+REPAIRED YESTERDAY’S LINKS – CRITICAL INFO FOR EARLY ABUSE-TRAUMA SURVIVORS

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

My apologies for the trouble with the links in yesterday’s important post

+EARLY ABUSE AND TRAUMA SURVIVORS NEVER GET A HOLIDAY

I think I have them all straightened out now.  As I Googled myself around regarding the titles and topics represented by those links I found myself being awed for those of us severe infant-child abuse and trauma survivors who actually MOSTLY are able to function!

What a menu of terrible difficulties this area of study contains!  I don’t believe there is ANYTHING more important for us as survivors to understand than the information is you will find at the end of these links.

That no  professional EVER even MENTIONED how early severe trauma and neglect can change an infant-child’s physiological development is, to me, CRIMINAL!!!

There is NO, and I MEAN NO psychological or psychiatric ‘theory’ that can begin to remotely help us if it does not address the neurobiological CHANGES that happened to our growing and developing BODY on all of our levels as we survived our traumas!

The kinds of changes that are described in these articles presented in yesterday’s post are what happened to my mother, to my father — and most definitely happened to ME!

We CANNOT consider our healing as severe early abuse and trauma survivors without understanding the FACTS as these articles present them.  THEORIES are of no use to us WHATSOEVER!

We have to educate ourselves with this critically important information.  Any survivor who is seeing a therapist must determine if that person KNOWS this information.  If they don’t, give them this actual link to my post of yesterday,

+EARLY ABUSE AND TRAUMA SURVIVORS NEVER GET A HOLIDAY

https://stopthestorm.wordpress.com/2010/12/25/early-trauma-survivors-never-get-a-holiday/

If your therapist will not listen to you about this critically important information, I would suggest that you find one that WILL!  So-called ‘mental health treatment’ that does not operate for survivors from this informed foundation of information is no better than BLOODLETTING treatments for disease.

The Trauma Altered Development we endured changed our PHYSICAL body — the same one we have to live within for the rest of our life.  Any treatment for a ‘physical problem’ that is not based on facts is useless!!

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

+’MAKING SENSE’ OUT OF ABUSE/TRAUMA – FINDING THE CONTEXT

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

The comments to my last post have stimulated and challenged my mind.  I know myself well enough to say that I will only ‘make sense’ of my own thoughts if I write them.  Putting words down in order satisfies both sides of my brain, and I as the participant in the middle need to know what all of me believes in response to those comments.

First of all some part of me wishes to apologize to my readers that my perceptions are so completely limited to my own experience.  In conversation with my friend last weekend the point was made that the reason why I absolutely lack the ability to understand ‘normal/ordinary’ (I note my ‘new’ use of slashes as I find a way to expand and include thoughts that are bound together in meaning to me) people’s strong prejudices, biases, and rigid closed-mindness about so many important aspects of being human.

My friend vehemently insisted that the foundation of beliefs that govern people’s values (and their expression in word and action about them) comes from what people LEARN.  My friend then treated learning as if it is fact.

I see nothing whatsoever factual about what people tend to believe about themselves in relationship to so many other people.  “How,” I ask myself, “can something LEARNED not be continually and fluidly subject to change through MORE and NEW learning?  How is it possible that people get absolutely STUCK with something they learned before regarding beliefs that (to me) have no basis in fact AT ALL?”

++

Well, leaving that track of thought I understood that my nearly complete social isolation for the first 18 years of my life (with the exception of pantomiming being a child in school), I MISSED out on the kind of learning that binds and packs people together.  And because I missed being socialized on so many levels I did not learn what most people evidently do learn.

Therefore I cannot understand WHAT they learned any more than I can understand HOW they learned it or WHY they can’t learn something new that would be far more conducive to a pleasant world citizenship all the way around!

++

THESE thoughts are feeding themselves into the channel of reactions I am having to the comments to my last post.  “What it is about making sense of trauma that MATTERS so much to me?  What is it about learning as much information as possible about the CONTEXT of infant-child abuse/trauma that FEELS so vitally important to me?”

I look around and look around and look around at the context of ME as a survivor of nearly constant, continual and terrible abuse for the first 18 years of my life and realize that I can no more expand my thinking about what it might be like for others who DID experience terrible early abuse/trauma but ALSO experienced BREAKS IN THE ABUSE/TRAUMA THEY EXPERIENCED.

The particular context of my history is that there were no breaks of note in the 18 year ongoing panorama of abuse toward me.

So why do I write a blog about abuse/trauma if I cannot form a bridge and cross it between what I know and what other people know?

Good question.  My writing is completely biased.

++

So back to making sense of early abuse/trauma and context.  Humans have active sensing abilities before we are born.  Then we are born with these abilities to gain information through our senses fully active and growing in their power.

To me, ‘making sense’ of all aspects of our self in the world is just a simple, basic fact.  That is what being alive MEANS to me.

When I think about connecting all the information that we are constantly sensing from outside our body and from within and THEN take my thinking to the next level, all I see is more of a natural continuum.  As humans we take all we SENSE and use this information to ‘make sense’ that we can detect with the complex abilities of our brain.

++

All these words above paved the way for me to think through what I need to say next here:  The MOST important tool we have as human beings, no matter WHAT or HOW our life has played itself out since our conception, IS THE POWER TO MAKE SENSE out of ourselves in the world.

