couldn't sleep. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He said all he wanted was to make me happy and he thought a nice home, no worries about money and freedom to do my thing was enough. The home was nice because I kept it that way, because if there was a tiny mark or loose thread or speck of anything he would scream at me for "destroying" the place. I could use my credit card when I wanted to buy something, as long as he got every receipt and I had done my duty in adding up everything ahead of time to make sure it was all right and of course I needed a reason for everything. I knew better than to ask for something fancy or expensive because although he often "offered" to buy me things like a fancy expensive watch or something, I knew from experience that I would be expected to a. not use it so it would be pristine and new forever, b. if I ever did use it I could never get a mark on it that would indicate that it was used, and c. I would have to thank him profusely for it <u><i>every</i></u> time I used it. So no, I asked for nothing. As far as the freedom to do my thing ... I could go wherever I wanted, as long as I told him where I was going, who I was with, and how long I would be. Even then he would call and/or message me constantly checking to make sure I was where he expected me to be and then I had to tell him when I was on my way home so he could time me and make sure I arrived in the right amount of time or I had to account for the difference. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">His email ended with him telling me he hoped I was safe and healthy and that he'll love me forever whether I believe him or not.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Well, the rest of the email was a lie so I expect the ending was as well, especially with the way he handled himself after I left. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There are a few things I do miss. I miss the convenience and accessibility to get certain things easily in a large city. That is out-weighed by the charm and friendliness of a small town and being surrounded by my family and friends here. I miss the fact that I won't be going to watch my Canucks play at their arena anymore. No biggie, I'll watch them on TV (it beats sitting next to someone who either won't stop talking or won't talk AT ALL or the abusive things he'd do on the way to and from the games). I miss the Childrens' Hospice where I volunteered, I made many good friends and met some amazing people there. I miss my quilting guild and my friends ... I already know many quilters locally here and I still have many friends that I've already seen a few times. My best friends in BC will now have to be online friends, but they know that safety is paramount. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> So I do wonder now if he ever does think of me, or wish he'd not been
such a gigantic abusive ass for 16 years. I doubt he does, and to be
honest I really don't care. I'm done.</div><div><br /></div>Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-39364308473758999072020-07-08T17:42:00.001-07:002020-07-08T17:42:49.957-07:00If you have NEVER ....<p>To all the people who have questioned, criticized, blamed, finger
pointed, whispered, gossiped about the various life altering decisions
I’ve made over the years, right now please mentally stand up.</p><p> If you have NEVER been raped, you may sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER been strangled or choked to near unconsciousness, you may sit down.</p><div class="text_exposed_show"><p> If you have NEVER been punched repeatedly by someone who claimed to love you, you may sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER been tortured, you may sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER been pushed down the stairs, you may sit down.</p><p>
If you have NEVER had someone tell you that unless you leave &
never return you will be gang raped, dragged naked through town tied to
the back of a truck, then buried under a cement slab in the yard, you
may sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER laid awake all night, silent & still, afraid to move or make any sound, you may sit down.</p><p>
If you have NEVER been sodomized by a person or various other large and
painful things, then crawled bleeding & crying to the bath, you may
sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER been told that you are a useless waste of space, you may sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER been screamed at & punched in the middle of the night for any or no reason, you may sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER been told that if you’re too “chicken” to kill yourself they’d gladly do it for you, you may sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER had to have surgery to repair damage caused by someone claiming to love you, you may sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER had to hide in your own home until the coast was clear, you may sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER had to stay away from the small people you gave birth to because your life depended on it, you may sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER been kicked in the face while trying to get away, you may sit down.</p><p> If you have NEVER been publicly screamed at & humiliated for any or no reason, you may sit down.</p><p>
If you are still standing, and I’m betting there are none if any left,
then you and only you may criticize me. My shoes are awkward,
ill-fitting, uncomfortable and not many people that I know could or have
walked in them, so until you have, just keep it to yourself because I
have enough going on inside my head that I don’t need you in there
hammering away too.</p><p> Now I’ll sit down, because frankly, I’m exhausted.</p></div>Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-23926803614966175492020-06-19T19:24:00.006-07:002020-06-19T19:31:42.292-07:00Startlingly enough ....<div style="text-align: justify;">One of the symptoms or effects of PTSD is an exaggerated startle response. Loud sudden noises or unexpected sounds cause immediate panic, often resulting in hyperventilating and crying. It can take literally hours to come back down. And it doesn't have to be from something done TO or AT me, it can be anything. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Not long ago I was going through some of my things that I have in storage, and as I walked away from the boxes I wasn't looking down at the floor and stepped on some bubble wrap. It was unexpected, it was loud, and it sounded like gunfire ... and the more I tried to get away the more I stepped on it, making it exponentially worse. Once some gentle hands helped me away from the spot, off the bubble wrap, then the crying started. I was enveloped in a big hug until I got it under control. I'm so lucky to be surrounded by love these days.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The only thing is, although I can usually control the things that I do, where I go, what or whom I surround myself with, I can't control everything. Nobody can, or should. And as a result, stuff happens. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A broom falls over from leaning on a wall. BOOM!!!</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A kid sneaks around a corner and jumps out to scare his brother. BOOM!!!</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The dog hears a sound outside and starts barking at the door. BOOM!!!</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A random car backfires. BOOM!!!</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A television commercial comes on and starts out suddenly with a loud burst of noise. BOOM!!!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">None of these are things that are aimed at me, or intended to surprise me, or have anything to do with me at all, yet every single one of them and many other random similar things keep happening and every single time they startle the crap out of me. I shake, sometimes scream, hyperventilate, can't think straight, I'm disoriented, and often I cry. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The people around me know that I have this "problem". That I don't like to be startled. I appreciate that they don't want me to be scared, but I also don't want to be a special case that can't take a joke, or can't handle some good-natured fun; yet every time it happens, no matter how much I try, I get the same reaction ... shaking, can't breathe, confusion, crying ....</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I hear a lot of people saying I should seek counselling, find someone to talk to, etc. Well, here's the thing. Because of Covid, the local Women's Centre is closed. Plus over the past 16 years I have been to enough one-on-one sessions, group meetings, PTSD study groups that I could probably teach a class on it myself. There's really nothing to talk about, I'm all talked out. I've gotten so used to telling my "story" to everyone who needs to hear it (doctors, lawyers, counsellors, etc) that I've become numb. It doesn't help me to talk about it, I have nothing to talk about. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Instead I think I need to work on settling my mind. Physically he cannot hurt me. But my mind still attacks me all the time, awake and asleep. Either through daytime PTSD issues or nightmares when I'm able to sleep. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A few people have commented that they find it odd that one of the main things I had to take with me when I left were my books. I'm talking real paper books. I don't do e-books. I have to feel the book in my hand, turn the pages, smell the paper -- I love books. Yep, they're heavy, especially when you're shipping them in boxes and you have as many as I do. And I really didn't even take ALL of my books, just the ones I value the most. I took my favourite cookbooks, quilting books, novel series for various authors, mysteries, historical fiction, magical tales, collectibles, and some books on spirituality and mindfulness. Those last ones are the ones I think I need to read now. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gJnp_xh8www/Xu1xUTrbPKI/AAAAAAAAANc/qlB8goqZjtALJjPTMAKhykzmchWRb5WMwCK4BGAsYHg/s1385/yoga%2Bbook.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1385" data-original-width="1200" height="176" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gJnp_xh8www/Xu1xUTrbPKI/AAAAAAAAANc/qlB8goqZjtALJjPTMAKhykzmchWRb5WMwCK4BGAsYHg/s320/yoga%2Bbook.jpg" width="153" /></a></div>I also have one that I should get back to that will help my body and mind. I had started dabbling in yoga a few years back and I liked it. When I did it regularly it helped me feel physically and mentally more at peace, more relaxed. Both of those are things I'm in desperate need of now more than ever. I think if I get back into doing it on a daily basis (as much as my sprained knee will allow for now) I'll end up much more the better for it. My yoga mat stands rolled up right within sight of the computer as I'm typing this, it's literally right beside me and has been since I arrived here. This book was behind me on the shelf with the others. They're both just sitting there waiting for me to pick them up and get back to it. As they say, there's no time like the present. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There are a lot of things right now that I have absolutely no control over. I can't control how fast or slow the legal system works. I can't control what my lawyers are able to do for me or how quickly they can do it. I can't control the people who live with and around me that unintentionally startle the crap out of me on a regular basis, nor would I want to. But I can control how much effort I can put into helping myself heal. Like I said, I've done the classes, the groups, the sessions, I've talked about all the stuff to all the people, and I'm done. It's time to work from the inside out. Here we go ...</div>Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-80612774532149058032020-06-06T08:35:00.000-07:002020-06-06T08:35:12.859-07:00Tiptoeing through life ....