Tag Archives: anxiety

Saturday Morning

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A quiet moment at the end of the day, I had hoped for it to turn out differently.  I work up happy and well rested.  I knock out a few chores and made some delicious coffee and then sat down to enjoy some quiet, alone time with a book.  I am re-reading a book on nutrition and working on revamping my food plan.  Now that I’ve kept to my New Year resolution of quitting chocolate – I am ready to move on to phase 2.

I leisurely let the cats out of the apartment to have their morning romp and sat back down to slurp my joe.  Settled back in and comfortable, there is a knock at the door.  I get up, thinking that someone had found one of the cats.  And I open the door and there is a father and his cute three year old daughter and another older man.

They start asking me about religion.  Do I know about it?  Am I a believer?  Nope.  An atheist?  Nope.  (I used to identify as an atheist but now I don’t.  I just don’t really want to be in a category.  I am not into the statements or stigmas that each label implies.  Don’t put me in a box.   It makes me uncomfortable and itchy.)

The little girl was so cute and they were so nice.  I invited them in.  I opened a tub and pulled out my collection of plush finger puppets and she was playing with tiny fish and squid finger puppets and laughing.  The adults spoke about the scriptures, they asked me if I had read them and I said yes.  I told them some of my experience with religion and they looked uncomfortable.  I made some gestures, with some of my many finger puppets on my hand.  Might have made it more surreal.

We talked about interpretation about the scripture, they said they just could.  And so I asked them about how they can be sure that the scripture they are reading is god’s word.  Since there were so many books that weren’t included in the Bible or are in some versions of the Bible that aren’t in others.  Because as the Christians wanted to get more coverts they started to add books that were canonized and talked more about Jesus’s interaction with the sinners and the gentiles so that outsiders could be welcome.  With word that could be divinely inspired, then being repeatedly transcribed and then filtered depending on the survival/recruitment needs of the church in the year 367.

I was trying to be nice.  But then he got angry when I said I was excited about the book of Judas being preserved and restored.  Because I think Judas made the greatest sacrifice.  That really upset him.  We tried to get nice and he pulled out this Jesus menu and asked if any of these questions had ever upset me.  And I knew his answers for them and the sales technique he was using.  The older man said we’re not trying to sell anything; I looked up at him and said, really?

I said that I was starting to get triggered.  I didn’t want their god or their book.  And the tears started to pour out of my face.  So embarrassing.  I thanked them for the polite conversation, but asked them to leave.  The tiny little girl took the finger puppets off and gave me a hug.

They left.  E was woken up by the raised voices during the Judas conversation.  I grabbed my coffee.  E has spent the last 4 days with both hands painfully swollen and in an amazing amount of pain from the constant unpacking.  He’s been mostly in bed ice packing his hands.  His pain has been pretty intolerable, but that’s one of the prices you pay for being in three combat zones.  Your 20 year old body writes checks that your body has to cash forever.

They might as well have been selling crack door to door.  This is my addiction, trying to be understood by Christians.  This is where I am developmentally stuck and I don’t know where I thought I was going to get this morning.

I just wanted a nice morning: coffee, a book, smooching my hot fiancé.  But I let my ptsd in, invited it in.  When E asked me why, I just cried and said “they had a little girl”.  Part of me also thought it would be funny, but that humor isn’t for me anymore.  It’s far too expensive in my heart and mind.

Universal Call Out

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The first time was at a mixer a few months ago.  I was talking to a brilliant, charming man in a fez.  How could you not love a guy in a fez? It was a great conversation.  I would wear a fez, but my head is far too round and giant.  He told me what he did and it was awesome.  I told him what I did, “How can that be your passion?”  He wasn’t rude, he was genuine.  I was side-swiped.  I did what I did, like Rumpelstiltskin I told him that it was.  I stomped my straw of a lie and smiled pretty and tried to sell him gold.  I felt like I had sullied what had been one minute a go a true, real, human experience.  Curses.  Gross.

Hi, I’m Feisty Boots.  I am here on this planet to use my life experiences as a means of illumination against spiritual abuse in the world.  I write and speak so that people who have been hurt by leaders and family who have claimed that their abusive power came from a divine source don’t feel alone.  I believe that the unheard victim can get back on the wheel of abuse and become an abuser and I want to do what I can to stop that cycle.  I have seen the foulest of human nature and been told that it is the love of god and having broken free from that.  I write out those experiences and that process so that others in similar situations can take heart.

