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A fair amount of the mental and emotional healing process over the course of my time has been initiated, conducted, and assessed by myself; sometimes with a bit of input from those closest to me.  I felt what I needed, what I REALLY needed to get over the next hurdle was to been seen by a mental health professional.  My assumption was that these health professionals have gone through rigorous courses to gain their knowledge and have had a wealth of experience to which I could not be exposed through any actions of my own.  I searched the provider list in my health care account and made call after call to only be turned down by each practice.  I finally found a counselor who was part of a practice who employed counselors, psychologists, psychiatrists, and a nurse practitioner.  I felt as if I had struck gold!  A one stop shop just for me!!!  And so it began...

I arrived for my first appointment excited and ready to go.  I met my new counselor, let's call her Becky, and recognized that upon first glance I was already making judgements.  "Don't do it!" I kept telling myself but I suppose that is what others may refer to as an "impression" of someone and maybe what I was doing wasn't so bad.  Right?  As I sat in her office and spoke with her I looked around the room.  A Lincoln Log on the floor next to the container, another container with the price tag still adhered, a dry erase board with colorful markers, board books, and crumbs from what appeared to be cheese crackers.  It was a formal meeting and Becky asked some pretty standard questions to which I gave pretty standard answers.  The appoinment ended and I still felt hopeful.  I was worried that maybe she was too young to have enough experience with people like me but that could also be a good thing because it could indicate she's fresh and objective. 

The second week I sat down with Becky I went in with a positive attitude.  She asked me questions and I responded.  She asked a LOT of questions.  She asked so many questions that I began to feel like she was fishing for specific bits of information and should I begin talking too much that it wouldn't be appreciated; this shut me down a bit and when she asked a question I answered it directly and precisely without great detail or tangents.  At the end of this session she gave me worksheets.  I told her I would check them out and get to her.  I couldn't wait until I got home, though, and as soon as I got into my car I opened the packet.  Oh my goodness... did this chick seriously just hand these papers to me?  Was this mis-filed and I received the wrong worksheets?  I continued to peruse the packet and realized that she intentionally gave this stuff to me.  Why?  Why would she give THIS to me when I have already been through these steps on my own?  I explained to her what I had been working on in my head for some time now so why is she giving this to me?  Over the course of the next week I gave myself regular pep talks to keep myself from forming a bad picture of this gal.

As my next session began I decided that if she was going to ask questions then I would answer her questions with very terse and basic answers.  Sure...that's the way to make this work.  Be a complete snot to the counselor.  She doesn't seem to mind, though, because she likes to talk and the more she talks the more she smiles and the happier she seems to be.  Up to the dry erase board she goes and the power she got out of taking the cap off of that brand spanking new marker exuded from her.  "Ohhhhhh," I said to myself, "she's one of THOSE chicks".  She carefully drew out a Venn Diagram and now I was thoroughly appalled; her circles were more like slime blobs and the proportions were not equal!  My safe guess is that spent approximately 40 of our 45 minutes together chomping her jaws together to tell me how to do something I've already done except my Venn Diagram was REAL.  My Venn Diagram had OxyContin on one side, a toxic relationship on the other, and when they intersected it created a poo storm.  Deep breaths...in through your nose and out of your mouth.  When she sat back down she said, "Sooooo...our time is up for today.  On your way out be sure to schedule an appointment for next week.  Do you think that you can find some time to do these worksheets in the next few days so we can talk about them next week?" and she pulled out another packet to hand to me.  "I'll see what I can make happen." was my response to her, knowing darn well that I wasn't doing much with those worksheets over the course of any amount of days.  I met with the receptionist to schedule my appointment for the following week she said, "How about Tuesday? How does Tuesday sound?". Well...Tuesday sounds great considering I've told you already that Tuesday is the one day that I really don't have the flexibility in my schedule to be here oh but Tuesday is the day you need to fill for balance so I guess my availability and life balance gets demoted for yours so yes, Tuesday sounds PERFECT!  I lost the second packet of worksheets but the Monday prior to my appointment I decided that I needed to put forth effort and stop being such a cynical patient if this counseling thing was going to be of benefit.  Found the packet!  What....the....fudge knuckles?!?!  I wanted to go to my son's crayon box, stick one between my toes, and write answers in the spaces provided.  This is not going to work.  I've got to say something before I drop out of this race I've been trying to win.  I will talk to her tomorrow.

She called me into her office, I sat down, and she began talking.  "Did you have a chance to get to those worksheets like I asked of you?". I took a deep breath but it wasn't an effort to control or ground myself, it was because the upper crust of the volcano has cracked.  The majority of this session was consumed with my words as I told her what I had already told her from the beginning, that I felt she was wasting time for both of us because I had already mastered the exercises on her worksheets, and that the reason I came to her was because I needed help with what I wasn't able to complete myself and that her Master's Degree surely must've given her the knowledge to assist me in doing so because after all, she's a MASTER of the subject matter, right?  She seemed taken back and quite possibly offended.  Whatever.  I met the receptionist to schedule my next appointment.  Yeah, yeah, TUESDAY is going to be a great day next week.  See you then. The next six days were spent doing what I like to call, "People Classifying" as I assessed behaviors and traits of these two women because I felt if I could better understand what type of people they are, I would be able to better manipulate them to my benefit.  What was going on obviously isn't working and I'm not giving up this time.  Not giving up.  I made my classifications fairly and went to the next appointment with confidence.  Make it work.

This time she advised that she'd like me to see the Nurse Practitioner for a medical evaluation to determine if there were any medicines that would assist me in my journey.  Ok.  Sure.  Let's give that a try.  But this counseling session was pretty dry.  She didn't participate at all.  Really?  Last time I told you that I felt you were dominating and now you're just going to sit there like you're in an argument with your husband?  Please.  A lot of this session I spoke about the relationship I recently ended and how I was coping with it.  Still to this point we hadn't really discussed my history of sexual abuse in detail but she didn't really ASK about it and that day I was having a hard time with my recent life choices.  Before I was on my way to schedule my appointment for next Tuesday Becky says to me, "You know, I really think next time we need to start talking about why you're here because we haven't touched on that at all and if you want to make progress we should probably talk about it.". Yeah?  Ok.  If that's what you think, MASTER!!!

