Tag Archives: trauma

10 NOVEMBER 2011

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From my journal…

“I feel like I am a ticking time-bomb and I am not sure when I’ll explode.  Mostly, I feel okay, and, at times, I can even ‘forget’ about what’s really going on.  What makes this so hard is not knowing when things will happen.  I put this quote on my Facebook this morning:

“There is sacredness in tears.  They are not the mark of weakness, but of power.  They speak more eloquently than ten thousands tongues.  They are messengers of overwhelming grief and unspeakable love.”  ~Washington Irving

If this is true, that tears are not a sign of weakness, but one of power, then I must be the weakest person on the planet.  I certainly do not feel like I have any power at all.  I have understood for a long time that I have no control over anything but my reaction to things.  In this case, I can’t even control my reaction because my brain chemistry is all messed up.  I feel more out of control than ever.  And I look fine to the outside world.  When I look in the mirror I still don’t see the real me.  I’m not sure where she is.  Perhaps locked away until it is safe to reemerge?

Kim recommended I watch some YouTube videos about sexual assault in the military.  The one thing I took away from “Angie’s Story’ was her saying that PTSD does NOT go away on its own, that without help, you will always suffer.  Also, that it took a year (oh, crap) for her symptoms to fully manifest.  So then I think, okay, fine, I’ll just go about my life until that happens, except that isn’t how it’s working.  It’s like I am half in, half out. I can’t move forward, I can’t pretend or will myself past this, so I sit, stuck in the now.  The fact that I get out of bed every day is quite an accomplishment because all I really want to do is stay there.  Right now, the symptoms I do have are manifesting themselves as depression, though I am not depressed.  Going on an anti-depressant doesn’t seem the way to go because it will be masking the very feelings I need to feel in order to move through the trauma.  Talk about a catch-22.

And then I go back to the fact that I wasn’t actually raped, that, really, I wasn’t hurt very badly at all, that physically I’m healed, so why aren’t I healed emotionally and mentally?

I am so close to starting to write about this on my A Little of This That and the Other blog.  I feel like I am alone and I know that’s crazy.  I am feeling an overwhelming urge to talk and write about this on a much larger scale than I have already.  I think the biggest ‘issue’ I am having is reconciling what is going on with what I believe.  If I believe everything happens for a reason, that there are no mistakes, no accidents or no coincidences, then what happened, happened for a reason.  That I can accept.  And I’m pretty sure the reason is to move me to the next chapter in my life.  I get that, and can even be grateful.  What I am NOT getting  is why I cannot override the negative with the positive?  Why, even as I’m saying the words, the opposite feelings are what keep showing up?  Why I am unable to ‘will’ what it is I want?  Why, if our thoughts create our future, that what I think today, creates my tomorrow, what thoughts did I think to bring this violence into my life?  I KNOW I never thought these thoughts.  And, really, how much trauma can I possibly endure without checking out completely?  Yes, I am determined to stick around AND I can’t help but think I have already passed my breaking point, and so far, have been stronger than that very small part of me that doesn’t want to stay, that doesn’t want to be here.   When does it get better?  When does the pain stop?  All I can think right now is the pain is so unbearably acute  that I can’t feel it at all, that that’s the reason I’m not crying, the reason I can’t allow myself to feel anything.  For now, I guess that going through the motions is as much an accomplishment as anything.  I am doing the best I can and I feel like I’m not doing much of anything.  Round and round I go.

9:45a  What if I really don’t deserve to be happy?  What if only certain people are destined to have all they want and the vast majority are meant to lead lives of mediocrity? To be forever searching, but never finding?  To always be mostly unhappy?  This is a world that I do NOT want to live in and a reality that I cannot, no WILL NOT, accept.  With God, all things are possible.  It doesn’t say, with God, some things are possible or a few things or even most things.  It says ALL THINGS ARE POSSIBLE.  I have to believe this.  I cannot, and will not, let one incident in my entire life determine or dictate who I am and how I’ll live the rest of my life.  No way, not how.  And still, I wonder…

12 noon – Well, I did it.  I made it official.  I posted on my blog, came out to the world, so to speak.  I declared my intention to write, although I mentioned photography first, and then writing.  No matter, it’s out.”