<div style="text-align: justify;">Since I've been away from him, every day is a learning experience. I spent the last 30 years of my life with one abuser then another, I've spent a lot of time having to be who I was told or expected to be, to behave as expected, to say or not say certain things, to basically keep quiet and stay out of the way or face the consequences.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now I'm out. I'm free. And I have no idea who I am. I know who I was, many years ago, but not who I am now. I don't know how to react to certain things because there is nobody to tell me. I don't know how to even do certain things or how to function in regular daily life because I have nobody to tell me how to do it, how to behave, what to DO. It should be liberating, but in truth it's terrifying. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Every now and then I find myself saying something that to me makes sense. I have always had strong beliefs in certain things, I'm very passionate about the things and people I care about, there are some things about myself that I know for sure, others that I believe I know, and still others that I'm afraid to find out. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am so grateful to be able to stay where I'm staying and know that I'm safe, that sometimes I get a little too comfortable and I let things slip. A month or so ago I made a comment about something to someone I hadn't seen in a while. It wasn't a particularly bad thing I said, just an opinion. I was told that I was wrong and that I should reassess my thought process. So I will. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have often referred to my first ex as "the idiot". It was my opinion that if someone has beaten, raped, berated, smothered, tortured, threatened to and tried to kill me, and abused me in every single sense of the word over and over, I have the right to call him an idiot. By definition an idiot is a stupid or foolish person or someone who does stupid or foolish things; that description fits him pretty well. It was suggested to me that by calling him this, it made <i>me</i> look bad and that I was stooping to his level and that it would be better if I didn't. I wasn't told outright not to do it, it was just suggested and not in a nasty way, it was said to me by people I love and respect and who have my best interests at heart. And so I will.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Last night I was watching a movie with my sister and something she said struck me as particularly funny and I made a joke about it on Facebook. I didn't mean anything by it, it was just a silly comment, only made in jest and other people agreed. My sister wasn't particularly pleased by it but she can take a joke and made her own comments about it. Then someone told me in no uncertain terms that it was insensitive and that I should remove the post immediately. So I did.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have been well trained over the past 30 years to do as I'm told or face the consequences, so if I'm told to do something, I do it. No questions asked. Just do it and hope for no further repercussions, keep my head down, be quiet and stay out of the way. Now that I'm out in the world, I'm finding that I'm going to have to start censoring myself. I need to be more careful in what I say, who I say it to, and how it may affect more than just that person. That sounds like common sense, but to someone who was allowed to say very little to anyone for many, many years, it really isn't. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Everything is new to me. Common things are not common to me. Seemingly ordinary life is not ordinary to me. I've mentioned getting used to the seemingly little things in daily life like turning on a lamp if it's not bright enough, putting butter on a potato, not having to account for every single move I make in a day. These things, and more, are all alien to me.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have a lot of big decisions coming up to make, things I've never had to do before without someone over my shoulder watching every move, directing me as I do things, so I'll have to make a point of listening to those more wise than I am, with more experience than I have, and I will tread lightly so that I can hopefully avoid being censored again as I tiptoe through my new life. Fortunately I am very lucky to be surrounded by people who love me and will help me along the way if I'm brave enough to ask.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-77122661396144654942020-05-03T11:48:00.002-07:002020-05-03T11:48:21.426-07:00Getting over things .....<div data-contents="true" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9bql2" data-offset-key="3uoei-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3uoei-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="3uoei-0-0"><span data-text="true">Often I feel like the girl in that song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZt7J0iaUD0" target="_blank">Luka</a> by Suzanne Vega ... "my name is Luka, I live on the second floor ....." if you know the song you know what I'm talking about, if you don't, then look it up and you'll catch on quickly.</span></span></div>
</div>
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<span data-offset-key="7jckf-0-0"><span data-text="true">People have been asking me where I am, what happened, why did I leave. The answers are pretty simple, yet not. Where am I? I'm somewhere safe. That's all anyone needs to really know right now. What happened and why did I leave? He abused me ... physically, mentally, emotionally, he ran the gambit and I left because it was either do that or kill myself and I chose the former. I'm glad I did most of the time. Sometimes I feel like I'm losing my mind, or like I've made a mistake because there is so much unknown ahead of me, but I'm surrounded by people who care about me and would never, ever hurt me, and they will help me navigate the coming stormy seas. And the stormiest ones are behind me.</span></span></div>
</div>
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<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5ke02-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="5ke02-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
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<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9gfv3-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="9gfv3-0-0"><span data-text="true">People hear about women being abused all the time and comment about how they'd never allow anyone to hit them. What if he does it to you while you're asleep? Like you're lying there sound asleep one minute and suddenly he's screaming something in your face and punches you full force in the chest? Or you're sleeping back-to and you make a little noise in your sleep and he clobbers you in the shoulder or back? I didn't "let" him do it, but it happened all the same.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9bql2" data-offset-key="5vh60-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5vh60-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="5vh60-0-0"><span data-text="true">Or they say they'd never let anyone treat them that badly. What if it came out of the blue, for no reason at all, completely unexpectedly? One minute you're having a perfectly normal conversation, the next he's screaming at you, calling you horrible names and throwing things at you or threatening to kill you or your pet. I didn't "let" him do that either, but it happened. </span></span></div>
</div>
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<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bk0n6-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="bk0n6-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9bql2" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">A relationship can be compared to climbing a tree. You find what looks like the right one,you try it out, you work your way through some good parts and some not so good parts and if it's the right tree and it all works out you get to the top intact and the view is fantastic. </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">But what if it's not the right tree? It might look like it is at first, but then as you go along some branches start to give a little. You press on, because surely not all the branches are bad, but then you could get quite a ways up and suddenly it starts to crack ... things can fall apart slowly or quickly or both at the same time and then suddenly you're falling and you don't even know where you went wrong. Maybe you did everything right. Maybe you tried so hard you were physically and mentally exhausted from it all. Or maybe that tree just kept throwing you to the ground but you were too stubborn or determined or blind-sighted to see it. So you end up battered and bruised, inside and out, and one day you finally realize you just can't even be near that tree anymore or it will destroy you.</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">So that's what happened ... he broke me in many ways and now I'm away from him, I'm in a safe place surrounded by hope and love with many people helping me get through it one day at a time. Part of the healing process is "getting over" all the things that had become <i>normal</i> after so many years, that to outsiders were obviously very NOT normal. I've been keeping a list and telling people I'm close to when I jump a new hurdle, they probably seem like silly little things to most people, but to me these things are HUGE. </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">Like a couple of weeks ago I had dinner and was given some butter for a baked potato. I held the little container of butter in my hand, my plate in front of me, and just cried. It's not that I was denied food before, or that I wasn't allowed to have butter ... but if I did use it I would be given a speech on how it's fattening and how I didn't need it, and what's wrong with me that I can't just eat it the way it was. It was a small luxury that I had denied myself for many years just to avoid the nagging and criticism, and then here I was just offered it like it was a regular thing. Because it IS a regular thing.</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">I've been exercising the freedom to throw away used ziplock type plastic bags, used tinfoil, used Saran wrap, because this was NEVER allowed before. They would have to be washed and reused until they just couldn't be used anymore. It was disgusting, unsanitary, and plastic wrap loses it's effectiveness very quickly but still I would be literally screamed at if I threw any of them away. It's quite liberating to be able to throw away a smeared up plastic bag that had raw chicken in it rather than have to wash and reuse it for something else.</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">I opened the microwave when it was finished and was still beeping. This was a HUGE no-no. I wasn't even supposed to be looking at it while it was running, much less open it before the beeping stopped. And if I opened it while it was running, look out! But I opened it and as expected the microwave actually stopped like it's supposed to (or actually had, since it was beeping) and the sky did not fall down around me.</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">I've had dessert quite a few times, if I felt like it, like right after dinner. And then a snack again later! Nobody gave me the fat speech or anything and it was wonderful.</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">A few times I've even left the evening dishes in the sink and on the counter overnight to do in the morning. That's a hard one, because I've gotten many, many speeches about my incredible laziness if any dishes were left in the sink when I went to bed. I still do them most of the time, it's been drilled into me for 16 years and it's really hard to break that one, but once in a while I leave them. I feel guilty when I do sometimes and actually got up and went back to the kitchen to do them before I could sleep a few times, but I'm working on it.