Sequence

Photo Credit: LHC

My household consists of 3 adults, 4 children, a dog, and several rabbits. Because of this, visitors to my home find it hard to believe I enjoy a sense of order in my life but I do.  I refuse to read a book series unless I start at the beginning. Ironically I find it frustrating when the author will attempt to catch the reader up with each book in the series. I feel it is a waste of time and if the reader wanted to know what happened previously, they would start with the first book. Do not get me started on soundtracks for movies. Songs should appear on the soundtrack in the same order they do in the movie. I have several soundtracks I have reordered on my playlists to fit the movie. There are only a few other spaces in my life where I hold on to a sense of balance and consistency. Any other annoyances about order were blown to bits when I had kids.

I was looking through previous posts and noticed they seemed random and out of order. It bothered me for about 5 minutes, and then I realized recovery is not an orderly process. There is not a check-off sheet or a list of guidelines. Most people I know are very disappointed in this. They want the checkoff sheet, something to tell them what phases they will go through, in what order, and a time frame. As unfair as it is, recovery does not work that way.

If you have seen preschool artwork or remember your own, there is always at least one piece of artwork with several squiggly lines in multiple colors. I came across a drawing my son did in preschool last week. It is difficult to spot the beginning and end. This is recovery.

I have met several people with OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder), some were abused and others were not. As a survivor, this makes sense to me. When the abuse was happening everything was out of order and felt chaotic. It is easy to see how an overdeveloped need for order in regular life can happen. Control is essential.

Recovery will move you forward, backward, and side to side. It is never in a straight line. There will be side roads, ditches, holes in the road, hills, and valleys. Your perspective on what you are going through will change and very often will bounce back and forth. There are times I go backward and fall into the same ditches over and over. Eventually I will not fall into the ditch or valley when I get pushed back or if I do, I will remember the steps to get out.

Every new memory or a details in a previous memory has the potential to push me a little backward and off to the side. If I take the time to recognize what is happening, I can just take a couple of steps back and move forward again. Sometimes I am blown back by a hurricane force wind, have to figure out where I landed, and crawl forward. Telling you how long it took my therapist and friends to convince me this is normal will prove how single-minded we can become and how immersed we get in the moment rather than the big picture. It is a constant struggle and I have been all over the place since I was a teenager.

My posts are not in an orderly progression. I have not gone from rock bottom to where I am today in a logical, systematic fashion. The posts represent my very real recovery path; up, down, around curves, and upside down, similar to a roller coaster. There are times it is unpredictable with a side of chaos.

I do not tell you this to discourage those traveling with me. I want to convey that you are not alone in the journey and your journey is personal and normal. I encourage you to take it in stride, realize it is tough but not impossible. The positive changes will start to show themselves and there is always hope. Encouragement, hope, and faith have gotten me this far and will continue to push me to where God wants me to be.

Then you would trust, because there is hope; And you would look around and rest securely. Job 11:18

Longest Flashback Ever

Say to those with anxious heart, “Take courage, fear not. Behold, your God will come with vengeance; The recompense of God will come, But He will save you.” Isaiah 35:4

Not all flashbacks are over in the same day. I discovered this the hard way and experienced a 3-day flashback.

A few weeks ago I cracked two teeth, one on the top and the one right under it. My dentist referred me to an endodontist, who diagnosed the cracks. Much to my surprise he said I needed a root canal and planned to do it right then. I contemplated scheduling it for later but it would be a week or so, my teeth ached badly, and I did not want to have to think about it too long.

If you have had a root canal, you are probably familiar with the device the used to isolate the tooth and keep the mouth open. After the 2nd dose of anesthesia (my body resists local anesthesia) I put in my headphones, cranked up the music, and started to pray. The doctor told me to raise my hand if I was uncomfortable. Funny guy. The whole process is uncomfortable. I only raised my hand once and received another shot of anesthesia.

Before the start of the root canal a contraption with a clamp was put on my offending tooth. It was attached to this blue foam thing and put in my mouth, holding it open. Foam rimmed glasses were then put over my eyes and I was told to relax. Again, funny guy.

It was at that moment I started to panic. I really could not close my mouth and my jaw started to ache. Flashback. The pain in my jaw and not being able to close my mouth threw me back to the age of 4, one of the times I was forced into oral sex. I was the little girl kneeling on shag carpet in front of a naked man on a metal fold-out chair. I felt the tears in my eyes from gagging and fear. I remembered wanting my abuser to hurry so I could get away. I heard his friend laughing.

As I sat in the dental chair, remembering the above, I focused on breathing through my nose. I put my hands behind my back to keep from lashing out in the midst of the flashback. I tried folding myself in over and over inside, trying to disappear. I never managed to completely dissociate due to noise. When the root canal was finished and all instruments removed my body was shaking and I could barely speak. The staff was asking if I was okay and I was fighting to say yes. I left the office quietly.