Next Tuesday rolls around and I divulge.  I was ready.  I let this chick know so much in 40 minutes you would've thought I was Anderson Cooper.  Becky looked absolutely mortified and aroused at the same time.  She eagerly said, "Next Tuesday!!!".  That's how the next couple of weeks went and I found myself irritated with having to carry the entire session myself.  I told myself to stop being a jerk.  I get upset when she talks too much and I get upset when she doesn't talk.  But I also felt that she did not have the capacity to handle what I was asking of her.  She even said once that she was there for me to just talk to when I felt I couldn't talk to anyone else.  Ummm..no.  You're here to listen to me, to prompt and evoke certain thoughts and feelings, and to help me learn how to cope and heal.  It came time for my appointment with the NP and when I entered the office she (the NP) was roaming around playing PokemonGo!  She had on printed leggings, wedge sandals, acrylic nails which were bedazzled, and furry pens sticking out of her mid length lab coat.  After a couple of minutes of discussion she decided she knew exactly what I needed and so she wrote a prescription.  On my way.  Next Tuesday, yea yea, see you next Tuesday. 

I dropped my prescription off at an adjacent pharmacy but didn't wait as I was exhausted and wanted to be at home with my son.  The next day I went to get the filled prescription and they advised that she wrote two prescriptions on one paper so it couldn't be filled.  I called the office and they were closed.  On a Friday?  What?  The only business I have ever heard of the is open Monday though Thursday but whatever.  So on Monday I called and they told me to bring it to a different pharmacy and try to get them to fill it.  Ummm... ok.  Sure.  So I did just that and the pharmacy said no problem we will do it but your insurance wants prior authorization from the doctor because this is a name brand without a generic and it's pricey.  The pharmacy contacted the NP and faxed the necessary paperwork. 

Next Tuesday never came because I fell ill and the next Tuesday never came because my son and I took our summer trip and we were in a different state.  On the next Tuesday I arrived for my appointment only to realize that I had missed it because it was scheduled during the time I am facilitating a fairly large meeting - they knew this.  So I waited for the NEXT Tuesday.  The Monday prior I was thinking that it has been three weeks and nothing.  Not that I care about this prescription or even want to take it but three weeks?  Really?  Three weeks with no action on this medication that you say I so desperately need?  THe counselor had called me a few times over the course of the week to ask how I was doing because and that was a little weird for me.  Do you look forward to each Tuesday when I come in to tell you about how my life was wrecked from the beginning and I still manage to produce above average results?  I began to feel like she was harassing me and that my well being wasn't what she was after...I am an orgasm for her.  She "gets off" on my stories, enthralled with my vocalizations, and looked at me as a way to get a taste of something different than her usual worksheets and cheese crackers.  This whole time I was convincing myself to stick with it when my gut was telling me to run.  So many times in life I do not follow my instinct and this is the one time I should have and would've saved myself a lot of time, money, and irritation.  I haven't been back but have received many calls, unanswered, from Becky.  Leave me alone, I'm not taking you back.

Maybe I am a jerk.  Maybe I manifested this myself.  Or maybe it is a for real messed up situation.  Whatever it is, whatever the cause may be, and whoever didn't play their role... I am still kicking, I am not using, and I am still working to keep my mind right and straight as it needs to be.  I am not allowing my emotions to stifle or paralyze me and when I feel myself slipping away I get a swift kick in my own butt from my own foot.  No cost, no medication, and no worksheets.

The last four years of my life have been consumed by remembering, facing, admitting, and accepting the assault I endured as a small child.  I recall being a young teen and getting a piece of advice from my childhood best friend's mother who was also sexually abused by a family member when she was a child.  "you may not remember everything now, you may not be putting all of the pieces of the puzzle together, but as you grow older there will be situations that result in the recollection of what actually happened to you and most of this will probably happen when you have children and they reach the age that you were during your trauma.". At that time I only admitted to having been grabbed inappropriately.  I did have other memories but they were vague and hazy from having been shoved so deep inside of me.  Wouldn't you know...she was correct.

When my son turned two I began remembering situations and it certainly was confusing, it took a lot of concentration and effort to sort reality from my experiences of dissociation.  When my son reached the age of four I began having very traumatic flashbacks of the assault.  Around the same time I began a relationship with a man who was in a very serious vehicle accident that almost left him paralyzed...just as my perpetrator was.  What a whirlwind these years were.  The pain of reliving these moments felt like torture.  I'd often question my sanity and wonder if these were false memories as so many victims have been accused of creating.  But as time went on and those deeply buried memories resurfaced I knew the only choice I had was to accept it.  As much as I did NOT want to be the girl who was a victim of incestual rape and assault it was something that I knew I had to accept as part of who I am. 

He started in on me when I was a mere 2 years old.  He put a spin on it each time; he would tell me that he was sharing very special moments with me, when he taught me about vaginal intercourse he associated it with drawing a line and when he taught me how to masturbate and give myself clitoral stimulation I tried doing the line as he had previously taught me and that made him giggle.  "silly me" he said.  "I know it must be confusing and it's my fault for not remembering to tell you but do you know how to draw a circle?".  After his geometry lessons it turned into lessons to teach me how to be a woman that every man would want.  He was HELPING me by teaching me all of these things because when I finally grew up and found a man that I wanted there would be zero issue with me getting that man because of the things that he taught me.  It didn't matter how he tried to make it seem...I didn't feel good, it felt wrong, and it scared me.  Around the age of four he was caught by his sister in law as I walked by and he grabbed my crotch.  She became livid as she was sexually abused as a child and seeing him do that to me infuriated her.  He retorted back that it was none of her business and that it was "his pussy so she didn't need to worry about it".  I continued walking as she shuffled me out of the door and he returned to playing Yahtzee.  This confirmed my ill feelings.  Finally!  Someone noticed it and it isn't supposed to be happening! 

When I was two he and my Grandma lived with us but that was short lived as my mother moved us to an apartment in a different neighborhood.  Being a fairly poor family the option of professional childcare didn't exist.  Childcare was Grandma coming over to sit at the house while mom went to work third shift at a factory and of course with Grandma came the uncle.  He'd wait until no one was around and would do whatever he wanted.  At the end of my year in kindergarten my mom came home with great news!  She found a new apartment for us to live in and it was directly above my Grandma and uncle! How convenient for everyone...right?