</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">I bought a ringtone for my phone. I had wanted a particular one for as long as I've had a cell phone but didn't even dare ask if I could buy one because of the speech I'd have to endure about the free ones not being good enough for me, and what made me so special that I had to buy one, and why couldn't I find one like it for free somewhere. But I decided that I would splurge and I bought the Chicken Dance ringtone for $1.49 and every time my phone rings it makes me smile. </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">This morning one of the guys came in the back door with a container he was going to empty into a bag, just commenting as he came in that that's what he was doing. I just stood there, frozen, totally unsure of what to do. In my world if a man wants a bag, or anything, I was to immediately GET IT, no questions asked. I had to somehow anticipate what kind of bag or whatever it was that he needed and have it ready asap. Not today, he was just telling me why he'd come in and got the bag himself while I stood there dumbfounded. </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">Later I thought of another thing I've been working on overcoming and called someone into the room to tell her. I can lock the door when I'm in a room now. Even the bathroom ..... ANY room! This was strictly not permitted before, he had to have access to any room in the house at any time. Closing the door wasn't allowed unless I was actually going to the bathroom, and even then I had to go fast because if he wanted to go in and I had the door closed he would stand there and kick or bang on the door until I opened it. So I called her to come to where I was ironing so I could tell her this new thing I'm working on doing, and when she walked in the room she commented that it was kind of dark (morning shade) and turned on the light. I couldn't even tell her my thing for a minute, I was crying ... he didn't allow lights on if it was daylight, and even if it was night, lighting was minimal and only if absolutely necessary ... it hadn't even occurred to me that I could turn on the light, I've been just making do with whatever light was available to me at any given time. </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">These are just a few of the things I've been working on overcoming so far, I'm sure there will be many, many more as time goes on. I hope one day I won't even be keeping a list anymore, but for now it helps me feel good knowing that I can do these things and not get in trouble or get screamed at or hit or anything. </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true">That was definitely not the right tree for me, nor was the last one. I may just stay away from all trees for a long time now, until I get back to whoever I am now. I don't even know what's normal anymore, I don't know who I am or who I'm supposed to be, what I'm supposed to do. Everything is uncertain at this point, I'm just making my way through it one day at a time, sometimes just one minute at a time. I'm not crying every day anymore, that's a huge step right there. Once in a while, like with the light this morning, something will hit me, but overall there's very little crying. I don't cry because I regret leaving, that is one thing that I know I definitely got right. I should have done it a long time ago, but here we are. And from here we'll see what comes next. Tonight we're having steak for dinner and baked potato and I will most definitely be putting butter on mine, just because I can.</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1t10l-0-0"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span></div>
</div>
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Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-3530459259625570302020-04-03T15:16:00.000-07:002020-04-03T15:24:05.544-07:00I survived you.<div style="text-align: justify;">
You were bigger than I was.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You were physically stronger than I was.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You held me down, forced me to the floor, couch, table, bed to do as you pleased to me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You used your size and strength against me to keep me physically, mentally, and emotionally down.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You did unspeakable things to me because you could.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You bruised me, inside and out.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You berated me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You called me names.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You diminished my SELF.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You controlled every aspect of my life.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You hit me, punched me, pinched me in places I won't say.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You spat at me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You slapped me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You screamed at me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You told me I was stupid, ignorant, useless.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You raped me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You made me feel worthless.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You terrified me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You threatened me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You tried to kill me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You humiliated me in private and in public.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You gave me permanent physical injuries. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You made me cry almost every day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You told me that you care only about yourself, and you meant it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You reminded me daily that I was not important to you.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You told me that if you didn't teach me, how would I learn.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You told me many times that nothing was holding me back, that I was free to leave at any time.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So I did.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am smarter than you are.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am nicer than you are.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am a more decent human being than you are. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am mentally stronger than you are.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am more creative than you in every way.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't think about you.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't cry over you. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't care about you.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't worry about you.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I forget nothing.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't need to forgive you for myself, because you mean that little to me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But I survived you.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I walked into the fire and I emerged stronger.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I took what you did to me and used it to strengthen me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have family and friends who care more for me than I ever knew, and I value them deeply.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Nothing you can say or do can destroy WHO I AM. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
*****</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And there's the big question. Who Am I? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've spent 30 years dealing with everything listed above from two separate individuals. I won't call them men because a real man does not treat a woman the way they treated me. They both completely fit the profile of a narcissistic sociopath, and somehow I ended up tangled up with them. Different circumstances, different times, different reasons. They come from entirely different walks of life, education, work experiences, families, yet inside they think the same way. They think they're special, as do all narcissistic sociopaths, yet they are all alike. Maybe that's why we don't see them coming, we don't expect it because this one doesn't seem at all like that one on the surface ... but then when you get right to the core it's like they were cut from the same mold. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Living with one is scary. Doing it all over again is terrifying. It completely wears you down, takes away everything you thought you knew about yourself, makes you doubt everything you think you know for sure. I had PTSD from the first one, then add 16 more years of it from the second one, and what do you get? </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TpQMk-eMx7Q/Xoes9WUF5rI/AAAAAAAAAK4/JeSsBPlF90AqDmpmXxIj5Rug_MvlNl5wwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Winnie-the-Pooh-You-are-braver-than-you-believe-stronger-than-you-seem-and-smarter-than-you-think-poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="911" data-original-width="609" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TpQMk-eMx7Q/Xoes9WUF5rI/AAAAAAAAAK4/JeSsBPlF90AqDmpmXxIj5Rug_MvlNl5wwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Winnie-the-Pooh-You-are-braver-than-you-believe-stronger-than-you-seem-and-smarter-than-you-think-poster.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
People keep telling me I'm brave. They tell me I'm strong, smart, loved. I've heard this Winnie the Pooh quote more times than I can count in the past week. I'd like to think it's true, but I'm not sure it is. I don't feel brave or strong. I know I'm smart, I'm not bragging, it's just a fact. Though I've doubted it a lot over the past years. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One thing I do know is that I am loved. I had no idea how much I was loved and by how many people until the moment came that I decided I'd had enough, I couldn't do it anymore, I had to make a plan and get out. Then all of a sudden the Love came through and I got all the help I needed and more, and I was able to do it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So right now I've been out for 5 days, and amazing things have happened in those 5 days. Things have gotten done at lightning speed, things that I thought would take days, weeks, or even months. I'm having to spend 2 weeks in isolation because of a stupid virus that I don't even have, so there's not really anyone to talk to besides my cat, or texting, but the cat doesn't talk back and you can only say so much in a text. I have 10 more days of quilting, watching movies, thinking, and in between all of those things is a lot of crying. I'm not crying because I regret leaving or for staying as long as I did ... I try to live life without regrets. I figure you do what you do for whatever reason you had at the time and then you deal with it. Regretting it gets you nowhere, you just do what you can about it afterwards, which is what I did. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't know exactly why I cry so much. Partly maybe because I'm just afraid of what comes next. What does come next? I have nobody to tell me, it's something I have to figure out for myself, and I just spent 30 years being told I could not make decisions. Someone suggested I'm grieving, and that's probably true too. I had two relationships that I had put everything I had into and I did not get back even close to that in return. I trusted them, I relied on them, I jumped in with both feet and I literally got the crap beaten out of me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So despite the fact that I know I am strong, because I DID get out, and I know that I am smart, and I am so very loved, I'm really not feeling all that brave right now. I'm tired ALL the time. Like I'm physically and mentally exhausted. I've never been a good sleeper but now I feel like that's all I want to do. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What I do know is, I did survive. Not one, but two of them. And if I can do it, anybody can.</div>
Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-87213987656996907942020-02-08T14:31:00.000-08:002020-03-18T23:29:56.288-07:00I wish I had a bubble ...<div class="_5pbx userContent _3ds9 _3576" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-testid="post_message" id="js_b" style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="background: url("https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tgNRUPdS82w/Xj8xv6XL11I/AAAAAAAAAKk/ULLRHCCsXO4C2ZwYg73sJtm9cMon996MwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/bubbles.jpg"); padding: 5px;">
I
wish I had a bubble.<br />
Ideally it would surround me, move with me, so
that nobody could touch me, it would buffer sounds, it would deflect
anything/anyone trying to hurt me or get too close to me. Because of
all of the physical violence I've endured I find more and more that I
really don't like being touched. I used to be a touchy-feely person. I
loved holding someone's hand, getting hugs, feeling someone's hand on
my shoulder as companionship or comfort.<br />
<br />
I learned a while back
that I can't handle a massage. I was offered a free massage at a
support group as a method of relaxation. I had never had one before and
looked forward to it. Then as soon as it started I was immediately
transported back to when my ex would come up behind me and hold me down,
hands all over me, a foot or arm across my neck or throat to hold me
still, elbows jabbing my back to make me stay still, a kick in the head
to make me stay put. I was frozen in place and couldn't move, literally
stuck there until it was finished. Thus I will never again have a
massage, because although it's intended to be a good thing, for me it's
literally torture. At the hospice where I volunteer they do free
massages every Friday. The woman running it would see me there doing
groceries and always offer me one. It was very considerate of her,
particularly since they were often booked up, but every time I had to
turn her down. I always felt bad that she'd think I was being rude, but
I couldn't tell her why, it's not a reason I go around advertising.<br />
<br />
A hand on my shoulder, especially unexpected, makes me nearly jump out
of my skin. I startle easily, more easily than a lot of people ever
expect ... they often think I'm over-reacting, and I am, but not
intentionally. It comes from the same source, one of being attacked
from behind, being dragged off to have unspeakable things done to me,<br />
<br />
If anyone's going to touch me at all, it has to be someone I know
really well. Someone I know 100% for sure isn't going to hurt me,
physically or otherwise. That is a very short list.<br />
<br />
The other
day I was reminded that if I ever got fat I would be shot. He has
always said that fat people (and children) should all be shot, as he has
no use for any of them. I had mis-heard something and thought he'd
called me fat and he reminded me if I was, that he could easily get a
gun at any time and he would shoot me. He wasn't kidding (though
really, who would ever kid about something like that). So my bubble
would also have to be bulletproof.<br />
<br />
Preferably my bubble would
be slightly opaque, so people couldn't really see me completely or
clearly. Then if the tears that live directly behind my eyes all the
time happened to break free I wouldn't have to worry about anyone
seeing. I wouldn't have to worry that someone was looking at me,
scrutinizing, criticizing, ready to break me down. I could just walk
through a crowd virtually unnoticed.<br />
<br />
The problem with bubbles
is that although it would keep out all the bad things, it would also
keep out all the good things. Like a warm hug from a sister, the smiles
of friends, conversations with normal, decent people about anything and
nothing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
For now I'll keep my imaginary bubble around me,
protecting me from the known and unknown..... then hopefully when the
time is right I'll take out a pin and burst it and just walk right out
of it and into the sunshine.</div>
</div>
Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-58123836037501501552019-12-31T12:33:00.003-08:002019-12-31T12:36:29.026-08:00Your trauma is valid ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lYtsXVZqBWI/XguhFyFgmyI/AAAAAAAAAKU/reqM9YA7h6oJ-buyzaKO27rDetvZYLvTACEwYBhgL/s1600/trauma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="911" data-original-width="960" height="303" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lYtsXVZqBWI/XguhFyFgmyI/AAAAAAAAAKU/reqM9YA7h6oJ-buyzaKO27rDetvZYLvTACEwYBhgL/s320/trauma.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I saw this today and felt like it was speaking straight to me. I know there are many out there who unfortunately can say the same. </div>
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<br /></div>
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In the past 17 years I've been to many, many group meetings at a variety of places. Some were focus groups, or women's shelters, or one-on-one counseling, drop in support groups, all sorts of groups in all sorts of places with all sorts of people. For the most part they are helpful, very helpful, because (ideally) you get a chance to open up in a safe environment and air some things that you normally have to keep to yourself. You can get information, or opinions, other resources that may be helpful to you in your situation. </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Sometimes, though, they're not all that helpful for me because they can also be very triggering. I know that's not just my own perspective, most groups will state right at the start of the meeting that you may feel triggered and that it's important to do your own self care to make sure you're okay. Nobody's going to hold you down and make you listen to something that is setting off all the alarms in your head and making you feel worse than you did when you got there. </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
One incident that stands out to me was my first meeting ever to a group. There were probably 8 women in the group, from all different backgrounds and histories, we were all there for our own reasons. I was the only new person to the group, the others had known each other for some time. I'll freely admit I was terrified to even just be there. It's always scary going to a new group. You don't know these people, they don't know you, you don't know how it will go, what the normal flow of conversation is like, there are a lot of unknowns and possibilities, but you have to start somewhere. </div>
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It turned out that all of the women in this particular group had been emotionally/mentally/psychologically abused. I won't say this is<i> all</i> they had experienced, as in an "is that it?" kinda way, I just mean they had not been abused in other ways. I had experienced all of that too, but I was the only one who had also been physically and sexually abused. I was the only one that had been raped. I was the only one who had been punched. I was the only one who had experienced someone trying to kill me. We did our check-in and as the new person I was encouraged to tell a little bit about myself, only what I was comfortable with. I didn't say much, as it was my first time there and I didn't know these people. I was pretty quiet for most of the meeting, as I am for my first time at pretty much every meeting I go to of this type. I have to get the feel of it before I'll speak up. It doesn't take long, but I'm definitely not going to spill my guts at my first visit. </div>
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It was a 2-hour meeting, and about halfway through, just before we were about to take a little break, one woman stated that emotional abuse is by far worse than physical abuse. As I've said, she'd never experienced anything else, none of them had, and all of them agreed with her. They went on to talk about how physical wounds heal but emotional/mental ones are with you forever. The facilitator didn't comment, just said it was time for a break. I left and did not return.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
They had a point in one way, that emotional/mental/psychological wounds DO stay with you forever. You can't just turn off the memories, the feelings, the nightmares ... they affect what you do, how you conduct yourself, how you react to situations, literally everything. But they are not worse than any other kind of abuse. No abuse is better or worse than another. The woman that said that couldn't see the gigantic bruise on the back of my shoulder. She didn't know that I couldn't use my right arm for 3 days. She didn't know I'd had to have jaw surgery and have my mouth wired shut for a month because of damage done to my face. She hadn't seen me crying as I got an x-ray on my chest to check for a cracked sternum. </div>
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Many people who don't experience physical trauma don't realize that it in itself causes mental trauma. The fear of it happening again, the crack it makes in your <i>self, </i>the way it makes you brace yourself every time you're near someone just in case you get hit again. </div>
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I sincerely hope she never does experience any of those things, that none of those women do, but I also hope that at some point they see or are told exactly what the above quote stresses ... that ALL trauma is valid. Whether you experience one thing only one time, or many things many times, it is a trauma and it is valid and should be acknowledged as such. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Trauma isn't just abuse either. It can be anything that you experience that affects you negatively, like a death in the family, or a car accident, or a natural disaster, there are so many things that can cause us pain and stay with us for a long time, whether we realize it at the time or not. </div>
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Often you hear someone say people are too sensitive and need to "grow a pair", walk it off, rub some dirt on it ... I'm guilty of this myself in some situations, though usually just in jest. But when it comes to mental health I think that is the one time we need to be sensitive to what other people have gone through, whether we know the details or not, whether we know anything at all about it or not, just for the simple fact that we are all human, and all trauma is valid.</div>
Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-48140710153798164722019-12-23T00:54:00.001-08:002019-12-23T01:07:53.844-08:00Down the rabbit hole .... or raccoon hole ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I hate to say I <i>suffer</i> from PTSD and depression ... suffering sounds like such a self-flagellating word. Kind of like people who have a disease ... they say they are "living with cancer" rather than dying from it or suffering from it. It may not mean anything different, they still have cancer, but it sounds better. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So I have PTSD and depression. I live with them both. We are close room-mates who do everything together, go everywhere together, joined at the hip. More accurately joined at the heart, that's how closely we live together. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Depression has had a good sturdy grip on me for a long time now, but he's grabbed on a little tighter in the past few months. When I lost my grandfather in July and then recently a dear friend passed and that kick-started a roll down a hill that seems to have no bottom. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Things at home continue to get progressively worse; I recently had x-rays to confirm that I have significant arthritis in one shoulder from repeated trauma (i.e. being punched over and over and over again). The pain from that affected me in a few ways ... there's the physical pain that is often debilitating, I take T-3's on the bad days. Then there's the emotional/mental pain of the actual event(s) and knowing that there's likely more to come, particularly when he admires his handiwork (when there's an obvious bruise) and boasts about what a great job he did. This exacerbates the depression, it makes you feel hopeless, helpless and unable to conceive of a way to make things better.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-onKiSTBRO6U/XcIHo_a_snI/AAAAAAAAAJY/WU8m6dqxPJYvQufCcMF_JhdIMPpxBe9owCEwYBhgL/s1600/raccoon.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-onKiSTBRO6U/XcIHo_a_snI/AAAAAAAAAJY/WU8m6dqxPJYvQufCcMF_JhdIMPpxBe9owCEwYBhgL/s200/raccoon.jpg" width="150" /></a>Which brings me to this lovely picture. Yep, it's a dead raccoon. I was out for a walk last week and there he was. I stopped to look at him for a bit to make sure he was actually dead, though it was unlikely he was sleeping there in the middle of the morning, but he could have just been hurt. Then the practical, responsible part of me opened up the app to contact the city people that deal with this sort of thing and told them to come get him. I felt bad just leaving him there, so I stood with him for a few minutes then went on my way. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was already having a bad day. It had been a rough week all around, but yesterday was particularly bad. A person can only stand so much yelling, berating, mocking, and when it happens every single day without reprieve it tends to build up until it threatens to smother you. So when I came across this little guy, as I walked away from him I was crying. Some people cry at the sight of any injured or dead animal, I'm not one of those people. I didn't know this raccoon personally, he wasn't my friend, I'm not super-sensitive to these things. But I was already on the verge and this was the tipping point. I found myself feeling kind of jealous of him. He was done. He didn't have to deal with predators (in this case likely a car) anymore, he had no problems, no worries, he was finished with it all. </div>
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I just went home after that. Outside I'd let some tears quietly slide down my cheeks as I walked, but when I got home and closed the door it was like a tsunami ... it was uncontrollable, I completely fell apart. I've never been a fall-apart person. I usually handle stress pretty well; I get things done that need doing, I can get crying babies to sleep like magic (a nurse at the children's hospice once called me the baby-whisperer), I'm the person people talk to or the shoulder they cry on when they need someone there. When my daughter is having a problem I do my best to talk her through it, get to the root of the problem, offer suggestions, work out the kinks, figure out what can be done to fix it. But when it's yourself, it's not that easy; it's hard to be objective and unbiased and just figure out how to get through it.<br />
<br />
You see commercials on tv all the time about depression. I've seen it often described as walking up a down escalator, or swimming against the tide, trying to work your way through something that is pushing against you. All valid perspectives. For me it's like being in a deep hole. The hole is deep enough that I can't reach the top no matter how high I jump. There is nothing to stand on or hold onto to climb out. The sides are slick and smooth. Sometimes they are bright and glaring so I can barely open my eyes, other times they're dull and dark. There is no way I can get myself out of that hole by myself. I know this. I know that I need to reach out for help, but I am resistant to doing it.<br />
<br />
People that don't understand depression sometimes think that's just ridiculous. Why would you not ask for help when you <i>know</i> you need it? That's all part of the core of depression ... you may not feel worthy of help, or of even asking, you may not want to burden other people with your problems, you might even just want to be completely done with it all. And by 'done' I mean finished, like the raccoon. When a depressed person hits that point, often referred to as "rock bottom", that's when things get really scary and dangerous. They may be reckless, or even do something to hurt themselves.<br />
<br />
Right now, I am in a hole. I know I need help. I get offers or suggestions of ways to fix my problems all the time, literally weekly if not daily. A lot of people think they know what is best for me. They send me hearts on facebook and say "keep your chin up" or "get out of there". Thank you for the hearts, it does mean a lot to know I'm thought of and loved. It doesn't change anything but I appreciate it. My chin is up, I'm not moping, I'm doing my best to not drag anyone else down with my problems.<br />
It's the "get out of there" that is the issue. Get out and then what? How? Walk? Do they propose that I beg friends and family for money to travel to impose on other friends and family for a place to live? What about the things I have where I am? Sure, "things" are only things, people think they can be replaced. They can't. Not all of them. I lost pretty much everything the first time I just Got Out of There and I just can't do that again. Could you? I'm betting not. So getting out itself is a problem, plus I do own things that I need to take with me. And I won't force myself on other people to house and support me. I can't do that to them, they have their own lives. So it's as simple as that ... very NOT simple.<br />
<br />
Recently two of my uncles were diagnosed with cancer. Growing up they lived with their families, my cousins, on either side of us. We were all very close and this is hitting me hard. So I'm doing what I can do, getting things done for other people, while still stuck in this deep, dark hole of my own. I usually manage to put on a pretty good show of "normalcy". Anyone looking at me on the outside would never know what's going on inside me, inside my home, the physical and mental pain I'm in all the time.<br />
Then every now and then when I least expect it, the facade I put on for everyone else just shatters and I fall to pieces. I head down the rabbit hole and that's when things get really real ... scary and dangerous. Today I had the sense to reach out to my sister via text and she talked me down. I don't know what would have happened if she hadn't been around, if she'd been off doing her own stuff, too busy to check her phone. I'm so grateful she was there this time, but what about next time?</div>
Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-29856074636760632402019-11-12T12:27:00.000-08:002019-11-12T12:53:54.096-08:00Bike, Bike, Squirrel ....<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">You know how if
a kid knows he's getting a bike for his birthday that's all he can think
of. For days on end up until the big day all he can think is BIKE BIKE
BIKE BIKE!! Or if a dog is playing fetch it's throw, fetch, throw, fetch,
then suddenly it's SQUIRREL SQUIRREL SQUIRREL SQUIRREL!! Something gets
in your head and it consumes you so that it's all there is.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">One night a
year ago I was in bed sleeping, quite soundly for a change seeing as I'm not a
great sleeper on average. I tend to sleep back-to, facing out, because I
don't like sleeping with someone breathing in my face. I must have rolled
over in my sleep because all of a sudden he screamed in my face " MAKE
THAT CAT SHUT UP!" and <b><i>BAM </i></b>- punched me hard full-on in the
chest. Just imagine being sound asleep and this is what wakes you
up. It knocked the wind out of me, took me a minute to catch my breath
and absorb what had just happened. Once I did, I took care of the cat, coaxed
her out from where she was hiding to come sleep with me on my side of the bed
(I'm not allowed to sleep on the couch, he comes out to get me if I try).
He gave me the usual speech about how I need to keep track of my cats (this is
his cat btw) and make them shut up when he's trying to sleep, that <i>he does
this to teach me a lesson or how else will I learn</i>. He got up, went
to the bathroom, then back to sleep. Needless to say I didn't get a whole
lot of sleep the rest of that night, I was busy just processing and trying to
remain completely still and silent. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I was
incredibly sore the next morning. I hadn't heard or felt a crack when he
punched me, so I was pretty sure nothing was broken, but it hurt so much to
move certain ways, hurt to lift things, hurt to breathe. It was really
red in the punched area, but didn't actually turn into a surface bruise.
The redness went away after a few days, the soreness lingered for a few
weeks. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I had a regular
doctor's appointment the next week for my allergy shot and told her what had
happened. She sent me for x-rays to make sure nothing was broken or
cracked (nothing was), she figured the soreness was likely a bruised
sternum/breastbone and tissue damage. She wanted to call the police but if you
read my previous article <a href="https://giveaflyingfig.blogspot.com/2019/06/excuses-excuses-not-really.html" target="_blank">"Excuses, excuses ... not really
..."</a> you'll know why I declined.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">It was just
before December, so I should have been decorating, baking, shopping ... I
couldn't, I was too sore. He commented about the lack of Christmas
decorations because usually I don't waste any time getting them out once
December hits. I told him I couldn't because I was still too sore.
He asked why I'd be sore. Yep, he asked WHY.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I'd been quiet
about it until then, hadn't said a word, pretty much just laid low. My
M.O. in these cases is usually<i> keep quiet and stay out of the way</i>, so
that's what I was doing until then. I told him I was still sore from when
he punched me. He played dumb, as he does <i>every single time</i> he
does something like this, said he didn't know what I was talking about.
By then I was crying, but I went through the whole scenario for him, told him
blow by blow (no pun intended) what had happened and how it had affected
me. He's been doing a back punch/elbow for years at night if I sniff or
cough or snore or make any noise at all, always gives a speech during and after
(and often also the next day), or turns on the radio for the rest of the night
and bitches about how he can't sleep after I let him get woken up, so I know he
knows what he's doing when he does it, and I have no doubt he knew this time
too. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">So I'm used to
getting it in the back, unfortunately, but this time I happened to be facing
him and got it hard square in the chest. And for some reason even now, a
year later, I'm the kid with the bike, or the dog with the squirrel, and it's
all I can think of.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">He screamed in
my face and punched me in the chest.</span></i></b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">It runs through
my head like a video on repeat, all day, over and over and over. I cry a
lot of the time when he's not around (crying around him is just asking for
ridiculing, name calling, or worse). I'm afraid to go to sleep because
what if I roll over and he does it again? What if he breaks a bone next
time? Or worse ....</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He's still
claiming he doesn't remember it. He played the martyr for about a minute
and said he'd sleep on the floor so he doesn't <i>accidentally</i> do it
again</span>. </span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Claims he didn't know he'd EVER done anything. I don't
believe that either, I know him too well. More denial that it doesn’t
matter to him because he doesn't remember it ... apparently if he doesn't
remember then it didn't happen by his logic. I don't care if he remembers
it or not, it won't leave my head and my body still hurts. He sucked up
to me for a while, as he usually does when he knows he screwed up.... telling
me to buy things for myself, anything I wanted, for Christmas and beyond.
