Then it all goes wrong. Later in the same day I’m in the next province getting my hair cut when my cell phone rings.  I look at the call display and sort of panicked and hit the wrong button. Decline. Crap.  After my hair cut I look to see if a message was left. Of course not.

That was over a week ago.  They haven’t phoned back and I’m not sure what to do.  Should I phone back?  I know I will feel like I’m pestering them.  The therapist told me near the beginning of December she would contact me at the beginning of January, it is almost February.  I hate this and it has put me into a funk. Like suicidal funk.  I hate the mental health system. Or more like non system.

WordPress is also making me cranky.  It hasn’t been letting me comment on certain blogs. I’m not sure what’s up with that.

I’ll quit ranting now. I needed to get this out before I blow a cork in real life. ugh

I did have to drive through the snow storm to get to the clinic about a half hour away.  I told the doc I’m still feeling illish and my cough is hanging on.  She could still hear crackles somewhere in my lung and promptly sent me over to x-ray.  I wasn’t expecting it but she wanted to make sure I didn’t have pneumonia.  I don’t.  When I was leaving for the x-ray I quickly mentioned that I needed to discuss something with her when I got back.  I did that so I couldn’t back out telling her about my foot.

I went back to her office and sat down.  She looked at me expectantly.  I sat there for what seemed like eternity but I’m sure was only seconds.  I said that I needed her to look at my foot but was feeling some stress about it.  I said it involved knives.  I really don’t like knives.  And then very quickly I told her that my father cut something out of the bottom of my foot with a knife.

My doc looked at me with understanding and said it was completely understandable why I would be stressed about this.  She said that it must be bringing up some flashbacks.   I knew with that statement she had awareness about this sort of thing.  And that made me feel better.  She said no knives would be involved.  She gave me a couple of treatment options.  I went with the least painful one and if it doesn’t work I will try the other option.  None of which involves knives thankfully.

She also asked if I had heard from the possible new therapist yet.  I told I hadn’t.  I said the therapist told me she would phone in January.  I said I would wait until the end of the month before I phoned again to see what the scoop was.  My doc told me that she doesn’t like to tell me what to do but she said “I’m telling you to phone her tomorrow”.  She told me I took a big leap to contact another therapist and to follow-up now and not wait.  My doc knows how unobtrusive I tend to be. So sometime this week I will work up some courage and phone, as much as I hate to.

It seems the simplest of things take so much effort.  But I did it.

I’ve had a rough few weeks.  I ended up getting really sick and missing seven days of work.  That’s the most I’ve ever missed in my working life.  It started out as a flu and then moved into my chest. I thought I was going to choke up a lung or two.  I finally went to a doc and he promptly put me on antibiotics saying I had crackly sounding lungs.

Going to a doc for that or anything else that doesn’t involve touching me doesn’t bother me too much.  But there is something I need to see a doc about.  I have a small lump on the bottom of my foot and lately it has really been hurting when I walk.  I walk a lot.  It hurts a lot.

The trouble is, the thought of getting it removed is bringing up a nasty memory or two or three.  And it’s these memories that are making it difficult to deal with it medically.  I think I’ve mentioned before how I learned to keep quiet about stuff that was wrong with me physically.  I learned this very quickly.  My father on occasion would play doctor.  The first time I remember this happening was when I had a lump on the bottom of my foot and happened to complain about it.

He sat me down in a chair in front of him, took out his knife and proceeded to sharpen it.  Well that’s enough detail.  Needless to say I sat there frozen and didn’t make a sound but there sure was a lot of pain afterward.

I guess that will teach me to complain.

So now I’m reluctant to ask the doc about this. The memory is strong and persistent.  I will be seeing her on Monday on an unrelated matter.  I’m trying to work up the courage to ask her to help with this.

I walked into the restaurant and looked around for the dude.  My eyes found him but they also found someone else.  Someone from my past.  Sitting with the dude.  I stood there for a moment, took a breath and walked to the table.

