+INFANT-CHILD MALTREATMENT DURING EARLY DEVELOPMENT – WOUNDS THAT NEVER HEAL

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Perhaps this is really what I believe:  I am living a documentary on the physiological changes that severe early and chronic child abuse can cause within a human being and what it is like to live a life with these changes.  If this is what I believe, than what I am doing at age 59 is living a documentary and recording what I notice about this experience as a survivor.  It just seems that life moves too fast for anything else to be accomplished.

I finished four days of working in my friend’s small office while she recovers from her illness — only she isn’t well enough yet to return so next week I will probably be gone from  home and in the office another four days.  This SHOULDN’T BE A BIG DEAL for me, but it is.  I can feel the powerful impact of stress in my body — and what I have been doing is NOT STRESSFUL in any ‘normal’ person’s way.  I know it isn’t.  But it nearly more than I can bear.  I have the weekend to try to calm myself down — on all my levels.

So from my documentariast point of view I would say that any time I am out in public and interacting in ANY way with other people I am nearly completely overwhelmed by the complexities of human interactions.  At the same time I notice this, it’s like I can look backward through a long time tunnel to my infancy and feel the affects of my mother’s maniacal, violent, unpredictable, inappropriate,  chaotic interactions with little infant me — and what those interactions did to my body, nervous system and brain as I tried to grow and develop in that insanely abusive and malevolent environment.

I did not have the opportunity for experience I needed in face to face mirroring, reflective, compassionate interactions that would have built into my right brain the ability to ‘read social cues’ or to send back and out to others ‘social cues’ that they could read, either.  Every interaction I participate in with others borders on panic.  All the information that passes back and forth is moving so fast — just like it is supposed to — but is also well beyond my ability to understand correctly or to process.

As a result, I am easily just plain exhausted in ways that are difficult to describe.  It all seems to damn NOISY to me — and it IS noisy.  And all the interactions just amp up my stress-distress level, which my continually turned-on stress response/attachment system DOES NOT NEED.

There is no possible way to turn everyday human interactions into slow motion events.  If my ‘documentary’ was able to run at the speed that allowed me to work with human social information, nobody except someone like me who had suffered from a truly MAD, insane mother birth to age one would be able to tolerate watching it.  The tables would be turned.  Instead of ME being the one out of my element and lost in the mad panic of the high speed communication patterns between people, I would be far more comfortable in ‘slow-mo’ while others would amp up their stress levels.

And in the end the result is I am terribly lonely.  Normal social interactions do not ‘feed me’.  They drain me, and I have to escape them back to the only comfort I now know — my quiet home.

I can’t say to other people, “Slow down!  You are so loud, you talk so fast, you move so fast, you send out far too many signals all jumbled up and tumbled over one another.”  I am supposed to ‘be normal’ and ‘act normal’ — just like they do with one another.

My mother overwhelmed every sense I had from the time I was born.  There was no reciprocal, balanced, compassionate, tender loving interactions between us — ever.

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I was thinking about all of this when I got back from a series of errands I had to do in town today (I didn’t have to go to my friend’s office).   I realize that much of my life — all of my 18-year childhood and most of my adulthood — I have survived and endured through using an invisible (to me) ability to dissociate so that masses of information could remain separated from one another so that they did not overwhelm me by being present at the same time.

Thinking about it today I realized that this process allowed me to have large ‘areas’ of quiet within me that were actually empty because information was segmented and presented to me in little pieces not connected to one another — but only present as the information was immediately needed.  Other information was somehow put away where I did not have to focus on it, be aware of it, be distracted by it — or have to FEEL it or pay it any attention.

Something about my cancer diagnosis July 2007 and my subsequent experience of treatment and survivorship changed all of these patterns — or ways I had of being in the world that seemed to work for me all those years.

Most simply put in this documentary as I experience it today, I would say that the NUMBNESS disappeared.

Now I would say I have too much information without having any other in-built adequate ability to process or tolerate it.

I still experience dissociation, but not from one numb state to another.  Now I can distinctly note that most dissociation happens in response to very clear demands being made on my processing abilities (brain-nervous system-mind-self) that surpass my in-built ability to flow along smoothly and comfortably in response.

This lets me know very clearly that numbness is NOT calmness!  I never needed to clarify this or name it for myself before now.  Now, not only can I not get to a state of calmness within, I cannot get to a numb state, either.

In other words, I cannot turn down the volume of noise that comes from too much stimulation in too short a period of time, too much information, too many demands on my inadequate abilities to receive, understand, tolerate and appropriately respond to information coming to me continually from the world around me — most especially when I am in contact with other people.

In other words, I am living my life now post-trauma of cancer directly with the body-brain-nervous system my MOTHER built into me before the age of two — and not with the systems that I put together, instinctively and intuitively figured out and Gerry-rigged all on my own throughout my life that allowed me to make-do with how abuse built me in the first place.

