TIME CHANGE

Posted on November 6, 2014 by atlonglastheard

Most everyone set their clocks back an hour this past Sunday. It is my favorite day of the year. Whenever I tell people this, they look at me like I’ve lost my mind. The reason it’s my favorite day is the day seems endless. Or at least it used to when I’d wake up at my usual time, but instead of it being 5a, it was now 4a, and I’d get up and walk for 2 hours, which is 8 or so miles, and when I’d get it home, it was only 6a. The entire day would go like that. It would seem so much later and it would only be, like 10:30a. Now, though, because I don’t really walk in the dark anymore, when I wake up super early, I don’t want to get up, because, really, what am I going to do? This last Sunday, I woke up and realized I couldn’t get up and walk, not because of the darkness, though it wouldn’t be that way for long, but because I have beach yoga on Sunday mornings at 9:30 and I walk to it, which is about 2 miles. And then afterwards I walk home. So I am getting a nice walk and yoga, and a 4-6 mile walk before that seemed silly. So I went back to pretend sleep. Pretend sleep is what I do when I don’t want to get out of bed because it’s either dark or cold or both. I’m beginning to think I was a bear in a past life, and that’s why all I want to do these days is hibernate.

It is very strange, but before the time changes, and before we have nighttime temps in the 50s, I have no problem getting up. Now, it’s a completely different story. I so do not want to get out of bed because it’s cold, freezing actually, in my house. It doesn’t help that I have to sleep with my ceiling fan on to help with my stupid hot flashes, so not only is the house cold (no insulation, typical in old California houses) because it’s cold outside, I have the extra breeziness from my fan making it even colder. In past years, I used to sleep with my workout clothes on so that all I had to do on our chilly mornings was put my shoes on, that way avoiding being naked to get dressed. If I tried that now, I would cook myself, even without the electric blanket because of those stupid hot flashes I already mentioned. It is quite a dilemma.

I also realize that any of you reading this while living someplace other than Southern California, someplace where it is actually cold, will probably be rolling your eyes and saying this isn’t cold. I’ll be the first to agree that it isn’t cold, but I am the world’s biggest wimp when it comes to being cold. Besides, it’s all relative. I lived in Chicago for 10 years, so I definitely know cold, and this is, of course, nothing even close to that. However, it’s cold for here and especially after the really hot weather we have had since we began May with 2 separate heat waves. And this week it is hot again. I know, I know, poor us, right? Well, if you lived here, you’d understand. This picture I found on Facebook might help explain it a little better:

And I am not afraid to say I did this on Tuesday. And I wore two jackets to beach yoga. Of course, once I got over to the beach and into the sunshine, it was warmer. Clearly, it doesn’t bother me to look like a dork. I would have worn my slippers, but I don’t want to get sand in or on them.

I digress…back to the time changing…I’ve decided that it may no longer be my favorite day of the year. I love that it is light earlier, but I do not like that it is dark by 5:30p and that will only get worse until we reach 21 December, which by the way is not the shortest day of the year. It may be the day with the least amount of daylight, but every day is 24 hours, regardless of the light or lack thereof. Anyway, getting up when it is dark and cold is just too much for me. And I do it anyway. Just this morning (and Tuesday) I met a friend to walk at 5a. According to my phone it was 61 degrees, though my thermometer said it was about 10 degrees colder. I didn’t look at it until I got back though, so thinking it was above 60, I wore a skort. I was fine because we walk fast. Now, though, I am trying to decide if I can keep it on or if I should put yoga pants on; not long pants, mind you, because it isn’t that cold…yet. I am sitting here, wrapped in a blanket, freezing, while writing this, but it is sunny outside and going up into the high 80s again today, so even if it is little chilly on my bike ride over to the beach, the actual beach should be warm enough. I know I have tough decisions to make, but someone has to live here and deal with this kind of stuff on a daily basis!

IT’S NOT A STRAIGHT LINE

Posted on October 29, 2014 by atlonglastheard

As much as I’d like it to be, as much as I’ve tried to make it be, it simply is not a straight line. In my mind it goes something like this — you get attacked, you do whatever it takes to make sure your attacker is prosecuted and sent to prison, you go to therapy, and you are healed. But what happens when you get attacked, you do everything you can to make sure your attacker is prosecuted and sent to prison, you go to therapy, and you aren’t quite healed? If you are me, apparently, you beat yourself up for not being where you feel like you should (there I go, shoulding myself) be at this point. I have been accused in the past of being too hard on myself, for holding myself to some impossible standard or ideal that pretty much no one could ever attain, and when I, of course, fail to achieve it, I then beat myself up. This is a vicious cycle and it needs to stop. The question is how to do I do this, how do I get off this merry-go-round?