That’s a scary thing to say out loud.  Wish I had the guts that day.  Yesterday I met with two people for business and ended up talking about this anyway.  They were far more interested in this.

A woman with experience is in my life and she has some great ideas, I think I will start a step at a time.  Let’s see if I can work this transition.

meh

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I feel stunted, halted and blocked.  The burning cinder block on my heart that I want to show you is harder to show you because it’s somebody’s current situation that is triggering my past (well, my entire life).  And it’s a hard decision to write about it.  Cause it’s about me, but it’s about them.  But they read this and I’m putting their business on the internet…

Or I’m not and this firey cinderbock stays lit and burns a hole through my chest and my gut.  I feel angry and I feel robbed and I feel hurt and I feel sorry and I want to help and I can’t and I am grieving so much.

The natural consequences of a life and a cycle can be so hard to watch.  And mindfulness is so exhausting.  And you can be learning to be mindful but still have done a lot of damage in the world and have a lot of karmic bills to pay, like I do.

Mather 10:29.  “Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.”

But they still fall to the ground.  I don’t know why people do what they do.  I know that people need community fiercely.  What has to happen in a life or in a generation to make it so that staying in a cult is the right thing.

How can you hand over all of your self preservation?  I know I was learning to.  How can you hand over your children’s well being, your physical well being and your financial future.  Then I look at the ways in which I am blind to my own situation and how I do the same thing.  Goddamn cycles everywhere I look, and I have to break them all.

Will I get over this, ever?  Seems like there are people I grew up with that seem so happy (on facebook) and I really hope they are.  More than anything I hope they are.  I hope they don’t feel the cellular level betrayal and abandonment that I do.  The rage and the theft.  OK, gotta take my brain pills and get ready for work so I can be happy.

“You Are Nothing?”

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I was once told by my friend Dr. Dar that I was a Spiritual Warrior.  I know that I have an energy that attracts spiritual confrontation and won’t step down from a challenge.  I am grateful that I was able to stay within good boundaries at the challenge issued last night in my place of work.

I am working on the church industry project and yes after last night I have to get out.  My boundaries are far too fluffy and the water cooler chat is too volatile with this project.  If I am asked what’s up and I respond.  I will get triggered.  Nobody is trying to do this to me, except there are jokes and other egos at play and when you work with jokesters who shouldn’t know that you are a trauma landmine…..

me:  I got hung up on by 3 Baptist churches and yelled at by a Hindu priest today.
him:  Wow that says a lot about Hindus…
(boggle)
me:  What about Baptists?
him:  Well Baptists are just like that.
(And that’s a Bible Belt joke, I don’t get it.  But it means he’s not a Baptist.)
me:  Well there was a huge language barrier with the Hindu priest and they were frustrated and I called the Temple not the office.
(he stares at me)
him:  Well, I’ve never gotten a response like that.  We’re you (silence) you know….
me:  no, I don’t know.
him:  You know…
me:  What?
him: come on…
me:  Female?  Red headed? what? I can’t know unless you finish your sentence.
him:  no
me:  hmmmmmm
(and I realize that he always does this and let’s people finish sentences, leaving him off the hook, kind of.  I am fascinated and I don’t want to play mad libs anymore.)
him:  cordial
me:  oh, sure. I was super nice.  Is that a concern for you?  I know that I can be direct and I don’t know if that comes across abrasively in the Southern culture.  Do you think I’m abrasive?
him:  oh no.
me:  oh good.
him:  Are you (and he waves his arm)
me:  what
him:  Are you??? (waves, trying to reel words from my face)
me:  I don’t know, what?
(coworkers are peeking out of their offices)
him:  Christian?
me:  Oh no.  I’m not.
him:  Catholic
me:  nope
him:  Jewish?
me:  no
him:  anything??
me:  what?
him:  oooh Baptist?
me:  No
him:  What, you’re nothing!?!
me:  I am not nothing, I am standing here right now
him: you know what I mean (waves arm)
me:  I truly don’t

I am glad the conversation had witnesses.  Do I have to learn how to shut up?  Shutting up makes me sick.

base

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My oldest nephew has reminded me about “base”.  Nothing can get you at “base”.  Base is perhaps the most important thing.  And I’m really glad that in play, kids have something to run to where all of the scariness stops and they are control.  When they are on base, they stop the world and process the chase, the overstimulation of the craziness and then when its time to go again they re-enter the game.

