You kinda gotta love it when a mental health professional says the equivalent of, “It’s a wonder you’re not more crazy.” This kind of crazy is bad enough, thanks.
It’s a relief to finally find something that fits. For years I’ve said “I have many symptoms of PTSD, but I don’t have some recent significant trauma… I did have lots of abuse in my childhood, though.” Docs have said “well, it’s not PTSD then.” We work on some of the symptoms and I function, but the underlying crap is still there.
Ooops. Turns out that there has been a movement toward defining what I have as Complex PTSD (C-PTSD). Instead of being caused by a relatively recent significant trauma, this is something that is caused by chronic past trauma–like childhood emotional abuse and sexual abuse. Nightmares, self-loathing, feeling worthless even when accomplished, inability to attach well or to the right people, desperate for a rescuer or for safety/security, angry and the perpetrator(s), disconnecting during moments of high stress… the whole list of manifestations is there and I definitely have the chronically abusive past, particularly in childhood.
Just reading about it was a relief–it was the first time I felt like someone got me, even if it was an author I didn’t know. It made total sense why I cried pretty much every friggin’ day for the past year, why I thought if I died, at least the pain would stop (but no, I wasn’t actively suicidal–it was a passive thing, the hopelessness), and how I crave safety. Things made sense.
It was brutal to learn that I was not in control in places where I thought I was. To read the description of a fight with someone with C-PTSD and recognize that Christopher had said I did exactly those things, well, it sucked to realize how out of reality I could be when I felt threatened and how that could affect someone I loved. And how it affected me also, of course, sucked. It also makes sense now that I leapt to David with his promises to take care of me–I was desperate to believe, desperate for someone to take care of me.
But I also learned there was hope. I had actually already started the process, without even knowing what it was. Mindfulness is a good thing. Learning to be in the moment is too. Yoga and physical activity like running are good. Journaling, good. And no longer keeping secrets, very good. Basically, I wouldn’t have been able to fly if I hadn’t done some of this work, already, on my own. So I’m on the path.
Now, I’m actively working to heal, on top of trying to make a living which is a total bitch on the side. Kinda sucks, but the timing wasn’t by choice. Actually, it’s probably the events of the last two years that have brought all this to a head, and why I started doing the things I did to take care of myself.
Anyway, three basic steps now, with lots of smaller ones:
Step 1. Create a safe environment.
This is tricky. The cat is helpful. The lack of income is not. Exposing myself to Jim in any way (Twitter, etc.) has been a bad thing so I’m not doing it any more.
I also told JD about some of it and he was a lovely friend–said that he was shocked (particularly about the childhood sexual abuse by Jim’s best friend), said that Jim was “a dick” for all the shit he did to me, that he was sorry to hear what I had been through, that he was there for me whenever I needed, and then he gave me a big hug–not letting go when I tried to push him away with humor. He’s fielded a couple of calls since then too and has been a really good listener and advisor.
The young man has even shown rather impressive resilience and compassion, although he only knows the very top skim of the situation. Certainly, his lack of judging and offer of support are admirable.
And B has been there even though her plate has been full with her own life–making sure I’m not selling my soul out of guilt. That’s a big deal and much appreciated.
Step 2. Regain your (my) power.
This is trickier. Deleting the exposure to Jim is an important step, as is this: none of you say a peep to me about how I should forgive him or move on or how he’s family, whatever. He’s been nothing but an abuser and a liar to me. He still does lie about the viciously mean things he has said to me when no one was around. I kept my mouth shut for years so that Brigid would not be exposed to any of this but now I think she’s old enough to know that, if she comes across this, her relationship with him has nothing to do with mine. For me, he no longer gets a pass in any way.
Relatedly, I’m done apologizing for not wanting to hear about what a good guy he is. Every time you tell me that you hurt me, so shut up already. You want to see him as good, well I guess that no amount of me telling you what he did to me will change that, but I do not have to be exposed to it.
Other things… Im learning to sit again, better, and to bring myself back into the moment instead of spinning and reacting to stuff in the past rather than what really is here now.
Learning to trust is a real bitch. It’s hard to believe, deep down, something as small as that when someone says something nice it is meant and not just being said because it is supposed to be said. Waking up to all this means waking up to the reality that people who were supposed to protect me hurt me so much and blew my ability to learn to trust as a kid. Trusting will be power, for sure.
I’m hoping to learn how to be effectively angry, too. I’m not there yet. I have a lot of anger that I have just eaten for so long. I got punished for expressing my emotions growing up–for standing up for my own feelings–so I never learned how to express anger effectively. Luckily, I never went to the dark side on this–not a screamer/thrower/hitter–instead I just suck it in. Still, not good and needs work.
Step 3 Learn to process the past.
Totally the trickiest bits there. Interestingly, this is where traditional PTSD and C-PTSD differ–exposure comes much earlier for the non-complex.
The literature (I’ve been reading papers written by practitioners for practitioners) talks about exposure to the same kinds of traumatic events, but in a safe environment. Not quite sure how we’ll pull that off. Seems that exposure without the safety can make things worse. I think I learned that accidentally in a few places in my past. It does mean I’ll need others for some of this–but that is what building the safe environment (and the people in it).
Oh, and it also seems that saying any of the following (or similar) not only doesn’t help (as I have always suspected), it makes things worse: let go of it, don’t think about it, it’s in the past, why do you let it bother you? and anything that minimizes what happened, how I feel about it, or rationalizes the actions of those who hurt me so badly (she had her own issues, he wouldn’t do that deliberately, etc.). So please, just stop that. It’s real and it’s real big for me. Minimizing the past won’t help. I’ll have to face it when and where and how we decide is best. In the meantime, if you want to say anything, say “What Jim/your mom did to you was wrong” and then shut up.
I can do this… it’s a walk in the park. Ugh.
Actually, my therapist points out that I have a history of working hard and that bodes well for my future. I will do the work to get better. And, luckily, she is also charging me a cut-rate for the sessions.
Over all, though, the worst part of all this in some ways (besides realizing that I haven’t been able to have a healthy life because of being fucked up by my mother and brother [and his bestie] a kid) is the tone of so much of the non-scientific literature. I just can’t buy into things like “nurturing your inner child.” Kind of makes me throw up in my mouth a bit. My therapist hasn’t used that sort of language so far, thank heavens, but some of the readings she suggested go there. Blech.
But there is value in the things I need to tell myself, like that I’m not in danger now, that I don’t have to keep the family together, and that I’m not a bad person to do the things I need to to heal. Even in the flaky literature, there is hope and helpful info, like that.