When it comes to infant-child abuse and trauma, if we DO NOT gain as much information as possible about the biggest-picture-context of the environment (most importantly about the people in it) we cannot possibly LEARN what we need to know that will assist us to be free of the NEGATIVE impact of what was done to us.

++

I am talking about RISK factors as they are intricately interwoven with RESILIENCY factors.

RISK factors lie on the side of what ruptures safety, security and calm peacefulness.

RESILIENCY factors lie on the side of what repairs the ruptures so that safety, security and calm peacefulness return.

Because we are members of a social species, and because all of our experiences including abuse/trauma happen in relationship to another member of our species (one way or the other), the entire STORY of our life is a story about our degrees of safety, security and calm peacefulness IN RELATIONSHIP WITH AND IN CONNECTION TO OTHERS OF OUR SPECIES firstly and most importantly.

THERE IS NO STORY WITHOUT CONTEXT.  THERE IS NO COHERENT STORY WITHOUT SENSE.

IF there is abuse/trauma the story will NOT be truly coherent.  The sense of the story will be lost.

I believe that looking for the CONTEXT of one’s life is the most certain way of healing our stories — and therefore our LIFE and our SELF.

++

These conditions I share with all others.  I find this fact very comforting.

Everyone’s life has a context.  Some people don’t have to pay this fact much attention.  Those of us who suffered severe early infant-child abuse/trauma HAVE to find the biggest context possible because it was the power that this CONTEXT had to traumatize US that matters most in our process of healing from the abuse/trauma’s consequences.

The more the CONTEXT of our early life ran us over as individual little people the more we can benefit now from identifying this CONTEXT so that we can separate our SELF from it.

HOWEVER!!!!!!  I must say this:  The context of our earliest life DID NOT CONTAIN ALL BAD!  If it HAD been all bad, we would be dead.

I believe it is extremely important that we locate within the context of our earliest life, no matter how terrible the abuse/trauma was, what the GOOD aspects of our life were at the SAME TIME.

This is where we will find the RESILIENCY factors that WERE there in the midst of the terrors and horrors of our abusive/traumatizing early years.

++

In fact, we cannot find and describe the big picture of the CONTEXT of any part of our life without including these powerfully positive resiliency factors.  This is, to me, one of the necessary components of MAKING SENSE of what happened to us — no matter how BAD that part of our experience might have been.

I also believe that we cannot accurately name the risk factors that allowed trauma to topple down the generations and land in/on us without at the same time naming the resiliency factors that ALSO toppled down the generations to land in/on us.  CONTEXT allows us to name the BAD of what happened to us at the same time we name the GOOD of what happened to us.

The more information we can INCLUDE in our conscious efforts to heal so we can ‘move on through our life with increased well-being’ means at the same time that there is LESS information being EXCLUDED.

The EXCLUDED information lies in the realm of the ‘secrets’.  Unresolved trauma thrives on secrets.  Trauma needs to communicate its wisdom toward a better future.  When trauma resides in secrets important information it needs to share remains out-of-reach and worse than useless.

Unresolved trauma creates HARM.  I believe it does so largely to MAKE US PAY ATTENTION TO IT.

Importantly, when the secrets hidden in unresolved trauma are kept alive, what helps us SURVIVE trauma resiliently remains obscure as well.

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

I will say one other thing here:  As one commenter pointed out to me, my life story is about what my mother did to survive HER trauma (I think I paraphrased this OK).  Nothing about my mother’s infant-childhood abuse/trauma was openly acknowledged and understood — until I investigated the CONTEXT of the abuse that happened to me and came to understand that what happened to me was distinctly a part of the context of how my mother survived what happened to her.

And on down the generations bludgeons unresolved trauma.

As twisted as this may seem at first glance, what happened to me in the context of the bigger picture WAS a good thing.  What happened to me was a direct result of how my MOTHER survived what happened to her.  If survival is the ONLY real concern, it was all GOOD.  If my mother had not found a way to survive the horrors of her own childhood I would never have been born at all.

Looking for and at the resiliency factors that were available to my mother, she used the only ones that were available to her.

Right along with looking at what went so WRONG for my mother in her earliest life (due to risk factors) I ALSO look at the absence of BETTER resiliency factors than the ones she had available — and used.

Moving forward just a little bit along my current thinking here I want to add that it wasn’t JUST the terrible abuse that my mother perpetrated against me that was the RISK factor for me.  It was also if not equally a risk factor (and a missing resiliency factor) for me that NOBODY intervened to protect me — just as nobody intervened to protect my mother when she was little, either.

All severe infant-child abuse survivors had heavy-weight risk factors AND heavy-weight resiliency factors.  How can we move toward healing if we don’t know the fullest context possible of what happened to us so that we can consider both?

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

+GUEST POSTS ALWAYS WELCOME! AN INVITATION

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

If any reader ever wishes to write a guest post for this blog you are more than welcome to do so!  The best way for you to do this is to add your post as a comment at the last tab that appears with the pages at the top of this blog:

Your Page – Readers’ Responses

We can all describe and document our experiences as infant-child abuse survivors.  The growing body of this information, as it is contained in our stories and experiences, is growing online to become a most valuable resource for everyone — no matter what stage of our journey of life we are writing about.

The ‘professional’ community at the ‘top’ has been missing the truth of what we at the ‘bottom’ truly know about living our lifetime in a trauma-changed body that was altered through our experiences of having to adapt our physiological development to an early environment of trauma.  It is time for us to find our words to describe a reality that those at and near the ‘top’ (the Pampered Ones) cannot — on their own — even begin to imagine.