Now I live with the whole raw deal.  And that is, I will note in my documentary, very often how I feel — very raw.  I think about the terrific harm that was done to me while I was a developing little person.  I think about the wound that has created in my trauma altered body as a consequence.  I think about burned skin, how sensitive beyond belief it is, and I realize that my whole being is wounded, not my skin — at least not the OUTSIDE of my skin.

It might take generations past mine to begin to comprehend what trauma altered infant-child development really is, let alone how to truly begin to live well in spite of these changes.  Meanwhile we of the current generations have to make do the best that we can — and document what we have and do experience so that our understandings can help those in the future both STOP infant-child maltreatment at the same time its survivors are respected, honored and assisted to live better with what nature gave us as a result of the terror-able tempest that was our physiological formative beginning — that enabled us to stay alive at all.

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+A COLLECTION OF POSTS RELATED TO — CALM — AND ABUSE RELATED COMPLICATIONS

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Here is a big collection of posts on this blog related to CALM — CONNECTION — (NOTE:  WordPress does not automatically create a new tab or page when you click on one of these links – be sure to right click and choose!  Or, click on a link, check it out and hit your back button up at top left of your screen!  WordPress does, however, automatically correct the capitalization of its own name — SPOOKY!)

*EMOTION AND ATTACHMENT

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+CALM THE CRYING BABY — IMMUNE SYSTEM STIMULATES VAGUS NERVE TRAUMA ALTERED DEVELOPMENT

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+SAVE THE BABY FROM ROTTEN EARLIEST CAREGIVING

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I am going to write something here for very selfish reasons.  I have been away from the peace and quiet of my home during the day for the better part of two weeks as I take care of my friend’s office while she recuperates from her illness.  The more time that passes for me away from the peace and calm of my little universe here at home the less able I am to stop the disturbances of emotion and thought that swirl, tumble and spin around in my body and in my thoughts.

So many thoughts whiz around me during the day.  I end up just feeling disorganized and disoriented, true to the insecure attachment disorder that built me through severe infant-child abuse in the first place.

Can I order some of my thoughts here now and feel a little bit better?  Let’s see…..

Everyone uses their attachment relationships to help regulate their emotions sometimes.  Humans, as members of a social species, are built to have human attachment as the mainstream of their being.  As I come to understand how profoundly my terrible infant-childhood insecure and unsafe attachment relationships affected my physiological development, I find overlapping thoughts tumble around my mind because of overlapping words we use to talk about our attachment relationships — the good and the bad.

“Oh, that person is SO insecure.”

“Oh, that person is being so paranoid — again.”

“Oh, that person has trouble with intimacy.”

“Oh, that person has abandonment issues.”

“Oh, that person just uses other people.”

“Oh, that person is SO dependent.”

“Oh, that person is so LOST without so-and-so.”

“Oh, that person is in an addictive relationship.”

What do any of these expressions really mean?

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If we suffered from unsafe and insecure attachment relationships with our primary caregivers from the time we were born and through our earliest years — as I have said so often — our development is changed and instead of having good ‘ole peace and calm at the center of our nervous system as its set point, we end up with a mid set point at anger, fear and/or sadness.  Forget the left brain happy center — if we have any neurons left there we have an extremely hard time FEELING them.

My peace and calm comes to me through some kind of manipulation of the OUTSIDE world I live in — if I can manage that.  Any sense of safety and security I might experience is dependent on what is happening around me in my world — NOT on my own nervous system’s set point.

This makes me very vulnerable.  It makes me dependent on all sorts of ‘things’ in ways that people who did not suffer early trauma and abuse probably cannot imagine.

Today I thought, “It’s like being on a life support system.  Because my nervous system-brain-mind-self DID NOT develop outside of a malevolent world, and because it adjusted its development to trauma, my well-being is far more dependent on external sources — just like if I was dependent on a life support system to stay alive.”

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I don’t LIKE IT that my body had to form this way.  But it’s a fact.  I would rather learn as much as I possibly can about my trauma altered development and what it did to change me than remain ignorant.

For example, two of my very close relationships are currently ‘threatened’ by the primary attachment person’s illness.

Enter guilt.  “Here I am, yes concerned about their recovery and sickness for THEIR sake — but the track running parallel to that concern is my own concern for my own self.  I NEED these people.  I cannot any more afford for anything to really happen to these people than I could afford having someone cut the power to my life support system if I was dependent upon it for my life.”

I am not at all sure that people who talk about abuse survivors being able to form ‘earned secure attachments’ when their primary attachment system is tuned to ‘insecure attachment’.  I don’t believe severe infant-child abuse survivors, who did not have at least ONE strong safe and secure attachment bond to some significant person when they were forming their body-nervous system-brain will EVER have anything like a normal attachment.