This is when the assault began to occur rather frequently.  During first and second grade we were taught a great deal about good touch bad touch but by then I was already hiding the pain and masking the trauma with my dissociative experiences.  Toward the middle of my second grade year, about 7 years old, it started to click.  There were situations when he would try to lure me into his room while I was downstairs looking for my grandma.  I would frantically shake my head no and run away.  This upset him...very much.  And since I was beginning to learn that what he was doing was wrong and was trying to stick up for myself, the stereotypical "no one will believe you", "you will get in trouble and people will think you are a liar" crap started.  His physical therapy was working wonders and the doctors said his progress was nothing short of a miracle.  Little did they know that the strength he was gaining was because of his hikes up the stairs in the middle of the night when he would go to assault his niece.

I always enjoyed the Summer time because I was allowed to have my friend sleep over and he wouldn't come up when she was there and if I was staying at her house there was no way he could get me then.  Summer was, is, and will always be my favorite time of the year because I feel free during those months. 

When I entered third grade my teacher immediately noticed that something was not "right".  She asked questions and probed but when she would ask me if I was being abused at home I thought that she meant was I being punched around by my parent.  No matter how much I told her no no no she continued to probe.  She knew something was wrong and she wasn't going to give up on me.  She made arrangements for the entire class to go to a short seminar on good touch bad touch and we were given papers with a line to write our name and then circle YES or NO; I circled YES and ohhhh boy.  That's when it got crazy.  The school required my mother to take me to counseling but the counselor accused me of lying so I shut down and eventually the counselor told my mom that I was just bored and needed to have more interaction and intellectual stimulation.  There was also an interview with my Grandma and my uncle...I didn't know what * I would soon be facing.  My uncle would tell me things to go say to my teacher at school and so I would.  She'd tell me things to go back home to say to him.  She was trying to elicit information indirectly to build a better case so she could get me help.  I remember one time he asked me what she looked like and I described her as being tall, short brown hair, with a mole on her face, and a very nice teacher.  He told me to go back to school and tell her that she's a lesbian and is just jealous.  I don't remember what she had me ask him that night but when I returned to tell her that she was a lesbian who was ugly with big feet she was furious.  I cried and sobbed and insisted that I did NOT tell him that she was ugly.  I told him that she was awesome and he asked what she looked like so I told him.  She comforted me and said that she understood and didn't blame me for anything because he is a very bad person.  Another investigation was initiated.

What was I told?  If I tried to tell someone they would not believe me, I would look like a liar, and I would be in trouble.  In trouble I was.  This is when he began suffocating me.  He would come into my room and place a pillow over my face, releasing it as I flailed grasping for breath.  The pillow was drawn from my face and he would tell me that I was an awful person.  He just saved my life because I could've just died and I repay him by trying to tell people that he's abusing me?  What an ungrateful little c*** I was when all he had been doing was making me a better woman who would know how to please a man.  My entire third grade year consisted of nights where I would be suffocated and then anally raped, left covered in his sweat and in pain.  Since he was disabled and couldn't move quickly my teacher taught me how to run the other way but that was impossible when I was sleeping.  During the day I would heed her advice and it helped in the moment but only made the night time worse.  I moved my bed into the far corner of my bedroom and put all of my toys all over the floor.  Certainly I would hear him as he hobbled through the mess and I would wake up and be able to escape.  Another failed attempt.  It just angered him and he would call me a slob and demand that I clean my room so he didn't have to work so hard to get to me.  Then I decided that I would move the bed over slightly to be near the window and THEN I would wake up from the noise and I could jump out.  I could jump out of my second story window.  Nope.  Didn't happen that way either.

At the end of the school year my teacher repeated her first, middle, and last name to me.  She told me the name of the street she lived on and in which city.  She said that she would never change her phone number just in case I ever needed her.  I thought that was pretty great; I was the only student that the teacher gave her number to!  I didn't know why at that time but I get it now.  That summer another girl down the road made accusations against my uncle.  I noticed the commotion and went to see what the matter was.  My Grandma said to me, "Could you believe that a little girl down the street said that your uncle touched her?" to which I replied, "Another girl?" and he snickered, "what are you jealous?" and my Grandma said, "No, the girl said that he touched her in a bad way on her privates.  Do you believe that?" to which I replied, "Yes".  But I was dismissed and my Grandma said that I obviously didn't understand what she was talking about.  Shortly after that situation the house we lived in was purchased by a new person and he wanted to rent the upstairs as an apartment so we got to stay but he wanted to live downstairs so my Grandma and uncle had to leave.  He never got me again after that.

It goes a lot deeper than that but the reason I give this story is because my son is about to enter third grade.  I know how hard this year is going to be for ME and I want to avoid having that impact my interaction with my son because I know how debilitating it is going to be for me.  Yes, I have been seeing a counselor regularly and they're going to medicate me but that doesn't negate the fact that I am about to enter, in my mind, the most horrific and painful year of my childhood.  I just really want third grade third grade to be over and it hasn't even started.  The next year certainly poses some incredible battles for me.  I will continue with therapy and will try their medicines.  I will continue to use this forum to expel the accounts of assault because it is not always an easy thing to do verbally.  I am aware of what is ahead of me, what I am up against, and I am trying to plant my feet firmly in the ground so I do not get blown away in the pain.


Keep your head up, Rach.  I know you can do this.  You can conquer the aftermath.  You can clean up the damage from the storm.  You've got the tools in front of you to prepare...you can do this.


P.S. I LOVE YOU

The feelings that swarmed through me a few weeks ago when I found a mental health professional who would see me, they were conflicting to say the least.  I've seen a variety of doctors in the past couple of decades and for one reason or another I dropped out.  I felt these professionals were robots just shuffling me through as another folder hanging in their file cabinet.  About one year ago I began searching but kept getting denied for one reason or another.  I was self medicating with prescription opiates so they told me not to fret because they would always be there to help me feel better when the need presented itself.  Yea...little blue monsters were not only there when I felt down but they were there allllll of the time.  Contently addicted I moped around in a haze of denial and self-hatred. As I began to hate the little blue monsters because they blocked every single feeling, not just the ones hurting me, and because of this I was making very poor choices.  Change was a necessity and so it was.  When I go, I go big.  I came through my life with a theoretical bulldozer and just demolished my everything.  I knew that's what was necessary, though, and I have zero regrets.  As my brain realized these little blue monsters were seriously gone it asked me for help; will you please deal with this already? It's insane in here and help is needed!