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

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

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

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

…..

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

…..

…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
…..

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

+MY ABUSIVE MOTHER: A PERFECT MADNESS

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

Oh, what a last few days.  What a morning, that began when I woke and couldn’t sleep from 3 am onward, and began to address some important and very difficult issues.  Most of it I am not able to speak of right now publicly because it involves siblings — not yet — or perhaps not ever.  Time will tell.

I am hard at work now outside on my adobe work trying to irradiate the nasty pest Bermuda grass, and the process reminds me of how hard it can be to pull the trauma from abusive childhoods out of our life.  Probably it is impossible, not only because of the trauma-created physiological development changes, but also probably it is impossible because everything really is so interrelated and complicated.

The Bermuda runners and tendrils wrap themselves around every root of every ‘good’ plant.  Trying to get it away from the plants completely would destroy the plants I want to keep.  But I am doing my best.

One thing I can mention from a long conversation I had on the phone with my younger sister today came from somethings she described as she made clear to me the difference between the two main arms of my mother’s terrible abuse of me.

My sister uses the word ‘pariah’, or outcast (untouchable), coming into English from India around 1600 from a word that literally means ‘drummer’.  It was always members of the largest and lowest caste who drummed during ceremonies.

All but my older brother who was 14 months old when I was born were themselves born into my mother’s mad universe in which I was two things:  (1) the pariah and (2) the scapegoat (‘pharmacos’).

According to my sister’s perspective, nobody could have done a better job than my mother did — at what she did.  She completely convinced my siblings that I was not the same as they were.

I realize there are avenues for me to explore here because ‘not being the same’ as my siblings — while of course ending up to mean I was different than they were — operated more profoundly, pervasively and conclusively.  ‘Not being the same’ as my siblings was the bedrock basis and condition of my existence — and I was ‘not the same’ as my siblings in every possible way my mother could name.

On the other hand, as my sister describes it, my mother also created another arm of madness that was tied to making sure that all my siblings, my father, and my grandmother understand that my mother NEEDED me to be her scapegoat.  They knew without words from her actions and attitudes toward me that nobody could question what she did to me or said about me.

My sister also described how absolutely effective my mother’s turning me into a pariah was.  By keeping my siblings from having any kind of a relationship with me as their sibling, as a human being, as someone they could not only relate to, but appreciate, value and care about, my mother guaranteed that they would NEVER question her abuse of me and more importantly would NEVER intervene in any way — ever.

In other words, her turning me into a pariah, by removing any common ground I could have shared with my siblings as children, gave my mother everything she needed to scapegoat me — to abuse me terribly, any way she wanted to.

Another aspect my sister described this morning had to do with the biological, instinctual, genetic understanding that mother’s care for children and that without primary caregiving of basic physical needs, children cannot survive.  My mother was supremely effective at making sure there were no other possible adults in her children’s life so that all of us were completely dependent upon her.

Whatever my mother wanted was a fact, and if she wanted to, needed to abuse me, that also was an unquestionable fact.  Needing to be cared for (fed, clothed, etc.)  to stay alive overrode all other young concerns.

In other words, as I think about this all today, our family was extremely primitive.  It seems natural that my mother would gravitate toward a wilderness mountainside to play out her madness.  Nobody evolved to the point where anything could be verbalized, discussed, or willfully changed.

My sister also marvels at how, even though completely unconsciously orchestrated, my mother filled every crack, covered all ground, put together all the pieces that she could so thoroughly convince everyone, within and outside the family, that nothing out of the ordinary happened.  But for that to happen she first had to make her insane abuse of me ‘ordinary’ to my siblings, to my father, to my grandmother — and to anyone else that might possibly have noticed and/or questioned what she was doing.

My mother’s madness, although perfectly terrible, was still perfect.  That, to me, rings profoundly true and equally disturbing.

++++

On the other hand, the process I am going through right now is very much about whether or not I CAN write my own story — and whether or not I want to.  I don’t know yet.  If I were to look at this on a weighted scale, the weight by far is on the NO end.

If I am going to move forward with my writing, I have to change on the inside of me in ways that are both scary and unknown.  My early day thus far was a walk on the ‘blind side’ — into areas involving myself as a sibling as I begin to explore, ask questions, feel feelings about what it was like to be ME growing up as my siblings’ sibling.

That is different for me from being my mother’s abused daughter, my father’s daughter, etc.  Being my siblings’ sibling is very up close and personal — in ways I cannot yet explain.

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

+I WILL FORGET THE ANGELS’ PRESENCE NO MORE

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

Wise are the mysterious promptings of the heart that sometimes cause us to make new connections in our thoughts, to say things to those we care deeply about, to finally find our own courage to stand by what we know as our own personal truth, and to let ourselves leap into the feared unknown so that we can find hope for ourselves and for others that we never knew existed before.

I have a nearly 20-year-old cassette tape Walkman with headphones that I use while I do my 45 minute near-daily jog.  I only have two tapes that work in the player.  I have tried all kinds of other ones, but I have decided that the bands that move the tape must be geared only to the exact weight of these two tapes — and nothing else.  One is a Chet Atkins tape that is obnoxious to listen to — hard as that is for me to believe!  The music is clipped and fakey to me, no matter how great the talent recorded on it.