I am not sure why I have such a hard time acknowledging and being proud of myself for how incredibly far I have already come. I can easily say that I understand this to be true on some level, but I’m not sure I truly understand that to be the case. I think I want it to be true, because otherwise all the work I’ve done, and it is considerable, would seem to be for nothing, and that might just put me over the edge. Some days I do see the progress I’ve made and I feel good about it. Other days, though, the most innocuous comment sends me off the deep end. And, worst of all, sometimes it is me who makes that comment. Like today.

I was accused (and rightly so) of being mean to myself. At first I did not see it this way. I was being sarcastic about what I was saying about myself. I used to be a very sarcastic person (pre-Hoffman), but these days I rarely use sarcasm because I now understand that sarcasm is just thinly veiled anger. And I make an effort to be kind, not condemning to others. I somehow forget to include myself in that effort. (How’s that for irony?) Then it was pointed out to me that perhaps it is myself that I am angry at, for not being what I call ‘done with my healing.’ This, of course, starts me on the hamster wheel yet again.

All of this happened today in my energy healing session with Marsha Bliss. I am still in physical pain, and though not a lot, it is still enough to make me want to do something to get rid of it. While Marsha was working on me and we were talking about my post a week ago about my ‘new normal’, as in, is the way my life is now my new normal? Marsha made up an example of someone who has lost a limb, and after a period of time, is now skiing. This person has not let the lack of a leg stop them from moving forward. This has become the new normal for them. Something about that conversation triggered an incredible sadness in me and the tears to go with it. Here’s the thing – when we see someone, (from the outside, because, really, unless you’ve been there, you can NEVER know what goes on behind the scenes, what goes on inside of them,) who has triumphed after a tragedy and we think, wow, this person is happy and has moved on and bla, bla, bla. That’s just it, we simply do not know what happens when they go home at night, if they are crying themselves to sleep or are one step away from suicide or really are doing okay, in spite of it all. We just don’t know.

I wrote the above paragraphs last night, and while I have no idea if they somehow influenced my dreams, I did have really weird dreams and woke up this morning feeling rather blue. Then when I was going through my emails, I came upon the following quote, which gives me enormous hope:

“Energy and persistence conquer all things.” ~Benjamin Franklin

I’ve been nothing if not persistent in my desire and actions to move through this traumatic event. And something else Marsha said yesterday has been running around in my head, and that is that we are never done with whatever it is we are doing in our lives. If we’re done, we’re dead. I get this, I really do. I understand that once we get through, put behind us or in some other way move on from a situation, traumatic or otherwise, something else is bound to come up. We’ve all heard the adage that God, Life, the Universe (whatever word you want to use) never gives us more than we can handle. I believe this. I even have it posted above my desk (don’t always remember to look up to read it, but it’s there.) And as much as I subscribe to this belief, I always just as often forget about it. I think what all this means to me is I just have a lot more stuff to deal with, and not all of it, maybe even none of it, has anything directly to do with my attack. I definitely attribute, if not all, most of what I am dealing with these days to that one event, and that would be because so much of it seems to stem from it. Physically, I have not been the same since, so it makes sense that it would be the reason. And, really, it probably is. At the same time, what this also means is there is still unresolved issues from my past that are arising now because I am finally at a place in my evolution that I am able to deal with them. That is both comforting and annoying. So, to paraphrase F. Scott Fitzgerald from “The Great Gatsby,” I beat on, boat against the current, born back ceaselessly in the past.

IS THIS MY NEW NORMAL?

Posted on October 22, 2014 by atlonglastheard

Just when I think I’m all done…Since it has been a little over three years, for some reason, I think my healing should be complete. Is this too much to ask for? I’ve worked really hard. I did I intense therapy (EMDR) for 14 months; I’ve read and reread (okay, actually I’ve listened and listened again, since I still have some trouble reading a book) books designed to help me through the trauma, and really, life in general; I workout again on a regular basis; I write about my experiences each week; I feel really good, for the most part. Oh, I have my moments, but they are few and far between. So why, oh why, is my body still hanging onto the muscle memory of my attack?

I am unable to walk, as in my working out walk, near the Hotel Del without a physical reaction. Usually this means that when I get too close, my back starts hurting. The really weird thing is I do yoga on Thursdays and Sundays practically in front of the Del, and that isn’t a problem. I can even go inside the hotel without a response, but if I walk anywhere near it, my body seems to think I’m still in some kind of danger. It is beyond frustrating. Do I have to walk by the Del? No, but this is not a huge island and not being able to walk on that side of it definitely limits where I can walk. More importantly, how can I get my body to understand that I am safe? That proximity to where my attack happened does not mean it is going to happen again. Or is this something that I will just have to live with for the rest of my life? Is this really my new normal?