Not accepting new patients.  Accepting new patients but not with your insurance.  Obamacare only.  Sorry, we can't help you we're all booked up.  A week or so passed and I was on the verge of crawling out of my own skin and I decided to do another provider search but with a greater distance.  Found a clinic that looked a bit funky but I called them and they offered an appointment that night. WHOA!  I ended up with an appointment a couple days later and fudgesicles wouldn't you know it?  I got a worksheet counselor.  This chick is giving me worksheets and what is really going on?  Second appointment same thing.  Don't do it, Rach.  Don't don't don't.  Step back.  What is it about her that drives you nuts?  She's giving you worksheets telling you how to do crap you've been doing for years.  What is her deal?  Well, Rach, does she know this?  Have you told her?  No.  Well, duh, you can't expect her to read your mind.  You're right, heh, you're usually right and that's why I love you so much!  HA! 

Third appointment and she asks exactly what I expected, "Did you have the chance to try some of those exercises on the worksheets?". No, no I did not.  Please allow me to tell you why.  So she sat and listened while I told her my coping mechanisms and that I feel we're on the same route but I'm just a bit further down than she thinks.  I've been doing this by myself for years with zero professional background so I don't know what she's even trying to do but it sounds a lot like me about four years ago so I figured she oughtta know.   Turns out... she knew what I was talking about and through some twist of something out of my current realm of understanding I had been doing worksheets for years!!! She indicated that she felt I exhibited symptoms of a couple different controllable deficiencies so I'm going to take some tests.  I guess I will see...


What I have been struggling with most recently, quite heavily about five days ago, is what he began doing after I spoke up in third grade and my teacher saw what was going on.  She tried to get it out of me and I see it now but back then I had no idea.  I really wish that I could see her just once to say thank you.  Nothing came out of it except for my life now being threatened.  After my mother would go to work and my brother and I would go to sleep he would come upstairs into my room and shove a pillow onto my face, letting up only after I began gasping and flailing.  He would tell me how thankful I should be for him allowing me to live because I could've just died.  That's a great way to kill somebody because they'll never see it coming but this time I got to live so lucky lucky me.  But my pain was not yet over, who did I think I was trying to get him in trouble?  All those years he told me that if I tried telling on him no one would believe me and look at me now, I look like a fool and he is very pissed at me, people will think I am a liar forever now.  Who did I think I was?  This whole time he was being nice to me, teaching me, helping me become a woman that would make a man happy and this is how I repay him for everything he's done for me?  By trying to get him in trouble?  What happened next was nothing short of anal assault.  He used to make me go through my mom's underwear drawer to find something silky and sexy and I was required to wear them to bed so when he came up I was ready.  I didn't want to and I mean I was eight or nine at the time I don't recall exactly.  But he was so scary.  I believed him when he said he would kill me.  Ugh just so disgusting and scary.  My mom noticed the panties being ruffled through and thought I was curious so she bought me a cute pair of silky, purple, underwear that were appropriate for a girl my age?  What the fudge mom?!  This is the first time I learned exactly how thin walls are because he knew about them.  He warned me what would happen if I didn't wear them.  I protested and said no but he looked at me and I knew.  So I did.

The next morning I awoke writhing in pain.  I ran to the bathroom but the door was locked.  I knocked furiously and my brother yelled back.  I GOTTA GO PLEAAAASE HURRY!  This only made my older brother sit in there for a long period of time.  I frantically searched for an option it was about to get crazy.  I grabbed the trash can and ran to my room.  I didn't make it, made a mess in the purple panties, and made an awful mess in the garbage can.  I didn't take the bag out immediately.  I hid the can in my room.  I don't know why.  I was afraid someone would find out?  I was scared.  I didn't even know what was going on.  My dissociation through the abuse were a wonderful escape method.  I remembered where I was during the experiences but I didn't remember the experiences.  I would always recount these crazy dreams that made little sense but felt so normal.  They were dreams of my future.  I don't care how crazy I appear when saying it but I have relived many of those moments.  I feel them and remember.  I remember the dream and that results in the recall of the specific account of abuse.  I guess I was taking myself to times throughout my life when recalling these memories would be necessary.  Times when I was strong enough to deal with the assault.  As I age and I put these accounts together in chronological order there are so many things that just make sense now.  Looking back it just makes so much sense. 

The electricity in these brains of ours can open magical doors.  At the tender age of two I learned how to take myself to a different plane of being to escape the pain being inflicted on my tiny physical body.  There's no way I could've survived had I been there.  Neurologists prove major development at the age of two and as I experienced the abuse my brain compensated by sending these pulses on different paths.  What a gift I have learned.  L=Logically + Earned? Makes sense.  This is also a gift that I have been working to develop over the past few years.  I have had experiences that made me feel like a lunatic and there was always something to prove me right or to show me that it was real.  It is difficult to discuss because of how widely unaccepted it is.  I am not ashamed, just hesitant to be labeled by no fault of my own but by the ignorance of others.  I do not want to be on trial in Salem.

My lady love, please remember that these times of difficulty will pass.  Confront them, do not run and hide, and understand that you couldn't have stopped it and it's not by any fault of your own.  A sick person took advantage of you and his day will come.  Just remember that one day you will see how beautiful you are.  You will feel as beautiful as you appear.  That day is near...just hold on and fight for it...I promise with all of my heart and soul.

XOXO,

Rachel

P.S. I Love You

Ok, have you tried a white noise machine while your child is eating. I have one to help with my sleep disorder. it's so calming and soothing and really does mask and block out other noises. I love mine. It not only helps me sleep better, I use it when I'm trying to read and external noises are distracting me. I hope it helps you and your son enjoy peaceful, guilt free dining.

The other stuff, take to your professionals, I'm in therapy and medicated. It's changed my life for the better. Stick with it. You have accomplished amazing things.

P.S. I love you too.    

Thank you, the noise machine never came into thought.  Therapy...is definitely an adventure for me at this time.  Trying.

