IT’S NOT A STRAIGHT LINE

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.

 

 

SHIFT HAPPENS

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.”

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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!)

WE NEED TO STOP ‘SHOULDING’ OURSELVES

I almost titles this “WE SHOULD STOP SHOULDING OURSELVES,” but irony aside, it seems to be something we all do.  I should do this; I should do that.  I should be thinner or prettier or richer.  I should be further along in my career; I should workout more or meditate or journal.  I should go to college or I should drop out.  I should work fewer hours or I should work more.  I should change jobs or I should just plain quit my job and become a lady/gentleman of leisure.  Should, should, should!  With all this shoulding going on, it’s no wonder we feel such discontent, like we aren’t living up to our potential.

The dictionary on my iMac defines SHOULD as:

1 used to indicate obligation, duty or correctness, typically when criticizing someone’s actions: he should have been careful | I think we should trust our people more | you shouldn’t have gone.   2 used to indicate what is probable:  $348 million should be enough to buy him out | the bus should arrive in a few minutes.  3 formal expressing the conditional mood.  –(in the first person) indicating the consequence of an imagined event:  if I were to obey my first impulse, I should spend my days writing letters.  –referring to a possible event or situation: if you should change your mind, I’ll be at the hotel | should anyone arrive late, admission is likely to be refused.  4 used in a clause with “that” after a main clause describing feelings: it is astonishing that we should find violence here.  5 used in a clause with “that” expressing purpose: in order that training should be effective it must be planned systematically.  6 (in the first person) expressing a polite request or acceptance: we should be grateful for your advice.  7 (in the first person) expressing a conjecture of hope: he’ll have a sore head, I should imagine | “It won’t happen again.” “I should hope not.”  8 used to emphasize to a listener how striking an event is or was: you should have seen Marge’s face.  

According to Dictionary.com: should is the simple past tense of SHALL.  And SHALL is defined as 1 plan to, intend to, or expect to: I shall go later.  2 will have to, is determined  to, or definitely will: You shall do it.  He shall do it.  3 (in laws, directives, etc.) must; is or are obliged to: The meeting of the council shall be public.  4 (used interrogatively in questions, often in invitations): Shall we go?

In the end, though, what it comes down to is how we talk to ourselves.  Reading through the definitions, it seems clear to me that SHALL is a much kinder, gentler way of expressing a desire or wish, especially if it is to ourselves.   No one likes to be told what to do, so why do we think it’s okay to should ourselves?  If someone is telling you that you should do this or that or you should go here or there, are you more likely to disregard, ignore or reject what they are saying because of how they are saying it?  My guess is a big fat YES.  It’s the same when we talk to ourselves, even if we aren’t aware of it.  What we say and how we say it to ourselves is just as important, if not even more so, than how we speak to others.  And while it is always a good idea to be kind to everyone, being kind to ourselves is crucial.

I think that for a long time self-love or self-care was seen as selfish.  This is the exact opposite of what is actually true.  If we don’t love, take care of and approve wholeheartedly of ourselves, we cannot do it for others, not really.  I am the most important person in my life, just as you are the most important person in your life.  It cannot be any other way.  This is true whether you are single or married, have children or not.  If you are not happy in and with yourself, you will have nothing to give another.  This is not selfish.  I’m sure you’ve heard the expression about not being able to give what you don’t have.  This is the same idea.  It is all well and good to want to accomplish your intentions, dreams and goals, so why not do it in a kinder way?  Kinder to yourself.  Speak to yourself the way you would to a child.  You (hopefully) would never yell at or berate a baby because of what he or she was unable to do, so why would you treat yourself any differently?

To me, shoulding ourselves is a good place to start, and by that I mean,  STOP SHOULDING YOURSELF!  You are where you are because of the choices and decisions you made yesterday.  If you don’t like where you are, make different choices.  It’s all up to you.  When you use the word should, as the definition says, it typically is a criticism of what you did or didn’t do.  Who likes to be criticized?  As Maya Angelou said, “Do the best you can until you know better.  Then when you know better, do better.”  We now know better.  We know how powerful words are and the way in which they are said can either help or hurt.  Make sure the words you say, especially to yourself, are loving and kind.

 

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

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.

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This is the view from the top looking west.