‘Earned secure attachment’ is NOT normal safe and secure attachment.  I believe if we look at the truth we will know that our attachment figures are our life support system in ways that non-early abused people DO NOT NEED.

I thought about this today in terms of the great sadness, fear and/or anger that built itself into child abuse survivors.  Those emotions have immense power.  They have a force within them, and because one of the consequences of NOT having safe and secure early caregiver attachment relationships is that we did not develop a right social-emotional brain normally so that we can regulate emotions normally or form social attachments normally.

My close attachment relationships contain an element of desperation because that element was built into me right along with my attachment system that can never turn itself off (this is NOT normal) — which is probably directly connected to the fact that my stress response system was set to ON ON ON ON through child abuse and cannot turn itself OFF (again, this is NOT normal — except for severe early abuse survivors).

So even when I am feeling the benefits of close attachment relationships, the undercurrent within my body is always running in the background.  I cannot regulate this sad-fearful-angry emotional current for the reasons described above.

So the PEOPLE that I am attached to actually act in my world like massive DIKES to hold back the ocean of my emotion and like massive retaining walls to hold back mountains of emotions, as well.

Knowing this at least alerts me to why my reactions are overly strong (think adult reactive attachment disorder) as I feel, yes, threatened, insecure, unsafe when my ‘earned secure attachment’ to these important people in my life feels shaky to me.  It is no different, I don’t believe, than how I would feel if my life was dependent on an external life support system.

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It is vital, I believe, for severe early abuse survivors and the people who love them to understand NONE OF THESE INTENSE REACTIONS ARE PERSONAL.  They are PHYSIOLOGICAL.  They are connected to a nervous system-brain that did not develop with peaceful calm at its center, that did not develop an adequate happiness center in the left brain, that did not acquire normal ability to read social cues others send out, did not learn how to react to social cues normally (including emotional messages others send in their facial expression, vocal tones, body language, etc.), that did not develop either an attachment system or a stress response system that can be turned off in normal ways, etc.  (Our empathic abilities did not develop normally, either — no matter how ‘sensitive to others’ we are.)

I am not BOOM-DOOM-GLOOMING it, either.  These trauma related alterations were built into us through early trauma AT THE SAME TIME WE DID NOT HAVE ANYONE TO SAFELY AND SECURELY ATTACH TO.  Ours (mine) are very real body-based changes that we can FEEL and that stimulate, modulate, and often control our reactions – including our emotional ones and then the reaction-actions we take in response to our own emotions.

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Perhaps the hardest aspect of being me is that the current popular terms our culture uses ‘against’ severe early abuse survivors (like I listed at the start of this post) do NOT describe what is really going on.  They do not address what matters most — not in terms of what caused our difficulties to be built into our body-nervous system in the first place and not in terms of the very real physiological body-felt consequences we live with all of the time.

This dearth of information about the long term consequences of ‘insecure attachment disorders’ that built us in the first place and that we then are forced to carry within us for the rest of our lives IS improving.  But for the most part we cannot really talk about what our body tells us about what is REALLY happening within us to anyone.

When our attachment relationships are threatened or end — for ANY reason — our world is rocked to its core.  There is nothing minor about what happens within us when our life support relationships radically change or end.

I am not even beginning to describe the fractured, fragile, altered relationship we are forced to have not only with the world around us, but also with our OWN severely traumatized relationship with our ‘self’ – if we are fortunate to have one.  The mirroring that we desperately needed from our earliest caregivers DID NOT HAPPEN, which means we are desperately needy for the rest of our lives on the mirroring that any of our present-day attachment people give to us.

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All is simply not what it might appear to be from the outside looking in at we severe early abuse survivors.  In some ways I wish I could have remained ignorant of the devastation early abuse caused me.  That didn’t happen.  Over time, over the length of my life, the reality of my trauma-changed development could no longer be kept behind dikes and retaining walls so that I could pretend to ignore it.

It does help me to know I can name what I experience — both in terms of what I experience and where-how what I experience came from.

Yes, I have great strength in many ways, but I am fragile.  I cannot tolerate being gone from the safety and security, the peace, quiet and calm of my home for very long.  If my friend is still sick much past the early part of next week someone else will have to be called in to take her place in that little office.  When it comes to what ‘ruptures’ my universe and to what I need to make some ‘repairs’, I know that my sensitivity to external stimulation of ANY kind severely limits what I can tolerate in my life.

This is classic Posttraumatic Stress Disorder — call it ‘complex’ or not — and it is directly tied to insecure attachment in our body and to the world we live in.  Because our stress response system cannot be turned off, we have to find ways to turn it DOWN so that our inner disorganization-disorientation can diminish.