A handful of weeks ago my son arrived home after an overnight with Grandma, here he comes careening through the door with a package under his arm, and before I can even get a, "Hi Mommy" or a, "I missed you Mommy" or a, "I LOVE you Mommy" he says to me as he holds up his box, "Look what I got!  We have GOT to make this!". I smiled and told him of course we would make it but not that night because it was Sunday and we had routine responsibilities to prepare for our return to school and work the next day.  The boy is a pretty agreeable child so it was no surprise when he did not object to saving it for another day.  Grandma told me that they saw it during a trip to the grocery store and he insisted on having it; a kit to prepare chocolate pudding with chocolate cookie crumbles and gummy worms to create a tasty mud-bowl of sorts!  (In an effort to eliminate unnecessary tangents I will skip over the "handful" of weeks passed without making this dessert as this is simply a preface into the topic of the day's entry.). Fast forward to yesterday, Monday, a Monday after a very long and busy weekend, a Monday that was busy from the moment I rose from bed, and of course....Monday is Cub Scouts meeting day!  The boy wants to prepare this tasty pudding treat tonight.  REALLY?!?!  Though our schedule was busy we managed to get through it successfully and efficiently so much so that we had some time to whip this bad boy up.  We cleaned and prepared our work space with the ingredients and supplies needed and with just a little help from Mom, he was able to whisk his little wrist away into a creamy milk chocolate pudding.  As I was complimenting his work I looked at the clock and had to be the bearer of bad news-we will have to finish this tomorrow, it's almost bed time.  Again, he had no qualms and agreed that it was a good idea to wait. 

Throughout the day today I kept reminding myself that we MUST make these things tonight.  Don't forget.  Don't forget.  On our way home after work/school he told me that his only homework assignment for the night is to read and he shoved his nose in the book as soon as we walked into the house.  I scurried around as I usually do, an after work routine of trying to do thirty seven tasks simultaneously that usually results in a lot of progress but no real completions.  He finished his reading and headed upstairs to his room, probably to play a video game.  As I was tidying up I kept passing the bag of gummy worms and the thought was gnawing away at my brain...I couldn't think of anything else.  I cleared the table, set out the supplies, got a Swiss Miss K-Cup rolling, and called for him to come down.  Whaaaaaaat?!?!?!  We are gonna make the pudding cups!  And there's hot cocoa from the fancy machine?  SWEET!  We had great fun as we finished up this dessert, sharing the responsibilities, and laughing at jokes along the way.  Since I am allergic to milk I could not partake in the delicious snack time but he understood and always does.  What a lucky Mom I am!  He began to eat his pudding as I was wiping up the last of the mess and I heard it.  I wasn't even listening for it but I heard it.  Don't do it.  Don't let it get you...breathe...breathe...breathe...you guys are having a good night...don't do this Rachel...breeeeeeeaaaaatttthhhhe.  And there it was again and I just couldn't ignore it.  My reactions, or lack thereof, have gotten much better lately as it is something I've been putting a LOT of effort into.

Misophonia: a preoccupation with a specific aversive human sound that triggers impulsive aggression; auditory or visual stimulus provoked an immediate aversive physical reaction with anger, disgust, and impulsive aggression.

I HATE MOUTH SOUNDS!!!  I have not always hated the sound of hearing someone eat their food, sip their drink, smack their lips, and so forth.  I can remember a time as a child when I told a grown up that they were silly for being "grossed out" by hearing kids chew their food.  My first memory of feeling disgust while sitting at the dinner table came at the age of 12 when I was visiting my dad's house for the weekend.  He made hamburgers on the grill that night and as I sat there I watched it happen in slow motion-he grabbed the sandwich with both hands and guided it toward his mouth, stuffed the sandwich into his mouth, took a large bite, and as he tore away I heard it.  My neck snapped.  My eyes widened.  I wouldn't dare tell my father to have better manners so I quickly looked down at the condiment bottles.   I obsessed over the situation for the rest of the night.  What the heck made me snap?  Why did that freak me out so much?  Ugh.  I get it now.  I understand why everyone always says to chew with your mouth closed. 

As the years passed this became what I started calling a "pet peeve"; I just can not tolerate hearing someone chew their food.  There is no reason why someone should be chewing so loudly that I can hear it and if they are chewing that loudly then that is their problem that they need to deal with.  The frequency at which I noticed the irritation steadily increased and by the time I was nearing 18 my aversion to hearing people eat was so excessive that my family and friends teased me about it; which didn't make it any better.  They would tell me that I was over reacting and that I was intentionally listening to hear them eating so I could get upset about it.  This was not the case.  I would not wish this feeling on anyone.  I began avoiding social situations that involved food, especially events that involved eating at a table and being forced to sit next to someone and listen to their nasty mouths but events like backyard barbecues were tolerable since I could move around at my leisure.

As I aged and grew into my twenties this "pet peeve" of mine developed into what seemed to be an obsession.  I couldn't escape it.  It haunted me.  The simple thought made me anxious and nauseous.  I have got a problem.  I tried to figure out why it bothered me so much.  What was it that suddenly made me click?  I tossed a few ideas around.  Was it being harped on by my father to have good table manners?  Was it because my uncle who molested/raped me ate like a slob?  Years later as I was confronting more of my abuse I thought maybe it was because he used to stick his nasty tongue in my ear and slurp on it, saying that it was sexy and that's what guys and girls liked to do.  Or maybe it was because he particularly enjoyed performing oral sex, told me how lucky I was to have him performing it on me because he was rather skilled, and that the quality of the oral sex could be gauged on the sounds being made by the man's mouth.  Making these assumptions and knowing that this could be the reason for my unreasonable mouth sound hatred, it made me feel a little bit better and not so bad for freaking out sometimes.  It also helped me realize that it's something that I need to control.

I have been giving this endeavor a very concerted effort.  I am trying but it is hard.  It is very hard.  I have erupted and while I'm screaming, yelling, and crying I know how absolutely ridiculous it is but I just can't stop it.  About two months ago I asked my long term boyfriend to take his two daughters and their things and leave my house so now it is just the two of us, my son and myself.  He knows that it drives me crazy, I'm constantly apologizing to him and it makes me feel awful.  I'm not sure if it's a karmic * kicking or what but the kid has some weird eating habits.  Maybe they're just adolescent habits and they're not peculiar at all.  Sometimes he starts smashing the drink or food like it's going to run away.  I worry that he's going to suffocate himself from eating that way.  Whether his manners need to be addressed or not, I fully understand that my reaction is always over the top.  This is definitely a situation when the punishment doesn't fit the crime.  Punishment being my verbal reaction, he isn't being physically punished or grounded for it.  I always apologize afterward but I try to catch myself before it happens.  I'm getting a lot better and have been able to slow myself down while it is happening.  Like the pudding thing today.  He started gobblin' away and I clenched my jaw to stop myself.  I took a deep breath through my nose and with a calm voice said, "Please remember to mind your manners".   "You know what I think it is, Mommy?" he said, "I think that you just have incredibly good hearing because you're on the other side of the kitchen and you heard something that I didn't even hear going on in my own body!".