 

It’s funny, in an interesting, ironic way, that I ‘came out’ about my desire and intention to write, but made no mention of the impetus behind it.  And going through my journal of that time last year is actually a lot more difficult that I thought it would be.  At the time, I both knew and didn’t have a clue as to what I was really going through.  I so wanted to be healed and finished with the entire process, never realizing that length of time it would ultimately take.  Looking back, I think I thought if I didn’t ‘hurry up and get better’ that that meant I was weak or that there was something far worse wrong with me than ‘just’ having been sexually assaulted.  Remember, this was only 5 weeks or so after the attack.  And one of the things that did come out in therapy was my tendency to be incredibly hard on myself.  I cut myself no slack.  I thought if I wasn’t perfect, no one would stick around.  It took me a while to, first of all, even understand it, and secondly, to start being more gentle and loving to myself.  Something far worse came out, as well, and that was the hatred (yes, a real hatred) of myself that I wasn’t even aware of.  I would have laughed if you had told me I actually hated myself.  Turns out, I did.  There are reasons why that manifested and I will get into them at a later date.  For now, suffice it to say that this made my healing from the attack that much more difficult.  In the end, though, I did what I had to and worked through it and was able to put that piece behind me.  I’m telling you that EMDR is the most amazing thing.  Without it, I certainly would not be where I am today.  That is also a subject for another day.

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

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One day in early October I was on Pinterest and came upon a quote I liked.  I clicked on it and there was a link at the bottom of it to a web site.  Of course, I had to check it out.  What I clicked on was womenforone.

“Women For One is a global community of women encouraging authenticity and inspiration. We empower women of all ages, ethnicities and backgrounds to exchange authentic dialogue through telling their stories, sharing life lessons and supporting others on their journey for growth.”

 I thought, ‘cool!’  Once on the site I saw a button that said, ‘BE BRAVE- SUBMIT YOUR STORY!,’ which I did.  I got an immediate response from Kelly McNelis Senegor, the founder and woman behind the site. We emailed back and forth, and after a few revisions on my part, Kelly informed me that they would be featuring my story, probably the beginning of November.  Well, that day came and went and I wondered what happened.  Then I threw my back out and most everything else went straight out of my head.  While lounging (oh, I wish) in bed, I received another email from Kelly telling me they would be featuring my story on 10 November.  So, this post about that is only 11 or 12 days overdue.  I did put a link on my Facebook pages, but here it is again.

Do yourself a favor and go check out the web site.  There are so many inspiring stories to read.  Mine is just one of many.

Update on my back – still in some pain, though much, much better than 2 weeks ago.  My work with Eileen Troberman and the Alexander Technique has done wonders.  I am able to move around pretty well.  Sitting is still a challenge, which is why it took me so long to do this post.  Walking is good for me, though I am really slow.  It took me an hour to walk 3 miles.  I realize this is kind of a normal pace for most people, but my ‘normal’ pace is more like 4 1/2 miles and hour, if not faster.  Anyway, part of my therapy is taking frequent walks.  I am still working up to being able to sit and sew.  Slowly, but slowly, but surely I’m getting there.

I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving.  I will be back to posting regularly after the holiday.  Cheers!

SLOWLY, BUT SLOWLY, BUT SURELY

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I thought I’d give a quick update on the state of my back. I am now going on my fifth day of being stuck in bed. The good news is I got up yesterday for the first time in 96 hours. My boyfriend brought me lunch and my favorite cupcake (salted caramel from Sprinkles) and then helped me out of bed. My back is still really sore, as much, I think, from lying on it as from the spasms. It does seem to be out of danger of spasming now, though I will be extra careful in moving for the foreseeable future. If I NEVER have this happen again, it will be too soon.