Do I feel my ability to live a real and full life has been stolen from me as a consequence of trauma-altered development due to severe early abuse (even though it lasted 18 years – it was the early birth to age one abuse that so changed my body)?  Yes, I most certainly KNOW THIS NOW.  But this is the only body I will ever have to live in during this lifetime, and what was done then, even though in minor and positive ways it can be influenced, cannot be undone.

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The day I wrote one of my latest posts about my happy grandson I had another thought more akin to my own reality when I was his age:  “When a baby screams it hears the whole world screaming.  When a baby screams it feels the whole world screaming.  When a baby screams all that exists in its universe is screaming.  Everything everywhere is screaming when a baby screams until someone cares enough about the baby to come to it and help make the screaming stop.”

If nobody is there to consistently do this for an infant, and worse yet, if the primary caregiver hurts the baby and makes it scream, this scream and its physiological reaction in the entire body will build itself into this infant.

That’s what happened to me and to others who resonate with what I am saying here.

I realized very clearly last week that I fundamentally believe that if someone had removed me from my mother from my first breath so that I had been loved and cared for well for the first year of my life, and then had I been returned to my mother for all the exact same abuse I suffered until I left home at 18, my life would not have been stolen from me the way that it has been.

NOTHING anyone could have done to me after the age of one could have created the kind of body-nervous system-brain changes that the trauma of my first year of life built into my body.

It is the birth to age one changes that cursed me, that create nearly all of my difficulties now.  It is not that I wouldn’t have had serious ‘issues’ to deal with as a result of severe abuse after age one.  It IS that the body-nervous system-brain that I would have had to deal with and to process with and to integrate with and to heal from abuse with (no matter how severe) AFTER the age of one would have been 100% more ABLE and CAPABLE to accomplish exactly these things.

NOTE:  I call ‘earned secure attachment’ ‘borrowed attachment’.  All I say about trauma altered development includes changes to the immune system and to epigenetic changes and alterations in the expression of many genes and their combinations.

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+OH, THAT GRANDBABY OF MINE!

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Although my little grandson lives near the Canadian border (Fargo, ND) and here I am on the Mexican border, my daughter sends me frequent and fantastic videos of the little guy.  Got his first tooth yesterday.  Just watched two, one he’s in his lion costume (one of his middle names is Leo after his grandpa) and another video of him in his peanut suit with his Auntie.  He’ll be 8 months old on the 11th.

I don’t know if it’s my ‘advanced age’, or if it’s THIS baby, or if it’s being able to watch the wee one on video, and/or all the studying I have done in recent years about baby development where it matters most — left brain happy center, right brain social and emotional development, nervous system set point at PEACEFUL CALM — but what an incr5edible experience!  I get to see grandson, mom and pop just after Christmas when they come down to visit.

I WISH I had more babies around to watch!  I don’t.  But what I see in this little boy is that his parents and other loving caregivers have GOT IT RIGHT!  Such joy.  Such enjoyment he has in being alive, even in learning to sit up and tipping over backwards, even in watching the puppy jump out of his reach, even in making the most fantastic and ever advancing vocal sounds — he is IN JOY!

I know enough now to know that kind of joy only happens for a baby if it FIRST and foremost has a nervous system set point at peaceful calm.  Sure he gets startled at times, tummy hurts, soon to be MAD sometimes, even scared.  But always and for the rest of his life he has a nervous system-brain and immune system set at its mid balance point at peaceful calm — which translates in his world to absolute trust that he is loved, well cared for, and exists in a universe of safety and security.

From THERE his left brain happy center is being built — is WELL on its way — to being filled with as many happy center neurons as his brain can possibly produce in that center.  He is so vibrantly alive, so thrilled to be alive, so joy-filled — I have never seen its equal!

He will be, no doubt in my mind, one of those children and adults that other uninformed people point to and say, “Look at him!  He is so happy!  Grief doesn’t get him down.  Change doesn’t get him down.  Stress doesn’t get him down.  Why aren’t I like him?  Why aren’t YOU like him?”

Without the foundation that his parents and caregivers have given him over these earliest months, he would not develop the way that he has.  If he had been left in a cold harsh world, left with cold harsh (or even bored, uninterested or abusive caregivers) all his wonderful genetic material would have been forced down a different road — to a different end — a harsh one.

This little one will be able to ENJOY himself in his life.  For the rest of his life.

In this little one I see exactly what all the millions of years of human evolution has created — how humans are designed to respond to life with joy when they are loved and well cared for.  This is what nature has intended for us all from the time we are conceived.

But life doesn’t always go as nature has planned.  Many times the detour in development has to be taken.  We all need to understand exactly what this means.  There is no time in a human being’s life more critically important than conception to age one.  What happens to us during that time period determines the course of our lifetime — believe it or not.

