+ANSWERS THAT ARE NOT A PHONE CALL AWAY

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I woke this morning with too many thoughts, each one appearing in a rush, demanding my attention, shooting through my mind in its own direction, not connected to the next thought that flashes into my inner sight.  I can’t follow them all.  Each one is chased away by the next one.  I cannot see their beginning, their intention, or their ending.

I am bombarded by thoughts as if there is a fireworks show going on within me, without being orchestrated, and it frightens me.

After my strange and stressful day yesterday, I picked up my mail at the post office on my way home.  Our mail does not get delivered to our houses in this little town.  My bank statement was there, which would have been the correct proof of my disability income that I needed yesterday in my hunt for winter utility bill assistance.  The substitute printout confirming my income from the food stamp office was not what those people wanted.

Along with the bank statement there was a letter from the social security office telling me I am to receive a ‘special one-time payment of $775 in December 2009’, and that this amount will disqualify me from receiving any disability – and the letter stopped there – “Forever?” I want to know.  “What does this mean?  What’s going on here?”

There were pages and pages to this form letter of gobbelty-goop I do not understand.  Do humans actually write these words of confusion?  I fight shock and panic as I wonder if my sole source of income is about to vanish forever.  There are telephone numbers to call, and I anticipate long waits, leaving messages without return calls, bizarre conversations with mechanical telephone voices as I try to find the answers I need.

Meanwhile my body and mind are in distress overload mode.  So I sit outside in my fleece, writing in the dappled morning sunshine as the leaves still on the trees shake and shiver in a gentle breeze.  They make a higher pitched sound now as they brittle and age with frost at night.

I scribble words in lines across these pages because it helps me to see them here.  I can focus on them one by one so the noise of cascading of thoughts and emotions within me can dim.  I organize and orient myself in this moment as I feel the paper held against my knee and watch this pen, gripped between my fingers, glide along these neat straight lines like parallel rails into the future.  I am comforted.

I sit here with my cell phone waiting for the closest SSI office to open.  Will I end up consuming all my free day minutes and get no answer at all?  I will myself not to follow my thoughts up into the air or down, down, sucked down where there is no air at all.  All I have to do is wait and try not to panic.

I do not want to think about the grief, guilt, anger and sadness churning within me because I am no longer able to feel competent, tough and strong like I managed to be while my children were growing up under my care.  I was more like a Sherman tank then, forging always forward.  Now I am dependent for all of my living needs on forces I cannot see, comprehend, control or change.  Will this ever change?

I do not want to follow all the thoughts and feelings within me about the over crowding of our planet or about the diminishment and mismanagement of its resources.  I don’t want to think about the growing masses of people, so many of them suffering and terrified.  I do not want to think about the nearly 20% unemployment rate some estimate for our nation.  I do not want to think about the money that is not being spent to help those in need, about the jobs that have vanished because of technology, foreign placement of industry, and the out-going channels of money that once belonged within the boundaries of our own country.

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My call to SSI the moment they opened their doors put me on the other end of the line with a real person.  I am grateful and amazed.  I am told it will all be OK, that an adjustment is being made to my case because of past earnings I had that weren’t in their system when my benefits were first figured, but are there now.  I am told that I won’t have medical coverage for the month of December, but by January my income should be reestablished as ongoing, and I will not have a medical review of my disability until 2015.

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Now I will process a de-escalation of my – fortunately temporary – distressed escalation caused by my concerns about my basic well-being in the world.  With the current economic crisis the numbers of people applying for disability has escalated drastically.  I know I am fortunate my cancer and resulting descent into internal fragmentation happened before the woes of this economic downturn hit our nation so hard.

I also think about how throwing crumbs to starving people can create gratitude in them, while the conditions that created the starvation in the first place have not been considered.  How about the others who remain content to gorge themselves on excesses of plenty?  Are the cracks Americans can fall through getting wider now?  Are people that have barely managed to be OK thus far, many of them from less-than-perfect childhoods, now creating a landslide of suffering people falling through those cracks that none of us can seem to get fat enough to be safe from?

I cannot begin to understand how I would be now in the world if the 18 years of severe child abuse I endured had not been allowed to happen.  I cannot easily disentangle the consequences of that abuse as it has impacted me all of my life from how it is impacting me now.  I was fortunate to make it through my mothering years without this degree of disintegration of my coping abilities hitting me like it has now.  I was able to keep moving forward before the armored tank of myself disintegrated and vanished.

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Perhaps I will always struggle between guilt and gratitude that I am receiving help to stay alive and in a home with food to eat.  On many levels I believe that when my cancer hit me it was my time to leave here.  For whatever reasons, I chose to fight it and others chose to help me with my battle.

Yet at the same time I know there are millions of people of all ages suffering who do not have access to what they need.  Am I accountable and responsible for this fact?  Is it like the co-dependency theorists suggest, I didn’t cause this problem, I cannot cure or control it?  What happens in this world that disables so many of its inhabitants from having the basics of safety and security that would alleviate so much of their sufferings?

Will it only be when those higher up on the food chain begin to grow skinny — because the rest of us down here below them can no longer consume enough to give them money to grow fatter on — that they will perhaps only then turn around and suddenly, finally sprout wings of compassion and generosity toward the rest of their kind?

How do we define poverty and disability, anyway?  Who am I to be taken care of when so many others are not?  Is there any way that I, even with my own disabilities, can find some way to be part of a solution?  How can I work each moment of my life to stabilize my body-brain-mind and emotions?  How do any of us — and all of us — turn tragedy into triumph?

Who cares enough to make sure this process ever happens?  How and where do we begin?  I know I won’t find answers to all these questions in my speed dial.  I don’t even know how to use it.

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I just received this from a dear friend in an email about:

A Personal Message from Mary Robinson Reynolds, M.S.

Do you feel like somehow, inadvertently you made a vow of poverty
because of some pivotal, if not painful, moment in your life?  Did you
make a deal with God that you thought you had to make, to keep
something bad from happening?

I remember when I did.  After my first full-term baby boy died during
labor, I was devastated.  A year later during my second pregnancy, I
had five early labor scares that landed me in the hospital for bed
rest.  I remember promising God that I would never again ask for
anything more important than having this child in my life alive and
well …ever again!  This, I would discover, had been my vow of
poverty:   I promise not to ever ask for anything ever again …
including money!

From that point forward, I would fight myself over every single need,
want and desire I had, until I began to expand my knowledge about God
and about the wealth of all good things available to me…..

SEE MORE AT:
www.MakeADifference.com/MasterMinding

www.GodWantsYouToBeRichMovie.com

www.GodWantsYoutobeRichmovie.com/FlashBook.html

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+THESE 1983 – 1984 WRITINGS LED TO TODAY’S EARLIER POST….

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I just spoke with a dear friend I’ve known for 30 years.   She suggested that I think about how the animals and bugs and plants and rocks exist on this earth.  Then think about this:  “Life is empty and meaningless and it doesn’t mean anything that it’s empty and meaningless.”

Then I can think about how humans add meaning because we can think.  That means that it’s all made up.  My friend’s suggestion is about how I might as well make up something I like for a life.  She’ll call me on Sunday to check in with me and see how I am doing in my new meaningless life!