I wonder why the sounds bother me?  A genetic or biological inheritance that I would have without regard to life's experiences?  A growth malformation due to shock from the abuse?  A defense mechanism created during the abuse that remained and manifested and has specific triggers?  A combination?  There are so many complexities involved in a legitimate investigation into the causes and that's more for my personal research journal; I want to stay focused here and write mostly about the abuse and how it has affected the way and who I am.  Keep reminding yourself that explanation and supporting details are ok and they're good but don't start rambling to the point where focus is diverted.

Whatever the reason or the cause may be, I am proud of you for being aware, accepting your fault, wanting to improve upon that fault, and working to develop that part of yourself. 

He is not here.  You are safe.  He can not hurt you.  He can not touch you.  He can not even see you.  He is not here.  You are safe.  Safe.  Do not let the thought become so overwhelming that it turns into fear and allows him to continue to hurt you.  You did not deserve it then and you do not deserve it now.  He is not here.  You are safe.  He can not hurt you.  You are safe.  You are SAFE

A means to an end is not the solution for an end is just that, the end.  A means to understanding is the power which I desire.  I am here, we are all here, to fulfill the responsibility of a certain energy to contribute to the big picture, the greatness of the whole.  Our lives as Humans on Earth have been and continue to fuel the Universe.  I trust that I would not be given anything that I am not strong enough to handle or smart enough to understand but my impatience often gets the best of me.  I crave near immediate results.  I want to learn how to understand my experiences, how to relate the affects of my experiences to the overall functioning of me as a being, and how I can best utilize what has been created as a result - ME

Time is slowed intentionally, observe and learn, most importantly you have got to feel; impatience and a tendency to rush will dampen the experience. 

...I Wish You the Sweetest Goodnight...

P.S. I LOVE YOU

My heart hurts for you as I am experiencing similar woes.  Some part of me knows the man will be of no benefit to me or for my well being but I still choose to go for it...it drives me nuts and I don't know why I put myself in those situations.  I spent four years with him and I REALLY wanted to love him, I did love him, I would do anything for him.  That was the problem.  My abuser was very condescending so I think maybe I put myself in similar situations and try to conquer it and make it work and reach success.  My life was falling apart and I was just watching it happen, unimaginable situations that had my mind baffled asking myself why am I even here, and then came a point where I realized that I had literally done anything for him.  I abandoned my friends and family, my sense of humor, my personal hobbies, my everything.  I was miserable.  I knew I could not heal if I was miserable so I did the unthinkable and asked him to take his two daughters and go live elsewhere.  My emotional state improved by leaps and bounds in just a few days and it keeps getting better with each case waking moment.  Except for when I see him.  He's got problems of his own and I deeply care for him and want to see him succeed so we hang out.  But it became habitual and I began to notice that a couple hours before I knew he was coming I would start feeling sick to my stomach and would get very anxious.  While he was around I felt very paranoid and wanted to invert myself.  I realized that he is poison to my soul.  Doesn't mean I don't love and care for him now and doesn't mean that my love and care for him over the years wasn't real.  What it means is that we both made some awful choices, we both have to accept consequence for our actions, and we have both grown as individuals but unfortunately we grew in different directions.

If you do not love yourself first you can not properly love another.  A true love would never ask you to sacrifice any part of yourself or become upset with you for denying any such request.  This is the time it is totally acceptable to be 100% completely selfish.  Get to know yourself.  I bet you meet an amazing woman who you didn't know existed.

Approximately three years ago I left my home town and moved to an adjacent city to be closer to my job; three hour round trips each day made it impossible to see my son, my infant/toddler son who at that time had lost his father to a battle with heroin addiction. The love of my life had an abusive past involving a police officer and he struggled and lost his battle because of his self medicating with drugs.

Once I got "settled in" I began to look for mental health specialists in my new area; this would be an easy thing to do in a city of 70k and especially since I have a great job with fantastic health insurance. I've walked into medical offices and when they run my insurance they basically say, "Tell us what you want and you get it." Unfortunately, this was not the case with mental health facilities.

Each time I made a call they weren't taking new patients, or they didn't accept my insurance or any insurance, or if they were accepting new patients they had to be recipients of Obamacare because the state is requiring quotas to be met and my fancy health insurance wasn't acceptable. This fueled my aggravation and frustration. It made me feel like they wanted me to mess up, to be miserable, and they made me feel like my sanity was of no value.

I pretty much raised myself from the age of six because I lived in a household with a single mother who worked midnights; between my older brother and myself we managed to eat breakfast, get ourselves to and from school, complete our school work, feed ourselves dinner, get things ready for the next day, and make it into bed. We were very self sufficient. The main difference between our childhood experiences is that when my uncle (who lived in the apartment below ours with our grandmother) would sneak up the stairs at night, he would pass my brother's bedroom, and enter mine.

When the abuse began, I was two years old, he explained to me that he was teaching me things that I would find valuable later on in life and that he was HELPING me become a woman who would be desired by all types of men. As I grew older and developed physically his actions became very aggressive. I was learning about abuse at school and when I mentioned it to him and began to fight back...that's when he turned from "teaching me to be a good woman" to "punishing me for thinking I could fight back".

I stuffed a lot of memories down inside and bits and pieces would pop up now and again but I never cared to put the pieces of the puzzle together.  About four years ago I took those pieces and I saw this puzzle was much more complex than I had allowed myself to believe. I knew that these memories were coming back at that specific time for a reason and that this Universe would not give me something that I could not handle but boy oh boy was it DIFFICULT!!!  One year after my healing journey began is when I purchased a home and moved; enough with the tangents, I'm hmgetting back to the purpose of this entry!

