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The following blog is a collection of my musings as I work my way through depression, anxiety, and complex trauma.

I've been struggling with whether or not to share my writings .... my journey through whatever this is that I'm going through. I started writing things down as a way to get them out. A way to process emotions that I can't quite understand at times. A way to take a step towards being able to talk about things . I thought maybe if I can write it down, I'll be able to speak it.

I felt a compulsion to create this blog but then I also felt .... maybe not ..... do I really want my secrets exposed ..... what would be the point. And then a couple of days ago I saw a meme that said, "One day you will tell your story of how you've overcome what you are going through now, and it will become part of someone else's survival guide." It seemed like a sign telling me to create this blog. I'm not making this public because I haven't overcome yet & still feel defined by the stigma attached to the events of my life. So only a couple of people have been linked & have access.m ,[pqw]2p

These writings begin in Februray 2019 a few weeks after my father passed away & I reached out for professional help when I felt lost, overwhelmed, hopeless, and a sadness like nothing I'd ever encountered before.

This is my journey .....
Feb. 2019
  this is my story .....
Dad passed away. I feel shattered. I may never recover.


I feel like a cup that's had a crack in it. Over time smaller cracks form and branch out from the original crack. Each crack weakens the cup until one day ..... you pour water into the cup & it just shatters.

That's where I find myself.

I think I've felt depression and anxiety since childhood. I've never really felt like I 'belong' in this world. For as long as I can remember I've felt out of place, awkward, and like I just don't fit in anywhere. Oh sure there are places and activities that I've pursued that I've felt somewhat happy in but there's always this shadow over me. In the moment of the activities I'm okay, but outside of the activities I'm haunted by a past that has ruined my life and limited my ability to make connections.

I guess my story begins at 2yrs old. All through my childhood I was told about my mothers cousin Liam who was a Jesuit priest. About how much he loved me & how he used to visit and take me out on day trips. Of course I have no clear recollection of this. But it was a story told with a sense of pride. Irish Catholic was a strong influence & in those days the clergy were up on a pedastal so having a family member in the clergy & then having your child adored by said priest .... well that was status setting. Liam loved me so that made me special. Which in turn made my mother proud. When I was 16 we went for a visit to Ireland and my mum was so excited 'cos I was finally going to meet Liam, this man who had doted on me so much as a toddler. I felt uncomfortable with the fuss & felt anxious about meeting this man, but I didn't know why. Well, I didn't meet Liam because he didn't show up to the family get together.

While I don't remember specifics of my outings with this person that I didn't remember, I do remember a recurring dream I had as a small child. Every night I would fall asleep & fly up to Heaven and sit on Gods lap. I remember that in my dream he was sitting in a big chair like a kings chair in a childrens fairytale. I would sit on his lap & he would protect me & then in the morning I had to go back.

Later in my childhood ..... we were in Canada by then so definitely older than 5yrs . I started to have a new recurring dream about a little girl of about 2yrs of age. She would be on a swing & someone was pushing her. I could never see who the other person was. She'd be swinging and then someone would be stuffing straw or paper inside her clothes & spanking her and then take her home. At the door she would be told, "you can't tell anyone ... remember it's our secret". And the little girl would go into the house fearing discovery. Again, I never saw the other person in the dream. I would wake up feeling the fear of the little girl.

The dream was so real that I wasn't sure if it was a dream or if it was something that really happened. Could this be a memory? I was confused. What was this dream about? The dream persisted & my childs mind began to think that I was the unseen person in the dream. Afterall the dream seemed to be from that persons point of view. If I was watching the dream from that persons point of view, then I must be that person. And that belief led me to think that I had done something terrible to a child. I was tortured by thoughts that this was a memory of some kind and the dream was about ME hurting a child. But how could that be? I wasn't old enough to be taking a toddler anywhere & in fact, I didn't know any toddlers. But still, for many years I was tortured by the thought that I'd done something horrible & I must have an "evil" side, capable of atrocities. At one point I thought I was possessed by the devil.

Fast forward to me in my twenties. I was reading a book called Dare To Dream & there was a chapter about how abuse in childhood can affect adult life. As I was reading I was suddenly struck , as if by some other wordly force ...... I felt like someone jolted me & outside my head the name LIAM!! roared at me. OMG!! Liam!!!! And I broke into hysterics of crying and I cried until my entire body was aching and my very soul felt like it had been shattered. And as I sobbed I realized that *I* was the child in my dream. I wasn't the perpetrator. I was the child. And that broke me even more. There was a sense of relief that I was not the bad person. But at the same time there was shock at the recovered memory.

Of course I couldn't tell anyone. What would be the purpose? It happened too many years ago. I didn't have a clear memory of events. No one would believe me. A Jesuit priest was beyond any wrong doing . And I'd be sure to be challenged as to why I didn't remember earlier. But even if I had .... who would have believed me? But it explained so much. It explained how I went from a happy outgoing child , to a sullen, and withdrawn child. It explained how if anyone other than my parents touched me, I would recoil. I couldn't stand to be touched. I still can't stand to be touched. I mean I can hug a friend or offer comfort but ......

It explained why my childhood fear of doctors was way over the top (they were men who touched you) .... way beyond the scope of normal childhood fears. It explained why church and religion made me sad. It explained why I was afraid of strange men. It explained why I was afraid and distrustful of priests. It explained why as a small child I thought nuns were men because they were mean. It explained why I thought men were mean. It explained so much.

In school I couldn't concentrate or focus well. I struggled with learning. I didn't make friends easily. I just got by. I went to a private girls school run by nuns. It never felt like a safe place. And I didn't fit in. We weren't dirt poor, but we were on the low end of lower middle class. We didn't belong there. My parents somehow managed to pay our tuition in installments & my mother made our uniforms. She was an incredible seamstress. But still ... we didn't fit in. The other kids were from wealthy homes. They had store bought clothes. We had home made clothes. They had brand name toys. We had generic toys. They took music lessons, horse back riding lessons, dance lessons, skating lessons, tennis lessons. We went to ballet. They went on ski vacations & vacations to exotic places. We couldn't afford to go on vacations. They listened to current music & we were flooded with classical music. Which brings me to another branch of this tree of my life history.

My mothers dream for us, my sister and I , was that we would be ballet dancers & once retired from performance (it's a short career), we would be married with little girls of our own & own a ballet studio where we would teach. There was a lady who lived across from us whose life reflected that dream. She ran a dance studio & had 2 little girls that followed along behind her like ducklings following a momma duck. That was supposed to be our future. That was the future our mother envisioned for us .... & herself. To that end we were put into dance classes. I remember when I was first taken to the studio where I would spend the better part of my childhood. I had to be evaluated to determine what level of class to be put in. I didn't want to go. But I was forced. How does a child stand up to defy a parent? I was put into a dance class, in my street clothes ...... awkward, not blending in, fearful, crying. 'My' feelings were not considered. I was told I was embarrassing myself & my mother. Now although I don't remember what transpired next, I was told that the dance teacher told my mother that as soon as the music started, I was transformed. I was put into a second level class & spent most of the rest of my time outside of school, in that dance studio.

But that wasn't the first time I was compromised in the name of my mothers ambition for me to be in the entertainment industry. I was five years old when we first came to Canada & my mother heard about auditions for children for a movie called Father Goose, starring Cary Grant. They wanted children with English accents and at that point I apparently still had an accent one could cut with a knife. And so it was that I was trotted off to audition for the role of the youngest child. Again I didn't want to go because I was shy and afraid. By "my" feelings didn't matter. I remember my mother bought me a picture of a ballerina as a consolation for going to the audition. As it turned out I was too young. Studio or union rules at the time deemed six years old to be the youngest they could hire a child for this role. At least that was what I was told. I think I might still have that framed photo somewhere.

These incidents were traumatic for a small child. And what do they teach a child? They taught me that *I* didn't matter. Maybe if , as a toddler, I hadn't already been violated by an adult, these "audition" trauma's wouldn't have been as significant as they were

The ballet brought me to another encounter with sexual assault. The ballet school had an amateur ballet company and once a year they held a big fancy fund raising party at the home of one of the wealthy patrons, whose daughters were members of the company. I was about 14yrs old this particular year, & the elder teenage daughter of the home owner had invited some of her school friends to attend. Although underage they were smoking dope & drinking in the basement. The house was a huge open concept (they even had budgies flying free in the house, their home being a large tree in the centre of the great room). There was a large spiral staircase going to the basement. I was on the lower level when one of the teenage boys attacked me and pushed me up against a wall, trying to kiss me, & putting his hands all over me . I struggled free and ran. He chased me. People looked on, probably not sure at first what was happening. I might have screamed ..... I don't remember. I ran up the staircase with this boy in hot pursuit. He managed to grab me and rip my dress. I ran. When I got to the top of the staircase my aunt was there & she grabbed me & pushed me behind her, putting herself between this teenage boy and me. She threw her drink in his face to stop him up. By this time everyone was aware of what was going on and there was much chatter & commotion ..... everything became a blurr. I was herded off to the kitchen and someone sent to find my mother. I don't know what happened to the boy ..... I believe someone nabbed him and escorted him out of the house. I was hysterical. Violated. Afraid. I needed someone to hold me. I needed someone to tell me everything was okay. I needed someone to comfort me. I needed to feel safe. Instead I was meeted with a measure of hostility. My mother told me I had ruined the party by making a scene. I had embarrassed her. I had forced my aunt to make a fool of herself by throwing her drink in the boys face as she tried tro protect me. My father was outside making a fool of himself, trying to kill this kid because I had over reacted. It was my fault. The boy was probably just trying to be nice. I over reacted. I made my aunt & father act in ways that were embarrassing. I ruined the party for everyone. And I caused my parents to be at odds because my father was outraged & my mother was embarrassed by his outrage.

What did this reinforce in me? It confirmed that I didn't matter.

Parents are supposed to protect their children. My mother should have been outraged. She should have been on my side. She should have comforted me. She should have wanted to tear a strip off that kid. Parents are supposed to protect their children.

Which takes me back to when I was a toddler. How could my parents be so naive? Why would they let Liam take me out .... alone ... unsupervised? I heard Dr. Phil say on one of his shows, that there is no good reason .. no acceptable reason, for an adult male to want to spend extended time alone with a female child that is not his own child. How could my parents let this man take me away for hours at a time? Probably because he was a priest & the clergy (in those days) thought to be above reproach. Although now we know that the Catholic church is fraught with pedophiles. Liams visits to England stopped when he when he was 'transferred' to a missionary post in Africa.

I was told that as a very young child I was happy, outgoing , and chatty. Apparently I spoke young & was quite the talker. And I went from being that happy, outgoing, chatty child to being a withdrawn, sullen, shy child. Why did no one stop and think, something is wrong with this child? Why did no one see that I was a traumatized child who needed help? Instead I went through my entire childhood being criticized for being shy. I was told over and over again that I was embarrassing my family by being so sullen. I was constantly compared to other kids .... why can't you be like so 'n so. I was constantly reminded that I was not good enough. I was a disappointment and source of embarrassment. My mother even told me more than once, "you didn't even fight to be born; you were lifted out into the world". My sister and I were born by C-sections. And for some reason mother shared with me (I think she needed a girlfriend to tell these things to, not her child) that while she was excited to be having a baby & wanted a girl, she was also embarrassed to be pregnant.

So I was a source of embarrassment even before I was born. A couple of happy normal years once I was born I think. Then Liam. Followed by a lifetime of being a disappointment & source of embarrassment to my mom. That is a large burden to carry through life.

　

re: psychological test .... I was given this 500 question T/F test to fill out . I think it's supposed to aid in analyzing ones psychological condition. I read through the questions & some of them make me very uncomfortable. And I'm experiencing intense anxiety about answering the questionaire. I think I'm afraid of answering wrong .. although I'm sure I'd be told there are no right or wrong answers. The test scares me. Anxiety over the test has reduced me to tears, and I haven't even started to fill out the answer sheet. Which brings me to what is wrong with me?? Why is everything so overwhelming? I'm falling apart.

I did fill out the test sheeet. And the results showed that I have depression & anxiety. Complex trauma he called it. Compounded by social isolation. I think I knew these things, and my psychologist suspected these results . The test/questionairre is the proof. I'm on a rollercoaster that goes from depression to anxiety. Back and forth.

Yesterday I told the psychologist about Liam .... it was the first time I'd let the story 'out' to a stranger. I had shared the story with my cousin Louise but no one else. He asked me if I felt like a survivor. I'd never thought about it in those terms. I don't think of myself as a survivor. Maybe because I don't feel like I've survived ...... I'm still caught in the web. It all still controls and defines me. My logical mind tells me it shouldn't but my emotions can't seem to get on board. *This doesn't have to define you* I get that. It sounds simple. And I wish it was .... but it's not. It still controls and defines me. It has destroyed so much of my life. I have to find a way to change a self image that has been tatooed on my soul. I haven't yet come out on the other side.

The other aspect of being a survivor, is that in order to be a survivor one first has to be a victim ..... and I think I have an issue with the word 'victim' .... I don't know why. Well actually I do. Whenever I would tell my mother about something where I felt wronged or hurt she would dismiss my concerns & tell me , "your problem is you have a victim complex". And accuse me of looking for sympathy. And to a child those words define who you are. When an adult tells you these things, you have no frame of reference to deduce whether or not those words are true. And those words still impact me today. I think part of the reason it's so hard to get everything out is because there's that part of me that can still hear that voice telling me "you're just looking for sympathy". I was often told "you're too thin skinned" .... "you need to be more tough skinned". Too sensitive. Too easily hurt.

My sister was the polar opposite of me. The dream child. Pretty. Smart. Outgoing. Always happy. Not at all shy. The child any parent could be proud of. (psychologist pointed out "she didn't experience the same trauma that you did") We were very close, my sister and I. Both my parents families were askew ..... siblings MIA ..... and no one really keeping in close touch. Now they were also spread all over the world. England. Ireland. Canada. Australia. New Zealand. But my sister & I always promised each other that no matter what; no matter where we ended up in the world; we would never lose touch with one another. That was our pact. And then she got sick. Cancer. Osteogenic Sarcoma to be exact. She had a tumour in her knee & had her leg amputated. She was 13 at the time. Despite aggressive chemotherapy, and two lung surgeries to remove tumours, she only lived 2 more years. She died on Dec. 7th , 1977. My world was shattered. The only person in the entire world that I felt close to. The only person to whom I really felt connected, was gone. And I felt alone in the world. I was 19 at the time.

I wasn't able to grieve my sisters death. I had to be strong. Afterall it was my mothers loss primarily. Both my dad and I were secondary casualties of that loss. We had to hide our grief because it wasn't considered as large a loss as what my mother was suffering. And she was suffering. During my sisters illness she was duped by every charleton out there. She tried everything to try to save my sister. Vitamin C powder from a doctor in Scotland who believed that high doses of Vit. C could halt or reverse cancer. A trip to some clinic in Jamaica that claimed their crazy treatments could cure cancer. A trip to the Martyrs Shrine in Midland to be blessed and seek a miracle. And then there were the religious zealots. Healing prayer meetings of all denominations. Preachers who preached, "If your faith is strong enough .... if you believe in the power of God enough, you can create a miracle. Your daughter will be saved if you just believe enough .... if your faith is unweilding". Well none of it worked. Not the crazy remedies. Not the conventional medical treatments. And not the religion. And the religion was the part that angered me the most. My mother was left with the guilt of feeling that HER faith hadn't been strong enough to save my sister. It was her failing. She didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve to have that guilt placed on her soul. The loss of a child is enough without 'religion' telling you it was your lack of faith that played a role. No matter what my mother did to me in life. No matter the psychological damage I endured. She did not deserve to have guilt about my sisters passing. And when I think about it , I'm incensed. She did not deserve that. And I hate religion for doing that to her.

For all the hurt she inflicted on me, my mothers life wasn't a picnic either. She had a hard childhood dominated by a violent step mother who made all the childrens lives hell. And a father who was submissive to that step mother. Who never stepped in to intervene when she was beating them or belittling them. And yet she adored her father & could see no wrong. He'd call them aside after stepmoms attacks and cuddle them & say he loved them .... and when possible, give them a thruppence to go to the shops. But he didn't protect them from a very abusive woman. I remember my mother telling me that they didn't want to rock the boat 'cos on the rare occassions that her dad stood up to stepmom, it was a terrible fight.

My mother was also burdened with poor health for most of her adult life..  In early adulthood she contracted tuberculosis and spent 2yrs in a sanitorium. She had her thyroid gland removed; Kidney stones; Reproductive problems; Two Ceasarians; Pageats disease; Arthritis; Type 2 Diabetes; A mini stroke; And heart disease. It was the latter that eventually took her life.

Our life here in Canada was also difficult. My parents came here in 1963 with two small children and no jobs waiting. My dad worked in a lot of different jobs over the first several years before finally landing a job with Molsons Brewery. I can remember he sold insurance, went to school to get a teachers licence and taught as a substitute teacher for awhile (no full time positions available for his specialty/subject ). Drove taxi. Ran a Beckers convenience store. He worked for Canada Dry for awhile. And at one point we (the family) cleaned offices at night. My mother was a savant at managing money and stretching the budget. We always had food on the table. We never went hungry. She also sewed for people. She was an excellent seamstress. And when we were in high school she worked as a substitute teacher to make extra money. And taught typing to students after school.

We were always coached as young children, "don't ask for anything > there's no money". Before every trip to the grocery store or where ever ...... we were told not to ask for anything. But you know how kids are. I'm sure we did our share of "can we get this". I remember one time in particular we were asking for fancy cereal ... Lucky Charms or something like that ... and my mom totally lost it. She started yelling at us , "what part of don't ask for anything do you not understand?" And then she took out her wallet, opened it up, and started wildly shaking it upside down and screaming, "there's no money!!! see? no money!!!!"

We lived in an apartment in Don Mills the first year or so that we were in Canada .... I went to kindergarten at a local school. I have no memory of that. I have a memory of a doctor whose name is almost within reach of my current memory, that I was terrified of. I don't remember anything specific ..... just the terror. And my mom was sick a lot so I think we were probably there a lot. I think we only spent a year or so at that location; then my parents bought a house in a new subdivision in the suburbs. Jane & Finch to be exact. There was nothing out there then. It was the boonies. I can't remember how long we lived there or why we sold & moved ...... probably matters not discussed in front of children. But we moved just down the street to a townhouse. And we lived there probably 2 or 3 years. And then we moved to 261 Ridley Blvd where we lived the bulk of my childhood years & into adulthood. It was a rented house & we never knew when we would have to leave. Contractors were buying up all the houses on the street & once all the houses were bought, everyone was given notice & all the houses were torn down & condominiums built. But we were there about 12 years I think. It was within a half hour walk to school. So we could take the public transit or walk .... or ride our bikes .... whatever we fancied.


Driving
Driving seems to be when I'm most susceptible to these random bouts of sadness. The other night I was driving & felt suddenly overwhelmed with sadness & I started to cry uncontrollably. And the thought occurred to me that if Dad could see how much I'm suffering, it would make him sad. And that made me feel more sad and broken


Alone
There is a difference between being alone and feeling alone. It's one thing to be alone as in 'on your own', independent, single. It's another to 'feel' alone ... isolated , lonely, unimportant, alone in the world, with no one who has your back or is on your side. With the latter you not only feel alone in the world, but alone in the universe.

Even though my logical mind tells me this is not necessarily true .... in reality there are people to reach out to ... it doesn't change how I 'feel'.

I go from feeling okay ... calm and like things are going to be okay, to utter panic. Feeling like the world is closing in on me. Like I'm in a vaccum and there is no way out.


Choice
Someone said to me, "somethings are best not remembered". Another said, "you might regret opening that Pandora's Box." What they don't understand is that this is not a choice. I didn't wake up one day and decide 'hey I think I'll dig around my past and dredge up old hurts'. I didn't go looking for memories. They came looking for me.

Something happened to me when my dad died. The world shattered around me. I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions far beyond the scope of grief over my dads death. It was like every hurt and wound in my life was suddenly at the surface. Years of trauma, anxiety, and depression rushing over me like a tsunami.

And the night, just a few nights after my dad died, when I came very close to swallowing an entire bottle of Benadryl, I knew something beyond my control was happening to me & that I needed help.

I don't know what happened to me. I don't know what IS happening to me. I don't know why this is happening to me . Or why now.


The Therapist
in the wake of my fathers death and the emerging avalanche of emotions engulfing me, I was fortunate to know someone that I could reach out to. I don't know if I give off a vibe of some sort that says, 'this girl needs help', but a couple of times during the couple of years that I've known him (he & his wife brought their dogs to my training classes), he had commented to me, 'if you ever need someone to talk to ...." I knew he was a psychologist and the day after the almost suicide attempt by benadryl, I finally bit the bullet and sent Sean an email seeking help. And so began my journey .....


Fear
What I am learning through psychotherapy is that fear is a feature theme in my life . I hadn't realized how large a role fear played in my life. It's the first emotion I feel in any uncertain situation. I think it had become such a normal way of being that I didn't even realize it.

Phone calls can scare me. The mail scares me. Cars coming on the property scare me. Strangers scare me. People in stores scare me if I think I see them too often. Underground parking lots terrify me. Walking out at night scares me.

This goes back to childhood when I was terrified walking from the bus stop at Wilson Ave & Ridley Blvd, to the ballet studio about a km south on Avenue Rd

Sean (I'll just refer to him as therapist hereafter) asked me if I feel safe in my house . I said I don't really know. I've never thought about it. I don't feel a need to 'sweep' the house upon arriving home ..... the dogs are there so I assume the house is free of intruders. But when I'm actually home, do I feel safe? Not always. If a car pulls in my driveway & I'm not expecting someone &/or don't recognize the car, my stomach turns & I start shaking. Fear. People, cars, anything unknown, and anxiety hits hard. Stomach turns, I shake, my heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my chest. So ya ... I guess I don't feel safe in my home.

This fear is like having chronic low grade pain. It becomes 'normal'. It becomes a part of who you are, so much so that it goes unnoticed. Until it spikes & you notice the acute pain. Fear ... chronic fear is the same way. It goes unnoticed until something triggers an acute attack. And then you feel the panic. Anxiety.

This depression. This anxiety. It's also been with me for so long that it's become 'my normal' state of being. Yesterday I experienced a brief moment of what I think was a feeling of "happy". I had just conversed with a friend to set up a visit, and a second friend who offered to teach me how to horseback ride. And I felt a rush of 'happy'. And then it was gone. And just as quickly, a rush of that old familiar sadness engulfed me. Choked up. Fighting back tears. What happened? I tried to re-live the moments leading up to the happy feeling. Tried to get it back. But I couldn't re-capture it . And that made me wonder if on some level, could I be afraid of being happy?? Is that possible? I'll have to remember to ask the therapist. And if on some level that is true, is it because happy is an unfamiliar emotion? And fear / anxiety is normal? Is this a devil you know vs devil you don't know conundrum?


Murder Dreams
I have what I call murder dreams. In them I'm usually walking down a street and someone grabs me from behind and I wake up just before I'm killed. Or I'll be getting on a bus & someone grabs me from behind and pulls me off the bus & I wake up just as I'm about to be killed. The attacker will have either a knife or gun. Sometimes I'm about to have my throat slashed & sometimes I'm about to be shot. In one such dream just a couple of years ago, I was driving with my mother (who had passed) in our old neighbourhood and going to the chinese food take out place that we used to frequent. I walked into the restaurant and someone was calling from the back, "Alex, does anyone know Alex. I have a note for Alex". Alex is my sister who is also deceased. I responded to say that Alex was my sister & as the person handed me the note, a man grabbed me from behind & put a gun to my head. I woke up as he pulled the trigger. The most recent murder dream had me already caught. Tied down on a table. I awoke just as the perpetrator leaned over me.