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+WHAT DO WE DO WITH UNBEARABLE SADNESS? DISSOCIATION AND THE WILL TO LIVE

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Like many other people, there are times when I do not fully understand the meaning of my own words.  Many times my thoughts have flitted back and forth between ‘bearable sadness’ and ‘unbearable sadness’ as I have argued with myself, “How can you say you have unbearable sadness if you are still alive, Linda?”

My experience today as I wrote about it in my previous post might contain some of the information I most need to answer my own question.  At least ten-year-old Linda, locked up in the back of an empty semi trailer for fifty years tells me that she does.

But she doesn’t tell me that in words.  As I share a corner of her heart, my heart, our heart I can feel her sadness and it merges a little bit with my own current-day experience.  The sadness I felt by the time I was ten WAS too much to bear.  The amount of that sadness (as if sadness can ever be weighed, judged or measured) was more than I could remain aware of and continue to live in and with my body that felt it.

Looking at these dual Linda’s today in the process of melding that seems to be happening, I see that ten-year-old Linda IS sadder than 59-year-old Linda.  “Thank goodness,” some part of me says.  “I could not live with THAT degree of sadness.”

What this tells me is this:  “Watch out, Linda — both of you, all of you.  This is a delicate and very difficult situation that must be handled with all the care all of you can muster.”

I believe that.  Friday I had one of the saddest days in recent memory — all without ‘reason’.  I was so sad I could hardly stand on my feet.  I could hardly move through the air.  I FORCED myself to remain upright and active, all the time knowing my motions were accomplished through determination and will.

I knew enough not to ask, “What is wrong with you?”  I know about my nervous system’s set point at sadness, as I have mentioned.  But it was intense.  I did some very simple things to take care of myself and thought about a hot air balloon trying to take off when it’s all weighted down.  I thought about little things I could do to cut some ropes and drop some of that load so I could ‘raise my spirits’ up at least a little bit.

It worked.  I was gentle with myself, took simple actions, and floated upwards enough not to get knocked down into my ‘deep well of sadness’ any further.

Today I almost see last Friday as being some sort of a little test — to see for my self how living with the sadness pressure turned way up.  Today I also see why I needed my Friday’s experience to look back on, because I will tell you, this ten-year-old locked away in the semi trailer is sad beyond belief.

That’s OK.  She has kept at bay the bulk of my sadness from my infant-child abuse prior to the age of ten.  How to bear unbearable sadness?  There are ways — none of them easy, but we can survive.  We do survive.

This girl, by the way, is very quiet and speaks very softly, but she does have questions.  Lots of questions, like she has been in a coma for fifty years and has just awakened.

What a trip….

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+THIS DAY BELONGS TO BOTH OF US – RELEASING A LONG-TRAPPED PART OF MY SELF

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I continue to rid my house, and therefore myself from every hard copy piece of evidence of the research on infant and child abuse, attachment, trauma and all of the consequences that originated within my body-brain-mind-self from the severe abuse my mentally ill (no doubt Borderline) mother did to me from the time of my birth.  Every journal article, every notebook full of notes, every index card filled with my discoveries that began with my search-research 6 1/2 years ago, I am at the same time realizing that the thoughts of memories that I carry within myself are not so simply discarded into the compost piles I am creating in my yard.

One of the recurring thoughts that appears on the movie screen of my mind this morning as I remove my now empty bookshelves from my front entry room as I prepare to repaint the room very light yellow to rid it of its very pale blue is this one — and I have never before written about this memory.

For those of you readers who have followed the story of my childhood at all up until this point in time, I will say I was around ten years old.  Our family was ‘camping out’ in the log house while most of our belongings were perched on our homestead in our canvas curved-wall Jamesway high on our Alaskan mountainside.

During this winter my mother was running her Happy Time Nursery during the days.  A male teacher rented on of the log house’s bedrooms for his living quarters, and on nights we did not make the long, difficult return journey back up the mountain we all slept (somewhere) in the log house.

Most nights as I approached the shutoff of sleep I removed myself from my actual life into a fantasy world.  This is the only fantasy (different from what little play pretending I was able to accomplish in my terrifying, terrible childhood) that I remember ever having, and it was always the same.

I note that there were probably very few semi trucks on the roads around Alaska during the late 1950s – early 1960s because most of what appeared for sale and use in Alaska was transported up north either by rail or by ship.  I have no memory of actually ever seeing such a truck.  But in my nightly fantasy there I was sitting all alone in the dark tied feet and hands to a wooden straight backed chair with a cloth gag tied over my mouth in an empty semi trailer.  My back was up against the cab.  I could hear or see nothing.

And I knew then and I remember now exactly where that semi truck was parked all night, every night, with me in it in the Eagle River Shopping Center parking lot after business hours.

This memory includes a realization that within this fantasy I did the only wondering I remember from my childhood, and it was accompanied with a dim sense of hope.

