It's all true. #reallife #PTSDrecovery #endometriosis #depression

Yesterday, I went fishing. I posted a picture on Facebook of a beautiful cutthroat trout I caught. The picture shows his impressive coloring and length. The picture doesn't show much of my face, because despite the fact that I had just caught a 26" cut throat trout in a small lake in some of the most beautiful country there is, I had just  been fighting back tears, because I was tired and discouraged and depressed.




We had hiked a mile in to the lake, and it took everything I had to keep trudging up and down the hill. I'd cried before we left, because I felt discouraged that I wasn't excited for this great day of enjoying the beautiful outdoors. All I really wanted to do was go back to bed.

I wanted to enjoy fishing, but I was in pain, and that pain has me so discouraged and depressed. It's hard to enjoy fishing or hiking when it feels like I have a hot poker stabbing my bladder, which causes weird cramping to radiate down my legs, up my back and stomach, and I generally feel unwell and tired.

A few weeks before that, I posted a picture of myself on Sunny. I rode him around our two acre pasture for less than twenty minutes, and then had to get off because I was in enough pain that I was near tears and it wasn't fun... and this is my horse, and I love this horse, but it wasn't fun riding him. I only got twenty minutes in and my body decided that was enough. Again - hot poker stabbing my bladder which is extra triggered by sitting in a saddle (or on any hard surface). The muscles get tight and then I'm sore all over.

This week my blood pressure has randomly decided to drop to unhealthy lows. It could be medications I am on. It could just be chronic pain (it turns out that does funny things to the brain and the body). It could be something else completely unrelated, but it means I have spent a lot of time laying down because I feel shitty.

I also work at a job where I can do some of what I need to do while laying down on my couch (as long as I can focus on a computer screen, which wasn't possible every day last week). When I can't work, I have a great partner who takes over and does both of our jobs - and he's had to do that a lot over the last seven months. I'm so lucky. I don't know what I would do if I just had to show up for work anyway - I have worked when I was sick. I remember what it was like to lay on the bathroom floor, dry heaving and vomiting, and then trying to go back to my desk as if I was fine. This new lifestyle is much better.

I had pretty major surgery seven months ago - it turns out that can take a long time to recover from. I have the money and the time to go to doctors, specialists, physical therapists, more doctors, and psychotherapists to help me get through all of this. I also have an amazing partner who says he'd bring me flowers if he thought I'd appreciate them. (He bought me a new fly line. As soon as I'm excited to fish again, that's be way better than flowers.) I am so lucky. I'm in debt now - which I wasn't at the beginning of the year, but I paid cash for the first couple thousand dollars. I have insurance which thus far (just this year) has covered $49,000 worth of hospital/doctor bills. I have no idea what I would have done without insurance and money.

I have family who care. Todd's sister hasn't been real healthy either (cancer followed by Myesthenia Gravis, if you don't know what it is, feel free to look it up. I didn't know until she educated me. For her, it mostly causes her a lot of pain and fatigue.), so we had a movie day where we sat and ate popcorn and fell asleep to the movie Zootopia.

My dad has been dealing with chronic pain for way WAY too long, so he's been giving me advice and support. And the rest of the family doesn't know what to do, but I feel supported, so that's good.

I am regularly using Valium suppositories - which aren't supposed to be absorbed into the blood stream - they're just supposed to be absorbed into the pelvic floor muscles to help relax them. I feel embarrassed to talk about taking this medication - as if I should be ashamed of it. I feel both glad it helps and a little upset that it seems to be causing me other issues: like dizziness and low blood pressure and possibly depressive symptoms.

I spend two hours a week with a physical therapist's hand in my vagina. She's stretching muscles, breaking up scar tissue, trying to get my bladder and bowels and everything to move around like it's supposed to. It hurts like hell - it is also super triggering. I no longer cry or freak out, but I also feel like that doesn't necessarily mean I'm okay with it all. It's a constant reminder of what I've been through. I can't escape the pain or the memories, because they are always there. Which sucks. While PTSD has not taken over my life now like it once did, it is now a constant companion again. I hate that. It makes me sad and angry, and afraid. My present life is good, and yet I can't get away from the life that I only barely survived once. I never EVER wanted to say that PTSD was something I had to deal with again, but I am.

I'm having nightmares a lot. I wake up crying - afraid that the life I have built with Todd has somehow been taken away and I am back with Larry trying to make things work - or trying to survive the hell that marriage to him was, but in my nightmares, now I remember what it's like to have a supportive partner and a home I love and my dog and cat and horses, and I wake up sobbing because I feel so sad for the girl that survived because she didn't know there was anything better.

I have a great therapist, and we spend a lot of time sitting in her office while I cry and she tells me that she is sad for what I've been through. A few months ago, she sent me this meme:

"I am strong, but I am tired."
My therapist's way of validating all of the work I have done and am doing, while also validating that it's okay to be tired too.

I had to have bowels, rectum, colon, and a bunch of other internal structures completely reconstructed because the endometriosis lesions and adhesion's had damaged so much of my body. I had at least nine doctors dismiss my pain because it was just caused by sexual abuse. If it weren't for all of the abuse I had endured, maybe someone would have caught the endometriosis years earlier, and the surgery would have been much less invasive. (And recovery much easier.) I'm angry at the men that abused me. I'm angry at the doctors that dismissed me. I'm angry at the system that failed me. For now, that anger motivates me to get up and go to the next appointment, try the next medication, try the next supplement, do the next exercise (physical as well as therapeutic), or whatever else I need to try to make my life what I want it to be. Sometimes my anger also motivates me to swear and throw things, but nothing breakable - at least not yet.