And as if the physical aspect of this isn’t enough…last Saturday at my Hoffman gathering, during one of the visualizations, up came my attack. This was quite a surprise as with this particular tool, it is usually a scene from childhood that comes up. No such luck. And whereas I normally cannot see the patterns I am still hanging onto, I clearly saw and understood what they are this time. Rats! Even more distressing was the second time we did the visualization, I got the same dang scene. That really threw me. After we complete the elevators, we pair off to discuss them. I simply did not wish to go into it with my partner. It was nothing personally against him, but he is a guy, and a guy is the reason for my attack, so I chose to let him tell his scenes and I kept quiet about mine. Because I am usually more forthcoming at these gatherings, the facilitator was a little curious as to why I did not want to share with my partner. In the end, I ended up sharing it, to a degree, with the entire group. Again, it wasn’t anything personal, but it was such a shock that it came up this way and I wanted time to think about it on my own.

So what have I thought about since Saturday? Honestly, not much. It seems that the memories come and go and I, apparently, have no real control over them. I know that I want, more than anything, to be completely over my attack. And maybe this is just unrealistic. Do we ever totally get over the traumatic events of our lives? Or is it more of a fading of the memories over time? In the scheme of things, three years really isn’t that long. It feels like it is, but, really, it just isn’t. It feels like I’ve been dealing with this forever. I just want to feel good again. Like, really good, in mind, body and spirit. I don’t think this is too much to ask.

If this is my new normal, (and just what is normal?), then, perhaps an attitude adjustment of sorts is in order. What I’ve done, and continue to do, is what has gotten me to this point, and I think I am on the right track, so I just need to keep on keeping on, trusting that I’ll be finished with my healing when I’m finished with my healing. There is no rushing it, as much as I’d like to, and as much as I keep trying to. Clearly, that is not working. And the truth is, I am much better able to deal with the mental aspects of this far better than the physical ones. (After I finished my therapy and then five days later my back went out, I realized that I’d rather have to do another 14 months of intense mental work than have physical pain. That, I am really not good at handling.) As far as my body goes, I know I just need to keep moving it. I need to feed it good, clean food. I need to do my best to stay away from the things that make me feel worse, like my old friend sugar. I do so well for a time, and then I fall off that sugar wagon. Again. Right now, I am half on, half off, which I guess is better than completely on, but not nearly as good as completely off. Working on it, though. Every day. And getting used to the idea that this is my normal now, and that’s okay. It is what it is.

SHIFT HAPPENS

Posted on October 20, 2014 by atlonglastheard

Just the title alone is enough to land this book on my favorites list! And by the way, the order in which I ‘review’ and/or list these books is not an indication of anything other than it is a book that has meant something to me and my journey towards healing. This book was published in 2000, but I didn’t become aware of it until about 2 years ago. I have listened to it several times and read the actual book, too, a couple of times. Clearly, it speaks to me. And each time I’ve listened to or read it, I’ve gotten something different, whatever it was I needed at that particular moment.

The introduction of the book:

“Two caterpillars were crawling along a tree branch one day when a butterfly flew overhead. One caterpillar said to the other, ‘You will never get me up in one of those things.’ Shift Happens! is about personal alchemy and inner transformation. Some people “go” through life; and other people “grow” through life. Shift Happens! celebrates your unlimited potential to grow, blossom and evolve–in spite of everything. It is a book of hope. The term personal alchemy describes the ability to take a piece of dirt, roll it around a few times and fashion it into a pearl. This is what an oyster does. Personal alchemy is what your grandmother called turning lemons into lemonade. It is what old wizards describe as turning straw into gold. Shift Happens! is about staying open all hours for miracles. Success, love and happiness are only ever one thought away at most. One new perception, one fresh thought, one act of surrender, one change of heart, one leap of faith can change your life forever.”

From the back cover of the book: “Robert Holden, Ph.D., shares a powerful mix of principles and exercises–from his private coaching practice–that can create real breakthroughs in your life. Writing in a short essay-style, Robert shows you how to tap into the inner gold of your true nature, unblock yourself, release fears, drop the struggle, transform relationships and live a happier life.”

If you go to his web sites, either robertholden.org or behappy.net you will find that he has other more recent books, including one called Holy Shift! (I just love the titles he chooses!)

YES, I SURVIVED, AND NOW I’M READY TO THRIVE!!!