Back to yesterday’s adventure – Bill helped me to a sitting position at the edge of my bed. (And thank goodness my bed is higher than average and at the perfect height to get in and out of without having to lower myself down or raise myself up in any way). So I sat there for a few moments, trying to get my bearings and letting the dizziness pass. I finally stood and we made our way, slowly, to the bathroom. I was SO looking forward to using the toilet, as opposed to peeing in bed, which as I said before, is just so strange. After finishing, I (foolishly) thought I should do a lap around the house. Again, I (we) were moving extremely slowly. As we got back to the kitchen, I remembered that I had forgotten to brush my teeth, so headed back to the bathroom. You have got to understand that the lap might have been 25′ and from the where I was standing at the edge of the kitchen to the bathroom is, maybe 5′. I’m not talking any great distance. BUT having been prone for 4 days, it proved to be too much exercise at one time. I nearly passed out brushing my teeth and had to sit down on the toilet to finish. Of course, we still had to get me the seemingly insurmountable 30′ back into my bed. I was definitely light-headed and though not exactly seeing stars, I was in real danger of passing out. When I was again lying down, I couldn’t hear anything. It felt as if I was under water. I think I came as close to passing out as you can without actually passing out. It took several minutes for me to feel normal again. I definitely over did it. Bad Tamerie!

I did it, though! And before the night was over, I got up 3 more times. Once when Laura was here to bring me dinner, and twice all by myself. Those times, though, I went straight to the bathroom and straight back to bed. No extra laps for me until I am feeling a bit stronger.

And the best news is I slept through the night. I’ve been up once so far this morning and am thinking I’ll get up every hour or so, just to get used to it.

Last time I went through this, I discovered the Alexander Technique (www.alexandertechnique.com) and locally went to Eileen Troberman (www.alexandertechniquesandiego.com) for help and relief. I am thinking I may need to visit her again.

Thank you for all the emails and well wishes I have received. As my therapist said when I told her of my predicament, “I know you will overcome all of this!” And my response was, “This, although incredibly painful, is NOTHING compared to the last 13 months! And this will be better in the next few days.”
Okay, maybe it will take more than just a few days, but I can deal with that.

48 HOURS AND COUNTING

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A quick disclaimer–please excuse any typos or misspelled words in this post. I am doing this on my iPhone and flat on my back in bed. That being said, on with it…

Saturday morning, instead of our usual hour and a half yoga class (since my boyfriend was away at a weekend retreat with the organization he volunteers for, I thought I would walk in Coronado. And for this walk I wanted to do the route that was interrupted by cockroach boy on the 24th of September last year. I had not walked that way around the island since the attack, though I had revisited the scene of the crime almost 2 weeks before. I enlisted a good friend of mine and he was at my door at 6a. All went well. I had no physical symptoms come up. He asked, and I showed him, exactly where it had happened. No big deal, right? Anyway, we continued on and made our way back to the other side of the island. I went home, showered, ate and started working. Everything seemed perfectly fine. As I was sitting at my sewing machine, though, I felt a little twinge in my back and thought, ‘that’s odd.’ So I got up and went in the living room to lie on the floor to stretch it out. It felt okay, so I went back to the sewing machine. After a minute, I felt it again. This time, though, when I tried to stand up, I couldn’t. My chair is on wheels, so I rolled myself into my bedroom and used the frame of my bed and the window sill to push myself up to standing. I then laid on the bed and stretched my back some more, while I googled back spasms. Everything I read said ice it for 24-48 hours. Okay, I thought, and got up and went to get my lima beans (I HATE beans, so there’s no chance of accidentally eating them) and proceeded to ice my lower back for 20 minutes. I had draped my torso over the edge of the bed, with my legs bracing myself on the wall. When I tried to get up, I couldn’t. Basically I was stuck.

My phone was in the middle of the bed and as I attempted to reach for it, I realized if I stretched my arm out, I would be hitting the floor. I could just feel my back starting to seize. I thought, ‘oh crap, now what am I supposed to do’? I started pulling the bedspread towards me, little by little, until the phone was in my hand. I called Laura and she rushed over. (Thank God she was home and not in Palm Springs where she had planned to be.) She came in and somehow managed to pick me up and toss me on the bed. This was both a good thing (I was no longer stuck in a ridiculous position) and an excruciatingly painful thing, as that caused my back to go into complete spasms. I screamed, and kept screaming because, although I was now on the bed, I was in a weird half up and half down position. She had to flip me onto my back, all the while I am screaming in pain. The pain was no better once I was lying flat, but after a bit, it let up a little. At least I wasn’t screaming anymore. Her first thought was get me to the hospital. Obviously, that would mean calling the paramedics. I argued that there was nothing that they could do for me and it would cost me $1000, at the very least. Unfortunately, I have been through this before, though not in quite the same way, and I know I just have to wait it out.

