Merry Christmas

Trying desperately to keep her safe this holiday.

My virtual gift to you is that it gets better. Take all the respite you need, but don't give up. It gets better. You will love yourself again. You will be loved.

It gets better.

The Person of our Choosing

In an effort to practice some positive psychology, I completed the VIA character strength questionnaire and made this based on a chart in their sample 'pro' report. The 24 character strengths have been located on two spectrums according to 'research findings' (which means, view this with a huge grain of salt). I question the dualism of Heart vs Mind, but as always, it's worth it to reflect on my strengths, gain perspective, and increase my self-worth.

The brighter (whiter) the trait, the higher I scored:

As anticipated, the majority of my character strengths fall into the 'wisdom/knowledge' and 'transcendence' virtues (see classification here). I wasn't provided with numerical results in my free report, but I suspect there is a natural break after 'Humour and playfulness' where my strengths fall off to nothing. It bothers me that I lack strengths in humanity and temperance, as these are two areas I would love to have as strengths. I think they balance wisdom/knowledge and transcendence, and I want that balance. I'm working towards that balance.

1.Creativity, ingenuity, and originality: Thinking of new ways to do things is a crucial part of who you are. You are never content with doing something the conventional way if a better way is possible.

2.Appreciation of beauty and excellence: You notice and appreciate beauty, excellence, and/or skilled performance in all domains of life, from nature to art to mathematics to science to everyday experience.

3.Love of learning: You love learning new things, whether in a class or on your own. You have always loved school, reading, and museums-anywhere and everywhere there is an opportunity to learn.

4.Judgment, critical thinking, and open-mindedness: Thinking things through and examining them from all sides are important aspects of who you are. You do not jump to conclusions, and you rely only on solid evidence to make your decisions. You are able to change your mind.

5.Curiosity and interest in the world: You are curious about everything. You are always asking questions, and you find all subjects and topics fascinating. You like exploration and discovery.

6.Hope, optimism, and future-mindedness
7.Perspective (wisdom)
8.Fairness, equity, and justice
9.Kindness and generosity
10.Forgiveness and mercy
11.Humour and playfulness
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12.Caution, prudence, and discretion
13.Leadership
14.Bravery and valour
15.Honesty, authenticity, and genuineness
16.Industry, diligence, and perseverance
17.Social intelligence
18.Zest, enthusiasm, and energy
19.Citizenship, teamwork, and loyalty
20.Gratitude
21.Modesty and humility
22.Self-control and self-regulation
23.Spirituality, sense of purpose, and faith
24.Capacity to love and be loved

It is hard to accept that I am not, nor can be, everything. Perfect. My brain says of course not, but my feelings feel something different entirely. This dissonance is only a good thing. It means I am listening. It means I can hear. It means I can respond. It means I can choose differently.

I wasn't born broken.

This week, I bravely asked my GP to refer me back to the local mental health services, keeping true to my word that I would access help when I needed it. After stumbling out of psychotherapy this August, I managed to cope with establishing a new relationship with my parents, separating from my husband, losing close friends, and starting a masters in psychoanalysis. Oh, and the on-going infertility.

In actuality, I have asked for psychotherapy again because I'm moving forward, not sliding backwards. I'm meeting my therapeutic goals so well that I am increasingly overwhelmed by the emotional content of my increasingly authentic life. It's shocking how much anxiety I live with on a daily basis. The flashbacks continue as usual. I take the psychotic blips seriously. I am doing everything I can to avoid a crisis.

I am ready to process the trauma. I am sitting with as much as I can bear. The suicidal feelings (which I never talk about, lest I worry you) have been exceptionally strong lately. I know there is more under the surface that I can't cope with alone and that's why my body hides it away. I need help to move forward safely. I need help from someone who is familiar with dissociation -- who is smart enough to keep up with me, confident enough to challenge my defenses, and kind enough to sit with my frustration and fear.

