Tag Archives: clinical depression

24 JUNE 2001

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When I started this blog on the one year anniversary of my attack, it was to help me deal with and understand what I had been through as a result of my encounter with DCD.  I also wanted to help other women who had gone through, or were still going through, a similar event.  I thought that others would eventually want to share their stories.  So far, though, I seem to be the only one telling my story, and that’s okay.   As I’ve shared my story and continue to have issues come up, as a direct or indirect result of being sexually assaulted, I can see that my entire story, not just the approximately 2-minute or 5-minute, or however long my assault actually took, is just as important.  Everything we go through in our lives gets us to where we are right now, in this very moment, and all of it matters.  Of course, some things or events matter more than others, but it all does impact us in some way.

When I was thinking about what to write in this week’s post, I went to my garage and got into my box of old journals.  After some skimming of about 10 or 12, I settled on the one that runs from 4 April 2001 -11 November 2001.  I brought it in the house and into my bed to read until the ‘right’ entry jumped out at me.  This period of my life was just ager my divorce from J and I had moved from Chicago to West Hollywood.  What follows is what I wrote on 24 June 2001…

 

“Once again, I am drinking wine and shortly, no doubt, I’ll start feeling melancholy, as I usually do when drinking, especially when I am alone.  And, of course, I am alone.  I am hardly anything else.  But since I like being alone, this should be a good thing.  I’m beginning to wonder though.  As I was sitting here reading (looking, though, is probably more accurate) Cooking Light, I suddenly had the inspiration that I should, once again, write down what it is I want in my life.  So here is my updated list:  I want someone to share with.  The day-to-day stuff that is usually such a pain is sorely lacking in my life.  I want and need someone here. (Elaina was right about this.)  I want someone to talk to, and I mean really talk, not just silly, it-doesn’t-really-matter stuff.  I want someone to go to the Hollywood Farmer’s Market (or whichever) with.  I want to cook dinner with someone.  I want someone in my bed every night, and I don’t mean Emily.  I want physical contact.  I need it.  I want to go to the Hollywood Bowl and listen to jazz (even though I don’t care for jazz.)  I want to be building a life with someone (besides myself.)  I still want to have a baby.  I want to get a dog.  I want to, once and for all time, STOP BEING AFRAID.  I want to have more patience.  I want to love unconditionally and be loved in return the  same way.  I want to live for today, and for myself, instead of waiting until that certain someone comes along and is here in my life.  I want to honestly enjoy everything.  I want to stop saying I don’t like things, and just do them anyway.  I want to teach.  I want to write my book about my life so that I can help thousands, maybe even millions, of people.  I want to write children’s books, so kids can understand that they are important, that what they think and feel is the most important thing in the world, no matter what anybody says.  I want to see DPS again.  I want to create beautiful things.  I want to live according to what I believe. I want to tell my truth, always.  I want to travel and see the world.  I want to learn to sail and buy that sail boat so that I can sail around the world.  I want to stop being stuck.  I want to do what I feel is right.  I want to see SG.  I want to stop being afraid of what he’s going to say or do or not do.  I want to stop putting my life on hold because of him.  I want to truly believe that all is happening for the best, that my life is exactly where it should be.  I want passion.  I WANT SEX.  I am so tired of being lonely.  I want to stop being afraid.  I want to know why I am so afraid.  I want to talk to M, I mean really talk to him, on Friday.  I want to spend time with him.  I want to kiss him.  Boy, do I want to kiss him.  I would love to be able to tell him that.  Better yet, I would like to just do it.  I want to understand why I’m here (in L.A. specifically, but in the world generally.)  I want to understand why I seem to attract and be attracted to those men who are ‘unavailable’ for one reason or another.  Why?  I want to understand why it is that every Tom, Dick and Harry that I pass by on the street tells me I am beautiful, but the very people I want to tell me never do, even though they may think it.  Why?  I want to know why it is I am so weepy lately (even without the wine.)  I want to know why I keep losing my faith in the very things I am so sure about.  I’m not going to say that I want to be happy, because, in reality, I am happier than I’ve ever been in my life even though I am the most confused.  I know in my heart that I am doing, and have been doing, the right things for the last 9 or so months.  Still, it feels so not right at times.  Perhaps one of the reasons it feels bad at times is that no one really wants to hear the truth.  Change is scary and no one knows that as well as I.  But I did it anyway.  In spite of what I was hearing from most people (my family,) I did it anyway, and I continue to do it.  Most don’t understand.  And as much as I don’t want that to matter, it somehow seems to anyway.  I’m working on it.  I guess for my whole life I have instinctively known what I had to do, and for the most part, have done it.  I just wish I had the outside support I seem to crave.  I’m on my own, though.  Except, I am never truly alone because I’ve always got God and the Universe and my guides and angels and spirits with me.  What more could I ever really ask for?

Alcohol is such a depressant, and yet, I’d love to drink even more.  Why?  I’d say I just want to be numb.  I know it won’t do me any good though, and I’ll just feel like dog doo tomorrow, so I’ll be a relatively good girl and not have any more to drink tonight.  Not to mention, it will only make me feel worse.”

 

Some things never change.  Although the above journal entry was written more than 13 years ago, a lot of what I was ‘wanting’ in my life is still what I want today.  I hope, though, that I have a better understanding of where I am and my place in the world.  What is most interesting to me is I forgot about a lot of things that I wanted back then.  Sail around the world?  Really?

FORGIVING DOES NOT MEAN FORGETTING

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Still working on forgiving – my attacker, of course, and even more importantly, myself. I know it seems strange that I would in any way need to forgive myself for something I did not do, for something I never would have wished upon my worst enemy; not that I really have any enemies, but if I did, I wouldn’t wish a sexual assault on them.

