Messages

Slashy,

I feel your concern. I've always been easy to blame things on because my own dissociations have always made me wonder if I had done something bad but didn't remember doing it.

HOKEY SMOKES! I have taken the blame for so much because I don't trust my own memory. I was 3 years old in Seattle when President Kennedy was killed in Texas. My lifelong joke is "if you tell me I was the person behind the grassy knoll, I'll believe you and confess even though I don't remember doing it." I've always attributed these dissociative moments as part of the gaslighting done to me as a child and young adult.

I agree with Armee. The dissociative actions, like you, forgetting that you'd pressed the button on the wall, are part and parcel of C=PTSD.

I've lived it many times. The story I like to tell most often is this one:

During the distress of my FOOs' final months, I remember pouring a cup of coffee. Then walking into the dining room, and suddenly, the coffee cup in my hand vanished. VANISHED. Like on TV shows where witches can wiggle their nose and things vanish, that's literally what happened. I looked down at my hand and the cup was just gone. I could still feel the heat of the ceramic mug's handle in my hand. I looked everywhere for that cup. It was gone. VANISHED into thin air.

Two weeks later, I went to the answering machine to check on calls. There was the coffee cup. Mould was growing on the surface of the cold coffee. Suddenly I remembered: I'd poured the coffee. Took the hot cup to the answering machine, set it down, then checked for voice mails, then walked back into the dining room and noticed the cup was gone. I had NO memory of checking the voicemails, which I had just done seconds ago.

In the second and third grades, I would wake up in class after lunch having ABSOLUTELY no idea where I'd been for two hours. The first time it happened, it scared the living bejessus out of me. After the first episode, it just became normal. But man...is it scary to realize that I can dissociate and forget doing things WHILE I'm DOING THEM. It set me up for a life of not trusting my own memories, or my own thoughts.

It's trauma. For me, it only happens while I'm in traumatic states of distress or EF. I'm pretty alert when I'm my healthier self. But when the pressure is on: I could wake up at any moment wondering how I got here and where my coffee cup went.

Today I mitigate this problem with transparency. During times of distress I won't drive a car anymore. My wife knows this, and she chauffeurs me around when I'm not sure I can keep myself associated. I don't use power tools or do anything dangerous anymore unless I'm feeling "in my right mind." I even worry about my posts that I write when I might be in a dissociative trance, so I avoid the forum when I'm feeling this way.

I hope your therapist is able to help you find some peace with it. We don't hurt people. We are hiding from our own pain. Pushing buttons and losing coffee cups seems to be as bad as it gets with us.

BecomingMe, Slashy, San, Hope, StartingHealing, Dolly,

Thanks for the hugs and kind words. I live for them. I'm not ashamed to say that positive reinforcement from people whom I respect, like you all, means a lot to me. I need it. It's so helpful. Kind responses, no matter how long or short or complex or simple, are like food for me. I need someone to tell me that I'm with friends every day. I need to hear people say nice things every day. I'm not ashamed of that.

Thanks for your comments, they mean SO much to me.

Dad, I love you. I've always loved you. I've always pursued your love and tried to be whatever I believed you needed me to be so I could take care of you. I didn't know that I didn't need to take care of you. I mistakenly "knew" that I was responsible for your happiness. So, to honor what I thought was reality, I carried that burden of your happiness for more than 60 years.

Dad. I'm dying here under this burden. And today I realize...it's never been my burden to carry. That's what's wearing me out. I'm still living MY life surrounded by YOUR fears and YOUR drama.

You were the strongest man I've ever met. Not the brightest, but the strongest. And I worried incessantly about not hurting you. If that sounds crazy, it's because it IS crazy. How does a small boy come to believe that his big, strong Dad needs me to keep him strong? The only reason I felt that is because you put all your grief onto me. Somehow, I felt responsible for all your misery and all your mood swings. We were symbiotically tied together in a mess of entangled emotions and Teflon surfaces. When trouble came to you, it slipped on your Teflon surfaces onto me and I carried that misery for you. With you.