Despite his claims that he didn't care who I told or even if my doctor called
the police, I think he was afraid I <i>would </i>tell her about it and he'd get
in trouble. He's no doubt afraid people will find out what he's really
like behind closed doors.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Over
and over in my head. So much crying, so much pain; physical, mental, and
emotional.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I'd
been going to a PTSD group for months because of my ex and another incident
last April that kicked my PTSD into high gear, but right now it's gone from
PTSD to cPTSD. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
cPTSD is also known as Complex PTSD, and is basically a response to an on-going
trauma, besides that which happened in the past. It includes all the
symptoms of PTSD and adds on a few more, which I found interesting because I'd
been experiencing them without having known why until recently. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">In
regular <b>PTSD</b> the symptoms include: re-experiencing the event in your
mind, flashbacks, nightmares, avoidance of things, people, places that remind
you of the event, hypervigilance, and an exaggerated startle
response. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">With
<b>cPTSD</b> you can add onto those: trouble regulating emotions, sudden anger outbursts,
easily hurt feelings, negative self-concept, feelings of worthlessness, guilt,
problems relating to other people, feeling disconnected or cut off from
others. I'd felt some of those for quite a while, but not to the extent
that it was very noticeable, but I have definitely noticed it in the past year,
and now I know why.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I'm
used to his other behaviours ... that doesn't mean it's good or even
acceptable, but it's what I'm used to. I'm not used to this. It's
been a year since this first hard punch happened. There have been several
since, but not like that one. That one still stands out in my mind.
I had thought I'd get used to it too and it would go away, but here I am.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
Bike, Bike, Bike, Bike ..... Squirrel, Squirrel, Squirrel, Squirrel .... Punch,
Punch, Punch, Punch</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">It's
not going away ....</span></span></div>
Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-34016649977711507802019-08-03T18:22:00.001-07:002019-08-04T13:47:12.994-07:00The Pit of Despair ...<div style="text-align: justify;">
One of my all-time favourite movies ever is The Princess Bride. And one of the best scenes is when the albino is talking about his <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z05StkAKKF0" target="_blank">Pit of Despair</a> ... just the way he says it at first with his hoarse voice rasping over the words makes it sound truly horrible but also quite fitting since it is a pit of despair and should sound horrible. All part of the movie and in that context funny and entertaining.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was diagnosed with PTSD and severe depression about 15 years ago. Anyone who has either or both of those will know what I mean when I say that despair kind of becomes your buddy, as in he's right there by your side all the time. He hangs around with the PTSD ghost, working in tandem with him to drag you down any chance he can. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On a good day my "happiness scale" sits right around a 6. I'm not way down, but never really way up either, just kind of gliding along in the middle. I stay hyper-vigilant so I can avoid most triggers, I'm careful what I read or watch on TV, who I talk to, what I listen to on the radio .... hyper-vigilance is a full-time job, but it's an unfortunate requirement to keep me from dropping below that 6 and heading down the rabbit hole. It's not fun but it's absolutely necessary and unavoidable. I think of it like a bubble shield that I wear around me. In my own home I don't need to wear it all the time, though I often do, but I never ever leave home without it. It may keep people from sometimes getting too close, both physically and emotionally, but I feel like I need that little buffer to stay safe. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So
what happens when someone who is already dealing with PTSD and
depression is hit with sudden loss and grief? Well, I'll tell you this
much, it's not pretty. A Sudden Loss is like someone shoots an arrow at my bubble shield and just shatters it, my defences fly off in every direction and I'm left there wide open with no protection at all. Grief comes along and just envelops me; making it impossible to move or get my shields back up or do much of anything at all.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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My grandfather passed away last week. He'd been ok ... he was 97, so yes, he was old, but he was doing really well. He'd decided a couple of years ago to move from his condo into a senior's home, which was kind of funny because even as the oldest resident there it was like he was surrounded by old people with their scooters, walkers, and canes. It irritated him some, having to tolerate being nearly run down by the scooters, but he knew it was time. Then this past winter we learned he had bladder cancer. I began to try to mentally prepare myself for the inevitable, but when I'd call him every few weeks he sounded like himself, not sick, certainly not like someone on their way out. He had radiation and handled it fine. He had been told he could have 3 more years. Wow. </div>
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Then last week he had a heart attack, followed by another one, but again we were told that he came through that ok, he was strong and doing well and ready to go back to the home on Friday. But on the morning of his release day he had one final heart attack and my Papa was gone. </div>
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I had been planning to call him on Saturday. I figured I'd let him get back home and settled on Friday, then call and see how he's doing. He didn't want a big funeral and people flying in from all directions, he considered it a waste of money and had already left instructions for something small and dignified. So I didn't talk to him, then I didn't get to go to the funeral. Instead I just cried, and I haven't been able to stop. </div>
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When I found out he was gone I was walking home from somewhere, only about 15 minutes away.... I tried to keep it in but that wasn't happening so I just let the tears come as I walked. I'm surrounded by strangers anyhow so what do I care if they see me crying. I got home and my emotionally detached partner met me as I walked in the door and asked if I was ok. I had texted him what had happened, so he wasn't surprised that I came home crying, though a hug would have been nice. He just stood there and let me lean against him, that was it. Papa never liked him anyhow, so he wouldn't have been surprised or impressed by the lack of support, physically or emotionally.</div>
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So what does happen to someone with PTSD and depression when they're suddenly facing the impact of grief? For me it's a one word answer: meltdown. My bubble is gone. When I go outside I'm still hyper-vigilant but I'm also terrified. Normally I go through my day doing a variety of things; I quilt, do housework, walk, do some ancestry on the computer, window shop, chat with friends or strangers, read a good book in the bath, watch some late-night tv, I'm always doing<i> something</i>. It's rare that I'm ever just sitting still; even watching tv I have to have something to do while I sit. </div>
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For the first two days I don't think I spoke more than a few words. I had nothing to say. I still have nothing to say, and anyone that knows me well will realize what that means. I can't eat or sleep, I have no interest in anything at all. It's been a week and nothing has changed. I feel like I'm wearing really heavy clothes that are weighing me down, keeping me from wanting to even move. I feel such an immense sadness all the time and it feels like it's never going to leave.</div>
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Papa was a veteran of WWII, he outlived 2 wives, a daughter (my mom) and a son. He outlived his brother by 16 years. He loved golf, woodworking, model trains, covered bridges, lighthouses, and good scotch. He had a good, long life, but somehow I guess I just never imagined he'd someday be gone, and now I can't imagine anything without him. I don't do the "shoulda woulda coulda" game ... I know that I should have called him before he went home, but nothing can be done to change the past so I just don't do that. I do wish I had called, but it wouldn't have changed anything. He'd still be gone and I'd still be missing him.</div>
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I know that it's normal to feel sad and miss someone when they're gone, but I'm also recognizing that this deep, intense sadness that I feel is something more. I need to police my thoughts, I need to try and climb out of this pit of despair before it buries me, and I have no idea how to do that. And most of the time I'm not even sure I want to.</div>
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Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-82018534338695675012019-06-28T15:21:00.000-07:002019-09-06T15:51:25.372-07:00Excuses, excuses .... not really .....<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HPs3MOk4hs4/XXLhn82TK2I/AAAAAAAAAIk/LKO_xDKVnUYHCUY6wDTWWE6Dh1wl8_QWgCLcBGAs/s1600/29%2BAug%2B2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="592" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HPs3MOk4hs4/XXLhn82TK2I/AAAAAAAAAIk/LKO_xDKVnUYHCUY6wDTWWE6Dh1wl8_QWgCLcBGAs/s200/29%2BAug%2B2019.jpg" width="123" /></a><br />
I walked into a door.<br />
I tripped, I'm so clumsy.<br />
I jammed my finger in something.<br />
I didn't watch where I was going.<br />
I should think before I speak.<br />
I contradicted him.<br />
It's just a little bruise.<br />
I'm fine, it'll fade soon.<br />
I don't even remember how I got that one.<br />
I can't come out, I'm not feeling well.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AdHOsZrwvqU/XXLitlor7TI/AAAAAAAAAI0/LrMUgFjIU50ZMxAC_BGUe36fKjOoyXwxgCLcBGAs/s1600/22%2BDec%2B2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="274" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AdHOsZrwvqU/XXLitlor7TI/AAAAAAAAAI0/LrMUgFjIU50ZMxAC_BGUe36fKjOoyXwxgCLcBGAs/s200/22%2BDec%2B2018.jpg" width="104" /></a>So many excuses, all completely plausible, but in an abusive relationship all entirely unlikely. Excuses, that's all they are. Cover-ups, evasions, false rationalizations, fish stories, call them what you will, they all add up to the same thing. We feel we need to make up a story to deflect attention from what actually happened. </div>
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And why do we do this? It doesn't make any logical sense to the outsider. Why would you lie to hide what someone did to hurt you? Back before my first abusive relationship I thought the same thing. I couldn't comprehend why a woman would even stick around when she had been abused. Why doesn't she just leave? Go somewhere safe ... there are shelters for this sort of thing, aren't there? And why would she lie for him? It's not her fault, she should be shouting from the rooftops that he hurt her, not making up a story and covering it up like she did something wrong.</div>
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Now that I'm out of my abusive marriage I see things from a completely different perspective. It's sad that it takes going through it to understand it, but that's often how it goes. Most people just will not understand something like this until (God forbid) they actually experience it themselves.<br />
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**<i> Let me state right now that I say "she" for the abused person basically because I am a she and I'm speaking from my perspective. If you're not a she and have been abused, then read it your own way, this is how I'm writing it.</i><br />
