I first had an inkling that my father didn’t treat me right when I was a teenager. It has taken me about 20 years to finally see that he is an evil man. In fact, now I find the word “evil” doesn’t feel strong enough. I don’t know if there are words to adequately describe my father. Here are a few I’ve come up with: evil, wrong, manipulative, calculating, terrorising, abusive, criminal, hater, rapist, selfish, cold, conniving, rejecting, mean, dangerous, demoralising, hard, depraved, toxic.

Even all those words together don’t feel strong enough.

The man who contributed the sperm never really wanted children and he strongly objected to having a female child, so I was rejected and hated the moment I was born. My father never did anything purely for my benefit; there were things he did for me, but only when it resulted in a direct benefit to himself. In a nutshell, he provided the basic tangible necessities of life: he had stable employment, we had a nice house, adequate food, clothing and education. This made him look like a father providing well for his family, but he gave nothing more … it was all superficial.

Inside our nice house, everyone was terrified of him. He ruled over us like a dictator. It was impossible to feel at ease, experience a sense of freedom and joy, or express a personal opinion. He had a million rules; I was always wrong while he was always right; he expected perfection and was physically and verbally abusive when I failed to meet his expectations. He trained me to be a robot, mindlessly following his rules. I had no sense of myself and very little understanding of the wider world. Occasionally he praised me, but only as a means to denigrate my brother or to imply to others that he was a successful parent. He tortured and terrorised me. He isolated me from society. He physically, sexually and emotionally abused me. He let others sexually abuse me. He neglected my health, physically and mentally. He continuously gave me the message that I was a burden to him, I was worthless.  He brainwashed me into believing that he was loving and the rest of the world was dangerous, when in fact it was the other way around.

How do I know that my father is evil and not just damaged from his own childhood abuse?

I know he is evil because he has never shown any remorse for any of his terrible acts; he continues to blame others and excuse himself. And I know he is evil because none of his behaviour happened in the midst of overwhelming emotion or out of ignorance. A damaged person might have anger issues and be angry indiscriminately because they do not know how to control their emotions. My father never lost control, never became rageful. He belted me often, and he did it with anger, but it was controlled and calculated. My father also definitely knew right from wrong. Whenever we were in public, he acted differently; when he was dating women, he knew how to treat them well. He definitely understood that certain behaviour is expected in our society and he knew how to conform to those expectations. When he wanted to be seen as ‘good’, he chose to behave in a respectable manner; when he was hidden from view, he chose something else.

My father purposefully chose to hurt me. It made him feel good, to make me feel bad. He liked the feeling of power and control, and the more terrified I was, the more he got out of it. He gained pleasure from my pain. This was a conscious, calculated choice that he made consistently from the moment I was born until several years after he told me to leave his house. He only stopped hurting me when I stopped having a relationship with him.

My father is an evil man.

During my crisis a couple of months back, M kept telling me that he was sure I was on the brink of a major breakthrough. Well, he was right! I have found my Self! What I mean is, I now understand how my inner system was created in the first place and that I have two original parts. One part, Mary, holds all the good, positive, loving stuff we got from our mother during our first 7 years of life. The other part, Ada, is the part who lived with abuse and split into many other parts to cope with it.

We’ve known Ada for many years, but only recently have we learned that she is the original ‘me’. Until recent weeks, she has been stuck at 13 years of age and much of this years crisis has been due to her struggle to come out, to be seen and heard. She has wanted it so badly, but due to fears and false beliefs, was unable to simply do it. So, she acted out, as one would expect any teenager to do … her behaviour screamed “help me”, but at the same time she pushed people away. Ada is now working with us in therapy and has grown beyond 13 years of age. She has accepted that she created many parts in order to cope with severe trauma and has no trouble accepting that the trauma happened to her (which I, the host, am still struggling with).

I have come to accept that I am a part of Ada and we are working together more often. Ada feels like she is in a time warp, having lost the last 23 years of life, so she is slowly working on accepting the life that I have created. Meanwhile, I am slowly accepting that I am not the whole person, or even the ‘major’ part. I know that our gradual acceptance of each other and our ability to work together more and more means that we are working on integrating. I am less afraid of that now than I was a few weeks ago. I know now that I’m not going to disappear.