I'm discouraged. I'd thought I'd feel better by now. I thought surgery would have healed most of it, and five months of physical therapy would have healed the rest. I didn't plan on the extra trips back to the doctor or to the specialists or the kidney stones. I thought this summer would be a lot more fun, but it's been a lot of trying really hard to enjoy things I used to enjoy, but really just wanting to take a nap.

Last week, I tried what the doctor thought would be a for sure fix - steroids and numbing injections directly into the vaginal wall (where it meets the bladder wall). It numbed things for about four hours, except it felt like I was being stabbed with a needle when I peed. (Luckily that went away at about the same time the numbing went away, so... I don't know what all of that means.)

I'm depressed. I know what depression feels like - it could be a menopausal symptom. I did have my uterus, cervix, both tubes, and an ovary removed. I imagine that can mess with hormones enough to make me depressed. I also imagine everything I'm going through physically and mentally could make me depressed too. Whatever is causing it, I have it. Which also means I now have to be very aware that I don't have an appetite and I have to eat anyway. (For some people depression makes them eat more. I am not one of those people.)

I'm also fascinated. I know a lot about my body and medications and side effects and doses that I did not know last year. Science and nature are all very fascinating, and the art of treating people like me is amazing.

On Facebook, I spend most of my time posting about my dog. (Did I tell you about our foster dog?) Or my cat. Or the horses. Or the flowers blooming in the yard. Or my niece and nephew or Todd's grandkids. Or fishing. I love all of those things, and I want to share those things.

Me with my niece and nephew.
They're both a lot bigger now -
this was taken at Christmas time.

 

Grandpa Todd with me and the newest grandson.
(There will be another new grandson in a few more weeks.)

Our foster dog - which we plan to adopt as soon as they let us.
Also, my cat, who hasn't decided how she feels about the dog yet.

Grandpa and I with the newest new grandson at the time. He only got to be the youngest for about three weeks.

There's not pictures where I'm not smiling,
because camera! And I guess I really do prefer
sugar coating things and making them look
happy, but here's to real life.
And sometimes life hurts.

 I also feel tired. I'm in pain. And I'm so very very tired. I don't want to be a drain, and I also want to be honest. I don't like pretending everything is wonderful when it isn't. I'd rather be real.

I have heard one can't feel contradicting emotions at the same time. That is false. I am happy and sad. I am grateful and grumpy. I am so angry and hurt, and I have compassion for those I'm angry at. I am hopeful and afraid. I am discouraged and have faith. I'm in pain and I still rode the horse and caught a beautiful fish. Really - I don't think it gets more real life than that.

So, here's to not sugar coating life, and just showing how it is. It's beautiful and painful and worth living.

"Don't ask me. Tell me. You're the boss." #pelvicfloorphysicaltherapy #endometriosis #PTSD

Three months ago, I had a complete hysterectomy and endometriosis excision surgery. The doctor didn't know how extensive the endometriosis was until he got in. My bladder, bowel, colon, rectum, left tube, left ovary, and uterus were all fused together in one big clump. There were several other spots of endometriosis spread throughout my pelvic and abdominal areas. It was a pretty extensive surgery, and it's taken a while to heal.

There are a lot of things that have improved since my surgery.
I no longer have pain so bad that I feel nauseated. I no longer spend a few days vomiting during my period.
I don't have a period.
The intense pain (felt like a hot poker stabbing my insides) is gone.
I don't feel the burning/urgency/painful cramping whenever my bladder is full or while peeing or after I've peed. It used to feel like I had a UTI all the time, but I don't feel that way anymore.

I still have some bowel issues that weren't there before the surgery, but since I had major surgery on my bowels, it's apparently normal. It takes time for those things to heal.
I also still feel exhausted a lot. I no longer take a nap everyday, but I feel like I still could if I had the chance.

I still have a constant aching, burning, uncomfortable pressure pain throughout my whole pelvic region. That combined with the fatigue I still have since the surgery has been discouraging. Last week, I spoke with the surgeon again. He told me I should be feeling better by now, and suggested I give physical therapy a try to see if that could help me. He also said it could help with preventing more adhesions (scar tissue) from sticking to my organs and muscles. Scar tissue can cause the organs to stick together in the same way endometriosis did. If it got bad enough, I'd have to have surgery again to fix it. Physical therapy can help break up the scar tissue and keep the organs moving in the way they should.

Pelvic floor physical therapy was not my idea of fun. It sounded AWFUL. Besides the fact that physical therapy of any kind is generally painful and difficult, I have a history of sexual abuse. I have been diagnosed with PTSD, and anything that feels anything like being sexually abused felt, triggers reactions in my brain and body. PTSD makes it hard for me to know if I am in the present (with a doctor that can help me) or in the past (with a man who is raping me). As far as my body and brain are concerned, I FEEL like I am being raped. I am in the past. I can see the things I saw then. I can hear the noises of the fan whirring above the bed, and his grunting. I can feel the pain of being raped or the suffocation of having a pillow over my face. I feel scared and alone and betrayed and disgusting and disgusted. I feel so many things that I can't come back to the present without a lot of work and usually some help.

Pelvic floor physical therapy uses both internal and external muscle manipulation. It's like a regular exam on steroids - and I have never done well with regular exams.

I was afraid to go, but I also want to feel better... Really better. I want to be able to go to work, or fishing, or horseback riding, or to sit on my couch and watch TV, and not think about being in pain. It's exhausting to be in pain, and it takes a lot of energy.  If there's a chance I don't have to live like that, I want to do whatever I can to take that chance.