I know I don't live a 'chaotic life' compared to many (most?) people with personality or dissociative disorders. I don't abuse drugs, cut myself, go off work with chronic sickness, behave aggressively towards others, abuse children, steal or drink or smoke... . I pay my bills. I say sorry. I do my best. I cling to this acceptable life, this sense of normality, as though it were my second skin.

But this method of coping makes you happier at my expense.
It makes YOU feel safer, at my expense.

I'm no trouble, no trouble at all. Until you put me in that chair. Until you close the door, sit down, and ask me "How are you today?" with your constant eyes.

I know the statistics. I know what happens to people like me. We go quietly, unexpectedly, in the night. No word, no warning -- just a sensible, selfish choice. You weep. You wonder. Some feel guilty. Some feel sad. Some feel angry. Someday, forgotten.

I have a quiet word with myself.

Yes, this feels awful.
Yes, dying is a solution. But we know this feeling doesn't last. And even if it did, I wonder what would happen if we did sit with this feeling. Living is the only way to find out.

I take death off the table by simultaneously tapping into my masochism and my thirst for knowledge. For good reason. So many people say we are fixed -- at conception, at birth, at two, at ten, at adulthood. But I can't believe that. It will take a lifetime of fighting this for me to finally concede. But I won't concede, not to the last moment, because...

I wasn't born broken.

The world around me changes and, dammit, so can I. I can turn this chaos into a symphony, one of MY choosing, not my parents', not my peers', not my teachers', not my managers', not my neighbours', not my husband's, not my therapists' and not yours. It's worth the pain, the despair, the anxiety, and the grief. It's worth a lifetime of wanting to die, because at the end at least I'll be able to say I did everything in my power to live.

The people do not speak.

Exhibit A - [First written aged 13, edited yearly thereafter]

No one can take it. They say no one understands.
But it’s rotting here inside me.
Why can’t you understand?

It’s been four five six seven eight long years. I’m weak with hunger.
I’ve been holding up too long. Help me. I know you’re strong.

I’ve been tortured with my memory. Starved of things I deserve.
And I’m stuck here on this land. Do you still not understand?

I’ve been thrown out of my home, sent to live on streets.
Pushed and beaten by fellow peers, watching them accomplish feats.
I’ve been mocked. Held before a jury.
But yet... no trial.

Their faces grew cold with callous hate. A verdict was said.
I was then thrown away, guilty of my crime.
My heart was as heavy as lead and just as hard.

Nothing changes.

I’m still stuck here on this land.
Can you now understand?

I once said I could forgive the Judge who sent me here.
But then I thought of the life I’ve lived
and still hated, this time without fear.

I am still thinking:
What time am I going?
Is this ever going to end?

Then I wake and I see:
I am stuck here on this land. Me.

Do you now understand?

Can you not see?
There is hurt rotting inside me.

There is a reason my poetry flows like this, because when I write (even when I write this) that's what I hear: beats, sounds, and a chorus of interjected replies. I hear music when I see words. I feel emotions as I hear music -- sometimes chaotic, sometimes harmonious.

When I speak to the public (and I'm motivated, present & prepared), I have been called hypnotic, charismatic, beautiful, memorable, inspirational, true. I am good at many things, but I know if ever I had talent, it blossoms there: in orchestrating those moments, in words following words, in pauses, in heartbeats, in tears, in the change in pitch a smile makes. In grabbing your attention, I pull at your emotions as though you were an instrument and the feelings invoked inside you were chords, played to the beat of my words. It is intimacy from afar.

But that isn't why I'm sharing these now. I'm sharing these now because once upon a time, this girl hiding inside me wasn't hiding. Once upon a time, I tried to explain. I tried to put words to feelings, where there had been no words before. I grabbed the apple. Original sin.

In my mirrorless world, I closed my eyes and tried to picture me.


Exhibit B: [First written aged 17]

It is a forest in my dreams
and a lake covered with broken ice
I’m sailing through the bitter air
The world is still
The people do not speak
and my feet crumble the falling leaves into dust.