It is amazing to watch Ada. In many respects she is like me, yet she is so much fuller than I am. I’ve been stressing for months over the question “Who am I?”, and now I can connect with Ada and know that I am Ada. And Ada is so much more than I realised a person could be. She knows who she is; she owns her life, whether it is pleasant or not; she connects with her history; she connects with her emotions; and she wants to make a life in the present and future. Ada is real in a way that I could never grasp, despite all the work I’ve done. And that’s okay, because I know I am part of her and one day I will be fully connected with her and become real too.

It is so strange to write about separate parts while at the same time knowing that we are One. I write about Ada and myself as separate entities, and at the same time, I know that I am Ada. There simply isn’t language for this. I hope that you will be able to understand. This is an amazing (even if scary and difficult) process to be going through. I hope that my words are adequate to share it.

Faith Allen recently posted this fantastic video on her blog and it was so helpful to me, that I just want to share it with everyone.

My therapist recommended that watch the following video. I think this explains my "breakdown" and what is going on with me now. I find the video to be both empowering and scary because I see vulnerability as that "vile 'V' word." I am grateful that I have finally found a resource (outside of my therapist) to explain this "confused" time that I have been going through. … Read More

via Blooming Lotus

I just want to let my regular readers, and others, know how I am and why I’ve been away for the past 2 months.

You may know that this year has been a bit of a rollercoaster ride. It kind of feels like I’ve been in a 6 month-long crisis, although I do know there have been okay times here and there. The past 2 months have been extremely intense: I have often felt suicidal and have been in hospital twice. My psychologist, M, always believes that these experiences mean I am on the brink of a major breakthrough in my healing, and his optimism has helped me continue the fight.

At this time, I think M may be right. We have recently learned what was behind the crisis and have a better understanding of one of our teenage parts. She has desperately wanted to be seen and heard, but also held great fear of that. Now she has finally spoken and agreed to work with us and stop the destructive behaviour. Although still difficult, things are much calmer now.

There’s also been talk about me, the host, integrating. An inner wise part believes this is the next step and is required before we can work on healing more trauma. I don’t understand this exactly, and it is scary for me, but I accept her wisdom and am following her advice to achieve this goal.

Overall, I’m trying to take it easy as much as possible. One of the factors which contributed to the crisis was doing way too much for others and not spending time listening to or looking after myself. So, I’m concentrating on doing less and having more quiet time. For this reason, I won’t be blogging nearly as much as I was previously. I hope to be able to come back to it with loads of energy one day soon.

Wishing you peace on your own journeys,

Dawn

Several months ago, my therapist, J, offered to hug me. I was surprised and scared, but I also knew that I really needed it. As an abuse survivor, I have big issues with touch. At the same time, when I’m talking about my past and feeling awful, I feel a great need for comfort. This is a dilemma that I have been working on with J this year.

The first thing I did was lots of research and soul-searching. I was very concerned about boundaries and my tendency to get overly attached and dependant on female therapists (due to the loss of my mother in early childhood). There were many therapy sessions devoted to this topic, so there was definitely open discussion with J. After a couple of months, I decided that my discomfort with touch is an effect of abuse and it needs healing, just like my other difficulties. Then J, and my psychologist, M, spent several sessions educating me about attachment theory and discussing how we would work to avoid me becoming dependant on J. Eventually I decided that it was the right thing for me to include safe touch in therapy (only with J, who is female, not M).

The first thing we did was discuss boundaries and how we could make touch safe for me. We explored the diameter of my personal space and did exercises where I controlled J coming into and leaving my personal space. Gradually I felt more comfortable with J being near me and we began to hold hands at times when I needed comforting. I really wanted a hug, but was still afraid for many weeks. We continued to discuss how I felt about touch and any dependency feelings that began to develop – we dealt with those before they grew too big. Then one day I just knew I was ready and I asked J for a hug. I cried when J held me. I hadn’t cried very much in her presence yet, so it was strange for me to do so. I think I finally felt supported enough to let go, and I remember feeling a sense of relief.

Hugs, and other safe touch, are normal human behaviour and I believe necessary for our well-being. As an abuse survivor who struggles with any kind of touch, I miss out on that nurturing, soothing comfort and the connection with another human being. Now I am working to change that. J and I share hugs regularly now. Recently I have experienced grief over my mother’s death (29 years overdue) and J has held me as I cried – something I didn’t get as a child. I NEEDED that.