Pelvic floor dysfunction can be caused by a lot of things.
Chronic pain from endometriosis can be a cause. Surgery (hysterectomy or the extensive excision) can also cause it. Sexual abuse can also be a cause.
It could also be caused by pregnancy, miscarriage, sitting too much, exercising too much, poor posture, etc.

(In other words - I have a lot of things that could cause it, and they probably all contributed to where I'm at today.)

I had my first physical therapy appointment yesterday. I was scared out of my mind. I asked Todd to come with me. I made the decision that I wasn't ready to do any kind of internal work yet. As I was filling out the paperwork before meeting with the therapist, I was trying not to cry or panic or run away.

Then I met her.
She asked me about my pain. She asked me to describe it. She asked me what has helped, what has made it worse, what other doctors and professionals have told me, and she told me it usually took a woman seeing at least seven doctors before they got to her. (I counted. I have been to eight doctors for pelvic pain. The last two were helpful. Everyone else was dismissive.)

She showed me some stretches to do. She reminded me the importance of breathing deeply (diaphragm breathing). Then she handed me a sheet and told me she liked to do both internal and extrernal work.

"Is it okay if we just start with external for now?" I asked, very timidly.

She responded, "Of course! Don't ask me. Tell me. You're the boss. It's your body - I'm just here to help you."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and gladly got on the table where she massaged my incision scars and tested to see how tight my stomach and back muscles were. She had me move in different positions as she massaged and moved different parts of me. I learned about fascia, which I was unfamiliar with before. She talked a lot about teaching my body to send new signals to my brain, because the cause of the pain was gone - but my body didn't know that yet.

I walked away feeling hopeful. I still don't want to go through the physical therapy. It still sounds awful. I still think I will have a really hard time with it, and I will probably get triggered in a way that will leave me feeling awful on more than one occasion. I also know enough about recovery and PTSD and myself to know that I can handle it... And the only way out of the pain is to go through it.

So... here I go... through pain. Twice a week for at least the next month.

It wasn't all in my head! #endometriosis #adenomyosis

It's done. Yesterday I had my uterus, cervix, Fallopian tubes, and left ovary removed. This morning I am laying in a hospital bed waiting for the nurse to let me get up and move around. Then I will be waiting for the doctor to give me the okay to go home.

I haven't talked to the doctor yet - my surgery was schedule to be an hour and a half. It took him three hours. I had endometriosis.

My uterus, colon, left Fallopian tube, and left ovary were all covered in endometriosis adhesions and twisted and fused together. As the doctor was telling Todd all that I had cut out, Todd's main thought was, "No wonder she was in so much pain."

I went to several doctors who all told me my pain was psychosomatic. I really thought it was in my head, and I was worried I'd get into surgery and the doctor would find nothing wrong with me.

What a relief to know there was disease, and the surgeon cut it out, so hopefully once I recover from the pain of surgery, there will be no more pain.

The pain has changed a little with surgery, but it's no worse than what I was living with almost everyday. (There's an incision in my belly button, and that hurts. The other three incisions don't hurt at all.)

The other cool thing about this experience: I was able to talk about PTSD and anxiety, AND I was able to ask for help. As I was coming out of anesthesia, I was in pain and felt panicked. I was able to tell the nurse, "I have PTSD from being raped, and I'm having a hard time right now. Can you talk to me to help me stay here in the present. My brain thinks I'm being raped again."

She brought me a pillow to hug and then talked to me. She asked me about where I live and what I do for a living and told me stories about herself. It didn't take too long for me to get grounded and be okay enough.

I'm really excited to see evidence of how much better I am than I was just a year ago.

I bought a house, and all of the other new stuff in my life.

I used to use writing on this blog to process things, but I haven't done that for a while. Mostly, because there are a million things I would rather do than try to process some of my thoughts.

I'd rather go fishing.

Beautiful fish - I caught this one in Wyoming on the Salt Creek

 Or riding.

Sunny and I. I like to ride him bareback, but I forgot about that for a while. (I'm glad I remember again.)

Or go to work.

Our booth at a tradeshow in Austin, Texas.

Or visit with old friends I haven't seen in SEVEN years.

Awfully nice that we could have a tradeshow in Austin, when Amanda lives just two hours away from there.

I'd rather do yard work or organize my new house - did I tell you we bought a house? It's a log cabin in the mountains with property surrounding us for our three horses.

My house in the mountains.

We have three horses now.

Three horses. Sunny, Bo, Tii

Did I tell you we adopted a wild mustang? He was born in the wild, rounded up with his mother when he was about six months, and we adopted him when he was about a year and a half. He is now two, and we are working with him to be able to ride him when he's four or five.

Tii, the "wild" horse that likes to eat hats and cell phones.

I'd rather spend time with Todd's grandkids, because they are adorable, and a ton of fun to be with.

They are a year apart, and still about the same size.

Hiking with two of the six. We spend a lot of time with these two since they are close to us.

 Or with my new nephew. Did I tell you I have a new nephew? He's also adorable, and I love him.

This kid is already super spoiled, and he's barely three months old.

Oh look - my hair is short. I cut ten inches of it off a few months ago. Side note: Do you know why it took so long for me to cut it. I had an ex-husband tell me I was too fat to have short hair, and I believed him (somewhere deep down where I didn't really think about it), so I felt like I had to keep ti longer. Faced that fear, and now it's short.

My hair: ten inches shorter than when I woke up that day.