I wake up from these dreams feeling terrified. Often shaking and with my heart pounding so hard in my chest that I feel like it will explode

The therapist spoke of lucid dreaming to control the dreams and make them go away. He said to plan a way out. In waking hours before going to sleep, imagine the dream scenario but with a successful escape. Plan a warning signal/symbol and an escape.

I'm not good with fantasy .. . it makes me feel silly and awkward ..... so I need it to be somehow realistic. Something that is believeable to me. So I've decided taht since in real life I depend on the dogs for security, they should also be my security in the dreams. The warning will be a dog growling. I still need to plan an escape.


The Stalking
I think the murder dreams are the result of having been stalked back in my twenties. The stalking started with a phone call on Good Friday. A man by the name of John Hallman claiming to a representative of Canadian Casting Associates, called me at my dance studio.  This was my own studio and I was just hanging out there that day. . He invited me to an audition for a movie being shot in Toronto & said that he had seen me on Flappers & King Of Kensington. It sounded hinky because I barely saw me on King Of Kensington. We were Ukranian dancers in the background. And then he went on to say the movie involved nudity and it was going to be a starring role. I declined the audition invitation. I was not interested in such a project & ..... something didn't just didn't seem right. Then on Easter Monday I was at home and got a phone call from a man saying his name was Dr. Coleman and he was calling from OHIP. Just wanting to confirm information. He knew a lot about me. And then he made the mistake of saying 'hey didn't I see you on King Of Kensington?'. And then he went into a barrage of offensive, obscene comments, & I hung up the phone.

The two mens voices sounded like the same person to me & the names were similar ..... Hallman vs Coleman. The next day I called Canadian Casting Associates .... no such person worked there. I called OHIP. The only Dr. Coleman was 85 and retired. Not the guy who called me. And then the phone calls started. No matter where I was this guy called. Never gave a name. He called me at home. At the vet clinic where I worked. At the dance studio. He knew where I was & what I was wearing. Who I was talking to. Where I went to lunch. What subway cars I took. My mother came on the subway with me one time & he knew she was with me. Said if I thought she could protect me I was wrong. We called the police but they said there was nothing they could do. I didn't know who this person was so how could they take any action. He would have to make a move on me & reveal himself before they could attempt to apprehend him. He called at all hours of the day and night. I remember one night he called at about 2am and my mother answered and yelled at him.

I can't say that I remember exactly how long this went on for, but at some point I saw an article in the newspaper about a girl who had been murdered in Toronto. She was an actress and was working at a dinner theatre called His Majesty's Feast. The article said that her bio/photo had been stolen from the lobby wall and also mentioned that she'd been getting obscene phone calls. I was talking to a friend who was also in the entertainment field & mentioned to her about my stalker and she said she had just started getting similar phone calls. We called the police. This time they were interested in what I had to say. Two detectives were sent to my home to interview me. I will never forget what the one detective said to me. He said, "you're lucky you didn't go to that audition , or I guarantee we'd be pulling your body parts out of a garbage can." Shortly after that, the phone calls stopped just as suddenly as they had begun. But the fear didn't subside with the cessation of the calls. "He" was still out there and I didn't know who he was. I was looking over my shoulder for a long time. Truth be told, even now, decades later, I am still affected by the stalking. Mostly it's at night when I'm most afraid. But occassionally it creeps into my daytime. I take a dog everywhere with me.

This stalking was the catalyst for me stepping back from a career in showbusiness. I didn't want people knowing who I am. I didn't want to be accessible to strangers. The stalker knew a lot about me. Too much. Where did he get that info? He must have had access to my resume that listed the shows I'd been in, otherwise how would he have known about King Of Kensington?

I didn't leave showbiz right away. Afterall what else would I do? My entire life had been geared to that career. In the end it was a controlling boyfriend that ended my career. I was working as a backup singer in a 50's/60's genre show & the boyfriend didn't like the idea of his girlfriend being in the public eye & he capitalized on my fears and insecurities to make me feel unsafe in my job. He told me that people in the audience thought we  (my friend/co-worker and I)  were whores & men would think he was a pimp and offer him money to set them up with us . Of course this was not true. But feed that information to someone who is already afraid of who might be out there, and you feed the fear. And you gain control. "You're safe as long as you're with me". But he also started to separate me from my friends, and attempt to drive a wedge in my family. Fortunately I recognized that this was not an ideal situation and fate/circumstances facilitated my being able to walk away.  My mother had always taught us that we should never allow ourselves to be controlled by a man, and if ever anyone raised a hand to us ..... Walk Away. Although she had not been a victim of spousal abuse (my dad was a mild person) she had a friend or two whose husbands were less than stellar. So she drummed it into us. Never let anyone control you or raise a hand to you.


I Want To Be Seen > But I Don't Want To Be Seen
This has been the conundrum of my adult life. We were raised to be entertainers which means being in the public eye. But the stalking left me wanting to be invisible. How can you be invisible and successful at the same time? Success in whatever field you follow means 'being seen'. By the public. By your peers. I have wanted desperately to be successful and acknowledged for 'something', but I now realize that I've also been afraid of 'being seen'. The constant criticism and judgement from my mother had already left me feeling inadequate in all areas of my life, so how could I risk putting myself out there. How could I risk subjecting myself to criticism and judgement. The latter was paralyzing.

As much as I wanted to 'be someone' , I think a part of me wanted to stay small and fly just under the radar. To be noticed just enough to feed my fragile sense of self worth, but not enough to risk having that sense of self worth challenged or knocked down.


Grief / Trauma
I sometimes wonder if I'm in a perpetual state of grief. With so many animals, we lose several per year. And I've already lost five so far this year and it's only April. Everyone was old & it's part of the cycle of life.

Loss is a huge part of my life. It seems at times, that I'm just getting over one loss when another comes along.


How long does grief last?
I wonder sometimes if I have not yet gotten over my sisters death more than 30yrs ago. What are the stages of grief? I think anger is one of them. If I look closely , I think I feel a pang of anger that my sister left me. We had a pact. No matter where life took us. No matter how many miles between us. We would never lose touch. And then she got sick and was gone. My parents got stuck with the dud kid (me) and I lost my only ally in this world.


Survivor Guilt
My parents got stuck with me ...... the dud kid. My sister was vibrant, popular, pretty, outgoing ... everything a parent could be proud of. I was the shy, sullen, introverted child constantly reminded of my shortcomings. Life wasn't fair. Cancer took the good kid. A person who had done nothing to hurt anyone in life. Horrible evil people in this world live, and cancer chose to steal this 'good child's' life. I asked myself, "Why her? Why not me?" No one would miss me if I was gone. I'd always felt like I didn't belong in this world, so maybe I wasn't meant to be in it. Maybe cancer got the wrong kid.

　
Awareness


As I go through this process of recovery, I'm becoming aware of this underlying anxiety that has been a part of my life. Previously I only noticed the fear and anxiety when it spiked ... when something triggered an acute attack. But now I'm becoming aware of the anxiety outside of an acute attack. I've become aware that the agitation I often feel, is in fact anxiety. The tension I feel is anxiety.

I come home at night, sit down with a cup of tea, and now feel that my body is tense. And I wonder why am I all tensed up? Anxiety? So now that I notice the tension, I consciously try to relax my body and let go of the tension..

Sometimes when I'm watching television I feel agitated and unable to concentrate on the storyline. Or the show will seem too long & I feel agitated. I'm now aware that this agitation is anxiety. But i don't always know why I'm feeling anxious. Why am I feeling this way and how do I make it stop?

If I were to try to describe the anxiety I'd say it's feeling uneasy but you don't know why.

And often there is no threat. No reason to feel anxious or afraid. It's like my psyche is crying wolf ... signaling danger when there is no threat.


Doubts
I think I read somewhere that it's common for early childhood memories to be incomplete. They say that we don't have cognitive memory before the age of 3yrs. I think it's called juevenille amnesia. I suppose this must be the brains way of protecting us. To block out that which is too painful to remember. But if it's too painful to remember ... if our memories are incomplete ... how can we trust what we feel to be true?

I was only about 2yrs old. Too young to have specific detailed memories. But recurrent dreams, fears , phobias, and anxiety that has haunted me throughout my life, speak as evidence of a traumatic experience. Stories were told to me about the Jesuit priest who took me out on day trips as a toddler, so that is fact. But still ... the lack of "specific" memory sometimes makes me doubt the validity of my memory. And if I can feel doubt, how can I expect anyone else to believe me?

Yet this "thing" has defined my entire life. My life is the circumstantial evidence that the memory is real. The damage this "thing" did to me has ruined my life. Ruined any chance of my having a normal relationship. Destined me to be alone forever.


Compliments/Kudos
For some reason I feel uncomfortable if someone pays me a compliment. Not a compliment about my hair, or clothing, or 'good job' coming off the competition field. But compliments about "me". Therapist tells me I'm doing well & it makes me feel awkward. Actually I think that was one of the questions on that test ... "do you feel uncomfortable given a compliment". If someone says I'm smart, that makes me feel uncomfortable. Therapist says I'm making progress & it makes me feel uncomfortable. When my books were published and people made a fuss, that made me uncomfortable. That being said, when people read the books and commented that they liked them, I was okay with that.

Hmmm .... I'm an enigma

Nice hair, nice shoes, nice coat, etc. ; those kinds of compliments are no problem. Or 'good job' in reference to something I'm confident in. It's the compliments that reference "me". As I write this it doesn't make sense. I can't seem to articulate what I mean. The therapist says it's called [something] dissonance. It's when my core belief about myself doesn't match the compliment.


Suicide
Although it was the 'almost' swallowing of a bottle of benadryl that prompted me to reach out for help, it was certainly not the first time I had thought of suicide. Suicide has crossed my mind many many times. For several years now. At least once every couple of weeks suicide creeps into my thoughts. It's usually thoughts of "how". What's the best way to end it all peacefully? They say women generally choose pills, but what kind, how many, and where would you get them.

I feel that ultimatley suicide, assisted or otherwise, will be the end of my life. The thought of being old and dependent on others for assistance dressing, bathing, going to the bathroom etc. is beyond what I could tolerate. The humiliation would be torture. The thought of it puts me in a state of panic. If ever I get to that point in life, I think suicide will be what I want.


Easter Sunday 2019
Today was a rough day. The beginning was okay. I had a dog going home so attended to all the animals at home on the farm, and then drove to Burlington to drop Fido off. Once the dog was delivered to his owners and I was headed home, I was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. Crying without really knowing why. And then overcome with that feeling of being totally alone in the world. Alone. Unloved. Unimportant. And that feeling of what is the point of this life. I'm alone in the world and no one would miss me if I was gone. That was what was going through my mind as I drove and cried. I felt as if I will never recover from dads passing. Like I'll never get past being alone.

I think the breakdown was triggered by seeing posts on facebook about people enjoying Easter and all the fun with family posts.

Hours later I was still feeling agitated. Unsettled. Irritable. Couldn't get comfortable . Tired but couldn't sleep. Headache. And don't know how to make it stop


Easter Monday 2019
Last week was a good week. This week is not shaping up as a good week so far. Last nights agitation carried over into today. It's 10:30am and already I'm on high alert. It started with a phone call from a 1-800 number that I did not recognize. Then I nodded off and had a dream that there was a car sitting in the driveway with 3 people in it. Just sitting there. In the dream I felt panic. A woman that I did not know got out of the car . In my dream there were other people in the house with me but in my waking state I don't know who they were. One of these people went to the door to see who was outside and she came back to announce, "it's someone from your vet clinic". And then I woke up feeling panic. And exhausted. And then that wave of sadness and tears swept over me again.

I can't continue to live like this

May 2019
 
Age

My mother was always really secretive about her age. To the extent that she hid or destroyed all evidence of our birth certificates or any documents that might reveal her age. To this day I have no idea where my birth certificate is. We didn't know my mothers real age until she died & we saw it listed on the death certificate. In contrast, I was never too concerned with my age and was always very transparent when it came to age. I did like the fact that I could always pass for younger though. I think it's genetics. My parents both looked younger than their years. However that all changed for me when I turned 50. Suddenly I felt "old" ..... older than everyone I knew even though that was not the fact. I had friends both older and younger than myself. But suddenly I didn't want people to know how old I was. *I* didn't even want to know how old I was. It was like 50 was a judgement point. By 50 you should be successful, financially secure, and have accomplished 'something'. I was just still me. Nothing special. No great accomplishments. Still living hand to mouth as my family had always done. I remember that year we were doing a dog show and my friend brought a birthday cake and I was fearful that someone might ask my age and discover how 'old' I was. Thankfully no one asked.


Since that time I have felt very guarded about my age & thought, "oh my God I'm turning into my mother!" I changed my facebook profile to reflect a lower age for fear that someone might find out how old I really am. Even though I had it hidden I didn't trust facebook not to screw up sometime and make the information public.

For the most part I don't think about my age much. I actually don't remember how old I am much of the time. If asked, I have to stop and think, and sometimes do the math. But I don't want to do the math. I don't want to know how old I am. Knowing makes me feel like my life is almost over. Too late to be or do anything. Life has passed me by. And the way the years seem to fly by these days, it really feels as though there is no time left. I feel like I'm too old and I've got nothing to show for my life aside from stress and fear and anxiety. I feel like I've missed out on life . Life has passed me by.

I was watching The Talk today & there was a segment on rejuevenating skin care products, and the audience guest said that she had just turned 60. And immediately that wave of sadness came over me and I began to cry. I felt old hearing this other person say she was 60. Her joy at her age made me feel despair. I suddenly thought, it's almost June & I'll be another terrifyingly year older (it's the beginning of May now). And the tears flowed as I spiraled downwards into my depression. I can't even speak my age & I'm self concious that my therapist knows my age. Not that I devulged the information but it's on my health card which was needed for hospital patient records. I feel very uncomfortable with anyone knowing my age. Perhaps it's because I don't feel my age. But not in a good way. It's not like 'hey I'm [__] & I feel, look, and act like someone years younger .... yay me!" It's more like I feel like a vunerable child. Small and fragile. They way I feel doesn't match my chronological years. When I talk about the painful feelings that I've carried with me for so many years, there's a part of me that says, "you're too old to be feeling this way". And then I think , 'what must I look like, this old person revealing feelings that belong to a child'. I feel like I'm too old to be feeling what I'm feeling. And since this all happened, this breakdown I'm having (for lack of a better term), I look in the mirror and I look like I've aged 10 years. I don't even have the gift of looking younger than my years anymore. The face I see is a haggered old woman. And I hate it. I hate the way I look. I hate the way I feel. I hate almost everything about myself.

I've always had this sense that I come into things too late in life. I think it stems from having a very narrow upbrining. School and dance. Nothing else. I didn't really experience anything outside of the classical ballet world, classical music, or broadway musical movies, until I was about 20yrs old, when I left the classical dance world and ventured into other dance mediums. Jazz. Tap. Ballroom. Musical Comedy. Oh & let's not forget disco! It was another world. And again, one in which I didn't feel entirely comfortable. I was out of place. I was unfamiliar with current music. Didn't know what bands/groups were popular. Had never heard their music. Very naive. I had to play catch up. I'm reminded of a Star Trek episode in which the crew found a group of people who had been cryogenically frozen & revived them. These people were out of place. Thrust into a world completely foreign to them. That's how I felt.

With regards to dog training I didn't come into that too late in life, in that the dog training clubs at the time were made up of all adults. So when I started obedience training with my dog Mickey-Finn at the North York Obedience Club, I was in a class full of adults all new to the discipline. And I was on the younger end, being in my twenties. Back then the only competition dog sports were obedience and field trials that I knew of. But then I saw a new sport called flyball and I got involved in that on the ground floor. I was part of flyball when it was in its infancy. The same went for agility. Agility was a new sport & my dogs and I learned the sport at the Swansea Dog Obedience Club. We were there when agility was born. Boy ... talk about feeling old!!! Fast forward to 20yrs later when we got involved with disc dogging, and it was back to feeling like I was coming into things too late in life. Disc dogging had been around for many years, but not in Canada. I was on the ground floor of bringing the sport to Canada but I was also years older than most other female competitors. And I had that sense of why didn't I find this years ago when I was still young enough to execute more athletic moves & have years to learn and develop my disc skills. Even though I was swimming in the same pond with big wigs of the sport, I felt like a fish out of water. And even when my dogs qualified for, and competed at, the Skyhoundz World Championships, a part of me felt like a fraud .... like I didn't belong there. 'Who is that old lady making a fool of herself out there?' And just to validate that feeling, I overheard someone say about me , "talented dog .. too bad about the handler". I wasn't even good enough for my dog!! Imagine what he could have accomplished with someone better than me? And I felt dejected and useless and hopeless.

Age. How do I get past the mind set of, "it's too late/I'm too old"? There are not enough years left to make up for all the bad years. To make up for my life to date. I don't know how long this recovery is going to take. I'm losing time with every passing day. My days with a good life ('cos I have to believe they are out there) will be too few to make up for all the bad years .... decades. I once had a border collie, Molly. I bought Molly when she was three and a half years old. She had been in the hands of a very abusive trainer early in her life & when I bought her she was in a good farm home but she was just a brood bitch. She wasn't loved. That was her purpose. She wasn't loved. She had never been loved. She had always just been a commodity. I paid a lot of money for her. She had great bloodlines. But I mostly bought her because I felt sorry for her. She needed someone to love her. I only had Molly for 2yrs before an aggressive cancer took her life. She died at five and a half years of age, having lived the greater portion of her life abused and unloved. And it broke my heart that she didn't live long enough for the greater portion of her life to be filled with happiness and love.

I feel like Molly. Even if I find happiness it feels like it's too late. There's not enough time left to live a happy life that will balance out my past. I feel robbed of a happy existence. I feel like my life is already over. I can't envision an existence that is happy

　
That Which Cannot Be Spoken


I started writing this [whatever it is] because there were/are things that are too difficult to talk about. And I felt that maybe if I can write it down, I'll be able to speak it. Writing it down will at least get it out of my head. A step to releasing the terrible secrets of my past. A step to releasing the fears, shame, embarrassment, and feelings of inadequecy & guilt that haunt my soul. Most of what I have written thus far are things that I have only told to one person .... my therapist. And not without difficulty and tears. But there are still things that are too painful to expose. Fears. Phobias. Things that are too personal, too humiliating, and too tumultous to 'release' ..... not even to these pages at this time.

I'm feeling an overwhelming angst leading up to this weeks session with my therapist. The past two weeks have been the most difficult and painful weeks since starting this journey. Ever since our last session I've been deluged with painful emotions and have been having multiple meltdowns per day .... uncontrollable sobbing. Those tears that you feel deep down in the core of your body, tearing away at your very being. And I do know the trigger. It was part of our conversation the last session. Within minutes of leaving I was hit with the first meltdown. And it's been that way for the last two weeks. Normally my sessions are weekly but last week had to be rescheduled due to a conflict. At the end of the first week, I had a normal day. Not a jumping for joy day, but a day without a meltdown. But it only lasted one day .

The emotional assault of the past couple of weeks was triggered by conversation in therapy about being alone. I was feeling very alone in the world and thoughts of what will happen to me if I get really old .... where will I end up .... I'm alone .... there's no one who would take care of me or advocate for my welfare. My dad had me to look out for him. I have no one. The therapist asked me if I might see myself with a partner in the future. And of course, that cycled me back to the reason I can't have that. And I couldn't say why > the words just could not be spoken > too personal, embarrassing > the phobia makes me a freak. No one can know . And again, just writing this is causing my anxiety to peak.

This ponderance has been chasing me , catching me, and pinning me down. I'm confused. Traumatized repeatedly by the thought of the phobia, and 'how' do I tell this awful truth. And questioning myself about how I was able to have two serious (to me at the time) relationships,

My mind is working overtime to try to understand what is happening to me ..... this Pandora's box released into my psyche .... the overwhelming and uncontrolable emotions and memories are debilitating

That which cannot be spoken is the fallout, emotional damage, and phobia created by what happened to me as a toddler. I don't know if I can talk about it. It's part of the "big secret". The thing that no one can know. It has been life limiting. Prevented me from having a normal life. Prevents me from ever knowing what it feels like to be loved. Prevents me from ever being loved. It makes me not normal. A topic which invites ridicule. It's something no one can know. But the burden of it is breaking me. I feel like I can't carry it anymore. And my anxiety over this is at an all time high.

As I write this entry I'm suddenly aware of how often I refer to being normal. Or rather 'not' being normal. I seem to be obsessed with the idea of being normal. And that brings me full circle back to my original conversations on this therapy journey. My feelings of not fitting in. Feelings of not belonging in this world. Feelings of not being normal. Of being somehow abnormal and out of place in the world.

So now my angst leading up to tomorrows meeting with the therapist is this. He'll say "how have you been". And I'll say, "it's been a really bad 2wks". And he'll say "why". And that will bring us full circle to *that which cannot be spoken*.


THE Secret
I'm struggling with what I feel is the biggest secret in my life. At my therapy session this week I was still not able to reveal this secret. I don't know if I'll ever be able to unleash it.

I crave the comfort and closeness of a child cocooned in a parents embrace, but at the same time, I don't want to be touched. I crave connection but at the same time , fear it.

I'm struggling with how to articulate how I feel .... how to get these feelings out of my head and onto the page. It's a struggle with that lifelong fear that people will know the 'damaged' me. And it all goes back to that early childhood trauma. The first in a series of assaults. How can one person attract multiple attackers over a lifetime?

Liam stole from me, the opportunity to develop into a healthy, well adjusted adult. I believe this was the catalyst for the fears and phobias that have followed me through life. The very thought of these things sends me into a panic attack. He stole from me, the ability to ever be loved. He was the first to assault me. I don't even know how many times he took me on 'outings'. Just that it was multiple occassions.

My second encounter with an inappropriate adult was when we came to Canada. I was 5yrs old. Throughout my life I've always felt fearful and anxious whenever travel has taken me to an airport &/or through customs. Customs officers > Men in uniforms > Trigger anxiety and fear. And I didn't know why. Our arrival in Canada is a fuzzy memory and more "feelings" than  memories. But I clearly remember my mother talking to someone about it (I think it was my aunt/her sister) and being told, "you don't check a 5yr old female child for hernias". And 'he wasn't even a doctor' . I've always remembered that comment .... "you don't check a 5yr old ...." . It was a good few years ago when I first saw that reality tv show about airports/border patrol security. On that particular episode a traveller was escorted to a private room to be searched by border/airport security. As this scene unfolded I experienced a powerful and frightening visceral emotional reaction & I broke down crying. It was such a sudden and intense reaction that it actually frightened me. I had a flashback to when we came to Canada. I remembered being at the airport & someone in a uniform taking us to a room. And ...... sorry .... can't even write the words. My fear and anxiety around airport customs now made sense. I didn't have a cognitive memory, but I had an emotional memory connected to a man in uniform taking us/me into a private room to be 'searched'.    I still can't watch that show as it triggers too many uncomfortable feelings.

The third encounter was the infamous ballet school party mentioned previously. I was about fourteen.