Many people come to my blog wondering if it’s okay for therapists to hug them.  It is my opinion that so long as both you and your therapist are comfortable with it and it remains “safe” (ie not sexual, not forced/expected, etc) then it can aid your healing. If your therapist is male and you are female, I would be very careful. If you are dissociative, please check in with your parts thoroughly beforehand to help avoid triggering. I’m really glad that I took my time exploring the possibility of including touch in my therapy, rather than accepting the offer of comfort immediately.

I now believe that hugs and safe touch are an essential part of my healing. I have made an informed and well-considered decision in conjunction with my therapist. I practice safe touch with J and aim to include safe touch in other relationships over time. My main goal at the moment is to remain present (not dissociate) when hugging friends, my kids and my husband.

I welcome any questions, just please remember that I am no expert and can only comment on my personal experience.

It’s been a while since I last posted. In my last post, I had organised to see the psychiatrist the following Monday (30th May). The plan was to get some meds, but she decided to put me in the hospital instead. In a word, it was horrendous!

Psych hospitals in Australia simply do not cater for people with trauma histories. The only treatment available is medication (which I guess is fine if you are unstable and need your meds adjusted), or in the case of feeling suicidal, it is a place to be ‘safe’. Well, that’s what they kept telling me. Actually, the place was so far from safe, I honestly would have been safer at home with my suicidal feelings. There was zero treatment for me because none of the staff ever had time to spend with patients. Though even if they did, they obviously lacked understanding of  PTSD and dissociative symptoms, and hadn’t even any basic skills in grounding or containment. I didn’t once think about hurting myself while in the hospital because I spent the entire time trying to survive an extremely unsafe environment. I was triggered constantly and re-traumatised on several occasions.

After the danger day, June 1, I was released. Since then I have been trying to deal with the depression, all the regular stresses of life, and the trauma of being in the hospital. I am not functioning very well, though some days are better than others. My husband is getting very stressed with seeing me go through all this (and feeling helpless to help me) as well as having to do a whole lot more at home and with the kids because I am so easily overwhelmed.

On the plus side (wow, how can I see a plus?) my relationship with M has improved. I was having big trust issues with him, but during the crisis I was so desperate that I did call him and have a session with him and he was very supportive and helpful (J was away sick). So I kind of just had to trust him and he was there for me, REALLY there for me, and now I feel better about my relationship with him. Not all fixed, but better.

Tomorrow I see both M and J again, which hasn’t happened in a while due to sickness and holidays. Actually, I haven’t walked into a session with both of them and felt positive about it for months. I guess I am feeling a little hopeful … and not suicidal, so that must be progress.

Earlier today I felt VERY desperate for something to change. I really wanted the emotions to just GO AWAY! When I found myself making suicide plans, I tried so hard to think of something else that might help. I phoned my therapist and asked him if I could get an emergency appointment with the psychiatrist. I told him that I really, really, really want some medication that will stop these emotions. I told him I was going to kill myself if I can’t get some medication because I can’t stand these emotions any longer. He told me that there is usually a 5-6 week wait to see the psychiatrist and I pointed out that if I was in the hospital I would get to see one straight away. He knows how much hospital scares me, so he pulled some strings and got me an appointment for Monday. I’m also having an extra session with him tomorrow.

I felt the pressure lifting immediately and right now I feel a lot better than I did this morning. I’m not silly enough to think that it’s all okay now though; I know I can slip back into that place so easily. I have been there a couple of times over the past few weeks already. But I promised him that I’ll be safe over the weekend. If the psychiatrist doesn’t give me some meds, I don’t know what will happen. Possibly they will put me in the hospital to keep me safe while June rolls around because the planned suicide date has been June 1, to coincide with the anniversary of my mother’s death.

It’s not about what happened … it’s about the person I’ve become. A person with emotional dysfunction. Persistent numbness, occasionally interrupted by extremes of anger and despair, with a constant undercurrent of fear and sadness. A life without feelings of joy or love. Aloneness caused by emotional disconnect from others. Disconnection from my own self, through dissociation and splitting. Distrust of myself, others and the world.

My life has been lived in shadow and silence, hiding from all, including myself. Therapy has often been about getting to know myself and my history, accepting and believing. And most recently, about acknowledging and feeling my emotions. My emotions, it seems, consist of sadness, anger, fear, shame, loneliness, pain, hate, hopelessness, grief and despair; a package no-one would knowingly open. I wish I never opened it.