IMG_3452 And this is the view to the east.

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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:

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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

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

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:

 

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MY LIFE STORY IN 100 WORDS

I got this idea from Jennifer Pastiloff’s post yesterday.  She featured a guest post by Elissa Wald,  who had been asked on an application for freelance copywriting work, to tell her personal story in 100 words.  (To read Elissa’s 100 word story, go to Jen’s web site, http://themanifeststation.net)

It got me thinking of what I would say in 100 words that could truly encapsulate and/or describe my life in so few words.  I mean, I’ve lived 54 years and been through an awful lot.  But I like a good challenge, so I gave it a shot.  I am calling it my life story as opposed to my personal story.  Here’s what I came up with:

My Life Story In 100 Words:

A happy, healthy, loving, kind, silly, adventure-seeking, funny, mostly intelligent, sometimes wildly irreverent, forward-looking spirit having a very human experience. Have faced many life challenges with grace, and survived. Have fought hard to stick around to see what happens next. Looking to make a difference in my life so that I am able, by example, to encourage others to do the same. Believe that one person CAN make a difference, and if we all live with this uppermost in our minds, think of the awesome transformation the world would see. Am ready for blessings that are no longer in disguise.

What do you think?  Did I do it?  Can you do it?  I’d love to see what you come up with.  Please leave a comment with your 100 word story.

 

 

 

 

A FINE LINE

I started writing this post last night on my phone.  I only wrote a portion of it because it is a bit of a pain doing it that way.  I need to be able to see the entirety of what I’ve written and that just isn’t possible on a tiny screen.  Reading over what I wrote, though, I think I’ll go in a different direction.  I was going to eventually tie what I wrote last night into what I really want to say, and it would have been a far longer, more complicated essay, so, I’ll leave that for another day.

What I really want to say today is there is a very fine line between teasing and being rude and disrespectful.  I grew up being teased, and though I am not always crazy about it now, I do understand it, and it is familiar.  And, to a point, I am truly okay with it.  However, it simply does not work for me in the ways it used to.  Was it my attack that has made me more sensitive to this?  Is it evolving and changing to a kinder, more loving person in general?  Or is it not being willing to put up with any crap and rudeness of any kind anymore?  It’s probably a combination of all of those things.  And, really, it doesn’t matter what the reason…if I perceive it as something I do not want in my life, I have every right to feel the way that I do, and to do whatever I need to so that it stops.

At the risk of being called overly sensitive and/or ridiculous, I had an incident occur on the 4th of July that upset me.  A LOT.  A little background…I drive an old car.  Her name is Grazelda.  She is a ’96 Volkswagen Golf, the Harlequin edition, which is a multi-colored car.  It is one of the rarest Volkswagens ever made. There are only 70 of my version.  Most people love my car and think it is really cool.  Okay, so she is faded and has some rust on her hatchback.  So what?  The thing is, you do not have to like my car, and, frankly, I don’t give a damn whether you do or not.  What I have an issue with is you telling me that I drive a piece of shit car or that no one wants to be seen riding in it, etc.  Yes, these comments and others like this were made to me on Friday.  The sad thing is they were made by someone I’ve known since I was 18 years old (36 freaking years!) and not for the first time.  And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I have two family members that jumped on the let’s-bash-Tamerie’s-car bandwagon.  The seem to think it is cute.  I do not.  Not even a little bit.  And these relatives are not young teenagers or even twenty-somethings; no, they are in their sixties!  Of course, this behavior is nothing new and something I have put up with for as long as I can remember.  I do know they care about me and are just teasing me, and in spite of that, and in spite of my asking that they not do it, they continue to do so.  It makes me not want to go to family functions.

Am I being a big, fat baby about this?  I don’t think so, and even if I am, their behavior lands on me as disrespect.  And that I should not have to tolerate, especially from people in my family.  As for my friend from college, that’s an entirely different story.  And why, would someone please explain to me, are there people who think it’s okay to give me their opinion about my car, especially when it has happened numerous other times, and I have made clear that I do not appreciate nor want to be subjected to it?  To me, this is extremely rude and so uncalled for.   It has been suggested that this is his way of letting me know that he likes me.  Really?  Really?  Grow up.

