WARRIOR POSE

Posted on December 21, 2014 by atlonglastheard

I just finished reading, (yes, I actually had to read it as it is not available on audio), this book, and it is amazing. AMAZING! It is Brad Willis AKA Brava Ram’s autobiography, the story of his life as a war correspondent, how a devastating injury changed his life and the unbelievable power of the mind to heal.

“Warrior Pose is Indiana Jones merged with Gautama Buddha…a miraculous affirmation of the power of self-healing, a war story, a love story and a spiritual journey of epic proportion. It is your story, my story, the human story.” ~Dr. Emmett Miller, Pioneer of Mind-Body Medicine

Also from the book jacket:

“From covering the front lines of the Gulf War to investigating Colombian drug lords to living with freedom fighters in the mountains of Afghanistan, war correspondent Brad Willis was accustomed to risk. But when mortal danger came, it was from an unexpected. direction.

At the pinnacle of his career, a broken back and failed surgery left Willis permanently disabled and condemned to a life in a body brace. Then came a diagnosis of terminal, stage IV throat cancer.

At his 50th birthday party, friends gathered around Willis, who was crippled, almost mute, depressed, strung out on narcotic medications, and dying. Halfway through the celebration Willis realized the party’s true purpose–his friends were there to say goodbye.

Everyone knew Willis was on his way out…everyone except his 2-year-old son, who urged, “Get up, Daddy!”

His son’s words ringing in his ears, Willis chose to abandon Western medicine and embrace the most esoteric practices of Yoga to heal his body, mind and soul–ridding himself of cancer and fully restoring his back. As a symbol of his journey, he took the spiritual name Bhava Ram, which stands for “Living From The Heart.”

Warrior Pose is an adventure chronicling some of the most momentous events of our time through a journalist’s eyes, an unforgettable story about the power of love between a father and son, and a transformational journey of self-healing, inner peace and wholeness.”

Candace Pert, PhD, Chief Scientific Officer, RAPID Laboratories, Inc; author of Everything You Need to Know to Feel Go(o)d and Molecules of Emotion: The Scientific Basis Behind Mind-Body Medicine had this to say about the book:

“Remarkable recoveries and miraculous healing of incurable cancers and other terminal disease have been the topic of many recent books. Bhava, born Brad Willis, has written the most exciting, original and vividly relevant book yet on this topic. Its concise, hard-hitting prose makes a page turner about the shockingly grim world behind the nightly news as revealed to a top television reporter. Ram ignores his progressive physical collapse, stuffing his feelings and internal life to focus entirely on his macho career. Using his fierce will to survive and strong intellect to question medical authority, Bhava draws inspiration from the miracle of his son Morgan, halts his self-sabotaging habits, chooses ‘right living,’ and heals himself via a selfless emotional life dedicated to teaching and healing others.”

I have said before that yoga was instrumental in my healing process, that it definitely contributed to saving my life during my healing process from my sexual assault, and it was and it did. I am in awe of just how dedicated and determined Brad Willis was to save his own life and transform himself into Bhava Ram. I highly recommend this book.

HERE, TAKE A PILL

Posted on November 19, 2014 by atlonglastheard

Why is it, generally speaking, that Western medicine tends to throw pills at the symptom and not get to the underlying condition that may be causing the problem to begin with? Is it because we are lazy and want a quick fix? Is it decades of training doctors in a certain way? Is it an inability to change with the times? Is it fear of some kind?

Don’t get me wrong, I myself took an antidepressant because I needed it to get my chemical imbalance, well, balanced. I suffered for years from depression and/or clinical depression, and it had gotten to the point that even though I so did not want to take it, I knew I had to. I fought it for a long time, but when I was in Key West in the bright February sunshine, out of the frigid Chicago winter, and I was still feeling awful, I knew the time had come. At the time, I was seeing a therapist and he recommended a psychiatrist to me. I reluctantly went. The deal was I would continue with my therapist and I would see the psychiatrist once a month. I made sure my doctor knew from the very beginning that I had no intention of staying on the medication indefinitely. I asked how long I would have to take it. My doctor told me, and keep in mind this was in 1997, usually people took it for about a year, maybe a little longer. I said, okay, but I’m not taking it any longer than that.