Posted on September 25, 2014 by atlonglastheard

Three years ago today my life change in ways I could never have imagined. Two years ago today I started this website to tell my story. From the very beginning of this incredible journey, I was always very clear on what had to happen in order for me to move forward, to be able to truly put this behind me and get on with my life. It has taken far longer than anyone ever thought it would. I like to think I’m completely finished with my healing process, and then BAM, something happens that shows me I’m not quite there yet. Apparently there isn’t a formula that I can plug all my info into and get a read out that tells me exactly when I’ll be all better. Wouldn’t that be nice? Perhaps it is something I will be dealing with, at least to a degree, and when I least expect it, for the rest of my life. As much as I’d like it to be something that I can simply forget, that doesn’t seem to be the way these things work.

In the interest of honoring myself and my body, on this day of all days, I chose to hike up Cowles Mountain this morning. I have only done it one other time, 3 1/2 years ago, and today seemed like the day it was important for me to do it again. At 1593′, it is the highest point in San Diego. The hike is only 1.5 miles, with an elevation change of 950′. I got to the top in about 25 minutes. The picture below is the view part way up.

This is the view from the top looking west.

And this is the view to the east.

It was a beautiful morning, though I wish I had started just a bit earlier. There were tons of people going up and down. I saw several that did the climb more than once. I thought about it, but decided there was no need in overdoing it, as I am ever so fond of doing. Tonight I will go to a restorative yoga class at Mosaic in Golden Hill. Tomorrow I will do my beloved beach yoga with Danell Dwaileebe. And then I have another appointment with Marsha Bliss, an extraordinarily gifted energy healer. This is what I posted on Yelp about my session with her last week: “I have been dealing with the after-effects of a sexual assault for the last 3 years, and though I am almost completely through it, there is still some residual ‘stuff’ hanging on. Since I have been to Marsha a couple of times in the past, knew that she would be able to help me again. My appointment yesterday exceeded even my wildest expectations! I do not understand HOW it works, but trust me when I tell you that it DOES work! By the time she was finished with me, I was literally floating. The only ‘bad’ thing was I had to get in the car and drive home. The feeling stayed with me the rest of the day, and I am still feeling it this morning. Whatever your issue is, I highly recommend that you go and see Marsha Bliss of Bliss Connections.”

(You better believe I am looking forward to my appointment tomorrow!)

This is what I wrote in my journal this morning, part of which I shared on Facebook:

6:28a After reading my email and posting on Facebook, I’m off to hike Cowles Mountain. It is a tribute to myself and to all those who have suffered a sexual assault. Today is a GREAT day! It is a testament to those who have survived and those who are still struggling to heal. Today is the third anniversary of my sexual assault. I honor myself for surviving, and I honor all those who are still in the process of reclaiming their lives. I am proof of what you can do if you don’t give up. I celebrate the new me, who is stronger and more determined than ever to not let the worst few minutes of my life determine the rest of my life. With enthusiasm I choose to move forward. I choose love. I am love. I am loving. I am lovable. I matter. My attacker matters. (Hard words to write, but nonetheless true.) Without him I would not be where I am right now. And where I am is in a very good place. As the title of this post says…I did survive, and I am now ready to thrive!

Going all the way back to one of my very first posts two years ago, I put this quote:

I have been changed. I am anything but reduced by what happened to me, though. I am so much more than I was, and as I already said, without this traumatic event, without a violent sexual assault, I simply would not be who I am today. All the way up the mountain this morning I repeated STRONG, HEALTHY, HEALED and on the way down I said, I now release all my trauma, I now accept all my good. It does feel like something has shifted in me. I smiled the whole way home. It feels like whatever might still be hanging on will be energetically erased by Marsha tomorrow. Best of all, I can honestly say that I forgive DCD for what he did to me. And even more importantly, I FORGIVE MYSELF!!!

RUNNING AWAY FROM HOME – 1976

Posted on September 17, 2014 by atlonglastheard

For my 16th birthday, I thought I was going to see The Eagles and Fleetwood Mac perform; instead, I got a trip to a diving camp at De Anza College in Cupertino, CA. What you have to understand is from as far back as I can remember, I always told my mother I was moving to California. I just knew I was meant to be here. I was to be gone for 2 or three weeks (can’t remember now) and would stay with my grandmother in Palo Alto on the weekends and my aunt and uncle in Sunnyvale during the week, so my aunt could take me to diving practice. I flew into San Jose in the evening, with temperatures in the 80s. That didn’t bother me in the least, as I lived in Atlanta and we had no air conditioner in the house. No one did back then. This was, though, a heat wave and when the temperatures went back to normal, I about froze to death. I could not wear shorts past 3p. Seriously! Anyway, in between my all day diving practice during the week, I still managed to meet a boy, and for the life of me, I cannot remember his name anymore. He was the son of a friend of my aunt and uncle. Well, I thought I was in serious love and, unbelievably, he even asked me to marry him! At 16! Of course I said yes! I was 16 and when a boy asks you to marry him at 16, what else would you say? The fact that we lived clear across the country from each other didn’t seem to be a problem for either of us. Nor that we were still in high school! What can I say? Needless to say, when my time in California was over, I went back to Georgia. We wrote letters full of, I’m sure, declarations of undying love.