I have to take a break from here until Monday while I try this out!  Have a great weekend!

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Nothing about being raised and abused from birth and for the next 18 years by my incredibly mean, psychotic borderline mother has made my living in this world easy.

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December 28, 1983

Coming alive is a tenuous, delicate, natural thing.”

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As can be seen in my post from earlier today, I have lost my tolerance for facing myself in my age 31 and 32 year old journals.  I am including the link here for those writings I have transcribed so far.  What follows in those journals are the kinds of desperate questions about myself and my life that led to today’s post +THE POWER OF JOURNALING – ASKING A QUESTION THAT HAS AN ANSWER

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LINK FOR LATEST JOURNALS TRANSCRIBED:

*Ages 31 – 32 – August 13, 1983 through January 22, 1984 Journal

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+THE POWER OF JOURNALING – ASKING A QUESTION THAT HAS AN ANSWER

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I am in a battle with myself over whether or not there is any value to myself or to anyone else in my reading and transcribing my quarter of a century old journals.  Part of me wants to burn them all.  I think about how to contain the fire I could make of them so no smoldering ashes would escape and float away to light some part of this dry high desert landscape around me on fire.

Maybe I could tear them all into tiny pieces and soak them in water and then cook them into papier mache mash and make something beautiful out of them.  Maybe I could tear them up and dig them into the damp earth of my composting pile where I know the hungering masses of worms and slugs there would chew them up gladly and digest them into soil.

Maybe I could box them all up and take them camping when my sister comes next month to visit.  We could burn them more safely in the contained campground fire pit, have a little releasing ceremony and let all the words that record what all the versions of Linda talked about for 25 years vanish as if they had never been.

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What is the value of this journaling process that so many therapists (and others) seem so fond of recommending?  We could just as well write our words on an area of flat dirt and then sweep them away when we are finished.  We could just as well write them with chalk on slate or with grease pencil on a mirror or a piece of glass, and erase them as soon as they no longer hold any meaning to us.

Who are we telling the intimate details of our lives to as we sit alone and tarry over our silent words so studiously copied as if we are creating lessons for ourselves out of nothing but the contents of our minds?

Does journaling help us tolerate our hard times, I would say ‘better’, but I really mean ‘tolerate them at all’?

Or does the writing simply contain the passage of time as we transition through all the changes that happen to us along the way of our lifetime, both outside of us and within?

Does journaling help us to think more clearly?  Do we create a dialog with our self because we are so alone there is no other person alive we can trust enough to pass ourselves on to?

What is it about writing the words our souls tell us in hidden places between two covers of a journal that helps us or heals us?  And in today’s world where keyboards replace ink or lead, our words simply join some cyber network, taking their place in simultaneous land where they enter themselves into an invisible cue, waiting for whom to go back and read them?

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Or do those of us who write do so simply because we are writers?  Could we find a writing gene somewhere in our constitution if we knew where to look for it?  Do we write because we care about certain things in a particular way that non-writers can’t even imagine?

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That would be all fine and worthy if I could SEE what matters about the process of journaling for me in the end.  What I am finding instead is that the same concerns I wrote about 25 years ago are really right here inside of me today if I let them be.  Questions.  I asked thousands of questions on those pages that I had no answers for.

I recorded my inner conflicts and turmoil and suffering.  I recorded how it felt to be so lost from myself and others that I could only ask the questions themselves and could never find any answers, no matter how committed I was to finding them.  The answers were intangible.  They were invisible.

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My journals portray my journey, each word on a line in the order I could see them.  Writing was my way of trying to organize and orient myself in my body in my life.

Time has moved forward.  My children grew up, left home intact, and have orchestrated their own lives free from trauma.  Because I was their mother, far from perfect but ‘good enough’, their journey will always remain connected to mine but not central.

In the meantime my journals reveal all the turbulence, all the missteps and attempts I have made to catch up to a Linda who was living a life that never has been coherent or integrated or cohesive or well planned.  I know now that I was always trying to make sense of myself in my life even though I was missing all the most important pieces.

I mistakenly thought I could create an ordinary life without knowing the extreme, long term abuse I suffered from birth and for the 18 years of my childhood had changed the way my body-brain developed, and had therefore changed me.

Not only was the development of my right and left brain hemispheres changed, and the corpus callosum that connects them and transmits information between the two changed, but also the development of my higher level thinking cortex part of my brain was changed, as well.

I have avoided writing about the development of my ‘executive cortex’.  When I am ready to do so I will have to consider how child abuse deprived me of an ‘ordinary’ ability to process information about the future and affected all my choice and decision making abilities.

Normal, ordinary brains that form without a history of severe abuse and trauma continue to grow all the way through the teen and early adult years.  A normal, ordinary cortex does not finish its development until somewhere between ages 25 and 30.  A severely abused and traumatized child’s cortex atrophies early and never finishes its development to become normal and ordinary.

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Nobody was there to stop me just as I crossed the threshold out of my parents’ home and into my own life when I was 18 to tell me that what I had just endured of a childhood was hell, wrong, and extremely hurtful to me.  Nobody explained to me that the trauma I had suffered from birth had so changed the way I had to grow and develop so I could survive it that it meant I now have a different brain that works fine in terrible, toxic, malevolent, threatening, dangerous and self-obliterating conditions but was not designed like an ordinary brain to work well in an ordinary, benevolent world.

Maybe nobody told me this in 1969 when I left home because nobody knew it.  Certainly if all the infant and child development experts didn’t know these basic facts, if the human brain development neuroscientists and physiologists didn’t know, I need not blame myself for not knowing this critical information about my chances for achieving any quality of well-being in an ‘ordinary’ life, either.

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So what exists in the last 25 years of my journals in their piles on the shelves beside my computer desk is a simple chronicling of one severe child abuse survivor’s disorganized, disoriented incoherent life story about how the changes my body and brain had to make so that I could survive the hell of my childhood could not possibly have prepared me to live any kind of an ordinary life.

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I look up above me right now as I sit here outside my door writing in the high desert gentle sunlight of this early November 2009 morning and watch the wispy tendrils of clouds drifting, white against the distant blue sky, and I know that’s the same sky that caps the lives of everyone living below it.  At the same time I know there are two kinds of people on this planet, plain and simple, no matter where they plant their feet on this grand planet earth.

There are those whose early caregivers loved them and cared for them appropriately when they were an infant-child the way human evolution has dictated in order for an ordinary-functioning brain to grow and develop.  They provided safe and secure attachment for their offspring.

And then there are the rest of us who were not loved, who were treated malevolently by our early caregivers.  The traumatizing circumstances of our early environments demanded of our growing early body-brain that we change and adapt or we die.

There are degrees of change just as there are degrees of trauma, but because I know so clearly what the circumstances of my infancy and childhood were as a result of my mother’s psychotic break when I was born and because of her severe mental illness, I no longer have to ask the thousands of questions I used to ask in my  journals without being able to find any answers.