Prior to this, my last “body” memory was over a year ago. I felt the above memory the rest of the day. The constant ache kept bringing me back into the flashback and I could not escape. Relaxation of any kind was impossible. I stumbled through the rest of my day, going through the motions of dinner and church. I did cry a little at the end of Bible study and when I went to bed that night, I cried myself to sleep. I lost focus and fell into flashback head first.

Unfortunately when I woke up in the morning my jaw still ached and my mind immediately went to the flashback. It was only 6:30 am and I felt defeated. I slept a good part of the morning and finally poured myself out of bed around 10 am. I decided to work on a project that required a concentrated effort on organization and cleaning. For the most part this worked. When the anti-inflammatories wore off, the pain would return, as would the flashback. By 8 pm my brain was fried and my body exhausted.

At day 3 of the flashback I accomplished essentially nothing except a draft of this post. I started writing in the hopes it would help and it did to an extent; the jaw pain was still there. The pain was a constant reminder of the flashback. I could not shake it. I suspect my lack of energy and function had something to do with the depression but I sat still and did not run from the memory. I let it have its day.

My reactions to the flashback were varied and pretty normal I believe. I went from managing it in the endodontist office, being in shock, distracting myself as much as possible, getting stuck in the depression, and pulling back into reality.

There is an underlying difference with this flashback. Just below the surface I had a realistic expectation. I knew it would be better in the next few days. I was eventually able to put the flashback in the proper place. I will not forget but the emotional overload dispersed. I have described emotional tidal waves in previous posts and this was another example.

In a couple of weeks I will return to the endodontist. I now know what to expect and am confident my experience will be different. I have no doubt I will be reminded of the flashback and the pain will return, but when it does I will be ready. I do not anticipate any surprises, as I have had the flashback and the dental procedure will be somewhat familiar. Most importantly, I know the memories overall will not permanently bring me down. My reactions are temporary and the bigger picture God has for me is brighter.

For right now, I am going to pray and ask others to pray for me. One of the best parts of having friends and a support system grounded in faith is the prayer. When I cannot get the words out of my mouth, they can do it for me. Nothing in my past can defeat prayer.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. Philippians 4:6

Opportunities

The emergency room of a trauma center has the potential to teach a lot of life lessons. Several years ago I was a patient care representative in a level 1 trauma center, working the midnight shift. A patient care representative was there to help make sure patients were fairly calm, orchestrate transportation from the ER to home if needed, support family members of trauma patients, and provide emotional/practical support for family members of deceased patients. It was a tough job and I was ill prepared for it. I eventually became better at it and held the job for almost 3 years. I chose to move into a 9-to-5 job when I realized compassion gave way to obligation. A few co-workers had been labeled “I don’t care reps” and I was approaching that point, according to a couple of attending physicians.

It has been over 15 years since I left that job. There are patients and situations I do not believe I will ever forget. Outside of my abuse, the job gave me a clear view of tragedy. I saw people at their worst and others at their best. I could easily spend hours telling emergency room stories, but there is one story that affected me the most.

During my last year on the job and young suicidal man came into the ER. Several people had come through for suicidal thoughts but this was different. The physician asked me to find the man’s family or anyone I could let know he was there. I went into the exam room and introduced myself. He could not have been more than 24. He spoke quietly and told me there was no one to contact. I left the room telling him to let me know if he changed his mind.

Within 30 minutes the ER physician pulled me aside. I was now needed to find the patient’s family more urgently. The man was suicidal because he was sexually abused as a child and recently discovered his younger brother had been abused by the same man. He was suicidal because he felt responsible. Time seemed to move in slow motion. My mind went blank and I desperately tried to figure out what I was going to say.

During that time I was back in therapy, this time with a new therapist. There was a 4-year break between therapists and I was still skimming the surface with this one. Skimming the surface maybe the wrong description. It was more like establishing a trust and trying to figure out which direction I was headed. I was wrestling with my own guilt, shame, and memories and emotions went into panic mode almost immediately as I headed to the exam room.

The patient was crying; his baseball cap was over his face. Tears immediately filled my eyes. Over time I had learned to stay objective and not cry, but there was no objectivity here. I felt his pain so deeply and could not hide it. Not only that, I did not want to hide it. He needed to know he was not alone.

I sat still and waited for him to speak. He managed to give me the name of a friend to call. My chest hurt as I explained we had to get the police involved; there had to be report. I stayed in the corner of the room as the police asked him questions. His affect was flat and voice monotone. When the officers left his room, I left also simply because the resident psychiatrist came in.

I paced around the ER trying to decide what to do. I really wanted this man to know it was not his fault; he is not responsible for the actions of the abuser. I understood the shame he felt already but to feel guilt for what happened to his younger brother had to be incredible. My thoughts were scattered as I weighed my options. Would I just walk away and put him out of my mind, was it an option, or would I find a way to help? I ultimately ended up hiding in a quiet office just outside the ER and writing a letter. I told him how it was never his fault, he was brave for asking for help, and that he needed to live for himself and his younger brother. The letter was about 2 pages handwritten and I am not sure of everything I said. When I was done, I folded it up, walked back into his room, and placed it in his hand. I told him I hoped it helped and walked out. He was eventually admitted to the behavioral health floor and I never heard another word about him, which was not unusual. I often did not know what happened to patients once they left the ER.