I had not been physically molested or harmed by my kidnappers.  I had simply vanished from the environs of the family I lived with so that I woke up every night as I passed through the twilight leading to my actual sleep in this chair, in this darkness, in this silence.

I wondered each night as I sat bound to that chair, “Does anyone love me enough to notice I am gone.  Does anyone love me enough to care what has happened to me?  Does anyone love me enough to find me here?  Does anyone love me enough to pay the ransom and release me from this chair, take me from these strangers and take me home?  Will someone ever get me out of here?”

The answer to all of my questions was “No.”  Night after night, repeating itself like a broken mental record the answer was always the same.  “No.”

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I am not sure what the connection actually is for me between erasing the physical evidence of my long complex search to discover what it is exactly that matters about what was done to me through trauma and abuse during the 18 years of my infant-childhood and the appearance today of my memory of this fantasy.

What child part of myself dissociated from ME and appeared all alone in that semi trailer?  What part of ME is still sitting there, bound and gagged, alone with increasing (never ending) loss of hope that I will ever be rescued and released?

During the months I passed into this fantasy chair as I passed into sleep it was as if I was hijacked.  A detour had been put into place that meant I continued to appear at night in the exact same place, in the same condition, in the same circumstance — a pattern that did not alter itself by a single atom over time.  And the fantasy was very, very real.

Today I know it wasn’t real.  I wasn’t really ever held captive in such a semi trailer.  Today I know I have the memory that belongs to the sad-beyond-sad girl lying in her bed.  But I also have the memory that belongs to the girl who sat all tied up in ropes with big knots with a gag in her mouth, alone and wondering night after night after night.

So, again I ask myself, “What is it about being that nightly captive in fantasy and my eliminating the paper trail of the research I have done that led to my truest understanding about how my physiological development was altered by infant-child abuse trauma so that the body that houses me in this lifetime will never be what it would have been without my having suffered through what I did?”

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Today, fifty years later, I understand (as do this blog’s readers who are familiar with the fragments that contain themselves under the ‘diagnosis’ of Dissociative Identity Disorder) the crucial juncture I have reached today in my own process of healing — and in this case of recovery.

Nobody mattered to me as my rescuers in that recurring but my parents and my siblings.  It was they who I wanted to attach to, and who I wanted to attach to me.  In that vision nothing existed but me alone in the absence of attachment.  Since that time it has always been only I — Linda — who could care enough to get that little girl OUT OF THERE FOREVER!

Today I cannot write another word without the emotions that I feel at this moment, this very private personal moment.

I now have access within my mind-self to all of the information I need to know about both what happened to me where it mattered most and about what I need to do one moment at a time to release the Linda bound and gagged alone in the darkness so that I can bring her home — to ME.

I know ‘she’ is emaciated, starved and cramped.  She can barely stand up.  She is so weak and wobbly and yes, so terribly sad.  But there is a safe enough world here for me to take her out into.  I will give her dark glasses until she gets used to the sunlight.  I will take her around slowly and let her get the feel of her life outside of that BOX, that trap, that hopeless container.

I will feed her.  I will give her warm clothes to wear because she has been very cold in there all alone for all of these years.  And I will listen to her as we both share these tears.

And together we will wait for the worms to turn all the mounds of words on paper into nutritious soil for our flowers.  Together we will paint this blue room light yellow and find some kind of pretty fabric to make new curtains for this room’s window.

This reunion and this release will take its own time.  For now it is enough for both of us to know that I HAVE found her, that I cared enough to open the door, to untie the ropes, to remove the gag.

“How come it took you fifty years to find me,” she wants to know.  I tell her in reply, “I have always done the best I could.  I had to work very hard for all of these years to find the key I would need to open that trailer’s door.  What matters to us both now is that I did, and here you are!”

In the quiet of this peaceful day we are both going to explore what we choose to of this world.  For this moment, that is more than enough to help us both be a little less sad and a little more happy.

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‘She’ awakens after half a century locked and frozen in suspended animation.  She follows me around wondering, asking questions.  We are dancing together in mutual fascination — and compassionate delight.  We are dancing…..  From this moment forward the promise is that I will never again let anyone abuse ‘her’ – ME.

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+DAYS OF TRANSFORMATION: WILL I REGRET THIS?

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Someday down the road in my life will I rue this day, or more accurately, rue the decision I have made and the actions I am taking to make that decision come real?

I want to paint my computer room, the room first entered from my front door.  There are three tall bookshelves in here besides the two very full computer desks.  What this room contains is — well, most simply put — too much of the wrong kind of information.

Yes, there were months when I raced around on the internet, fascinated with each new piece of trauma related information having to do with the stream of new research about developmental neuroscience and what happens to a human being who is so abused by its earliest caregivers and by its environment that its very physiological development is forced to change.