There remains only one single answer that matters to me now.  It’s the same answer for every one of those questions I have been asking all of my adult life as I tried to make myself into a ‘better’ and a different more ordinary person who could then live a more ordinary life of ordinary well-being.

The reason I cannot become an ‘ordinary’ person is because I have an ‘extra-ordinary’ brain that had to grow, develop and form under the ‘extra-ordinary’ circumstances of severe trauma and abuse that was my infant-child environment.  My trauma-changed-body and brain does not receive ‘ordinary’ information from the environment in ‘ordinary’ ways.  It does not process information in ‘ordinary’ ways, either.  There is very little about severe-abuse-and-trauma-survivor Linda that is ‘ordinary’ or can EVER be ‘ordinary’.  Just because I look ordinary on the outside tells me nothing about how I am different on the inside.

If I continue to ignore what I now know about being a changed-by-severe early abuse and trauma person, I will condemn myself to the continued struggle of asking questions forever that I will never find the answers for.

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I realize now that all my journal writings up until this point in time have created a chronicle of my journey through adulthood with a changed body and brain, and what this has been like for me.  Continued research is now chronicling the life long changes severe abuse creates for its survivors on a much larger scale.  The outcomes appear extremely bleak and grim for survivors.  We have to put the facts together and realize that the very foundation in our body and brain has been changed, and these changes give us a changed life outcome.

It is not possible for us to escape the consequences of what was done to us until we begin to understand how we changed and how those changes continue to affect EVERYTHING about us and our lives.

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For those of us who journal, we will see in our own words how exploring ourselves in our life will change as we begin to include this vital information in our thinking.  Just because everyone else has remained ignorant of the changed body and brain because of early trauma and abuse survival information, does not mean we have to remain ignorant of the facts ourselves.  We owe it to ourselves not to continue archaic patterns of thinking about ourselves in the world.

In fact, those of us who experience this ‘extra-ordinary’ reality are the REAL experts.  We know, down to our last cell in our body, what being changed by child abuse and trauma did to us.  We know our truth.  Now we have to empower ourselves to know what we have known all along.

Together we can define what living in a trauma-changed body is like.  On this planet earth, under this arching blue sky, we have to begin to understand that what humanity’s right arm might know about being ‘ordinary’ is balanced by what humanity’s left arm knows about not ever being allowed to both be ‘ordinary’ and remain alive.  We can no longer afford to let ‘ordinary’ condemn us to a lifetime of suffering because of who we are – different from ordinary.

We can join together to learn how to end the suffering of all of us.  A reality of privilege can no longer remain the standard we measure survival against.  If what happened to us had happened to ‘them’, they would have been changed just as we were or they would have died.  That is the reality of being human in an imperfect world.  What happens – and happened – to infants and children that causes these changes must become the primary concern for all of us.

Otherwise we will continue to ask all the wrong questions for which there are no answers.  We need to ask the right question, “How does severe early trauma and abuse change developing humans into ‘extra-ordinary’ beings, and how do those changes affect them for the rest of their lives?”  This IS a question we can find the answer to when we are willing to consider the truth – both individually and as a species.

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PS.  What will I do with my old journals?  I still do not know.

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+History of Childhood Maltreatment Linked to Higher Rates of Poverty

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The following study confirms what common sense would tell us:

“Adults who were physically abused, sexually abused, or severely neglected as children were significantly more likely to be unemployed, living below the poverty line, and using social services than people without a history of childhood maltreatment.”

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IMPORTANT INFORMATION FROM:


Prevent Child Abuse New York Blog

 


History of Childhood Maltreatment Linked to Higher Rates of Poverty

Posted: 05 Nov 2009 02:18 PM PST

 

The long-term impacts of childhood maltreatment include higher rates of unemployment, poverty, and use of social services in adulthood, according to a new study by David Zielinski, Ph.D., of the National Institute for Mental Health. Research has shown that negative early life experiences can adversely affect a person’s physical and mental health in adulthood. Zielinski evaluated data on childhood maltreatment and socioeconomic well-being from the National Comorbidity Survey.

Adults who were physically abused, sexually abused, or severely neglected as children were significantly more likely to be unemployed, living below the poverty line, and using social services than people without a history of childhood maltreatment. Having experienced more than one type of maltreatment increased these risks further. Maltreatment was also linked to lower rates of health care coverage and greater use of social services such as Medicaid, especially among adults who had experienced childhood sexual abuse.

In the first comprehensive study of the long-term socioeconomic effects of abuse and neglect, Zielinski shows that childhood maltreatment carries significant costs to the individual and to society. Not only does the public share the burden in supporting maltreatment-related social services, but also those related to unemployment insurance, poverty-based public assistance, and publicly funded health insurance. Other societal impacts include the loss in employment productivity and tax revenues, from federal and state income taxes as well as state and local sales taxes.

Previous research has shown low socioeconomic status to be a risk factor for the perpetration of child abuse and neglect. Additional research has found that parents who were maltreated as children are more likely to abuse and neglect their own children than those without a history of maltreatment. Targeted assistance for maltreatment victims may help break this cycle. For example, Zielinski suggests that enhanced access to job training and job counseling programs may be especially helpful for victims of physical abuse or multiple types of maltreatment, who were most likely to be unemployed among those who had experienced maltreatment.

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+DISSOCIATION: PRESERVING A SELF IN HIDING

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We are born with the capacity to learn about who we are, and to remember ourselves throughout our many and varied experiences.  This is meant to happen as we grow from birth being cared for by loving caregivers, people who give us care consistently over time.

It is natural that caregivers understand an infant is not them, but is somebody else, a separate unique individual.  They communicate this knowledge by everything they say and do with the infant.

These patterns of interaction are building the infant’s growing brain.  Humans are designed from birth to be able to see their own separate and unique self as it is mirrored back and reflected to them by their caregivers, who are their attachment humans.

If a parent such as my mother was lacks the capacity to understand that her infant is NOT her, she will overwhelm her infant with information from herself that has absolutely no relevance to her infant’s developing connection with itself.  The infant will miss the critical interactions with its caregiver that are meant to feedback to it information about its own self.

If the infant has access to additional caregivers who are themselves of healthy brain-mind-self, the infant can get at least some of the feedback about its own self from them, and this information will be critical to the infant’s brain-mind-self growth and development.

Without access to other appropriate (secure attachment) caregivers, the infant’s brain-mind-self will not develop in an ordinary way.  Its body will of course continue to develop, but the self of the infant-child cannot possibly find its way into being a cohesive, integrated, clear and affirmed self-hood.

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Whatever the break was that happened within my mother’s brain-mind-self, it had consumed her by the time I took my first tiny breath into my body in this world in my lifetime.  She was prevented from ever looking at me and being able to allow my individual self to be born.  She could only see some split-off part of herself in me that she hated and wanted to destroy.

Her mental illness (I believe psychotic borderline) left no room for Linda to be present in my body or in my life.  All I could do was remain buried alive, hidden from her view, protected only by the miracle of life that demands that people remain intact, separate from one another.

In the meantime all the trauma she caused me from birth built my brain, the only one I have to use to get along in this world.  That my brain could not include clear and definable connections to my own selfhood HAD to be the result of my mother being not only my primary caregiver, but with the exception of early contact with my 14-month-old brother and very occasional exposure to my father or grandmother, she was my sole caregiver.