The fourth assault was at the hands of a singing teacher. After a few lessons, he started putting his hands up under my clothing saying he had to check if I was breathing properly. It's not entirely uncommon for a vocal coach to place a hand on the diaphragm for breathing, BUT not underneath clothing & definitely not groping other areas!! I went home and told my mother & she told me I was imagining things ..... "he would never risk his job like that". And when I said I wasn't going back (& I didn't), I was admonished for wasting good money on lessons not taken. I was about 18 at the time .

Number five was at the hands of a 'date'. The brother of one of my dance partners. Part way through the evening he decided he wanted more than a casual first date & started to force himself on me. I felt a sense of panic. I said no, and struggled to free myself, but he was strong and insistant. At one point he grabbed my arm so hard I thought it would break as he tried to force me out of the club to go to a hotel. I remember panicking about how I was going to get out of this situation. What I don't remember is how I got free. I don't know how I got home. I didn't drive at that time so someone must have taken me home. Presumably the couple we came with? It was my 21st birthday. Word got back to the studio  and I remember poor
Ross being horrified and apologetic about his brothers behaviour.

Just writing this down is causing feelings of intense anxiety and panic. My stomach is turning, I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, my hands are shaking , and tears are welling up. The only thing worse than writing this down and getting it out of my head, is the fear of people knowing these awful secrets and the bigger secret .... the phobia . I can't release that secret yet > it has too strong a hold on me.


Rejection
I'm having a really rough day today. I need someone to talk to and there is no one in whom I can confide. It's five more days until my next psychotherapy session. He tells me to text him if I'm in trouble but I don't feel comfortable intruding on his time when it is not my 'turn' . I have my cousin Louise but there are still things that I have not been able to share with her. The therapist is the only person who knows 'most' of what tortures me. And there are still things that I just cannot speak about. Todays downward spiral started in response to a facebook post in which I posed the question, would anyone be interested in seeing Oprah when she is in Toronto. The event takes place a few days before my birthday and since I haven't received a birthday gift since before my mother died 17yrs ago, and I'm supposed to be doing one thing a week just for me, I thought maybe I'd gift myself a night out. The tickets are not cheap but balcony (the nosebleed section as some call it) would be doable. Of course, I can't go alone & thus my post asking if anyone would be interested in going with me. From where I sit, if your answer is 'no', there is no need to post a response. There is certainly no need to comment in ridicule or criticism of my choice of celebrity speaker. I like Oprah. If you don't, that's fine. But it's not fine to belittle me because I do. What is that saying we were told as children? Oh yes, "if you don't have something nice to say, say nothing at all." I ended up deleting the post because of responses that were causing me to feel belittled. And I cried. And through my tears ..... yes, my emotional state is that tenuous at the moment .... I realized that I was experiencing feelings of rejection. Wow. That was a revelation. Feelings of rejection. Took me right back to being a small child of about six or seven. There were two litlte girls my age who lived across the street and they would only play with me IF one of them was unavailable. As soon as the two of them were on the scene, I was dismissed ...... "you can go home, we don't need you anymore". And I would go home and cry to my mother that the other kids didn't want to play with me. And this seems to be a theme throughout my life. I'm always everyone's last choice for .... well pretty much everything. I'm never someone's first choice. I'm like the consolation prize after all other options have been explored. And I suddenly realized that this hurt that I feel; this knife to my soul; it's a feeling of rejection. And that cycles us full circle to that sense of not being good enough.

　
Psychology is Hogwash > It's All About Blaming The Mothers

that was my mothers opinion of any kind of mental health professional. Not that she ever sought the assistance of such a professional. While I don't actually know where this statement stems from, when I think about it I think the truth of it is that our mothers have the greatest influence on us. Especially in my generation where most mothers were stay at home mothers and therefore everything about home life was governed by them. So yes. As the greatest influencers in our lives; as the persons who shape our self image; as the persons to whom we turn for validation ...... yes .... a lot of our issues stem from our mother's influence.

As I began this journey and all the hurts started to pour out & I heard myself saying things about my mom, I could hear that "it's all about blaming the mothers" statement ringing in my ears. And I thought, oh my God!, I'm doing exactly that. And I felt guilty. We're not supposed to speak badly of our parents. And we were always taught not to speak ill of the dead. And I was doing exactly that! My therapist helped me to understand that it's not about placing blame, it's about acknowledgement. And I can't move forward while all these hurts are paralyzing me. I need to acknowledge the hurts. Realize that I have a right to feel what I feel. And validate my emotions to myself (still struggling with that & understanding what it means).


May 2019
Mothers Day 2019
 Tomorrow is Mothers Day. I haven't thought about it much over the years since my mother passed away in 2007. But now that all this "stuff" is at the surface, this year I'm thinking about it. When my mother was alive Mothers Day was very stressful because no matter what time of day I called to say Happy Mothers Day, or delivered a card/gift, it was always met with some kind of negative comment. No matter how early I would deliver the greeting, I was always met with some kind of comment to the effect of 'finally, I thought you'd forgotten'. And if I tried to combat that by being super early, I risked something along the lines of, "you could at least let me sleep in on mothers day." And let's not forget the very popular, "I should have had boys. Boys love their mothers more". It became an obligation instead of a happy family day.


I guess I'm thinking about it this year because of what I'm going through with all the repressed memories and emotions washing over me. All the painful realization of how much damage my mother caused to my psychological well being. All the damage to my self image and self esteem. The way I see myself. The way I feel about myself. She was very psychologically abusive. I can't accept that there was malice or intent. I have to believe it was a byproduct of her own disappointments in life. Dr. Brene Brown who is a researcher on the emotions of vulnerability and shame says that narcissism is underpinned by shame. I think this makes sense because my mother always felt that we (our family/our life) was not enough. Not as good as other people. So she built herself up by putting others down.

  
The   Narcissistic  Mother
The therapist said that my mother was a narcissist . Boy that was a hard pill to swallow. I'd only ever heard the word narcissist used in a derogatory way to insult or demean someone, or in the context of a serial killer (tv crime shows). So to hear the word narcissist   used to describe my mother was really kind of shocking. To ease my mind and properly attribute the word to my mother, I had to first look up the actual meaning of the word. A narcissist is someone for whom everything is ultimately about them. Even when they project an interest in someone else (children for example), it still circles back to them & how people perceive them. I think we all have a 'touch' of narcissism. My mother was obessessed with 'keeping up with the Jones'. We were sent to private school because it was status setting. Sending your children to private school made you better than the next person. She even had a different voice and laugh that she used in public. Her children were extensions of herself & her status was fed by the admiration shown by others towards her well behaved pretty little girls. Always properly primped and coiffed, and on our best behaviour. Even to the extent of exaggerating things to make them more impressive. She had wanted a career in showbusiness, so we were to fulfil that part of her self image. Everything was about how she was viewed by outsiders. Even her own relatives. Appearances were very important. How people perceived us was very important. I was guilted into compliance. My feelings were never validated. Verbal abuse was common. We had no privacy. My mother thought it was perfectly fine to waltz into our bedrooms unannounced ...... her view being if you have nothing to hide there is no need for privacy. She had no concept of personal space or why we all need it. She would also think nothing of walking into the bathroom if occupied by a child. She injected herself into every part of our lives. And our job was to make her look good. Even as an adult, when my mother wanted to learn how to use the internet to send emails she resisted the idea of setting up her own email address, preferring to use my address. I remember it was a big argument when I resisted giving her my password and access to my email account. Why didn't I want her to have access? Because she would have been reading my emails & not respecting my right to privacy. She would even open my snail mail at times, claiming that she thought it was addressed to her . When I wrote my first book, she held a big party at our house to celebrate. I was so uncomfortable and embarrassed by the fuss. Why? Because it was over the top & it was not genuine. It was for the benefit of the attendees. The party was to show me off. It wasn't about me . I was constantly criticized for virtually everything about myself. Constantly compared to others whom she saw as better ..... why can't you be like so 'n so. You're too thin skinned. Too sensitive. Too fat (even when I was rail thin!). Not outgoing enough. I was told I laugh like a hyenna and then criticized for not laughing & being sullen. We were not emotionally or psychologically nourished as children. Our parents kept us alive > they fed and clothed us , but we were not nourished. I think my dad might have been oblivious to much of the psychological abuse my mother inflicted upon me. We never had enough money & my dad was always working. I think he missed much of the dynamics of the home. And if he did know, then I think he just found it easier not to rock the boat. Arguments between my parents were fraught with insults and criticism of my father. My mothers words would cut him down. Just as with me, he couldn't do much right & she blamed him for everything we didn't have . She blamed him for not making enough money & was quite outspoken about it. She even ran him down to us children. Running other people down was her way of building herself up. There was the for show family and then what went on behind closed doors. She never hit us. But she was emotionally manipulative and kept us under her control. We were never given an allowance. Anything we needed or wanted, we had to ask for. We had no autonomy.

We were coached very young on a 'how much do you love me' game. Mum would ask 'how much do you love mummy?' and we would stretch our arms wide and say 'this much!'. And then she'd ask 'how much do you love daddy?' and we would bend our hands in .... 'this much'. It was important to her that we said we loved her more. Even as a small child I felt guilty. I didn't love my dad less than my mom. And I felt that we were hurting his feelings whenever my mom played this game. And the game was always played in front of him. And now I can really see the narcissim. This was all about "her". How much do you love mummy. Never, this is how much mummy loves you. It was all one sided.

In the last couple of years of his life my father expressed regrets about his life. He wondered what our life would have been like if he'd stayed in the police force & we'd stayed in England. I could sense a sadness in him that he never spoke about. He left the police force because my mother refused to move to the country. We lived in Upminster in Essex County and we had a brand new police house with all the latest appliances of the time. I remember being told we were the only house with a clothes washing machine. Being a policemans wife had its perks. My mother was quite proud of showing off her policeman husband. But when that same career was to transfer him to a small country town where he would have been the policeman in charge, my mother refused to move. For her moving to the country was a step down. In the police force you go where you are sent. Within the ranks of the force, this station offered to my father was actually a step up. He was to be in charge and this would lead to promotions in the future. It was an upwardly mobile career move. But not to my mom. She wanted to keep her brand new police house & suburban living. She enjoyed the status it afforded. And so it was, with my mother firmly standing her ground and refusing to move to the country, my father had no choice but to leave the police force. He capitulated to keep the peace. I think he went to work for Ford. And then we moved to Canada & it was the beginning of many many years of so/so jobs and trying to make ends meet. And my mother always berating him. Even as a child I thought it was very cruel when she would criticize him for not being a good enough provider, when it was she who derailed a very good career in the police force.

Everything was about a competition with the rest of the world to be better than the next person. Or at least appear that way. My cousins family & also our non-blood cousins (you know, those close family friends that you call aunt/uncle/cousin) both bought cottages up on Georgian Bay. Both families were much more well to do than we were. They were not rich but definitely upper middle class. And because they had cottages my dad was pressured into buying us a cottage. We couldn't afford it & it was a huge financial burden but my dad did find a property to purchase. On Georgian Bay so we were not too far from the relatives. But our cottage was not beach front. That was way out of our price point. It was set back on a nice 1/4 acre, about a ten min walk to the beach. The beach was not as sandy and beautiful as our relatives beaches. The beach at our end had rocks and stones in the water. You had to wade out about 20ft to get past the stones. Our relatives had beach front cottages on prestine beaches with no stones in the water. And even though we had our cottage, my mom was quick to remind us about how it wasn't as nice as our relatives. For the first few years we had to rent the cottage out for most of the summer season in order to pay for it.

Brene Brown says narcissism is underpinned by shame. She defines narcissim as the ego having a shame based fear of being ordinary. This makes sense to me because my mother always felt that she/we were somehow "less" than other people. We didn't invite kids to our house because my mom would say, "we can't invite people here , they probably have lovely homes." She was ashamed of us as a family and of what she perceived to be how little we had . She wasn't an evil narcissist. She was the victim of her own past history, perceived shortcomings, lost dreams, and an abusive step mother. She faced health and financial challenges beyond what most people would be asked to endure. All of this lead to her narcissism.


June 2019 ?
Positive Steps
the other night I went to a presentation on mental health. It was called Enduring The Journey and marketed as a talk by someone who has walked this path, sharing his experience of how he managed to get through treatment (& continues to do so). I saw it advertised on facebook and thought it sounded interesting. And since the past few weeks have been really difficult, I was curious to know how one 'endures' this journey. How does one manage normal life while at the same time suffering debilitating emotional outbursts. Well the talk didn't really address what I was looking for but it was interesting nevertheless.


The big 'yay me' thing about going to this presentation was that I went alone. To a strange place. Where there were strange people. And I knew no one. This was way out of my comfort zone. I did try to get someone to come with me but no one jumped at the opportunity. And I did consider not going if it meant going alone. But it felt like something I needed to do. I decided the subject matter was appealing & I would venture out on my own. Even as I drove to the event , I wasn't sure if I would actually follow through and attend. I was feeling queazy all day (anxiety not stomach upset), and a little shaky. But I managed to get myself together and forge ahead. This was going to be a good thing. A positive step in me getting my life on track.

When I arrived at the destination I was hit with a second stressor. Underground parking. Really? I came all this way & now I'm going to have to go home because of underground parking? Ugh. I looked for other options. There were none close by. The only above ground parking lot I'd seen was a good few blocks away. Now I was faced with the lesser of two evils decision. Do I risk walking several city blocks , alone, in the dark, to get back to my car? Or do I risk the fear , that had now triggered a full on panic attack, of the underground parking lot which was right underneath the hotel? Or .... I could just go home. That's when I heard my therapists voice in my head saying , "well .. you've come this far ...". So I decided that as horrifying as underground parking is, it was closer to where I needed to go & I would just find a spot as close as possible to the hotel entrance. And if I couldn't find a suitable safe spot I would go home. After a bit of a drive around to get an idea of where I needed to go to access the hotel, I was lucky to find a spot close to the exit and in view of the payment kiosk which was manned by an actual human. Good, I thought. This is safe. I still had to walk a short distance down the corridor and around the corner, out of sight of the kiosk, to get to the hotels underground entrance. I held my breath and walked quickly and directly, breathing a sigh of relief once inside the hotel. Onto the next hurdle. Finding the conference room. I looked for signs. A map of the layout. Nothing. Damn. I would have to go to the front desk and ask the concierge. Fear enveloped me. He'll certainly know what presentations are going on in which conference rooms. If I ask him to direct me to the McNabb room he'll know it's a mental health presentation & he'll think there is something wrong with me. He'll think I have mental health problems. I do. But I don't want other people to know. Wow. Revelation. I do feel the stigma. Shit :-(

The presentation ran an hour and a half & as the end was nearing I started to get fidgety & suddenly worried that I'd forgotten my keys in the car. And more edgey because I couldn't check my bag to investigate . That would be rude to the speaker > to be rummaging through ones hand bag rather than paying attention. So there I sat for the last 5min or so, not paying attention, but instead totally focused on, "I need to check for my keys". In retrospect I think this was probably anxiety building at the prospect of having to enter the underground parking lot again in order to get to my car. I needed to have my keys out and ready. No fumbling at the car door. I was visualizing the route from the elevator door to my parking space. I needed to get from A to B as quickly as possible and get in the car and lock the doors. I knew once I was in the car I'd be safe ..... I had brought the dog with me. She was waiting in the car. She would keep me safe.

I made it through the evening & I was exhausted. I was actually a little surprised at how tired I was. I felt as though I could fall asleep in an instant. Not wanting to risk driving tired, I found a well lit plaza parking lot and had a wee nap before heading home. I felt good about myself. Perhaps a little proud even. I did it. I stepped way outside my comfort zone, faced my fears, and survived. I was looking forward to sharing this experience with my therapist.


Pride Goeth Before A Fall
Proverbs. Being raised Catholic, this was one of the many things drummed into our heads. And now that I think about it, I think it might be part of the reason I'm so uncomfortable with any feelings of success or being excited (happy?) about anything. I know the quote was meant to refer to people being too arrogant and too involved with their self admiration, but the expression is bandied about liberally. Anytime we got too happy about something ..... had a 'yay me' moment .... we'd be hit with Pride Goeth Before A Fall. Almost like we were being reigned in. Like our outward show of emotion was considered over the top. I remember always being admonished for either being too emotional as far as expressing happy or excited feelings; but also being admonished for not showing enough emotion. I think I shut down at an early age. Learned Helplessness. School and home taught us , don't get too happy about [fill in the blank], because "it" , whatever it may be, can be taken from you in an instant. Don't get too excited about [fill in the blank] because you don't want people to think you're too full of yourself. If you are too prideful, God will punish you.

So here I was after my successful evening out. I stepped outside my comfort zone & survived. I was pleased with myself and maybe , just maybe, a little proud of my accomplishment. Sunday morning rolled around & I was still exhausted & just wanted to stay in bed. I almost canceled dog training but I thought, "no ... just power through it". So I got up and went to Sniffer Club (our scent detection practice group). I only took 2 dogs that morning. A load of dog food picked up a couple of nights before meant no room in the van for the third sniffer dog, my old coonhound Bates. He protested loudly as I left that morning. Sniffer Club went well. I was tired but got through the searches. When I came home that afternoon all was well. I went out to the local grocery store. I was gone for approximately an hour . I came home to find Bates dead in his crate. He was 13yrs old at the youngest (he might have been older as he was a rescue dog whose age was guessed by shelter workers). He'd been with me ten years. It was a terrible shock. He had not been sick. Eating, drinking, and barking as normal. And yet there he was, the dog who had been barking at me indignantly that very morning; the dog who, had there been room in the van, would have been at Sniffer Club that day; here he was lying dead in his kennel. My emotional state at the moment can be described as tenuous at best. Another loss was not what I needed. And then that old Proverbs saying came into my head ..... "Pride Goeth Before A Fall". And suddenly I felt guilt. I was feeling good about myself (pride) and as a result Bates was taken from me (the fall). I know intellectually that this is a ridiculous notion. Bates died because he was old and had to have had some kind of underlying medical condition that had not revealed any symptoms. The timing was just coincidence. But that old .... it's your fault .... crept in.

　
Stigma

I thought I didn't feel any stigma associated with mental health. In fact I think it was one of the questions on that bazillion questions questionairre. And I'm pretty sure I answered no. I wanted to answer 'not with regards to other people, but yes if I'm talking about me' . But it was a yes/no question & I decided it was meant to be universal so i put no. It's a strange conundrum. Mental illness is okay in other people. I don't think of them differently or judge them. But when it comes to myself, I see me as being broken and somehow deficiant. And I feel like if people know , they will look down on me &/or judge me as being somehow "less" of a person.

The speaker at the presentation the other night spoke about how for a long time he resisted help for his mental health challenges. How mental illness felt like a weakness. He spoke about when he was admitted to hospital and how awkward it felt to walk into the hospital to check himself into a psychiatric ward. How he felt the stigma of 'mental illness' hanging over him. He was embarrassed. Felt somehow humiliated. And as I listened, his words rang true for me. I realized that I felt the same way the first time I went to meet with my therapist. I knew I was meeting him at the hospital. And I was very anxious about the whole thing. I'm not sure I knew what to expect, but as I drove into the hospital complex and saw the signs indicating the different wings, and saw the signs that said Mental Health, I felt kind of sick, nervous, and shaky. Had I not already known the person I was consulting with, I might have turned away. But running away from someone I knew & had reached out to, was not an option. I wanted to cry. Following those signs to the appropriate parking lot, I felt like everyone knew where I was going. I felt like I was displaying a placard announcing, "I'm broken". And I felt like the world was looking at me in criticism. Walking into the hospital was frightening. People are going to know why I'm here. The staff will know . How can I face these people? I felt embarrassed and awkward and like I might pass out. And while I was sitting in the waiting area, a young girl and her mother arrived, checked in and took seats across from me. The mother went to pull the coffee table a bit closer in order to select a magazine & commented at how heavy it was, and the daughter commented something to the effect of , "it's a psyche ward , everything is nailed down 'cos we're all crazy". The mom gave her a 'look', and the girl said, "I know, inappropriate comments", and rolled her eyes. Such a simple off the cuff comment to the girl, but to me it made me feel like I'd been exposed as mentally deficiant. I could feel my face getting flushed, and began to feel uncomfortably hot and even more ill at ease. Afterall I was sitting in the reception area of the mental health wing of a hospital, waiting to meet with a psychologist. I'd been 'outed'. Hello Stigma!!!

For me, the stigma of mental health rates right up there with the stigma of sexual assault. Both generate feelings of shame and unworthiness. And both are terrible secrets that we work very hard to protect.

Even now, after several weeks of going to the hospital for therapy sessions, I realize that I still have that pang of 'people will know why I'm here'. I'm still uncomfortable to be 'seen' going to the mental health department. There's still a part of me that feels like I'm somehow "less", somehow deficient. And people will know. And they will think less of me. I'm trying to be transparent & not hide what I'm going through. I have shared with my cousin & a few friends that I'm going to psychotherapy. But not a lot of details. There are still things that I cannot discuss. Things that are just too painful and personal.

　
Emotional Throwback

I've always been (and continue to be) afraid of being wrong, making mistakes, and getting in trouble. And have always been afraid of getting in trouble for something I haven't done. To be falsely accused of something.

I remember a time our family was at the New Penny Restaurant in Cookstown, which was on the way to the cottage. I picked up a bottle of ketchup and when I shook it (you know, like everyone does) the top flew off and ketchup spurted everywhere. My parents were annoyed & I guess embarrassed and I got in trouble for making a mess and a scene. Of course, I cried and then was admonished for crying and making a scene.

We used to get in trouble for blowing bubbles in our chocolate milk (through the straws). I don't know why. And we'd be reprimanded for drinking it too fast. I still drink chocolate milk fast, but now there's no one to hinder me! Chocolate milk at a restaurant was a real treat and yet we were not allow to enjoy it like kids (blowing bubbles and drinking fast). The joy was sucked out of the treat. We were expected to be on our best behaviour at all times.

The therapist asked me how I would respond if something like the ketchup faux pas were to happen now. I said I think I'd laugh (envisioning myself in a resaurant with friends & it just being an 'oops' and laughter). So imagine my shock today when I had a 'ketchup' moment & experienced an emotional throwback to that day in the New Penny Restaurant when I was a little girl. I lifted a bag of frozen corn from my grocery cart & the bag broke open spilling corn all over the counter and the floor. I exclaimed, "oh my gosh!", and the cashier immediately said, "don't worry about it". Too late. The emotional ship had sailed. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling like I might cry. It only lasted a moment but it was shocking to me that such a simple thing could trigger emotional feelings from decades ago.


Breaking Old Patterns
I received a voicemail from someone with a very strong accent and who spoke so quickly that the message was indiscernible. I don't usually return calls to numbers I do not recognize and my voicemail clearly asks that you leave a message stating your name and the purpose of your call. I don't advertise my number anywhere so unknown numbers spark fear in me. Who are you. Where did you get my number? For some reason I decided to return this call and was met with voicemail. I left a message to say "I'm sorry I don't recognize your number & your message didn't come through clearly. Could you please shoot me either a text or email to let me know who you are and the purpose of your call, and I'll get right back to you". Minutes later I received a text, "talking is faster. I'm not going to waste my time writing to you." My immediate gut reaction was that feeling of a panic attack. Stomach turning. Queazy feeling. Heart pounding. Feeling shakey. His text message felt aggressive. I felt under attack. And a bit annoyed. I mean really , in the time it took to be dirisive, he could have said my name is ____ and I'm calling about _____. Now my normal go to reaction in what I perceive to be a confrontational situation (after the panic attack) is to go into 'oh my God how do I smooth this over'. How do I diffuse this persons aggressiveness and explain in a non-offensive way, why I ask to know who is calling me and why. Aside from my fear of the unknown which is not something I offer up as explanation, there is also the matter of how long of a phone converstation is this likely to be. If I know why you're calling I'll have an idea how much time I need to set aside. And my mind went to constructing a response. And then ...... I thought , No. I don't need to explain myself to this person. He could be a potential client but do I want to deal with someone with this attitude? No. I don't. So I decidedly broke my old pattern of behaviour (grovelling & needing acceptance) and I deleted the fellows message and blocked his number. A small step in setting boundaries.