Or play in the orchestra - Did I tell you I joined a new orchestra? At our first concert, we had five violin players (total). We've grown a little: We are up to ten violin players when everyone shows up. (Plus three violas, two cellos, and a bass, AND two flute players.)

Paradise Valley Orchestra - our first concert.

I've been a part of this symphony for five years now. I really love it.

Life is good, so when things come up, I think about writing, but I have enough other things to keep me distracted. I keep being distracted.

So now you have the update of the fun stuff... stay tuned for some processing in my next entry. (Unless of course I get too distracted and never write it.)

Living IS the point.

I got this in an email from a friend. He's been depressed lately, and he's trying to figure out why (and how to get over it.)

"I think the root of the whole problem is that I don't have a good answer to the question, "What's the point?" It seems to me that we're born, and then we live and then we die. It seems so unfair. Makes me want to cry.

So, I'm wondering if you've answered that question. If so, what's your answer? More importantly, what has been your process to answer that question? I know my answer will be different than yours, so while I'm interested in your answer, I'm much, much more interested in your process (assuming you've taken the time to answer that question since leaving the church)."

What's the point?

My only thought: LIVING is the point. We're born. We LIVE.

And the process I followed to get that answer?
I really didn't have to answer the question AFTER I left the church, because leaving was just part of the process.

As a member of the church, I was told what the point and purpose to my life should be. I was told "the plan", and I was told that plan was the ONLY plan that would bring happiness in this life and the next. I was told I was lucky to know "the plan", because most people on the planet don't know.

I didn't feel lucky... I felt like a square peg trying to force myself into a round hole. I felt depressed and anxious and miserable. So many things that I'd been taught just didn't make sense to me. The reality I saw didn't fit the ideals that I'd heard. I spent my life doing a list of things TRYING to make my life happy, but the list just made me more and more miserable.

Much of "the plan" left me feeling miserable and hopeless in this life, but there was always the idea that if I just "endured", then at least the next life wouldn't be so bad. For a while, I dreamed of dying, because at least death would mean "going home" to a place where I felt safe and loved and happy.

One of the most important moments in my life was when I realized that if I was miserable trying to be in the church today, what would make me think I would be happy living this plan for all eternity? Everything I'd been taught about the Celestial Kingdom just made me believe it would be MORE of the temple. MORE church. MORE of the worst kinds of members. (I actually said, "If that's who is going to be in heaven, send me to HELL!") More of the things that made this life feel barely bearable.

The day I realized that death wouldn't bring me to the happiness I wanted, I started taking responsibility for finding happiness today. I stopped dreaming of death, because I wanted to find a way to live.

One of my therapy assignments was to list my passions and values. (They asked for the top three... but since it's my blog, I don't have to follow their rules.)
Exploring. Learning new things. Discovering new places.
Love. Loving myself. Loving others. Loving the world around me. Loving what I do. Finding things, people, places that I love.
Nature/Spirituality. Being in the places that I feel most at peace (mountains). Finding the connection that I have to the world I live in. Following the deepest part of myself.
Leadership and Integrity. Being ME. Showing others that it is okay to be themselves through my willingness to be me. Facing my fears, so others will know they can too. Being open and honest, so others won't feel as alone, and so I won't feel so alone.
Change. Making the world a better place. Using my voice and my talents to improve the world. NOT for some grand reward in the next life, but just because I CAN.


So, what's the point?

Talk to friends. Watch TV. Play the violin. Ride a horse. Eat salmon tacos. Count the blades of grass. Watch the clouds in the sky. Go fishing. Drive. Write a book. Read a book. Play a game. Kiss someone you love. Watch a child grow. Decorate your house. Buy new furniture. Watch an ant carry a crumb. Work. Make a living. Find a way to contribute to the world around you. Smile. Cry. Laugh. Hate. Love. Think. Play the piano. Sing. Dance. Go scuba diving. Feel the rain on your cheeks. Splash in the puddles. Go rock climbing. Sit on the porch. Take a nap in the hammock. Watch a lightening storm. Go for a walk. Play with a goat. Train a dog. Pet a cat. Grow out your hair. Cut it short. Go to school. Family. Talk to someone older than you. Talk to someone younger than you. Watch a child learn. Listen to music. Paint a picture. Create a sculpture. Go on a cruise. Write letters. Invent something that has never been invented. Sleep. Memorize a poem. Share ideas. Catch a snake. Try new foods. Watch the snow fall. Study each flake. Smell the clean clothes when you take them out of the dryer. Smell the sweat when you work hard. Feed the horses. Fix the fences. Get hurt. Heal. Sit by the fireplace. Take pictures. Listen to the birds. Watch ice form and melt. Play chess. Write a program. Plant a garden. Learn to play the guitar. Think about learning to play the guitar, but never take the dang thing out of it's case. Disagree. Hug. Feel. Just BE.

See what you can see. Learn what you can learn. Live as much as you can live.
And one day, die... and then find out whatever it is that comes next.

From Present (Future?) Me to Past Me: The only way out is through.

I started this blog for two reasons:
For me. I wanted a place where I could write down my thoughts, my feelings, and just be me. I was so used to hiding behind my own smile and pretending to be someone I wasn't, it was nice to just be able to write down my own thoughts.


For someone like me. When I started my journey to healing, I searched the internet looking for someone who had been through abuse and PTSD and survived. I wanted to find someone who could tell me I was going to be okay. There was a way out. I didn't find anything like that. When things got really bad, I'd think about what it would be like to have someone to talk to.