The other one is a Stevie Nicks tape, The Wild Heart.  I have listened to that tape throughout my jogs so many times I can’t count them.  Yet suddenly yesterday, on my 59th birthday, there was one line from one song that leaped out not only into my ears, but into my heart, mind and soul so loudly that all other sounds on the tape completely disappeared.  I can’t even say at this moment (until I do today’s jog and hear the song again) what the name of the song even is — but here is the line:

“I BLAME THE ANGELS!”

At that moment something changed inside of me — the greatest birthday present I could ever have been given.  I can’t name or describe the change exactly, but I can feel it.  For the first time in my life I can feel, sense and almost physically see that all the supposed empty space around me, around all of us here on this earth is filled not only with air — but also with angels!

There are actually so many of them that I don’t know how they fly around without bumping into one another!  I guess they have their own version of traffic control, because “Oh, my GOLLY!  There’s a whole LOT of them!”

And each of them is here to help all of us.

Well, I humbly must admit that I have to wonder how it could have taken me all the way through time to my 59th birthday to reconnect to something I so absolutely knew as a child on that mountain I had no question.  I will try to scan in a photograph that my sister just sent to me that will (again, and hopefully more clearly) introduce you to the Angel on the Mountain that was my closest friend and companion during my abusive childhood.

(Give me a moment here.  I have to dig through this pile of photographs for the one I am thinking of.)

I first met this angel when I was 7.  She was more real to me than anything else in my life, and she was my Companion and my Comfort.

This angel was a Presence in my life. There was in feeling no distance between us. While I could see her visually across the valley and over there perched on her mountain peak, I felt bonded to her.

This angel heard everything I ever said to her, but mostly in my misery I had no words, yet I knew she ALWAYS knew exactly who I was and what I felt.  I knew she always watched over me and never left ‘my side’ — and never would.

I hope you can detect her up there.  In my senses she was alive — and every time I looked up at her I was in a different spot, never exactly in the same one twice, so her shape changed subtly with my movements as if she, too, could move — though of course I never THOUGHT about these things.

I can look at this photograph my mother took probably in 1959 and there on the left in the back, at the end of the mountain range across from our Alaskan homestead where this picture was taken, I can see that angel up there as clear as day!

Her head is turned slightly to her right, and as a child I knew without ever thinking of it that she was looking at me, that she could see me just as clearly as I could see her.  Her wings spread out to her left and right, her dress cascades down the mountaintop below her.  In the summer she appeared as she does here.  In the winter she donned her winter dress, her halo turned whiter and her wings grew in vastness along the top of the mountain’s crest.

++

Yesterday as I loudly heard the words of Stevie’s song, “I blame the angels,” it was like a veil was torn away that has kept me from feeling the presence of angels like I was able to with THAT Angel on the Mountain when I was small and so terribly hurting.  I never knew I created that veil after I ‘grew up’.  In fact, I have shrouded my entire feeling experience of my childhood under this same (or similar) veils.

These veils, or shrouds, have buffered me from the emotional memory reality of my childhood suffering, as well as from most of the dissociated specific facts of my childhood memories.  I had to not only endure and survive my childhood, I ALSO had to endure and survive my adulthood!

Part of how I did that was to cast over my first 18 years of life a sort of cloak that not so much made it invisible as it did dim and obscure it from my awareness as I made my childhood so out-of-focus and obscure (like having a blindness, a terrible ‘vision’) that I could direct my attention elsewhere (at my adulthood).

++++

The way my thinking works, all of this I am writing about seems closely connected to an experience I had within hours after my double mastectomy surgery in December of 2007.  Nobody had told me prior to surgery what they told me afterward, and perhaps in part because of this I experienced the following:

I was given IV morphine for the first 20 or so hours after surgery.  During that time I did one very important activity — I stretched!  I sat up in bed, raised my arms as high over my head as I possibly could, and I stretched.  I continued to move my arms in this wide stretch in all directions — yes as I think of it, not unlike a butterfly might stretch its wings when it first exits its cocoon (or a new angel).  And as I instinctively performed this stretch without thought or intention, I could hear and feel (though there was no pain) a strange ripping, crackling, snapping inside my shoulders, across my chest and back.

I thought nothing of this until hours later when the surgeon stopped into my room and mentioned that many women experience a limitation in their range of motion due to this surgery.  As she verbally described what this limitation would be like I naturally raised my arms and searched for this limitation within myself.

It wasn’t there.

I had broken through whatever that kind of limitation could have been even before anyone had told me of its possible existence.

I mention this now because in my thought connections I realize that I am again experiencing a related kind of ripping through limitation.  Whatever veil-shroud I naturally created to obscure the pain, horror and reality of my infant-childhood of trauma and abuse  — because I HAD to do it to survive my adulthood — ALSO numbed my ability to experience my ‘Angel Love’.

Some part of that veil was ripped away yesterday on my birthday as I jogged around listening to Stevie Nicks wake up and hone in her musical echos, my ‘angel senses’.

++++

I realize now as I write that I am tired of words.  As a child, back there within that veiled and shrouded world of trauma and trouble, I had very little use for words, and I certainly did not use them to think with.  I was fully capable of thinking without words.  In that state of being, I could simply BE with that angel, a fact that at this moment helps me know a broader sense of Shakespeare’s statement, “To be or not to be.  That is the question.”