At the time I was trying to get pregnant and, again keep in mind it was 1997, at the time the only antidepressant that was approved for and that had been tested on pregnant women was prozac. So that’s what I was given. Pretty sure I’ve mentioned this before, but it nearly killed me. Every bad side-effect it was possible to get, I got. I know now I should never have been given it at all, since I am in the bi-polar spectrum, and prozac is a huge no-no. Not sure if this wasn’t known back then or that my doctor just dropped the ball, in a way. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is I was closely monitored and switched to wellbutrin as soon as it became clear that I was on the wrong medication.

What I find astounding is the number of people, mostly women, who have been on antidepressants for years. YEARS! And they have no intention of ever getting off of them. I understand that there are legitimate reasons for being on a drug long-term, maybe even forever; but, mostly, I don’t believe this to be the case. (Bi-polar disorder is a different story and those with it should take medication, though many don’t/won’t.) I could not wait to stop taking it, even after finding the correct one for me. It was a hateful drug, and though it accomplished what I needed, the re-balancing my chemicals, I was not sorry when I no longer had to take it.

And these days the hottest new ‘disorders’ to be diagnosed with are ADD and ADHD. In the November issue of Oprah, an article written by Anna Maltby addresses this phenomenon, and it is alarming. “A groundbreaking report released earlier this year by the prescription management company Express Scripts stated that the number of adults in the United States taking ADHD medications (which include Ritalin and Concerta, in addition to Adderall) rose 53 percent from 2008 to 2012. It also found that women are using ADHD medication at notably higher rates than girls, with those in the 26 to 34 age range posting a staggering 85 percent jump in the use of such drugs in just five years.” According to ADHD researcher Keith Connors, PhD, professor emeritus at Duke University and the creator of a highly regarded rating scale commonly used to help diagnose the disorder, “It’s clear that one reason for the recent rise is over diagnosis.” He goes on to say that, “There is a swarm of primary care doctors and psychiatrists who really don’t know that much about ADHD but are willing to give out a prescription.”

According to webmd.com:

“Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) is one of the most well-recognized childhood developmental problems. This condition is characterized by inattention, hyperactivity and impulsiveness. It is now known that these symptoms continue into adulthood for about 60% of children with ADHD. That translates into 4% of the U.S. adult population, or 8 million adults. However, few adults are identified or treated for adult ADHD.

ADHD in Adults
Adults with ADHD may have difficulty following directions, remembering information, concentrating, organizing tasks, or completing work within time limits. If these difficulties are not managed appropriately, they can cause associated behavioral, emotional, social, vocational, and academic problems.

Common Behaviors and Problems of Adult ADHD
The following behaviors and problems may stem directly from ADHD or may be the result of related adjustment difficulties:

Anxiety
Chronic boredom
Chronic lateness and forgetfulness
Depression
Difficulty concentrating when reading
Difficulty controlling anger
Employment problems
Impulsiveness
Low frustration tolerance
Low self-esteem
Mood swings
Poor organization skills
Procrastination
Relationship problems
Substance abuse or addiction”

(After reading the list above, I doubt there is anyone on the planet that doesn’t suffer from several, if not most, of them. Doesn’t mean you need to be medicated, though.)

Okay, the truth is I probably had/have ADHD, but even if this is the case, I have learned how to manage in spite of it. I have a friend who kind of makes fun of me because I have, in her words, a very rigid routine. What I now understand is, in order for me to function at the level I need to, to be able to be self-employed, it is imperative that I have a fixed routine. I don’t consider it to be rigid, but I do my best to stick with it on a daily basis, otherwise nothing gets done. Or at least not a lot gets accomplished. Would a drug like Adderall help me? Maybe, but I prefer to have my ‘rigid’ routine. And let me say again, I do believe there are people who legitimately need to be on one of these drugs. At the same time, I believe that many are misdiagnosed/overdiagnosed by physicians who simply do not know enough about it.

I feel like there are so many other available choices, such as diet, exercise, therapy, that may help, if not alleviate the problem all together. Ultimately, though, we each need to do what we decide is best.

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!)

