I Am The Sungod

Cry baby cry
When you’ve got to get it out
I’ll be your shoulder
You can tell me all
Don’t keep it in ya
Well that’s the reason why I’m here
~New Sensation, INXS

This is the one where i write about the good that came from being terribly abused as a child. This post will not be for everyone – perhaps not anyone but me. Regardless, i’m writing it and i’ll share it anyway.
This is me and how my brain works.

You see, what i do have is a very particular set of skills…

Let’s start with that one:

My dark sense of humour. I’ve always been able to laugh at anything. If not right away, it’ll come eventually. It started with my abusers expecting me to act like nothing was wrong, and i did so quite well. A part of that was adopting an everything’s-tickety-boo attitude around others. So laughing when i didn’t feel like laughing was de rigeur. Eventually it took root and grew into genuine laughter, a sort of fake it till you make it kind of thing, maybe? It branched off into finding humour in the terrible. I’d gravitate toward comedians who told the darkest jokes. I’m not talking about the punching down sort, i mean making light of awful things. It helps shake me out of my despair, it makes my burdens less heavy.

It tells Death it can take its toys and go the fuck home.

I remember it being particularly useful at school, when bullies made sport of me, and the weak sheep around them would stand by and watch (and often laugh). I never gave those crapheads the satisfaction of seeing me break or cry. I was either stoic, or i laughed, or i made the joke first. Self-deprecating humour can be a double-edged sword, to be sure, and sometimes i hurt myself with it, but at times beating them to the punch stole their thunder, and that felt fine.

Even if i can’t laugh at my circumstances, i instinctively go to comedy for help. Laughing is like the sun breaking through the clouds, for me. Laughter squeezes my guts and reminds me that i am alive – my blood is pumping, my organs are functioning, my lungs are filling with air.
Good stuff, Maynard.

Crisis management is another one:

If something awful is happening, you want me there.
There were abusive things happening in my home on the daily. I learned to take them and put them away so i could function in the world outside my home. Like say, if my mom brushed my hair in the morning before school, she’d usually whack me in the head a few times with it, either because i had too many knots in my hair, or i would wince when she pulled at one of them. (Every brush in our house ended up with the handle broken off.) Then the bus would be coming and the kids weren’t dressed yet. Mom’s screaming at them from her permanent spot on the couch in front of the telly, making the kids frantic and weepy. I’d put the headache and the bumps on my head in a little box and pick through the 3′ piles of dirty clothes to find the cleanest things for them to wear, dry their tears, and help them get their shoes on and out the door.

Once, when i was at a cadet survival camp, one of the other cadets nearly severed his thumb with a hatchet. There were no adults present, and he and i were in charge of a bunch of younger kids. The children were freaking, the other teenage staff were freaking, and i calmly applied emergency first aid, told another staff member to get on the radio and call for evac, and the other staff member to take the kids to the other side of the island.
The army nurse told me he might have lost his thumb without me, and i should consider a career in the military medical field.

It also came in super handy as a mom of 3 boys.
If they weren’t squirting blood out of their eyeballs, i could handle it.
And so they could, too.

I’m empathetic and observant:

I had to align myself with my abusers to survive. Knowing how to read their non-verbal cues enabled me to escape further abuse, upon occasion. I stepped fully into my mother’s shoes, feeling as she felt, thinking as she thought. Out of fear and self-preservation i learned to be a reader of people. When i paired that with being a survivor of severe trauma, i found a deep well of empathy inside myself. I can easily put myself in another person’s shoes. I think people know that when they share what they’re going through with me, that i’m listening intently, and finding a place for us to meet together, where i feel what they feel. I think it makes the load they’re carrying a little bit lighter.

Over the years i’ve also learned to use my ability to compartmentalise here, too. I can commiserate and relate and share what a person is feeling, but then i can put it away in a little box in my brain, because it’s not my life, not my feelings, not my burden. It’s not a cold distancing, it’s a healthy understanding of what is mine and what is not. I don’t try to fix anymore, either. Most times a person just wants to feel truly heard, and they know it’s their problem and they aren’t looking for anyone to live their life for them. They’re looking for someone to come and sit with them in the place they’re at – that broken and hurting place inside oneself can get so lonely. I can place my own heart inside their chest for a spell, and we’ll just beat together, in rhythm, until it’s a little better, just enough so they can get up and push on.
I’m well acquainted with pain and sadness. I’m not afraid to sit in someone else’s with them so they don’t feel so alone.