That is not an itty bitty personalized reality.  It is as big as the creation all of us are a part of.  I know myself well enough now to know I don’t think in terms of ‘faith’, and not even in terms of ‘belief’, either.

I didn’t have ‘faith’ in my intimate interrelationship with that Angel on the Mountain.  I didn’t have ‘belief’ in her unending and absolute love for me.  Both she and I were simply BE-ING.  We existed.  We were.

As I continue to stumble forward at this moment in my world of words I also know now that I can thank the fact that our family had no indoor bathroom for much of the assistance I received from my relationship with the presence of that Angel.  Sooner or later, no matter what punishment my mother was at the moment engaged in regarding me, I had to use the outhouse.

Those moments I walked out the door of our strange canvas-covered abode into the open air of the wilderness I was both in those moments NOT in my mother’s presence at the same time I WAS in the presence of that Angel as if she and I existed together in an entirely different universe than the one my mother existed in.

Most of my childhood my beaten body and my broken heart bled tears.  During the brief intermissions in abuse created by my having to go outside the ‘house’ into the air of wilderness freedom I was automatically blessed by the presence of that ever-present Angel on the Mountain who I understood without question knew everything about me and compassionately cared.

++++

Yesterday I was reawakened to what that feels like not only to be so loved by an Angel but to be able to receive that love as naturally as I receive air.  THAT angel was situated on THAT mountaintop and never left it (although her love felt like a physical presence as she expanded herself all the way across that valley to wrap me in it).  What I received for my birthday gift yesterday is not only the reawakened sense and knowledge of what that love FEELS like, but also the knowledge that there are angels EVERYWHERE that are all full of that same love for humanity.

I have no desire to complicate this gift with thoughts about ‘proof’ or ‘religion’.  These angels seem to be as much a part of this creation I am a part of as everything else is.  They simply ‘BE’.  I have greatly missed knowing this.  No matter what else I have had to ‘forget’ about my childhood, I will forget the existence and presence of these loving, compassionate, caring angels no more — hopefully forever.

(I swear!  I feel as though I am walking through ANGEL SOUP now and they don’t mind a bit!)

(The song lyric is from Stevie Nicks’ song “Wild Heart,” and literally is “Blame it on the angels.”)

++++

CLICK HERE – TALKING ABOUT THE POWER OF LOVE

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

+OUR RIGHT TO QUANTUM HEALING – ALLOWING THE MIRACLES TO HAPPEN

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

I have heard it said that such a thing exists as QUANTUM HEALING.  I am not going to bother searching around online for all kinds of information about this miracle.  I believe it exists, and I believe we can all access it.  I also believe I am smack in the middle of such a process now.

Perhaps because it is in my nature to force positive change when I think I need it within myself, and perhaps especially now at this point in my life where I literally feel I have an important job and mission to accomplish that can contribute something good and useful to understanding what severe infant-child abuse looks like – from within and from without – and perhaps because I also personally feel I am under a time pressure to outrun the cancer that has visited my body so that I can complete this job before I ‘move on’ from this world — I do not wish to ‘mamby-pamby’ my way through or around any obstacle that appears in my pathway.

I am blessed with the resources that I need at this point in my life that help me not to get sidetracked, bogged down or waylaid in my efforts.  I just spoke to my ONLY real friend in town here about the work I am doing (she has known the entire process).  She wisely suggested that I ask my daughter to do the telephone interview about my mother with JV, my mother’s long-term Alaskan friend.  I am too emotionally involved, and too emotional.

As I spoke with my friend about the kinds of ‘things’ about my mother that JV has to tell, I suffered through wave after wave of ‘goosebump attacks’.  I also dissolved into sorrowful tears.  The recognition and experience of the deep, deep sorrow and sadness happens because I profoundly recognize what a terrible, terrible tragedy this story truly is that I am ‘in line’ for telling.

It is, however, my nearly unending sadness over the suffering of my mother that prevents me from wanting to complete this upcoming interview with my mother’s friend.  It is the suffering of my mother that will interfere with my ability to allow JV to say what she needs to tell me.  As my friend pointed out today, if I ever once ‘fell into’ the tears that I did today as I talked to her while I talked with JV next Saturday, she has no doubt that JV will not wish to continue to tell me the truths that she knows about my mother.

The wise solution presented this morning by my friend would allow my very compassionate, intelligent, invested but objective, extremely fast typing, sensitive daughter to complete this telephone interview with JV.  I will ask my daughter this evening, find out her response, and then call JV and ask for her permission to do ‘things’ this brilliantly safe and effective way.

++++

So, given this presenting obstacle, the ‘rules’ of quantum healing dictate that a better alternative exists.  It is my job to utilize my resources to find exactly where these obstacles are, and to find more resources to find my way around them.

I have also come to realize that when we consider the quality and nature of the darkness that can infiltrate a human beings body-brain-mind-self — an my mother was infiltrated by this darkness through trauma as a developing infant-child — it could be said that conditions DO exist in the world involving the potential for harm that seem beyond where any ‘rational’ human can pursue, follow, explore or ‘know’.  The degree of infant-child abuse that my mother was perfectly capable of perpetrating falls within this sphere and realm.

After the dream I had a few days ago that clearly alerted me of the powers of spiritual assistance, protection, guidance and healing that do exist right along with the darkness, I am experiencing my journey of working with my mother’s story for publication differently.