The first time this happened to me was in about 1997 and I collapsed while working. My (then) husband eventually came down to my workroom and found me on the floor. He tried to get me up, but I passed out from the pain and back down to the floor I went.
He (we) decided to just let me lie there for a while and try again. After about an hour, he came back and by this time I had to pee. There was a (gross) toilet down there, but it made more sense to get me upstairs so I wasn’t stuck in the basement. We, of course, lived on the 3rd floor. Slowly, but very slowly, we made our way up to the apartment. He took me in the bathroom and lowered me to the toilet and left the room. When I finished, I tried to stand up, but passed out from the pain, and ended up on the floor. Again. (What’s really amazing is, given all the times I’ve passed out and hit my head, that I don’t have significant brain damage. And I’m sure there are those that would say I actually do!) So my husband comes and picks me up and walks me to the bedroom and tells me to stay there, that next time I need to go to the bathroom, he’ll help me down and back up off the toilet. I called my (physician) mother and asked what I should do. She informed me there was nothing to be done, that I would get better each day and in 3 days, I’d be fine. Dang, if that’s not exactly what happened.

The next, and last, time it happened was in July 2010. That time, though, my back threatened for 2 years. The day it went out I was in Point Loma for a Bar Method (a ballet-based exercise) class. It was definitely hurting during the class and afterwards, I was unable to bend over to tie my shoes. I had to sit in a chair and put my feet up in the air to tie them. I gingerly made my way down the steps to my car and got in. I could barely extend my leg and it hit me that this was a major problem as I have a stick-shift and a clutch. I had to move the seat all the way up to be able to work the pedals. How I made it home without crashing is still a mystery. When I did get here, luckily my next door neighbor was outside in the back when I pulled up and haphazardly parked. She helped me out of the car and walked me into my house and straight to my bed, where I spent 6 days.

On saturday, after I stopped screaming, I called my mother and she reiterated what I already knew and had told Laura: nothing to do but rest and wait it out.
Periodically, for the rest of Saturday, a spasm would hit me. I was glad the weather has been cool and all the windows are closed. My neighbors couldn’t hear my screams and thinking I was being murdered, call the police. With all the lying around I’ve been doing, I’ve had plenty of time to try and figure out why this happened and with no warning. My conclusion is this: As you can see from the previous paragraphs, I have definite issues with my back. I always wondered why the attack did not injure my back more. Oh sure, it hurt somewhat, but it was more my neck from the whiplash that gave me the most trouble. Now, I think I understand why my back went now, after I finally made it back to the scene of the crime and graduated from therapy, and not when the attack occurred. It was my body’s way of protecting me, for making it so I was physically able to go to therapy each week, and be able to work through all that had to be dealt with to heal from the attack. With it all behind me now and 5 days out of therapy, my back decided it was the perfect time to go out.

And go out it did. I’ve been in bed now since approximately 1:45p on Saturday (but who’s counting?) This time it is completely different from the other times. This time I literally cannot get up. At all. You might be wondering, how does one go to the bathroom if one cannot move? Laura did her best to cajole me out of bed Saturday night, but if you can’t move, you can’t move and no amount of telling me I HAVE to get up will make me get up. Ever resourceful, though, Laura went off to Rite Aid to see what was available for invalids such as me. She returned with ‘bladder control pads for women’ and ‘disposable bed pads’ meant for kids. Hey, at least there are options. For those of you who have never purposely peed in bed, (which I, of course, did as a kid, but that’s a whole other story) it’s a lot harder than you might think. First of all, I have to put this really long (practically goes from my belly button to the center of my back) and really thick (picture on old-fashion Kotex, doubled) pad over me and ya gotta hold it in place or you end up peeing on the pee pad, which is, fortunately, there just for that reason. The sensation, though, is strange: it is very warm and it feels like pee is going everywhere. And, believe it or not, it is really hard to pee lying down. Gravity is not working in my favor. For some reason, too, although I am drinking hardly any water (so I don’t have to pee) I am peeing all the time. You cannot believe how excited and happy I’ll be to be able to get out of bed and use the bathroom. It’s the small things in life that mean so much!