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I can try to describe every resiliency factor I can think of that probably contributed to me being able to survive my childhood with my mother so that I appeared on the adult end of my life to be mostly intact and ‘ordinary’.  At the same time, however, I have to include my dissociational abilities as being the most important resiliency factor I have.

The real me I was born as could remain hidden and protected from my mother where she could not reach me.  At the same time the self of me could not come out into the world to play, grow, learn and live.  My self could not be recognized, could not express myself.  My needs were not met except as they invisibly allowed me to continue to exist without my mother ever being able to stop me except by killing my body (which I helped her not to do).

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Evidently I was born strong.  But who and where and how the essential me is in the world still remains extremely difficult for me to detect.  I can sit here writing on this pad at this moment in time with this pen in my hand and hope I am at this moment able to open a clear, true pathway that allows the real me, the hidden-away-from-my-mean-mother me, to speak these words.

It’s like I have to keep the deep, pure waters within myself perfectly still without a single small ripple in order for the real me to appear in my life.  I do not believe this is the way ordinary people have to engage their self.  Life is busy.  It is full of stimulation and changes.  One’s self is supposed to be able to maintain its integrity in spite of external (distracting) factors.

It is only when the environment I am in is quiet, peaceful, safe and predictable that I can experience my core self.  Once anything hits my inner still pool and causes a ripple, my inner me vanishes and I cannot reach her.

When a disturbance happens, a frantic feeling that translates into anxiety follows, as professionals call this state along with the host of other labels they insist on using to describe what my fragile connection to my own true self looks like or seems like from the inside of me.

I am left having to be so careful – so full of care concerning my self in this world — now at 58, because nobody was there in the beginning to do it for me.  I can think about my connection to my self in today’s world as being like a frequently ‘dropped call’.  When life challenges me, the resulting disturbance inside of me causes a ‘call lost’ reaction.  Then some version of Linda has to keep on going, the best way that it-I can until circumstances change and complete calm around and within me returns.

Believe me, this is a hard, hard way to be in this world.

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This is a duplicate of *Age 58 – November 5, 2009 – A hard way to be in the world

written for my adult story pages on dissociation

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+DISSOCIATION IS ORDINARY AND NORMAL WHEN OUR CHILDHOODS ARE NOT

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Breaking free from denial (magical wishful childhood thinking) about our histories of child abuse is essential at some point for any recovery to be initiated.  In these next journal pages I began my attempt at that process.

This section of my age 31 journal covers my entry into trauma and addiction treatment.  My childhood experience of severe trauma was recognized and validated in this treatment process, but evidently once therapy began in earnest I was expected to turn my journal writing into my therapists and I complied.  I have no record of that treatment process.  The treatment center closed when the owner died about 10 years ago and evidently all records were destroyed.

From my 2009 perspective of today, I suggest that very few, if any severe child abuse survivors made it through their childhood without dissociating.  I now understand that even though I did not dissociate during the incidents of abuse I experienced for 18 years, I did dissociate BETWEEN them.  This means, as I have said before, that my experience of my own childhood is in dissociated fragments.  What I know now is that “as it was in the beginning, so shall it forever be.”

I do not believe there is any way to ‘heal’ myself from this fact.  It is just as important, however,  for me to recognize the dissociation built within me as it is to recognize the horrors and traumas that caused it from the time of my birth.  No therapist I have ever had helped me to understand what dissociation truly is, how it affected my childhood development and how it affects me today.

And as I begin to understand these aspects of myself now, I also am coming to understand that I am NOT BROKEN, I am simply different from ‘ordinary’ people as a result of having survived extraordinarily traumatic childhood experiences that changed me during my critical stages of child development.  In my case, I do not see dissociation as the proverbial and supposed ‘defense mechanism’ professionals seem fond of naming it.

My dissociation is not ‘psychological’ in any Freudian sense.  There is simply more than one way to ‘be’ in the world because there is more than one kind of world to ‘be’ in.  How our body-brain-mind-self gets made in the first place is a result of which kind of world we were living in while our development took place.

My dissociation happened because the separate incidents of horrible trauma that happened to me as an infant-child made no sense.  There was therefore no way for my brain to ‘associate’ them together.  The only pattern present was unpredictable, violent, scary insane chaos and nobody’s brain can build itself in any ‘ordinary’ way under these kinds of malevolent circumstances.

I was not, of course, even remotely aware of my dissociation as I wrote the June pages of my 1983 journal.  I simply recorded what I thought I remembered from my childhood, but even this was a significant step.  I had never done it before.  In the end, it is not the details of the traumas themselves that I may or may not remember (over 90% of them I’m sure I never will remember consciously) that matter.  It is how my growing body had to adapt and change as a result of experiencing these traumas that matters to me now.

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*Age 31 – Journal Starting June 10 to 27, 1983

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I do not wish to leave the information contained in these links behind as I continue with my posting.  Please consider them for your study:

+RETURNING WITH AGE TO HOW I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN AND DIDN’T KNOW IT: DISSOCIATED

1 t-shirt mat
From the time we are conceived life in this world it is full of stimulation and changes. In a mostly safe and secure world we can accept them all and our experiences of transition and change moves smoothly along as we grow into a person with a self that can connect all our experiences together into some kind of fabric that is the whole of our life. This image reminds me of a safe and secure organized attachment!
2 t-shirt mat
The reverse side of my little crocheted T-shirt rug reminds me of organized insecure attachment. The transitions between 'events' has been made, but on the inside some vestiges of lack of smooth transtions between experiences remains like little loose ends that most organized insecurely attached people remain completely unaware of.
3 t-shirt mat
This would be an extreme illustration of a disorganized and disoriented insecure attachment disorder. Life has been too traumatic, and without safety and security to make transitions between traumatic and nontraumatic early experiences, the body-nervous system including the brain, the mind and the self of someone raised in a malevolent world will not be able to put things together to make a solid, coherent 'story' of their self in their life.

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This is me at 11 months old, all dressed up with curls in my hair. This is me looking 'happy' during a picture taking event.
11 month old 'happy' me - mother allowed it at this moment -- it was 'be happy, picture taking time' -- which had nothing to do with my 'other' ongoing realities
1952 closeup - 11 mos baby pic
Yes, 'happy' for this instant, but I now know this is a dissociated state. It was not part of any ongoing safe and secure organization of my baby brain as it had formed itself through chaotic, unstable and dangerous early caregiver interactions. (I can't get the scratch damage off of the photo at present)

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When I first found this photograph of me two years ago in MY BABY BOOK I was pleased to see that I could ‘still be happy’ when I was eleven months old.  It gave me hope that at least some of my developing baby brain’s left hemisphere happy center neurons had been activated, and gave me hope that I can find them today and build on them.

Then the more I considered my baby picture, the more I realized that this happy picture was not showing me ‘sun and roses’.  I have come to understand that this was a dissociated state that baby me was not going to be able to transition  smoothly in my baby brain to any other kind of state that was likely to follow. What I first saw as an expression in my baby eyes close to ecstatic I have come to see as over-stimulated, too intense, and most likely a sign of my dysregulated right limbic brain development due to my mother’s psychotic abuse of me.

