I haven't figured out how to move a post from one blog to another, so here are the links to the first three posts of "putting it all out there."
http://rayannsbadassbullshit.blogspot.com/2010/04/laying-it-all-out-there.html
http://rayannsbadassbullshit.blogspot.com/2010/04/laying-it-all-out-there-part-2.html
http://rayannsbadassbullshit.blogspot.com/2010/05/laying-it-all-out-there-part-3.html
Friday, May 28, 2010
feeling safe
Yesterday I woke up feeling very safe, as though everything was ok. It was really nice. I have wondered if I would ever be able to experience what complete safety feels like. It has been difficult to imagine. Even right now, I know there is no one in this house but me, and that the immediate chances of gunmen and/or rapists coming by to knock down the door and get me are slim to none. But I’m still scared.
I don’t really know how to not be afraid. I have been learning how to keep my fear from overwhelming me, from dictating my life, from preventing me from living the way I deserve to live. But all of that involves a deliberate cognitive process.
I have learned to prepare myself when I recognize that I am going to have a flash back, or just remember something horrible. I actually figured that out pretty early on in the recovery process – I had a lot of opportunities to get used to it. At this point in my day to day thinking, I know that I can reassure myself that I am in the present and not in the past, and that at most moments I am safe, and then I can remember stuff without it paralyzing me with fear and horror.
This is how I pretty much make it through each day. Not that I have constant flash backs, but that I have constant fear. It is my natural state. The idea of not being afraid scares the shit out of me. What if I let my guard down, and that is the moment my dad happens to show up to bludgeon me to death?
It may not be likely, but it is entirely within the realm of possibility for him to do this. It seriously is. And I don’t look at that scenario with any factors outside of him just showing up and killing me. Sometimes I think about how I could get away out the back door and run to the neighbors’ house, or just down the street, but for the most part there is just him killing me, and that’s that.
The most frightening scenario involves the kids being home when he comes to kill me. I mean, its not like he has superpowers or is invincible. While it is horrendous to think of my kids having to be exposed to anything like someone attacking their mother, they are pretty feisty boys, and I think it would be realistic to consider the fact that the three of us could kick my dad’s ass. But what if we couldn’t? That’s why that is so scary.
A less frightening scenario involves Jonny being here. Jonny would love a chance to have a go at my dad. I feel pretty confident Jonny could take my dad on, if not alone, then together with me. We could totally take him down.
What would we do if we did take him down? Here is where it starts to get tricky and my imagination turns more toward very bad things rather than my kids and I, or my husband and I, beating the shit out of my dad.
Its kind of strange that I don’t think of my kids and I, or of my husband and I, beating the shit out of my dad as one of those “very bad things.”
I don’t like to think much about any of it after that, and so I don’t.
But the thing is, I really have to work at keeping my mind right here right now. It’s getting easier as time goes on and I have more and more practice, but will there ever be a time when I just simply feel safe? When I don’t have to convince myself that torture and/or death is imminent?
Yesterday morning when I woke up, that is exactly how I felt. It was kind of like when I’m having a really sweet dream and I try to stay asleep to keep it from ending, but with the “everything is ok” feeling, I was actually able to carry it into my awake world for about two minutes. It was fantastic.
It gave me a lot of hope, not just because I now know its possible for me to feel that way, but also because it reminded me that I have felt that way before.
I think the most common time I have felt that way in the past was when I was at a friend’s house and their parents were out of town, or at least not expected back for a while. I was able to just BE in the moment without any feeling of impending doom. Of course, these times often involved illegal drug and/or alcohol consumption, but I know that there were moments when I was stone sober and just felt safe.
It was good to remember that I did have some peace when I was growing up, because I honestly could not remember having any at all as a kid. I have thought to myself, there must have been fun times, right? I mean, I remember laughing and messing around and having happy family times, even with my dad there.
But then when I think about those times more closely, I cannot grasp the idea that they truly were without fear. So many of the memories I had categorized as “happy” were actually the befores and the afters of the horrible things I had completely blocked out. And so I wonder, did I ever truly feel safe as a kid?