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So why does she hide what has happened, or lie for him? There are a few reasons, probably more than just the ones I can come up with. From my own experience, if word got around (and it would) that she was blabbing about what he did, there would be repercussions when he found out. These repercussions could and likely would be worse than what was done in the first place. Also, she's embarrassed. Who wants to be known as the person who gets abused? This makes her a double victim ... a victim of the abuser, and a victim of the scrutiny of all the people who will think all the things I used to think. If he happens to have a position of power, or is well known and well liked in the community, then she could come across as a liar, someone just trying to get attention, trying to cause trouble for him. After all, how could someone as wonderful as he is possibly do such things to the woman he loves? If he also happens to be a<span style="color: blue;"> <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/ca/blog/the-integrationist/201608/narcissist-or-sociopath-similarities-differences-and-signs" target="_blank">narcissistic sociopath </a></span> then likely he's got a whole other public persona than the one you see when you're alone with him.</div>
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So if things are so bad at home, why does she even stay there? Why stick around and just let him do terrible things to her? Is she a glutton for punishment? Looking for the attention? Is she twisted or weird and somehow likes it? Playing the martyr? </div>
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Ok, put yourself in her position. Think about it seriously right now. If something happened to you that your home was no longer safe, where would you go? Maybe you're one of those lucky people who have relatives with unlimited funds and space in their homes to shelter you and your kids indefinitely. Maybe you're independently wealthy and can just walk out and get another place easily. But <i>most</i> women in this situation do not have those options. I know I don't. Sure my family has and would always offer to help me in any way they can. I have stayed with them for a time in a pinch. But I wouldn't expect them to take care of me indefinitely, plus think about this: <i>he knows where they live. </i><br />
When I left my ex the first time, he hid in the woods around my family's homes, stalked them, called them incessantly. Do you really want to put your family through that? </div>
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So now you're thinking ok, what about shelters? Yes, there are shelters for women to "hide" and have a safe place to stay. In most cases though, you can only stay there for a set amount of time until you can get yourself sorted out and find a more permanent place to go. They have some resources to help you with that, but again, it's all limited. And in my own case, I went to a shelter in the next town, an hour away from where we lived ... I was there just a few days when my ex was told<i> <b>by a cop </b></i>where he could probably find me and that was the end of that. He stole my car from the parking area, then called the shelter over and over until I would talk to him. </div>
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Shelter situations work differently in all areas ... where I live now they are mainly for the Indigenous people or women addicts. Yes, they need help too, but that means it's not the place for me because I'm neither of those people. </div>
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So, she doesn't leave because most of the time, she has no place to go and often no way to get there. Plus, if she's been out of the work force for any length of time whatever skills she once possessed are now outdated and she may not be able to find a job at all, let alone one that will support her and her children.</div>
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Also, if she's been in this abusive situation for a long time, once she leaves and it sinks in that she is AWAY from him and safe, or semi-safe ... chances are that's when the PTSD kicks in. PTSD is not just for soldiers, it happens to anyone who has been in a traumatic situation of any type. The first word in it is POST, meaning after, which is because it only starts once she's out of the trauma. And this brings with it a whole plethora of issues, including and not limited to flashbacks, nightmares, an exaggerated startle response, paranoia, and everything that comes with it, making it difficult to find and/or keep a job, manage her life, trust other people, basically just functioning out in the world is a huge challenge.<br />
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Another treat that comes along with being in an abusive relationship is the effect it has on your self-confidence. If you've been told for years, over and over, that you are stupid, ugly, fat, useless, an embarrassment, etc, you start to believe it. You may have been a confident capable person in the past, but not anymore. I remember times when we'd decide to order pizza and I'd make the call, with him standing beside me <i>telling me word for word what to say </i>because he didn't think I was capable of doing it right. I was ordering pizza! How hard can it be?! Then another time he'd been raving about this great cell phone deal he'd seen on tv and decided he wanted it, but didn't have time to drive all the way to the store to get it. I happened to be there later that week and thought I'd surprise him and get it. Let's just say it didn't end well. Eventually I was pretty much convinced that I was incapable of making any decisions, let alone important ones, and I was second-guessing every single thing I did.<br />
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Pre- all this crap, and then the crap that followed it, I was a pretty confident person. I had a good job and I was great at it. I was a force to be reckoned with. In the past 30 years I've been called every name in the book, including but not limited to a complete useless retard (his words, not mine), too f*cking sensitive, a moron, a waste of skin, too stupid to live, the list goes on. It wears you down. It chips away at your <i>self</i>, who you are; it makes you question everything you used to know/believe.<br />
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So why doesn't she leave? Why does she cover up the bruises and lie about how she got them? She's essentially standing behind a tall fortified concrete wall and can't see anything past it. She can't imagine what's on the other side - what if it's worse than what she has now? At least now she knows what to expect. Where will she go if she crosses this wall ... how will she take care of herself ... what comes next? It's not scary, it's terrifying. It's immobilizing.<br />
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I do believe 100% in empowering women to take care of themselves, to do whatever they can to run their lives their way, heck - they can run the whole frickin' world if they choose to. But I also know that regardless how strong and forceful and confident she is, she can be torn down by the right/wrong person and it takes SO MUCH work and it's so incredibly terrifying to take that first step to setting things right, that this horrible cycle can just go on and on indefinitely until eventually it's just too late.<br />
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People say "it's never too late to change". Sure it is. When things look hopeless and there seems to be no end, no way out, no solution, then unfortunately she may just decide she's done. There is a 23% chance that victims of domestic violence will consider and/or attempt suicide ... just to make it end. I know that applies to me, it's a bloody miracle I'm actually still walking the earth today. All because of a bad partner choice ... all it takes is that one person to tear her down, destroy who she was, and bend her just far enough that she finally breaks.<br />
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Something has to be done about this. To tell the truth, I have no idea what CAN be done, but there has to be something, because from where I sit, we're losing.</div>
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Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-68403548190685303692018-10-04T13:41:00.000-07:002018-10-18T12:04:13.244-07:00Triggers ...<div style="text-align: justify;">
People catch colds because they were exposed to a virus or infection. </div>
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Some people get cancer because<span style="font-weight: 400;"> cells have begun endlessly dividing in their body.</span></div>
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We get itchy because an irritant has affected our skin. </div>
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We get hungry because our body needs nourishment on a regular basis, or thirsty because we aren't sufficiently hydrated. </div>
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I could go on and on ... usually the things that we experience in our daily lives are a cause and effect thing; this happens because that happened, and so on.</div>
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PTSD is similar, but also so very different. It happens when someone has experienced a traumatic event and their mind and body are having a difficult time recovering from the experience, whether it was something that happened TO them, or they were witness to it, or affected by it in any way. But the difference between PTSD and other cause and effect things as mentioned above is the unpredictability of it. It doesn't happen immediately, it doesn't always have one specific cause, and it can reoccur at any time after the event, as often as it pleases, for as long as it pleases.</div>
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One of the main oddities with PTSD is the triggers. You would think that if someone was in a car accident, then they would be triggered by riding in a car. If they went to war, then maybe guns or explosive noises would set them off. If they were raped, then sexual innuendo would give them problems. And likely all of those things are possible and/or true, but not necessarily and not only those things. That's the tricky thing about triggers, they can be the obvious, and they can be completely unrelated and unexpected.</div>
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Take me for example. I'm a survivor of domestic violence. I experienced physical, sexual, emotional, and mental abuse for many years. He tortured me and tried to kill me many times, and when he wasn't doing it he was threatening it. So you would think that anything along the lines of what I went through would be my triggers. And you'd be absolutely right ... but not completely, and that's what gets me in trouble.</div>
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I'm very careful of what I watch on tv, where I go, who I spend time with, who I let in, because I know that certain things will cause me problems ... if not immediately, then most definitely when I go to sleep. This makes sense, right? Stay away from what bothers you and you'll be OK. So what about when the thing that triggers you has absolutely nothing to do with your trauma?</div>
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Take snakes. Actually please take snakes, all snakes, right off the planet forever. I'm petrified of them, can't even look at them without the absolute 100% guarantee that I will have nightmares of my trauma that night. Even now as I'm writing this I know that it's entirely likely that it'll happen tonight, and I haven't even seen one. It's just words, and they're my own words, yet it will trigger me. Usually the nightmare starts out innocently enough, then one slithers in and morphs into my abuser, then I wake up screaming. To the outsider that would seem odd and unexpected, but to me it isn't totally out of this world because I've always been afraid of snakes, so it would make some sort of sense that my two greatest fears would combine in some way at some point.</div>