In April, right before I left for a trip to Atlanta, to visit my parents, to go to the Masters and  to Saint Simons Island to visit my friend Kim, I was on my way to the outlet mall down by the border and passed a sign for the exit for Donovan. I have never noticed this exit before on any previous trip. When I saw it, the thought that popped into my head was, “I should go and visit DCD.” (A friend wrote me to tell me that I need to stop calling my attacker ‘cockroach boy’ and start using his name. While I agree that CRB isn’t very nice, what he did to me wasn’t very nice and the best I can do right now is call him by his initials.) And then I thought, ‘Whoa, where did that come from?’ I completely forgot about it until my last Hoffman gathering. Well, after doing some research, I found out that DCD is not, in fact, housed at Donovan, but at Kern Valley, which is about a 4 hour drive from here. And in order to visit a prisoner, you have to be on the approved visitor list and the person to approve me is DCD. You actually have to apply to be visitor, and even if DCD said it was okay, the prison system has to okay it, as well. I think my real reason for wanting to go visit him is to ask him WHY? I’m not sure I’d even get an answer and even if I did, it may not be one I want. I’ve thought about it a lot and come to the conclusion that going up to Kern Valley State Prison is not something I am prepared to do. A compromise may be to write him a letter. Again, I am not sure what I hope to really accomplish with this. I may end up writing him and not sending it.

At acupuncture last week, I was lamenting about how long the healing process is taking. Matt said to me, ‘You ARE through it. Right now. You are done.’ Okay, cool! Maybe it really is as easy as that. Yes, I am still dealing with some physical issues that have occurred as a result of the attack. Each day, though, I feel like I am one step closer to being completely healed. Will I ever forget about it? Doubtful, especially since I write about it. Will there always be certain things that are either very difficult or impossible for me to do? I have no idea. Only time will tell.

Whatever the case is for me, however it plays out for me in the future, forgiveness has been on my mind a lot in the last 2 1/2+ years. So as for forgiving myself, just as with DCD, I am much closer than ever to being able to say honestly that I have done it. I am not sure why I blame myself on some level, and I may never understand that. Don’t get me wrong here, I am very clear that I did nothing wrong, that the way I was dressed had nothing to do with it, that I was in the wrong place at the right time, because, to my way of thinking, if it had been the wrong time, it never would have happened. As I have said before, too, I do believe that it happened for a reason and though I did not specifically ask to be sexually assaulted, I had been asking for changes in my life. I am really okay with all of that, which is why it baffles me that I would in any way blame myself. Yet, it is still there to a degree. Clearly, I will be done when I am done. There doesn’t seem to be a way to make it go faster. It will take as long as it takes.

Because forgiveness has been so much on my mind, when the topic for the 7 March 2014 daily reading in my Science of Mind magazine, written by Joanne McFadden, was FORGIVE, this was just another validation that I am on the right path. I loved the essay so I am going to copy it in its entirety:

“After Olympic runner Louis Zamperini’s plane went down in the Pacific in World War II, he and the pilot floated for forty-seven days on a life raft. They survived a strafing attack by a Japanese pilot, numerous shark attacks and a lack of food, only to be captured by the enemy. They were brutally beaten, subjected to medical experiments, starved and worked to near death as prisoners of war. One guard, nicknamed “The Bird” by prisoners was determined to break Zamperini. Maintaining humanity and dignity was a daily struggle.

Zamperini survived. However, nightmares of his ordeal kept him emotionally imprisoned for years after the war, plunging him into alcoholism and despair. At first, Zamperini was convinced that vengeance was the only way to reclaim his life, and he became obsessed with it, making plans to hunt down The Bird. Grace intervened. Under protest Zamperini attended a Billy Graham meeting. He was about to get up and leave when he remembered a bargain he made when his raft floated in a dead calm. If God would save his life, Zamperini would serve.

That recollection changed his life dramatically. Zamperini forgave The Bird and went on to create camps for troubled boys, sharing his experiences and showing them a different way of life.

When I have allowed myself to have something to forgive, I like to remember extreme examples like Zamperini’s. If he could do it, so can I.”

Exactly. If Louis Zamperini can do it after the unimaginable things he endured, then so can I.

“It’s a healing, actually, it’s a real healing…forgiveness.” ~Louis Zamperini

THE ‘SIDE EFFECTS’ OF HOFFMAN

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As I have already stated, doing the Hoffman Process, literally, saved my life.  Just as my last three posts were titled, it was a huge leap of faith for me.  It was truly an experience like none I had ever had before, nor have I done anything like it since.  I am forever grateful that I was able to find it when I did, that I had a very supportive (soon to be ex) husband and that I had the resources necessary to do it.  My life so completely changed afterwards.  Something very fundamental shifted in me.  It was clearly something that needed to shift.  BH (before Hoffman) I was a very pessimistic person.  Even after having ‘done’ the antidepressant drugs and therapy, there was still something not quite right in me.  It is very difficult to explain how I was different, why I felt so much better, though I will do my best.