I am happy to say that, yes, I did. That feeling yesterday morning was strange and foreign but not completely alien. Even though it only lasted a couple of minutes after I woke up, it reminded me that I am not someone who had a completely shitty childhood, or someone who is too broken now to ever feel safe.
These things are nice to know.
I don’t really know how to not be afraid. I have been learning how to keep my fear from overwhelming me, from dictating my life, from preventing me from living the way I deserve to live. But all of that involves a deliberate cognitive process.
I have learned to prepare myself when I recognize that I am going to have a flash back, or just remember something horrible. I actually figured that out pretty early on in the recovery process – I had a lot of opportunities to get used to it. At this point in my day to day thinking, I know that I can reassure myself that I am in the present and not in the past, and that at most moments I am safe, and then I can remember stuff without it paralyzing me with fear and horror.
This is how I pretty much make it through each day. Not that I have constant flash backs, but that I have constant fear. It is my natural state. The idea of not being afraid scares the shit out of me. What if I let my guard down, and that is the moment my dad happens to show up to bludgeon me to death?
It may not be likely, but it is entirely within the realm of possibility for him to do this. It seriously is. And I don’t look at that scenario with any factors outside of him just showing up and killing me. Sometimes I think about how I could get away out the back door and run to the neighbors’ house, or just down the street, but for the most part there is just him killing me, and that’s that.
The most frightening scenario involves the kids being home when he comes to kill me. I mean, its not like he has superpowers or is invincible. While it is horrendous to think of my kids having to be exposed to anything like someone attacking their mother, they are pretty feisty boys, and I think it would be realistic to consider the fact that the three of us could kick my dad’s ass. But what if we couldn’t? That’s why that is so scary.
A less frightening scenario involves Jonny being here. Jonny would love a chance to have a go at my dad. I feel pretty confident Jonny could take my dad on, if not alone, then together with me. We could totally take him down.
What would we do if we did take him down? Here is where it starts to get tricky and my imagination turns more toward very bad things rather than my kids and I, or my husband and I, beating the shit out of my dad.
Its kind of strange that I don’t think of my kids and I, or of my husband and I, beating the shit out of my dad as one of those “very bad things.”
I don’t like to think much about any of it after that, and so I don’t.
But the thing is, I really have to work at keeping my mind right here right now. It’s getting easier as time goes on and I have more and more practice, but will there ever be a time when I just simply feel safe? When I don’t have to convince myself that torture and/or death is imminent?
Yesterday morning when I woke up, that is exactly how I felt. It was kind of like when I’m having a really sweet dream and I try to stay asleep to keep it from ending, but with the “everything is ok” feeling, I was actually able to carry it into my awake world for about two minutes. It was fantastic.
It gave me a lot of hope, not just because I now know its possible for me to feel that way, but also because it reminded me that I have felt that way before.
I think the most common time I have felt that way in the past was when I was at a friend’s house and their parents were out of town, or at least not expected back for a while. I was able to just BE in the moment without any feeling of impending doom. Of course, these times often involved illegal drug and/or alcohol consumption, but I know that there were moments when I was stone sober and just felt safe.
It was good to remember that I did have some peace when I was growing up, because I honestly could not remember having any at all as a kid. I have thought to myself, there must have been fun times, right? I mean, I remember laughing and messing around and having happy family times, even with my dad there.
But then when I think about those times more closely, I cannot grasp the idea that they truly were without fear. So many of the memories I had categorized as “happy” were actually the befores and the afters of the horrible things I had completely blocked out. And so I wonder, did I ever truly feel safe as a kid?
I am happy to say that, yes, I did. That feeling yesterday morning was strange and foreign but not completely alien. Even though it only lasted a couple of minutes after I woke up, it reminded me that I am not someone who had a completely shitty childhood, or someone who is too broken now to ever feel safe.