When I was a young teen we lived in a very small, out-of-the-way community.  There were about eight or ten families living in this area.  A lot of bad things happened here, not just to me and my sibs but just about to everyone else – children that is (not knowing how it was for the adults).  We were all in abusive situations.  And this community was quite involved in our abuse and I’m sure the other children.  I don’t think any of the abuse was planned.  We just happened to live in a sick community.  And, of course we weren’t kept safe.

This guy who was sitting with the dude was part of this community.  He was just a child as was I at the time and our families were good friends.  I won’t get into details of what happened in this community because it would turn into a novel.  I will just say there was every type of abuse.

I sat down and wouldn’t you know it a second day conversation of what I experienced as a child.  We started off conversation talking about my mom and what was going on and then we started talking about my brother.  We talked about how he is a private person and likes his alone time.  We sort of talked about why this was which led to conversation about what we experienced in this community.

“It was bad” “real bad” he said.  “Yes it was” I replied, taken aback that the conversation turned to this.  He talked about how well both we and our sibs turned out in spite of how it was for us.  “Yes I guess you’re right” I replied.  “Yup, we survived that mess” “we’re survivors!”, he said with enthusiasm.  “We are survivors” I replied I’m sure with a little less enthusiasm.

He left shortly after this to leave me, the dude and another friend to our lunch.  I must confess though, my mind was mostly on the conversation I just had.  I was like ‘did this really happen’?  And how random was that?

They weren’t too many details in the conversation involved buts that’s fine by me.  I couldn’t handle it at this time anyway. I, who never ever talks about this stuff to anyone else, besides the therapist, talked to two different people on two consecutive days about the badness of what happened to us.

I guess most of us were survivors of that time, maybe some in more dysfunctional ways than others. But than again who can be the judge of that.  Not me.

And some were casualties who over time did not survive…

A couple of interesting and disturbing things happened on my days off.  On my first day off I asked my brother who is in town for a few days, to help me out with some work around the house.  Every once in a while I need some strong muscle to help move things.  As we were working for some unknown reason we started talking about our childhood.  Now this is a subject I tend to avoid at all costs.  My brother on the other hand will talk freely about it.

I’m not sure how we got on the subject of our childhood but at one point I told him that last year I went to see one of the houses we lived in.  I also told him I couldn’t remember anything of the time we lived there.  He remembers much more than me.  He said he spent most of his time being drunk.  We figured he must have been around nine years old then.  I told him I had no recollection of this.  He asked me if I remembered a few other things he mentioned and I had to say no.  I find this troubling.  But then he said something I found even more troubling.

He said that he had no good memories of his childhood.  I paused for a moment and admitted I don’t really have any either.

“In fact”, he said, “it was brutal”, “our childhood was brutal”.   I stopped.  I stopped what I was doing and I stopped on the inside.

Growing up I never really gave much thought to what was happening to me and around me.  When I was going to therapy I would always say what I went through really wasn’t that bad and even now I have a hard time realizing that my childhood was as bad as everyone thinks it was.   I know I’m in some sort of denial about it but I don’t really know why.  Maybe part of it is I don’t have much memory of it all, there are a lot of blanks.  And I have a feeling that admitting to it will open a big can of worms for me so to speak.

Anyway when my brother said those words, something happened inside of me but I’m not sure what yet.  Time will tell. He used strong words to describe our childhood, words I’ve never thought of using.

We had more conversation that day.  He told me some of the things he saw.  Very bad things yet when I’m honest I also saw similar things.  I think it was awful he had to see those things yet I can’t seem to attach any feelings towards myself about the things I saw.

Interesting conversation. Conversation I’ve rarely had with a sibling.

When I think about therapy I look inside to see how it feels and frankly I don’t feel anything more than this nervousness.  It feels blank or maybe a better word is ‘shut down’.  Funny, that’s a word I learned through therapy.