A CREATIVE LIFE

Posted on October 8, 2014 by atlonglastheard

When I was 5 or 6 years old, I wanted doll clothes for my Barbie dolls, but my mother wouldn’t buy them for me. She said,”They are too expensive, and they are not made very well.” So if I didn’t want naked dolls, I had to learn how to sew. If you ask her, she’ll tell you that she taught me to sew. This isn’t true, although I am certain she helped me to the best of her ability. My grandmother, her mother, was the one who really taught me. Since my entire reason for learning how to sew was to make doll clothes, this was pretty much all I made for the first couple of years. By hand. I cannot remember exactly when I graduated to a sewing machine, but I do remember the first dress I made for myself when I was 8 years old. It had 3 arm holes (on purpose) and was a wrap-around dress. It had only the side and shoulder seams, and the whole dress was banded on the raw edges, so really easy. I chose a yellow (we are talking school bus yellow) kettle cloth, which I do not even think is made anymore, and orange binding. Yikes! What I wouldn’t give to still have that dress, though. As far as I know, there isn’t even a picture of it. Bummer! By nine, I could install a zipper, and I do have a picture of that dress:

I continued sewing, mainly because my mother would buy me fabric whenever I wanted it. Unlike today, fabric used to be inexpensive, and it was far cheaper to sew your own clothes. I never had to worry about anyone wearing the same thing as I had on. I never took Home Economics because by that time I was too far advanced. The truth is, I could have taught the class. I did make money sewing while in high school. I was on the swim team and every Friday before a meet, we had outfits that we had to wear. The skirts were some kind of purple cotton, and I ended up making the skirts for all the girls on the team. Apparently, no one’s mother sewed. I probably got $10 a skirt. I also made and sold Holly Hobbie dolls for $15. Those things were a lot of work, but, I guess for the time, that was pretty good. Also, these were not dolls to be played with; they were to be sat on a shelf and admired. If someone wanted to buy one for their daughter to actually play with, I wouldn’t sell it to them.

I took my sewing machine to college with me and used to get up super early to sew before my first class. I always had new clothes, and would make my outfits for special occasions, usually the night before. I was always aware of just how long something would take for me to make and I would always wait until the very last-minute to do it. Some things never change!

I always sewed. Except, that is, when I went off to Europe to model. I could not take my sewing machine with me then. Whenever I was back in the States for even a week, I would drag out the machine and whip up something to take back with me. When I moved back to the States for good in September of 1990, I continued to model, but started sewing on the side. I made vests, teddy bears, all kinds of things. I retired from modeling sometime in 1992 or 1993, and then realized I had to get a ‘regular’ job. I got one at Loomcraft (a Calico Corners-type store) in the Wrigleyville neighborhood of Chicago. The store did custom labor for the home, and though I had never done much of that kind of sewing, other than simple curtains or pillows, I decided that was what I would do. I worked at Loomcraft for 2 years, until I had enough business to quit and sew full-time. I am proud to say that I never once poached a customer from the store. It would have been easy to do that, but it was against the rules. I built my business back then the same way I do today – word of mouth. And as anyone who is self-employed knows, you work many more hours a week than 40, but at least you are working for yourself.

Today I am happy that my mother forced me to learn to sew. It has allowed me to have my own business for the last 23 years. I have the best clients and each one of them comes to me just as my very first one did. My business has gone through several name changes through the years until several years ago when I changed it to A Little of This That and the Other. Even though I only make things for the home, I don’t want to limit myself. You never know when I might decide it’s time to start a line of t-shirts or bathing suits or yoga clothes. This way, I’m covered.

I have always lived a creative life and cannot imagine living any other way. Creating beautiful things for people’s homes gives me great joy. I get to go into all kinds of houses that I would normally never go into. I’ve been in 14 different magazines over the years, although this has never gotten me work. Still, I love to see my work in a magazine. As of right now, I am awaiting a home in Carlsbad, CA that was shot for Coastal Living and another home on Saint Simons Island, GA in Country Living. I never know until it comes out exactly which of things I did will end up in the magazine, which is really hard. But when it finally does come out, I am excited and happy to see my work in print.

My other creative outlet is writing and this web site. It is a completely different kind of creativity and something I have done for most of my life, as well. Telling my story, at times, is hard. I think it is important, if for no other reason than to help me make sense of my life. And in the process, if I help others, then so much the better. It’s all a part of the healing process.

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:

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.

At Long Last Heard

A Story of Survival

Tag Archives: depression

WARRIOR POSE

HERE, TAKE A PILL

IT’S NOT A STRAIGHT LINE

IS THIS MY NEW NORMAL?

SHIFT HAPPENS

A CREATIVE LIFE

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

RUNNING AWAY FROM HOME – 1976

MUST KEEP MOVING

YOU JUST NEVER KNOW

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