I have always been a person who stands up for myself.  I have never cared if others like me or not, nor have I cared what they think about me.  If you don’t like me, okay.  I see it as your loss more than anything else.  I would never tell anyone, ANYONE, the things that certain friends and family members feel they have the right to say.  I learned a long time ago that words can never be taken back.  Oh sure, you can apologize for saying something hurtful or mean or down right cruel, BUT you can never take it back.  It can’t be unheard.  Because of this, I am very careful what I say to others, and even more so if I am angry or upset.  I am not sure why others are not as careful.  It seems like such an easy and kind thing to do.

A PAIN IN THE NECK

Make that a pain in my neck.  Literally.  In this ongoing, seemingly never-ending process of healing from my attack, when most everything has been dealt with and is, if not totally better, pretty dang close, the one thing that is still hanging on is the pain in my neck.  And, for the most part, it’s okay.  But not healed, and this is an issue for me.  As my soon-to-be-gone (moving out-of-state – boo hoo) acupuncturist, Matt Truhan, said a couple of weeks ago, my neck was the first thing injured and it is the last thing my body is hanging onto.  Immediately following my attack, I could not move my head at all.  I had to turn my entire body to look at something behind me.  In time, I was able to move it again.  Two or three months?  I do not remember exactly, but, eventually I was able to move my head without turning my whole body.  And because I was so focused on healing the emotional trauma, my neck was kind of forgotten about.  Or, rather, I just learned to live with the constant pain, and after a while, even though it was, and is, still there, I ceased noticing it. Kind of like the headaches I used to suffer from.  In my daily life, for the most part, I am not aware of it.  In yoga, though, I am very aware.  There are certain postures I simply am unable to do because my neck will not bend or turn.  Even when my teacher says, as we are on our stomachs, ‘turn to your favorite cheek,’ I have to keep my head straight, there is no turning to either side more than just a couple of inches.  Or when we are in a twist and he or she says to bring the head back to center, and mine has been there all along.

So, as a last-ditch effort before he and his wife move to Oregon, Matt has been concentrating on my neck.  It has helped, but I’m not sure it will be all better before he leaves.  Because I do not like massage, he never insisted on working on it before.  Oh, he put needles in it and in other points that correspond to the neck, but the pain and lack of mobility is as much muscle memory as it is real, physical pain, and that makes it much harder to deal with.  The massage, though very painful, has helped some.  This last Tuesday, though, I was exceptionally sore because I had played tennis for the first time in 6 years, and he did insist on a short, Chinese-style massage.  The reason I do not like massage is because I always feel awful afterwards, like for several days.  I agreed because he is so good at his job and I thought, maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad.  Wrong.  Not only did it hurt, I felt like crap the rest of the day on Tuesday and still felt yucky yesterday.  I even took an epsom salt bath, which I dislike almost as much as massage.  Today, I feel almost normal, whatever that is.  And when I say I feel almost normal, I mean from the ill-effects of the massage, not my neck.

The dictionary on my computer defines whiplash as:
whiplash |ˈ(h)wipˌlaSH|
noun
1 [ usu. in sing. ] the lashing action of a whip: figurative : he cringed before the icy whiplash of Curtis’s tongue.
• the flexible part of a whip or something resembling it.
2 injury caused by a severe jerk to the head, typically in a motor-vehicle accident.
verb [ with obj. ]
jerk or jolt (someone or something) suddenly, typically so as to cause injury: the force of impact had whiplashed the man’s head.
• [ no obj. ] move suddenly and forcefully, like a whip being cracked: he rammed the yacht, sending its necklace of lights whiplashing from the bridge.

In my case,  it was both a noun and a verb.  I sustained injury ’caused by a severe jerk to the head’ though mine was from being violently slammed to the pavement, and not by a car accident.  And the action of DCD in slamming me to the pavement caused the injury.  Even now I get a twinge of pain and sadness when picturing the scene that morning.  I know it could have been so much worse.  Had I not been in such great physical shape and been so angry that someone would even think of attacking me, the outcome may have been far different.  And yet 33+ months later I am still dealing with the pain that his actions caused me that September morning.  That pisses me off.  And makes me even more determined to get myself completely healed, however long it takes.

24 JUNE 2001

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?