You had so many regrets. Today, Dad, I'm dying because of how I'm still carrying the colossal weight of your confusing mess of emotions and Teflon surfaces. You pushed your pain onto me. I was blamed for too much. Even now, as I write this, every time I approach the topic of me taking the blame for your misery, I feel a gigantic, and cluttered mass of swirling, poisonous energy swirling in my chest and arms. Filling MY body with YOUR fears and regrets.

I feel weak. SO WEAK. I'm so exhausted that I don't do anything for myself anymore. I just feel suffocating and overburdened. I search for ways to relax and hide from the burdens. I have no energy. I barely sleep. I'm living how you lived, but not because of my own burdens, but because of yours.

Like I'm dying on the battlefield. Dad, is that you? You lost so much in the war. YOu lost your arm. You were the only survivor of your entire division. THat has to be a heavy burden, but Dad...it was YOUR burden that I somehow took on for you.

Am I feeling your fear of dying on the battlefield? Dying from not being strong enough? Dying from not being allowed to be who I am? Mom gave me a lot of her fears too, but somehow when I write to her, I don't feel any pressure in my chest. But Dad, when I write to you, I feel a lifetime of fear and regret and remorse bubbling up like lava in my chest. My arms go weak. My knees hurt. Dad, I've carried too much of YOUR burden for far, far too long. If I don't give that back to you now, I'm not going to survive much longer. I can't even breathe when I sleep, so I have to use CPAP machines and all sorts of tricks just to sleep at night. I feel fear of things that aren't even a part of my life. I recognize now that I feel fear just for the sake of feeling fear. And I look JUST LIKE YOU when I'm feeling it. I realize now, that all those years of putting your regrets and fears onto me to carry them for you has become who I am. I'm a guy with a great life who feels like I have a horrible life, because I feel fear within me just for the sake of feeling your fear for you. I was your scape goat, but that has to stop.

You and I were tied together at the heart, and it wasn't good for either of us emotionally or spiritually. It was great, physically, because you taught me how to be self-reliant. YOu taught me how to build houses and cars and furniture, and how to take care of a family and earn a living and save for retirement. Physically I learned so much good from you. But emotionally and spiritually, you put a monkey wrench right in the middle of my own right to be who I was born to be. You made me into a mini-you. You taught me how to regret and sulk and fear, fear, fear. You taught me how to give my best and expect the worst in return. I get sick in my stomach just writing these words. I now know that you are the person I need the most professional help to let go of.
 
Dad, I am drowning in your fears. I don't believe that while you were alive, the dad character would have been able to process what I'm saying now. This letter would make no sense to you when you were alive. I don't believe you had the spiritual awareness to grasp what I'm saying now. But you are with God now and I hope, that as a spirit now, as a ghost, a soul from the other side, that you DO understand what I'm saying.

Your burdens were heavy, and I appreciate that. But I also know that your burdens were yours to deal with, and that putting them on me only damaged both of us. You didn't heal because you were able to blame me for your misery. Your Teflon coatings slid YOUR lessons onto ME and as a result, neither of us learned. I didn't heal from my own traumas because I wasn't focused on MY problems, while at the same time I wasn't authorized to learn your lessons for you. Dad, you had lessons to learn, just like I have them to learn. But I can't learn YOUR lessons. Just by trying, I'm furthering the agony and terror that you and I share.
 
Dad, I can respect your traumas but I can't live them for you. I think that I've proven, through 63 years of terror, that I've tried and tried and tried to live in your trauma, but in the end, it doesn't work that way.

People who pay others to do their homework for them get good grades but learn nothing. So it is with you and I, Dad. Your lessons were yours to learn. I can carry the weight for a while, but I can't learn about me while I'm doing your homework for you. Neither of us wins when I try. We both lost that battle in the end. Siblings 2 and 3 came in at the end to take your money, which they took by destroyed everything you and I had built during our long, complicated entanglement as father and son. I carried your burdens. I took all the blame for your traumas, and in the end, my siblings, who'd always treated you like you were an idiot, swooped in and took everything from me as spoils for themselves. This just proves to me that evil wins when good doesn't run its proper course. If I'd have learned my own lessons, and if you'd have taken responsibility for your own problems, you might have not had to end your life in the chaos and disgusting violence that your bad children were able to push onto you.