You may wonder what my point might be. It is this; we never know when the opportunity to share with someone will present itself. Have you been comforted by someone saying they understand and know what it is like to be abused? Even if you never see or hear from the person again, they will know they are not alone. It is tragic so many men and women are victims of someone else’s twisted mindset, but the statistics are there. Despite knowing 1 and 3 women have been abused, it still feels lonely. We are the only ones who can speak up for each other. All the individual therapy in the world will not take away the sense of isolation. We need each other. Group therapy, forums, and support groups are necessary.

Like I mentioned, I never saw or heard about that man in the ER again. My letter was not meant to save his life or pat my ego. It was simply to let him know he was not alone. It may have not had any impact on his life or it may have planted a seed, however tiny, that there is hope. There is hope.

Better Left in the Dark?

I am a “jumpy” person. If a person enters a room quietly, without my being aware, and then speaks, I will startle and most certainly scream. Generally if anything jumps out at me, I will scream and either run or attack. As such, haunted houses are not my cup of tea. I have never understood the appeal of purposely being scared. I imagine it is because I have already been scared and attacked in my own haunted houses. My memory also feels like a haunted space.

My brain has released moments and details of abuse over a long period of time. I went from knowing “something” happened to having detailed recollections. Once I realized the abuse happened on more than one occasion I declared I did not want any other information and certainly was not interested in the details. I was sure the details would completely destroy my life and I would end up as a permanent resident in a psych facility. Overdramatic? Maybe, but it certainly feels that way. I have never met an abuse survivor giddy at the prospect of remembering all the details of the abuse.

My abuse memories came to the surface a little at a time for many years. I resisted them and tried to deny their existence. I have mentioned before that I was flooded with so many details of several abusive situations over a 3 to 4 month period. To say it was awful is an understatement. I was crushed under the wave and was not sure I had or wanted the strength to move forward. I was self-destructive and suicidal at the lowest point. The seemingly contradictory part of all this is remembering the details has probably saved me.

Before the details came I was in a constant state of searching. As much as I did not want the memories, I knew they were there, lurking. I was fearful of them and wondering when they would hit. It felt the same as standing at the front door of a haunted house, waiting for the push to walk in and face what I feared the most.

Here are some things that happened when my memories showed themselves.

I no longer lived in fear of the unknown.  Within a 6 month time frame I had so much information and detail. I was emotionally drained but the pictures were clearer and I did not have to try and guess what happened. Sights, sounds, and feelings were there, no longer hiding out in the spiderweb sections of memory. I no longer had to fear the details and speculate about how I would deal with them. I survived it. The unknown is no longer haunting me.

I learned to ask for help. I shared all the written stories with my therapist and parts of them with my group. I needed to admit I was not strong enough to handle the mess on my own. I took a risk by sharing my story and accepting encouragement. I learned there were trustworthy people who understood exactly what I was feeling. I no longer felt alone and separated from the rest of the human race. I was gently asked to seek God’s perspective and ask him for wisdom.

My sense of impending doom went away. The anticipation of certain disaster essentially disappeared. The burdens of worry and panic over memories retrieved and new memories subsided. At this point whatever I remember now cannot possibly be any worse than what I have already remembered. While in therapy one week I had a new memory surface and it was actually with a different abuser. It happened one time when I was 4 and involved one of my friends and her father. The memory hurt and I was visibly upset, but I was able to calm myself and put it in perspective. For the first time in a very long time I was able to separate my childhood and adult self. This did not stir up a sense of ruin. I am not downplaying the memory. My reaction just reflects the work I have done in the last couple of years and the way God has changed my life.

There are some survivors who will never get some or all of the details. They will know it happened and will still work hard to recover. How do you lessen the sense of impending doom? How do you let go of what you do not remember and recover from what you do know? Details of the abuse do not affect the recovery. The impact on my life is the same regardless of detail recall. I continue to struggle with self-esteem, forgiving myself, sex, trust, intimacy, self-abuse, and control. I cannot answer the question of why some end up with details and I am not sure whether the release is directed by God. It occurs to me that the devil might have something to do with it. My flood of details could have been orchestrated by him. I could have easily succumbed to the depression, turned suicidal thoughts into action, and turned my back on God. Through God’s power to heal, I did none of those things.

If we concentrate on the impact on our life and heal, the details are not as important. All of the above that came about as a result of my remembering needed to happen either way. I still needed to learn to ask for help, let go of an impending sense of doom and live in the moment, and especially learn to let go of the unknown. I am a very stubborn person and my lessons come the hard way. I heard a pastor say, “God gives us the test and then we learn the lesson.” His statement hit my heart because I know how true this is in my life. I believe God gave me the details because I was so resistant and refused to see what he was trying to teach me about recovery.