There is a saying, “Going where angels fear to tread.”  Only through the appearance of this dream I wrote about a few days ago did I gain a very real understanding (and again, I am not Catholic) that the archangel Michael, or St. Michael – San Miguel — exists, and that he is not afraid of ANYTHING on this earth.  There is no darkness, no realm of horror or of human deprivation and suffering that can possibly prevent this angel from assisting people to understand and to heal from.

In addition, the ‘guardians of the gates’, or Cherubs – Cherubim that were also referenced in my dream are also allies for this good work of trying to understand the powerful, and yes dark, roots of trauma, abuse, neglect and malevolent treatment of infants and children that can lead to deeply disturbing changes in development that can create infant-child abusing people like my mother was.

In my own very human way this entire ‘job’ or ‘mission’ that I am pursuing is big, big, big, bigger than I am.  The fact that I cry from the center of my soul for the pain and suffering MY MOTHER experienced in her lifetime would be mystifying to me if I did not understand that these pictures are so much bigger than any of us who experience them personally.

My mother did not, for instance, CHOOSE of her own free will to pick up a broom and bash my little girl head and body with it.  Something else — call it ‘impulsivity’ or ’emotional dysregulation’ certainly contributed to her thousands of acts of violence.  But the picture is SO MUCH BIGGER.  It came down the generations — and for a reason.  That this ‘reason’ is so difficult to detect within a story of lack of reason doesn’t mean that finding the reason is impossible — or that it isn’t critically important.

In my own process of moving forward I have to accept changes in my course as they present them.  Now I see that I have to create a ‘homesteading process’ and a ‘historical homesteading story’ separately from the book that is the chronicle of my mothers disturbed — and very disturbing — madness.

I am preparing myself to recognize this fact, that I cannot create a ‘one volume’ that can accomplish what I hoped it could.  At the same time, the expose of my mother’s potential for terrible child abuse is paramount.  I have nothing for anyone to sue me for.  I will change the names of every ‘character’ my mother writes about to protect the privacy of the innocent (even though, as my last post mentions, I have to walk past my own ‘bitterness’ to do this).

What LINDA wants is not what is important here if what I want is not a part of the bigger picture of the good that come out of my work with my mother’s words.  Gaining clarity.  That’s what I am after.  And because St. Michael is there to fight the war of light against darkness, as a very real spiritual entity (and who am I to argue this fact?), nothing short of my own physical annihilation prior to my completing this task will stop me.

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

In case there are readers who are unfamiliar with my ‘story’, here are some links to read (warning:  may trigger):

*Age 3 – THE TOILET BOWL

*Age 5 – THE BUBBLE GUM

*AGE 6 – FIRST GRADE — NIGHT ON THE STOOL

*Age 9 – BLOODY NOSE

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

+WORD WARRIOR NEWS: MY BROKEN, BROKEN, BROKEN MOTHER

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

I just spoke on the telephone with a woman in her mid-80s in Alaska, JV,  who other than my mother’s mother, maintained the longest relationship with my mother of Mildred’s lifetime.  I visited with JV last when I visited Alaska last summer.  It had been about 38 years since I had seen her.  Now when I talk on the phone to JV that visit certainly helps.  She and I can ‘see’ one another now.  And I am grateful beyond words for JV — as an amazing woman — and for the friendship she had with my mother.

I needed to talk with JV about the issue of what my mother says in her letters about her.  JV very reasonably said, “I have to see what she said about me.”  I assured JV as I go through my next edit I will pull out all the references to her and to her family my mother makes and print a copy to send to her.  JV, out of all people on earth, knows exactly the entire context for the entire story of my mother, and probably knew her better than anyone ever did.

JV and I made an appointment for a telephone visit a week from this Saturday, on the 17th of July.  She would have spoken to me this coming Saturday, but I have to prepare myself for this conversation.  JV is not a writer, but she wants to tell me what she knows.  I will be sitting at my computer and will document everything that JV has to say.

JV is the last person, other than the hospital personnel in the emergency, to speak to my mother before her death.

Here is one thing JV told me tonight that will give you an idea of the kinds of things JV knows and wishes to tell me about my mother.  Long after I had left home, after my mother and father’s divorce, my mother had rented a very expensive two bedroom apartment that was beyond her means to keep.  She charged all kinds of expensive furnishings for it, even though both JV and her husband tried (as they did probably hundreds and hundreds of times during the years they knew my mother — 1957 to 2002) to warn Mildred about her actions — to no avail.

During this period Mildred was becoming increasingly paranoid of her grown children, JV says, until it reached the point that my mother wrote “666” on her forehead and on her hands “to protect herself from the devil and from her children because the devil had taken them from her.”

When I talk, as I did in my earlier post today about the seriousness of Borderline Personality Disorder, I am thinking about how even this one single action of my mother’s had roots in the entire spectrum of illness that had swallowed my mother whole from the time she was a little, little girl.

JV told me tonight that many times she knew there were things mother was doing with her children (meaning in particular with me) that were terribly, terribly WRONG.  There was no talk of ‘reporting’ abusive parents to authorities back then in the late 50s-early 60s.  JV did her best to intervene, and talked with my mother — and every time this happened my mother broke off contact with JV for a long, long time.

JV wants to tell me these stories.  I think in the year that has passed since last summer when she and I and my youngest brother visited, at which time I gave JV the ‘handle’ on my mother that Mildred was not simply ‘eccentric’ but was severely abusive and severely mentally ill — JV has been thinking about our family’s situation.  She wants to help us to heal, and I explained to her tonight that the potential for healing with this story is far greater than ‘just’ for the Lloyd family children.