I was extremely anxious when I started therapy because I didn’t know what to expect. And that was anxiety on top of the extreme anxiety my mentalness was already causing me.  I was practically puking before every session. I was very naive about it all.  It took a while to learn the ‘therapy language’.   I didn’t know there was such a thing as a ‘inner child’. Although I’m still a bit dubious about that…

The only thing I related the word ‘trauma’ to was car accidents.  I never knew that’s what they call what happened to me.  Although I still have a hard time believing that as well.  If I start therapy again I wonder if I can talk about the trauma once again, if I need to start from the beginning once again.  Is it even necessary to start at the beginning again?

I didn’t have a clue about attachment.

Just the thought of attachment makes me anxious.  I find myself thinking of ways I can avoid it.  I’ve read that the therapeutic relationship can be helpful in the healing process. I also know it can have awful consequences.  I find myself wondering if I can have a healing relationship while holding the therapist at arm’s length.  I find myself wondering if it’s possible avoid attachment in the therapy setting considering I don’t really know how to handle relationships anyhow because of my interesting childhood.

I have many questions and no answers.  The only sure thing I know is the anxiousness I feel at the thought of therapy and all that goes with it.  Especially attachment.

This year, for the first time I didn’t have to travel to my mother’s for Christmas.  She has lived with us for a few months now.  Now there is no hiding from Christmas at all. I don’t decorate my house but my mother has always done hers up.  Now my house is all decorated.  I never watch Christmas specials on the TV but this year that was all we watched.  I’m glad I have my own space to get away from it all.

My mother insisted on cooking the meal.  Yikes!  There was a fair bit of drama with that.  I had to take her shopping many times for ingredients.  Things had to be prepared a certain way or else I would hear about it.  We ended up helping her a bit because she isn’t strong enough to lift the heavy turkey or a heavy pot. By this time we all were getting a tad cranky.

One of my bothers and a nephew came over for dinner.  It was nice to see them but it made for a crowded house.

I’ve always had a quiet Christmas as an adult and this year was very noisy, very busy, with everyone having very crabby moments.  Thankfully we all got through it without too much yelling.

It helped that I’m working at my jobs all through Christmas and New Years. It gives me time away even though I could really use a day or two off.  I know my mother is still trying to figure out her new role in this house.  I just hope it happens before next Christmas if her health holds up and she is still here.  Yeesh…

When I do this questionnaire there are many extreme responses due to my agoraphobia and panic so it pushes my score above the norm anyway.  It’s a pain sometimes not being part of the so-called ‘norm’ which the responses on this form are compared to.  Who decides what’s normal anyway?

I sat down with the two therapists and to their credit they didn’t bring up the suicide thing again.  They asked me how things were, what was going on for me.  I told them how the group subject matter opened up a lot of relationship stuff and I didn’t really know how to process it all.  I told them how I was with the session on conflict and how it kind of threw me back into the fear like it was yesterday.  I said I often experience this even if it’s just a simple argument between two people.  We talked about my past and how this was normal considering the violence that I continually experienced.  Among another things they asked me when this happens could I know that I’m safe now even when my body says it’s unsafe. I said no I can’t because it feels like it happens instantly and then all rational thought seems to disappear.  We talked about this sort of thing for a while.

Then the unexpected happened. The therapist in charge of the group said it wouldn’t be right for my unprocessed stuff to be triggered and to leave me in the midst of it.  She asked me about my former t and I ended up telling her some of what happened and that I wouldn’t go back to her.  Not because I didn’t like her but because I was still hurt and I didn’t think the trust would be there anymore.

I know this agency has a rule about therapists recruiting clients for themselves so to speak.   So now it’s left up to me to ask the right questions.  With a bit of ‘hint’ direction on their part I started asking questions. The t said I could make a phone call to the agency and ask to see a therapist.  First I mentioned that I didn’t think I could go back to this agency knowing that the counsellors only do short-term type of therapy now.  The t looked at me strangely and said that is left to the discretion of the therapist even though the agency leans towards this.  She said once again I could call the agency and ask.  I finally clued in and so I asked if she would take me as a client.  She said she would be willing to work with me.  She said I would have to call the intake worker and tell her I would like to see a counsellor and who I would like to see.  The therapist said she would talk to the intake worker and let her know I would be calling.