When I left to drive back to Chicago, the world seemed somehow brighter.  I felt more alive, like every part of me was happy.  That feeling in itself was odd for someone who had been perpetually depressed and unhappy for most of her life.  Depression is a weird and insidious thing.  It’s not that I had a bad life, quite the opposite, but I never felt that good, let alone great, and certainly not happy.  Okay, maybe on occasion, for a short amount of time, I felt okay, or good enough to keep me going.  Believe me, that is no way to live, and, yet, I know many people do it, day in and day out, for their entire lives.  So, on my drive, I noticed something very strange: no more road rage.  None.  It was all gone, and it stayed gone for a good 9 or 10 years.  Sadly, it has started creeping slowly back in.  It’s not bad, certainly not like it used to be, but I do find myself getting mad at other drivers.  I have to make a real conscious effort to relax and realize that no one is purposely ‘out to get me.’  It was nothing I consciously decided to rid myself of, it just happened as a result of doing the Process.

For years, as long as I can remember, I have always had headaches.  When I was a teenager, I suffered from migraines that appeared every 6 weeks or so.  They did not seem to be connected to my periods, but they did show up just as regularly.  The worst one I ever had lasted 13 days.  Yes, THIRTEEN DAYS!  My (physician) mother finally took me to the doctor to see if there was anything that could help.  The doctor wanted to test my tolerance to pain (clearly I had a lot) and did so by giving me a shot in my hip.  I could tell that the needle was tiny, but it hurt so much that when he told me he could give me another shot that would make my headache go away in 20 minutes, I said, “No way!”  My thinking was I had had the headache for 13 days so it was bound to go away soon, even without a shot.

The really bad thing about my migraines as I got into my late teens and early 20s was how they affected me.  I had blind spots in my eyes and when I would look at a person, I could not see his or her face.  Everyone was headless.  This was a real problem when I was driving.  Not only could I not see people’s faces, now I couldn’t see whole cars.  I would have to pull over, carefully, and call someone to come and get me.  Over time, the migraines eased up a bit, but I still had regular headaches.  I rarely did not have a headache.  There was always pain, but I was so used to it, I mostly ignored it.  I have probably taken enough aspirin, Tylenol, and ibuprofen in my lifetime to kill a herd of elephants.

Very unexpectedly, AH (after Hoffman) my headaches were gone.  Completely!  I had no pain at all in my head anymore.  As far as side effects go, this was a great one.  13 1/2 years later I rarely get headaches, and if I do, it’s because I really have a pain in my head.  All the headaches I suffered for all those years were, apparently, stored and repressed anger, and once I dealt with the underlying causes of that, they had no choice but to disappear.

I always had a potty mouth.  Not horrible, but not so nice, either.  I had read a book by Hugh Prather in the early 90s called “Notes To Myself.”  I do not have the book in front of me, so I cannot quote it exactly; but he said something to the effect of ‘when you swear, all I hear is the swear words and not what you are trying to say.’  At the time I had boyfriend who like to yell and swear and that’s all I could hear.  So, even then I was doing my best to be more conscious of not swearing.  Let’s just say, I wasn’t that successful at it.  AH, though, that all changed.  I was doing something and felt the need to swear.  When I opened my mouth to say, oh, who knows, ‘shit’ or ‘fuck,’ out of my mouth came, ‘oh, bother.’  I just started laughing.  To this day, I rarely swear, and when I do, it is way more effective.  And, really, I think it sounds crass to have every other word come out of your mouth be a swear word.  I will admit, I sometimes do swear when I am alone, especially if I am angry or frustrated at something or someone.  But, like I said, I hardly ever do it in front of anyone.  I have friends who have said they have never heard me swear, and that’s a good thing, I think.

These are just three of the ‘side effects’ I ‘suffered’ as a result of doing the Hoffman Process. All are good and all helped to improve my life, I’d say.  There are so many more, some big, most small, that I wouldn’t even be able to list them.  The entire 10 days was such a life-changing experience.  There are hundreds of Hoffman graduates in the San Diego area, and we have monthly gatherings to continue to work the tools we learned, and to stay connected to each other.  I know Bob Hoffman (founder of the Process) is smiling down on me.

A LEAP OF FAITH, PART 3

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The following is the second half of my Summary of the Process, written on 18 November 2000:

My experience with the Emotional Child/Intellect/Body/Spirit confrontation and Truce was actually fun.  (Again, a lot of what I am writing about here will make no sense in the specifics unless you have done the Hoffman Process.)  All parts of me felt good that they were finally able to have their say, to actually be heard and to know that what each part felt and said was, and is, important.  All parts of me now realize that we all must work together, that no one part has more of an important role than any other, that we must all listen carefully to what is being said, and act accordingly.  The truce was a validation that we will continue to be there for, listen to and work with each other, all our parts, from that day forward. I found the recycling to be useful as a tool to get rid of negative thinking and patterns and to look at those patterns in a new way.  Some of the alternatives that came up seemed a bit silly, but, perhaps, that’s really the point.  In the end, the idea is to eradicate those patterns that impact negatively in my life and if rolling in a field of sunflowers, whether physically or only in my mind, does this, then it must be a good solution. My experience of expressing my vindictiveness and then finding forgiveness had a sense of being free of the need to lash out and try to get back at people for the perceived slights or hurts inflicted upon me.  Again, in the end, I am the only one hurt by carrying a grudge and feeling that sense of superiority or self-righteousness.  It felt good to let go of those feelings and the feeling of trying to show you that I am better because I am paying you back for hurting me, that I’ll show you.  The need to always be “right” has disappeared.  I’ve always felt that people should live and let live, but in reality, I didn’t actually practice it.  I thought people should live and let live, but by my rules, by doing it my way.  Now I feel able to actually practice what I preach, so to speak.

My experience with writing the Positive Letter to my parents isn’t complete yet since I haven’t finished the letter.  With what I’ve written so far and with all of the good thoughts I had surrounding it, though, I feel it’s a good thing to be able to think of both of my parents in positive terms instead of as all negative patterns.  And though at times it has been quite difficult to see, I do know that I did learn the virtues and strengths that I have, even if I don’t always recognize them as such, from them.