This seems to be the last part of my healing from the sexual assault. The EMDR cleared out all the crap I was still holding onto from my childhood and the other various traumas I’ve suffered in my lifetime, including this one. I successfully went back to the scene of the crime without any triggers being activated. I do tend to hold my stress in my lower back, and without question, the last 13+ months were extremely stressful for me. Now that stress is out, and as soon as I am able to move again, I’ll be completely shiny and new! Thinner, too, since I haven’t had much to eat and am still carrying the weight I gained after the attack. Yes, it is ALL working out perfectly and just as it is meant to.

I have no idea how long I’ll be stuck in bed. Luckily, I have my iPhone and iPad and books and magazines to occupy my time. Still, it is incredibly boring. Please say a prayer and send lots of healing energy my way.

2 NOVEMBER 2011

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It is just by chance that my journal entries match up to the actual date.  This will not always be the case, but it seems silly to not post it just because it is right now.  I should also let you know that these entries are not edited, though I sure would like to rewrite a lot of it.  It’s what I was thinking and feeling at the time, so changing anything doesn’t seem quite right. Just keep in mind that it was a severely traumatized person who was writing this and I was doing my best to make sense of what had happened and what I was going through.  I so clearly did not ‘get it’ at the time.

 

2 November 2011

I went and joined the gym at the hospital again.  My intention was to join Hollywood Fitness, and Bill and I even went in last night so he could see it.  The deal, according to the paper, was $1 to join and $29/month for just gym use or $49 w/gym and all classes.  Sounded good.  Well, it turned out to be a bit of a scam.  They wanted first and last month and an automatic credit card withdrawal, and the guy was just so jerky.  I had to leave, so I did.  Laura had walked uptown with me and she had to run out after me.   I felt compelled to get away; I just couldn’t stay another minute.  So back to the kind-of-boring, but reliable, hospital gym I will be going.  And even though Bill and I are going to do yoga at the Cove tomorrow night, I’m still gonna go to the gym in the morning and re-acquaint myself with the stairmaster and weight machines.

After I walked down to the hospital and took care of my business there, I walked around Tidelands Park and under the bridge, up to the end of the golf course (but not on Gloiretta) and back.  I would have walked further but I was wearing flipflops and my toes started to hurt.  It has been made very clear that the loss of all the miles I logged every week walking is a huge loss to me.  Since I am unable (at this time) to get myself out there to walk and one yoga class a week isn’t nearly enough exercise, it is still imperative that I get my butt in gear, however I can.  As Susie said, I should look at it as a temporary solution while I rebuild my life.

The other thing that is abundantly clear is I have got to figure out a way to work in spite of my brain not working properly right now.  I cannot and will not let someone else dictate my life.  Yes, I am feeling out of control and, at times, like I am truly losing it.  The reality is I’m not.  It’s just my brain playing tricks on me.  So I need to get a new intention and it is, as of 5:18p, 2 November 2011:  1. To get the jobs completed that are awaiting my talents;  2. To get more jobs;  3. To continue writing each day, so that I will have a complete record of the process and my feelings about the trauma I suffered;  4. To do more with my custom fabrics;  5. To start speaking about my experience to audiences;  6. To believe in the future again;   7. To live happily ever NOW!

As I was walking this afternoon, I was listening to Dr. Wayne Dyer’s “The Power of Intention.”  It is so amazing how I ALWAYS hear exactly what I need to hear when I need to hear it.  I really do have to start re-framing and stating what it is I intend, not all the negative I’ve been dwelling on.  Yes, there is no doubt there is a lot of negative and I’m not sure how else to deal with it without talking so much about it.  I also know, at some point, I’ve got to stop going over and over it.  What you resist, persists.  What you think about all day long is what manifests.  Which means changing my self-talk, my inner dialogue.  I know there must be a way to talk about it and still move past it, especially if I shift my work more towards this aspect.  I forgot to write that intention on the list above, and, truly, this is a huge, life-changing intention for me.  So here goes:  It is my intention to transform the trauma I suffered in September (and in all my life) into a new project/business of writing and speaking.  I have been wanting for so long now to change what I’m doing.  Although it came about in a tragic way, the new avenue that my life can go down has been handed to me, if not quite on a silver platter, then on the cement outside the Hotel Del.

