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Thursday, August 15, 2013. As far as I am concerned I am not an ordinary person. I have found that if a person is not super-rich or famous in some way on some level other ordinary people are not prepared through their socialization history to process the information that would let them know every other person around them who they come into contact with might not be – well – ordinary like people evidently like to recognize themselves (and others) as being.
That seems a kind of oxymoron to me or perhaps even a paradox. In a culture that seems to pride its national-self on being one-of-a-kind, uniquely as different as they are “independent,” and somehow unlike one another in their originality, at the same time our strangled sense of uniqueness does not allow us to be “so much” like someone else. How can we have it both ways? How can we be “alike” at the same time we wish to consider ourselves so uniquely special?
How does that work in our cultural mind that we can be uniquely and independently the same – at the same time we view ourselves as being identically EQUAL?
Equality does not mean the same! Do we understand this fact?
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I ponder these questions after having spent several extremely distressful hours today tracking down some very important information that I need to know before I move from one state to another. I need to know how my $104 per month medicare premium is being paid, by whom, and if “someone” will pay it once I leave Arizona and move to North Dakota. I need to know if this change process is automatic or if it is something I will have to stimulate – and if I do need to “do something” exactly what do I do – where – with whom – to make this changeover happen (assuming it is possible).
I telephoned an agency on Monday that as far as I could tell has something to do with how my $104 is being paid currently. Of course I am very grateful that there is some program somewhere that somehow pays it now. But once I move? I left a polite and detailed telephone message with “the right person” on Monday requesting a return call — which of course I never received.
Fortunately I live in a small enough town’s area that it was possible to drive hither and yon today trying to track down the woman I left that message with. Offices have moved and splintered. She was certainly not sitting at her big desk where I anticipated finding her. But i DID find her.
I so needed the information I – well – needed from her that I did not bring up the point that insult was added to extreme anxiety disorder insult (to my body, nervous system, emotions and brain) by her neglect in doing the right professional thing in returning my call and saving me this ridiculous tale-chasing. When I found her she did not look particularly busy. Of course she assured me she was “just in the next moment” going to pick up the receiver of her office telephone and call me.
Right.
As time went by I discovered that this woman was at least very patient, very kind and very eager to help me solve my problem. She did not at first know the answers to my questions but she figured it out. I am grateful.
The rest of what happened was in no way her fault. Was it the fault of my psychotic abusive Borderline Personality Disordered mother who hated and severely traumatized me from the moment I was born? Was it the fault of her terrible disease? Was it the fault of people who did not see what she was doing to me and the harm she caused? It certainly is not MY fault that the longer I sat there listening to this woman try to explain to me the convoluted process that are required to change all that relates to my disability payments and to my insurance by stress shifted to extreme distress – to terror at “threat to life” and to sheer panic that I could not regulate or down-regulate or re-regulate.
I could not understand language. Words fled until either nothing but sheer force of emotional distress overcame me – or a deadly inner silence within which not one thought in words could come in or go out of my mouth — or stay in my mind in the middle.
My stomach churned and then it ached and then the pain in my gut took nearly all of my attention as I became dizzy and nauseous. What fun! When did I approach the threshold of panic?
A long long LONG time ago. As I sat there my body remembered that infant terror and panic and would not let me forget. It didn’t matter that my actual life was not under any threat at all. It mattered that my “anxiety disorder” chooses its own time and place for taking over the helm of my life. I am my body’s captive. It is the captain of my life – any time when something of dire importance demands my mental acuity. Acuity? That is a stretch of the word!
There are many “adult” technicalities to moving that nobody can take care of but me. I need an advocate! I need another mind, a calm hearted person to be there with and for me as I try to wend my way through the complexities – as they seem to me – of moving myself from here to 1,800 miles away there. This is why I gave myself 2 1/2 months to get through this move. I need time to come home to my place of safety, quiet and sanctuary to calm down and regroup — before I have to tackle some other small part of this moving process.
I am forever grateful, as I have written about on the blog several times, that the worst of my anxiety difficulties did not appear until after the cancer battle I fought 5 1/2 years ago. But I often think that if I had known what that stress and those drugs were going to do to me in the long run I would never have fought that cancer — to end up — what?
I cannot process information in verbal form in ordinary ways. My mother’s screaming, raging, violent and violating abuse began against me long long before verbal language had become a part of my reality. Her abuse interfered with and interrupted all normal, natural, ordinary language gaining processes an infant is supposed to go through. Sound and words are separated in my brain. If I am under stress/duress and anxiety ensues I cannot hear or understand words that are being spoken to me. My mind goes – yes – blank. At those times my own body seems to be my enemy, not my protector.
I am challenging myself with this move probably past what is reasonable. It is necessary for me in my life to not be here anymore past mid-October – because I need to be THERE 1.800 miles away where my daughters and my grandbabies are. I know I am tough. I know I am able to marshal great determination to succeed over great odds. I also know that I am no longer able to ignore what I must have ignored all of my adulthood until the cancer found me.
I must think without words. Ordinary people are not accustomed to being in communication with a person like me. This is not easy!
If I were to stay here I would die of isolation, loneliness and boredom. I know I won’t die through making myself go through what has to happen to make this move happen. I know what lies ahead of me at the other end of this process will be very good for me. Meanwhile – if I can’t think in words when I need to – I will just have to suffer through that. Notes are written – folders are filled with facts – and sooner or later this information will find its way into my life changes – with or without me. I WILL find people who care enough to help me. I will.