For three years I have tried to get into see a mental health specialist but was unsuccessful for a slew of reasons. After one year of being turned away by the professionals I did what I learned at a very young age - survive by any means possible. At this time, survival meant self medicating to ease my pain. my choice was Oxycodone. I started gradually, orally consuming 5-10mg daily but by the end of year one I was orally consuming four to six 30mg pills each day. I was a successful business woman with a nice house, a luxury vehicle, and a son who was at the top of his peer group. No one ever suspected the war I was fighting behind closed doors. I feared for my life and for the life of my son so I admitted myself to a local detox facility where I had a five day stay. they helped me get the junk out of my body, gave me a few elementary work sheets on how to say no to drugs, and on my way I went.

After returning home my boyfriend was very supportive. (I will get to that situation at a later time because it is a mess of its own kind!) He was also using but stopped because of other circumstances in our lives (again, saving that for a later entry) and we had many conversations about our new found freedom. As addicts you will probably guess that one topic of conversation was how incredibly high we could get off of a microdose since we have been clean for a length of time, I think we were at three or four weeks at this point. We said no a few times but one day sitting out on the porch having that same discussion we both looked at each other and the decision was made. Within minutes I held in my hand that little round, blue friend of mine who I had banished from my life just a few weeks prior. it didn't take but a day or two and I was back to using four pills per day. If there weren't any doctors who would help me-oh well. There are street pharmacists who have what I want and they rarely, if ever, say no.

Life continued just as it had before but I began to hate myself more and more each day. I lied to myself. I was risking not only my well being but that of my son, the most important person in the world. Change was no longer and option and was now an absolute necessity. I would search for providers through my insurance network and through using Internet search engines; nothing had changed this time around as each office I called had a reason why they couldn't accept me as a patient. I cried. I screamed to the Universe asking for help, for direction, for strength to find what I needed to get this right. I was tired of running from myself each day. I was exhausted from the drugs I pumped into my body in an effort to ease my pain.  Those drugs temporarily masked my issues, made it hurt less when I thought about the pain, but they never helped anything. Wait, they did help. They helped ruin me even more. They helped be suppress and avoid confronting the cause of my pain. They caused me to be accepting of situations that a sober me would never allow.

A few months ago I looked at myself in the mirror. I asked, "What have you got to lose?". The first thing that came to mind was the only reason that I needed; that reason was/is my son. At the age of three my son lost his dad to heroin overdose and I promised that boy that I wouldn't ever do anything to put either of us at risk. But there I was, lying to him and to myself, and I wouldn't accept this behavior from anyone else so why was it ok for me?  It wasn't and I needed to change. For a few weeks I assessed my situation and determined what I needed to do in order to bring myself back to being me so I could be the best mother I could possibly be for my son, so I could be the best me possible and enjoy life, and so I could be successful in my professional life and to also become a figure within the community. The next decision I made was a very difficult one to make and follow through with but I did it; I told my boyfriend of four years that he and his two daughters were no longer welcome in my home and that they would need to leave before bedtime rolled around that upcoming Sunday night.

I have been drug free for almost two months now. The differences in life are incredible! Yes, I struggle. I think about going back to drugs every day. I am fortunate enough to have an extraordinary amount of strength and willpower and the ability to look at the bigger picture. Suppressing my pain with opiates will not fix anything; in fact, opiates will only make things worse. I also feel that I have been given many chances, maybe more than most or more than I deserve and I don't think that another "chance" is in my script of life.

I've been playing the find a doctor game again but wouldn't ya know? Not accepting new patients, or we don't accept your insurance, or yea we are accepting new patients but only those who qualify for Obamacare-can you change real quick and then we can take you!  UGH! FOR REAL?! Three years of the same b.s. has me feeling like I'm being set up to fail. I don't get it. if anyone is worth saving, I feel like it's me. A college graduate, I have a very good job that pays me twice the median income of the other citizens in my town, I pay my bills on time, I'm involved in community and charity organizations, and I am heavily involved in my son's life both academically and extracurricular. So what did I do wrong or what is so wrong about me that I can't get help? Help I WANT! The resources that I can not get are being given to people who do not want them and are only receiving them because they were mandated to do so by a court of law.

It was a Monday evening and I helped my son finish his daily homework assignments and we did a few things to finish up his research project that was due in just a few days; with our responsibilities taken care of we decided to have some personal time. he spent his playing a Pokemon game on my laptop. I spent mine calling doctors in an effort to be accepted as a new patient. After four or five rejections over the phone I lay in my bed crying and feeling more helpless than ever. My boy must've heard me because he came into my room and didn't say a word, he put his tiny arms around me and held me until he knew I was alright. I kissed him, thanked him, and told him not to worry about me and that he should get back to his game since our internet time for the day was rapidly passing.

I extended my search parameters and found a practice that's about 45-60 minutes away from my house and they have counselors, psychologists, and psychiatrists who work together as a team to provide care that is tailored to meet each person's needs. When I asked the gal on the phone if they were accepting new patients she asked who my insurance provider was and my heart dropped. I knew what her answer was going to be and I was fed up with hearing the word NO.  After a brief moment of silence she replied to me and said, "Yes". Yes what? Yes you will take me as a new patient?! "Yes, when would you like to make your first appointment?". I began to cry and apologized to her and gave a brief explanation of the hurdles I have been jumping and thanked her for being able to accommodate me as a patient. I was offered an appointment that very night! but I rejected that offer because I didn't want my son to have to wait in a lobby. I explained the best times for me to have an appointment and she was able to schedule an appointment for me on a day and time that was convenient for me. It was almost effortless on my end!

I went to that appointment yesterday and went in very skeptical. I was looking for any reason for this to be a failure.

After a short wait in the front room I was called back by my new counselor. Our time together was a basic interview for her to collect data to understand why I was there, what my expectations were, and to help her build a plan of attack to get me on a path to healing.