I have to say that play day was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.  The play session made me want to join, or if none is available, to start my own “Adult-Play Group,” just like those that exist for kids.  All the different games were so much fun and like one of my fellow Hoffmates mentioned, none lasted too long.  We didn’t have time to get bored before we were off to another game and/or adventure.  I especially liked the counting by 4s and then each number was given an animal and we had to find our other members with our eyes closed, of course.  It was all fun, though.  The magic carpet ride to the North Pole to visit Santa Claus was so cool.  It was an affirmation that I am a good and loving person since Santa doesn’t give gifts to bad people.  I don’t honestly remember going to visit Santa as a child, so it was a chance to experience something I wasn’t able to so long ago. It was great.  And so was the birthday party.  Although I do not remember such a large and elaborate party for me, it was a wonderful celebration.  I felt we were celebrating all that we had accomplished thus far in the week.  And to top it all off, we got to put on a play, just like kids love to do.  I don’t think the content of our play would ever show up in a play put on by actual children, but it was fun, nonetheless.  It gave us a chance to work together with each other.  Overall, I thought it was hilarious and showed what we can do when we put our heads, and hearts, together.  All in all, it was one of the best days.  I was truly sorry to see it end.  It felt kind of like when I was little and not wanting to go to bed because I was having way too much fun.

The next day we went back to the ‘hard’ stuff.  My experience with the Dark Side Process left me with a feeling of hope and calm.  And a determination to never let my dark side back into my life.  I know there will be times it’ll creep up on me, but I feel like I’ll be able to zap it and keep it from taking over.

I believe that if I am willing, and I am, to really listen to my spiritual self, I will never be led astray.  I know, without a doubt, that my spiritual side is very powerful.  I know that she has kept me alive for 40 years so that I could get to the place I finally am.  Even when I couldn’t see past the pain, she could.  I know, too, that she is a very loving and giving part of me. As I’ve always been a very visual person myself, I know that she must also be, since, really, we are one and the same.  She has helped me in the last several months, but especially in the last week, visualize my future.  And it looks good!

As I approach the end of the Process and prepare to go fully back into the world I left, I know that I can do it.  I feel so grateful that I’ve had this opportunity to grow and experience the last week, however painful and hard it was.  I am excited about what the future holds for me.  I am also a little bit scared.  I’ve got some major stuff to go through with J, but I KNOW I can face whatever comes my way.  I have the tools and the willingness to do it right, to keep the negative love out of my life.  I also know there will be pain and stumbling along the way, but nothing that love and my belief that I’ll come through it can’t handle.  I am free.  I am love, and I am lovable.

 

Okay, back to present day…just typing this out has been eye-opening.  As I said in one of the previous parts of this, I have not read or even looked at this stuff since I finished the Process in November of 2000.   One of the most powerful things that happened at the end of my time in Wisconsin, was opening my eyes and seeing all the past graduates who had come to participate in a particular ceremony we had, and knowing, I mean really knowing, that no matter what, no matter where I went, or what I did, for the rest of my life, I had a community of like-minded people.  And that alone was worth it.

LEAP OF FAITH, PART 2

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I wrote the following on 18 November 2000:

Summary of My Process

Before actually beginning, or even being aware that such a possibility existed, my little voice that over the years, I believe, has kept me from doing anything I would truly regret, was once again screaming, and I do mean screaming, at me to listen.  It started in August, and, as usual, at first I discounted what it was saying.  I just couldn’t believe it was true.  However, over the course of a few weeks of really listening to and thinking about what had been said to me, I realized it was right.  A chance rental of the movie “28 Days” got me thinking that rehab was exactly what I needed; something so intense and concentrated that I could not walk away.  I asked my therapist if such a thing existed since I had never heard of it for emotional issues, only chemical ones.  She told me that, yes, she did know of a place called the Hoffman Institute that had a branch in Wisconsin and that she much respected the work that they’ve done.  She got the number and I called that day to have the information sent to me.  It didn’t arrive for a week and a half, which stressed me out since I wanted it instantly.  Once, in my own mind, I’d made the decision that it was for me, I wanted concrete facts in from of me.  I wanted to know when and where and how much.  When I finally received the packet, I glanced over it, and my first thought was, oh, this isn’t me for.  J read it more thoroughly, and later that evening, he told me he thought it was perfect for me.  I re-read it and began to think that maybe he was right.  Still, I had my reservations so I asked Cate the next time I saw her.  She again told me that she thought it would be very good for me.  I thought about it a little more, then made the decision to do it.  I called and made the reservation.  After that, I felt a little scared and a little excited, too.  The next day when Fed-Ex brought my enrollment package, I wondered what I had gotten myself into.  I knew, though, that I had to do it.  I felt, really, as though my life truly did depend on it.  I had made a promise several years earlier to my mother that I would not kill myself, but my spirit (which I know now, saved my life) was dying.  I was dying, and if I didn’t do something drastic, my life would cease to exist in any kind of meaningful way.  The time had come to take real action or I was finished.