I am sure I’ve mentioned that I grew up with a bunch of monkeys, make that brothers, and to say that we mostly did not get along would be an understatement. (I so wanted to be an only child.) My brothers were mean and teased me non-stop. My mother was not a lot of help. She would simply say,’ ignore them, they’ll go away.’ Ah, no, not only did they not go away, they continued to make me miserable. I very much loved my time in California when I was free of them. So that fall, my junior year of high school, which by the way, I also hated, but that’s another story, I had had enough of them and their juvenile ways. I decided I needed to get back to where I was the happiest I had ever been, which was California. I came up with a plan to make that happen. The only problem was airplane tickets were expensive, and I had no money to speak of. It wasn’t ideal, but I settled on taking the bus, a 4 day trip. The ticket, if I remember correctly, was only about $50 compared with about $200 for a one-way flight. I did not tell anyone, least of all my best friend, Cathy. It seemed smarter that the less people who knew, the greater my chance of successfully making it across the country would be.

The morning of my departure I took the bus to school as normal, but I packed a bag and hid it in the bushes outside the school. Part of my plan meant taking MARTA, the public bus system in Atlanta, which I had never done before. There was a stop across from my high school, and after home room, so that I would not be counted as absent, I walked out the front door, retrieved my suitcase/bag, and crossed the street to the bus stop and boarded the MARTA bus going downtown Atlanta where the Greyhound Bus Terminal was. I somehow managed to get to the station and purchase my one-way, ’cause I sure wasn’t planning on coming back, ticket and got on the west-bound bus. I was a little scared, but mostly I was excited to be going back to California. What I did not understand about buses was they do not take the shortest route to wherever it is they are going. The bus left around 10a, and we went through Alabama and Mississippi to get to Memphis, Tennessee. I remember wanting to go and ask the driver if he knew where he was going, but I didn’t want to bring any unnecessary attention to myself. We finally pulled into the station in Memphis around 6p. I had a bad feeling that I wasn’t going to make it. I thought if I could get through Memphis without getting caught, I’d probably make it all the way to San Jose. No such luck.

As soon as I stepped off the bus the authorities were waiting for me. They asked if my name was Tamerie Shriver. I refused to answer and went into the ladies room. I stayed in there until one of the (men) agents stuck his head and told me I couldn’t stay in there forever. I shot back, ‘Why not?’ I eventually left the bathroom and they took me to the juvenile detention facility. They had called my mother as soon as I got off the bus, so she was on her way to get me. She flew in, and because it was late by that time, we stayed overnight in a Holiday Inn by the airport. I was fingerprinted and photographed as a runaway, even though I was 16. Turns out in Georgia and Tennessee you had to be 17 to not be considered a juvenile. Details, details.

I cried and cried. I cried that entire night. I cried for the entire flight back to Atlanta. I was so sad. Sad to not be going to California, sad to have to go back to my house full of brothers I hated, back to a school I couldn’t stand, back to the life I wanted desperately not to be in. As it turned out, I never did get in trouble for running away, with my mother or with the authorities. In order to not have a juvenile record, though, we had to attend family therapy for 12 weeks. My actions finally got through to my mother, and she agreed to make changes at home so it was more bearable for me. My brothers were basically forbidden to even talk to me, let alone anything else. I was sad about my aborted trip for a long time. And I never stopped wanting to move to California.

I did leave a note that my mother was supposed to get that night when she got home from work. In it I used the words to Cat Steven’s song Father and Son (I substituted Mother and Daughter, I also did not include all the lyrics, just those that made sense for what I was telling her) to help me express what I had not been able to make her understand:

“Father
It’s not time to make a change,
Just relax, take it easy.
You’re still young, that’s your fault,
There’s so much you have to know.

Son
How can I try to explain, when I do he turns away again.
It’s always been the same, same old story.
From the moment I could talk I was ordered to listen.
Now there’s a way and I know that I have to go away.
I know I have to go.

Father
It’s not time to make a change,
Just sit down, take it slowly.
You’re still young, that’s your fault,
There’s so much you have to go through.
Son

All the times that I cried, keeping all the things I knew inside,

It’s hard, but it’s harder to ignore it.