You didn't run your course. You put your terror onto me and I felt it for you. That was a mistake that hurt both of us. Neither of us learned our own lesson because we were tangled up in each other's lessons. And now, since I believe in Karma, I believe that you have to be reincarnated to live your own lessons all over again. You won't move forward until you learn today's lesson. Neither will I. And, Dad, I do NOT want to live this life over again. I'm exhausted. I've grown weak from carrying other people's burdens. I can't do this again.

I love you, but I'm breaking up with you. (lol). I'm not going to carry your burdens for you next time. I'm focused on my OWN PERSONAL RELATIONSHIP with God and with myself.

In the end, Dad. I still love you. Now that I see how much pain you lived in, I respect you more. However, I also see that our entangled lives were not healthy for either of us, so, as I said, I'm breaking free from you. I pray you will be able to move past this pain in your next life. And I pray that I am able to move forward, for the first time in my own long life, to live my own life. I may be too old to start over, but even if I get ONE day feeling free from your burdens, that will be "living the rest of my life on MY terms, not yours"

I love you Dad, but I need to heal without your burdens on my shoulders anymore. The weight of YOUR burdens has compromised my knees, lungs, heart, strength. I need to rebuild my own life. It's the only way you and I will both become free. If you'll carry your own burdens, you will finally find healing, and so will I.

Rizzo

Your ability to hold no contempt for your father says a lot of good things about you as a person. I'm just now, after 40 years of therapy, I'm JUST NOW losing my contempt and hatred for my abusers. It feels good to let it go. And when I read posts like yours I feel encouraged to continue to let go of more anger. I still have trauma triggers, and I still have trauma EF flashback reactions, but the hatred is waning away. I just can't stand that feeling of the poison of hatred coursing through my veins. It's been said that hating someone else is like drinking poison hoping it will hurt them.

People like you, who have found forgiveness, are the heroes that I try to emulate.

I can see the beauty of who you became despite all that has happened.I'm super touched by your post. I'm going to be thinking about this post for a few hours today.

Andy,

I resonate with your post about how the memories come back with panic in them at times. I feel compassion on what you're going through right now. I'm no stranger to it myself, so I know how frightening it is and I hope that we, here on the forum, are able to bring any comfort we can as you go through this.

Over the years I've gone through some very scary bouts with memory recall that threw me into sheer panic. Screaming panic. Falling to the floor and begging God for comfort panic.

But I think that when we become stronger, that's when our brains believe it to be okay to leak out our memories so that we can process them as adults. Recovered memories are deeply uncomfortable, but I tend to believe that they are a sign of healing in progress. A bad feeling, but a good sign that the ugliness is coming out of hiding for healing.

Our brains have been hiding the events to protect us. Just look at how the real events were so traumatizing that we had to hide from them. So now, during the healing process, the brain seems to begin letting the memories back out, but not all at once. I believe that if I had remembered all my abuse all at one time, I'd have been just as badly traumatized as I was when it first happened at age 7.

As a child, my brain helped me to cope by hiding me from what happened. Then when I started to learn about Trauma, my brain saw me gaining some strength, and knew it could begin to let me see the truth, but only a little at a time. As painful as it was, I was making it through the trauma this time. As a kid, it blew my mind completely. As an adult, it blows my mind in metered doses, allowing me to process it--albeit painfully, but, even through the pain, I can process it now. As long as it comes out in bites and not the whole thing at once.

But that doesn't make it easy. So I am feeling for you right now and hoping that as the memories come out to the degree that your healing needs them to that some of us on the forum can bring you some comfort and friendship. We understand what it feels like and we care about each other.

I'm pulling for you,
 

All,

I spent most of my life unable to look in mirrors or at photos of myself. I'm a bit better now. I still feel the trigger, but what I realize now is that my self-hatred was never based in reality. It was pounded into me by jealous, narcissistic, abusive caregivers. In reality, other people really didn't hate me the way my family and church told me they did. Those were lies that I had no way of seeing through. I thought everyone on earth hated me, so I hated me right along with them. But I realize now that my inability to look in a mirror when I'm in a public place is a trauma response.

For me, breaking out the difference between true disgust and the learned disgust from trauma has helped. I still feel triggered to not look in a mirror if I'm in public, but I no longer believe it's because I'm disgusting. I NOW understand that my self-disgust is trauma. It's a trauma reaction.