　
Dad's Ashes
I've been driving around with Dad's ashes in the car. I didn't want to bring them in the house in case one of the dogs knocks them down or some other faux pas should come to pass. So they've been in the car and I guess there they'll stay until it's time for interment ... the plan being to bury them in the same grave with my sister and mother.

Now that the weather is nice and the ground not frozen, it's time to look at arranging that interment. As I thought about it I had a vision of myself standing there .... alone .... my entire family in the ground. And I felt a sense of aloneness that was overwhelming. I'm all that's left of my family unit. It reduced me to uncontrolable sobbing.

When I told my therapist about this he suggested that I might not be ready to bury my dad just yet. He asked me why it seemed important to do this now. And I said I didn't know. It just seemed like there was an expectation to do things in a certain order. Or that people would be expecting me to do this sooner rather than later. Dad died in winter, so you wait for spring/summer and bury ashes as soon as possible. It just felt like that's what you're supposed to do. It didn't occur to me that I had any options. This is where having someone objective to talk to helps. There is no rush. No rule that says you have to bury the ashes according to any timeline. Maybe I'm not ready to take that final step. So for now the ashes will travel with me.

　
Self Help Books

My book shelves are filled almost exclusively with self help books. Books searching for life answers. Books on self development. Books on finding success. Books on manifesting a good life. And so on. And it struck me tonight that these books are a testament to the fact that I have such low self esteem and low self worth. These books confirm that I don't think I'm good enough. Otherwise I wouldn't need or seek out these titles.

I keep having these little ah-ha moments

　
Back To The Ballet

When I talk about how my life as a child and into adulthood was governed by dance, I don't want people to think I didn't like dancing itself. It was just that it carried such a high expectation. It was all I was exposed to. It was a narrow life. There was nothing else.

I remember my mother telling me that the ballet instructor told her that as soon as the music started, I was transformed. I went in crying and apparently the music changed things. Although I don't remember that, I do believe it. Music is something I feel in my soul. You don't just hear music ..... you FEEL it. I can remember feeling lost in music. As an adult I was a good choreographer . I had a knack for it. The music led me. It's hard to explain but I could 'feel' where to take the next move.

Dance was difficult. I was always under criticism for not being as good as the next person .... why can't you kick your leg as high as so 'n so, etc. It was also painful. Blistered and bleeding feet. Muscle spasms. Shin splints. But at the same time I think the ballet studio was my safe place. I think I endured more stress at home than I was aware of at the time. There was often tension between my parents. I was always afraid of getting in trouble. And I could do nothing right. But at the ballet , the music would somehow transport me to a dream world. The lyrics to the song At The Ballet, from the Broadway show A Chorus Line, resonated with me ......
** Everything was beautiful at the ballet.
Graceful men lift lovely girls in white.
Yes,
Everything was beautiful at ballet,
Hey!
I was happy at the ballet.

... everyone is beautiful at the ballet.
Every prince has got to have his swan.
Yes,
Everyone is beautiful at the ballet.

Hey!

I was pretty

At the ballet.**

The first time I heard this song I felt connected to it. And recently it occurred to me that maybe the ballet studio was my safe place.

　
Vunerability

Awhile back the psychologist asked me what being vunerable meant to me. When I refer to feeling vunerable I mean feeling exposed, unprotected, susceptible, and at risk.

I read somewhere that in order to brave, we have to first be vunerable. It didn't quite gel with me at first but then I realized that it was allowing myself to be vunerable, that allowed me to reach out for help. I had to be vunerable enough to be brave enough to reach out.

　
Dog Psychology Parallels

In one of my dog training handouts I write:

**All of our dogs possess　 a Past Learning History that will affect how they perceive different situations, other dogs, cats, people, etc.　 Dogs, just like people, are learning all the time.　 Every minute of everyday ... every experience good or bad ... it's all banked in the dogs memory & he is learning all the time.　 With this in mind we have to be aware of the cumulative effects that peoples actions have had on our dogs.　 In the words of behaviourist Ted Turner,　 "the incredible high jump, the tight heel, the painfully slow return, or the violent aggression you see today, is a function of the past."　 What this means is that while the specific incident is triggered by a current event or stimulus, the response/behaviour that your dog expresses, is a product of past learning.**

Funny but I'm just realizing that this applies to me too. My anxiety; my fears; my reactions to different situations ..... they are the cumulative effect of past learning, past reactions, past frustrations, and past reinforcements. My [canine] learning theory knowledge is helping me to understand things.


Boundaries & Extinction Bursts
Apparently I need to learn to set boundaries. And not let people walk all over me. I hate confrontation and shy away from any challenges. I hate the idea of letting people down. I hate the idea of making people unhappy. And as a result, I concede to things that I'd rather not concede to. People know this & whether intentionally or not, take advantage.

The therapist told me that when I first set boundaries, people might push back. They are accustomed to getting their way. Used to me backing down. And when I start to stand my ground, they might become aggressive and push back because pushing back has worked in the past. "Oh!", I said, "like an extinction burst". Another dog training parallel. Thinking of this as an extinction burst helps me to depersonalize it. I can take a step back & remind myself ... 'they are just having an extinction burst'. It's not personal. It's just a normal behavioural response to change.

For anyone not familiar with the phenomenon, an extinction burst is when you've been doing something a certain way for quite some time, and then the rules change. The extinction burst is the "tantrum" that occurs before the behavior extinguishes. For example, you put your key in the door every night and the door opens, and then one night you put the key in the door and it won't open. You don't think, 'oh well I guess it doesn't work', and immediately accept it. No. You try again. You wiggle the key. Turn the door knob. You get frustrated and you might kick the door and swear at it before you finally accept that this key will no longer open this door. That's an extinction burst > the behaviour intensifies before it extinguishes.


Life Wasn't All Bad
As I go through this process I have to remember that growing up wasn't all bad. We did have happy moments. One summer we went to a ballet camp that was held at Branksome Hall, a boarding school in Toronto. My mother was one of the den mothers, which granted my sister and I admission to the camp. I remember one night ... my mother would be mortified if she were alive and hearing this story told .... One night my mother had decided to take a bath. The bathrooms had these super deep soaker tubs and Mum had doused her bath water with bath oils. And then the fun began. She couldn't get out! I remember my sister and I trying to assist her out of the tub and everytime we almost got her out, she'd slip right back down again. The bath oils had made the bathtub into a slippery slide! The more we tried to get her out, the more we laughed. And the more we laughed, the more hilarious the situation became. Tears were streaming down our faces as my mother exclaimed in that Irish accent that makes everything funnier , "Jaysus Mary and Joseph!" . Of course , we finally got her out ..... or she'd still be there :-)

I can also remember my aunt, Mary , visiting from England. Mary was a very funny person. She had all kinds of funny expressions & the Irish accent made them even funnier. I can remember laughing until tears ran down my face and my face hurt from laughing. I can see us all .... Mum, Mary, Alex , and I .... sitting around the kitchen table telling stories and laughing. I loved Mary and loved when she visited. I felt like I had an ally in Mary. At times when my mother would say something critical, Mary would be the buffer. It was Mary who taught me that when it's too hot in bed, but too cold to completely throw off the covers, just stick your feet out .

I also remember my Dad heating up bricks in the fireplace at the cottage, wrapping them in towels and putting them in our beds to warm the beds up on the cold fall nights.


The Things That Hurt Us
It's strange the things that hurt us. When Bates died & I took his body to the vet clinic for cremation I was really upset by the fact that the girl at the desk did not say, 'sorry for your loss'. Worse was that she referred to him as 'the animal'. These small things hurt. Granted my emotions are really raw right now so I'm probably over sensitive to things. Bates was more than 'the animal'. He was a sentient being who was loved and who gave love. His memory deserved to be treated with more respect. *I* needed to be treated with more respect and empathy. And that hurt spiraled me into my dads passing and how I felt hurt that no one from the hospital (aside from the nurse who called me to inform me of his passing) said or did anything to express, 'sorry for your loss'. It's not that I expected anything, but at the same time I felt sadness because there was no follow up. Dad was on that floor for 5mths. He had a social network of people who looked after him and with whom he engaged in daily activities. And it wasn't the first time he'd been on that ward. He'd been there a few times over the years. The staff and social workers and nurses knew him. They knew me. While I didn't expect 4B to send a sympathy card, I felt hurt that they didn't. It made me feel like his life didn't matter. No one cared that he was gone. When an animal dies, the vet clinic sends a sympathy card. And I would venture to say that they see more deaths than the hospital does. If Dad had only been there a couple of weeks it would be different. But he was there for five solid months, and had been a patient on that ward several times. They knew me because I was there every other day visiting my dad. We were not strangers. They knew Dad well and it just felt like no one cared that he was gone. I think adopting a policy of sending some kind of sympathy note to families (for long term patients who pass) would be something the hospital should look into.

　


Oh God! I'd Forgotten About This ......
I just had a flashback to a catastrophic accident I had at around 6yrs old. It's not a "new" memory > I've remembered it in the past ..... just not for a very long time.

I fell off my bike and landed impaled on the pedal. I remember being taken to local doctor and being hysterical and restrained . That's all I can say about this ..... it's too awful to go into any detail.

I think I'm having a panic attack .....

I'm super creeped out and feeling really queezy with this memory. I'm not even sure I want to share it. I might delete this entry.



July 2019
Whoa! Caught Off Guard
The other night I was driving up University Ave. past all the hospitals and it got me thinking about Dad and his room/bed that he occupied at the Norfolk Hospital, and the little tv room where he used to watch tv, and where we visited. And then as I passed by the Sick Kids Hospital I was suddenly overcome and burst into tears. And I thought "whoa! what the ?" It's been four decades since my sister died and I've driven up that road, past that hospital hundreds of times & never had a reaction like this. The emotion blindsided me. I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of feelings. The sadness. The feeling of abandonment > yes there is a piece of the child in me that feels like my sister abandoned me. The sense of aloneness . The therapist said maybe I haven't had a chance to grieve that loss yet. But it was so long ago. It confuses me that these things still haunt me. That I have so much to process. That these things have been repressed for so long.


The Negative Bias

I've often wondered what's wrong with me that I have so many unhappy and traumatic memories and so few happy ones. Why does an insult or a criticism cause such anxiety and sometimes emotional devastation, while positive comments and reviews seem to hold less value. Well it turns out I'm not abnormal and there is nothing strange about this phenomenom. It seems that research has shown that negative events have a greater impact on our brains, than do positive events. Psychologists refer to this as the "negative bias". And our brains are hard wired for it. I remember a television interview with the manager of a well known singer & he said that while this singer could receive thousands of good reviews and have hundreds of thousands of fans, that one bad comment/bad review, would shut her down . The stab of the negative outweighed the joy of the positive.


I'm told this negative bias is most likely a result of human evolution. In generations past, those of our early ancestors who paid more attention to dangerous, and negative threats in their environment, were more likely to survive. And those genes have been passed down through the millennia. The tendency to dwell on the negative is our brains way of trying to keep us safe. And while we no longer need to be on the constant high alert that our ancestors needed in order to survive, this "negative bias" prevails in our brains workings.

Knowing this is normal helps me to process what I'm going through. It's normal to remember negative events and feelings. And remembering these things .... Feeling the sting of those emotions .... It's my brains way of processing all the repressed emotions so that I can get past them and build a happy life.

　
Happiness


when I started out on this journey I was asked about what makes me happy and when I thought about it , I really didn't know . I couldn't (and still can't) remember what happy feels like. Life has just been a chore for so long that I think I felt numb. Am I happy? I don't think so, because I'm not sure what happy means, let alone what it feels like. I knew my depression was peaking because over the couple of years leading up to my fathers passing, the things that used to motivate me and bring me some [momentary] happiness, no longer held any joy for me. Things I used to love, held no interest for me anymore. Everything was a chore. I feel like I was just going through the motions of life. Doing what needed to be done. But not feeling any joy.

This doesn't mean I never laughed or had a good time somewhere. Generally speaking I had good times at our shows, although they also failed to provide the same joy they once did, and were becoming more of an obligation than a passion. But overall happiness. What is that? What does that feel like? Will I know if/when I get there?


Validation
As I recall and share the events that have defined my life and my self worth , I worry that there are people (friends &relatives) who knew and loved my mother, who will be offended by my version of my life growing up. People who might accuse me of making things up. Or who might think less of me for speaking my truth. Let me make it abundantly clear that I'm not hating my mother for her treatment of me. I love my mother despite those things. And I realize that she was a product of her upbringing, her challenges, her disappointments, and her frustrations. Everyone is doing the best they can in life, and I realize that my mother was a product of her own damaged childhood, and an upbringing that was in need of healing. She did her best with the cards she was dealt. But abuse trickles down the generations. She was a child of an abusive parent. And while she abhored violence & was vehemently opposed to physical violence, she was nonetheless psychologically abusive. I want to believe it was unintentional & just her way of dealing with her own challenges. Perhaps she too suffered from depression and was lashing out at those closest to her. At a very young age I decided that I would never have children because the cycle of abuse needed to end with this generation.


As a child damaged by words that tore down my sense of self worth, I was desperate for validation. As a child whose emotions were dismissed, I was starving for validation. I needed to know that I mattered. I needed to know that I wasn't worthless. I needed to know that I was "enough". Worthy of love. Worthy of affection. And not just a punching bag for verbal degradation.

*Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me* I remember that playground chant well. It couldn't be more wrong. Words can destroy you.

As an adult being ambushed by memories and emotions that have been repressed for decades, I question and second guess myself. Everyone loved my mother and thought she was amazing. And she was, in many ways. She had a fun side. She had a sharp wit. And she could be fun to be around. And that was the side of her that people saw. The only side they saw. I'm sure people who knew her would be shocked to read my recollections. Soooo .... am I wrong? Are my memories a figment of my imagination? My therapist reminds me that we don't have control of our emotions. They are what they are. So if the memories are triggering the emotions, then they can't be my imagination. But still, I'm alone in this. My only sibling, perhaps the only person who could vouch for me, is gone. I don't think my dad was fully aware of the dynamics between my mother and I ; or if he was, he repressed it. My mother was the epitome of the saying, 'the hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world'. She was the boss in our family.

Recently, while at lunch with my cousin, I finally got the validation that I needed to know that I'm not crazy and not imagining things. She told me that her mother worried about me. She "saw" me and saw how my mother treated me. My aunt was not in a position to take any action (as she had her own challenges), but she saw what was happening. My cousin said to me, "we saw it .... I thought it was important for you to know that you were seen." Finally I have validation.

As I write this I wonder if perhaps my aunt did attempt to intervene at some point. There was a rift between our families. I think it occurred in my teens. I always thought it was to do with the alcoholism suffered by my aunt, and her brother. My Uncle Sean's alcoholism caused a lot of disruption in the family. I remember my mom and dad bailing him out of several situations where he was blotto and needing rescuing. Because of this my mom had little tolerance for alcoholics. But now, as I write this, I wonder if the rift between our families was about more than the alcoholism.

　
Assertiveness 

Apparently I need to learn to set boundaries. I need to have enough of a sense of self worth to stand up for myself. To be assertive. This will be a challenge because I hate conflict. I hate any kind of confrontation. To me confrontation is like being attacked. And in my life, in many ways it is a form of attack . People know I will back down & use confrontation as the weapon to control me.

Through most of my early life we children were taught to be compliant. Even if we thought someone was wrong, or were asked to do something we didn't want to do, we were supposed to be compliant because that's what good little girls do. The saying back then was, children are seen but not heard.

Good little girls; good children; and respectful adults are compliant. Go along to get along.

This is where assertivenss, aggressiveness, and bullying get muddied for me.

We were raised that when someone who is perceived to be superior to you says that's the way it's gonna be, you don't question it. So is that people putting up their boundaries? Whether they are wrong or right, or respectful or not? Pushing their assertiveness to make the other person back down and comply? Therapist says that is not assertive, that's aggressive.

So I guess I need to figure out (learn) the difference between people who are being aggressive and pushy, and those who are just being assertive. That's a really hard concept for me 'cos I've always been the doormat. Always been the person who's been pushed around & forced (or guilted) into compliance.

　
Emotions Are Here To Help Us

So the therapist was telling me that emotions are here to help us and teach us. We're supposed to learn from different emotions, which is another thing I don't quite understand. I've only really thought of emotions in terms of good or bad .... happy or sad.
He told me there are 6 basic emotions. Happiness. Sadness. Fear. Anger. Surprise. And Disgust. (and some people add Contempt as a 7th emotion) Surprise is an emotion? Disgust is an emotion?? I have never thought of these feelings as "emotions". Another concept to wrap my head around.

What's the difference between feelings and emotions? Are they always the same thing? I don't know.

The therapist says that while we can't control having/feeling our emotions, we can control how we perceive them & learn from them; or something like that. I've always thought the only control we have over our emotions was to suppress them. If you're sad, just push that down and get on with life. OR in the case of my life .... if you're too happy, you better put a cap on that because something bad is bound to happen if you are too happy, too content, too overjoyed; and of course if you're angry, you should suppress that because anger can lead to violence.

I think I lived in a state of learned helplessness. Not able to show emotions for fear of them being "wrong", or being ridiculed for my feelings, or having them dismissed in some fashion. So the only option was to suppress emotions. To be helpless to process them.

I've always thought of emotions in terms of suppression being the only control we have over them. Which when I think about it, is kind of silly because when I reflect on how we work with dogs that are fearful or anxious (emotional issues), we don't try to suppress what they are feeling, we try to adjust their perception. We look to perception modification to help them "feel" differently and thus experience a different emotional reaction to certain triggers. I don't know why I've never thought about that in terms of people.

　
Buffers

So yesterday when I went to see the therapist , he had new office. I'd had a fairly uneventful week so nothing "huge" to talk about & yet I felt a bit awkward and strange. After I left & was driving home, I realized it was because there was no table in this new office. We've always talked across a table. Now there was just space. No barrier between us. And I realized the table was a buffer that made me feel comfortable. And then I realized how prevalent buffers are/have been in my life.

My life is/has been a lot about finding buffers between me and people/ circumstances. When I was in my 20's and doing extra work in the film business, I started smoking because it gave me something 'to do' in order to not feel exposed ….. it was a buffer between me and strangers. I smoked for about 3yrs and then one day decided ick, don't want to do this anymore, and quit. But I knew why I was smoking. I knew it gave me something to hide behind.

When I used to travel on public transport I always had a book > usually fake reading 'cos I was hyper vigilant of the environment > but the book was a buffer between me and the environment. I didn't have it because I wanted to read. I had it as something to hide behind . A way to try and be invisible to potential predators (the stalking left me always on guard)

And I think that even in dance …… music and choreography provide a buffer …. they're that something between you and your audience.

And anything performance oriented also acts as a buffer because the "character" you play is that something between you and the real world. It's a common oxymoron that many actors/performers, while appearing to be self confident and outgoing, are actually lacking in confidence and needing validation. For some, the drive for fame is acutally a struggle for validation.

Working with performance dogs is a buffer. They provide a barrier between me and the cast, crew, etc.

Dogs in general are a buffer. I almost always travel with a dog. I've never thought of her as a buffer. I've told myself it's about safety . But maybe it's not just about safety.

Maybe, while it is related to fear, the dog also represents a buffer/barrier between me and what might be out there. A preliminary line of defence to perceived/potential threats??

Ugh … I think my brain might explode!!!

Some level of buffering must be normal right?? doesn't everyone have some degree of emotional moat surrounding them?

Without buffers one feels raw & exposed and .... here comes the scary word .....vulnerable.

　
The Weight Of Your Story

I just caught the end of an interview with author Najwa Zebian, on Entertainment Tonight. When asked about the motivation for her writings she said something that touched me & was profound. She first said something to the effect of (I had to rush to pen/paper to write it down before I forgot, so might not be an exact quote), 'when you tell your story it lifts the weight of it off your soul', and then she said, "when you lift the weight of your story off your soul, you will feel free"

So maybe that's why I'm writing my story ..... to be free

Memes

I see lots of Power Of Positivity memes on facebook. Friends post/share them & those that resonate with me, I too share. One recent meme said, "Don't let the sadness of your past, and the fear of your future, ruin the happiness of your present".

This is where I seem to reside at the moment ..... right bang in the middle between the sadness of the past & the fear of the future.

　
Sleep


I haven't slept well in a few years . I wake up every hour and a half to two hours. And I feel groggy and grumpy when I finally awake to get up. I never feel rested. Or refreshed. I'm a slow waker upper ..... iow I'm conscious but not 'awake'. I'm envious of people who say things like 'oh that was a great sleep, I feel so energized'. I don't remember ever feeling energized .....ever. I used to sleep at least 6hrs at a stretch. But this constant waking up during the night is exhausting. I think this disrupted sleep might have come to pass because of being hyper aware of my Dad . Kind of like new parents always being aware of a baby waking in the night. You sleep lightly so you can hear if anything should happen. So while I'm not sure, I think this is how my disrupted sleep pattern might have evolved. And now it's ingrained.

Most of the time I fall asleep really quickly .... in less that 5 minutes. I'm told that means I am sleep deprived. But occassionally insomnia joins my nights and I'll be awake until 5 or 6 in the morning before finally falling asleep and into the one and a half to two hour cycle. Then my day is lost because I'm so exhausted I can barely function.

But last night I slept for FOUR HOURS in a row!!!!! Granted I didn't fall asleep until 5am as it was a hot muggy night & I couldn't get comfortable, but I didn't wake up until 9am. Four Hours!!! Whoohoo!!! I checked the clock in the kitchen and then my phone just to be sure I was reading the time right. And as thrilled as I am to have slept for four hours, I can also feel a wave of sadness washing over me because I have no one to share this news with. I desparately want to tell someone but there is no one to tell. And that makes me feel very alone in the world.

　
The Book ......


I'm feeling a lot of agitation and anxiety today. I'm not 100% sure what triggered it. I was having a good few 'calm' days, and now I'm so agitated my skin is crawling. This morning I awoke to a mess made by one (or more) of the dogs. A box in the front hallway had been knocked over and its contents strewn & chewed. As I was picking up the mess I came across a paperback book entitled Toxic Parents. I haven't seen that book in years. And I can't remember who gave it to me. I do remember keeping it hidden for fear my parents would find it. I knew then (and still know) that it would have caused HUGE fallout. I think my father would probably have been hurt if he'd known about the book. My mother would have been infuriated and it would have been a huge attack on me. She would have been immensely insulted that "she" might be considered anything less than a perfect parent, and I would have been verbally assaulted and cut down to nothing.

I can understand how the book subject, Toxic Parents, would be upsetting to any parent though. And thus I hid the book.

I didn't read the book. I think on some level I felt slightly offended that someone thought my parents might be toxic, and as such, had given me the book. Toxic is a hard word to acknowledge. To think of my parents as "toxic" was something I could not face. Even now it seems somehow wrong to entertain that thought. Just the title , Toxic Parents, conjures up feelings of guilt for even entertaining the thought that the word "toxic" could be applied to my parents.