I pictured meeting me in the future: Future Me had been through hell. Future Me had survived months of not sleeping, Flashbacks, Nightmares, Night terrors, Pseudo-seizures, Dissociation, Pain, Body Memories, Crazy thinking, All of the emotions, The heartache, The loneliness, The suicidal thoughts and plans, The eating disorder, and everything else. Future Me had not only survived, she was happy and healthy and loving life. She would tell me it was going to be okay. She'd tell me there was a way out, and that I just needed to keep walking this path. She'd tell me I'd be okay.


I pictured myself as Future Me. Writing in my blog, and someone like Past Me would happen upon it and feel less alone. Less afraid. Hopeful.



So, for that person, I'd like to say:

If you think you are being selfish for not taking someone's abuse, you're wrong. If you think that you have to take abuse and ridicule because that makes you a good (wife, husband, person, etc.), you are wrong. If someone tells you they love you but you have to change, that is not love. That is manipulation. If someone tells you that no one could love you, they are lying!! That is abuse. Don't stick around and take it. There are people who will love YOU. I don't know who they are or where you will find them, and I know they exist.


You've spent a long time adapting to abuse. You've convinced yourself that's what you deserve... or that is love... or making excuses for the other person... or making excuses why you have to stay... or...

The truth is, there is a whole world out there that is light and beautiful and wonderful.
You know how to find your way. It feels impossible, but the truth is all there inside you. Trust yourself. You know the way.

And when I was in the worst of it, I repeated this line to myself over and over and over:
The only way out is through. The only way out is through. The only way out is through.

It worked. I got through it. I'm happy. I'm healthy. I am way more than okay.
You'll be okay too.

I'm not just talking about the trees

I just got back from an amazing trip to Yellowstone National Park. (I'll probably upload a bunch of pictures and write about it later...)

While there, I hiked along the rim of the Yellowstone Grand Canyon. Everything was beautiful, breathtaking, and amazing.

This tree caught my eye:

Here's a closeup of the roots:

There is no reason why that tree should still be standing, let alone growing. But it is.

Looking at this tree, I felt inspired.
Even when there was no ground left beneath it; even when it could have let go and gone tumbling down the hill; even when there were other trees dying around it. Somehow, it found a way to hang on, and even grow.

Just a couple of years ago, I needed evidence that I could survive the hell I was in. I paid attention to the trees growing out of solid rock, or with no ground beneath them, or twisted to find some sunlight, or any number of things that should kill a tree, and I'd feel hopeful. I knew I could survive.

I don't need evidence like that anymore. I have no doubt that I will not only survive, but I will thrive. Life will be good - I already know that, because it IS good.

I still love the tremendous beauty of the survivors. The ones that are still here. The ones that have faced things that no one should ever have to face. The ones who grew around it. The ones that found a way to not only survive, but thrive and grow. I admire their twists, their exposed roots, their knots, and bumps, and all of the beautifully unique results of surviving something that no one should survive.

To the survivors: you are beautiful. you are strong. you are amazing. Thank you for the beauty you bring to this world. You inspire me.

I'm here. Now what?

I woke up this morning with a strange feeling. I don't know how to describe it other than, "I'm here."

I remember being in a group at CFC where they asked us to define what recovery would like. How would we know when we were recovered?

My answer was, "When I love myself more than I hate myself."
I've been there for a while. I feel a lot of love for me. And I don't think I ever hate myself... I get caught up in old stories sometimes, but it doesn't feel like the hatred and self-loathing I have felt.

When Paul and I talked about what healing from abuse would look like. I told him I wanted to be free of flashbacks, nightmares, and body memories. (I made sure to differentiate. I don't want to know how to cope with them. I want them GONE!)

I'm not completely free. I am still dealing with body memory pain on occasion. I still have nightmares about once a week. The pseudo-seizures are completely gone. Flashbacks have changed so completely that although I still have moments where I am thrown back to the past, they last for a few seconds, and then I remember where I am, when I am, and I figure that will keep changing until one day I will remember what happened, but not go back there, even for a few seconds. (Not sure if that makes sense. It makes sense in my own head.)

I started this blog because I was SO busy pretending, I needed a place where I could find me. Figure out who I was. Talk about the pain, the abuse, the miracles.

My own family had NO clue that Larry was ever abusive, and very little clue about how my relationship with Dann really was. They had no idea who I was. They had no idea how much pain I was in, or the battle I was waging. They had no idea what I thought about anything, because I never shared. That's different now. I talk pretty openly about what I think, feel, and my experiences. I don't hide or pretend. I have many friends who know ME. I am not in hiding anymore. I am pretty much the same everywhere I go.

I also now stand up for myself. I'm still learning what that really looks like, but I'm not afraid to say, "I don't like that." I'm not afraid to walk away from a situation that is harmful to me. I'm not afraid to say, "No," well... at least I'm less afraid to say no than I ever have been before.

So, now what?
I've been fighting with everything I have to get to this place. I don't think I ever really believed I would get here. I thought I would be fighting for the rest of my life... so, really, now what?

What do I do next? I know I'm not done learning or growing or changing or progressing. I am just not sure what I want.
What do I want this blog to look like? The intro at the top no longer fits. I'm definitely not done blogging... I really like writing. It is still incredibly helpful to me, and I love getting feedback and hearing other people's thoughts and insights. I'm not done... I just feel like there's a change coming.

I'm excited. A little nervous. Full of hope, wonder, joy, and gratitude.
I'm only 32. There's a whole lot of life ahead of me. And it can be anything I want it to be.
This is just cool.