If they were right, I’d agree, but it’s them you know not me.

Now there’s a way and I know that I have to go away.
I know I have to go.”

Let’s just say, it made sense to me at the time, and bottom-line, it did get my point across and everything seem to change after that.

MUST KEEP MOVING

Posted on September 3, 2014 by atlonglastheard

Sometimes it is just physically moving my body that gets me through the day. Even when I don’t necessarily feel like getting up and walking, I do it anyway. It’s like I can’t help it. Luckily, it is such an ingrained habit, that I really don’t have to think about it. And these days it is even more important than ever. I have been feeling ‘off’ the last week or so. I attribute this to the fact that the third anniversary of my attack is coming up. And, possibly, because a friend of mine came very close to dying, Actually, she did die, and was resuscitated. This brings up such dark, negative, sad feelings. I don’t want to feel them, and yet, here they are. That’s why it is so vital that I move my body, even when I don’t want to. On some level, heck, every level, it is helping with my state of mind. I feel certain that I will get through this as long as I keep moving.

And keep in mind:

FINALLY, THE LAST PIECE FALLS INTO PLACE

Posted on August 20, 2014 by atlonglastheard

I have been trying, for over 2 years, since the D.A. showed it to me at one of the court dates, before we ever got to the sentencing, to get a copy of the letter that DCD wrote to me, at the urging of the police, after he was in custody. When I first read it, I did not believe a word of what he had written. When I read again last week, I still do not believe a word he wrote. And I’ll get to that in a moment. Getting a copy of it proved to be far worse than pulling teeth. At least with that, you go to the dentist, tell him to pull your tooth and he does it. At the time, March or April or May of 2012 (who can remember?) I was told that I could not have a copy because it was not mine to have. Well, that wasn’t exactly correct, but, then again, so much of what the D.A. told me wasn’t exactly correct. So, I waited.

When I was told by the Probation Department that I was entitled to the file pertaining to DCD, I requested a copy. I thought for sure the letter would be included. Nope. So, I waited some more. After the sentencing hearing, I waited a few days before going to the Coronado Police Department to request a copy of the file. That’s when I found out that he (his attorney) had filed an appeal, and because of that, the case was considered ongoing and could not be released. Okay, eventually, his appeal was settled and I went again to request a copy of it. Again, I was put off. I was, however, told that technically the letter was mine as it had been written to me, and I wanted that letter.

More months went by, and I’d go again to the Police Station, and, again, no one could seem to make it happen. There was always some excuse about why it could not be released to me. I’d go away for a while, but I never gave up wanting it or biding my time until I’d try again. Then a few weeks ago I thought it was time to make my seemingly pointless trip to the Police Department. The day I went the Sergeant was out of the building because of an incident on the bridge, which is code for a jumper. That was fine, I didn’t need to talk to her, I just wanted a copy of my letter. I had been asking for a copy of the file, but the truth was I already had that. I only lacked the letter. So, I once again filled out a request for MY letter. I left, expecting I’d hear back that afternoon or the next day. Well, that didn’t happen. It took about a week,and honestly, I had kind of forgotten about it. Again.

I was uptown and my cell phone rang. I did not recognize the number, but knew it was a Coronado number, so I answered it. “This is the Coronado Police Department. We have a copy of the letter you requested. Do you want to pick it up? Or do you want me to email it to you?” I told her I’d pick it up on my way home, thank you very much!

It was in a sealed envelope. I did not want to open it until I was at home, glasses on my face so I could actually see to read it. When I finally did open and read it, luckily, I felt nothing. In this case, nothing is good. Then I read it again, and thought, he is such a liar. I don’t believe a word he wrote. This is what he wrote:

“I would like to tell you that I’m deeply sorry for the way I treated you. I had no intention of assaulting you. I knew you were terrified. It also hurt me inside, I was doing something to you that I’ve never wanted to do to anybody. After the incident I ran over to the police department because I knew what I did was wrong. Please find it in your heart to forgive me.

Sincerely,

DCD”