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Stop the Storm 
People seem hostile/unfriendly..or are they? I’ll never know.I’m left out of the game of humanity.I feel like I’m sitting alone on a bench at a baseball game;I don’t have the skills to play the game so I’m left out..it’s heart wrenching. I have no deep long lasting relationships -in fact I don’t have any connection to humanity.I wish I could could acquire “human emotional fluency” that most people would call ” empathy”.It’s like a well rehearsed orchestra..all the instruments are well tuned and in place.A smile- another smile, a touch- another touch..a comment, a pause – another comment.I realize…I have no idea.My mother left me without humanity..I can’t connect, I’m just a shell.So, as a result I’m failing in all aspects of my life.I have no job, I’m loosing my home, my relationship is an abusive one, no friendships, chronic health problems..future is very bleak. There’s no therapy that can erase the way my brain developed, I can only live this trauma altered existence like one would describe a used car, “as is”…I tread lightly, i need to be careful.
Helen, I hear you and I care. I am glad to hear your voice but I sorrow for your sorrows. To me a person such as yourself should be able to walk into any church and simply say, “I NEED HELP!” And receive it. Warmly, with compassion and great concern for your well-being and for your needs. Is there ANY such a place where you live? Not to be preached at/to or condemned or judged or lectured or even pitied – but to be assisted with what you need to be SAFE first of all – and then to have some solid ground put underneath your feet.
I don’t know if you were able to put your name on the shelter’s list – that is insane but necessary in many places in today’s sick world. All that troubles us is not within us alone. We DO NOT live in a healthy society!!
Thank you for writing, Helen! I can only imagine how alone and hopeless you feel. Please do not give up!!! Help must be SOMEWHERE!!!!!
“Shelter’s list”…there isn’t such a thing.Women come in on a emergency basis only.I can call and see whether there is any room or not but sadly they are often full.Shelters are terrifying places – they aren’t like loving homes where a family can seek refuge- they’re loud, intrusive, busy places.A shelter is a very clinical place as well..locked doors,the smell of disinfectant and cleaners.I actually made it inside- went in for an interview with shelter staff.I had to work through a maze of locked doors and security to get to my actual destination..right away my maladaptive mind went to work..in a frenzy, I constructed my “competent poise”.During the interview with the shelter staff I seemed so capable that she confidently said ” wow, you’ve really pre-planed your escape route.You’re a smart lady.” It’s frustrating, I’m frustrated with myself..I don’t know how to describe this existent other than I need help yet I appear so capable -typical RADish -a survivor but not resilient.
No, such a place is not a HOME! I hear you!
Wow, another familiar post. I can relate to this completely. I, too, am just a shell of a person with no connection to humanity. Lost my job, my car, my apartment of ten years, no children of my own, estranged from my parents and my brother, not much contact with my sister, nobody from my family helped me with the whole agonizing, humiliating process of qualifying for SSDI, no close friends, living with a boyfriend who is not at all interested in “us.” Now I’m no longer interested in us.
Seems like I make mistake after mistake after mistake trying to connect with people. There is never a lasting bond. I just can’t do it. I don’t know how. I’ve lost what little I have acquired in my simple, lonely life and I seem to be deteriorating to nothing! Hard to believe I can reach a new low. How much more is left for me to lose? How much lower can I go? There really isn’t much left for me here in this life. Where do people like us go? It seems like there is no place in life on this earth for us. Is there a place for us after we are gone?
I hope you are in a better place now, Helen.
Hello dear – oh such a HARD life you have had!! I just went to find a book that has a passage about spirit and hurt children and could not find it on my bookshelf! Evidently it is still somewhere since my move and that concerns me! I have had that book within reach for over 40 years! There is a passage in there I wanted to post here for you….
The essence of it to me is that those innocents who are abused have a very special place in the next world – and I absolutely believe there is one – and it is not at ALL like this one!! So, YES there is a place for us after we are gone from this world!!!
IN THE MEANTIME – a place for us here and now? I also think about the fact that this American culture is SICK!! It is NOT healthy and often it is the sickness of the society we live in that seems to make the starkest contrast between those who seem to HAVE and those who seem NOT to have. In material terms nothing that truly matters is measured! Not the depth and breadth and goodness of who we essentially are — as SOULS.
Where is there refuge and sanctuary for hurting and suffering people? We were not cared for when we were little and it seems so hard to believe that anyone cares NOW — and very often most people DO NOT CARE no matter WHAT they say! Our society is FULL of those people – and no matter how much they seem to have materially, souls can be completely spiritually bankrupt, empty and dead.
You are NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE!! Is there any part of you that can remember anything you have experienced in your life that brought you any kind of joy? In spite of all else? It is so hard to pick ourselves up when we are hurting so badly. We are living in the darkest times that have ever been and will ever be on this planet and most people are completely fooled into believing things are fine. THEY ARE NOT FINE – and you and I know that!
I don’t know if you have ever come across any of these writings – but you can click around at this link – there might be something that pops up for you!
http://reference.bahai.org/en/
I believe just reading the words is healing and gives our soul strength. Especially if you scroll down and look among the prayers
http://reference.bahai.org/en/t/c/BP/
I really love the children’s prayers — any of them are poetry to my heart. I would not still be alive – no way no how – if I did not have these words. I just offer them here to you because I DO CARE and I am so powerless!! I send LOVE – and thank you SO MUCH for writing!!!! So MUCH!!! Linda – alchemynow
My husband spends the day raging and screaming as a result of this I loose half of the day sometimes.I don’t even know the date or month at times because I spend most of my existence outside of my body.Still in this toxic environment.My attempts to leave are futile.Afraid of people, people shut their doors, and I relent.I’m just a survivor…I’m not thriving, I’m merely surviving.I think my maladaptive existence will take me.As despair and disconnection overtake me I will succumb to RAD.There is no way to verbalize this existence..