Walking Through the Storm

Where do I begin? How do I begin to explain the exhaustion that overcame me today? I went to EMDR, I wrote, I met my husband for lunch, then I went home and tried to fold laundry. Instead, I fell asleep on the floor next to the bed...I was limp tired.

After sleeping for about two hours, my husband wanted attention. He asked, and I did not say no, although I knew that I was feeling very fragile. I guess I thought the long nap may have helped.

It did not. Nothing felt right, and I fought him and pushed him away with every touch. I was not his wife, but a young girl pushing her stepfather away. At the end of it all, I curled up on his chest and cried. I thought I would drown in that pain. This time he knew that I was crying. I don't remember the last time that I allowed myself to be this vulnerable with him. He held me for as long as I needed to be held and then asked how I was feeling.

I still cannot believe this is the same man that I knew a month ago! But I also can't believe how I responded. I was open with him. I told him I was feeling fragile and that EMDR was hard...all day long. I NEVER talk to him about how EMDR feels!

God help me get through tonight...and tomorrow, for I am sad and afraid...and I hurt in a place so primitive that I don't know how to reach it. God grant me the courage to walk through this storm.

 

 

When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark

At the end of the storm
Is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of the lark

Walk on through the wind
Walk on through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown

Walk on walk on with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone

 

(from You'll Never Walk Alone, R. Rogers/O. Hammerstein II)

And if I Can't Return?

Oh my God, the pain! Where have I gone? The hate, the hate...the hate for myself...for that young girl...running away and the goddamn cigarettes...mistreating her body because she was used to being mistreated. So much hate for herself leaves me feeling so much sadness.

These were my thoughts immediately after EMDR today. I am shaking and cold...my heavy sweater is not enough. I want to close my eyes, but I am afraid. If I close my eyes, I will be in another dimension, another time and place, definitely not oriented. I want so badly to close them, but what if I can't return?

I felt like this at times during EMDR today. I was so spacey...like if I just closed my eyes, I would be out of touch...and I wanted to close my eyes. But he brought me back every time, and I had to look into his eyes in order to find the present and believe that I was not going to die of this pain.

The moon is on my side
I have no reason to run
So will someone come and carry me home tonight

(from We Are Young, Fun.)

 

Fear of EMDR

I have decided to try another session of EMDR tomorrow. I am scared out of my mind...but I want to do it. Why? Because I think it's helping.

The idea of jumping off the cliff again, not knowing where the hell I'm going to land is incredibly frightening. I am afraid of what dark tunnel I'm going to go through. Yes, I am afraid of the pain, afraid of losing control, of hurting so much that I just won't be able to hold it together. Sometimes I just have to look away. I try to escape by looking out the window (I like it when the blinds are open).

It's the same feeling every time. Tomorrow I will be brave again, but I will be nervous just before we begin...just before that moment when I voluntarily plunge myself into suffocating darkness.

The Wine and the Fireflies

Tonight could have gone very badly...but it didn't. I was so angry that I thought about cutting...but I didn't. Tonight I had planned on writing a raging mad rant of a post...but I don't have to now.

Things have been somewhat stressful for me since this past Sunday. I will spare you the details, but basically my van presented with tire problems on my way to work on Sunday, and I had to turn around and use my husband's car...which meant I opened the pharmacy almost thirty minutes late, and the stress began there.

I have been using my husband's car for the past few days, while we took the van to two different establishments to get the services that it needed (tune up, inspection, and four new tires). Don't get me wrong, I am grateful that his car was available for me to use and that his work schedule this week allowed him time to contend with the repairs that the van needed. Nonetheless, the last few days have been stressful for me.

It's not that I had to rearrange any schedules because of this. No, every appointment was kept, and every child and adult arrived at their respective summer camp and job every day without a hitch. Every time I began to feel stressed, I reminded myself of this little blessing: Your van needs maintenance, and you have the money to pay for it. Your husband's car is available for you to use, because he happens to be off on the days that you need to work this week. You don't have to cancel any appointments this week.

Seemingly, things worked out very smoothly...they did...but at a cost. I pretty much held it together during the past few days, but it took some energy that I had not been prepared to use. Because the time that I would have used to recharge my energy levels was spent driving the van to and from the different auto shops, by the time this afternoon rolled around, I was feeling pretty depleted.