The few minutes that the therapist wanted to see me after the session ended up to be an hour.

This all  happened unexpectedly and it took me off guard.  I was still unsure of what to do about therapy.  And now this falls into my lap.  I gave myself a day to think about it and I decided to phone the intake worker.  I was so nervous I’m sure I was barely coherent.  I have a hard time pronouncing the therapist’s name and I’m pretty sure I botched it when I requested her as the counsellor I wanted to see.  The intake worker returned my call and now I’m waiting to hear back from the counsellor.  She did say to me in our first conversation that it wouldn’t be until January that we could meet.  That’s OK because I need time to get used to the idea of therapy again. If it happens that is.

The same day I heard back from the intake worker I was organizing some papers and happened to see the referral list of therapists my former t gave me.  To my surprise the counsellor who I’m requesting is on that list.

Now I have to remember to write out the questions I need to ask her before I risk doing this again.

We had decided that we would have a fondue and snacks.  Each of us including the facilitators brought something.  We started the session with eating.  It was all very yummy.

Then we gathered in our circle one last time.  First we had to take care of some business.

The week before we had to fill out the outcome questionnaires one last time.  I had a feeling I didn’t do well on mine.  I was having a bummed out week and it was probably reflected in my answers.  I was dreading what would be the result of it.  And it wasn’t good.  My score had worsened.  Even so I felt confident the facilitators wouldn’t bother me with it since this was the last session.

We revisited our goals and discussed how we may have worked our way towards some of them.  I told them how I worked toward one of my goals by being  open with one of my friends a I few weeks ago.  My friend’s sister has a serious mental illness and she had told me the struggle they both were having trying to work their way through the system and how my friend was struggling to understand her sister illness.  After much debating with myself I told her I understood some of what she was going through and then I took a bigger leap and told her why.

I actually ended up talking a lot in this session.  Somehow I found this an easier session.  I think because it was the end and the pressure was off.

After business was taken care of we read the farewell cards that each of us had done for each other.  It was a very powerful and emotional time.  It caught me off guard.  I didn’t cry but felt emotional when the cards addressed to me were read.  I was overwhelmed by what was said about me.  I’m not sure how they saw the stuff they said in me.  Then the facilitators gave each one of us two red roses. It was really nice.

It was getting close to the ending time and we gave each other a hug and as one of the facilitators hugged me she asked me if I could stay a few minutes after.

I guess they weren’t going to let my worse score go unnoticed.

to be continued…

First off I tend to equate a resilient person with one who is an overcomer of adverse circumstances.  One who has an inner strength. I don’t think I’m an overcomer and I don’t think I have an inner strength.

Secondly when the therapist would say I am resilient I would resist (fear) that idea because in my mind I would hear ‘you don’t need help, you can do it on your own’.  Because you know I’m so resilient.

I know, twisted thinking.

I decided to look up the word in the dictionary.

Definition of Resilient:  a: capable of withstanding shock without permanent deformation or rupture.  b: tending to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change

Now for sure I know I’m not resilient.  If I’m honest I think I’ve experienced permanent rupture in some areas of my life.   And I certainly don’t adjust easily to change.

On the other hand I’m slowly recovering from my ‘misfortune’ in some areas. So does that make me resilient? I know I’m probably looking at it in a simple way but that’s where my brain is at right now.

I wonder if I need to find a new word, something more accurate to describe my survival through my ‘misfortune’.  (besides the word survivor)

These are just some random thoughts that have gone through my head.  This session was about resilience.  We did some artwork around it and had some discussion.  I actually talked more than usual.

I enjoyed this session, it got me thinking.  What am I?