I have nine running feet of used three-ring binders full of such information, all meticulously labeled and sorted post-printing.  I have bookshelves full of books related to the topic — “what the experts have to say about trauma and child abuse.”

What will I do with the books?  I am not sure yet, but since my awakening at 3 a.m. this morning I am very clear about what is happening with the binders.  “Off with your heads!”  Page by lovely page the notebooks are being torn asunder, tossed into a bucket, and marched outside to become worm food in my newest growing compost center — which, by the way, lies caringly under one of my soaker hose special drip irrigation systems so that I can not only “call the earthworms with good food” but also keep them very happy with the moisture they require to get their part of this job done:  “Eat it!  Just eat it!”

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The astrologers could have predicted this day and this action on my part, noting not only my 3rd Saturn return but also a serious Pluto return, as well.  “Out with the worn out and useless in your life, Linda!”  The very atoms of my house seem to holler until they are ‘blue in the face’.

OK.  I will listen.  I will heed their worm siren call.  I am done with ‘this stuff’.

I, like the worms I know are already spreading the word amongst themselves that good food is on the way, ate in my mind the information contained in these notebooks.  My vision of the world was changed.  My awareness of how my body was changed on every level during my earliest growth and developmental stages has been chiseled into my brain like its a personalized Mt. Rushmore.

My conclusions?  I live with them.  It no longer matters to me what’s on these pieces of printed pages.  I know what they ALL mean because now I not only FEEL in my body the truth of what this research told me, I know how to name it.

DAMN!

Most simply put, severe child abuse that began at my birth turned my stress response system to ON and it now cannot be turned OFF.

I also know that the center set point of my nervous system and my entire physical being is NOT set at peaceful calm where it was supposed to be set, but rather is set in the deepest well of irrevocable and enduring, terrible sadness.

“Call it depression if you will, Oh Ye With the Prescription Pad and the Diagnostic Pads of Paper In Hand!  But you are only a fraction correct.  What the leftovers of the severe and chronic abuse that happened to me really are belong to sadness.”

My tears will not stop me.  I work through them.  I live through them like I am walking through a shower of rain.  I am coming to realize more every day that when I am nearly overwhelmed by sadness it is “only Substance P” that I feel — that creates in me a deep and very real physiological pain.  It has very little meaning to me to cry today.  These tears do not belong in this present world, even though this is where they continue to appear.  They came from an infant-childhood that did not give me a center point of peaceful calm, did not even give me a center point of anger-rage — and ironically (it seems to me) did not even give me a nervous system center set point of fear.

As I mentioned in a previous post earlier in the week, the extreme anxiety that vibrates my insides simply comes from my body’s very real sense that “The next thing that goes wrong in Linda’s life is going to destroy her.”

OK.  I’ll learn to live with that sense, as well.  None of this learning lies within the hard covers of any of the books or three-ring binders crowding my shelves, crowding my space — so out they go!

Ring the dinner bell, dear earth friendly worms!  I am bringing you a feast!

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+HOW MAKING MUSIC CAN TURN OFF THE STRESS RESPONSE

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I hope this works – click on link to wonderful little article on how ‘making music’ can turn off the stress response — before it becomes chronic!  Well, for those like me who had severe early infant abuse, our stress response was turned on very early and cannot be turned off – but I do believe music still helps us!  (I also suspect this is why I prefer listening to music in Spanish, a language I do not know.  This way my music appreciation turns OFF my stress response for a few moments, or at least diminishes its feels within my body-self.)

NVS and music

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+FRONT ADOBE GARDEN FINISHED

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This last post on the adobe work, +MORE MUD WORK — ADOBE CONTINUES

shows what the front west yard looked like as I began work on it.  Here I am posting pictures of the front dug out and finished, planted, drip irrigation in, as I wait for something to grow now!  I am working my way down the west side of the house, but stubbed my right thumb and sprained it on Sunday so am taking a break!

starting the northwest corner, honeysuckle on left (now moved) and jasmine on street side
climbing roses and trellis (honeysuckle gone), yard dug below the Bermuda grass 'line'
my little 'fields' with walkways are planted with green manure winter crop, hairy vetch and winter rye
yellow roses will climb over their trellis, my 3 planted miniature fields
new garden on west side planted for winter under plum tree - adobe wall also from front yard dirt (I ran out!)
snapdragons under plum tree on west (I put adobe on its root suckers - will they stop growing?)
4" deep adobe walkway down west looking south, most dirt from front went here (my strange wooden fence!)
took out the quince, west side of house looking north (back door) - and then sprained my thumb here pulling boards off fresh adobe 'ring'
north - front - looking west - dark pots = left apple, right is lilac, not sure where to plant these yet
last winter's snap returned in bucket

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+CHICKEN LITTLE AND ‘THE SKY IS FALLING!’ – EXAMINING THE LINK BETWEEN MY SADNESS AND MY ANXIETY

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OK.  Even though my computer seems very jerky – which is unsettling to me – I am going to attempt to write a little comment here on some of my recent thinking regarding the title of this post.