Happy New Year

The other day, The Reader posted a blog entry about New Years Resolutions. Last year, I re-posted Beautiful You's blogs on New Years Dieting (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)Part 3 was my favorite. She talked about balance. Finding balance in ALL areas of our lives.

In the past, I was one of those that made HUGE lists of resolutions, and I actually stuck to a lot of them, but still felt miserable. (Something about how no accomplishment was ever enough to make me feel good about myself.)

Around January - February of this year, there were two things that seemed really important for me to do:
1. I was going to stop forcing myself to do anything that I didn't want to do. This wasn't easy. We live in a world where we are SUPPOSED to put our wants and needs aside and do what everyone else wants. I was raised in a church that almost had me believing that wanting anything was wrong. And if I just did what I wanted, I was absolutely positive the sun would explode and everyone would die. I was so afraid that if I only did what I wanted, I would be a really horrible, selfish, mean, awful person. That lead me to the second thought:

2. I wasn't going to let fear and guilt run my life. I had no idea what that would look like, but I was absolutely sure I wanted to change my life. If doing what I wanted meant the sun would explode, I decided that would have to be okay. I was not going to be afraid anymore. I wasn't going to let the guilt rule me. And whatever happened, would happen.

And now, here I am. Some might say that was a bad choice. If I was still letting fear and guilt rule me, and if I was forcing myself to do things I didn't want to do, I'd be at church every week. I would still be married to Dann. I would have been to every family party and get together. I would have done a lot more service this year. I would have worked a lot more hours than I did. I wouldn't live where I live. I wouldn't have spent the time to get to know me.

I wouldn't love who I am. I would still be thinking about how to kill myself without hurting anyone. I would still be distant and miserable, but not know why. I would be even more distant from my family. I would not have had the conversations with any of my siblings or parents that I have had. I would not have come to terms with my body. I'd still be broken in a million different pieces, but pretending like I was whole. I would feel trapped. I would still be letting fear and guilt rule me. How can that be a bad choice?

As I think about the coming year, I plan to relax and enjoy my life.
Thus far it has been one helluva ride, and I can't wait to see where it goes next.

a life worth living

Something amazing happened today. I went to dinner at my parents' house. (That's not the amazing part, what comes next is the amazing part.) We all moved to the living room and hung out on the couches. When I left, I wasn't freaking out. I wasn't in pain. I wasn't in a place where I had to then go walking, or crying, or... I left calm.

As I was driving home, Dann called. He said that at first, he couldn't put his finger on the difference in me. Then he realized, it was the way I was sitting. On the couch in my parents' home, I sit and shake, or I cross my legs into what is commonly called "the pretzel" trying to hide my anxiety and my pain.

Today, I didn't. I sat like a normal person. I can sit like a normal person. Even if its hard and I go crazy inside my head, I can force myself to sit normal. This wasn't like that. This was just me... being relaxed...


As I drove, I cried. Happy tears. I have worked SO hard. I have fought for so long. All I've wanted is a few moments of peace, a few moments without pain, a few moments where I can just BE. I have fought so hard for THIS, and THIS is here. I'm not sure if anyone who has not been through this could understand, and it amazes me.

I didn't know if I could survive the hell I have been through, and I never dared to believe that life could be better. I have dreamed of, and thought about, and planned for death everyday of my life... for as long as I can remember. My death brought me more peace than anything. And then I'd feel guilty, because what kind of person thinks like that? But dying was the only way I could see out. If I just hung in there, eventually, I would get to die and be done.

I don't know when it happened, but I realized it last week. I don't think about dying anymore. Not ever. I find hope and comfort in living. I find hope and comfort in knowing who I am and what I can do, and... for the first time ever I feel positive enough about life to not need anything but life.

I've often referred to things in my life as "Miraculous Shit", because most people would not see what has happened in my life as miraculous, but I know better. I know that many people who have gone through what I've gone through don't survive, and definitely don't ever find a life worth living. I have, and I am.

thank You.

I am a survivor... and one day...

This chart:
http://www.cbwhit.com/Victim-to-survivor.htm
was shared on the After the Silence board.

As I read through the different columns, I saw that I have been a victim... still am sometimes... and I felt compassion for myself. My feelings of anger at religion? Make perfect sense in context. And I won't stay there.

But what I saw, the incredibly powerful, AWESOME feeling...
I AM a survivor. I fit very nicely into that column. I've moved and progressed. And there IS more.

One day, I will be a Thriver.
People have traveled this road. They've made it.
I will too.

Don't know where I found it, but I like it

I've made mistakes in my life.
I've let people take advantage of me,
and I accepted way less than I deserve.
But I've learned from my bad choices,
and even though there are some things I can never get back.
People who will never be sorry.
I'll know better next time.
I won't settle for anything less than I deserve.

Miraculous Shit!

I have felt stuck for a very long time... This past week, so much has happened, I no longer feel stuck, I feel... a lot of other things instead.

On Wednesday, I remembered.
I have experienced flashbacks of it,. Confusion surrounding it. I thought I was crazy. Paul kept digging. Suddenly, in the afternoon, crying in the corner of the office, I knew.

Emily and Calli... Calli's dad... the shower...

The next day, it was strangely VERY IMPORTANT to not let K take advantage of me anymore. At first, I thought I was just avoiding. Still... I just went with it...

I talked to K. I talked to Paul. She was angry. I didn't back down. I felt so much better... lighter... stronger...

Friday, I woke up HAPPY! In those few seconds between sleeping and waking, I suddenly gained so much insight into me.