When I mentioned earlier today in a post about the dream I had last night about fighting the good fight and causing no harm or hurt, I mentioned San Miguel, or Saint Michael as well as the Cherub image regarding the combined image of the bull and the lion that relates to guarding the gates — of truth.

St. Michael, in Catholic belief, leads the Army of Light against the Army of Darkness.  The story at the link I posted earlier about St. Michael (San Miguel) is a fascinating one — and is specifically about healing.

My mother’s story, and my and my siblings’ stories as her offspring, carry within them the seeds of healing because they present the potential of harm the absence of the ‘light’ creates.  My mother’s mind was dark, no matter how bubbly, vivacious, creative, determined, etc. she might have appeared to others.  JV knows the truth about my mother.  My mother – also – shared with JV (as perhaps the only human being she ever did so with) the awful, dark truth about her own horrific childhood.  It is very possible that JV wishes to share some of those stories with me as well.

I feel like a vessel.  I feel like a tool.  I feel like a conduit or a channel for a story that resonates with others who suffered severe, unbelievably severe child abuse.  But it is NOT just the story that matters, in spite of all the words that the story is crafted from.  What matters are the patterns that exist within the story — and it is my part, my job, my mission, my responsibility, and my greatest hope that I will be able to FIND, identify and clearly point to these patterns in my mother’s life.

Borderline Personality Disorder IS ABOUT PATTERNS.  We can call these patterns symptoms – but they are, to me, so much more than that.  These patterns are the outward signs of an evolutionarily altered being (as Dr. Martin Teicher and his research group describe).  Although Teicher, et. al. do not specifically point to or even mention BPD, I personally believe that in cases as severe as my mother’s was, the signs, the patterns are clearly visible.  My mother was a gifted child, whose body-brain-mind-self was formed within an early environment that was hazardous to her health — and changed her development so that she ended up becoming an entirely different person than who she would have become if her needs had been met from birth.

I am grateful for the gift that JV is going to give me – give us.  I have to prepare for this interview conversation with her.  Any of you readers who understand what I am presenting here and wish to offer prayers that this work be done well and reach those who can be helped to heal from it — thank you!

We are doing battle with the darkness, though I will not call it evil.  We are talking about dis-ease here — and one that we need as much information about as possible.  Mine is an information and fact-finding mission.  Mercy!  I even have to wish myself well on what is coming up next!

I believe there is a constellation of patterns with the severely abusive Borderline psyche-body-mind that can be identified, and I believe the comprehensive story of my mother’s holds a vitally important key that can unlock the mystery behind ‘splitting-projecting’ severely abusive parents.  I am looking for the patterns and I am looking for this key.  I am looking.  I am looking.  I am looking……

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

+’FREE OF ALL ARCHETYPES’ = ‘DISSOCIATION WITHOUT HAVING AN IDENTITY’

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

I have not escaped thinking about some information I posted yesterday in two different posts.  Some of that information was about Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and some was about the human psychological archetypes.  I need to take a minute and tie these two batches of information together from my perspective as a survivor of terrible and long-term infant-child abuse.

Kristalyn Salters-Pedneault, PhD says about BPD that ‘splitting’ is ‘very common’ among people with this disorder.   She is talking about my mother.

Splitting is very common in people with borderline personality disorder (BPD), and it leads people with BPD to view others and themselves in “all or nothing” terms. For example, a person with BPD may view one family member as always “good” and another as always “bad.” Or, a person with BPD may see themselves as “good” one minute, but shift to seeing themselves as all “bad” or even evil the next.”

When Joshua David Stone writes in his book, Soul Psychology: How to Clear Negative Emotions and Spiritualize Your Life that

The true self-realized being uses this archetype as its main theme but is not identified with it; such a self-realized being lives in a state of consciousness as the Fair Witness or Observer, free of all archetypes.” (page 263)

he is writing about me.

++++

While the psychologist Carl Jung’s writing about human psychological archetypes is far too complex to describe in this post, it is enough to know that seldom does any human being escape the operation of one or more of these archetypal psychological patterns from operating in their ‘psyche’ at any given moment.

Around the time of our birth is one of ‘those times’ when archetypes are NOT playing their roles across the dramatic expression of our life.  Obviously, we have to grow a body-brain before we can DO much of anything.  It is during the earliest months and years of our lifetime that we grow and develop the physiological circuitry and pathways in our body-brain that we will use to express our self for the rest of our lifetime.

When Stone talks about this Fair Witness-Observer NON-archetype he is describing a state that I believe we are born into.  From that point we develop our body-brain that will eventually be able to express a self along with all the complexities of life that a self is capable of.

Yet, when severe abuse like my mother did to me happens – exactly BECAUSE she had SPLITTING so entrenched within her own physiological body-brain-mind-self – I as her victim did NOT get to develop my own body-brain-mind-self as I would have done had I not been forced to grow up within such an unbelievably toxic environment.

We have all seen film footage from one story or another where someone breaks through a brick wall and finds within it human bones.  Dead or alive?  Yet I KNOW because I have psychologically been there that growing up with a BPD parent who has no choice but to SPLIT their entire world into insane patterns related to GOOD versus BAD results in our own psychology being sealed behind a massive brick wall.

