Messages

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I have been reading some of your posts, Sceal, including bits of your Journal here, but I'm not always able to answer or respond in any way. Want to let you know though that I hear and see you. 

Thank you Blueberry, that means alot. 

Dear mom.

I love you. I do.

I remember when I was a child I loved watching you sew, and I always wanted to be able to make clothes like you did. I wanted to be able to cook like you did, to be as creative as you were with christmas decorations. I loved baking with you. I loved it when elder and distant family members or friends of yours would say "you look so much like your mother did when she was a child", I still remember your uncle said to us once "You have the same beautiful eyes as your mother, only kinder". I was proud. And I felt that because we were so alike that I could do all the things you could.

Then you got sick. It wasn't your fault. I both remember and not remember what happened. We were in the car when it happened. You, father, former uncle A and aunt B, my sis and then I. You convulsed, you shook, you were having a seizure. I remember visiting you at the hospital in this foreign country. I don't remember much after that. I don't remember you getting a brain surgery, I don't remember travelling home, and I don't remember clearly what happened after you got home. I know you did the best that you could, I know you didn't have any help when father was away at work. I know you were barely holding it together with two young children at home, one a toddler, and me the seven year old. I remember that I often had the phone book out on the page for the ambulance, just incase you got sick again. But I needed you, dear mother. Or I needed someone. I was being bullied and no one saw. I was alone, and no one cared. I started believing the truth that I was worth no more than a thrall. That my entire existance meant to serve others -regardless of what I needed or wanted. But you were sick, how could I be a bother to you? You had problems enough, I didn't want to be a bother to you.

The years passed by, and you remained at home. It took over nine years before you returned to work. But you were different, again I do not blame you. I just missed you. We never talked about what happened, like we didn't talk about anything bad that was happening. We didn't talk about deaths, loss, fear, love, or any emotions really. What did we talk about? I think at some point we became strangers to each other, never really knowing the other person.
You often say to me that I didn't dare lie to you, because you knew everything anyway - so there was no point. This always hurt, for if this was true. Then why didn't you help me? The truth is, you didn't know everything. I just learned not to talk about things that hurt.

When I got so sick I couldn't deal with it alone anymore, I tried to shield you. You, father and sib. I didn't want to be a bother. I didn't realise it at the time, but I think this hurt you more deeply than I can understand. I didn't tell you then either what was it that made me so sick, I didn't tell you why it was I needed to cut my skin open, or why I wanted to die. And you didn't ask.

When I finally became an adult, you had been worrying about me for years, and now it was my sister's turn. It must have been difficult, but I wonder.. Maybe it would have been easier for all of us if you had just talked to us when we were children. If you had taught us how to deal with emotions, and had taught us that sharing our secrets aren't wrong. You wear me out these days. You've become so bitter, so angry. There's something wrong with the entire world, and people are idiots. The only thing that's important to you is to smoke your self to death and your dogs which you do not even walk.  I've invited you over for coffee so many times, even when we lived 10 minutes walk from each other. You never came. You always had an excuse, or it was better if I came over to you. I wanted to be your host mom. I wanted to show you what I had been working on. I wanted your company. It's like this everytime we plan something, you agree to begin with, but you always cancel. And on a rare occation you do come out, all you do is complain.

You and I. We had a plan. For years, we had a plan. You were turning 60 the year I turned 30. Our plan was that instead of a big party, we'd go away somewhere else in the world. Visit some place. We never bought the tickets because you cancelled "your father is making me travel so much this year, I am so tired. I can't do it". I felt dissapointment yet again. I had really been looking forward to this. This was something we both still enjoy. Dissapointed, but not surprised. A month before my 30th my father is taking me on a small local trip. In the car he says "your mom and I are going to Spain in November". I had a sinking feeling about the way he said it. I asked when. "We leave on the 20th". My birthday. My 30th birthday. I was angry. I felt betrayed, dissapointed. She wouldn't travel with me. None of them would. What was it that I had done that was so terrible? Am I so bothersome to be around? Couldn't they delay the trip for a week? Father's only excuse was "that's the day the plane leaves". BullSh*. Four days before my birthday I got admitted to the psych. ward. I never told you. So when you called on my birthday, it was weak. You gave me alot of money, as a way to silence my anger. My dissapointment. It feel I am not loved by you, mom.

I am trying to accept you for who you are now. For all your faults, for the lack of your ability to tell me you care. But I am struggling.

Dear mom, we're worried about you. We love you. We know you've had it hard and difficult. And we would like to be here for you - if only you would let us.
Stop pushing us away. Stop killing yourself. Stop isolating yourself. Talk to us. Or talk to -someone-. Please, mom.

Hi Traveller,
The reason why I didn't give the title in the firs place is because the book doesn't exist in English.
But if you do happen to understand any of the scandinavian languages you might be able to read it. It's called "Mindfullness og Medfølelse" and it's written by Katinka Thorne Salvesen and Malin Wästlund both therapists.