These things are nice to know.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
laying it all out there, part 3
again - some of this stuff may be triggering to those who are easily triggered. you know who you are.
so the church thing really threw me off. i mean, i loved jesus. i loved being a christian. i loved that i was saved. i loved that i had a universal connection with others throughout the world. i loved being good, and doing the right thing, and not doing the wrong thing. my motivation was acceptance and understanding and appreciation from others. i just loved it.
when the shit hit the fan at my church, i only remember feeling a bit thrown off center, and also pretty angry. i was not so much aware of the thrown off feeling as i was of the anger. i was very angry at the church and the people i loved who were still a part of it after the big split. my family and some other people from that church reconnected in another church, a newer one, and that influx of established local christians got the new church off and running.
the new church even eventually got a youth group. i hated it.
i hated the church and the pastor and the stupid people who went there. they were all very new and unfamiliar and it seemed to me they were not nearly as accepting of me as the people in my old church were. i felt much more the stranger. after all, i had not known these people since i was a baby and they did not have the experience of watching me grow up to acclimate them to my unusual, often unnerving, presence.
at about this same time, everything was going down hill at school, too. i had never really cared too much about my grades, but i had also not needed to really go out of my way to get good grades until the end of middle school (actually, it was still junior high).
in the 8th grade, i became very aware of my inhibitions and general social fears. of course i did not think in those terms, but rather identified with my anger and began really not giving a shit about being good or not. this was a freeing experience for me, and a confusing one. up until then, it really had been very important to me that i was good.
i never behaved badly at school, and outside of my reading in class when i was supposed to be paying attention, i never really got in trouble. i remember one time in kindergarten when a boy at my table started talking to me and i tried to ignore him, but he just kept talking. i ended up in a conversation with him and we got yelled at for talking. i was absolutely mortified. it was a terrible feeling and it encompassed my entire view of myself.
i pretty much just stayed quiet after that. every now and then i would attempt to break out of my shell and jump into the mainstream, but that always ended up in complete humiliation. however, by the time 8th grade came around, i was tired of behaving within these lines that ultimately got me screwed.
i had been taught that being good and loving god and jesus and obeying my parents and not stealing and not having sex and blah, blah, blah, were the ways i could guarantee my acceptance. for a while, it worked out that way. leaving the church i grew up in, though, really pulled the rug out from under me.
my parents had always been very active in the church, teaching classes and attending obnoxiously regularly, dragging my brother, sister, and i along. when we got to the new church, they seemed to pick up where they had left off. i just felt kind of empty.
on superbowl sunday when i was 15, i was at church (of course), and i don't really remember what was going on, but my whole family was there. out of boredom, i snuck into the church office and called a friend from school. her parents were out of town and she wanted me to come over to entertain the friend of the guy she was messing around with. i told my parents some bullshit, and they said i could go but had to be home by 10.
the friend of my friend's guy picked me up at church. he was wasted and drove through a field he thought was the road. i convinced him to let me drive. i didn't even have a license yet, but clearly my mind was not on logic mode. the guy was older and very cute. i knew him peripherally through school and, ironically, my previous church.
we got to my friend's house. she locked herself in her parents' room with her guy. the drunk guy locked us into her bedroom. things happened that i didn't want to happen. i was hurt, physically and mentally, and could only think of how much trouble i would get in if my parents ever found out what i was doing with this guy.
that is how i thought of it - that i was doing bad things with this guy. it didn't matter that he was bigger and older than me, or that he had locked me in this room, or that i kept telling him no and i don't want to, or that he was drunk, or that the angrier he got at me for not being completely complicit the more scared i got.
afterward, i was very concerned that he would give me a ride home so i could be there by 10. he was mad at me, and i was really nervous about not getting home. he finally drove me home - i guess he had sobered up by then. i don't remember what happened on the ride or when i got home - just the pain, and the other evidence of my injuries.
it took me 16 years to call what happened that night what it was - rape.
i keep thinking i would like to end one of these blog sessions on a positive note. i mean, what a fucking downer for the people who read this, right? but this is how it was.
lonely, terrifying, infuriating - that is what my childhood was, and i include being a teenager as part of my childhood.
i want to apologize for making anyone feel badly after reading this, for how i might have hurt anyone by telling what happened to me. but i will not. its my story. you have a choice about whether or not to read it, but i didn't have a choice about whether or not to live it.
and i really feel stronger every time i write more about it.
to be continued...
so the church thing really threw me off. i mean, i loved jesus. i loved being a christian. i loved that i was saved. i loved that i had a universal connection with others throughout the world. i loved being good, and doing the right thing, and not doing the wrong thing. my motivation was acceptance and understanding and appreciation from others. i just loved it.