When I'm feeling consumed by panic, fear, or self-hatred, my therapist leans in very close to me and quietly, dramatically, says, "You know this is trauma. Right?" Now that I've read the books and done so much therapy, I finally understand that, while my self-hatred is still uncomfortable, it's not justified. It's trauma. It's TRAUMA. Like when a cancer patient is sick from the medication, that person can say, "It's the chemo. It's not me, it's the chemo making me sick," and we are trauma survivors. It's not the world that hates us, it's the trauma. And the trauma feels real, but it's not telling the truth.

Separating my real emotions from my trauma triggers doesn't make the triggers go away, and it doesn't stop a flashback response, but somehow it disconnects my soul from the reaction. Knowing it's a trauma response, rather than a rational response, helps disconnect me from the shame of it all. This was done TO me.

Not everyone who lived through what I lived through is still alive. At least 3 that I know of took their own lives because of it. We, the survivors, are the strong ones. We don't feel strong, but that feeling is a trauma response. We are strong. We didn't become abusers; we stopped the abuse at our generation. I say it all the time because I truly believe it: We are the good people in this story. We don't pass the abuse on to other victims. If this forum were a huge novel or movie, WE would be the heroes taking on the villains. We are not the villains here. We are the good people who care about each other and feel each other's struggles in our own empathetic superpower.

My therapist tells me that of all his clients of the past 40 years, those of us with trauma disorders are, by far, the most spiritual clients he sees.  I don't believe it's a coincidence. I think that being spiritually aware of others through empathy and kindness goes hand in hand with being spiritual. To me, spirituality means we have a knowledge that we are a part of a bigger picture. Narcissists think they are all that matters. Spiritual people believe everyone matters.  And that's who we are. We konw that everyone matters. We may feel ugly and shameful, but we're anything but. We ARE the good ones in this story.

Dalloway,

Welcome to the forum. The compassion and empathetic connections we have here with our stories, and our triggers, and our reactions is definitely helpful as we each begin to reach out from our loneliness to find others who we can "be lonely with together." It just feels good to be with people who understand how the loneliness of trauma can make us feel so isolated. I'm glad you reached out and joined the forum. I hope it brings you some well-deserved comfort as we all navigate this road to healing from our pasts.

Welcome!

Ceit,

Welcome to the forum, and I resonate with Kizzie, in that I'm sorry to hear of all you've been through. The people here have different backstories, but we all found this place where we can interact with others who can understand what each other has been through.

I hope you find comfort here among these friendly people. I sure have found a lot of comfort here.

Chart,

Absolutely. I even go farther. I have found that trauma is passed down before utero. For example, my x-rays show that my skeleton is contorted with Scoliosis as if I were compensating for a missing right arm. My son's x-rays also show that his body seems to be compensating for a missing right arm. When the doctors ask about my father, all I can say is that during WWII, he lost his right arm when he was 20 years of age. I was conceived when he was 40. His physical traumas were passed down through DNA to me, and then to my son. So, if physical trauma can be passed down through DNA, I assume emotional trauma can also. There's a book, It Didn't Start with You: How Inherited Family Trauma Shapes Who We Are and How to End the Cycle, by Mark Wolynn.

And when we're babies, our brains are wide open as we learn who we are, so traumas that happen in childhood set the direction for the rest of our lives, so the younger we are when trauma happens, the deeper it seems to embed itself into our wiring.

To summarize, I agree with your theories above. I think trauma definitely started early: In utero, in infancy, even in our ancestry.

Neko

Welcome to the forum. I respect the anxiety you felt while writing your introduction. From what you've disclosed I think you have every right to be anxious and sweating as you write. My heart absolutely goes out to you for all you've seen and been through, and I am very impressed by your resilience and the courage and strength it has taken so far to keep moving forward, and to open up and share what you've shared. Remember, that courage is not the absence of fear, but the determination to continue on during the fear.

I have great respect for you just from what you've shared here today.

I'm also happy to hear that you have a partner and children who make you feel loved and safe today.