The early and ongoing environment I formed in was chaotic, unstable, unpredictable, often terrorizing, terrifying, violent and painful.  Safe, secure peaceful serenity and calmness did not form itself at the center of my body-nervous system-brain-mind self as it was supposed to.

My set point of balanced equilibrium is not at calm.    Patterns of adjustment and adaptation to my infant-child malevolent environment, which happened to a large extent through dissociation,  had to build themselves into me so that I could survive and ‘go on being’ — and now I clearly know they are still there.

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I had an experience last night that gave me a clear insight about how I am in the world.

Around the time of my 1980 – 1983 journals I am transcribing from around my age of 30, I could function in the world in a relatively ‘ordinary’ way.  Now, through circumstances of my life, I have returned to who-how I have always been in the world and didn’t, until now, have to know about.  Just using the experience I had last night as an example, I can see that

(1) first I learned how to get along in both of the worlds of my childhood, the chaotic, malevolent, insanely abuse world of my home life with my mother, and in the ‘ordinary’ world outside my home such as school.

(2) Once I left my childhood abusive home, I found myself living entirely in an ‘ordinary’ world.  I could fake it by then so that only those in my most intimate circle of friends could have known that things were not all right with me on my insides.

(3)  I continued down that trying-to-be-ordinary road all of my life until two things happened to me that brought into focus in the forefront how ‘unordinary’ I really am.

(4) After 35 years of having a child under the age of 18 in my care, my baby left home nearly six years ago.  I didn’t know what was happening to me at the time, but looking back the disorganization and disorientation of my insecure attachment disorder reared its head.  Breast cancer manifested itself in my body immediately, although I was not to discover its presence for another 3 years.  It seemed that the entire world of my life dropped out from under me and I tumbled down Alice’s not so wonderful rabbit hole, disoriented and disorganized and not having a clue what that was.  Then

(5) happened.  Finding out I had cancer so completely threatened the only true source of safety and security I had ever known, my body itself, and coupled with the terrors of treatment and the consequences that chemotherapy had on my brain, left me where I am today — on mental and emotional disability with an extremely limited arena of activities that I can tolerate with any degree of comfort.

I have lost any way I developed (learned) to transition into an inner feeling state of calm, serene, safety within my body no matter where I am in the world.  This ability never developed at my core as it was supposed to from infancy.  For me, a state of calm equilibrium has evidently always been a dissociative state, and seems to be one that I now have lost access to — unless I can ‘get there’ through remaining in a very controlled, calm and quiet external environment which then ‘soothes my soul’.

++

This leads me to last night’s adventure.  A close friend of mine encouraged me to attend the local Fiber Arts Guild meeting that was preceded by a fantastic presentation on African textiles.  Of course I am not presently comfortable with people at all, certainly not with groups of people, certainly not with strangers.  I am not comfortable in small closed environments.  I am not comfortable with ‘noise.’  But, in light of my recent journal transcribing realization about how important weaving and spinning and related textile arts are to me, and considering that I want to TRY to ‘get better’, I went to this meeting.

Nothing disastrous happened, which is great.  But what I felt on the inside, and can still feel today is both intensely disappointing and creatively illuminating.  We cannot work with trying to change or improve what we cannot see about ourselves — so now I have some clearer information.

++

In light of what I now understand about how insecure attachment disorders exist in the brain as a result of changes that happen when we are very young and our brains are growing and developing in the first place, I can FEEL and begin to understand the damage done by these changes.  My right, social, limbic, emotional brain does not receive or process ordinary information in ordinary ways.  For all the years that I was able to ‘function’ in the ordinary world in a ‘good enough’ fashion, I was able to work around and hide what my brain was really doing.  I can’t do that any more.

Too much stimulation.  My brain does not regulate input or experience correctly.  I cannot do what experts call switch states, or move smoothly and comfortably through what is called transition states.  In that group of around 40 women last night, the walls began to close in, sound became a noisy roar.  Faces became super animated, and people began to get larger and larger in relation to me.  Noise and more noise as I lost the ability to focus on one single pattern of sound or conversation.  I tolerated nearly three hours of this mayhem and madness (to me), and began to crave silence, calmness, peace and simplicity.

Because my internal self cannot provide these things for me, I am nearly completely at the mercy of where I am and what is going on around me physically and externally on the outside of my body.  It is not supposed to work this way — not in ordinary situations.  Our right brain, in balance with our reasonable left brain and our rational cortex, is supposed to be able to navigate throughout life with the peace and calm on the INSIDE of us.

++

I feel I am failing at a description of what I am trying to explain and describe, so I added some visuals here that might be able to convey an image on the OUTSIDE that relates to what I know on my INSIDE.  Part of what I did to self-soothe my ‘anxiety’ level from too much stimulation last night that continued to reverberate in my brain and body, was to pick up the closest thing I could find and begin working with my hands which always calms me, focuses my attention, and provides a transition space for me to deescalate.

(My condition makes me think about the increase in ADHD and autism and about how little researchers know or are willing to admit about what they know about what is causing this condition among today’s children.  I suspect it will eventually be tracked back to inadequate conception to age one brain development — because we are losing our ancient wisdom about taking care of our babies right during early critical brain and body developmental stages.)

++

Those women last night were ordinary women who meant me no harm.  They were not threatening.  They were not dangerous.  I was not in danger of being further traumatized.  But the oldest part of who I am and how I operate in this body in this world does not seem able to any longer put on the town dress, put curls in my hair, walk out into the world and be able to smoothly handle multiple stimuli from the environment and the required transitions that would enable me to be comfortable.

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+PETER PANELLA AND ALL MY LOST GIRLS – AGE 31 JOURNALS, THE NEXT STEPS

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Nine months.  That’s the length of time this next of my age 31 journal entries covers.  This would be the same length of time it takes for a baby to travel from conception to birth.

It seems strange to me that over a quarter of a century later I cannot begin to be objective about myself, my story, or my process as contained in these writings.  I still distance myself from myself, and can give myself total permission to do this distancing now because THAT was a different Linda, in a different set of circumstances at a different place in a different time.  I also continue to distance myself from myself because I have no other choice:  I was made that way.

It strikes me how remote I have always been from myself in my life except for the very NEAR past and the in-the-moment experiences I have as each moment of my life unfolds into the future.  It seems that my past carries me, not that I carry it.  It is too vast, too painful and in too many pieces.

I cannot think of a story that could be more closely like the reversal of the ordinary Peter Pan and the Lost Boys story than mine is in these pages.  What would that story look like if the sexes of all the characters were reversed?  I would be Peter Panella with my Lost Girls.   My mother would be the Wicked Captainella Hook.  Marlin (name changed) in my story would be the male reversal-same character of Tinker Belle!  Leo (named changed)  would be the ever-devoted, right thinking and well-intentioned Wendy.

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In the nine month period of time that elapses in the pages here, I left my husband and my children in ‘their’ home and rented a ‘Room of My Own‘.  I completed my BA college degree.