I do have homework for Monday’s therapy.  I have to make a list of the top 10 worst and the top 10 best things in my life.  [Here I am choosing not to include those 20 things at this time.  I will come back to them at a later date.]

Laura is leaving tonight for London for a month.  I’m taking her tot he airport at 6:30p.  She’s leaving Hiccup with me for safekeeping.  Ian is staying at her house while she is gone.  She has been so ‘here’ for me during the last 5 weeks, that I’m sure I’ll miss her.  I’m envious, I suppose.  I wish, in a way, that it was me going away for a month.  With Bill, of course.

And speaking of Bill, we went to dinner at The Tavern last night.  It was good, but the menu is completely different from the tasting menu we sampled in July.  Or August, whenever that was.  And even though we hadn’t seen each other in a week, we did NOT have sex.  The fact is that every time we do now, my eyes leak, and that, apparently, has him freaked out.  Of course, it makes me feel even less desirable than I already feel.  I guess I need to tell him this.  All he really wants to do is fix everything and believe me, I wish he could.  Unfortunately, he can’t really do much besides be there for me and encourage me.  A lot of times, though, I feel like he thinks I’m not doing enough.  What he, and everyone else for that matter, cannot possibly understand is the things I’m going through are a result of the attack/trauma I suffered and I can’t help what’s happening.  There is a huge disconnect in my brain and my body and this I am unable to do anything about it right now.  It’s all going to take time.  It sucks, I know, I’m living it.  It is truly a case of no one possibly being able to understand what I am going through unless they’ve been through it themselves.  And a lot of people have all kinds of trauma happen all the time.  I guess, though, that it manifests differently for everyone, while at the same time, it’s basically the same.  I guess that doesn’t really make any sense.  I think I’m trying to say is the attack and trauma I suffered was unique to me because it happened to me and my brain and body are processing it according to my experiences.  So that means that NO ONE can really understand what I’m going through.  The physical and psychological things are common to all those who suffer a traumatic event, but they are also all different.  Round and round it goes…

All I can do is my best.  Take each day one at a time.

Probably the other person that this has affected most is Bill.  Maybe he should talk to someone as well.  He doesn’t quite know what to do and neither does anyone else.  No one that I personally know has ever had to deal with this.  Or if they did, they aren’t talking.  There is obviously a big part of me that can’t shut up about it.  I want and maybe even need everyone to know.  So until I feel like I’ve talked about it enough, I suppose I’ll go on telling my story to everyone I know and even those I don’t.

 

 

1 NOVEMBER 2011, 2012

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As I was reading through my journal last night, I was/am amazed at the way I thinking and the ways in which my brain was and was not working.  I also wrote a lot more than I thought I did, especially at the beginning.  As I told my boyfriend the other day, he (and everyone else now) will learn a lot more of what was going on with me post-attack than I let on.  Part of that was not understanding what I was truly going through, part was that I didn’t want him to think I was a complete loser or nut case and part was I didn’t want to be a bother, to him or anyone.  It is so interesting how our brains work to protect us, especially in times of great trauma.  I definitely learned a whole lot more about a lot of things, including the brain, than I ever thought I would.  And the brain is quite a fascinating organ.  I will share more about this at a later date.

My post today is taken directly from my journal.  It is exactly what I was feeling and going through a year ago today.

1 November 2011

Turns out the weird feelings I’m having are all part of the process.  More symptoms are coming out.  My body and mind have, apparently, been in protection mode since the attack and I’m just starting to feel some things.  Knowing this does not make it any easier.  In fact, knowing that it will most likely get a whole lot worse before it gets better does not make me happy at all.  NOT AT ALL.  There is such a disconnect in my brain.  I did manage to go to yoga this morning.  It is about the only thing I seem capable of actually doing.