This forum has proven to me to be a place filled with kindness and empathy. Nobody here has had it easy, so we all give each other the respect we each deserve as we each share what we feel comfortable sharing. The days of being told to just be quiet and deal with it are gone here. We welcome people who have stories to tell. We believe each other.

I'm very glad you found your way here.

Welcome!!!!

Slashy,

There's a lot of beauty in your journal entry today. It really touched my heart. I'm sorry to hear what happened to your foster brother, and yet so touched by the simple joy he gave to you with that toy. I remember those toys. I never mastered one, but no one ever took the time to show me how to do it.

And, yeah, about the memo, I didn't get it either. I had to learn how to "do it right" on my own too. It took a few years. Good thing I married a patient wife.

Your entry warmed my heart. I hope you have very good day today. I'm glad your son drove so you could play with the wheel-o.

BecommingMe,

Your name, BecomingMe, is really resonating with what you've written in this journal entry. You are becoming you. It sounds like you are on your way through the long, complex healing process and making good progress. You are finding yourself through all the little helpful parts inside you who are your inner children. Each one trying to help you in the only ways they know how to help.

I just want to send you all the support I can. You're doing all the right things. I'll send you as much strength and support as I can through the airwaves.

L2L,

There are times when sad music or sad movies are what I feel like I need for some reason. Music has a powerful power over us. But there are times when my own sadness wants to be respected, and sad music actually helps me feel connected.

For me, listening to upbeat music is only appropriate when I feel like I handle it. If I listen to upbeat music when I want sad music, the upbeat music just grates on my nerves like sandpaper.

I hope the crooners gave you a nice friendly visit with the sad parts of you that just wanted to be crooned for a while.

You may be onto something. It may be a form of mourning. And mourning has a purpose too.

SH,

I like those TENS units. Coco and I use them on joints here and there. I use them on my knees, she uses them on her back. We also have an assortment of Infrared heating pads shaped for shoulders, legs, wrists, etc. Anything helps.

I hope you can find a good energy worker. Mine is a massage therapist who blurs the boundaries between massage and energy work. She does amazing things with my energy levels and pain levels. If I had to find another energy worker, I'd probably find a good new age bookstore to see who they recommend. Having a well-trained massage therapist doing energy work is something that seems to work well. She has intimate knowledge of bone and muscle structure AND intimate knowledge of energy flow. That's a good combination. I'm both physical and spiritual, and she is both science and spiritual. Good combination.

We just bought our very first S-Hook thing that lets us press on our pressure points on our backs without help from another person. They've been around for years, and they're cheap, but for some reason, we've only just purchased our first one. For pushing on pressure points until they release, these things are pretty helpful. You probably have one yourself, like I say, I'm way far behind the curve on this handy little device. Also, it sounds like you're dealing with some pretty serious spinal issues that an S-Hook wouldn't be enough to help with.

Schooling is grueling. I love to learn but I HATE college courses. Too many triggers that remind me of Catholic school. But I do respect how mentally and emotionally taxing schoolwork is. It's always good to learn, and it's good to have the courses done and in your repertoire, but they're hard work while in progress.

Good luck with everything. If you can find a massage therapist with energy experience, they might be a lot more affordable than a trip to South America.

PS: I did PRP injections on my knees in the spring of 2021. The cost to me was about $2k. I hobbled into the sports medicine clinic with my cane. I spent about an hour in the clinic. Then I danced out to the truck feeling embarrassed it was parked in a handicapped spot. It was appropriate to park there when I arrived, but I worried people were thinking I'd stolen the parking pass when I danced back out to leave. The results lasted about 18 months. Meanwhile, I also got some expensive orthotics in my shoes, which have given some more relief, so when my own plasma injections wore out, I wasn't as sore as I was before the injection. I'm told the injections work best the first time, and since they cost so much, I won't do any more unless the pain becomes unbearable again. PRP injections are simple. They draw a bit of blood out of me, then they spin it in a centrifuge for 21 minutes to separate red blood cells from platelets, then they inject my own platelets back into the sore parts of my knees. The results, for me, were instantaneous and miraculous. For 18 months.

The cost of the PRP injections was $2k. I had looked into Stem Cells also, but that clinic wanted $12k and two years for recovery. The decision to go with PRP instead was easy to make.