It has never until this moment struck me that the trials and tribulations of a recovery-from-abuse journey happens in its own story version of a Trauma Drama.  If we had never experienced the trauma of abuse in the first place, there would never be a need for this Recovery Trauma Drama story to ever happen, either.

As Peter Panella in my story, all the Lost Girls were part of my self.  There was a dissociated me not only for every developmental stage of childhood I had missed going through ‘normally’, but also hundreds and hundreds more of them that had each experienced some horror caused by my mother along each step of the way.  Each Lost Girl holds her piece of my memory along with the experience of having her experience of her experience of trauma.  In this way each one of them holds her own consciousness about what the Main Me, Linda, cannot remember except through the emotions held within the body that all of us share.

Nobody ever told me that these unintegrated shards of my existence could not magically become part of some magical WHOLE PERSON named Linda.  Nobody ever told me that what I was really accomplishing in my recovery journey was the recognition, identification, and naming of all these separate dissociated Lost Girl pieces of my self.  Nobody ever told me that they were NEVER going to become anything else.

Nobody told me my brain-mind-self had formed from the beginning of my life under so much trauma that continued for 18 years that I will NEVER be able to obtain or create a single-self-entity that resembles the one that ordinary-childhood people are created with.  Nobody told me that as a consequence of my childhood I was made into a different sort of person.

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In these journal writings I am describing a catching-up-to-Linda-at-31 process that was going on at the same time I was beginning to identify the trauma and the individual pieces of me that it had created.  I tried to accomplish an exploration and solidification of self that should have automatically and naturally happened throughout my childhood and young adulthood years — and didn’t.

Every single step I took in my journey included some confrontation and encounter with my profound woundedness.  The 18 years of abuse I endured had affected — and infected — me so profoundly and pervasively that I could not find anything but a shell of Linda, packed full to overflowing with pain, confusion, and the defenses that had enabled me to survive.

By the time these journal entries end I had found my way to the only place, both internally and externally, possible for me to go to next:  Another treatment center.  This one was designed specifically to address both severe trauma and addiction.  I remained apart from both my husband and children, now 130 miles away, and walked through the next doorway of my trauma drama recovery story.  The steps that I took to get to this next doorway are described here:

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*Age 31 Journal – Sept. 1982 thru June 10, 1983

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EXCERPTS:

January 19, 1983

What do I see as my boundary problem with Leo?

My mother = my conscious

Her right and wrongs = mine

Leo’s rights and wrongs = my rights and wrongs

I use Leo:  the whole part of me that would love Linda isn’t there and Leo is that part of me that loves me

Doesn’t feel healthy

My mother is the part of Linda that hates Linda

Kathy [therapist] says:  “In some ways what you’re talking about is pretty profound.””

++

January 26, 1983

Talked to the girls tonight about my moving out for awhile.  Kathy [therapist] says it should be for at least 6 weeks.”

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February 8, 1983 Tuesday 11 PM

Had class tonight on child abuse issues.  Sue told her story.  Makes me think about my unvisited “cave” where I’ve hidden all my childhood issues.  Wonder when I’ll get in there and poke around.”

++

February 24, 1983

From notes on Rollo May talk, “Creativity as Significant Form

“Without anxiety = heightened sensitivity, there’s no creative person.”

“Creativity:  The divine madness.  The anxiety of being lost leads to creativity.”

“The pause is not nothing.  Listen to the silence.  Technology calls pauses depressions.  PAUSING – the kind of aloneness of a creative person.”

++

March 4, 1983

Well, it’s 9:15 PM and at last I’m here in my room.  Made the move.

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March 13, 1983

(I’m losing tears again).”

I’m creating a safe place here for myself to be with myself, and, finally, cry.”

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March 22, 1983

I don’t want to die – I don’t want to be dead.  I want to live.”

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March 23, 1983

I feel angry tonight.  Very lonely, too.  In that lonely place nobody else can come to.  Maybe lonely for myself.”

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March 28, 1983

There’s a point where you go numb and you have to choose not to feel any more in order to survive.”

I used to think my mother was “just” an overly critical perfectionist.”

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April 2, 1983

7 PM – I’m in Glyndon now [visiting].  Leo and girls are at Larry and Echo’s.  The house is very neat and clean.  It’s my home, and yet I also feel like I don’t have a home.  Alienated – That’s how I feel.  From people, my family, pets, home, even my body and myself.  I feel sad, like I want to cry, but I can’t.”

I feel hopeless like I got made wrong and I can’t get fixed.  My body is healed of the childhood wounds, bruises; but inside I haven’t healed yet – I don’t even know if I’ve started yet.  I don’t have the option of getting high to forget this all like I used to.”

2009 note: I know now, finally, that I didn’t get made ‘wrong’, I got made different.  I could not have survived my abuse if I hadn’t adapted and adjusted in every possible way that I could.  Fortunately, our human species has that ability — to adapt in order to survive.  I also know now that I could not possibly re-make myself into the same kind of person I would have been if the abuse had never happened to me.

++

June 9, 1983

There’s someone inside wanting to get out and not knowing how.”

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NEWS FROM:

Prevent Child Abuse New York Blog


Recent Surge in Recession RunawaysPosted: 30 Oct 2009 02:46 AM PDTThe intersection between the recession and family stress may be causing an increase in runaway kids and teens, according to a recent article in the New York Times.   Job loss, foreclosures, and poverty have added to the stresses at home which have been trickling down and effecting teens.  Reporter Ian Urbina recently spent time with teen runaways in Medford, Oregon.  He learned the desperate measures they take in order to survive everyday rather than return home.  Most runaways aren’t even reported missing by their guardians, and if they are reported to the local police, most times they don’t make it into the national database.  Without national recognition, it is very hard for police to identify and return these runaways.  Police claim that runaways are not a top priority because most of the time they do not want to be found or returned home.  Unfortunately of the 267 runaways reported nationwide 58 of them were found dead.  “These kids might as well be invisible if they aren’t in National crime information center (N.C.I.C.),” said Ernie Allen, the director of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.  While federal officials are expecting a rise in homelessness this year, most social programs aid homeless families, not unaccompanied youth.   At the same time, many financially troubled states have severely cut social services, leaving little to no help for homeless runaways.  This presents a significant challenge for society, as runaway children are more likely to become homeless adults who are forced to live a life of crime.For information please visit the National Association for the Education of Homeless Children and Youth, The National Coalition for the Homeless, and The National Child Traumatic Stress Network.

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+BEING CHEERFUL AND COURAGEOUS IN THE FACE OF A TERRIBLE REALITY

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I cannot pull any punches.  Surviving child abuse is a serious matter that needs to concern both those who endured it and those who were fortunate enough not to.

Child abuse should happen to no one.  Yet it does.  Those of us who survived it are doing the best that we can to understand the changes this abuse did to us during our development, to learn, to grow and heal.  We need to be vigilant about our well-being, proactive regarding the state of our health, and informed.