This is the first wise decision that I made. When I returned home from a CPR renewal course, I let my husband know that I needed time alone to rest, because the past few days have kind of taken a toll on me. I even let him know that going to the gym together would not be possible, because getting some rest was a priority for me today.

You have no idea how much progress being able to verbalize this need signifies for me.

So I took a nice nap, and later we picked up my van and I came home with my new tires and my kids...ordeal behind me.

...and then the kids' bathtub started leaking again...onto the goddamn kitchen island and floor. Then my husband was offended because I told him I only had a minute when he asked me to look at something on the Internet with him. Never mind that I had just made dinner, was in the middle of washing two heads of hair and had to save some energy to shampoo the living room carpet tonight.

I had no more reserves after that. The husband got ignored, the children got yelled at, and my older daughter got it the worst when she refused to get off the couch when it was time for me to start with the carpet. I completely lost my cool. I was yelling and throwing toys and shit out of the room. When my husband offered to help, I thought I was going to eat him. When he tried to placate me by saying that what I was doing was not good and that he didn't want me to hurt myself, I simply yelled back, "I AM NOT HURTING MYSELF!" I thought, hurting myself is cutting my wrist, and I am not doing that right now. I might be hurting the toys and the nice wood floor, but I am not hurting myself!

So while I was shampooing the carpet, I was composing in my head the angry post that I was going to write...but something else happened. While I was shampooing the carpet, he put the kids to bed and cleaned the kitchen. When I was finished, he invited me to have a glass of wine on the deck and watch the fireflies light up our backyard. Who can say no?

The night was warm, the wine was smooth, and the fireflies were magical. Conversation came easy. We talked about the entire week and how things evolved into what they did tonight. I was able to express my feelings and reasons without hesitation or fear of judgment. We went back and forth without getting heated or disrespectful. Yet, I did not feel like were tiptoeing around each other's feelings (as we often are when we are not fighting). I was able to talk to him without feeling defensive.

Recently, I had considered writing a post that asked the question, "How do you know if EMDR is working?" It is such a gradual process for me. It seems I can stand this therapy in small doses, with long rests in between. So how do I know how I am changing?

Tonight was a fine example. Obviously, I would have preferred not to have lost my grip the way that I did, but I didn't shut down when my husband invited me to talk. I found my voice, and I was not afraid to use it. Given that the topic that I am currently working on deals with not being able to speak, I would say that EMDR is working.

Just Bent

Just give me a reason
Just a little bit's enough
Just a second we're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again
It's in the stars
It's been written in the scars on our hearts
We're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again

 

[from Just Give Me a Reason, Pink (featuring Nate Ruess)]

 

The damn, fucking involuntary tears started this morning while lying in my husband's arms after an intimate morning together. I knew that they were long past due but why now? I thought. I don't know what the hell triggered me to want to fall apart precisely at that moment, but I fought to keep it together. No, no, no. I could not do this in front of him today.

 

He had walked into my room while I was writing last night's post and asked if I was OK, if I wanted to talk about anything. My face must have betrayed my sadness, but I still denied it. I said I was fine and even smiled when I shook my head in response to his invitation to confide. If I cried he would know. He would certainly know that I am not OK.

 

So I went to work today, and as always, it was a fine distraction...a peaceful day but for an incidence that left me feeling unsafe and afraid to walk to my vehicle after closing the pharmacy. Fortunately, I exited the building, made it to my car safely, and was on my way home without giving a second thought...until fifty miles later as I parked the car in the safety of my own home. Then I could not stop the tears, and I sat outside until I could collect myself.

 

Now, I am writing this and the tears are flowing freely. I cannot/will not stop them anymore. I hope he does not come in here tonight, for I will not be able to stop and pretend. I have been listening to the song that I quoted at the top of this post and hurting, and crying. I really like the song and have been watching the video on YouTube (love Pink and love her even more with Nate Ruess)...and crying...crying...crying.

...and hurting...hurting...hurting while my husband sleeps in the room next to me...separated by one wall...that I have established.

There are so many lines that I like in this song, that I could write a term paper about it:

"We're not broken, just bent"

"It's been written in the scars on our hearts"

"I let you see the parts of me that weren't all that pretty, and with every touch you fixed them."

"We'll come clean."