Today I wish to die. I am tired of trying to find something that does not exist. I regret opening myself. I am disgusted by the anger and hatred I have found inside of me. I am no longer able to control my emotions, hurting others with regular angry outbursts. My children especially should not be subject to that. I have become a person I cannot respect; out of control, just like the perpetrators. Dissociation gave me strength; I now live with constant emotional pain and I don’t feel strong. I feel lonely, hopeless and despairing.

When I think about suicide, my concerns are about ensuring success so that I don’t end up living with a damaged body, and about how it will affect others. I am not concerned about missing out on my life. I am not concerned about losing the opportunity to heal. If I had no children and the option to have a peaceful death by injection, I would willingly accept that without hesitation, because I don’t believe that this life is a life worth living.

How can I get out of this situation? I feel desperately lonely, but I don’t know how to feel love (connection). I’m told I need to risk being vulnerable so that I can learn that people can be trusted, but I’m so sensitive that when another person does anything even slightly hurtful, even unintentionally, I feel betrayed and get angry with myself for allowing another hurt. And then sometimes I actually do begin to trust someone and feel hopeful, but I am so needy that I expect way too much from them and it’s inevitable that I will feel let down. So then I’m told to meet my own needs and again that feels like such a lonely state and I feel that I can’t because I feel so empty that I have nothing to give myself.

It was much easier when I was disconnected from my emotions, when they were not bursting to come out. Being dissociated and numb left me feeling like life had no meaning or depth; I felt like a robot and wanted to be real. I understood that being real meant feeling emotions. I believed that the happiness and joy of really living would be worth going through the pain of processing trauma. But I had no idea what that pain would be like. I didn’t know because I’ve never experienced it before. Now I have hurt, anger, sadness, disappointment, frustration, grief, but no increase in happiness; no sign of ‘living’. I feel worse for the work we’ve done. I hate having these feelings and I do not want to tolerate them. I just want them to go away!

In recent weeks I’ve been struggling with the feeling of hopelessness. I understand now that, to some extent, this is because I believe I am damaged beyond repair. Today I am going to work on acknowledging the aspects of myself that are not broken. This is an attempt to increase my feeling of hope.

Dear Me,

I know that you have been very hurt, and that those hurts continue to haunt you. I realise that you struggle with many ordinary, everyday things. However, I also see what IS working, what has not been destroyed.

Despite your fear, you are NOTHING like your father. You care for your children, you listen to them, you feed them nourishing food, you teach them, you respect them, you keep them warm and you let them have choices and freedoms. They are basically happy children who feel safe and trust you. I know this because they frequently complain when they don’t like something – they trust that their opinion matters and they believe they have a right to express it; they do not fear you. Your children have access to a variety of experiences and opportunities; reading and socialising are both encouraged and modelled; when you make a mistake, you apologise to them; and you protect your children with great vigilance. There are so many examples of ways in which you are not like Him.

You do your best. You are honest. You do not judge people harshly. You live by the motto “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”. You are thoughtful of others and consider their needs. You do what you can to help others. You work hard and strive to do tasks well. You wouldn’t dream of stepping on others to gain benefit for yourself. You are not perfect; no-one is. You are fallible, you are human, just like everyone else. And that is okay … it is good.

You’ve never given up on healing. Faltered sometimes, yes, but never truly given up. Your spirit was crushed, but not killed. Bravely you face the truths of your past, a history you buried because it was too painful to know. You continue to fight and when you feel ready, you stand up and speak the truth out loud. You do this for your own healing as well as with the knowledge that it helps others on their journey. You are inspiring to others and supportive of fellow survivors. You hope to do more as your healing progresses. You also know that healing not only benefits yourself, but also your husband, children and others in your life. Although you struggle to accept that you are valuable, you know that these relationships matter; you know that others value you and want to be with you.

I know you want to do more, have more and give more. I know you are frustrated that you can’t yet do as much as some other people. I know you get disappointed and feel ashamed when you forget important dates for others or upset your children when you react to triggers. I know you hate being on a disability pension and feel as though you must hide your truth to avoid judgements and stigma. But none of this is your fault! These are the effects of abuse and I am so sorry that many people do not understand. Please remember that the people who really matter, those close to you, do understand. It is NOT your fault. It was NEVER your fault!

As a child, you were not seen, accepted or valued. I hope you know that this was SO WRONG. I hope you know that today there are people who see you, accept you, value you and love you … because YOU ARE WORTH IT! I hope you can see yourself, accept yourself and value yourself.  And I really hope that you can learn to love yourself.