A note before I continue — some of what I will be copying won’t make a lot of sense, unless you’ve actually done the Process, but it is more the feeling of what I’m saying than the specifics of what we were doing in the Process.  Also, because I wrote a little over 7 1/2 pages, I will break this into a Part 3.  You have to remember this was 2000, and laptops, if available, were not readily used, so everything was written by hand.  Of course, I still write in my journal by hand – no keeping it on my computer or iPad.  Okay, back to the summary of my Process:

My experiences in the Light Journey, my spirit guide, Child, Intellect and Sanctuary were all so foreign to me.  At the end of the visualization, I was more exhausted than anything else.  I also felt a sense of fullness, that here are parts of me I never even suspected existed, let alone knew of.  I felt as though a lot of missing, very scattered pieces came together at last.  I saw lots of colors swirling around and was amazed at the beauty of it all.  At times it felt awkward as my emotional child has never had that kind of love and attention that my spirit was paying it that day.  After I was able to put those feelings aside, though, I felt very grateful that I could help my emotional child feel loved and whole.  My intellect has done a good, no, make that a great job of helping me deny my true feelings about most everything in my life.  Having to allow my intellect to actually feel was liberating.  It gave me hope.  It made me feel as though I CAN DO IT.  Whatever IT is.  The vision of my sanctuary was very beautiful.  The was a huge hammock that my trinity came together in.  A place where the sun always shines, even as a gentle rain must sometimes fall to water the giant live oaks that support my hammock.  At the end of those visualizations,  I felt relief.

I think some of the most destructive patterns I learned from the major females in my life are self-doubt and never feeling good enough, and a sense that joy and happiness are for other people, not for us, or me. After dis-identifying with those patterns through the exercises we did, I felt a sense of freedom and forgiveness.  And relief that I am not the patterns I learned.  I felt that there is hope.

My experience of using my addictions in the Light also provided hope.  I realized that my addictions were, and still can be if I let them, just ways in which I isolate myself from everyone, including myself.  It has to be a conscious decision, daily really, not to allow it to happen.  In my fantasies, isolation is a wonderful thing, but in reality, it doesn’t really provide anything useful to my spirit or soul.  It actually keeps me from the very things I truly crave: love and a sense that I do belong, that I do, in fact, matter.

The most devastating and destructive patterns I learned from the male presence, or lack thereof, in my life are fear of men, of love, of being abandoned and of commitment.  My experience of dis-identifying with all those patterns through the exercises was similar to that of the female energy.  I also felt a profound sense of relief and lightness.

The compassion session was a sad, but incredibly moving experience.  For as long as I can remember, before this week, I have never viewed death as anything other than freedom from pain and the shitty word we live in, and because of that, it turned out to be harder than I would’ve imagined.  What made it ‘real’ was going to the cemetery and re-living it again there.  That was extremely difficult.  For me, just walking into the cemetery was hard enough, but what we did in the actual exercise was very real and sobering.  I still don’t believe that death is a bad thing, but I can finally see reasons for sticking around now.

Okay, this is where I am going to stop with the summary today.  I have not read this since I left Hoffman and it is kind of hard to take in.  I can see so much more clearly now, and I am able to see just how close to the edge I really was.  Scary!  The good news is I came through it and even now when I start feeling less than good, I have the tools to get myself back to where I need to be, where I prefer to live my life.  I learned so many of those tools at Hoffman, and as I have already said several times, Hoffman truly saved my life.

A LEAP OF FAITH: Part 1

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I met my friend Shannon in 1988, while living and working as a model in Greece.  In 2000, I went to visit her in Vancouver, where she is from, though she lives in Barcelona now with her husband and two sons.  On the way to the airport I kept saying to my (then) husband, “I don’t want to go.”  He said, “Of course you do.  You always say this before you are leaving on a trip.”  True.  Did I know something subconsciously?  Did I sense that this trip would change the course of my life?  Maybe, but maybe it was just me not wanting to leave my comfort zone, the comfortable bubble I existed it at the time.  Whatever the case was, I did go on my trip, and my life did change.

As I said before, I had known Shannon since 1988.  I had met almost everyone in her family, everyone, that is, except her youngest brother, who I will call D.  When I met D I had a physical reaction to him.  This was strange because he was not my ‘type.’  He was tall and extremely fit, he participated in the Scottish Highland games and was really attractive. So what in that description is not my type?  All I can say is he just wasn’t.  That’s why the reaction I had to him seemed like it was coming out of left field.  I remember thinking, ‘oh, no, I thought that part of me had died.’

When I met my husband, I was a mess.  I had been back from Spain for about a year and a half at that point.   People thought I was anorexic because I weighed only 125 pounds.    I wasn’t, I was extremely stressed and just could not gain weight.  (By the way, I do not have that problem anymore.)  Then I met J.   He was a good guy; kind, nice-looking, though not in a pretty-boy/model way that I preferred.   He had a real job and a normal life.  I had retired from modeling by then, but it is a very hard business to leave, and I was still getting used to living back in the States.  I was clinically depressed and made decisions and choices that I never would have made had I been emotionally healthy.  There was one ‘problem,’ which in the end, turned out to be something I simply could not live with for the rest of my life.  I was not attracted to him physically.  At the time, I thought, well, I’ve had the bells and whistles before and because he’s a good guy, and there must be more to life than mind-blowing sex, I think I can do this.   The moment I met D it became very clear to me that I couldn’t.  Well, crap!

I couldn’t, wouldn’t, do anything about what I was feeling because, after all, I was married.  On the plane back to Chicago, I realized I was going to have to get a divorce.  I so did not want to tell J, and after I was home, I got sick from holding  it in.  I wasn’t sure how or when I would tell him.  I think I kept hoping that somehow I would be able to go back to how my life was before I left for Canada.  I think I was in bed for a week, and then one morning, without meaning to, it popped out of my mouth.  He asked if we could go to couples/marriage counseling.  I said yes.  I forget now where we found this therapist, but she was great.  It became very clear very quickly that this wasn’t going to work.  I had never really let my husband know who I really was, and, consequently was unable to talk about much in therapy.  We decided that I would continue to see her on my own, and go from there.