The sufferer of ptsd (I’m trying not to capitalize it, I think that’s great advice.  Thanks, A!) frequently feels chased.  I’ve got a thing or twelve on my emotional plate right now.  I have about 4 family relationships I am working on right now.  We still don’t have our stuff from the pirates and that is winding down, I hope we may have our stuff by Christmas.  My new job is great and not easy.

E and I continually work to connect to be “base”.  It is so good.  It’s really hard right now.  The pirates have our bed.  This weekend in a hotel was the first time we’ve slept together in a bed since 9/25.  And we are working so hard to keep our emotional connection sweet.  I’m really lucky, because the air mattresses and other sleeping arrangements have led us both to a lot of back pain through this ordeal and it’s not getting us down.  We’re just taking care of each other.

After a really hard week, A texts me….  She simply says, “I bet you look beautiful and your hair smells like strawberries”.   I laugh because she was close, 3000 miles away and my hair smelled like pumpkins.  My best friend is the master of sweet understatement, she can say better in 9 words what I was trying to tell you in 1,200.  And she smells like caramel, but she doesn’t have to put stuff in her hair to create a scent like I do.  A is “base”.  A is bass to my melody.

I am “base”.  I keep the motion and the flow in my life.  I swim the channel of shadows toward the light.  I love and forgive and connect and sting when I harm people and get pissed off when I have to do the right things and it’s hard.  I try to stop when I can’t and I try to go when I should.  And I learn from my little wild guru nephew about base and safe and stop.

Spiritual Self Abuse?

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A lot of veterans with PTSD can’t stop watching war movies.  It is very common for people with PTSD to have trouble avoiding media that involves the subject of their trauma.  If I see a documentary on cults or religion or bible history, I will watch it obsessively.  I can’t watch movies like “Passion of the Christ” because I can’t watch violence without becoming seriously upset inside for hours.  So, I generally stick to documentaries, etc.

This is compulsive behavior for me, and since I got dealt OCD from my PTSD and have been living in a lot of stress with a new job and no stuff…  It’s been acting up.  Like my eating disorder and trichotillomania (2 not 1 for those keeping track at home) have been acting up.  I’ve been really angry for this mess of wiring in my head, and I’m still hunting for a good fit in a therapist.

“Well, you’re in the Bible belt”, is something I hear a lot at work.  And I need to learn to not let my compulsions out of my mouth via words at work.  Because one of the most successful industries here is the “church industry”, and I have been tasked with a project involving the “church industry”.  I could have turned it down in the beginning, but I didn’t want to and I was so intrigued.  But it would have been the most self-loving thing to do.

While working on this project, it’s brought a lot of churchy energy around me.  People see me working with media and iconography.  I am really into it, because I am marketing to churches and I can’t wait to see if it works.  I am so fascinated by this challenge, you know and nauseated.  People come into my work space and talk and then they talk to me about their faith.  I should probably put up some kind of boundary, but I don’t because I am sickly fascinated by how every one of them has translated and integrated a book differently.  It’s so interesting.

Yesterday was a hard day though.  I got whistled at in the hall.  I believe this was meant as a compliment.  I almost lost my shit.  To me it feels like.  Don’t forget that someone is always watching you.  Even when you think you are alone in a hallway, someone is watching you and sexualizing you.  Don’t forget you are never safe.  I told my coworker and he said that was an awesome compliment and he wishes he would get whistled at.  So that sucked.  Yesterday when this coworker said, “well you’re in the Bible belt…”  I told him that I never wanted suspenders so bad.

Then when wrapping up phase 1 of my project (yay I get a break!!!).  Someone was talking to me about their beliefs and it was ok.  He’s an animated talker.  I was sitting, he was standing.  He was talking about how people think that god the father will punish us forever in hell.  Then he said, “would a father punish a child forever?”  When he said that he was moving his arm for dramatic effect, his arm was over my head and I was looking up.  This had the effect of making me very small feeling.  His arm was coming down repeatedly (like ten times) and his hand was in the exactly grip that Pastor’s was when he was holding the PVC pipe.

I didn’t cry.