The sky is clear, a crystallized blue-grey,
and water floods through the land,
soaking the mountains.
I swim through the air
A sharp contrast from reality
My unconscious controls
in my dreams
and chooses silence above voice
winter before fire

unrestrained
in my dreams

I awaken to a heart beating
and nature is singing
Civilization is pulsating
Passion inflames and enslaves
Reality becomes a musical
a tragedy, a comedy, a history…
set to the music of life.
The people… they speak.
My heart beats.
I follow its song.

unrestrained

Beyond the limits of my feet,
crumbling the grass to dust,
and my hands
They chill the water to ice.
I kneel, pressing to the ground
The beat slows
My skin embraces the chilled purity,
My soul cleansed.
Enter the silence
in my dreams
deaf to reality
deaf to the world
unrestrained

"The world is still / The people do not speak"
My wish, fulfilled.

My christmas wish.

I wish that someone could have helped my family.

I wish that someone could have helped my dad and mum learn to regulate themselves so they weren't so stressed. Because then my brother and I would have learned how to regulate ourselves, and we wouldn't have been so stressed. We wouldn't have had to hide all of our problems away from each other, which was kind enough in its own way, because we knew we couldn't handle it. We couldn't handle each other.

And if we didn't hide all of our problems away from each other and if we weren't so stressed all the time, we could've enjoyed ourselves more. We could've spent more time together. We could have appreciated the moments we had. We could have known and appreciated the people we were. We could've helped to build each other's resilience and strength.... instead of re-traumatising each other every chance we got.

We could have been a family.

I haven't been writing, but the words are still in me.

I broke through the pause, that trick only psychotherapists seem to know: silent waiting. I fell for it, hook line sinker. I fell into that silence. I wanted to fight my automatic rejection of her. I wanted her to know me.

"Last week was over-whelming."

Her eyebrows raised. She leaned back in her chair, smiling, always that cheshire cat smile. "Oh?"

I looked at the table, the empty chairs, and remembered. The tupperware container of cake. The sticky fingers. The smiles. The praise. The friendly interest. The gratitude. The appreciation.

"Everyone.." I lingered in my memory, seeing the curve of a smile, eyes meeting mine. "Everyone was so kind." A grunt of pleasure as he bites into the cake, half-shouted through the wall as he walked out of the room. "..with their thanks, their.." My memories harmonised with my voice. "Gratitude. Appreciation." I held myself still.

Her own eyes broke through, her forehead tensed. "It was genuine." Her voice drew up like a wall. "You brought cake in, and they appreciated it."

I drew up like a wall, drawing my words back like arrows pointed through slits. "It's not about the cake. I don't..." I sighed. I glanced back, pain rippling across my face with a breath. "I didn't even like the cake. Not as much as them." The white, thick frosting I couldn't digest. "They were kind. It was overwhelming. They were so friendly to me."

She looked at me with concern. Confusion, interest, waiting.

"I'm just not used to it." The memories rolled around me like a cannonball, slowing me down. I glanced at her, my eyes milky with pain, and met her focus with a smile. "It's like we discussed earlier. There are babies of all sorts." The papers fluttered and my vision went white-black-white. "I'm one of those who can't take it in. I'm one of those babies who can't take the happy in." Do you understand what I'm saying?

I take her in.

My heaviness became hers. Her once-quick response takes a moment longer. A moment too long.

With habit, instinct, fear, I move in to contain the unsaid with a rush: "I know I need to let it in." I know. "I know I need to take it in." I'm trying. "I'm trying." I'm trying. Please don't give up on me.

Her words, unheard. Her smile, shaped by relief, masking concern. Her eyes, glassy.

And suddenly I see. This defense is for me. They are defending against me. They are trying to make room, but their eyes, their questions, there is something more there: something uncomfortable, something afraid, something unsure. Something unknowing.

My heart begins adding up the aches. This watching, it goes both ways. And I see you, too. You give me less, but I was raised on neglect. I am trained to see between the lines.

I still see you.

She leaves without saying good-bye, her back to me, moving in a different direction.

Through the darkest of your days...

I know now, just quite how
My life and love might still go on
In your heart, in your mind
I'll stay with you for all of time