At one point, I saw the movie “28 Days” with Sandra Bullock.  I thought, ‘oh, my gosh!  That’s what I need.  I need rehab, but for mental stuff.’  At my next appointment, I asked if there was such a thing as mental rehab.  She told me yes, and there is a really good place that is based in Northern California, but they have a location in Wisconsin.  She got the phone number for me, I called and got the information sent, and two weeks later, I went to Hoffman.  When the brochures first arrived I read them over and then told J I didn’t think it sounded like me.  He read them and said to me, “Read them again.”  Oh.

The Hoffman Process saved my life.  I felt hopeless, that I was hanging on by a mere thread, and the 10 days I spent in Wisconsin changed everything.  What J actually said to me was, “If we can’t fix our marriage, can we at least work on fixing you?”  I was 99.98% sure I wanted  to get a divorce, but for the .02% chance that our marriage could be saved, and because I was so unhappy, we decided I needed to go.  Hoffman was, without a doubt, the most difficult thing I had ever done in my life.  There was 10 hours of pre-Process work, and I was on the phone with someone in the office more than once while attempting to complete it.   That was a clear indication of just how hard it was going to be.

I cannot even remember exactly where in Wisconsin it was held.  All I know is we were at a B&B and completely isolated from the outside world.  There was no TV, no radio, no phone or cell phones.  We were there to work, and work we did, for many hours each day.  When we first arrived, they gathered all 21 of us together and we each had to introduce ourselves and say why we were there.  I said, “I am at the end of my rope and since I promised my mother I would not kill myself, something has to change because my life depends on it.”

And so the adventure of the Hoffman Process began…

 

A LINGERING SADNESS

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In the fall of 1973, my mother gathered my (then) 3 brothers together and said, “Since we cannot decide on what kind of car to get, do you think we could decide on what kind of baby?”  (Note – In August of 1972, my mother had married Mark Shriver, who then adopted  me and my 3 brothers.  We had had a VW bus since 1965 (actually, we were on our second one by then) and since we were now 6 people, the bus just wasn’t big enough anymore, and so the need for a new car.  I do not remember what my brothers wanted, but I thought we should get the metallic blue beetle.  Yeah, like that was big enough!  In the end, we got a Dodge Sportsman Van (long before minivans were around) and a Mercedes 450SL.  Clearly, the van was for the kids and the 450SL was for the adults.) I, of course, wanted a girl and my brothers wanted a boy.  As I would be almost 14 years old when the baby was born, I’m not really sure what good a sister would have done me.  Really, I wanted a girl so I could make her little dresses.  I got another brother.  Andrew Mark Shriver was born on 29 April 1974.

When he came home from the hospital, I couldn’t believe my eyes.  My mother had brought home a red baby!  I did not even like him until he was about 3 months old.  Then I fell in love.  He became ‘my baby.’  Although I was not his mother, I did have a huge influence on him, the main thing being I did not ‘allow’ him to have a southern accent.  Oh, no!  Since none of us had been born in Atlanta (me and my brothers in WV, my new father was born in NJ, and my mother in Missouri,) and none of us had southern accents, I decided he would not, could not, have one either.   When he started pre-school and came home saying things like, ‘ya’ll’ and ‘fixin” and ‘cut on the light,’ I knew I had to step in.  I am proud to say that I was quite successful.  So much so, that when he went away to college in Maine, when I went to his graduation, he introduced me to his friends as ‘she’s the reason I don’t have a southern accent.’  No one could believe that he had been born and spent his entire life in Georgia and did not speak like his mouth was full of cotton balls.

We went to the same private school: me, only for my senior year in 1977/78 and Andy, from 4th grade on.  Because there were so many years between us, and even Brian, who was closest in age to him was still 9 years older, most of his friends did not realize Andy had older siblings.  When people saw us together, they just assumed I was his mother, and were always surprised to find out I was his older sister.

In my mind, Andy had it all–he grew up in a family with 2 parents who were not divorced, he was, in essence, an only child, he had every advantage and he was a good kid.  He never did drugs or smoked (I do take credit for this since I told him if he ever smoked cigarettes, I would make him eat them, lit!) and he did well in school.  He went to college and actually graduated in 4 years, like you are supposed to.  After graduation, he went back to Atlanta and got a job.  He had lots of friends and seemed happy, seemed being the operative word.

Pretty much everyone in my immediate family suffers from either depression or has bipolar disorder.  I now know that I spent a good part of my life clinically depressed.  I am the only one who has every gotten help with it.  I have been in therapy various times through my life.  I took antidepressants, which were hateful, but they did what they were meant to do and got my chemicals back in balance.  I asked at the time whether I would ever have to take them again.  My doctor said maybe, but that there was no way to know for sure.  I have read and participated in all kinds of self-help seminars.  I have worked really hard to stick around, which is my way of saying I’ve worked really hard not to kill myself.  The same cannot be said for anyone else in my family.  Is it fun to deal with all the crap?  Ah, no, it’s not.  But there is something in me that makes me have to do it.  Just as after my attack.  Even my therapist said I had a choice to do it or not, but I never felt that I did.  I absolutely had to do it.

Andy was suffering from depression, but he never let anyone know.  He was also suffering from a completely ‘fixable’ heart condition.  Again, he never told anyone.  No one knew that he was, essentially, a ticking time bomb.  And that bomb went off on 14 June 2011.  He died from an aortic aneurism.  I will never forget the call I got telling me that he was dead.  How could this be?  He was 37 years old.  He was my ‘baby.’  And as it turned out, the only ‘baby’ I ever had.