Emily had manipulated me for years, "If you don't do what I want, I'll tell everyone how disgusting you are. No one will want to be your friend."

Eventually, I stopped doing what she wanted, and she DID tell people, and it worked. I was shunned. I switched schools. I found some really good friends, but in the back of my mind, "If they knew, they wouldn't be my friends. I don't deserve friends like them." They never had the intention of manipulating me, but I was still manipulated into doing and being what I thought they wanted.

As I grew older, made new friends, I found many who took advantage of my eagerness to please. I had forgotten WHY I had to do everything for everyone, but I remembered I was worthless, disgusting, and if anyone knew, they wouldn't be my friend.

The friendship with K FELT the same. I HAD to do what she wanted. I lied, I kept secrets, I did so much that I didn't want to do... Standing up to her, changed everything. I was no longer a slave to anyone. I was free!

All day, I walked around feeling light as air. No guilt. (WEIRD!) It felt so good to see a world of new possibilities...

As good as I knew all of this was, I couldn't bring myself to write about it at first, so BJ did.

"It was a miracle. Months and months of incredible effort and painful enduring. One miracle."

He's right. It was a miracle, but its the kind of miracle that sucks too. Answer to my prayers? Absolutely. A step in the right direction? No doubt. Finally knowing what I am dealing with? Good... And now I gotta deal with it.

Le Sigh

I had a session with Paul that didn't go so well... I suddenly understood how the idea of "false memories" could be a real thing. I was vulnerable, upset, and... well... his questions were not the helpful kind.

I met with him a few days later, and told him he couldn't ask questions like that... EVER... I told him to get the book, "Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma." I got stuck in the book a few months ago... some of the assignments freaked me out, however, the philosophy behind the book seems the truest of anything I have heard. It talks about how trauma is not caused by a triggering event, but by the residual energy left over. With that definition, ANYTHING could be trauma, and therefore could cause the bizarre symptoms I experience. The book talks about releasing that energy: physically and emotionally, and becoming aware of myself enough to know what I need to heal.

I haven't read it for a while, because it is HARD, and triggering, and... I wasn't ready yet. Now, I'm ready. This is what has stuck out to me today:

"If you want to learn to use the felt sense, and especially if you want to learn to use the felt sense to resolve trauma, you must learn how to recognize the physiological manifestations that underlie your emotional reactions. Sensations come from symptoms, and symptoms come from compressed energy; that energy is what we have to work with in this process. Through sensations and the felt sense, this vast energy can gradually be decompressed and harnessed for the purpose of transforming trauma.
Again, remember to be gentle, to take it slow and easy, and don't attach any kind of interpretation or judgment to what you experience. Just let whatever you experience move you through to the next experience." (p. 76)

The first paragraph described the process I am currently IN. I am trying to recognize the sensations and the emotions and learning how to decompress the energy... and... The second paragraph is the kind of reminder I need CONSTANTLY, because I seem to forget...

"If an image of a horrifying scene shows up in your mind's eye, ever so gently notice what sensations come with it. Sometimes, when sensations are intense, images come first. The sensation is ultimately what will help you move through the trauma -- whatever it is. You may end up knowing what it is and you may not. For now, just be reassured that as you move through your reactions, the need to know whether it was real or not will loosen its grip." (p. 78)

Sometimes, with Paul's need to know what HAPPENED, I get really confused. I don't need to know WHAT happened, I just want to heal and understand how to heal.

"Be aware that the energies of trauma can be bound up in beliefs about being raped or abused. By challenging these beliefs, especially if they aren't true, some of that energy may be released. If this is the case for you, rest and give yourself plenty of time to process this new information. Stay with the sensations you experience as much as possible, and don't be alarmed if you feel tremulous or weak. Both are evidence that normal discharge is happening. Don't force yourself to do more than you can handle. If you feel tired, take a nap or go to bed early. Part of the grace of the nervous system is that it is constantly self-regulating. What you can't process today will be available to be processed some other time when you are stronger, more resourceful, and better able to do it." (p. 79)

First, I DON'T NEED TO REST! I can handle it!!!
Second, what if my body won't let me go to bed early... I mean... it continues to freak out. Do you know how hard it is to sleep while all of that is going on? And Dann moves and I suddenly feel so afraid? And even while I am sleeping... the night terrors and nightmares? What do I do then??
Third, I KNOW things happen just when they are supposed to. I feel overwhelmed, but I have rarely been overwhelmed with too much to process at once. That's really cool.

"One mistake that is made all too often is that people interpret these visual communications as reality. A traumatized individual may end up believing that he or she was raped or tortured when the actual message the organism is trying to convey is that this sensation you are experiencing FEELS like rape or torture. The actual culprit could just as easily have been a terrifying medical procedure, an automobile accident, or even childhood neglect. It could literally be anything.
Of course, some images really are memories. People who have suffered from rape or torture will draw on those experiences in producing images. It is common for children who have had these experiences not to remember them until years later. Even if the images are "true" memories, we have to understand their role in healing.
The explanation, beliefs, and interpretations connected with memories can get in the way of completely entering and deepening the felt sense. The sensations that accompany these images are immensely valuable." (p. 81)

There are a few things I know... But there are a lot of things I don't know. I like that I don't have to know. I don't have to know if the images that come are memories or just my brain's way of trying to explain how it felt. I like it. It feels reassuring and calming and... I am not as afraid of what might come.

"For now, it is more important to focus on what you experience rather than on what you think about it." (p. 81)

It is such a relief reading all of this, and I feel strangely hopeful... like...
"I can do this!"