I talked to him about his loving views.  He smiled and went away.  Defense systems passed the test and all was well.  I came home about 5 hours later and lost my shit.  It was a bad day at work.  I didn’t want to go to bed, because we can’t sleep together and I really wanted to snuggle up.  So I’m up after 4.5 hours sleep ready to bang out the last day of the work week.  Tired, fragile.

know what sucks

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My mom was here for 9 days and although I love her dearly, it was so hard. She’s been gone almost 2 weeks and I am still taking the big panic attack drugs. I can’t calm down. E touches me and I jump.

My brain isn’t a safe place to be. I cry at the drop of a hat. And I haven’t allowed myself to blog because I’m scared it will hurt her feelings.

But this is mine. And I have to be here. I have a flag.

Please don’t drop a hat.

That didn’t go well at all

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Two and a half hours of a complete inventory of my traumas.  A description of trauma highlights, it’s more fun if you imagine it in slow motion replays with John Madden doing the voice overs.  Then the inventory of all of my coping mechanisms and self medication strategies as well as other random psych questions.

I tried to describe my PTSD to her and I described the dissociative state where people are talking and it’s like I’m underwater and I can’t hear them.  I try to pierce through the water.

I think my open mindedness got me in a few places…  She asked if I see and hear things other people don’t and I said, “how should I know?”

She said I was going to be monitored for a couple of really scary diagnosis.  And I started to cry, a lot.  She told me to let go of the stigma and to work with her.  And I told her that those were the diagnosis I feared the most.  Basically this is a nightmare coming true moment.

She said that she wasn’t diagnosing me, just monitoring me.  At this point, I don’t want to go back.  I want to kick her in the shins and run away and maybe knife her tires.  But that’s not polite in the south.

I came home and cried for a very long time.  I didn’t want to tell E about what she said.  But I trusted us and did.  So it was good.  All of the behaviors that may look like the other diagnosis are also a part of PTSD.

But she is right.  What’s more important?  Recovery and proper treatment or ego?  I’ll do treatment as long as I’m sure I’ve got the right diagnosis.

Nervous

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I am supposed to be getting ready for a doctor’s appointment right now. A new doctor in a new state in a totally new culture. I need to get my brain meds renewed.

Will they believe me? Will they think I’m a drug chaser? It took a long time to find this combination that works for me and I found a really trusting doctor.

So, I get to walk into an office and give the whole ….PTSD…cult…beaten with PVC pipes…blah blah blah… fucking crazy at times…night terrors.

I don’t need to be committed, I just need these meds and I am working on finding a new therapist. Don’t commit me. Give me the drugs. I mean I don’t need them, but if I don’t get them I’ll be crying for a week and unable to move.

Dependence and addiction are different, and there’s a fine line. I’m off to walk a tight rope of perception. Wish me luck.

Here’s a new feeling

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Rage.

I have to say that I’ve done a lot of work to peel off the whys of abuse.  I’ve walked many paths.  I’ve marveled at so many people’s rage.  I didn’t get it.  Now I do.  In the last month, starting in the middle of the road trip, I do.

Rage.

So many friends have had rage because they couldn’t protect me.  I said it was fine.  But from a different vantage, from this different angle, I see different pathways and how history that I thought I knew – form different pictures.  I want to throw up.

Now I know more and can see patterns and history and a much larger picture is coming together.  And this picture is not redeeming: I am learning how some families struggle with certain demons for generations.

The more I speak out, the more I can see back and am aware of what created the environment that makes a family susceptible to a cult.  A family is taught shame and secrets.  A family is taught that they are so flawed that there is no hope for them.  I want to know where this dark mythology started in my blood.

I have deep compassion.  But I have rage.  Because these lies have scarred just about everybody I love.  And now that I see the patterns, now that I am 3,000 miles away – I can see clearly.

Rage.  It took a lot of therapy to find mine.  And it was hard to name, but I drew a straight line to it in a cliche shower epiphany this morning.  Now that I know it, I can’t unknow it.  I’m straight up pissed off.

It’s not just why me and why my family.  It’s why anyone.  I want to start with me and mine.  Only love and compassion will fight this.  This is beyond morality and judgement, they doesn’t exist in this level.  There is only love, non-judgement and compassion.

I have to dig deeper, ask questions, publicly gut myself and write about it.  I have to be someone who sheds light and helps it stop.