We suffer from continued difficult lives for as long as we live.  At the same time, our risk for developing serious adult ailments and perhaps to die young is connected to the extremely high price we had to pay to endure and remain alive.  Sticking our heads in the sand will not help us.  We are incredibly STRONG people or we would not be here!  We have the strength to face the facts and to find ways to continue to improve ourselves, our lives, and our chances for continued survival.

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It is easy to lose track of important information as time goes on that is posted in comments to writings on this blog.  One such piece of information came through today, and I think it warrants a repeat here:

Comment and reply posted to *THE ADVANTAGES OF DISCLOSURE

Comment submitted on 2009/10/30 at 1:54am

I never knew what I was experiencing was a disassociation from myself but now that I read what you wrote I go through exactly what you do. I like how you put this.
“While I have the benefit now of reorganizing and reorienting myself in relation to my brother based on our new level of connection, I have to experience aspects of this readjustment consciously in order for it to become a living useful integrated part of who I am.”

I always get in this stuck phase. Words for describing what Im going through just aren’t there. I feel like it’s because I learned from a very early age to program myself to shut off to the describing, and trying to put it into words because when I did I got hurt one way or another. So now that I am an adult I flounder. I have to work twice as hard and I fumble with thing actions, reactions that most normal adults are able to have within seconds without much thought and commit it to memory. Where as I have to actively think and then do and the evaluate and then try to commit it to memory.

Thank you for your blog

Reply submitted on 2009/10/30 at 9:58am

Hi there, and it makes me so happy to hear from you! After I had done my post yesterday about my journal, down at the bottom I went back and added something that was a (welcomed) revelation for me. For all the years of my recovery work I’ve heard people talk about how we have to learn how to feel — value of feelings, what they tell us, how to tolerate them, how to regulate them, how to learn from them. It’s true.

But yesterday was the first time it clicked with me that I never learned how to think!! My mother’s abuse interrupted me and my development every possible step of the way she could do it. Even though she could not say to me directly, “LINDA! STOP THINKING!” She really accomplished this.

This is a new realization or a new level of recovery for me to begin to understand this. Many times in my early recovery both therapists and AA people told me, “Linda, you use rationalization as a defense all of the time.” Nobody ever detected the underlying crisis of self that is connected to being smart and thinking. Nobody said to me, “By the way, Linda. Let’s look at the way you think. Let’s see where those thought patterns are connected in how your poor little growing baby brain learned to BE in a malevolent world of chaos and violence.”

We can always trust that our body, “itself” (it really IS US) remembers all our experiences and feelings because those memories are stored separately from the facts of our experience. How our left and right brain hemispheres develop and how they communicate with one another is MAJORLY affected in our early development from severe early child abuse. That means we are NOT the same as other ‘ordinary’ people are. Once we understand this, it’s a whole new world to explore, examine and learn about as we come to NAME HOW we are in the world which affects WHO we are in the world.

We cannot take for granted what ‘ordinary’ safe and secure, or even organized insecurely attached people can. We have to become far more conscious and aware. I take for granted that I have arms and hands, for example, and that I can use them and control what they do in ‘ordinary’ ways. I don’t have to consciously think about this. I just DO ordinary things with them.

Not so with the way my brain developed through abuse. So many things that psychology has simply stuck in the ‘defense’ category do not belong there. Thinking involves words, but how to connect our thinking both to our body-feelings and to our words becomes a task we can learn to practice with discipline as we try to train or retrain our brain-body-mind-self connections!

How can a growing little child ever find words when what they experience is beyond reason?

It is helping me to affirm who I am by realizing that what happened to me is shared by most people who were severely abused and neglected as children, especially to those whose mothers were ‘damaged’. It helps me to know the changes that happened to us as we grew and developed were not willy-nilly. The adaptations and adjustments our body-brain-mind-self had to make so we could survive DO follow patterns. It’s just that only now with new brain imaging techniques and new infant-child development research we are beginning to realize that we are evolutionarily altered beings. On a most profound level that is something for us to celebrate! That is a testimony to the miracle of resiliency that our species has ALWAYS had so that we could outlive at least 19 other hominid species throughout all the millions of years we have been developing — and surviving — as a species.

Having an identifiable ’self’, I believe, was a later evolutionary gift to our species that came after our life on this planet was no longer as terribly malevolent and dangerous as it was in our beginnings. We had grown enough to find ways to survive under threat, and the actual conditions of our environment eventually improved. But a tiny fetus and newborn, a little child, born into a world that is toxic and threatening still has the ancient genetic memory of how to grow a body and brain that allows it to continue to survive intolerable conditions. That those of us who were born into a bad-mothering world (especially and primarily) really are a testament to the amazing survival abilities of our species.

But the world we grow up into is filled with other people whose early lives were not all that bad, and they were able to grow and develop ‘ordinarily’ in contrast to us. It becomes, pardon the expression, like the Clash of the Titans. Only it is not supposed to be a conflict between survivors and those whose survival early on was not challenged. We just have to LEARN, and humans are very good at that. That’s why the name of our species is The Wise Ones! By golly, we are on the way.

Exactly what you are describing in your comment is how this process works for us. Think about how humans only ‘got’ verbal language ONLY 140,000 years ago. When we realize how LATE that was in our development, we realize we have vast storehouses of abilities to survive and to live BESIDES words. THOSE abilities are what kept us alive. Those abilities kept our species alive. There’s incredible powers in those non-verbal abilities. We can learn about the word part! In a way, words are frosting on the cake of life — yes, essential to who we are now in our more ‘ordinary’ world. But as I write this I realize they are not as essential to our survival as all our other abilities are (that we used or we wouldn’t be here).

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I hate to have to say this, but reality IS reality.  I was thrilled – even though it is a strange thing to say, and I WISH (a part of denial, magical childhood thinking reality state) it were not so – to see yesterday’s news about research that is confirming the long term, life span consequences for an individual who has survived intolerable severe child abuse.  The research is catching up with reality.

Our survival comes with an extremely high price tag.  Survival to the child bearing years is what nature has allowed us to do.  That we survive PAST that age, as I have said before, is due to the more benevolent conditions of the world we grow up and survive into.  The cost of the adaptations and adjustments our body-brain-mind-self had to make to keep us alive DOES show up in the costly consequences of serious illnesses and premature death.

Nature does not see our early death as being unusual.  It is simply the cost of surviving in a dangerous and malevolent world.  We have to realize the facts so that we can acknowledge risk and take precautions wherever possible to alter the natural course of our continued survival in our altered and adjusted bodies.  For example, if anyone had ever told me that surviving the distress and trauma of a severely abusive childhood put me at extremely high risk for cancer, I would have made certain I had mammograms early – or at all.

That I ended up with advanced, aggressive breast cancer (in fact, two different cancers in the same breast) does not surprise me now that I understand the risks and the price my body paid for surviving my incredibly terrible childhood with my parents.  This is why I continue to work as hard as I can on this blog.  I suffer under no delusions that I have now been granted anything more than a temporary reprieve from the cancers I have been treated for and that now seem to be ‘not present’ in my body at this time.  Whatever it is that I may have learned from surviving 18 years of terrible child abuse — and what might be of use to someone else —  I better say while I am still here to say it.