And I listen to them, and watch Pink perform with the passion that I feel but am too damn afraid to just shout out. And instead of fucking going over to him and pouring my damn heart out, I just sit here and write and sob, and cry oh so bitterly.
 

Let the Night be Long and Dark

I am feeling very low...depressed. Even putting my fingers to the keyboard is taking an incredible amount of effort. I don't want to exist...or I want to be invisible. I don't want to see people, and I don't wan to be seen. I don't want to talk, and I don't want to listen.

Sleep, delicious sleep, is all that I want. I want to sleep deeply and indefinitely. The mornings have become so hard now. First light brings so much pain, robbing me of the protection of sleep.

So let me sleep tonight, let me rest. Let the night be long and dark, so that I may hide in it's blackness from all my little demons.

She Asked Me

Part of my time on vacation was spent catching up with my sister and her family.

I had yearned for this time with her, with this woman...this girl...who knows me better than my mother does. The girl with whom I roomed as a child. She who stayed up with me late into the night on the last day of every summer vacation discussing our excitement over what the next day and the new school year would bring.

This is my little sister. The one who tells people that she was so lucky to have grown up with me as a big sister. She says that I was never bossy or mean...always kind...always patient.

...and how could I not be? She was my gateway to the world...my link to the other kids. You see, she was the outgoing one. She started conversations, while I was afraid to speak. She made friends and introduced me to her circle. She effortlessly laid the social groundwork for me. Without her, I was just an invisible little girl, anxious to be included.

Last week we shared a beach house and restorative time at the ocean. As we prepared a meal together, she noticed an impudent cut mark thoughtlessly slipping out from under my watch. She asked, "What did you do to yourself there?" It was the wording that unsettled me. She did not ask, "What happened to you there?" She asked what I had done...as if she knew...suspected...whatever. You must know that I have never told her about my cutting. In fact, during the majority of my periods of self harm we have lived in different states...she has never been close enough to notice.

...but she asked...and what could I do except lie?

"A paper cut", I said.

"Right there?"

"Yes, from folding the labels at work...it's the way that I hold them."

How lame...but how could I tell her the truth? She is my little sister, and yes I still feel like I should protect her. What would she think? She would be so hurt. My pain would be her pain, and I cannot lay that burden upon her.

She may or may not have believed me. She was kind enough to drop the subject. I was not the same, however. I was angry at myself for not being more careful concealing my cuts and angry, of course for having indulged in the act in the first place.

Sadness Covers Me

I can't get over the sadness today. There is no anger this time - just sadness. The hang-your-head, don't-make-eye-contact, hide-from-the-world type.

EMDR really hurt yesterday, and I can't seem to pick myself back up. I know that I shouldn't be surprised...it hurts every time, but 48 hours ago I was fine. I miss happy, energetic me. I guess I forgot what it's like.

What I can't seem to be able to wrap my mind around is how I did not go with my stepfather during the memory. In reality this would have never happened. I always went with him. There was no other option. What I am having a difficult time with is that I do not feel good about not having gone with him. I do not feel big or strong about it.

In fact, I wonder if I was resisting the memory by not getting in the van with him. I would not have done it purposely, but I do remember it being incredibly difficult to get on board that train yesterday. Maybe I just could not go to that place in my mind. Maybe the little girl saying, "No, I won't go with you!" was just me saying I refuse to remember.

Either way, it was a hell of a session, but I gave it all I had and I refused to quit.

Bewildered

Bewildered...spaced out. I don't know how else to describe the feeling I felt after leaving EMDR today. I sat in my car staring at nothing for a while. I think I was afraid to drive. I had not felt this way after EMDR before. He always tells me that I can stay in the house for as long as I need to...I don't have to leave until I am ready, but most of the time I want to run away as quickly as possible. I'm not quite sure why. It's not that I don't feel safe there, it's just that I always want to run afterwards.

So I sat in my van until I was semiconscious. Then I drove...very carefully.

Now, where did I go during this train ride? It was different today (maybe because it had been such a long time since the last session). I had a difficult time "getting on" at first. I was avoiding it...too afraid. But I was at the same time determined, so I kept trying, though I got on board very slowly.

Eventually, I was there with my stepfather. Eventually, he was in the van coaxing me to come in and ride with him. The strange thing is that I did not go with him. I refused! In my mind I used expressions like, "Motherfucker, I am not going with you!" I was resolved to stand my ground this time. I crossed my arms and stomped my feet like a stubborn child. I kicked his van and yelled angrily, "I'm not going with you!"