I was into my second day of handwriting my book when I received a call that my dear friend who runs the office I took care of this summer when she was on vacation was in the hospital.  So, an abrupt ‘hard left’ and I have taken the detour the rest of the week to watch the office again until she gets better.  Hence, an abrupt break in my writing process (but will get back to that).

I have been paying attention to my anxiety as it blossomed surrounding the infiltration of evil intention and destructive action — the Trojan virus that took over my computer (and that I am not remotely sure is finally GONE).  Why the anxiety?  Why is it so hard for me to touch this computer?  Why does it feel like I have to build an entirely new relationship with this computer, with myself and my ability to comfortably use it freely?

What about this process has created such a sense of lack-of-safety and security regarding my computer?  Is it the very real violation of ‘my space’ that the evil hacker truly perpetrated against me that bothers me so?  Why is it so hard to get ‘back in the saddle’?  Can I?  Will I?  I have to force myself back here…..  It all seems so strange.

Then in light of my current handwriting-book focus,  A Girl Trapped Alone in Sadness, and with the ‘extra’ time driving these past two days, I have thought about how I will write my story with the understanding that due to the early (birth) onset of my mother’s insane hatred and abuse of me I so absolutely DID NOT get to have peaceful calm built at the center of my nervous system-brain-self.

What IS at my center is sadness.  Terrible sadness.  A sadness I would call unbearable were it not for the fact that I have ALWAYS born it since my first breath.  The alternative?  Death.

So I am trapped in this sadness.  It is at my center.  But ‘professionals’ call this ‘depression’, which is by definition an anxiety disorder.  Anxiety.  Anxiety.  Anxiety.

Since my cancer diagnosis and treatment the anxiety that has ALSO been with me all of my life can no longer be denied, ignored, or vanquished.  Nor can the dissociation.  Nor the PTSD.

So, if I say sadness is at my center — and I know this because I can feel it — what do I ALSO know about these anxiety-related difficulties that were forced into my infant-child development at the same time the sadness was — through 18 years of insane abuse?

(I particularly ask this question because I believe some severe early child abuse survivors have a nervous system set point set not at sadness the way mine is, but at anger-rage, or at fear.  If I feel sadness at my center, then how is my anxiety connected to fear — which I say is NOT at my nervous system center?)

How to I juxtapose these points?  How do I put them together in my thoughts, in my reality?  What do I understand about how I ‘got made’ and about what I live with in this trauma-altered body?

‘The sky is falling!’

I had the thought today that even bugs know perfectly well when their life is in danger, and they REACT in some programmed bug way to attempt to avoid destruction so that they can continue their bug life.

I am no different.

It is very probable that because I have had to (chosen not to suicide, either) continue to bear my life with a nervous system center of unbearable pain (yes, a great paradox), the anxiety is connected because my body was formed with the knowledge that destruction was always very near.  The threat of destruction was as real to me on a daily basis from birth as any threat of destruction could be to a bug — or any other living creature.

So even though sadness is my center, anxiety creates huge problems to me (even anxiety over my computer’s virus) because my body believes that it CAN BEAR NO MORE.  No more stress.  No more DISTRESS (what someone with a serious insecure attachment disorder makes of regular people’s version of ‘stress’).

“I can bear no more forever.  I can bear no more and stay alive.  The very next potential trauma is going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.  The very next ‘bad’ thing that happens is going to kill me.”

My body believes this.

“So, what the hay?  What, exactly, Linda-self, is the worst that is going to happen if the virus reappears here and steals all my ability to operate my computer away from me?  Is my computer going to E-X-P-L-O-D-E?  Blow up?  Blow ME up?  Blow up this town?  How is a computer virus a life-and-death threat?”

Interesting realization today.

The end of the world, the end of my world, is very near me!  No wonder that being diagnosed with advanced, aggressive breast cancer wakened the terrors of my childhood — all my anxiety.  It WAS a threat to my life — and more than anything else, my BODY knows all of this.  All of it.

If I want to claim and reclaim any part of my own consciously-controlled and chosen life, I have to step into the soup, the volcano, the near-the-edge-of-extinction belief that my BODY has and wrestle back some reason.  “No, Linda.  Nothing about a computer virus is threatening your BODY with extinction.  Only your ability to maneuver in cyberspace.”

And, yes, while everything ‘simple’ becomes very complex for me, anything new I can understand about how my body formed itself in the midst of terrible and terrifying, dangerous, violent, painful, (etc.) conditions from birth, the more I MIGHT be able to creep toward a place where I might not only GLIMPSE some peaceful calmness — but also FEEL IT!

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