Whatever happens to me down the road of my life, and whenever it happens to me, this blog will remain as my legacy in the hopes that what I have learned from my suffering will be able to help those who also suffer to live a better life.

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I did not fit the ‘ordinary’ breast cancer risk factor profile.  Add in the severe child abuse history, and I was on the top of the list.  Should this make us terribly sad that we continue to pay the price for the abuse we suffered for the rest of our – perhaps very short – lives!  YES!  Sad and enraged, not only as the victim-survivors, but as members of a civilization that continues to allow severe child abuse and neglect to occur.

I posted this yesterday, but as this is a repeat-of-information post, I’ll post it again (comes to us from the Prevent Child Abuse New York Blog:

Traumatic Childhood Can Reduce Life Expectancy

A difficult childhood reduces life expectancy by up to 20 years according to a study published in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine. The study found that participants who were exposed to more then five different types of adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) were over 50 percent more likely to die during the 10-year period of the study. On the other hand, people who reported fewer than six ACEs did not have a statistically increased risk of death compared with the control group.

Listen to a podcast Adversce Childhood Experiences and the Risk of Premature Mortality.

To explore the effect that childhood trauma could have on life span, Kaiser Permanente mailed questionnaires to adults who were 18 years and older, and who had visited the Kaiser clinic in San Diego from 1995 to 1997. Overall, the study subjects were middle-class and had good health coverage. Of those surveyed, 75 percent were white, 11 percent Latino, 7 percent Asian, and 5 percent African-American. They’re educated: 75 percent attended college and 40 percent have a basic or higher college education. When they filled out the questionnaire, their average age was 57. Most of them had jobs. Half were women, half were men.

The participants were asked about their exposure to eight categories of abuse or dysfunction based on previous Kaiser studies. One third of the 17,337 participants who replied to the questionnaires had an ACE score of zero, meaning they had not been exposed to any of the eight types of abuse or household dysfunction. The majority of the remaining responders registered a score of between one and four, whereas about 8 percent of the scoring participants were rated five, and roughly three percent, six to eight.

During the next decade, the study authors, kept records of which of the 17,337 participants passed away by matching identifying information such as Social Security numbers from the questionnaire with data from the National Death Index. In total 1,539 of the participants died during the follow-up period. When the increased number of deaths in those subjects with an ACE score of six or greater was compared with the control group, their mortality risk was 1.5 times higher than for people whose childhoods had been free of all eight types of abuse. They lost about 20 years from their lives, living to 60.6 years on average, whereas the average age of death for the control group was 79.1.

It is unclear why the authors saw more death ages during the 10-year period only for the group with an ACE score of six or greater. Previous studies by these authors found that the risk of chronic illnesses, such as heart disease, lung disease and cancer, was greater only for people with these high ACE scores. In contrast, the risk of substance abuse and suicide increased stepwise from low to high scores. The authors found that ACE-related health risks, namely mental illness, social problems and prescription medication use, accounted for about 30 percent of the 50 percent greater risk of death seen in this population. “As would be expected, the documented ACE-related conditions among participants appear to account for some, although not all, of the increased risk of premature death observed in the current study,” wrote David Brown, an epidemiologist at the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), and lead author of the study.

This posting includes an audio/video/photo media file: Download Now

+HOW DO WE BUILD A LIFE WHEN WE DO NOT KNOW WHO WE ARE?

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Sometimes we can go back and pick up the pieces of ourselves we left behind back somewhere in our lives.  In my journal entries right before my 30th birthday I can see one of those clear threads — and threads is an appropriate word!   As a child of a severely abusive Borderline mother, I have found myself a clue about who I am from my own writings half a lifetime ago……

I used to spin and weave back then.  I love it, but I made a decision to pack it all up and walk away.  Today I realized I want very badly to let that part of ME back into my life — and 29 years later I am going to find a way to do it.  I deserve it.

People who do not have to become dissociated from their own self through severe child abuse have, in my thinking, a chance to build a life that reflects who they truly are.  Those of us who were so severely abused that our selves never got to grow in the first place, can have an unbelievably difficult time living a life that is connected to our SELF.  Weaving and spinning was directly connected to ME, and I know that because, even looking back ‘then’, I can FEEL it.

How is it for others who have come from childhoods similar to mine?  Do we all need to pay very close attention on a physical, feeling level to those little clues we might come across that let us know which things in our life truly matter to us?  I tried to ‘reason’ my way through life.  From the time I went into ‘recovery’ onward I have worked to understand that my feelings not only matter, they are critical to letting me know WHO I am.

It can be hard to give ourselves permission to follow up on those clues.  If others are at all like me, I created a whole life of responsibility without knowing who the person was (ME) that was actually creating that life.  It was like I was living in a dream life I had built the best I knew how to, but it was not a healthy one for ME, and it was not built from the center of who I am because I had no idea who I was.  Does that make any sense to anyone out there?

*Age 29 – Journal Entries – Trying to Orient and Organize A Lost Self

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Try this for fun:

Myer Briggs personality type

http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp

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Borderline Personality Disorder

“…[they] often engage in destructive behaviors not because they intend to hurt you, but because their suffering is so intense they feel they have no other way to survive.”

In the Spotlight | More Topics |
from Kristalyn Salters-Pedneault, PhD
I’ve gotten quite a few questions about the connection between lying and BPD. Lying is not one of the symptom criteria for BPD, but loved ones report that they see a connection between lying and BPD and that this is one of the most difficult behaviors to deal with.
In the Spotlight
Lying and BPD – Is There a Connection?
There isn’t a lot of good research on a possible connection between BPD and lying. However, the fact that BPD is associated with shame and impulsivity may set you up for a tendency to tell lies.
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Readers Respond: Do You Tell Lies?
This is probably a silly question, because of course everyone lies sometimes. But do you find you tell lies more than other people? What triggers your lying? What do you lie about? Do you agree that there is a connection between BPD and lying, or do you think this is just part of the stigma of BPD?
Will I Have BPD Forever?
At one time, experts did believe that BPD was a life sentence; they thought that BPD was not likely to respond to treatment and that BPD was always chronic and lifelong. Turns out the experts were wrong!

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Borderline Personality Disorder

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from Kristalyn Salters-Pedneault, PhD
I’ve gotten quite a few questions about the connection between lying and BPD. Lying is not one of the symptom criteria for BPD, but loved ones report that they see a connection between lying and BPD and that this is one of the most difficult behaviors to deal with.

In the Spotlight

Lying and BPD – Is There a Connection?
There isn’t a lot of good research on a possible connection between BPD and lying. However, the fact that BPD is associated with shame and impulsivity may set you up for a tendency to tell lies.

More Topics

Readers Respond: Do You Tell Lies?
This is probably a silly question, because of course everyone lies sometimes. But do you find you tell lies more than other people? What triggers your lying? What do you lie about? Do you agree that there is a connection between BPD and lying, or do you think this is just part of the stigma of BPD?

Will I Have BPD Forever?
At one time, experts did believe that BPD was a life sentence; they thought that BPD was not likely to respond to treatment and that BPD was always chronic and lifelong. Turns out the experts were wrong!