This youtube video about toxic parents pretty much sums up my life with my mom. It's the 10 signs that you were raised by a toxic parent .... or narcissistic parent. Again I want to reiterate that this is not about blame, but about acknowledgement and healing; about being able to shed the shackles of that past, and move on.



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XlwvxZwP4B0&fbclid=IwAR3M_tJuAZyZ_HzIxqPGdLR41uZqE7PG_inPONU8q7QHynLzKb6xHS4Br8I


Never Felt Loved

It's a strange thing to admit , but I've never felt loved. My parents didn't tell us they loved us . "I love you ", was a phrase never spoken. Not to us children. Nor between them. And there wasn't a lot of outward affection shown between my parents either. I think perhaps they were uncomfortable with public shows of affection. My father was very reserved in that sense. Very British. I don't think theirs was a great love affair. I think perhaps they both just "settled" because society said they were getting too old to be single. They were both in their 30's when they married. Back in the 1950's that was "old" to be single. I'm sure they loved each other in their own way. And I'm sure they must have loved us in their own way too.

But I can't remember my parents ever telling us they loved us. It's a strange thing that when your material needs are being met (food, clothing, shelter), that alone can stand as the evidence of love. And I think in our family that, "we take care of you", was considered enough of a show of love. They say actions speak louder than words, but sometimes words are needed, especially to children who need to "know" they are loved and worthy.

When my mothers youngest sister died, my mom was devastated. She hadn't seen her sister in probably 20yrs but Terry had been the baby of her family and my mother had been sort of a second mum to her when she was very young. My mother was an adult when Terry was born. Terry was the youngest of ten & my mom was the second eldest of the children. I remember feeling pained at seeing my mother so upset and I remember hugging her and telling her I loved her. The sentiment was not returned. Granted she was deep in her own sadness at the time and I told myself this was the reason she didn't return a statement of love. Not the right time.

I do remember a time in my adult life when my mother showed affection to me. I had a cat named Simon who was very ill, and who despite extensive veterinary care, was dying. I can remember that afternoon when Simon took a turn for the worse & I realized he wasn't going to survive; I was standing in the kitchen crying and my mother came in and asked what was wrong, and I remember sobbing, "Simon is dying", and she hugged me and held me in her arms for a minute or two. It makes me sad to write this as I can feel the emotion of that moment so long ago. She didn't tell me she loved me. And I didn't feel love. But I did feel compassion. And that was enough.

As I think back on relationships, I realize I didn't feel loved in those attachments either. I was never told I was loved. I'm not even sure what I myself felt in those relationships. Emotionally attached might be a suitable elucidation.

It wasn't until the last year of my fathers life, that he told me he loved me for the first time. It actually took me off guard and I felt awkward and uncomfortable hearing those words spoken. I'm glad that he broke that barrier so that we could express that emotion to one another. "I love you", were the last words we spoke to each other. Little did I know when I left the hospital that day, that I would never see my father again.

Mother Teresa was quoted as saying, "The most terrible poverty is lonliness, & the feeling of being unloved".

　
New Office Angst ....

Today I'm feeling super agitated and anxious and weepy {sigh} I think part of the mounting anxiety is because I see the therapist tomorrow . Last week when I met with him he had a new office. In the old office there was a table and we sat on opposite sides and talked across the table The new office has no table .... just "space" between us and it made me feel really uncomfortable. I know ... it's nuts .... right?? I know it sounds silly. But that 'no table / no buffer' is haunting me; and I'm feeling an increasing sense of almost panic about meeting tomorrow . That "space" is soooo uncomfortable. And the thought of the 'space' is creating a lot of anxiety. Geez .... I sound certifiable!!!

Update ......... got past the lack of buffer ......... new office is fine :-)

　
Weepy Day & Weird Dream

Feeling really weepy today. I think there are 2 reasons. One is because I'll be seeing people tonight for the first time since Dad died. Whenever I would pick up their dog, if Dad was with me, the husband always came out to the car to talk to him. And if he wasn't with me, they would always ask after him. So when they booked the dog for boarding this time, I let them know that Dad had passed. And tonight I'll be picking up the dog and seeing them for the first time since he died. I think it's emotional seeing people who knew my dad, for the first time after his death.

Second reason: I had a weird dream this morning. Mum and Dad were both in it. Mum only briefly. I was going downstairs and peeked into the bedroom to see if Mum was up, and she was still sleeping. Didn't see her face but knew it was her under the covers. So I went downstairs to the kitchen and Dad was there.

There was another room beside the kitchen and it was separated by one of those 2 way mirror/window. The people on the other side seemed to be in some kind of dressing/make up room (almost like a backstage dressing room), and all hustling and bustling into formal attire. Like they were getting ready for a wedding or something. . It was like we were watching a giant life sized tv screen. There was one lady walking around in a towel just barely covering her and I said to my dad, "I wonder if she knows we can see her? Someone needs to let her know she can be seen."

I don't know much about dream interpretation but I wonder if the dream had something to do with me feeling like I'm being emotionally exposed, and my fear of being exposed. Exposed because my house needs repair. Exposed because I'm going through some sort of mental breakdown (at least that's how it feels to me). Exposed because I'm seeing a psychologist. Fear of my horrible life secrets being exposed. And fear of the phobia being exposed.


Shingles??
I've not been feeling 100% the past few weeks. The skin on my back and abdomin around my ribcage has been sore to touch. Close fiiting clothes irritate the skin and it's sore. And it itches but when/if I scratch it, it really hurts. Google search came up with shingles. Apparently you can get shingles without the telltale rash. I thought it was getting better but now it seems worse again on my left side. And my back where the soreness/itch is , is also kind of numb now. I'm not sure if numb is the right word, but it feels like the area of my knee where there is nerve damage. Feels different to the touch.

Also I still have a big mark/scar on my stomach from where the airbag hit me when I had my car accident 8mths ago. Occassionally I wonder if problems can arise so many months after impact. I find that my stomach feels fuller sooner with less food than before & most of the time now, I can't finish meals. I do realize that my diet is not well balanced and probably not very healthy.

This morning I was lying back in the recliner and Tink jumped up and landed BAM! right on my stomach as she ran across me and off the other side. It hurt like hell and still hurts now, several hours later. And it set off the [maybe shingles] pain/irritation. So now my stomach hurts; my back muscles hurt; and my skin hurts. I'm feeling very out of sorts but I can't go to a walk in clinic because of "the phobia". Just the thought of it sends me into a full fledged panic attack. So I'm feeling an extreme amount of angst around this. And I'm falling apart emotionally. It's like I was starting to feel better and now the universe is saying, "NOPE! I've got something else to knock you down." Sometimes I feel like I was created to live in fear and sadness ..... that happiness will always be just out of reach.

　
Therapy Breakdown

So today the horrible life limiting secret was exposed. When asked how was my week, I mentioned that I thought I might have an outbreak of shingles (due to the sore skin etc) and therapist said maybe I need to see a doctor, and I fell apart. It was a door I wasn't sure I wanted to walk through ,but once opened ....... no going back. So I had to reveal the "why" behind why I can't seek medical help. I can't even write it here now. One person knows now & he's not allowed to tell anyone. I spent the better part of the session in tears. Feeling pathetic. Hopeless. Worthless.

　
The Secret Revealed (sort of )

As previously mentioned, while I crave connection, I don't want to be touched. It goes way back to early childhood .... the fallout from the priest outings. The thought of anyone touching me sends me into panic and extreme anxiety. The secret escaped the vault when the therapist suggested I might consider seeing a doctor for my possible shingles. When I finally broke down and sobbed, "people can't touch me", the therapist asked is it just physicians. And the answer is no, it's not just doctors. It's any kind of physical encounter outside the casual. The thought of being exposed or touched in any way sends me into a panic attack. And since medical treatment cannot be completely avoided (although I manage to do so 99% of the time), any unavoidable experiences have been extremely traumatic. Every encounter is like reliving the trauma. And it doesn't matter whether a doctor is male or female. The phobia is the same. The phobia isn't about the circumstance (doctor vs other physical contact), it's about exposure and being touched. I've been told that even as a small child, unable to articulate or perhaps even understand my fears &/or their root cause, I would be out of control hysterical at a doctors visit. Kicking. Screaming. Crying. Trying desparately to avoid any and all touch. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, no attempt was made to allay my fears or question the intensity or cause of my behaviour. I was just a problem patient and an embarrassment to my mother. Restraint, force, and verbal threats were used to enforce compliance. And while parents might be naive and simply see a difficult child, it seems inconceivable to me that a medical health professional would fail to recognize a childs trauma. Of course, the bicycle accident previously mentioned, did not help at all. It made things worse. Much worse.

People can't touch me, doesn't refer to casual general interactions. I can shake hands with people. And I can give/receive hugs although it took many many years...... decades .... before I felt generally comfortable with hugs. And what about dance, one might wonder; your partner is touching you when you dance and do lifts. It's different. The touch in dance is not about the persons body. It is to facilitate a movement or lift, and is very technical. And people are clothed. You're concentrating on balance, technique, and hoping you don't fall or get dropped. When I first started pairs dancing, I felt awkward and self conscious and uncomfortable with being touched. But I couldn't let anyone know because it would have invited ridicule. I had to hide my feelings and fight the urge to recoil. And in time touch in dance became 'normal'. Movement and music eased the anxiety.  And …. you're not you.  You are the character in the dance.

Which brings us to relationships & why I can't have one. Why I'll never know love. Why I'll always be alone. In my younger years I had two serious (to me) relationships that evolved over time from friendships to romantic attachments. The combination of emotional attachment, and the need to protect the secret, made the intolerable ... tolerable. Fear induces compliance, and you relive the trauma with the hope that one day it will be different. When the second relationship fizzled out & I realized that I had been used, not loved, I felt stupid and naive for believing that I could have been worthy of love. For believing that I was good enough for this man. For believing that he cared about me. I felt violated emotionally and physically. I felt used, and damaged, and worthless. The walls went up and the older I got, the more the phobia became an all encompassing shame. And fate didn't send anyone my way that might have been able to break through the barrier of the phobia. And now it's too late.


Recovery Days
Recover days are hard. For every normal day out I need a day or more of recovery. They're hard not just because of the physical and emotional toll, but also because it annoys me that 'normal' days take so much out of me. I feel annoyed that I lose days. But i also want and need those normal days. Sean says with more exposure my brain will get used to the dopamine release and it will become more normal and I'll find I'm not as exhausted in the aftermath. Dopamine is called the "feel good hormone" and is generally associated with positive emotions. When we experience positive things, the brain releases dopamine.

My post socializing exhaustion is to do with the social isolation that has been a major player in my life for the past 20yrs (at least). My brain isn't used to the positive stimulation of social interactions and the subsequent release of dopamine. And as a result it is exhausted by that stimulation. I always thought my two day recovery from a dog show weekend was just about the long days, but it was also probably partially due to the social isolation in the other 90% of my life.

Today is a recovery day. I'm feeling really poorly. My body feels heavy and sluggish. I have no energy. I haven't been able to do anything but cat nap all day. I haven't eaten because I have no energy to prepare a meal or eat. And I'm probably feeling weak due to not eating. It's a vicious cycle.

On days like this I feel guilty for being so lethargic. I feel like people on the outside would look at me and just see a lazy person. And I can hear my mothers voice saying, "sloth is a sin". But it's not laziness. It's an inability to function. When I'm feeling exhausted and frustrated with myself for feeling so, I turn to this poem my second cousin sent to me & which I subsequently saw on the internet (author unknown)

**If the mountain seems to big today

then climb a hill instead,

If the morning brings you sadness

it's okay to stay in bed,

If the day ahead weighs heavy

and your plans feel like a curse,

there's no shame in rearranging

don't make yourself feel worse

If a shower stings like needles

and a bath feels like you'll drown

if you haven't washed your hair for days

don't throw away your crown.

A day is not a lifetime

a rest is not defeat

don't think of it as failure

just a quiet, kind retreat

It's okay to take a moment

from an anxious, fractured mind

the world will not stop turning

while you get realigned

the mountain will still be there

when you want to try again

you can climb it in your own time

just love yourself 'til then**

　

Pain Days
Pain days are like recovery days. Lost Days. Today is a pain day. Ankles. Feet. Legs/knees. Back. Wrists. Elbows. And still suffering from the shingles like sore skin on my torso. As well as sore left side ribcage. Tylenol & Advil combo has not had any effect so far. My feet and ankles are throbbing. I had plans for today. And I'm laid up with debilitating pain.

Between the depression, recovery days, and pain days, time is getting away from me. Days turn into weeks; turn into months; turn into years; and before you know it, life has gone by. Time is lost.


Understanding In Unexpected Places
It's been almost 6mths since my dad died and I feel like my whole life has gone to hell in a hand basket. I've been unable to function beyond the very basics of survival for myself & the animals. Only managing to get done that which is 'necessary'. Nothing more. Depression dictates how much I can do. Income has been goverened by my ability or lack thereof, to work. Property maintenance has been non-existent and lack of money has made hiring help prohibitive. And I feel like people think I should be 'back to normal' by now. Although I do not speak to people about my dad or grief, or what I'm going through; I feel like I can see in their faces, and hear in their voices, that they are tired of 'caring'. They've paid their dues.

The understanding in an unexpected place came from my neighbour. He's been working out of town all summer, and when he came home and saw the state of my property, he came over with his tractor and bush hog, and cut my grass and part of the fields. When I thanked him and commented that I felt bad for how overgrown the place was, he said, "heck your dad just died a few months ago, I totally get it". He said his wife and his parents were talking about me and his mother recounted how devastated she was when her father died, and how it impacted her life. He said, "your dad wasn't just your dad, he was your best friend. I totally understand how hard this is for you".

I feel like I'm constantly apologizing for things not done. It was nice to hear someone say they understood that just functioning is taking all I have to give.


Well Intentioned Advice
The other day I posted on social media that I had been struggling with positivity the past few days. That I felt like I was teetering on the edge of the slippery slope into a downward spiral. And trying desperately not to fall. A few people commented that they knew the feeling and understood. Others offered "advice".

I was listening to the John Tesh radio show the other night and there was a bit about how trying to cheer up sad people is actually not helpful. It said that studies show that trying to cheer up someone when they are feeling down is not the best thing to do. Comments such as "don't worry, things will get better", or "just cheer up, happiness is a choice", or "change your routine, it'll make you feel better" ...... these kinds of comments, even though spoken from a place of caring & desire to help, actually serve to allienate the depressed person and make them feel even more sadness because they will feel misunderstood and like their feelings are being dismissed and not considered important or valid. What people really need is someone to just listen and offer support. Not try to find a silver lining.

I know for myself, that when I'm told "look up, things will get better", or any comment that tries to point out the silver lining, or that someone else somewhere else in the world is worse off than I am, it just makes me feel worse. And the memes that say stuff like "happiness is a choice", make me feel like people think being depressed is a choice. Many 'intended to be helpful' comments are actually dismissive. They invalidate the depressed persons feelings. I'm especially sensitive to this because my entire life has been a script dismissing my feelings.

Here are two great short vids that explain this ......
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Evwgu369Jw

https://laughingsquid.com/how-to-help-a-grieving-friend/?fbclid=IwAR1CtgOdQLpgmM2oEt6jSIdPOnLWGqFiq-GlNOqnvLKh_FfpPJgY40FEroc



Grief & Loss

We often associate grief only with death. But grief is about loss and there are many kinds of loss. Loss of life. Loss of a job/career. Loss of love. Loss of friendships. Loss of health. Loss of mobility. Lost opportunities, and more. And all of these losses cause us grief.

I think that part of my depression is grieving for a life that I feel has been lost . For goals never achieved. For successes never achieved. For love never felt. Happiness never embraced. Dreams never come to fruition. I think I'm grieving the loss of a life that hasn't achieved much. And I think I'm grieving the loss of the things in life that I used to enjoy. Things that have slipped away from me for various reasons. Things that I haven't been able to persue because circumstances and life challenges have made them prohibitive, or brought an end to things that were important or were somewhat successful. I'm grieving the loss of my wrangling career; all the movies and commercials and photo shoots I used to do. That all seemed to slow down & become very infrequent after I broke my knee & was out of commission for a year. It's a very out of sight, out of mind kind of business & that year of recovering (I didn't walk unassisted for a year!) was very damaging. And then just as I was starting to back into normal life again and rebuild connections, Dads health started to decline. He lost his drivers licence (due to age and illness) and I became full time chauffeur and care giver. This resulted in several years where I couldn't be be away from home for a 12hr day animal wrangling on set because I couldn't leave Dad alone at home for that many hours. It got to the point where he had to come everywhere with me, and that was not an ideal situation. Now you might be thinking, why didn't I just hire someone to be with dad. Well lack of money to do so is one reason. The other is that Dad was a very private man & did not want strangers in the house. And of course there were the dogs. A lot of home care places will not go into a home with dogs. A few years ago I bought a small camper trailer so that Dad would have a nice place to relax when on the road with me when the dogs were performing at fairs. It only got used for one such event before his mobility declined such that getting into the trailer was too much (even with the special stairs that I had made). And eventually just getting in and out of the van was such a challenge that he opted to stay in the van during events. I had a few jobs where Dad would wait in the van for me for a couple of hours & even though he assured me he was fine & quite happy to listen to the radio or nap, I always felt bad and on edge about him waiting on me. I know that he didn't want to be the reason I couldn't take jobs & that's why he encouraged and supported the opportunities that came along. Opportunities were few because people knew that I was tied down in care giving. Friends also stopped inviting me places 'cos they knew I couldn't go. My dog training school also took a hit. At first dad would come and wait in the van while I taught classes, but then just getting from the house to the van and back into the house again, was so difficult and exhausting for my dad, that classes dwindled to nothing. My only income was boarding dogs and as they are in our home, we can't board large enough numbers to make a decent living. Now with Dad gone, I'm struggling to generate income. And this depression is challenging my ability to do so.


Triggers To Sadness
Sean (therapist) has been on vacation for 2wks, which means 3wks for me 'cos my appointments are at end of week. I thought I'd be okay. I thought I had social things to keep me occupied. The first week, I met my cousin for lunch and we had a lovely afternoon lounging by the river. And on the Sunday of that same week I met a friend in Toronto for lunch. The latter friend I hadn't seen in 20yrs. We had met on a film set & just stayed long distance friends, as she lives in California. It was a great afternoon. The next week I was busy with dogs coming and going, but no 'social interaction' for me. I was going to get my hair cut/coloured, but alas ..... no money.

I started crashing emotionally near the end of last week. That unexpected assault of tears. We had a dog show on Sunday and that should have pulled me up, but it didn't . It was all I could do not to cry during the course of the day. I cried driving to the show. And I cried on the way home. And I've been treading water in a sea of sadness ever since.

Two television commercials have been triggers for sadness this week. One is for a burger business and at the end the fellow takes a bite of the burger and the woman says, " you bit the paper!". It triggered the memory of my dad doing that. He would often hold a burger in the paper wrapper and end up biting the paper as well as the burger. So that commercial is making me cry everytime it comes on. The other commercial is about kids going back to school. It depicts their excitement and joy, and shows them running to the school bus and having fun with their friends. And this triggered a huge feeling of sadness in me. Not a memory. A feeling. I could feel how I felt as a little kid. I never felt that joy of going to school. I never experienced that feeling of having lots of friends and being "part" of a group. I always felt fearful, anxious, and out of place. I never felt like I fit in or belonged. I always felt awkward and uneasy. And that makes me cry. What was .... IS ... wrong with me??

I've felt this feeling of not belonging/not fitting in for as long as I can remember. Long before school age. I can remember (& even now 'feel') how out of place I felt even with my own cousins when I was as young as 4yrs old. I remember being sent to stay with my Auntie Mary when my mother was in hospital for some reason. And aside from the funny memory of my cousin Johnny running away from the health department lady who brought sugar cubes laced with polio vaccine for all the children, my main memory is a feeling of being out of place and uncomfortable. What I don't know .... what I don't understand is WHY I've always felt this way.

On the way to therapy this week I passed by a group of people walking along the road & the front person leading the group was dressed similar to a Scouts or Girl Guides troop leader, and I remembered my mom putting us into Brownies (the group younger than Girl Guides). My Auntie Margaret was a troop leader & her girls were Brownies and Girl Guides. And I remember I didn't fit in there either. I felt awkward and out of place and unable to fit in. It was a very short stint in Brownies.


Profound Question
I saw on facebook today, a quote by Ebonee Davis, that says:

Consider for a moment that what you call your personality is actually just a composite of habits and behavioral patterns you developed to cope with trauma. Now ask yourself, who am I outside of my pain? Who would I be if I stopped living life as a product of my story?

　

Rough Day
Today was a really rough day ..... I cried most of the drive home from therapy. It's been a rough few days leading up to today ..... emotionally crashing for lack of a better description. It's at times like this that I feel really alone. Crying by myself .... alone. No one to hold a hand or put an arm around my shoulders and say, "it's okay". It's okay to feel what you feel. It's okay to let it out. You're not alone. I've got your back. There's no one to offer comfort. So I just cry alone. Totally isolated from any kind of human connection.

Another Lost Day
Today I'm struggling to function. I was awake until 4:30am. Slept for 2hrs and then unable to sleep again. My mind is reeling trying to figure out this acknowledgement and moving on thing. And a meme on facebook that read something to the effect of *Stop Blaming Your Parents for your Troubles, You're An Adult, Get Over It , Grow Up*, reduced me to tears. 'Cos I think that's how I feel on some level. Like I should just be able to get over it. Or how I think other people view me .... get over it ... grow up. And it makes me feel broken and hopeless.

　
Why Does My Brain Hear Something Other Than What Is Said?

For some reason my brain processes things 'wrong' .... hang on ... let me explain what I mean .....

When the therapist talks about choices and how we can't change the past but have to acknowledge it and then find a way to move on . ...... my brain hears, "you're wallowing > you need to get over it". And then I have to have a conversation with myself that says , "that is NOT what he said".

And today when he mentioned joining a trauma group my brain hears, "he doesn't want to deal with you anymore, he's passing you off to someone else". And again I have to tell myself that is NOT what he said.

What I don't understand is why am I hearing the wrong thing? Why does my head go to that place?

Dr. Brene Brown says it's the stories we make up in our heads & we all do it. Our insecurities make us confabulate stories to fill in the blanks. In her book Rising Strong, she gives an example of a meeting where she moved a project discussion to the bottom of the pile as they were short on time. Her colleagues "story in his head" was that she moved it because she thought it was unimportant and of little value . The truth was she moved it because it was important and required more time and attention than they were going to be able to give it that day. So she says we need to recognize and catch the stories we are making up in our heads & persue clarity and truth.

Maybe I don't really understand what acknowledging the past really means. I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean 'that was then, this is now, and off we go'. But there's this part of me that feels like it's expected to be that simple. And when it's not; when I'm still suffering crippling emotions, those emotions are compounded by a feeling of failure to meet an expectation of 'moving on'. I feel like it's my fault that I feel the way I do. Like there's judgement here & a little voice shouting out a verdict of , "you're not trying hard enough ..... you're choosing to be sad."       