I wondered how long it would last, how long I cold be strong, I wondered when I would give in and go with him...like I do. But I never did. Instead he started to become smaller and weaker, while I became bigger and stronger. Ultimately, he disappeared, and I was left alone...and somehow confused. I looked for the comfort of my mother, but I couldn't find her. A sinking sadness overtook me, as I realized there was no way to find her.

I know that my mother has not ever physically abandoned any of her children. Because she felt abandoned as a child, she had always ensured that all her children were physically with her when growing up. When we moved from our native country to the United States, she made sure we could all come together. We were never sent to boarding school or overnight summer camps or anything that would lead us to feel unwanted.

...It's just that little thing that she didn't mean to do. I know she couldn't help it if she didn't know, but somehow this little girl still wonders why she did not come save her all those scary nights. I still look for her and wonder where she is. On those frightening nights, I want to be able to reach out to her and find her.

So what do I do now as an adult and a mother? I want my kids to always be able to find me. When my son was still living at home, and before we all had cell phones, I had posted in his room a list of all the different locations where I worked and their phone numbers. On the kitchen calendar, I wrote were I was working every day.

Now, I never turn off my cell phone. It is the contact number that I provide for my daughters' school. If my husband and I go to the movies, and it must be set to vibrate, it sits on my lap where I am sure not to miss a call from them (or the babysitter). I leave my bedroom door open when I go to sleep. I want to be able to hear everything.

I suppose I'm like my mother in this way...compensating for what we feel we did not have. Anyway, I still feel strange even after all this writing. I want to sit somewhere quiet, close my eyes and just feel the feeling...not analyze it...just feel it and let it be.

The Writing, the Ocean and the Gingerbread Girl

Oh, how I missed my writing! Vacation was lovely. The only thing missing was...the writing. The only thing I longed for was this time of the night when I close the door behind me, and I am alone with my computer, my thoughts and my writing. What a delicious time this is. I just close my eyes and let the thoughts flow freely as I blindly type...the words come so much easier that way.

When packing for this trip, at the last minute I opted to not take the laptop with me. Although I imagined that I would want to write, I did not anticipate having the liberty to do so...and such was the case. Vacationing with two families of four hardly affords you the opportunity for private introspective time. When the urge just needed to be tamed, I slipped away to an ocean facing deck with the "Diary" app on my phone and let the rhythm of the ocean coax my thoughts onto that miniature device.

That ocean never disappoints. It delivers exactly the remedy that I go seeking. From the deck of a beach house or a chair on the sand, the lullaby of its washing on and off the shore renders peaceful repose. If it is my anger that needs expression, then a corrida with those magnificent waves usually tames that bull. I found myself diving through that animal and emerging on the other side, while it angrily crashed on the shore...I laughing madly and at the same time triumphantly as I wiped the brine from my face, like Lieutenant Dan in the storm scene from Forrest Gump shouting out, "Is that all you got?"

...but the ocean was not always angry, and I was not always angry. The best medicine this week was administered via a couple of little girls who played with me in the surf. My older daughter, finally a strong enough swimmer to flow with the ocean, frolicked in the waves right along with me. When I ran a mile and a half barefoot in the soft wet sand, she ran the first half mile with me...showing me that her strength and her determination match mine...any day!

My baby had been splashing on the shore with her daddy and was content...for a while, until she decided that watching her sister and two cousins having a ball chest deep in the ocean was no way to live life. She begged me to bring her in the water with me. Even after considering how easily this mighty ocean could carry her slight little body with it, the prospect of her maddening joy weighed my decision to bring her in. She wrapped her long thin limbs around my neck and my waist, and I held her tightly against me with one arm, while swimming and balancing with the other. I don't think I had ever seen this child so delighted. She screamed and laughed with her entire body, as we jumped to stay above the waves or surrendered to the ones that crashed over us.

Her face was next to mine, her tiny lips expressing her love in all the ways that they knew how. Because she had just snacked on gingersnaps on the shore, she herself smelled like a gingerbread girl that you just wanted to eat up!

...and it was with this gingerbread breath that she turned to me and whispered, "I am special."

Of course you are, my darling, of course you are...and don't ever let anyone convince you otherwise.