Brick by insane brick my mother severed my own connection with myself in interaction with the world every step throughout my infant-childhood.  As a result I DID NOT get to move off of my born-into condition of being at dead center without any psychological archetypes of my own!  I stayed, as I described yesterday, in that place-of-psychological-origin:  Being an Observer-Fair Witness which by definition MEANS there are no archetypes present.

++++

The Wickipedia entry for Carl Jung and archetypes lists the following:

++

Jung outlined five main archetypes;

  • The Self, the regulating center of the psyche and facilitator of individuation
  • The Shadow, the opposite of the ego image, often containing qualities that the ego does not identify with but possesses nonetheless
  • The Anima, the feminine image in a man’s psyche; or:
  • The Animus, the masculine image in a woman’s psyche
  • The Persona, how we present to the world, usually protects the Ego from negative images (acts like a mask)

Although the number of archetypes is limitless, there are a few particularly notable, recurring archetypal images:

++

Yes, there ARE more, and the exist within the human psychological realm like constellations of stars in the sky.  They ‘come into being’ when certain human patterns of  feeling, thought and action repeat themselves TOGETHER within a psychological constellation that is recognizable enough to be named.

OR – they do not.

I bring this up today in part because I had a very bad sleepless night last night.  I could not name exactly what triggered my ‘state of being’ THE ONE WHO CRIES AND DOES NOT SLEEP.  Yet I also know that what was triggered resulted in me tumbling into this one of my ‘nameless identities’ that is part of what is called my Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID).

Because my mother had such control over me and my life, I was not allowed to develop ANY identity during the first years of my life.  The physiological circuitry and pathways did not develop within me that would have allowed even ONE solitary LINDA to come forth.  I was always, consistently and overwhelmingly the CONTAINER for my mother’s BAD split-off self.

The first step as I understand it that a human being takes from birth to becoming a self with identity is to have its FEELING states recognized by its caregivers and mirrored back to it.  These early interactions BUILD the circuitry and pathways within the body-brain that allow a fully developed psychologically whole human to develop so that the human archetypal patterns of existence can go out into the world, interact, and form an individual’s life.

When that doesn’t happen, like in my case, something ELSE happens instead – and that something else has at its core the same non-archetype Fair Witness-Observer state that we are born with.  I believe that if ‘experts’ took a good, long look the roots of Dissociative Identity Disorder this alternative pattern of ‘being a person’ would become clear.

How this infant-child abuse pattern leads to DID for people who ACTUALLY have separate, definable identities operating is well beyond me to understand.  That is NOT my condition.  I simply dissolve into a non-identity state that is primarily unnameable EMOTION like I did last night without any clear and definable identity to process it.

My part in the ‘mess’ is to find ways as soon as I can to ‘pull myself out of it’.  Much of the abuse and horror of my childhood happened at night (and this is especially true because during the years we lived in Alaska ‘nighttime’ itself has a different meaning because of the extremes in daylight hour shifts).  But also because my mother’s insane splitting-related abuse of me happened from the time I was born, when laying down was ALL I could do – the laying down trigger is perhaps the most ancient one I suffer from when something happens that causes me to ‘dissolve-dissociate-disorganize-disorient’.

(This state is also tied for me to the thousands upon thousands of hours of being made to lay in my bed, alone, immobilized and unable to escape or to ‘do’ anything throughout my entire childhood — but suffer and usually — not sleep.)

This is all I want to say about this today.  It is not laying down time now, and there are things now that I need to do now in the daylight.

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

+WHAT MY MOTHER FORGOT TO WRITE IN HER NOVEMBER 1957 LETTERS

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

This is what my mother forgot to say in her letters to her mother in November of 1957, two months after my sixth birthday when I was in the first grade.  She forgot to tell her mother that she had beat her skinny little daughter so hard that she could barely stand up and until it really hurt her to sit down.

She forgot to say that she left bleeding gashes in her little girl’s arm from digging her sharp fingernails into her skin as she dragged her around the kitchen while she beat her with her other fist.  She forgot to say that she slapped her face so hard it made her little girl’s nose bleed all over her crying face and into her mouth.  She forgot to say that she screamed her rage so loudly that if there had been any neighbors in hearing range maybe they would have come racing through the woods to see what all the terrible noise was about.

She forgot to say that she propped her little girl on the tall kitchen stool in the dark back hall and made her sit there while she returned to the kitchen to make everyone else some supper.  She forgot to say that the rest of the family ate all that good smelling food but Linda didn’t get any.  She forgot to say that Linda was ignored by everyone, even her father, not only during supper, but for all the time the dishes were being washed and the others watched TV and then went to happily off to bed after all the lights were turned off.

She forgot to say that her firstborn little girl spent the whole night awake even though she was very tired, sitting on that stool.  She forgot to say that her little girl’s stomach hurt very much, not because she was still so hungry, but because the terror stayed in there growing and growing and growing.

She forgot to say that her little girl needed to go to the bathroom but stayed frozen on that stool, terrified to move because she had been told to SIT THERE OR ELSE.

She forgot to say that she was a stupid, evil, very mean mother for buying a little girl who traveled more than two hours a day on a filthy Alaskan school bus some city girl’s turquoise jacket with white fake fur ruffs on the sleeves and around the bottom edges and inside the hood.  She forgot to say that it was IMPOSSIBLE for this little girl to find a way to keep this jacket clean but that didn’t matter and nobody told Linda THAT.

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