　
Triggers & Emotional Memory

there's a song by Drake that I hear on the radio often & the lyrics say, "you're a good girl and you know it", and they trigger an emotion in me that I can't quite identify other than to say the song creeps me out. I have to turn off the radio or change stations because the lyrics make me feel so uncomfortable. The first time I heard the song it was like I could hear (remember?) someone saying those words to me and it triggered a feeling of ....... I can't find a word to describe it. It's not so much an emotion that's triggered, as much as a physical ..... icky-ness. Oh wait a minute .... disgust (repulsion?) is considered an emotion. Hmmmm .... is it repulsion that I feel? I'm not sure. But for some reason that song, sung the way it's sung; and those lyrics makes me physically recoil and I have to turn it off. I tried to let the song play through one time, and I couldn't do it . I started to feel sick & had to turn it off.

　
Remembering A Close Call

before I knew how to drive I had to take public transit everywhere. Buses and subways. I was often frightened and hyper vigilant of my environment even before the stalking. When I was young the walk from the bus stop to the ballet studio terrified me. The first part of the walk was down a residential road with houses on the right hand side (where the sidewalk was) and a church on the other side of the road. It wasn't a particularly long street but it was long enough to send me into a panic attack, although I had no idea that was what was happening at the time. I just knew my heart was pounding, my breathing was laboured, I"d be sweating, and every shadow made me nearly jump out of my skin. It was a feeling of absolute terror. When I graduated to 'pointe work' and had my hard toed ballet shoes, I would keep a hand in my bag firmly grasping one of my shoes to use as a weapon if anyone threatened me. If you've ever felt a ballet 'toe shoe' you know they are hard as a rock and a wallup from one would be quite a blow! The second section of the walk to the ballet school was slightly better because it was on Wilson Ave and there were street lights. The third section of the walk was the least frightening because by then I was on the sidewalk where all the stores were and it was well lit. Once I arrived at the school I'd feel a huge sense of relief. I'd made it. This time.

As a young adult I trained at a ballet studio in downtown Toronto. And then at a multi discipline dance studio that was also in downtown Toronto. We lived on a small dead end road at the time. The bus stop was at the end of our street and there was a low rise apartment building on one side and a field/empty lot on the other side. The bus stop was adjacent to the empty lot. Just past the apartment/empty lot, the houses started and there were 10 houses on our street. Our house was the first house on the left hand side. At night that short walk from the bus stop to our house was anxiety and fear filled for me. I would walk as fast as I could until I got to my house, and then run up the driveway and in the door. Barely breathing until I was safely inside.

One year our next door neighbours got a dog. A Scotch Collie named Goldie. They were not responsible dog owners and let Goldie run at large. Sometimes they would go away for a week and just leave a bag dog food in the garage for her to scavenge, and leave her loose. Goldie was a smart street wise dog & animal control gave up on trying to catch her. Everyone loved her. She would cross Wilson Ave. to go down Avenue Rd to get food handouts from the various shop owners she befriended. And Goldie befriended me. She started meeting me at the bus stop when I would come home at night. I'm not really sure how she knew what bus I'd be on because my schedule was not consistent. But somehow she knew. And on the rare occassion that she wasn't in sight when I got off the bus, she would come running out of the darkness to meet me. I always had a treat for her and she became my safety net for that walk from the bus stop to our house. One summer afternoon I came home in the afternoon and Goldie was nowhere to be found. She was 'missing' for about a month. And then one morning I found her under our front steps ....... with a litter of puppies approximately 4wks old. Eyes open. Walking. Fat little bundles. She had moved them from her house to our house. And there she raised her litter. Based on their looks we figured the black lab across the road was the father. I fell in love with a little white puppy with red markings. And after much begging & promising to take him to obedience school, my mother reluctantly granted me permission to adopt him. I named him Mickey-Finn and we were inseparable. One night when Mickey was about 6mths old, I was walking him and decided to let him have a little romp in the empty field. As I walked past where the bus stop was, a car pulled up alongside and a man jumped out and came running towards me. He scared me, but I was too paralyzed with fear to be able to move. All of a sudden, as he reached to grab me, he suddenly turned tail and ran back to the waiting car and jumped in. As the car sped off he yelled back at me, "you're lucky you have that dog!!!" I looked down and Mickey was standing beside me. I fell to the ground , shaking, and held my dog. We sat there for a few minutes before I had the strength to stand up again and go home. I'll never forget that voice yelling back at me, "You're lucky you have that dog!" I can even remember the car. It was a black, four door, plain sedan type, with black wheel rims, and tinted windows. It was at that point that I realized the value of having a dog by my side & I've kept one close ever since.


Supressing Emotions and Painful Memories
Until all this started, I wasn't really aware that I had suppressed all these painful memories and emotions. I mean , I wasn't "happy" and I had an inkling that I was probably depressed & in the last couple of years could feel the depression mounting. But I wasn't fully aware of all the "crap" stored in my memory banks.

There are a lot of ways that people cope with trauma. Substance abuse and self harm are among the more common. But for me I think it was just keeping busy. I get addicted to "things" ..... childhood guided my world to dance, but as a young adult I was consumed by my committment to the discipline. Then it was dogs & flyball. Disc dogging. Rescueing dogs. I go all in .. almost obessively. Looking back I think I squashed the awful memories by being too busy. Staying busy so that the truths, memories, and pains of my life couldn't catch up with me. Until one day they did catch up & I broke down. My dads death triggered a major resurgence of painful emotions that I was not prepared to deal with.

Keeping everything inside, unconsciously supressing and stockpiling decades of emotional wounds led me to not sleeping well, unable to concentrate or focus on the simplest things, being irritable and short tempered, unable to experience happiness or the desire to engage in things that I once enjoyed, and eventually to become so depressed that I couldn't even get out of bed. Thank God for the dogs. I had to at least get up to feed them & let them out. I couldn't let them down. They kept me going.

In her book, Rising Strong, Dr. Brene Brown says that , "Depression & anxiety are two of the body's first reactions to stockpiles of hurt." That, "unrecognized pain and unprocessed hurt lead to depression", so I guess that's how I got here. She also says that, "running from the past is the surest way to be defined by it. That's when it owns us."

Brown also says that we are numbing ourselves with addictions (like staying busy), but that we can't selectively choose to numb only the dark emotions. That when we numb the dark emotions, vunerability and fear and shame of not being good enough, we by default also numb joy. She says that research shows that an intensively positive experience is as likely to trigger relapse , as an intensely negative experience. Is this why I feel sad and weepy after something good happens?


Songs / Triggers
This might seem strange but often when I have a cat or a dog that is dying, when I know the end is looming & in the days leading up to making that final heartbreaking decision, there will be a song on the radio whose lyrics will somehow "fit" the situation & will become attached to the memory of that pet. For my cat Elvis it is Micheal Buble's "I Wanna Go Home". For Rowdy it was Adele's song "When We Were Young" and the lyrics "let me photograph you in this light in case it is the last time ...." . And for Maeve it was John Legend's "All Of Me" (all of me loves all of you).

Last night driving home, All Of Me, came on the radio & I remembered a night a couple of years ago when I was driving home and Dad was with me & that song came on the radio. Dad was grumpy that night and commented something about stupid lyrics and I remember being annoyed because I love that song & had attached it to my memory of Maeve. And as this memory came to mind, it triggered a picture in my mind of my dad on the last day of his life, lying in his hospital bed. I could see him as clearly as if he was right in front of me. And I was overcome with sadness and started to cry. And cried for the almost 2hr drive home.


Memes & Me
I keep seeing memes on facebook and I share to my page those that I want to remember or that resonate with me somehow. Yesterday I saw one that said,

"Be with that shit, Deal with that shit, Heal from that shit, And then, When you're ready, Let that Shit go"

It was actually a helpful meme for me because when I hear or read comments like, "just get over it", "just let it go", "happiness is a choice", or "grow up", those kinds of comments make me feel like people are being dismissive and I feel diminished as if I'm failing to meet an expectation of "moving on" in a timely manner. The sentence, "when you're ready", hit home. The therapist says we don't have control over how long it takes to reach acceptance to move on. But we have to work on overcoming thoughts that serve as barriers to that acceptance. Thoughts such as my life is ruined by my past are thoughts that he says I must not accept because they are paralyzing and demoralizing . He says we do only have 2 options. To let the past define us , or to find a way to move on. I think this is where I get stuck. There's a part of my brain that says moving on means simply dismissing my emotions. But that meme ..... "be" with it, "deal" with it, "heal" from it ..... those words are helping me to recognize that moving on means processing the "shit".

What most people who know me don't know, is that I'm dealing with a lot of stuff. Not just grief in the wake of my dads passing, but also the repressed memories and emotions resulting from decades of childhood trauma . Emotions that I wasn't even aware of until they bubbled to the surface and overflowed into my conscious.

Wow .. memories from facbook!
apparently I wrote/posted this on facebook 2yrs ago. It just showed up in 'memories'. So it looks like 2yrs ago I was 'aware' of my depression on some level .....

**Today I'm reminded that we must remember to be careful how we treat people > what we do > how we do it > what we say / how we say it / & with what tone. Have something helpful to say? Say it in a kind and helpful way. Have something hurtful to say? Say nothing. We don't always know what is going on in someone else's life. What challenges they are facing, be they physical or emotional. How fragile they might be. How close to the edge they might be walking. I know what it's like to walk perilously close to the edge & how the touch of a feather would be all it would take to topple off that ledge. We need to be certain that 'we' are not the feather that pushes someone off the cliff. For many people life is like walking on a tightrope. Every step holds danger, anxiety, fear. Any step could be the last. And not everyone has a net to save them. While I know I'm not always successful, I try to be kind and respectful to those I deal with day to day. If someone is rude, I make a point of being pleasant to them .... NOT in a sarcastic way, but in a kind way; afterall I don't know why they are being rude. Maybe their mood is a reaction to someone else's rudeness to them. In dog training we call it 'trigger stacking'. When a series of stressful events compile to bring the dog to a breaking point. It happens with people too. You wake up late > then spill coffee on yourself > then get stuck in traffic > then can't find a parking space ..... and then you get to work and someone says something & you "go off" . And while trigger stacking often sends us to a place of frustration and anger , it can also send the 'at risk' person to the edge of that cliff. I'm writing this today because I'm experiencing some trigger stacking & feeling vunerable. And thus, I'm reminded of the need to be kind. Because we just don't know what others are going through & the impact our words or actions might have on them. Let's do our best to impact those around us in a positive way.**


Worrying About What People Think

I was brought up in an environment of 'keeping up with the Jones'. A lot of emphasis was placed on what other people thought of us and our family. Living up to the expectations of society. And at the same time we were raised in an environment of never being good enough. We were always chasing being good enough.


In her book, Rising Strong, Brene Brown says: "When we stop caring about what people think, we lose our capacity for connection. But when we are defined by what people think, we lose the courage to be vunerable. The solution is getting totally clear on the people whose opinions actually matter"

　
Life Paralysis

I've been reading Brene Browns books and this quote from Rising Strong very adequately describes me.

She says, "Life Paralysis refers to all of the opportunities we miss becase we're too afraid to put anything out in the world that could be imperfect. It's also all of the dreams that we don't follow because of our deep fear of failing, making mistakes, and disappointing others. It's terrifying to risk when your self worth is on the line"

I think a part of me is grieving what I feel is a life lost to "life paralysis"

　
The Not Enoughs

Before this journey I didn't really think in terms of not enough .... except for not ever having enough money. But I didn't really think of not enough in terms of self worth or all the things that play a role in our self image and sense of self worth. When I stopped to think about the 'not enoughs' and all of MY not enoughs, it was a shocking and revealing list of a person with very little self worth. This is my not enough list that has been ingrained into my psyche from childhood ......
not enough money
not thin enough
not smart enough
not pretty enough
not enough education as others
not successful enough
not rich enough
not good enough daughter
not appreciative enough
not talented enough
not enough ambition
not enough personality
not social enough
not confident enough
not outgoing enough
not organized enough
not young / old enough
not brave enough
and adding to the list the more current not enoughs .....
not enough sleep
not rested enough
not enough time
not enough money
not good enough owner/caretaker for my animals
wasn't a good enough caretaker for my dad
Just generally an overwhelming sense of not being good enough

　

Never Good Enough/Expectations
It's a terrible burden to know that no matter how hard you try, your efforts will never be good enough. It's incredibly demeaning to a child and a sure way to kill ambition and motivation. In dog training one of the biggest obstacles to success is the owners unrealistic expectations. Parents suffer this same affliction. They ask a child to do a chore and then sully their efforts by criticizing how the chore was done. I can remember being a child and washing the dishes and being yelled at for putting the spoons in the dish rack right way up (spoon end down/handle up). I don't remember if it was my mother or my father who yelled at me and made a big deal of something so unimportant. I was yelled at for putting the spoons in the rack the "wrong" way. The spoons were angrily snatched from the rack, turned upside down and slammed back in the rack, as I was verbally accosted for doing it wrong. Apparently you are supposed to put spoons handle end down so that water doesn't pool in the spoon section. Makes sense & I've never forgotten it BUT it was a lesson that could have been taught kindly. Did it make me eager to help out with chores in the future .... hell no!

I saw a show on television a few years back & a child psychologist was talking on the subject of parent expectations of children (at various ages), and he said if you ask a seven year old to do a chore, then you must also expect it to be executed at a seven year old level of competance. And to NEVER admonish a child if they've done the best they can but it just doesn't live up to your expectations. And also to never "fix" or "redo" the chore in front of them, thus telling them they were not good enough. He said if you have to fix it .... do it later when the child has gone to bed or school or whatever, but dont undermine the childs self worth by showing them that what they did was not good enough. If you're not willing to accept the chore done at a seven year olds level of competance, don't ask them to do it.

I've never forgotten that and recently I had the opportunity to heed that advice. Petunia was performing for the kids at a summer day camp and at the end of the day one of the little girls asked if she could help pack up Petunias props. I said yes and incicated that they all go in 'that big blue box'. She was about eight years old. Well she packed Petunias props into the box all higglety pigglety, such that they didn't all quite fit in, and no way the lid was going to go on. I quickly hid the lid so the little girl would not know the box was packed incorrectly (things have to go in a certain way for everything to fit), and I put that box just as she had packed it, into my van. Then I thanked her for being so helpful, and she skipped off happy in the knowledge that she had done a good deed by 'helping'.

　
Fear Of Getting In Trouble

I'm not sure why I had such an intense fear of getting in trouble .... I still feel that way. We were never hit but there must have been some sort of threat that made us afraid of being hit or somehow punished for mistakes. In our home a mistake was not just an innocent mistake. It was somehow much more serious. Everything was blown out of proportion. And this fear of being wrong, making mistakes, being blamed for things, has carried into my adulthood.

I mentioned previously, the ketchup bottle incident when I was just a child. And I was telling the therapist recently about how when I broke my knee, I was afraid to call my dad and tell him about it. I envisioned that he'd be angry & blame me somehow. And I was in my forties!! But in thinking about that conversation with the therapist I remembered another more serious incident that occurred when I was in my twenties, where an accident prompted a violent verbal assault to my person.

My aunt Mary had been in a terrible car accident in Ireland and during her recovery she came over to visit us in Canada and my parents decided to take her on a weeks holiday to Florida. A fellow at my dads work had a time share home & sublet it to my dad for a week. My parents and Mary drove down to Florida. I was working on a show & couldn't go with them so I flew down to meet them 3 days later (I had my own money so paid my own way). It was a lovely home with a beautiful screened in patio with a gorgeous inground swimming pool. The pool had this little floaty thing that was like a pool roomba moving around and cleaning the water. One day I was swimming and as I came up from under water, my head exited the water right beside this little floating buoy and as I took in that first breath of air I also inhaled the chemicals in the buoy, and became instantly and violently ill. I started vomiting violently as I climbed out of the pool gasping for air. All the blood vessels in my face ruptured. My eyeballs felt like they were being pushed out of my head. My head felt like it was exploding. My lungs felt like they would burst. And I was vomiting violently. I remember my dad getting really angry and yelling at me for making a mess and , "you should have known it was there and should have been more careful". Strangely enough it was my mother who defended me (that was not normal) saying, "she can't help it". She may have been frightened that I might die as it certainly seemed a possibility given my gasping to breathe and the broken blood vessels decorating my face. Mary was the one who calmed my parents down, as things became an argument between them while I convulsed on the patio floor. I innocently came up out of the water & somehow this was my fault. I think my dad was freaked out because it wasn't our house and I guess worried about clean up?? I don't know. But after a lifetime of everything somehow being my fault, this was just more proof. So when I broke my knee I was afraid to let my dad know.

　
Guinea Pigs

Most people don't know that I have 2 guinea pigs, in addition to all the other critters. Their names are Ziggy & Zoey and they are about 8mths old. I bought them a few weeks after my father died as a sort of living connection to him. There was a guinea pig who used to visit the hospital as a therapy animal. I never met him/her but my dad was quite taken with this little creature and would always tell me when it had been in to visit him. He'd tell me about the cute little guinea pig wrapped in its little blanket, and how sweet it was and how he enjoyed its visits and petting it. A few weeks after Dad died I started getting a hankering for a guinea pig ...... just 'cos it would remind me of him. I ended up buying 2 guinea pigs so that one wouldn't be lonely. They really are amazing little critters and they do evoke fond memories of my father.

　
Flashback Fear

I was watching TV and it was a night scene ..... two girls get on a bus and take their seats. Suddenly I felt that old familiar fear that I used to feel when I was young and commuting via public transport. It wasn't a case of a good script or good acting drawing you into the fear of the characters. It was not a scary scene. No one was following the girls . There was no threat.

It's strange that such a simple thing can trigger such a strong emotional response. I don't really understand why

　
Weird Dream

I had a dream the other night that my dad was alive and healthy ..... like before his health started to diminish. He was active and walking and doing stuff like he was back in his 70's. But the dream wasn't remembering him ..... in the dream he was 'back' ..... like he had died and now he was back. And in the dream I'm saying to him, "we have to let England know you're alive ... they think you're dead .... we have to get that proof of life form filled out so you'll get your pension again"

　
Xmas

My sister died just a few weeks before xmas & I guess that put a damper on the holiday season. I took over the responsibility of trying to keep things "normal", and keep the xmas tradition going. Nothing extravagant .

When we moved up to the cottage permanently I went to great lengths to make xmas special. I only had my parents to buy for and I would start shopping in September and would have several gifts for each of them, as well as a xmas stocking each. I went to great lengths to find things they would love, as well as things they might need but wouldn't buy for themselves. I put a little xmas tree in the bay window and put the presents around it. I also used to put little xmas stockings on each of the dogs kennels and on the birds cage, and get them all little stocking stuffer gifts.

On xmas morning I'd distribute the gifts and then make a traditional English breakfast/brunch consisting of eggs, bacon, sausage, and blood pudding (it's a type of sausage), with a side of hashbrowns and fried bread. I know ... a coronary on a plate!! But it was only once a year :-)

It was all one sided though. Me making xmas for my parents. Neither of them took the time or interest to shop for me. My mom didn't put any effort in it at all. She'd send my dad out to find something. There would be one gift for me to unwrap, from both of them, and usually something very generic. No thought put into it. (I can't even remember what a single gift was now) And then a few dollars in a card that also had no thought put into it. The statement being, "we don't know what you like". Gift giving was viewed as an obligation by my parents .

Money is great but having them notice "me" and notice me enough to know my sense of style, or my likes/dislikes, and buy even a small gift that would reflect thought ..... something to say they cared enough to find something special would have meant so much more.

Xmas from me to them was special. Finding just the right gifts to give them joy. Xmas from them to me was a chore with no thought or care whatsoever.

That hurts.

Once my Mum died, Dad announced "no more holidays or birthdays", stating he didn't want anyone buying him any gifts. It wasn't a grief thing because of Mum dying. It was just that he wasn't interested in gift giving or holiday festivities or having to remember peoples birthdays. He'd just been going along all those years.

So there has been no xmas, no joy, in our home since 2004, and my dad didn't even remember my birthday. No birthday wishes. Nothing. And that hurt because you should care enough to remember even if there is no gift giving involved. It re-validated that core self belief that I am not worthy. It was a betrayal of love and connection. Once again I learned that I didn't matter to anyone.

Despite this, I always remembered my dads birthday and fathers day, and would buy a small gift that wouldn't offend his resolve against receiving gifts. Usually just a new t-shirt or something he needed. And always bought some kind of special dessert to commemorate the occassion.


Childhood?
Before all this, I had almost no memory of my childhood. There are still big gaps. I only have two distinct memories before the age of 6yrs. I've seen photos of when I was little but no memory of the events pictured. I only remember 2 things from England. I remember being at my Aunt Mary's house & my cousin Lindy and I were doing some sort of silly walk, and my other cousin, Tina, saying to us that we weren't allowed to do that walk because it was her walk. The second memory was during the same stay/visit & it was of my cousin Johnny running away from the polio lady. At that time I would have been about four years old. Polio was a huge concern at the time and the health department went on a blitz distributing sugar cubes laced with polio vaccine to all the children in the county. It might have been an England wide national blitz, but I don't know. At any rate, the county nurse (?) came by the house with the sugar cubes for all of us children and when Johnny heard that they were laced with "medicine" he ran away & I remember my aunt chasing him through the house to catch him. I'm sure they finally got the vaccine laced sugar cube into him but all I remember is them chasing him .

All through my teenage and adult life I've struggled to remember my childhood. I'd wonder how people could have such vivid and fun, exciting memories of their childhoods, while I found it impossible to retrieve those memories from my past. I had a few memories. Mostly bad ones. But I couldn't , and still can't , fill in all the gaps.

Something happened to my brain when my dad died. Quite suddenly memories and emotions surfaced, overwhelming me with too much information. Too much to process. It was like relics of a sunken ship, sitting on the floor of the ocean for decades, suddenly floated to the surface revealing miles of debris to sift through. Each relic representing a memory or painful experience that had been repressed to save my sanity. Although now I often call my sanity into question as I remember more and more details of my past.

　
Inspiration .... or not?

We often hear or read stories about people who have overcome terrible traumas and life challenges, only to thrive and become inspirations to others. These stories are told not only to acknowledge and celebrate the resilience, determination, and success of these individuals, but also to encourage and inspire others going through challenging times. At least that is how they are supposed to be told. But these stories can also be used to denigrate people who are suffering &/or facing difficulties in their lives. Delivered in criticism; as a way to put a person down rather than lift them up. A passive aggressive way to compare you to the success of the story's subject. So rather than acting as inspiration, the inspirational story becomes a message that says you're a failure. A message that says you are not living up to expectations. A message that confirms that you are lacking in some way. That you are not good enough because "look what this other person has achieved in the face of adversity".

To this day I find inspirational stories depressing. They don't inspire me. They paralyze me. They make me feel incapable. Like I'm lacking whatever it takes to overcome challenges in my life. When inspirational stories are bastardized and used as a passive aggressive 'attack' against someone, that action dismisses and devalues that person , their situation, and their emotions.

All my life my feelings were dismissed and invalid. "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about". "There are people in the world far worse off that you". And the latter comment is true to a point. Whatever it is that we are going through, there is probably someone, somewhere in the world who is going through something worse. BUT , and this is a big but ...... that does not invalidate or lessen the turmoil you are going through, or the emotions you are feeling. This is what I'm learning through therapy. My feelings matter. If I'd been allowed to feel my emotions; if my feelings had been acknowledged and validated rather than dismissed and forced into repression; maybe I wouldn't be going through the emotional breakdown that I'm experiencing now. I wouldn't have decades of repressed painful memories and emotions to process. I wouldn't be having days like today where I'm overwhelmed with sadness and tears that I can't explain.

　
Mixed Messages

We were never encouraged to do well in school. My mother always said, " as long as you pass". I'm not sure if it was because she thought I wasn't smart enough to do well or ......??? She did intensely dislike parents who put a lot of pressure on their children to get high marks. But at the same time she didn't encourage us to do well in school, she also would say, "you have to have an education to fall back on".