At this point, regular readers may be expecting me to move on to the gift of being a multiple.
I’m not going to.
Being able to pull up a split off part of myself to cope with something i’m having trouble with has most certainly been helpful – to put it mildly. It’s saved my goddamn life on countless occasions.
Being able to dissociate from intense fear, pain, and suffering enabled me to survive the unsurvivable.
And i love all my Bits N’ Pieces; they’re dear to me and that’ll never change, but i’m working on putting us all back together. I don’t think it’ll ever be what they call “integrated”, but it will be different. It will be homeostasis. All the other gifts i got from abuse i don’t want to change, but i do want to tweak this one, just a wee bit.

In closing i’d like to stress that i’m not glad or grateful for being raped and beaten and constantly emotionally traumatised as a child. I’m not one of those people who has no regrets and wouldn’t do anything different. I have plenty of regrets and would absolutely choose to live my life over again with loving parents who wouldn’t abuse me.
It’s just that that’s not possible.

Sleep baby sleep
Now that the night is over
And the sun comes like a god
Into our room
All perfect light and promises

The gifts that i have from abuse are gifts i gave myself.
That little girl that i was, was incredible. Amazing. So strong and sweet and beautiful and smart and kind and funny. WOW.
I’m awestruck at her resourcefulness and resilience.
And she is me.
I am all those things.
This work i do is to bring us closer together, because i love her more than i love anyone. She made me who i am, she made it possible for me to have the chance to become who i am, and i want more than anything for us to be reunited.
Salvaging the unsalvageable.
Creating beauty out of pain.
Becoming love in spite of being born into hate.

I told you
That we could fly
‘Cause we all have wings
But some of us don’t know why
~Never Tear Us Apart, INXS

Anger Is A Mythical Beast

It can be tough for me to figure out what’s going on, but it’s important that i do. If i feel a bit off, i make it a priority, because things can go for shit before i know it. As a multiple, i think it’s at least partly due to my propensity for compartmentalisation and dissociation. Being able to do those things can be helpful – in the right situation and to the proper degree, but first i want to become aware of when i’m doing it (or wanting to do it) and why. If left unchecked, it can and has wreaked havoc in my life.

These last months have been filled with this work. I’m doing my best to stay present in my body and be in control of the face.*

As i’ve said before (and will say again because it’s the biggest thing in my life right now), it is hard, exhausting work. I’m tired and on edge all the time. It’s draining every reserve, and i mete out my daily allotment of spoons with consideration and care.

I’m angry. Like, every shade of anger on the spectrum is lit up and vibrating inside me. I’m everything from mildly ticked, to mad as a wet hen, to fuck-it-i’m-nuking-the-world. It’s been swimming around for some time, occasionally breaking the surface for air like some emotional Ogopogo. I’ve been catching brief glimpses in my psychic peripherals, and the other day something happened where i caught a clear view of it in action.

I had an encounter with someone from my past who wasn’t kind to me, and i found myself glad they weren’t doing well. Gleeful, even.
I made a joke about it with a friend, but my guts were already churning.

**********

So, i’m sitting here in my husband’s van, waiting for my therapy appointment. My regular ride fell through, and i advertised on social media for some help but none came. Then hubby says, You’re not doing well, i have a slow day at work tomorrow, so come in with me and we’ll see what we can make happen.

It’s probably for the best. I have a hair trigger ATM. Everyone is annoying. I feel people like an intrusion. My longtime online buddies are an exception, but only barely. Everyone else, including the very dear man i married, are varying levels of irritating. I feel attacked, but no one’s attacking me.

After my episode of Schadenfreude, i was at a friend’s house. The experience was simmering inside me, and i was feeling worse and worse about it.
That’s not me, that’s not who i am.
That was so mean, and ugly, too.
I feel mean and ugly.
Am i mean and ugly?

The answer is easily No. It’s a normal human reaction i think, to be momentarily glad that someone who hurt you is having a bad time. And i was immediately offput by my own reaction. I processed it and was thinking i could let it go and move on, when a knock brought my friend some visitors. I opened the door for them and BAM!
I was in trouble.