when the shit hit the fan at my church, i only remember feeling a bit thrown off center, and also pretty angry. i was not so much aware of the thrown off feeling as i was of the anger. i was very angry at the church and the people i loved who were still a part of it after the big split. my family and some other people from that church reconnected in another church, a newer one, and that influx of established local christians got the new church off and running.
the new church even eventually got a youth group. i hated it.
i hated the church and the pastor and the stupid people who went there. they were all very new and unfamiliar and it seemed to me they were not nearly as accepting of me as the people in my old church were. i felt much more the stranger. after all, i had not known these people since i was a baby and they did not have the experience of watching me grow up to acclimate them to my unusual, often unnerving, presence.
at about this same time, everything was going down hill at school, too. i had never really cared too much about my grades, but i had also not needed to really go out of my way to get good grades until the end of middle school (actually, it was still junior high).
in the 8th grade, i became very aware of my inhibitions and general social fears. of course i did not think in those terms, but rather identified with my anger and began really not giving a shit about being good or not. this was a freeing experience for me, and a confusing one. up until then, it really had been very important to me that i was good.
i never behaved badly at school, and outside of my reading in class when i was supposed to be paying attention, i never really got in trouble. i remember one time in kindergarten when a boy at my table started talking to me and i tried to ignore him, but he just kept talking. i ended up in a conversation with him and we got yelled at for talking. i was absolutely mortified. it was a terrible feeling and it encompassed my entire view of myself.
i pretty much just stayed quiet after that. every now and then i would attempt to break out of my shell and jump into the mainstream, but that always ended up in complete humiliation. however, by the time 8th grade came around, i was tired of behaving within these lines that ultimately got me screwed.
i had been taught that being good and loving god and jesus and obeying my parents and not stealing and not having sex and blah, blah, blah, were the ways i could guarantee my acceptance. for a while, it worked out that way. leaving the church i grew up in, though, really pulled the rug out from under me.
my parents had always been very active in the church, teaching classes and attending obnoxiously regularly, dragging my brother, sister, and i along. when we got to the new church, they seemed to pick up where they had left off. i just felt kind of empty.
on superbowl sunday when i was 15, i was at church (of course), and i don't really remember what was going on, but my whole family was there. out of boredom, i snuck into the church office and called a friend from school. her parents were out of town and she wanted me to come over to entertain the friend of the guy she was messing around with. i told my parents some bullshit, and they said i could go but had to be home by 10.
the friend of my friend's guy picked me up at church. he was wasted and drove through a field he thought was the road. i convinced him to let me drive. i didn't even have a license yet, but clearly my mind was not on logic mode. the guy was older and very cute. i knew him peripherally through school and, ironically, my previous church.
we got to my friend's house. she locked herself in her parents' room with her guy. the drunk guy locked us into her bedroom. things happened that i didn't want to happen. i was hurt, physically and mentally, and could only think of how much trouble i would get in if my parents ever found out what i was doing with this guy.
that is how i thought of it - that i was doing bad things with this guy. it didn't matter that he was bigger and older than me, or that he had locked me in this room, or that i kept telling him no and i don't want to, or that he was drunk, or that the angrier he got at me for not being completely complicit the more scared i got.
afterward, i was very concerned that he would give me a ride home so i could be there by 10. he was mad at me, and i was really nervous about not getting home. he finally drove me home - i guess he had sobered up by then. i don't remember what happened on the ride or when i got home - just the pain, and the other evidence of my injuries.
it took me 16 years to call what happened that night what it was - rape.
i keep thinking i would like to end one of these blog sessions on a positive note. i mean, what a fucking downer for the people who read this, right? but this is how it was.
lonely, terrifying, infuriating - that is what my childhood was, and i include being a teenager as part of my childhood.
i want to apologize for making anyone feel badly after reading this, for how i might have hurt anyone by telling what happened to me. but i will not. its my story. you have a choice about whether or not to read it, but i didn't have a choice about whether or not to live it.
and i really feel stronger every time i write more about it.
to be continued...
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