HA HA, Chart, StartingHealing, thanks for the wonderful responses. I'm giggling right now at reading both.

I did go up and see the kids yesterday, and I left there so proud of my son and his wife that I'm just beaming with pride at how they support and love their children. My son received an unexpected bonus check from his job, and rather than spending it on himself, he was able to provide both sons with the big-ticket items they had been yearning for. The older boy got a new computer for his studies and the younger boy got his first 1/4 midget racecar. (A glorified go cart). Both boys got exactly what they needed to pursue the lives they each want to live, but that's only where it begins. My son and his wife take interest in the activities. They help support with their time and energy also.

I wish I had thought to video record the act of the family putting the 10 Year old into his go cart. This is a race ready car that will be racing on our fairgrounds race track by July. First. the boy pulls the car out to the street on a cart. Then I watch as my son picks up the heavy end where the motor his, and his wife picks up the lighter end. They move it to the street and lower it down. My grandson squeezes himself in, while his dad and mom fuss with his safety harness. He's talking with them about how tight it is or needs to be. Dad is handing him the steering wheel, while Mom is tightening up his heavy helmet. They're a fully functional pit crew. When everything is installed and tight. Mom goes out to the intersection by the house, while Dad pushes the car to get it started. Meanwhile the Grandson has told me what his route is going to be. The car fires up to life, (It's a nice, mufflered quiet car), and the run begins. Dad's recording it on video and Mom's spotting traffic. The neighborhood supports it because he only makes one run, and doesn't exceed the speed limit. Some of the neighborhood kids even try to keep up on their bikes. When he returns, they all help get him out of the car again.

I'm nearly in tears watching how my son and his wife support their two boys. They are the pit crew. The boys are kind, compassionate, self-assured but not arrogant in any way. They share their joy. The family shares in the fun. I have never been into race cars, but this year, I intend to spend a lot of weekends at the track, hopefully, maybe I can even become a part of the pit crew.

I grew up in a family where I was expected to support everything my parents were into, but they didn't have to support anything I wanted. Not even a Flipping musical instrument. I BEGGED to learn to play anything. My dream was a piano, but when I got the invite to join school band, I told mom I'd settle for any musical instrument, no matter how small or cheap. NOPE Mom's reply was that she didn't have any desire to have to drive me to band on rainy mornings, and that she just knew I'd fail and she'd be stuck with whatever instrument she'd have been forced to buy me.

Spending time with a family that loves each other so much that they bend their own schedules to support each other was such a joy. I'm so, so, so proud of my son and his wife, I just can't stop thinking about it.

So...from the ashes of my own experience, I can see the beauty in what I'm witnessing. A family that supports each other. There isn't an arrogant bone in any of them. They are all supportive of each other and they are all having fun just being together.

I predict my two grandsons won't feel the need to join a trauma forum when they grow up.

----

I woke up at 3 am this morning from a dream that my wife and I had decided to start a podcast. It won't happen, as my wife is quiet and introverted, but the dream was nice. I felt a real love for her for wanting to podcast with me in my dream. I tried to fall back asleep but my energy levels are just too high to sleep through. It's actually very positive. I'd rather be asleep right now, but I don't want to sedate this energy with any sleep aids. So I'm just going to stay up until my eyes get heavy again.

Yesterday, while driving up to the mountains to see the kids, I listened to a chapter from The Seat of the Soul. Zukav mentioned that spiritual based energy is freeing and creative, while physical energy is heavy and stuck. After my Quantum Energy work on Saturday, I heard those words and just said out loud, "You're right!"  It's only been 36 hours since the energy work, but for now, I'm still feeling the flow of creative juices. That's probably why I dreamt of doing podcasts. I have no intention to start a podcast, but it sure is fun to feel the energy of thinking about it right now.

I've been down and sad for so long, this is such a relief. I hope it lasts a while. I'm trying to stay focused on that teaspoon of joy that's in that barrel of misery. Like what I learned last week from what George Takei said about his dad who basically told him after being in the internment camps that survival is less about muscling through the torment and more about finding any small beauty and focusing on that little piece of beauty rather than on the mountain of misery. I'm working on myself now to really adopt that as a lifelong plan...to find the beauty, no matter how small, and focus on that for as long as I can.