[trigger]

Ok. So, it seems like I've been using emotional flashback and amygdala hijack interchangeably, but that's not 100% correct.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amygdala_hijack

Your amygdala is in charge of the fight/flight responses. Stimuli can be processed by the amygdala before the stimulus has time to reach the thinking part of your brain.

So when your brain received a stimulus that it has learned in the past was dangerous (this is the trigger), your amygdala takes over to keep you safe. The amygdala is responsible for adrenaline production, heart rate, etc and can put your body literally in motion before you have time to make a decision what to do. This is the hijack part.

Now that the amygdala has a hold of you, several things can happen. If you've ever found yourself running even before you knew you were scared, you know exactly why it's called a "hijack". One possible outcome is an emotional flashback, which is "typically experienced as intense and confusing episodes of fear and/or despair - or as sorrowful and/or enraged reactions to this fear and despair." (http://pete-walker.com/flashbackManagement.htm). In other words, the EF returns you to the feeling states of childhood - small, helpless, abandoned.

In addition to the emotional type, there are also other types of flashbacks, including auditory, visual and somatic.

Thank you for getting back to me, Three Roses.
This is more my understanding of what Amygdala and fear does together. (I've also recently learned amygdala also is part of processing and understanding all emotional experiences - but that's a whole different matter).

But is EF consistent? Like, when one is affronted with one spesific trigger it'll always be a reaction?

I am sorry, I am struggling with understanding all of this. Being so afraid of being told I'm "overreacting" again, it's easier to not react at all. Which makes understanding and dealing with emotions incredible confusing and hard. And I can't tell them apart.

[way]

I'm new here, but the EF description has already had a big impact on how I feel about the well of emotions that seem to have no source.  I know when I have an EF.  Usually.  It's an emotional reaction way out of line with what's actually happening.

Two simple examples.  Possible TRIGGER warning below.

If I drop a box of screws on the floor of the workshop, where the only damage done is the time is takes to pick them up, I fly into a rage.  I experience self-loathing, I call myself ugly names, and I want to hurt myself.  I don't cut anymore, but I definitely want to.  Sometimes I do still dig my nails into my palms to make it hurt.  It takes me hours to pull out of this cycle, and I'm moody for days.

I like having short hair.  I love the way it feels, but also it's a symbol, to me, of my ability to be free and make my own decisions.  But whenever I get a haircut, I always find myself sobbing in the bathroom.  This is not a normal reaction to a haircut that makes me feel better about myself (once I stop crying).

Welcome to the forum, I'm also pretty new.
Thank you for your examples, they made more "sense" than the other examples I've read about. Even if I am still trying to understand it, and trying to relate

 

There's no wonder that you got problems with feeling joy for your achievments with so much emotional abuse from your mother and your brother throughout your entire life.

I hope that through your creativity you will find ways to be yourself, and finally in the end at all times.

It's just good that there is a place like this where I can share the unexpected (and sometimes expected) experiences along the way.
Thank you all for being here.

Thank you, Blueberry! 

An Animal Helper sounds very nice. I am glad you have someone/thing(?) to help you shield you from the things that you are not quite ready to face. Maybe I am not ready to face this particular memory - or not memory as it is. But maybe it's giving me a hint that I am slowly opening up to becoming ready to talk about other things? I hope so, I want to be ready. I want to be ready to work on the things so I can move further ahead.


P.S I'm a she

" Never give up on a dream because of the time it will take to accomplish it. The time will pass anyway" - Earl Nightingale

I am grateful today to be alive
I am grateful that I've found this place
And I am grateful that I can walk on two legs

Is there a fireplace, or a fire pit somewhere? I would love to sit and just stare into the fire tonight.  Or potentially stare up at the starry sky (if it gets nighttime here)

These are some serious worrysome memories!

The two first ones you end up in the hospital, the hospitals have to keep patient journals. Maybe you can start there?

Memories sadly though, are not always correct and reliable. There has been quite a bit of research on this matter of how much one can recollect of a memory and how much of it was true. Flashbulb memories are memories which are a mix of the truth and also imagination, they are also crystal clear. Could it be that it's something like this? But remember too, eventhough your memory might not be 100% correct, neither is your parents.

Thanks for the reply. Even though part of me knows that the shame belongs to my abuser, it is difficult to not get sucked into that cycle of shame.

I was just reading in a book that my T recommended. And it was talking about the after effects of trauma. And that children of abuse often put the blame upon themselves, and shame themselves, because it is easier to carry the responsibility on ones own shoulder rather than believing that the entire world is inherently bad. In a way it gives hope that if the child works hard enough to prove him/herself, he/she too will be able to take part in the world that is good. But until then shame is overwhelming.

[can]

Thank you Candid.
Your friend sounds like she had a more healthy view upon life, at least a more fun one. If I understood it correctly. Though for me, I don't want any physical interactions anymore. But I do hope you're right, that I actually can. Thank you for believing I can.

*big hugs to you*

Thanks, Traveller for your message and sharing your thoughts. It is good to hear you are struggling less now than you did in the past. I don't know if I struggle less, I struggle differently than before. I do have a trauma therapist, and she's wonderful. I am just frightened she'll leave.