Okay, let’s take this line by line — ‘I would like to tell you that I’m deeply sorry for the way that I treated you.’ Well, you may be sorry, but I’m guessing only because you got caught and you didn’t get to do what you actually intended to do, which was rape me. And the ‘way you treated’ me was you slammed me to the pavement, ripped my clothes off and were preparing to beat the shit out of me when my guardian angel arrived. ‘I had no intention of assaulting you.’ Ah, yeah, you did. You were out trolling, and when you saw me and I fit the ‘type’ you were hoping to find, my fate was sealed. You turned around and followed me, getting up your nerve to attack me, and when you decided the time was right, you ran at me as fast as you could, hitting me, taking me down, where you had every intention of raping me. ‘It also hurt me inside…’ Oh, please! You never wanted to do something like this to anyone? Of course you did. You planned it and I fit very nicely into your plan. What you didn’t count on was me fighting back. And you sure did not count on someone coming along and saving my life. ‘After the incident I ran over to the police department…’ Another big, fat lie. While it is true that the police picked you up in the 700 block of Orange Avenue and the Police Department happens to be in the 700 block of Orange Avenue, they picked you up 12 1/2 hours after you claim to have run over there. You expect me to believe you sat there for 12 1/2 hours just waiting for them to notice you? Hardly. ‘…because I knew what I did was wrong.’ No shit! Of course you knew what you did was wrong. As for me finding it in my heart to forgive you, well, I am still working on that, though I have to say that I am pretty close. This feels like the last piece of the entire puzzle and because it is now in place, I can finally put it all behind me. Well, as far as I can while still talking and writing about it in the larger context of my life.

YOU JUST NEVER KNOW

Posted on August 13, 2014 by atlonglastheard

So much has been written about Robin Williams’ suicide this past Monday. I have read most of it. In the end, what I’ll say about it is this: you will never know what someone else is going through. Never. It’s not possible, unless he or she decides to share it with us. Just because someone is funny does not mean he or she is not depressed. Just because someone has financial security does not mean that he or she is not depressed. Just because we think someone ‘has it all’ does not mean there isn’t a battle going on inside. You simply cannot tell by looking at someone, especially if that someone does not want you to know, what is happening inside. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again…as someone who has battled and lived with depression for most of my life, I hid it very well. It is possible to go out and laugh and smile and act as though all is well, when inside you are slowly dying. And it’s not a matter of being strong enough to fight the good fight. You can fight and fight and fight, and at some point, you may get tired of fighting. You just want the pain to stop. It really is that simple.

Mental illness, suicide, sexual assault, rape… none of these are pleasant subjects; and yet, all of us are touched by them at some point in our lives, whether directly or indirectly, and it would behoove us to be more open about them all. Is it easy to talk about for most people? No. It’s can be very difficult. And it is very necessary, I think. There is a lot shame and judgement surrounding all of them, and that makes people reluctant to talk about them.

There are a lot of people who think that committing suicide is a selfish act. Jenny Doh wore a great post on this very subject. As she said, it is not about you or me. It is about the person who wants the pain to end and comes to the decision that the only way is through death. If you’ve never been there, you cannot possibly understand. And though I find it hard to believe, there actually are people who have never felt that kind of despair. I know a few. Or they are lying about it. Most, though, have had the idea at least make an appearance, however briefly. This is the comment I left on Jenny’s post:

“Depression is a chemical imbalance in your body/brain. It runs in families. I have lost two brothers to suicide. I have been seriously close to ending my own life. I got the help I needed. Jenny, you are absolutely right about suicide not being about you or me, but about the person who does it or attempts to do it. I can totally understand wanting to make the pain stop. Someone who has never felt the utter despair and hopelessness that a deep clinical depression can bring, cannot understand how this truly feels. I would go so far as to say that no one takes his or her own life on the spur of the moment, simply because of a bad day. Many months, years or decades of pain, whether physical or emotional or both, contribute to such an act.”

I also feel like there are different ways to kill yourself that are not even considered suicide. Abusing drugs and alcohol are two of them. And overeating is probably one, too. As the saying goes, everyone is fighting some kind of a battle. Some are more obvious than others. Mental illness, though, usually is not so apparent. And as long as there is so much judgement surrounding it, people will remain reluctant to speak about their struggles. Sadly, it takes the suicide of a well-known and well-loved celebrity to get people talking about it. My hope is that, however hard it is, that we continue the dialogue even after the media attention has died down. As I’ve said from the beginning, and the second anniversary of this site is just a little over a month away, my purpose for sharing my story is because I believe passionately that we need to talk about these hard subjects so that we can, hopefully, make a difference in the lives of those who are suffering.

My heart goes out to the family and friends of Robin Williams. I believe he did the best he could and stayed in this world as long as he was able to. May you find some kind of peace in knowing that his pain has stopped.

DEPRESSION…AND HAPPINESS

Posted on July 23, 2014 by atlonglastheard

Is it possible to be both depressed and happy? Common sense would tend towards no. But I’m thinking that it is possible to be both, at the same time, without even being aware of it, especially if your ‘normal’ state is some degree of depression. I think that depression runs the gamut from mild sadness occasionally all the way to severe clinical depression. I cannot honestly remember a time that I was not depressed, though if asked now, I would say I am happy. What does that mean? Being happy? Obviously, happiness is subjective. What makes me happy will not necessarily make you happy, and vice versa.