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But then something happened last night that came right out of left field. </div>
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I love hockey. I have season tickets to all of my team's home games, I gear up in no less than 4 team items (hoody, hat, socks, jersey, etc) for every game. I cheer loud and proud, even when they suck. I watch the game from my awesome seats with my radio earphone in one ear so I can experience the game sounds with one ear yet still hear the play-by-play in the other. I've gone out of my way to meet all the team players, have multiple things signed, I've met the management and even the local broadcasters. I am a true fan. This is something that makes me happy and I thoroughly enjoy it. </div>
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Last night was the season opener and I was ready. I had on my team t-shirt, hoody, jersey signed by my favourite player, hat, tickets in hand and through the gates ready to enjoy a great game. I had my usual plan in mind to get started ... get my 50/50 tickets, popcorn, beverage, then go watch the pre-game skate. I've been doing the same thing for 5 years, it's ritual and common now, automatic and normal. This is my happy place. Then as I was standing in the concourse ready to get started a marching band of drums walked in behind me, lights flashing, drums pounding. It was loud and <i>right there</i> and all of a sudden I was no longer in my happy place. I was instantly and unexpectedly triggered and falling through the rabbit hole into a state of panic. It was total sensory overload and I was trapped. I couldn't think. I couldn't move. I couldn't talk. I knew what I was supposed to be doing but couldn't do it. Someone touched me and I nearly screamed. My heart was pounding and I was nearly hyperventilating. I was moving inexplicably towards the sound, yet unable to stop. I felt like I was going to be sick. </div>
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My partner was confused, he didn't know what was wrong with me and kept asking if I was OK, why was I acting this way, why was I not doing what I was normally supposed to be doing. You'd think this would help, he was concerned and trying to help. It made it worse ... I couldn't explain what was wrong because I didn't know, I was trying to focus and bring myself back and figure out what happened. </div>
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Eventually I managed to get myself back to a functional state, did my ritual things, and got to my seat. I told him it was a sensory overload problem, and that I was OK. He tends to push and wanted details, but I couldn't elaborate without making it worse so I just told him not to worry, it'd be OK. </div>
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The pre-game skate music that normally gets me (and the team) fired up for the game was no louder than usual, but in my heightened state it seemed unnaturally loud, but I breathed my way through it. Then as a "treat" for the crowd they had a live band performing before the game and at intermissions. This is rarely a good thing, they tend to get crappy bands and this one did not disappoint in that way, but they were even louder than the normal music and I headed for the rabbit hole again. It didn't help that he kept watching me and asking too many questions. Once I knew they were going to be a problem for me I went to the bathroom at intermissions so I wouldn't have to listen to it, problem solved. This also gave me a bit of alone time (if you can call inching your way through a packed concourse to spend 2 minutes in a crowded bathroom "alone time") to breathe and collect myself. The rest of the game I was fine. </div>
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Some say that if you see that someone with PTSD is being triggered that you should ask if they're ok. When I'm triggered and someone asks if I'm ok, it makes it worse. I'm not going to talk to you about it, I'm not likely to tell you why I'm not ok, and I'm more likely to start crying just from that one small question of concern. I know you want to help. I know you're worried about me. I know it makes me sound ungrateful or rude, but to tell the truth, I really don't care. </div>
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Triggers are weird. They make no sense at all. I've never been triggered at a game before, but since April when my PTSD was kicked into overdrive apparently this is something else I get to deal with. I have tickets for 40 more home games and I will be going, but I'll be wearing an extra layer of armor for each one just in case. Now that I know that my happy place could be turned into my worst nightmare I will do everything I can to prevent that and hopefully it won't happen again.</div>
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PTSD is a bitch. Go team go.</div>
Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665295416684997037.post-38816559075874788992018-07-23T11:42:00.002-07:002018-07-29T13:09:45.860-07:00PTSD is like a ghost ....<div style="text-align: justify;">
PTSD is like a ghost. Think of the scariest, most terrifying, damaging, hurtful ghost you can conjure up. He's a ghost, so obviously nobody can see him. But he hangs around you ALL the time, and you don't need to see him to know he's there. He will not go away. </div>
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And he knows you intimately. He knows everything about you. He knows what you love, he knows who you love, he knows your favourite places to go, favourite things to do. He knows your favourite colours, music, TV shows, hobbies, friends. </div>
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Some people (usually the people who enabled this ghost to enter your life) would say he's imaginary. He's made up. He doesn't exist. You're crazy or sick. You're looking for attention. You're dwelling on things and you should just <i>get over it. </i></div>
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If only ......</div>
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<i> </i></div>
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I wish he was imaginary and that I just made him up. I wish I was crazy sometimes because I surely feel like I am, then maybe there would be a simple solution to "cure" me. </div>
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And when I say he's always there, I do truly mean always. You get up in the morning, he climbs onto your back like a coat. Not a cozy, warm, fashionable coat ... we're talking about a coat that doesn't fit well, feels uncomfortable, it's itchy and spiky, the sleeves are too long and too short, too hot and too cold all at the same time. As you go through your day the coat grows to cover your entire body, head to toe. You know it's there, you can feel it, but since it's a ghost coat nobody else can see it. To them you just look like you. </div>
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He has a fantastic memory and loves to show it off. Once in a while, if you happen to be having a particularly good day somehow, you can almost forget he's there. You're enjoying something, laughing, even happy, and then he gives you a squeeze and you remember that you're not alone. It could be you hear a certain song in the background, or someone says a certain phrase or name, you see an almost familiar face, a picture, a scent, it could literally be almost anything and BOOM - there he is. He loves to remind you of the things that terrify you most so that you feel like they're actually happening again, causing you to panic, over-react, freeze, or run for cover.</div>
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This horrible ghost is like a leech. He sucks out your confidence, your zest for life, your interest in anything, your energy. He makes you second-guess everything you say or do, every decision or choice you make, everything you think you know for sure. He sucks out your interest in things you used to love doing ... your job, your hobbies, your time with friends and family ... making you numb and unable to really care about anything. As he sucks out your energy he makes it difficult to even get out of bed in the morning, out of the house to do the things that need doing. <br />
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He attacks you at every chance he gets ... poking at your body, making you ache and hurt all over, causing you actual physical pain. No matter what you do to make the pain go away ... medication, drugs, alcohol ... nothing works for very long, the pain is always there. They can run thorough medical tests to try and find the source of your pain, but nothing ever shows up, yet you still hurt.<br />
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Since he's a ghost he doesn't need sleep, so he figures neither should you. He keeps you up at night for hours and hours, days on end. Once you're finally so tired you just can't NOT sleep, he visits you there instead ... invading the sleep you desperately need with horrific nightmares; dreams so real you're crying in your sleep, tossing and turning, waking up screaming or huddled in a ball at the foot of your bed. <br />
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He's a master of manipulation. Since you know he's around somewhere he can make you seem paranoid with your hyper-vigilance, always on guard for whenever he decides to attack. He keeps your emotions on high alert so that you tend to jump at the slightest sound or touch, you get irritated easily, or even aggressive for no apparent reason.<br />
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He's very distracting ... he keeps your mind so busy waiting for his attacks that you're unable to concentrate or focus, making it impossible to get things done.<br />
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He loves to put you down. He knows your strengths and weaknesses, so as he's hovering and clinging to you he whispers in your ear to constantly remind you that you're damaged, worthless, useless, making you wonder why you even bother sticking around. He tells you that you're a burden on society, pointing out all the various ways you could just end it all and let the world be free of you.<br />
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As a ghost he can come and go as he pleases. You can go to therapists, groups, put in all the work and do everything you can to get well, then just when you think you've slayed the dragon, banished the demons, rid yourself of this horrible ghost, one tiny unexpected thing can happen and instantly he's back as if he had never left.<br />
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I've been battling this ghost for 14 years. I've seen the therapists, gone to the group meetings, told my story over and over. I've had the physical pain, the tests that show nothing wrong, the medications that don't help, and some that do for a while but not completely. I got to the point where I was actually feeling pretty good about myself, almost what people would call "normal". But even then there were songs I couldn't listen to, tv shows I couldn't watch, activities I couldn't participate in, without being instantly transported back in time to when the trauma was happening. I managed this by just avoiding the things I knew would trigger me, and that was working out pretty well.<br />
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Then something happened. Something I suspected could cause me problems but thought I had under control. Something I had been assured would be ok, that I would be ok, everything would be ok. It wasn't ok. It was the complete opposite of ok. All the precautions I was assured were in place didn't work. In the moment I could have spoken up and told someone that I was in trouble and needed help, but it was too late ... I wasn't there anymore, in the present ... I was reliving my worst fear and I froze.<br />
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The ghost is back, and he's fierce. I've fought him off once and I'm determined to do it again.</div>
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Flying Fighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263142658567754120noreply@blogger.com0