She was dead set against us getting jobs in places like McDonalds, saying , "you don't want to spend your life slinging hamburgers". To her this was very low class and would bring shame to the family. Yet at the same time, she would criticize me and compare me to others that had 'normal' part time jobs. It was a damned if you do and damned if you don't situation.

Enter learned helplessness ....... I was powerless to change or escape my situation.

　
Modeling Behaviour

There's an old saying, "do as I say, not as I do", but parents need to model the behaviours they want their children to develop. You can't expect children to eat healthy if you are eating junk food. You can't expect them to be polite to people if you are rude to people. You can't expect them to be fitness oriented if you are not so inclined. You can't expect your children to have ambition if you have none . And for me this was another mixed message. Being entrenched in dance, fitness was paramount, and yet neither of my parents were fitness oriented. Neither of my parents had amibition. And yet my mother expected ... almost demanded ambition in us. My parents modeled a life of 'not enough'. A life of low expectations. A life of just going through the motions. Just surviving. Neither of them had the ambition to be more or do more. And so we learned that this was all there was to life. Just go through the motions.


Fat Shaming
I've been exposed to this all my life . In all my memory of my mother she was overweight and yet she would make comments about other people who were overweight & as dancers we had to be super thin. Weight was a big deal in our house. My mom was always on some kind of diet. And we were as well. Always a fear of being fat. My mom would see an overweight person eating an ice cream and comment, "Look at that woman stuffing her face, no wonder she's so fat". She was always commenting on what people were eating & commenting on their weight. The fallout for me is that I'm very uncomfortable eating in public 'cos I feel like people will look at me with those same thoughts. Indeed, my mom fat shamed me even when I was thin, and when I reached the point in adulthood where I started to gain weight, she was always on my case. She would even attempt to draw other people into the conversation, "don't you think she'd look so much better if she lost a few pounds?" My mom was so crazy about weight that she even projected that onto me. She would give me her lasix pills (diuretics) if she thought I looked bloated , so that I wouldn't look bloated & would have a flat stomach. And when I'd get muscle cramps from the diuretics, she give me her valium to treat the muscle cramps. To me this was normal & I didn't see anything wrong with it at the time. She fat shamed me right up until she died. It never stopped. She would almost daily comment on my weight and say things like, "you really should try to lose weight" and then justify the comment by saying she was only thinking about my health. I was never good enough & unable to escape the constant reminders of that fact.


The Narcissistic Mother
it's been an eye opener learning about narcissism and realizing that I had a narcissistic mother. Even when my sister was sick it was somehow about my mom. When my sister would not be enthusiastic about a treatment or say that she didn't want it my mom would say, "don't you want to get well?" ....... "do you want to die?" ....... "do you want to put that grief on me?" ....... "dont' you care?"

I know part of that is fueled by fear of losing her child. But it was all about her. My sister, as a person, was not considered. No one stopped to think how much she was suffering. Her suffering was secondary to my mothers desire for her survival. Survival was the only goal. The rest of it was incidental .....necessary evils on the road to survival. But there was no survival. She suffered for nothing.

Through all of this my mom made a big deal about me continuing and intensifying my dance training so that people wouldn't think that she was neglecting my needs. I do think that some of it was genuine desire to keep my life going as normal as possible, but I also know that much of it was about people seeing the perfect mom who was committed to the needs of one daughter while also going through a terrible life threatening trauma with the other daughter. Meanwhile I was criticized by peers for being 'cold' and still dancing when my sister, also an aspiring dancer, had had her leg amputated & her dreams of dancing shattered. While part of her intentions were well intended, she didn't consider the effects on me. It was about putting on the appearance of being the mother who could meet the needs of both children.

I read a book called Will I Ever Be Enough, about the relationship between narcissistic mothers and their daughters. It says we can go either way. The over achiever who tries to prove they are good enough. And the self sabateour who is more paralyzed by the abuse. I'm not a high achiever. I'm more of the self sabateour. Actually I think I fall somewhere between the two, but leaning more to the latter.

I did have a couple of people in my teens who gave me positive messages to offset my insecurities. My aunt Mary when she visited from England, always treated me like a real person and would counter any nasty comments my mother would make. She'd say, "leave her alone" And she would tell me, "don't listen to her, you're fine just the way you are". And then there was Vivi, an older woman (old enough to have been my grandmother) who doted on me during the time that I knew her. I don't remember how I met Vivi, but she organized me teaching tap dancing lessons to her and a group of senior ladies at the Toronto Cricket Club. That was a good time. The ladies were a great group & we laughed and danced & I was 'special' in their group. They appreciated me and valued me as a person and as their teacher. And it was a feather in my mothers cap to have her daughter teaching at the prestigious Cricket Club.

As I go through this process and come to accept the fact that I was in an impossible situation growing up with a narcissistic mother, I'm faced with memories that act as evidence to that fact. Even my boyfriends were about her. She flirted with them and now that I look back I see she was being totally inappropriate. At the time I just saw it as I was lucky they got along so well. There was nothing icky about it in the sense that it was not romantically fueled flirting. It was attention seeking. But now, especially with (____), I'm not naming names, she gushed over him and he over her, & he was almost more attentive to her than to me.

My mother was very concerned with being liked. And indeed she had a very likeable side. But it was very important to her to be liked. When she was substitute teaching it was important to her that the students liked her the best of all the teachers. And she had a way of getting that wish fulfilled. Students would often comment to me about what a great teacher my mother was. But she didn't offer the same warmth and charisma to me as she did to her students. She treated them better than me.

In grade school we took our lunches to school. The cafeteria had for purchase food but that was only for high school kids. Grade school kids brought lunches. And what kind of sandwiches do kids like? Peanut Butter and Jam. But my mother considered PB&J to be low class .... poor peoples food, so she sent us with 'adult' sandwiches. We couldn't afford good cuts of beef so she'd buy the cheap cuts that were all gristley and tough. And send us to school with these roast beef sandwiches with HP sauce. The gristle made me feel sick & I would bring home my lunches only partially eaten. Instead of thinking, 'hmmm, I wonder what my child might like to eat', she furthered my unhappiness at school by contacting the nuns to have them check my lunches and make sure I ate everything. It was important to her that SHE was seen as the mom who gave her girls "roast beef" sandwiches. And so it was that not only did I not fit in at school, and had no friends, now I was to be singled out and humiliated by the nuns on a daily basis.

Whenever I was introduced or spoken about, I was referred to as the "dancer". I was never just me. I was never just Jackie. It was like just me wasn't impressive enough so I was , "Jackie the dancer". Because you see, being a ballerina was upper class in my moms eyes. Behind closed doors she would say things, "you really should lose weight, don't you want to look nice?" I heard that right up until she died.

As children she made most of our clothes. Mostly because we couldn't afford store bought clothes. She was a master seamstress and made us beautiful clothes, although we didn't appreciate it at the time 'cos we were kids and wanted store bought clothes like all the other kids. Kids are horrible to other kids and we were made fun of for our home made clothes. I remember my first store bought dress. I was so excited to have a store bought dress . We were at Honest Eds discount store in Toronto and I saw this dress and begged my mom to buy it for me. She told me it wasn't as good quality as the dresses she made (& she was right) but I wore her down and got the dress. I think it cost $5.00.

I didn't have a lot of fashion sense because we wore uniforms at school & outside of school my mother decided what we wore in public. We didn't have much autonomy.

　
Uncomfortable With Recognition    

Even today I'm uncomfortable with recognition . It's an odd thing to want to be recognized and at the same time, be uncomfortable with it. When I played flyball & we were in the ribbons, I always felt awkward and embarrassed going up to collect the teams ribbons. I'd usually send another team member to go up and retrieve them.


Murder Dream
I haven't had a murder dream in awhile, but a couple of weeks ago , one entered my sleep state. It seemed to go on longer and in more detail than usual. In this dream I was in a hotel droom . A man tried to break in. He was pushing against the door and I was leaning against it pushing back so he couldn't get in ..... the door was latched but also somehow ajar and I was essentially pushing him back out. Finally I succeeded in getting the door closed again and latching it. I looked out the peephole and saw the man running down the corridor. He had short curly hair and was wearing a pink'ish sweater with a black/white zig zag pattern across the chest. I called the front desk to report the break in attempt and instead of the front desk, a person in another room answered & I told them what had happened. As I was telling them how the door was latched & I didn't know how he managed to unlatch it from the outside, someone grabbed me from behind. I woke up with a jolt & Tink was jumping on my shoulder. It was so vivid & I was shaking and my heart was pounding and I felt terrified.

　
Misery Loves Company

I heard this a lot growing up. It was said to infer that if you were sad it was to get attention (company). It was a saying used to dismiss peoples feelings . An excuse not to engage in compassion or empathy. Looking back, I think my parents might have been incapable of empathy

　
The Other Side Of Depression

At this time I can't imagine what life is like without depression & anxiety. They have been my companions for so long that I can't fathom a time when they will be gone.

The past couple of weeks have been challenging with waves of sadness washing over me, and those old familiar feelings of hopelessness rolling over me like white caps folding into a shoreline.

And I start to feel like there is no time. Like my life has been pointless and there's not enough time to make up the time or balance happiness against the past. Assuming that I can figure out what happiness is.

It's a horrible thing to think, let alone say or write, but as long as my parents were alive I wasn't free to be myself. And as such, I don't even know who "myself" is. What does myself like or dislike? What is myself's passion? What are myself's dreams? I don't know. While my parents were alive I was 'trapped' in a life with no purpose. Trapped physically and emotionally. And now I feel like someone who has spent a lifetime in prison for a crime they didn't commit, finally released from that prison. And lost. A life lost to incarceration and now not enough time to make up for that.

I should feel free but I'm still trapped by the memories , emotions, phobia's, and anxiety.

　

Should > therapist told me I should strive to eliminate the word 'should' from my vocabulary (& dammit I said it in this entry )

　
Another Murder Dream

I had this dream this past Monday. I woke up at 4am feeling frightened and shaking .... it was so real. It took place at a vet clinic where I used to work. This particular clinic is in a plaza with a lane that runs behind it for store owners/staff to park.

I was walking down the back lane behind the shops and a guy jumped out of nowhere and ran up and grabbed me & was trying to pull me off somewhere. I was screaming and struggling to get free. I manage to get free and run for the back door of the clinic and I'm screaming for my dad and when I reach the door my dad opens it and I go inside, close the door, and I hear the latch click and I think I'm safe.

Dad and I are walking down the hallway when suddenly the back door crashed open and the guy runs for me and I run screaming for my dad to help me, but now he is in the exam room wiping down the table and emptying waste baskets.

I run into the reception area .... screaming .. and trying to avoid the guy who is trying to attack me, and I see the phone on the counter. I grab the receiver and put it on the counter and dial 911 hoping that whoever answers will hear me screaming for help and send help. And then I woke up.

The weird thing is that I was screaming "someone help me!!" and my dad was in the next room but didn't help me.

I told Sean about this dream today and he asked me how old my dad was in the dream > the age he was when I was a kid or the age he was when I am an adult. He wasn't a senior in my dream so I said I think the age he was relative to my childhood. Sean suggested that perhaps this was a reflection of how my dad didn't 'save' me from my mother. We haven't talked much about Dads role in all of my trauma. I don't remember him being around a lot but I do know that he always sided with my mom. He didn't defend me against her attacks.

　
November 2019 > it occurred to me that it might be a good idea to start 'dating' this at least by the month > I've gone back & tried to date previous entries as best I can



Fear Of The Fallout If People Know My Story
I saw the following on facebook today .....
**A toxic person is not necessarily toxic to everyone. Sometimes their toxicity is directed at just one individual and done in private so that their target will not be believed if they speak up about abuse. The wise will listen and not dismiss someone's account of abuse simply because there aren't any witnesses.**

This is definitely a fear of mine. I worry that family members &/or close family friends might be offended by my version of my story. I worry that speaking about how my mother treated me will be disbelieved and I'll be admonished for saying horrible things. So many people only knew my mother as the happy, funny, fun to be around person. I think they'd be shocked to know how her words and actions destroyed my self worth. I think they'd be shocked to learn how much I'm suffering because of my childhood trauma. I think they'd be shocked to learn that there 'was' childhood trauma. And 'mum' was only a part of that trauma. There's the other stuff too. My trauma bifurcates. There are 2 sides to the coin where trauma is concerned ..... there's the narcissistic mother & then there's the other stuff that I really still can't talk about in detail.

　
Feeling Like I Won't Make It

Last week was a rough week that had me feeling inundated with feelings of sadness, panic, hopelessness. Everyday saw tears multiple times per day. And oftentimes I didn't even know why I was crying. I was feeling anxious, nervous, and jumpy. Pretty much everything made me cry. I texted Sean and he reminded me to breathe .... 5 second intervals ... in, hold, out, wait. He also reminded me about self validation and that while we may not know why these emotions are overflowing now, our brains don't express emotions without a valid reason.

I cried again during our session last week. I was feeling drained and exhausted. The recent back pain I've been having has not helped. Pain is so debilitating. And lack of sleep. I think it was all just catching up to me.

So far this week hasn't been quite as bad but I'm still feeling out of sorts. Today I had a panic attack. All of a sudden I just felt like I can't make it in this world. It's an overwhelming sense of dread. Fear bordering on terror.

Money ... or lack thereof ... is a huge factor. With that worry on top of everything else, I feel like I'm drowning, and losing the battle. I was feeling sort of okay and like things were looking up money wise .... getting a little ahead with Octobers shows. But then the brakes failed on the van and it cost $755 to replace them. That was my cushion ... gone! So now I can't meet all the bills this month and I'm feeling panic and like I will never catch up. I said to Sean, I'm so tired of struggling.

　
Trying To Understand What Is Happening To Me

I keep reading articles and books in an effort to understand what is happening to me. The following are excerpts from an article about being the complex trauma survivor of narricisstic abuse .......

*Complex trauma is compounded trauma ....... .multiple chains of traumas, all of which are connected in some way to each other ........ when one wound is excavated, addressed and healed, another trauma that wound was connected to will inevitably unravel in the process. * (excerpts from an article by Shahida Arabi)

I think this unraveling is what is happening to me. As I remember one thing it triggers a new memory. As I said before, 6mths ago if you had asked me about my childhood I would have said I have no memory of it . But as each memory/trauma surfaced into my consciousness, new memories followed. And I think these weeks of overwhelming sadness and feelings of hopelessness and panic, are part of that unraveling. It's my emotions unraveling

　
Another It's My Fault

My mom didn't have many friends. But when we lived at the townhouse she was friends with the lady next door. Mrs. D. And my sister and I were friends with her daughter ..... I'll call her Jane. We used to play Barbies (well not real Barbie dolls; generic Barbie's) and make them clothes , and ride our bikes. Their family was more dysfunctional than ours so I guess that fit well with moms narcisissm. In her eyes we were better off than them. Neither of our families had a lot of money (my parents used to grocery shop at Knob Hill Farms and buy 69 cent meat pies by the dozen. We ate a lot of 69 cent meat pies & french fries growing up). Mr. D didn't support his family. I don't know what he did with his money but I do remember Mrs. D always complaining about him not sending money. Mr. D was not around 99% of the time which was a good thing because he was a violent drunk. He beat Mrs. D. She would come over to our house bruised and confide in my mom. At some point during the time that we lived there, Jane started taking ballet lessons at the same studio where my sister & I went, and as it turned out, she was a natural. We had been taking ballet lessons from the time we could walk and this girl started training at around 10 years old and flew through the ranks from beginner to advanced levels. She auditioned for the National Ballet School and got in. That created a rift between her mother and mine. I'm not sure if Mrs. D lauded it over my mother that her daughter was 'better' or 'more talented', but whatever the case, it ended their friendship. And somehow it was my fault that my mother lost her friend. I wasn't talented enough (or perhaps she said I didn't try hard enough) to get into the NBS. It was a thorn in her side that Jane, a less deserving child in my moms mind, got into the prestigious National Ballet School. Now whether or not she actually attended ..... I don't know.

When I told this story to Sean he asked me what would I say to that child (me). How would I comfort her in the wake of feeling it was her fault. I've been thinking about it all week and I still don't have an answer. My immediate thought as myself at this age is to realize it was stupid & certainly NOT my fault. However, "stupid" would not ease the hurt of a child who's been made not only to feel inadequate and a failure, but also responsible for her mothers loss of a friend. In truth, their friendship was broken by their own competition between them.

As far as 'good enough' is concerned, being accepted to the NBS doesn't mean a person is better or more talented; it simply means that they (the school adjudicators) see something that they feel they can develop with training. Dance is subjective. Different adjudicators might look for different things such as a high foot arch, or length of leg relative to length of body, a long neck vs a shorter neck, or even just how tall or short you are. It's all subjective & not always about how well you dance right now .... but what they think they can mould you into. But as young children with ambitious mothers, we're made to feel there's something wrong with us. We failed. We weren't good enough.

　
Sleeplessness & My Mind Reeling

I couldn't sleep at all last night. Initially it was my back pain keeping me awake but then it was intrusive thoughts and memories and emotions that prevented sleep.

I first started thinking about all the evidence that life has given me that the world is not a safe place. The Jesuit priest. The Customs officer. The guy at the ballet party. The singing teacher. The 'date'. The guy in the car who tried to grab me. Doctors. The stalking. The caretaker at our school being murdered. The co-worker who was almost raped (she escaped but barely). The family friend who was grabbed and almost forced into a car in Toronto. The bylaw guy who threatened my life and the life of my dogs.

And then my mind went to thoughts of the Dance Studio. That dream that my mother always had for us. I didn't want to own a dance studio. But my mom wanted it for me and she wore me down until I finally grudgingly went along. She saw it as the only future. I didn't even get to name my own studio. She insisted on it being called "The [ my name ] Academy Of Dance. I wanted to call it High Kicks Dance Studio .... you know, a catchy name that would be inviting to people. Not a snobby sounding high falutin' name. But my mother thought the latter name sounded "common". Aside from the [ ____ ] Academy Of Dance sounding snobby, I also hated it because I hate my name so having it 'out there' was very uncomfortable.

I Hate My Name ..... even my middle name. At one point I wanted to change my name to Jaclyn Parks because I thought the spelling looked & sounded better. Of course I could never actually change my name because it would have offended my parents. Growing up kids made fun of my name, saying it was a boys name & also calling me Jack-O-Lantern. I still cringe whenever I say my name. I hate the way it sounds. It's weird because I do know other people who share my first name and I don't feel the same way about the name when it's on someone else.

Of course all of these thoughts about the dance studio and hating my name make me realize that all through my life I have Capitulated To The Will Of Others. In all aspects of my life. Which begs the question .... was I forced ? or did I feel forced? What constitues 'force'? If you go along because you're afraid not to go along ..... what does that mean?

Then my mind went to Doctors and the paralyzing terror I feel at the very suggestion of consulting a doctor. I can't even walk into a building let alone an office. The fear and panic has been with me all of my life. I've been told stories about how I would scream and panic and need to be restrained ..... as young as 2yrs old. All through childhood I resisted any interaction with doctors. Panic. Fear. Why? I don't really know although I believe it is somehow connected to whatever happened when I was out on those 'day trips' with the Jesuit. Over the years, on a few occassions when I've been sick enough to seek out medical help, I've tried to overcome my phobia and be 'normal'. Which is difficult when I can't tell anyone about my phobia. On the few unavoidable occassions when I've found myself trapped in a medical situation, and have tried to request a modem of discretion/modesty, I've been ridiculed, shamed, and humiliated by doctors and medical staff. I've been treated with disdain. Which makes the secret of the phobia & indeed the phobia itself, even more intense. It's reliving trauma over and over again. I have never experienced any level of compassion or empathy. Sean says to find a doctor that I can trust and tell him/her upfront about my fears. Ya .. I don't think so. I can't share that information with anyone. I can't sit down and tell a stranger my most intrusive fears. Even Sean doesn't know the full extent of my paralyzing panic.

　
Meltdown Day

Had a meltdown today > not really sure what triggered it. I tried to remember what I was thinking about right before I started crying but I couldn't remember. After class we were talking about people carb loading etc. for photo shoots and competitions ... so as to look 'cut' (some people do it with their sport dogs too), and I remembered and remarked about how my mom used to give me her lasix pills so I wouldn't look fat/bloated for dance performances, and valium for the muscle cramps caused by the diuretics; and the people with whom I was having the conversation were shocked and commented, "that's ABUSE!!!"

So I wonder if that was the trigger. Also when I looked in the mirror this morning I looked so old. I saw an old wrinkled ugly person looking back at me. And it made me feel worthless and like my life is over. And I sobbed uncontrollably.

Is this my life? I don't understand the point of it all. I started to wonder if maybe I was supposed to die in that car accident when I was 6mths old. They thought I was dead. I was on the median covered over as a dead body. When my mom came to & saw me, she ran over and picked me up and shook me and shook me and shook me until I was revived. And I sometimes wonder if maybe I'm not supposed to be in this world. Maybe that's why I feel so awkward and out of place.

I don't understand what the point of this life is. IF this is all there is; if there is no afterlife; then what is the point of all this? And IF there is some kind of afterlife, then again what is the point of all this? IF we are some kind of omnipitent beings then what do we need to learn from life? What is the purpose of this existence. IF we reincarnate over and over and over again, then what is there to learn and why?

There are people who go on vacations and adventures and enjoy their lives & all I do is struggle to make ends meet. There is no joy. In anything. It feels like it's all just a waste of time. I can't even imagine being happy. I don't know what it means. Sometimes I wish I'd never been born.

　
Why Would Anyone Want To Have Children

I decided at quite a young age that I would never have children becasue the cycle of abuse had to stop with me. With this generation. But I also think that I have this unconscious core belief that children ruin your life. When I hear that someone is having a baby I don't feel excited for them. My first thought is "why would you do that?" .... "your life is going to be ruined" ...... " everything that you've worked for, your dreams, ambitions ... why would you ruin your life by having a kid?" That being said, I do have friends for whom children have greatly enriched their lives & they are wonderful families

I think I got this thought process from my mother. She didn't say it outright but there was always that implication ... the suggestion that we ruined her life. Getting married and having children ruined her aspirations to become a professional singer. She settled down and got married and had children instead. It was as if she regretted her choices in life, and "we" (kids) were one of those choices. She often made comments about giving up her dreams for her family and would then counter with a comment about not regretting that choice. But ...... the fact that she so often told us about how she "gave up" her dreams, suggests that she did in fact have regrets. And to a small child that means that you yourself are a regret.

　
Finishing What You Start

One of the difficult things in this depression is the lack of motivation and passion that prevail. I suppose it must be hard for anyone who hasn't experienced it to understand what it's like to look at something that needs to be done, whether it's cleaning the house or clearing off a countertop, and feeling overwhelmed at the enormity of the task. Even small tasks seem daunting. They seem unfinishable (I don't think that's a word). And it takes me back to childhood (& even as an adult while my mother was still alive) being told, "you never finish what you start." I can't even think of a specific project or chore that was started and not finished so I'm not really sure why/where the statement came from. And now whenever I look at something that needs to be done, there's that little voice telling me I'll never be able to finish it, and then I'll be fulfulling that criticism .... "you never finish what you start"

　
The Dark Cloud

While I realize that my depression is the result of cumulative trauma events, it feels like my world came to a crisis point in a single day. Even on days when I feel kind of okay, when things are going well, I can still feel that dark cloud of depression hovering over me. Much of the time I feel like a fraud, presenting a strong self when in truth I feel like a fragile child. Even a small hiccup in daily life can trip me up and I feel myself sliding backwards .