I can remember clearly the first time I was aware that I really didn’t want to be in this world. I was 14 years old. As I am thinking about this, though, I suspect that this idea occurred to me when I was far younger. I simply do not remember. Much of my childhood is a blur. I have very few actual memories, but knowing myself as I do, it makes sense that it would have come up long before I was 14. So much more is known and understood these days about depression and the genetic link. I am definitely predisposed to suffering from it. My brother and uncle (my mother’s brother) are both diagnosed bipolar. I believe that my grandmother, though not diagnosed, also suffered from it. And plain old depression runs rampant in my family. Two of my brothers have died as a result of it. It is something I continue to struggle with, though certainly not to the degree I have in the past.

I think part of the reason that depression is still so misunderstood and seen by many as some kind of weakness, is because it is possible to live with it and function almost normally. I did it for many years before I finally took the antidepressants I needed to get my chemicals back in balance. I’m sure I even had times that I felt happy in the midst of my suffering. I remember when my grandmother found out I was taking an antidepressant, she said, “You’re not depressed.” Ha! I told her that just because she didn’t see it did not mean it wasn’t there. I was very good at hiding it from everyone. I knew for years, and other than a few attempts at therapy, I did nothing about it. My mother’s attitude was, buck up and stop feeling like you do. Oh, okay. Too bad I didn’t think of that. Unfortunately, that is the attitude of a lot of people. If you were stronger you could do it. It does not work that way. If your chemicals are truly out of balance, no amount of wishing, hoping, talk therapy, exercise or anything else is going to change it. You must get the help you need. What made me finally break down and admit I had to go on medication was being in Key West, the sun shining and I was feeling nothing but darkness. I thought, oh crap, my therapist is right, I do have to take something. I was always able, when I lived in Chicago, to blame it on the weather and the lack of sunshine, which were definitely contributing factors. But when I was in sunshine and warmth and still had such negative feelings, I knew the time had come.

When I got back to Chicago, I asked my therapist for a recommendation of a psychiatrist so that I could do what needed to be done. When I first went to him (I do not even remember his name now) and he confirmed that, indeed, I needed medication, I asked how long I would have to take it. He told me that usually a year, maybe a little longer was considered ‘normal.’ I said, “Okay, but that’s as long as I plan to take it. No longer.” He agreed, and I continued with my therapist and once a month saw him as well. All I can really say about the drugs were they accomplished what needed to be done. I have always described the process of being on them as hateful. I was first prescribed Prozac, which just about killed me. Every bad side-effect that was possible to get, I got. Finally, he changed it to Wellbutrin and though I hated it too, it was not quite as bad as the Prozac had been. In the end I took it for 14 months, and when I was done, that was it. Luckily, he agreed, and I went off of it. I felt better than I had in years. At the time, too, I asked if I would ever have to take it again. He told me that I might, that there was no way to really know, sometimes people did and sometimes they didn’t. There have been times when I thought maybe I should probably be on something again, but until my attack, I never seriously considered it.

If you’ve been reading this blog all along, then you already know what happened when I attempted to take something for my depression, post attack. Because I had had such a negative experience with antidepressants, even though they did help me, I really did not want to take one if I could somehow do it more naturally. So, Suzie, my amazing therapist, recommended St John’s Wort, which is an herb. I thought this was a suitable compromise. Well, just as the prozac almost killed me, the St John’s Wort almost made me kill myself by jumping off the Coronado Bridge. Thing is, I did not realize it was the pills, I just thought I wasn’t getting better. I did not tell anyone, including Suzie, for a couple of weeks. I finally told her and she immediately knew it was the supplement that was causing the problem. I had to wean off of it, but because of that and the fact that every other thing I had tried taking and had had such a bad response to, I was afraid to try anything else. I had to white-knuckle it the rest of my therapy. As I’ve said before, my depression after my sexual assault was situational, not clinical, and I was able to do it.

Ask me if I’m happy now, and I’ll say YES. Some times I am happier than other times, and I still have issues that definitely challenge me, but, over all, I am happy. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

At Long Last Heard

A Story of Survival

Tag Archives: dealing with trauma

TIME CHANGE

IT’S NOT A STRAIGHT LINE

IS THIS MY NEW NORMAL?

SHIFT HAPPENS

YES, I SURVIVED, AND NOW I’M READY TO THRIVE!!!

RUNNING AWAY FROM HOME – 1976

MUST KEEP MOVING

FINALLY, THE LAST PIECE FALLS INTO PLACE

YOU JUST NEVER KNOW

DEPRESSION…AND HAPPINESS

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