Yesterday was, what should have been, his 40th birthday.  I spent the day feeling pretty crappy.  I was able to work, and while I was working, I could keep my mind off of him.  I worked until about 8:30p, and that’s when I realized that working had kept me from dwelling too much on his not being here.  I miss him more than I can say or even understand.

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WHY DOES IT TAKE SO LONG?

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Okay, it is just over 2 1/2 years since my encounter with cockroach boy, so why am I still struggling?  Don’t get me wrong, I am SO much better than I was and I know that I am a little better each day, but why does it take so, so, so long to feel ‘normal’ again?  Will I ever actually feel the way I used to?  Do I even want to?  All I know is I sometimes feel like I am just one unkind comment or one stupid injury away from the dark side.  The good thing is I do have the tools to get myself out of those places, and I am able to do it fairly quickly.  Still…

A few weeks ago, my car, Grazelda, bit me.  You may wonder how a car is able to bite someone.  Well, she is old (almost 18 years) and moves more slowly than she used to,  and one of those places that doesn’t move so well any more is the trunk.  I was going to yoga on the beach and was driving since I had to leave the island right after.  Because I did not need my purse on the beach and I didn’t want to leave it sitting on the seat of the car, I thought I’d put it in the trunk before I left so that no one would see me doing it and decide to break in and steal it.  So I walk around the back of the car, insert the key into the trunk and assume (and everyone knows that one should never assume anything) without really looking that the trunk is open.  In fact, it was not and I bashed my head on the trunk lock.  I thought, oh great.  I did not have time to go back in the house to deal with it or I would have been late to yoga.  When I got in the car and looked in the mirror there was no blood.  Five minutes later it was a different story.  It never gushed blood, but I still managed to get blood all over my new white jacket.

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I looked like I had squooshed a spider on my forehead and just left it there.  Luckily, it healed quickly and because I put vitamin E oil on it every day, there is not even a scar when the scab fell off a week later.  That day, though, I felt ‘off’ for the entire day.  I did not hit my head hard enough to give myself a concussion, but I definitely felt dizzy and light-headed.  I probably should not have done yoga, but I did.  I also felt like crying, not so much because it hurt, but for some other unknown reason.  My body was reacting in a way I did not quite understand.  It seemed to me to be overreacting.

I had acupuncture after yoga that morning, and Matt (Truhan,) my acupuncturist, explained it as, basically, muscle memory from my attack.  Because I hit my face/head on the pavement during my attack, there was something in my body that was remembering that incident and, I think now, because I was in shock that September day, I did not necessarily feel what was happening.  So when I hit my head on the trunk my body brought up those feelings.  What seemed at the time to me like an overreaction was just a memory from 2 1/2 years ago.  I took it easy and rested and by the next day, I felt much better.

And so I one back to my original question – WHY DOES IT TAKE SO LONG?  What I am slowly, but very slowly, figuring out is it takes as long as it takes.  There is really nothing I can do to hurry it along.  Now, though, when I open the trunk, I lean back as far as possible so that Grazelda cannot bite me again.

MY ACHILLES HEEL

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Everyone has one.  Mine just happens to be sugar.  In the grand scheme of things this, at first glance, may not seem such a bad one to have.  It’s not like I do drugs.  But the hold that sugar has on me is as strong as any drug would be.  I know that sugar is bad for me.  I do my best not to eat it.  I’ve even gone years without eating candy.  But I NEVER stop craving it.  Even as I am writing this I am popping jelly beans, one at a time, into my mouth.  They aren’t just any old jelly beans, either.  They are sweet tart jelly beans, only around for Easter.  (Thank goodness!)  As one friend said, it combines my favorite things: jelly beans and sweet tarts.  And to top it all off, they are pretty.

Last November I participated in a whole foods cleanse.  I successfully cut out sugar for an entire month.  The biggest ‘side effect’ was no more hot flashes.  You’d think that alone would be enough to stop me from eating, or drinking, sugar.  But no, it’s not.

This has been a lifelong addiction for me.  I remember as a little girl walking to the candy store to buy penny bubblegum, sweet tarts and  Sugar Daddys, those caramel suckers.  I used to see how many pieces of gum I could fit in my mouth at once.  I think my record was 10.  It’s not like you can really chew 10 pieces of bubblegum at one time, especially when you have a small mouth, as most children do.    It was such a waste of perfectly good gum.  My m.o., when I wasn’t stuffing my mouth full, was to put one piece at a time in my mouth, chew it until the flavor was gone, spit it out and continue until all my gum was gone. Then I’d go back to the store for more.

I am pretty sure it was 1968 when I had my first giant sweet tart.  Before that, sweet tarts only came in a package with little pieces in pink, yellow, purple and green.  My favorites were pink and yellow.  I didn’t really like the purple ones, but that never seemed to stop me from eating them.  Anyway, my first giant sweet tart was yellow, and my tongue bled from licking it.  It actually bled!  But did that stop me from eating it?  Hardly!  Eventually, I think my tongue developed calluses and I could eat as many as I wanted without a problem.

When I was on the swim team, most kids ate raw jello; that is, jello out of the box that was still in powder form.  I never cared for this.  It was not nearly sour enough for me.  That’s when I started eating powdered lemonade.  Of course, that was sour enough, but it caused my mouth to bleed if I ate too much.  Then I discovered Hawaiian Punch powder.  I did not just eat it from the packages that made, if you actually were to add water to it, 2 quarts of juice.  Oh, no, I would get the cans of it, and because putting in my hand to lick it up made my palms red, I started using a small plate.  That way I had clean hands.  Of course, my tongue was always red.  I seriously must have eaten well over 100 pounds of the stuff over the course of time.  I ate it well into my 20s and really only stopped because they stopped making it, and I could never find another brand that tasted as good to me.  At some point, too, I must have decided to stop eating so much sugar.