I don't know if she will ever send me to speak to one of the psychologists there or if they will send me to one of their psychiatrists to get medication to assist me on my journey but I do know that I ended up in the right place. All of that hard work, researching, making calls, being denied, feeling helpless, all of that was not in vain. Those were all experiences that I needed to go through to get myself to a mental/emotional state of being ready to face this head on (confronting incestual sexual abuse that occurred from the age of two to somewhere around the age of ten is a very scary reality for anyone) because it is going to require a lot of strength, determination, and serious dedication. All of the denials from all of the practices near me to get an appointment to speak with a doctor really had me angry and doubting myself and humanity.  But now I completely understand and "get" why it took so long. I had to be ready to do it. I had to be ready and serious because this kind of healing can't be done with casual effort. Most importantly, I feel the delays were intentional because the Universe already had someone in mind for me and it just took awhile to get me there. I am very excited to continue on to the next stage of my journey and I am happy that there is a team of medical/mental health professionals that want me to be healthy just as badly as I want it.

I am ready. I have been ready. I am excited. I am looking at the light at the end of the tunnel and for the first time I am seeing that light as the sun waiting for me instead of the light being a train headed directly toward me.

I am so excited to get back to myself, to return to the amazing gal I feel I used to be, and to confront the variables that have been keeping me from reaching that success.

Another rambling session without any real format and plenty of tangents but that is a-ok because I will be back throughout the days to read the posts of other strugglers, and to continue to add entries into my journal as I continue my journey.

P.S. I LOVE YOU RACHEL!

I am proud of you. I am proud of who you are and your ability to recognize and accept your own faults. You are an amazing woman and together we will help you believe others when they commend you on your admirable qualities.

Dear Oxycodone :

It's been awhile since we've been together and I hope you aren't angry with me because of how abruptly I ended our relationship; but you had to have seen it coming, right?  On days where thoughts consumed my mind, soul, and body, it seemed that you were the only one who truly cared about my pain and you were definitely the only one who eased my pain.  When I was having trouble with my boyfriend or when the kids got to be too much for me to handle, there you were, ready to jump into action.  Whether it was a ride down my throat or a thrill up my nose, your tiny little blue self somehow managed to take me from level ten down to a place where I was comfortably numb.  We started off slow but quickly escalated to being together every day, multiple times every day.  You told me that you would always be there for me, to help me forget the pain I couldn't get away from, and that you would never let me down.  I took it with a grain of salt as I knew the dangers that came with you but there came a time that I realized that YOU were the problem.  You didn't heal anything, you didn't make anything disappear, you simply masked the pain and fooled me.  You ruined my relationships and you also allowed me to stay in abusive relationships because you clouded my judgement. 

After kicking you out of my life I have changed quite a bit.  I have acknowledged and confronted the abuse in my life.  I got rid of the boyfriend who you made me feel like I was treating poorly.  When you were gone I realized that I wasn't crazy.  I realized that HE was mentally and emotionally abusing me.  As a sober woman I have better judgement and have standards and there are lines that I will not allow others to cross.  Instead of lowering my head with a frown on my face I keep my head held high and say "no" with assertion.

Without you now I am forced to face the pains of my past and yea, it's really * hard but it's on the surface where I can deal with it.  When I deal with it I hurt and that's when I think of you the most but all you did was push that pain down and maybe it was relief for a moment but I wasn't actually solving anything.  Now I can face my scary past, I can look at it in the eyes, and I can tell it with confidence that I WILL be the winner this time around.

I am sorry to say, Oxycodone, that I once found you to be a daily comfort but now with you gone I realize that you were only holding me back and keeping me sick.  You're a predator.  You are the evil that we are warned about.  I hope that some day you are completely removed from existence so you can not continue to hurt others just as you have hurt me.

Goodbye for the very last time....

                        .... Rachel
               

I stood there with an ear to ear grin on my face as the mothers all chattered about what a beautiful young girl I was and how they wished their daughters were more like me; I soaked up their accolades like my skin was soaking up the warmth of the sun.  Too young to fully feel envy the other girls excitedly asked me to help them learn so they too could impress the mothers.  "You have to take a bath and rinse your hairy reallllly good, you have to brush your teeth in the morning and at night, eat all of your dinner even if you don't like it, and always do your best in school especially practice handwriting."  Suddenly, the warm air and bright blue sky turned cold and dark grey; a roll of thunder came rumbling through so viciously that I felt the force would easily take my fragile seven year old body to the ground.  Where were my friends?  Where were the mothers?  I frantically swung my head around to see if the others were still there.  Not only were they still there but the sky was blue and the air was warm.  Amongst the group there stood my Grandmother and my uncle (they lived in the apartment below us-myself, my brother three years my senior, and my mother). 

"She is the prettiest one out of all of you, I hope you girls know that" shouted my uncle.

My heart sank.  I backed away and into the shadow of the tree.

"It's ok!  Let them see how good you look.  They should be jealous of you so let them see you."

I didn't want to.  I didn't feel pretty any more.  I didn't feel smart.  I didn't feel proud.  I didn't feel anything.  I went from being on top of the world as the role model in my peer group to a blank stare that was null and void of any positive or negative emotion.  I backed into the shadow of the tree, wrapped an arm behind the trunk, and pulled myself back.  It's been five years now and I don't really know when to expect it.  Would he do it with all of my friends and their mothers around?  I'm not ready for this, please not now, please not in front of my friends!  It's something that I can not bear but now I also risk having it happen in front of my friends?  I don't want them to know!  So, I left my body standing there halfway tucked behind the tree and I took my mind and soul to a different place.  When I returned the sun was shining in the bright blue sky but the air had turned cool.  "Let's go play inside," I said to my friends, "I don't wan't to play outside any more." 

I have been confronting my abusive childhood for the last four years and it's been one heck of a journey.  Most of it up to this point has been very stressful and quite disturbing but I do find value and comfort when some things "click".  For instance, bless my young soul as I had been so mind controlled and was so naive that I thought that he would rape me in front of my friends, their mothers, my mother, and his mother.  How amazing is it that as I hid in the shadow of the tree I was actually going through the process of dissociating as a means of protecting myself; I say this is awesome because I am very in tune with souls, spirits, and what most consider to be "ghosts". 

I'm more than halfway through the lifetime of the period of abuse at this point in time but little did I know that I was about to enter the apex of it all.  I had no clue what was to come.  I didn't know that being raped in front of my friends would've made what actually was to come look like a birthday cake.  Come to think of it, I wouldn't want to have that knowledge at that point.  Or maybe I did know?  With as much relief as I have felt from this type session I am sure to return and may eventually elaborate on my belief system.  Who am I trying to fool?  You know you will!


Thank you for the chat.... 

                 ......Rachel

P.S. I LOVE YOU