Prepare to enter the wild and wooly world of an adult with Aspergers Syndrome, a form of autism characterized by intellignce, quirks, social difficulties and downright strange and oddish behaviours.

People with Aspergers generally are high functioning in everyday life but have great difficulty connecting with others due to the inability to read faces, body language and subtle verbal clues. They also tend to take words literally and have a hard time multi-tasking.

Oversensitivity to touch (clothing has to be soft and often the tags removed), light (do not leave home without the sunglasses), sound (loud noises and noisey places are avoided), taste (many Aspies have quite a limited diet and are frequently very picky eaters) and smells makes the everyday existence more of a challenge.

Fasten your seatbelts and come on in...
To find out more about what Aspergers is..please check out my earliest blog entries

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

The Two Types of Feeling Safe, Abuse Survivors, *Trigger Alert* I'm telling it like it is *Honesty Alert* Raw & Unfiltered

I've established that there are two distinct, very seperate feelings of being safe that I am actively working on.


 One, the feeling that no one, no person, is out to harm or hurt me on purpose. I am without fear in public places where there are a few to dozens of people, stores, libraries and such, unless I am isolated with only another person present. Overall, public places are fine. Need to work on ingraining the thought that I am relatively always safe from harm in this contex.
 Secondly, and this is proving to be the more difficult of the two, I am safe within my own body. Sounds simple, doesn't it? But no. I'm really good at dissociating, in a sense leaving my external, physical body and hiding in my head, if that makes sense. It's an MPD/ DID thingy. As you have probably guessed, my physical body was a torturous, painful place to be. Whether it was the neglect of hunger, warmth and affection, sexual or physical abuse, being in my body, feeling my physicality, was not pleasant and I avoided it at all costs.
 Okay, so now that I am free from harm, it's safe to dwell in my physical self. Nope, as I am more within my body, there are....quite a few body memories of the torture and nefarious And quite painful nature. Staying in my body, I run up against these physical memories that have been stored there and hidden. Picture walking into a thirty year old dusty, smelly warehouse filled with tightly compacted boxes that have the potential to ooze or explode if you get too near. That, that is my reality. I need, I choose to walk into this warehouse of half broke boxes.
 It sure isn't nice, pleasant or how I would like to spend my days...but standing within this warehouse, in all these ill fitting boxes of glass, wood and steel...these are all parts/ memories of Mine. Yeah, they may be painful, smell bad and scare the shit out of me, but...these are all real, true things that actually happened to me and they were too overwhelming to deal with at the time.


 Hand me the crowbar, Alice.
 It's so hard to quantify, to accurately portray how terrified and painful even a single day of my pre-10 life was.  It wasn't necessarily a single small or big traumatic event...sigh, cry....it was more like an ongoing saga of one painful experience after another. Talk about stressful and scared. Damn.
 Worried if there would be breakfast, searching hoping to find clean underwear and socks, is there food in my sack lunch? Money for milk? Will the other kids make fun of my clothes or my lunch, did I have time to do homework or did I have to clean house, can i stay awake, dad had me up for an hour in the middle of the night, trying not to dissociate/ switch too much in class or I won't know what subject we are on, I hope the teacher doesn't call on me, recess time, I'll just walk over to the swings and hide, lunch time watching everyone else eating good stuff (I actually stole a kids lunch once..I was just that hungry), walking home from school with siblings, taking my time as it was the only real respite I had, home to mom and taking care of baby brothers and sisters, cooking dinner, wait till your father gets home, trying to judge his mood as he walks in the door, fear rose and prickled when he was around, never knowing when he'd explode slap, hit, grab...never felt safe for a moment, maybe bath time, going to bed, if I was lucky I slept with a sister or two, hmm sleeping is a dirty word, didn't get to sleep much just laying in bed waiting, wondering if dad would come get me again, where he would drag me, what did he have in mind to do, how would I play it, be complacent as possible, back to bed, sleep a few hours, do it all over again.
 It felt like one long,drawn out anxiety attack with brief intermissions. I was just waiting, preparing for the next crime. Like clockwork, taxes and death, I knew I'd be blindsided and smacked and I kew he would sexually abuse me. It was just part of my daily life...starving, cold, invisible, hiding, raped, pretend nothing happened, underlying dread, fear and panic.
 Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.


 But I am safe now. No one is trying to hurt me. My dad died last year. He can't hurt me anymore. Did you know a flashback is where it feels like the event, a single act of egregious pain or molestation is happening in real time, right now? Like, something that happened way back when I was nine, say, my dad burned me witha cigarette...see, that memory overwhelmed my little brain so I boxed it up and put it away in the warehouse. Having a flashback of that event means it feels like there is a lit cigarette being put out on my chest. In a flashback I see it, can smell it and often hear things that are being said. Compartmentalizing to the max.
 One of my fb friends Jack, said it best "therapy is hard but I keep doing it". Jack rocks.
 I don't know. It's been so challenging lately. In trying to explain some of my hell, I guess I'm hoping more people can comprehend and appreciate what I actually lived through and continue to work through.
 It's hard but I keep doing it.
You gotta have a ton of respect and give credit to the child abuse survivors...you really do. These perfectly innocent beautiful little kids that got raped, beat, neglected and lived through it. How incredibly strong...a life with such little ease. Some times every day, every hour is a struggle.
Fighting the good fight.
keep thinking I'm gonna end this post but it keeps moving on....
You know, I really rarely ever give myself any credit. Hell, half the time I'm looking at it, the past, like it happened to someone else. DID rocks! And sometimes...it's just really really hard to believe that anyone, Anyone sick, twisted, fucked, mentally ill, drugged out of their mind, I don't care...that anyone could ever ever ever rape or hurt a child. It just goes against every fiber of my being to think that such a criminal, heinous, travesty could ever ever happen Even once, much less multiple times in a week. My God, where is the humanity? Who can even think such things much less actually perpetrate them? Mighty fucking sad. Completely illogical and lack even a single shred of common decency. It don't seem right.
And then, get this shit, umm, the victim, the abused child is the one who suffers, feels bad and takes the blame and lives with the ramifications of what the "all-knowing" responsible adult does. Adults fucking up children's bodies, heads, minds and lives And They fucking Live without Guilt or punishment because the adult now, is terrified to talk about it! This is ass backward fucked, I'm sorry, it just is.
God, makes you wonder what kind of barbaric, cruel world we live in, doesn't it.


Anyway
I've had enough. I've spoken my peace for this night.
Thanks for reading, you strong, unswerving, unafraid of looking at my truth readers.
Thanks

1 comment:

  1. You have suffered and endured so very much horror, my friend. Unfortunately, as survivors, we do need to know and understand, what we were subjected to. To explore these dark places within, IS re-traumatising, but it is something that we need to do.

    I agree, it is just so very, very fucked up, that as children, we suffered so .....

    ReplyDelete