This journey thus far has been challenging and confusing. I remember a time when I used to be so organized and now I don't feel I have the cognitive ability to do anything. I seem to have lost the ability to focus and concentrate. And I feel like I can't intake and/or process new information. I feel as if what control I once had over my life (or thought I had) has slipped away. Negative thoughts can invade my mind and I feel incapable of stopping them. I feel as if the depression and anxiety that haunt me, are crippling me both intellectually and emotionally.


Suicide
I was reading the book This Is Depression, by Dr. Diane McIntosh, and in it she describes Moderate Risk of suicide as those people wondering if they'd be better off dead & those who wonder if their life is worth living; but who have no 'plan' for suicide. She describes High Risk of suicide as people who feel completely hopeless, worthless, and feel sure they'd be better off dead. People who have considered how they might end their lives even if they have not taken steps to put a plan in place

I have felt both of these sets of feelings many many times. And not just since this journey began, but in years gone by. I've concluded that pills are probably the best way to slip away peacefully. I wouldn't want to suffer (afterall you're trying to alleviate suffering) so slitting wrists, hanging, gunshots and the like would not be my modus oparendi. Pills seen the most peaceful option. But what kind of pills? And where would one get them? And how many would it take?

A combination of being raised Catholic (suicide is a mortal sin), coupled with a fear of death prevents me from taking action. And I also can't abandon my animals ... they keep me anchored to this world. I don't contemplate suicide and I don't feel this way everyday, but it's something that crops up from time to time ..... although more frequently in recent years. The only time I've come frighteningly close to acting on those thoughts was in the week after my father died and my brain unleashed it's Pandora's Box of trauma memories.

　
When Choice is not a Choice

Sometimes I feel as if my whole life has been about 'giving in'. Sucumbing to the wishes of others. I don't remember really having any choices in the decisions regarding my life or future. Even at times when I was given a choice of A or B, I knew there was only one acceptable answer and therefore no real choice. And often (actually always) in life I've felt the need to 'go along' in order to keep the peace, or protect the 'secret', to seem normal, or to avoid confrontation or a perceived threat.

If you've always been forced and /or manipulated to comply, you get to a point where you feel you don't have any control & everything you do, you feel you have to because you have no choice. Even living. People wonder how can I be depressed , how can I be suffering from complex trauma and still manage to work. Truth is I don't have a choice. I have animals who depend on me. And before that I had my Dad who depended on me. And prior to that I had my Mom who depended on me and my dad.

Even as broken as I feel. As tumultuous as these past few months have been, I still have to make enough money to pay the mortgage, and bills, and buy food for the animals. I can't even afford to go on disability while I recover because it doesn't pay enough to cover the mortgage, let alone living expenses. It's been, and continues to be, a constant struggle to make ends meet. My two credit cards are past due & I feel like I'm drowning in debt. It's very stressful. While life has forced me to 'carry on' as much as I'm able, I haven't been functioning at optimum capacity. I've been boarding fewer dogs because I'm not able to cope with a full compliment & I've had to turn away 'difficult' dogs because I don't feel I have the mental or physical strength to deal with them. So my income has been lacking. It's only been the past 9wks that I've started to be able to add work outside the home, and it's only 5hrs a week, but it's all I can manage right now. But again I have no choice but to keep struggling to be normal. Life and responsibilities and dependents force me to capitulate to tasks I'd rather not deal with.

I feel like I've lost control over the direction of my life (actually I'm not quite sure I ever had control). I think often I'm pressured into making the choice other people 'want' me to make. For example, my therapist mentioned again about me joining an upcoming Trauma & Recovery group & he said, "there's no pressure". I don't have to join if I don't feel ready, There's no pressure to join. It's a ten week program. But here's the thing. I DO feel pressure. I feel like if I don't go, Sean will think, "clearly this girl has no interest in getting better", and will feel like he's wasting his time with me. In reality this is very likely a long walk from the truth. As Brene Brown says .... it's the stories in our heads. The stories we make up to fill in the blanks of our perceptions. This is pressure I'm putting on myself because my own fears and insecurities.

I'm very uncomfortable with the idea of being part of a group. Partly because of the social anxiety that I feel around strangers, and partly beause I'm afraid of the dynamics of a group. I don't want to feel forced to share my personal issues with strangers & I know myself well enough to know that even if they say you don't have to speak up, I'll feel coerced to do so, so as not to draw attention to myself as the odd one out. Once again capitulating to the will of others. It's hard enough to talk to Sean and let him know all my fears and insecurities and weaknesses. I really don't relish the idea of exposing myself to strangers. And I'm not looking to make friends to commiserate with.

In the same way that I'm told I don't want my past trauma to define me, I also don't want "this" to define me. I don't want mental instability to define me.

The flip side of this is Sean says he thinks it will be beneficial for me to see that there are other people going through the same struggle & some who are on the other side of the struggle; because at this point I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. The other thing is timing. Right now I'm working very few hours and therefore have the flexibility to go to a ten week program. As things hopefully improve and I'm able to add more hours to my schedule, I will have less flexibility. So timing wise, this group is good timing. And lastly, if Sean says he thinks this would be a good thing for me, I feel I need to trust him. And yet the entire thing terrifies me. I wish I had a service dog to help me cope with these overwhelming, paralyzing fears, and help me navigate my way through life. I've missed out on a lot over the years because of fear.


Another Murder Dream
I had another murder dream. This time I was driving and came to an intersection and didn't know where I was. I was stopped at the intersection & rolled my window half way down to look out to see the road sign. I couldn't quite see it so I put the van in reverse to get a better view, when suddenly someone was at the window. At first I thought it was someone begging for money, but then the person reached in through the window and was trying to grab me and the steering wheel. Trying to pry my hands off the steering wheel and drag me out of the car. I started screaming for Tahree to wake up and bark/lunge at the person (as in waking life that is exactly what she does .... car guards ... and it's why she travels with me) but she wouldn't wake up. The person was grabbing me and trying to pull me out of the car and I was screaming, "Tahree! Tahree!" and then I woke up with my heart pounding and an overwhelming feeling of terror. I couldn't settle back to sleep so got up and made a cup of tea and put the television on.

　
December 2019
 
This Is Very True .....


I can't remember where I copy/pasted this from but it rang true for me:

** Survivors of narcissists may not come forward right away to friends and family members about the abuse; they fear that they are overreacting, too sensitive, or imagining things, just like the abuser has told them. Even after you break free of a narcissist, you might still be prone to protecting the abuser’s image at the risk of your own welfare.

One of the effects of being abused is that our boundaries become extremely malleable. We’re more compelled to say "yes" to things we desperately want to say "no" to. We’ve lost our sense of agency and control over our lives **

　
Beggars Can't Be Choosers

I can't count the number of times I heard that saying growing up, & even into adulthood. Beggars Can't Be Choosers. If we didn't like something we'd be told beggars can't be choosers. If we wanted something like a 'real' Barbie, we'd be told beggars can't be choosers. We couldn't afford brand name things so it was drummed into us that beggars can't be choosers .... be happy with the cheap version. Which as a child, pretty much taught me that I was a person with no choices in life. Someone so low on the totem pole that I would never be worthy of having choices in life. And it circles back to even when something is presented as a choice, there is only one acceptable choice and you've been conditioned to understand what the 'right' decision is.

I think it comes down to knowing (or thinking) that when given a choice, it's a set up. The person offering the choice has an expectation of a certain response. And the knowledge of that expectation negates the choice. You feel the pressure to capitulate.

Why have I agreed to go to the trauma group? Partly because I feel a pressure to do so. I feel that even though Sean, my therapist, says "no pressure, it's up to you", there is an expectation to be met. I do realize that this is pressure I put on myself. I am in no way being coerced into attending the group.

Why am I going to Georgian Bay for a day? Well it's not that I don't want to go but I do feel a pressure to go because to turn down the invitation would be rude and ungrateful. I'm neutral on whether or not I "want" to go because I'm more focused on fulfilling an obligation not to let people down. And it's a huge undertaking to get away even if only for 24hrs. I wanted to go but I was apprehensive about going. (I did go and it was a lovely visit, well worth the trip, and I was happy I went)

Beggars can't be choosers. It means you always have to be satisfied with less. It means you aren't deserving of more. And it is a constant reminder that you are not good enough & don't have enough money to have choices. Growing up my mother always reminded us that in life there are the "haves" and the "have nots", and we were the 'have nots'. That was our status.

Life is once again providing evidence that beggars can't be choosers. Apparently there are not many psychologists who provide individual psychotherapy under OHIP. And the institutions under which these handful of psychologists work don't like them providing this service because it's not profitable. Group therapy brings in more revenue because they can bill for 10 patients for an hour, as opposed to one. These institutions (such as hospitals) also want their mental health professionals to cap individual therapy to eight sessions. Eight sessions? That's insane. I've been going to therapy weekly for 9 months and only scratched the surface of my trauma. I have six decades of trauma to process and years of anxiety and depression to shed. Pretty sure that can't happen in eight sessions. And when I feel that I'm failing, those who know this process tell me, "you haven't been at this for long." But now I'm confronted with the beggars can't be choosers thing again.

Sean mentioned that at some point in the New Year he will be given more students to train/mentor and at the same time getting pressure from administration with regards to individual patients. As such, in order to protect current individual patients, he is suggesting that we allow a student to sit in on our sessions. He said not to panic. It's not for awhile and ultimately my decision. But here's the thing ...... if I decide no, it sounds like I will risk losing my therapy. Not by Sean's choice. But by administrative rules. I don't know if that's true, but that's how it sounds. And I know Sean is trying to figure out a way to protect and service his patients & I don't want to add stress to his job by saying no to a student. It is a teaching hospital so part of that entails students. And my brain reminds me, you're a beggar in life , not a chooser. If I had tons of money and could afford to pay for therapy I wouldn't have this dilemma. If you have money you can "control" and "choose" how things go. But I don't have money so I really don't have a choice. I will have to capitulate to the trauma and uncomfortableness (not sure if that's a real word) of allowing a stranger into my sessions in order not to lose them.. There's a lot of stuff we haven't touched on yet. Stuff that is too personal to talk about. It's hard enough to confide in one person without having a stranger sit it. I don't know how this will play out but I'm fearful. I'm telling myself it will be okay and I need to trust that Sean will choose someone who will be a good fit. Perhaps being part of this trauma group will make it easier to have someone sit in. I'll get used to other people .


Night Terrors?
I'm not 100% sure what night terrors are but I remember, as a child, waking up in the middle of the night feeling terrified and like there was someone or some threat present. I would freeze in my bed and pray for "it" to go away. It was a feeling like something or someone was coming for me > a threat of some kind. I'd be terrified and afraid to move. Freezing. Trying not to breathe lest I be discovered.


Good Enough
been thinking about this phrase, "good enough", and I realize that it is used liberally to mean NOT good enough. For example, if you ask someone if something is okay and they respond , "it's good enough", they actually mean 'it'll do', 'it's okay, 'it's passable'; but it's not right or perfect ..... it's just 'good enough'

What a conundrum this poses ....... we fear that we are not good enough & yet our vernacular suggests that 'good enough' is equivalent to 'eh' ..... so what is good enough? ...... perhaps we should not be striving to be 'good' enough but rather, simply .... enough.


Giving VS Obligation
As the holiday season approaches I'm reminded about how my parents were terrible gift givers and they did not enjoy gift giving. Gift giving was seen as an obligation and a chore. Their excuse was always that they didn't know what to get ...... "I don't know what you like." Really? How disconnected and disinterested in your family/friends/children can you be to not know what those people like?

Looking back I do think that part of the angst around gift giving was due to lack of money. And worries that their gifts wouldn't measure up to their peers. For some reason it was expected that aunts/uncles/friends should buy gifts for ALL the children in the extended family. So my parents were buying xmas gifts not only for their own two children, but also seven others. And it was a financial burden. And I do remember my mother fretting about whether or not their gifts would be acceptable in comparison to what the others could afford to buy. And worry that we would receive something of greater value. I'm not sure how it came to be that each family bought for all children but for my parents it was an obligation and not a joyful giving. And always a worry that we would receive something better than what they gave. My mother was always saying , "what if they already have one". I don't know how she got that stuck in her head. My view on that now as an adult is, they can exchange it , re-gift it, or ... have two. As all we children got older and before the extended gift giving stopped (when all reached teenage years), it became obvious that across the board this tradition was an obligation, and close to zero thought went into gifts .... and they became more and more impersonal.

But even with us and each other, my parents didn't enjoy gift giving. That 'I don't know what he/she likes' was voiced over and over again. How can you not know what your wife/husband likes? How can you not know what your children like? Gift giving for any occassion was a chore and an obligation. Not a joy. And then there was the "what do you want?" Well we were always coached not to ask for anything so it was a conflict to be asked what we wanted when it came to birthdays or christmas. I suppose some children would welcome and leap at the opportunity to "ask" for stuff twice a year, but for me it felt like a trap. I was afraid to ask for something in case it was too much or more that I deserved. And often I didn't even know what I wanted. Although I did ask for a dog enough times that I eventually got one. I think what I wanted was for someone to notice me and care about me enough to put thought into finding something special. To have parents who were aware enough to know what their kids would like, and find joy in giving joy to another person.

Because of the obligatory nature of gifts given to us, I always felt awkward and embarrassed receiving gifts.

Somehow I didn't inherit that attitude towards gift giving. I love to find just the right thing for people. And at times when I have a bit extra money (which isn't often), if I see something that I know someone will like, I'll buy it for no particular occassion other than I saw this & it made me think of you.


My Day-cation
My cousin invited me up to Georgian Bay for my Uncle Dave's annual Xmas Soiree that he hosts for neighbours and friends. Since xmas will have me tied down with pet sitting guests, I accepted the invitation for a day away from the farm. The plan was to drive up Saturday morning, stay overnight, and drive back Sunday. It's a three and a half hour drive. I sent Petunia to stay at a friends farm. Loaded up my farm critters (pony and donkeys) with enough food and water for two days (& asked my neighbour to check on them); and brought dogs with me and they 'camped' in the van. It was a mild weekend weather wise and they got out for walks and Paige had a run on the beach with her 'doodle' doggie cousins.

Saturday morninhg I woke up feeling really uneasy and shaky. I'm guessing it was anxiety about the trip, and being around strange people. My cousin Louise's birthday was back in November and I brought her a special gift. Our granddads hand drawn pattern draft book. The certificate is dated 1910. It was passed down to my mother, and I inherited it when she passed away. And now Louise has it. Louise is the one who inherited the sewing gene. Granddad was a master tailor who owned a factory in Dublin, Ireland. My mom inherited the sewing talent and was an incredible seamstress. And Louise is my generations fashion expert and seamstress extraordinaire. I can sew and have made some nice things, but Louise inherited the O'Sullivan sewing gene. It was only fitting that Granddads pattern book be passed on to her. My mother was very proprietory about the book and adament that it not be given to any of her siblings or their families. But the book should be in the hands of the person who will appreciate it most, and that person is Louise.

Speaking of my mother, I was talking with my cousin Paul and he was talking about my dad and how much he liked him, and then he said, "I remember your mother ... ugh!" , and shuddered as he said it. Wow! I wasn't offended. It was more like validation to me that I'm not imagining things. There was a time when I would have been offended. When my mom was still alive and before all these repressed memories and emotions flooded my psyche.

Saturday's guests startred arriving around 3:30pm. The only people I knew were my cousins and uncle. People came and went for a few hours. I sat and chatted with my cousins husband mostly. One of my cousins friends came and sat near me and I chatted with her a little bit. But mostly I nursed my Diet Coke and sat and observed. Louise, knowing what I'm going through, said to me, "I know this is overwhelming for you so if you need to take a break, it's okay to go hang out in your bedroom; don't be afraid to take a break if you need to."

The evening was nice and we all turned in before midnight. The next morning was quiet and peaceful. Just family. And everyone was in their jammies sitting in the living room in front of a roaring fire, and drinking tea. Then my cousins Anne and Louise and I took Anne's 2 dogs and my Paige for a walk/run on the beach. After that, Anne & Louise went for a 6km walk and I stayed behind to exercise my other dogs. I didn't feel I had the energy to go for a 6km walk! After ex'ing my dogs and settling them back in the van, I returned to the cottage and relaxed with another cup of tea, and read my book. When the cousins returned from their hike, they made brunch for everyone. And after brunch everyone started heading out to go home .... myself included. It was a nice little get-away. Sunday morning was incredibly peaceful.

My family gifted me a xmas stocking filled with useful goodies including gift cards for gas, groceries, and Tim Hortons. It was unexpected and so kind.


Trauma Group
I went to the first trauma group session yesterday. It was okay. This group is NOT for sharing trauma stories thankfully. Facilitators were very nice (well Sean was one of them). Felt my usual awkwardness. Uncomfortable. The session started with the group leader (not really sure what the appropriate title is) putting a box/cube on the table. It was a black box with a bunch of squiggles and symbols on it. She said for everyone to look at the box and observe what they saw & how it made them feel. People were seeing and saying stuff but I didn't get it at all. No insights. Nothing. All I saw was a box. It invoked nothing. I was asked what I saw/felt. Cue insecurity and feeling stupid, and fighting back tears that started to well up. I wanted to be invisible.

One of the things addressed was recognizing signs of hyper and hypo arousal vs being in the middle or 'in the window' ..... a place one lady described as the 'line of stability'. Hyper being those times when one feels irritable, uneasy, shaky, or overwhelming emotion/crying. And hypo being the opposite ..... lack of motivation, no get up and go, etc. And the middle is when one feels calm, in control, and devoid of intrusive thoughts. We were instructed to take a moment to consider the different levels & think about where we see ourselves. A couple of people shared their thoughts & I found I felt uncomfortable hearing people share their thoughts. I know where I'm at currently. Mostly I'm in the hyper level .... irritated etc. And then when exhausted I'm down in the hypo level where I just can't seem to function. I think I'm in the middle 'stable' level when I'm teaching.

Afterwards Sean told me to expect to feel tired. Wow! He wasn't kidding! I had to pull off the road to take a nap on the way home. Later in the evening I felt agitated and tired and had a significant amount of pain by the time I went to bed. Today I'm feeling weepy.

Going into this I was told that no one HAS to speak in group. And indeed there were others besides myself that were not very vocal. I'm really uncomfortable sharing thoughts because I'm afraid of sounding stupid. I think it goes back to childhood and being in school. The teachers took pleasure in picking on the student they knew wouldn't know an answer. I think their thought process was to humiliate and embarrass students into learning. And if you stood up to answer ('cos you had to stand up), everyone would look at you, and if your answer was wrong, people would snicker. I was not a good student and lived in constant fear of being singled out to make a fool of myself in front of everyone. I seldom knew the answers. And being asked if I want to share my thoughts in the group takes me right back to that childhood feeling of fear of being singled out and asked a question. I wanted to be invisible.

Another thing talked about during the session was how when we are experiencing anxiety, our brains are not in a place where we have access to learning. I know this from dog training. But the discussion made me realize that this is probably why I was such a bad student in school. I couldn't concentrate & I couldn't take in and retain information. It was a huge struggle. But I realize now that I was probably in a constant state of anxiety & therefore unable to learn. I was always afraid. I was never at ease.

　
A Flaw In My Character

In her book, Trauma & Recovery, Judith Herman M.D. says:

** "Because post traumatic symptoms are so persistent and so wide ranging, they may be mistaken for enduring characteristics of the victims personality. This is a costly error, for the person with unrecognized post traumatic stress disorder is condemned to a diminished life, tormented by memory and bounded by helplessness and fear" **

When I read this paragraph it really resonated with me. Diminished life. Tormented by memory and bounded by helplessness and fear. This really describes me. And the part about symptoms being mistaken for characteristics of ones personality ..... omg .... I have often over the years berated myself as having a "flaw in my character" that makes me fear confrontation and basically be a doormat.

　
Another Questionaire

I was given another set of questionaires to fill out (as part of the trauma group program) I feel like my answers are contradictory; or that maybe I don't understand some of the questions, which stresses me out and makes me feel stupid. Worse is that I feel like someone reading the answers will think I'm faking my trauma 'cos my answers don't make sense. I feel like "I am" a contradiction.

　
Didn't Think I'd Live This Long

I'm not sure why but all through my life I felt like I wouldn't live long. I used to think I would never reach 50. I'm not really sure why. But there were times when I'd think about the future and then think, I won't live that long. I never made long range plans or developed long term goals 'cos I just didn't think I still be alive. And yet here I am, having achieved nothing and now worrying about how I'm going to continue to live given that I don't have the financial means to take care of myself. Where am I going to live and how am I going to live when I reach the point when I can't work anymore?

　
Christmas 2019

this entire month has been a challenge. My sister died in December years ago. My moms birthday was December 28th. And this is my first xmas without my Dad. In addition to all that one of my older dogs, Bright, died 2wks ago. And Olive, the stray cat that I took in, also passed away last week.

I've been crying every single day for weeks now. Multiple times a day. I feel like I'm three seconds away from crying at all times. I'm trying to be aware of the triggers but I can't always identify them. Sometimes it's intrusive thoughts but not always.

Today is Christmas Day. I was invited to join a friend for Christmas dinner with a group of her friends. The evening was hosted by two sisters & everyone was someone who for whatever reason, would otherwise be alone. So they started this tradition of having Christmas dinner together. I wasn't sure I would be able to follow through and actually attend. You know ... the whole not being comfortable in groups of people who are strangers; plus the whole eating in front of strangers thing. Geez I'm screwed up!! I felt nauseous and sickly getting ready to go out and it took gravol and immodium to settle my stomach & get myself out the door. I'm glad I went. It was a lovely relaxed evening and the people in attendance (there were nine of us) were very nice and made me feel quite at ease, which is very unusual for me in a social group situation. We were there about five hours in total. The food was great and lots of it and everyone was sent home with leftovers. That's part of their tradition too. Bring your tupperware 'cos you're going home with a meal for the next day! It turned out to be a very relaxing evening. AND .... once there, I was in the "window" .... the line of stability. My anxiety was down and I felt at ease.

Panic & Fear (Dec. 27)
I haven't had a significant panic attack in a couple of months now and my generalized fear of the world has also been on the back burner. But last night those demons showed themselves again. I was in Toronto and stopped to use the restroom at a Tim Hortons. As I was reaching for the door a man jumped in front of me to open the door for me and I said thank you (no biggie .. someone being nice), but then he jumped in front of me to open the inside door too which was weird and awkward. I mean there's only six feet between the doors. I said thank you again but felt a sudden surge of panic. I hurried into the restroom but felt my panic rising and was afraid to come out again in case this man would be there. Crazy right?? I came out and quickly scanned the area and the man was still in the Tim Hortons line. Whew! I can get out of here without being seen. I rushed to my car, jumped inside, and locked the doors. I felt shaky and nervous and berated myself for having such an unecessary reaction to something as simple as someone opening a door for me. But it wasn't the opening of the door per se, it was that he jumped in front of me to do it. I think that's what triggered the fear and panic. I did the box breathing exercises but it took awhile for the shakiness to pass


3 Seconds To Crying
I don't know what's happening lately but I've been about 3 seconds away from crying about 90% of the time, for the past few weeks. I'm crying every single day. Multiple times a day. It's exhausting and my eyes are dry and stinging from crying so much.