I do remember in my late 20s when I lived in Germany finding a really good candy that was similar to sweet tarts, but somehow better.  I thought I was gaining weight while there because of this candy.  Turned out it was the Bailey’s milkshakes I was having several times (or more) a week, but that’s another story.  Since I thought it was the candy, I decided to quit, to go cold turkey.  And I did it.  I didn’t eat candy for 3 or 4 years, and then one day I gave into my craving, and that was it.  By that time, sweet tarts had started putting blue candies in the rolls.  Those are definitely my favorite.  The bad thing about the rolls of sweet tarts was not being able to see exactly what number of which colors were in a particular roll, and there were never enough of the blue ones.  I would buy rolls, take all of them out, eat the blue ones first, then the pink, yellow, and maybe the green, and throw away the purple.  I was always bummed when there was only a couple of blues ones.  Then, for some weeks or even months, I’d cut back on my consumption.  It never lasted for long, though.

I really would like to be free of this addiction to sugar, in particular sweet tart jelly beans.  Luckily, as soon as Easter is gone, so will these tempting little pieces of sour joy.  It is so bad that just walking by the store that has them makes my mouth start to water.  I keep telling myself NO MORE.  And I’ll follow that directive for a day or two, and then I have to go to the store, and somehow those suckers jump into my grocery basket, and I continue to eat them.  If I was able to eat only a small handful each day, then maybe that would be okay.  But that’s not what happens.  I end up eating half the bag, which gives me a stomach ache, which makes me say that I’ll stop eating them.  Until the next day, when I wake up and my stomach doesn’t hurt anymore.  Grr….

I stopped eating sugar almost 4 years ago. I did really well for a long time.  It’s not like I never had processed sugar, but I was pretty good.  Even during Halloween and Easter I was okay as long as I stayed away from the aisles that carried my beloved sweet tarts.  I just didn’t go near them.  I was also in a relationship and I’ve come to realize lately that that made a huge difference for me.  I did not feel compelled to eat so much sugar because the pleasure centers that eating sugar stimulates were being filled through my relationship.  So I know exactly WHY I am eating it now and why I can’t seem to stop.  My intention, once I became aware of this, is to be gentle with myself.  I will continue to do my best to NOT eat it; and if, when, I do, I will not beat myself up.  I have every confidence in myself that one of these days I will just stop.  I’ve done it before and I will do it again.

SEX IS A FUNNY THING – PART 2

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As I said last time, sex after sexual assault is especially challenging.

I think I was very lucky to have been in a loving relationship when my assault happened.  I cannot imagine how much more difficult it would have been, on so many levels, had I been single.  Right after my attack, and for longer than I would have thought, I was afraid of everyone.  And I do mean every single person I encountered.  Men, women, boys, girls – anyone and everyone scared me.  My rational mind knew this was silly, but the irrational part was in control.  As I also said last week, I know, and knew at the time, that sexual assault of any kind, whether it be rape, attempted rape or any other variation, it not about sex.  It is about power or lack thereof.  Another aspect that a lot of women have to deal with is feeling dirty or ashamed of what happened to them.  I never felt either of those emotions.  I was very clear from the beginning that I had done nothing wrong, that I had nothing to be ashamed of.  That being said, I was still unable to have sex with my boyfriend for some time.

For at least the first few weeks, I am certain I wasn’t even willing to try.  Oh, I was fine with just being held and kissed, but beyond that, I was unable to even contemplate it.   I was never repulsed by him in any way.  And although, I was afraid of men in general, I was not afraid of my boyfriend.  My body and mind instinctively knew he was safe, that I was safe with him.  Still, ‘convincing’ my body that more than just cuddling was okay definitely took time.  Because I was in shock, and stayed there for 15 weeks, I could not cry.  Nor, it turned out, could I have an orgasm.   And when we did attempt to have sex, though my body responded to him, I was still ‘blocked.’  For a long time, every time we did make love, I would ‘leak’ 3 or 4 tears.  I called it leaking because it wasn’t real crying, and all that would ever come out were 2 or 3 or 4 tears.  I may not have been actually crying, but, clearly, it’s what I wanted to do.  It still was upsetting to my boyfriend.  I was not rejecting him, but I think he still felt that way.  I was doing my best to not let it happen, but it always did.  Looking back now, I am not even sure how long this went on.  At some point it stopped, but I do not remember when.  And as for the lack of orgasm, I am happy to say that that eventually came back as well.

What I can say now, too, is that after my attack, our sex life was never the same.  It seemed to never completely recover.  Oh, things worked like they were supposed to, but something fundamental was lost that September morning, and, unfortunately, we were never able to get it back.  It is only with hindsight that I am able to see this now.  I can’t really think too much about how much almost every aspect of my life has changed since my encounter with cockroach boy.  It pisses me off and I don’t want to live my life in a pissed off frame of mind.

So I choose love and joy and happiness.  Is it always easy?  Of course not.  There are times I’d like to go to the prison he is housed in and, well, you can just imagine what I might do.  Thankfully, those days are few and far between now.  I have many more good days than bad.  Though I am still dealing with a lot of physical issues that I attribute to my attack, those, too, are improving.  I have great faith that though my life may never be exactly as it was before, it is better.  I am better.