Jen, you're healing!

Today was a session with Paul. He has been in Europe for two weeks, and it amazed me how much I missed him. A LOT!

So, I got into session and I just started talking, really fast, and I got frustrated when he would interject anything. My personal favorite of the day, I was telling him about Relief Society on Sunday.

Relief Society has been very difficult for a very long time. Part of the problem being that these women start talking about their "trials", and these trials are well... umm... for example. Sunday, one sister talked about how the hardest thing she has ever gone through was when her husband left to go to work out of town for three weeks. I understand that is not easy, however, I just know I spent six months living at CFC, and then when I got out, the next week Dann left for California for three months, and then he got back and I went to live at the Johnson's house for five months, and then I got an apartment of my own. So, being away from Dann is hard, and I wish it was different... that is the least of my worries right now.

Going back to Relief Society. On Sunday, I went through that yucky place where everyone talks about how we shouldn't feel angry or upset when we go through trials, we should be grateful. I agree with the principle of gratitude - I do not agree with anything they said.

In the middle of the lesson though, I was struck with the feeling that I wanted to share with these women the amazing miracles I have experienced, the things that have happened in my life that have changed me forever because of these trials. And then I realized, I couldn't. No matter how much I wanted them to know, they wouldn't be able to understand. They can't understand the depth of the miraculous, because they can't understand the depths of the sorrow.

And then, I felt sorry for them. Sorry that they can't know the Savior like I know Him. They are missing the amazing miracles that happen everyday, because they have not had to face... hell.

I told that to Paul, and his comment, "Wow Jen, you are healing! That is an amazing step you just made... and you don't even see it!"

Its true. I don't even see it. I didn't think it was amazing at all... it was just... what I felt. I didn't have to work for THAT particular degree of progress. I have just been working my ass off for a long time, and now things are flowing and changing while I just sit here.

(That particular moment was fleeting, because then someone else started talking, and I was angry again. Angry that she didn't understand how much it hurt to have the scriptures used against you, to feel so selfish for wanting to not be hurt, and I wished people could understand... And I started to shake and cry, and I was so frustrated with myself. The nice thing about telling it to Paul - he could see that moment as amazing progress, and it didn't matter to him that I immediately was angry and upset again. He thinks that is a good thing too... silly Paul!)

CFC Phone Survey - I am better than the last one!

I just got the call from Colin at CFC... the "You have been out for a year. How are you doing?"

I tried to answer all of the questions honestly, and this is what I saw. I am still no where close to where I want to be. However, my behavior is still hanging in there pretty good... not great, and my thoughts and thinking are still WAY off... but mostly pretty good.

The coolest part... the last survey I took was six months ago. The questions, "How much depression have you experienced in the past month?" and "How much anxiety have you experienced?" stuck out to me.

Every time I have taken this survey, I have said "Very much," and that didn't seem strong enough to express what was happening. I remember wanting to say, "It's all the freaking time! Never a moment of relief from those things!!!" Today, I said, "Much," which is less than "very much," and it is way less than, "Never a moment of relief."

Its progress. And actually, its A LOT of progress. Its slow, and I am so frustrated that it is still so hard... but... I am so grateful for the progress. There are a lot of moments of relief... a lot of moments that I don't think about all of the crap... which only gives me hope that one day, Colin will call, and I will tell her, "In the past month, I don't know, I don't think I have experienced any depression or major anxiety."

THAT will be a great day!

"Before a catastrophe, we can't imagine coping with the burdens that might confront us in a dire moment. Then when the moment arrives, we suddenly find that we have resources inside us that we knew nothing about."
Christopher Reeve

Always Looking Up

I started reading a new book. Michael J. Fox wrote a narrative on his life with Parkinson's titled, Always Looking Up.

This quote was in the intro:

"For everything this disease has taken, something with greater value has been given--sometimes just a marker that points me in a new direction that I might not otherwise have traveled. So, sure, it may be one step forward and two steps back, but after a time with Parkinson's, I've learned that what is important is making that one step count."

I feel the same way about my dis ease. For everything that was taken, something with greater value has been given. The abuse has helped to make me into the person I am today. It has made me stronger, more valiant, more compassionate. I have been given the opportunity to get to know myself, my heart, my values, my Father in Heaven. I am more spiritual, more creative, more passionate than I could have been had I lived a life free from these pains.

So, although I don't believe that most people understand what they are saying when they say, "Look for the positive," or "Its all in your attitude," I do believe I am capable of being honest about the amazing good that has come (not from but) through horrifically bad.

Walking with Two Sisters

I met with Bishop Campbell tonight. I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted to talk about... I had a lot of things swimming in my head. I was thinking about rights, responsibilities and obligations of a spouse. I was feeling sad, angry, and lost.

Bishop Campbell started with reading a poem to me:

Walking with Two Sisters
By Larry Hiller

Faith walks before me,
Holding up her lamp
As I try not to stumble in the ink-dark hours before the dawn.
Her light illuminates
One step and then another.
Beside me, Hope, arm linked with mine, encourages and steadies.
Sometimes in the tedium,
Distracted by the pain,
My mind begins to wander, then my feet. I hesitate.
Unsure, I look to Hope.
Her hand takes mine.
The touch reminds me of another hand held out to me,
One pierced and scarred
Yet oh so tender
Lifting me and blessing me when I had fallen and despaired.
Remembering,
I move ahead
Buoyed up by Hope, who sees the end with perfect clarity.

After he read it, he said this poem described my life. He was right.