I could see them, but from an unrealistic distance. I was sliding away, and whoever was in the face was staring at them with hot, marble eyes. I resented them immediately. I didn’t want them there. Why? They’ve done nothing to me. One of them was an innocent child. Fortunately, i still had enough presence of mind to wrest control away from the protector who was in the face, and mellow my voice and countenance. But i could feel myself slipping, and knew i had to get away.
I quickly grabbed all my shit and got out of there. I knew i was acting strangely, so i was out the door in seconds, with only the most perfunctory of goodbyes. It was the best i could do; i could feel the rage coming up. The kind of destructive anger that unleashes my tongue to flay everyone around me to ribbons.
My mother had an acid tongue and i learned well.
I can destroy with a look, and my words have wrought untold damage over the course of my life. I’ve cut down swathes of people and relationships over the years.
It was a petty, shallow sort of anger i was feeling inside, like a tantrum.
I got TF out before i could do any harm.

Since then i’ve kept mostly away from people. I need to process this with my therapist.
Why am i so freaking choked?!

**********

Hubby came back to the van for a quick snack, and we discussed getting me to my appointment. I was able to process a bit with him while he munched away on cheese strings and meat sticks
Am i angry because it’s better then being sad?
Maybe it’s because i’m afraid of the pain that yet lies before me.
It’s a vast, roiling sea. I may drown in it.
No, really. That is a possibility.
I’m fairly sure i’ll make it through, but i’ll likely go under a couple of times.

Maybe it’s preferable to just stand on the beach and shake my fists at the water.

I was sitting here, waiting for more words to type, thinking about what’s ahead of me. I was thinking of the pain, but then it occurred to me that i’m already moving through the pain. My body is manifesting the physical sensations of my childhood. The ones i blocked and otherwise dissociated from: countless rapes and endless beatings.
So that’s not it.

Now i think i have it – or a bit of it anyway.
It’s not the physical pain i’m terrified of. Like my therapist said, she could slap me across the face and i’d be able to handle it better than a hug.
No, it’s not that. It’s hard and it’s awful, but pain is the bully i’ve lived with my whole life – this process has just taken me deeper.

What about what comes after?
What’s underneath my ripped girl parts and swollen throat?
I know.
A different kind of pain.
Unmet needs.
Betrayal.

I’m going to feel the rejection and aloneness of my childhood. It was a bleak and terrible landscape where the sun cast no warmth and daytime was a lie.
I’m going to grieve, to mourn.

Gah, i don’t know what to do with this information. I’ve done so much work on myself that i’m getting to know who i genuinely am underneath all the coping mechanisms and fear. I’ve seen other people compartmentalise and put away potentially disabling life events and go on to live a relatively happy and successful life. I think that’s a viable way to handle things, and i know i could do it.
But that’s not who i am as a person. I want something else –not better than the one who locks it away forever– just different. More in alignment with my personality.
Me, i’m a person who’s gotta look at it. I want to know, and as much as i or anyone is able, to understand.

I was blocked from knowing by my upbringing. All i knew was what my abusers told me. It was all i believed. My obedience was so ingrained and unconscious that my intelligence may well have atrophied – my intellect very nearly starved to death. Once i began to wriggle free, there was no going back for me. Even a small taste of freedom whet my appetite for more. My mother’s bloody fingerprints are all over me, inside and out, shallow and deep. It’s not the way for everyone who survives trauma, but a thorough and intense forensic examination is my way.
Yes, i’m self-focused. Willfully so.
I submit that it has, and will continue to make me a better and more useful person.
No longer used, but useful. A human who contributes to the betterment of humankind, and the earth we inhabit.

**********

I’ve left my husband and walked to my appointment. He’ll be by to pick me up later. It was a lovely walk through a part of the city that’s interesting and pretty and well-known to me. It’s also wonderfully trigger-free. I’ve got my footing, a little. It helps. I can already feel my gaze softening and my body unclenching. I see better where i am and where i’m headed.
I’m going to check in with my pocket people, and devour a few more chapters of my current book.

Processing…

**********

Oh shit. Today was not what i expected. I have some plans for the weekend (i people sometimes now – on purpose!), but i’ll try to fit some writing in.
I wanna get it while it’s fresh.

Have as good a weekend as you can. If it’s crap or otherwise out of your control, hang in there.
Love and Peace,
~H~

*”In the face” and variations thereof, is the phrase i use to describe who is currently controlling me and my system.