I have got to force myself to do some work.  For the first time in a while, I actually have several jobs waiting to be done.  It’s not that I don’t want to work.  I do.  I can’t seem to concentrate long enough, or well enough, to do what needs to be done.  I think the reason I was able to do the pillows the week before last is because I didn’t really have to ‘think’ about how to do them, since I’ve made about a million pillows.   The baby bumper I’m supposed to be doing is quite another story.  I even have the actual bumper to copy and I look at it and  cannot figure out how to do it.   I’m visualizing over and over making it in my mind so that I am able to make it in reality.

I talked to Bill four different times yesterday!  He even wanted to come take me to dinner, but, basically, I talked him out of it.  It’s not that I didn’t want to see him and  I know he really wanted to see me, but he was exhausted and I haven’t shaved my legs in over a week.  It seemed a better idea for him to sleep in his own bed and to, hopefully, get a good night’s sleep.  And he has an appointment with his eye doctor this morning.  So, maybe I’ll see him later today.  I guess there’s a part of me that doesn’t even want to see him at all.  It’s the part that’s doing it’s best to protect me from being hurt anymore.  I truly do not believe, though, that he will hurt me and, right now, it is such a battle going on inside me.

One thing Susie mentioned (again) yesterday was how hopeful she is for my recovery from this trauma (and all the others that are still stuck in my brain/body) because of all the deep, intense work I’ve done in the past and just how hard I’ve fought to remain alive.  And still, in spite of that, that small part of me that wants to check out early is alive and well.  Oh, joy!  Okay, not so much.  Will it ever get easier?  Will that feeling ever go away completely?  It’s not that I am really afraid that I’ll do anything, but it is so disconcerting knowing it may rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments, throwing me into, if not actual depression, then at least into panic-mode.  It pretty much sucks.  I just want to feel happy and whole again.

1 YEAR, 28 DAYS AND 12 HOURS

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Yesterday, I did it!  I finally faced my fear of returning to the scene of the crime.  It only took me 1 year, 28 days and 12 hours.  Better that than never, I’d say.  There were so many times I thought I’d never be able to go over there again.  It’s not like the attack happened in a remote place that I normally would never go near.  I live on an island that’s not very big, and the beach side of the island has been off-limits to me since it happened.  Physically, I was unable to go there.

Last Thanksgiving morning, as I was walking uptown to get a bagel, Kim called.  So instead of going the more direct way, I chose to go the ‘longer’ way to have more time on the phone.  That longer way would entail walking up to Ocean Blvd.  Never gave it a second thought.  My body, though, had other ideas.  When I was just a couple blocks away from the beach, I literally was stopped in my tracks.  Just as those grocery carts that cannot be taken off the property of the supermarket, I could go no further.  My heart started racing and I thought I was going to have a heart attack.  I had to backtrack and go a different way.  Luckily, I did not have that reaction yesterday.

I cannot remember now exactly when my body started feeling somewhat safe again.  It was a very long, gradual process, which is why I can’t pinpoint it.  What I do remember is being in therapy, week after week, in physical pain, and Susie telling me that the pain wasn’t real, that it was muscle memory.  It sure felt real.  And for a long time when I went out to walk, even if it was just 4 blocks up the street to the store, and, of course, only in the middle of the day and never regularly (as I recounted in the previous post, I was ‘stuck’ to my bed), I was in so much physical pain from the attack that it made walking difficult.  I basically suffered whiplash when he slammed me to the pavement, not to mention the fighting for my life that left my arms and ribs so incredibly sore.  All of that trauma was stored as memory in my body and that pain would intensify as soon as I went outside.  Oddly enough, it didn’t happen when I was off the island.  Or at least not to the same degree.  Of course, then I was almost always with my boyfriend and I felt safe with him.

As I said, the pain subsided over (a long) time and yesterday all I really felt was anxiety over retracing that walk.  I would say that I felt fine as we (I had my friend Laura along for emotional support) got closer to Ocean Blvd; well, as fine as could be expected when going back to where the worst thing I’ve ever experienced happened.  There were lots of people around, the sun was still shining.   I had built up such a fear of the ‘place,’ though intellectually I knew I was safe.  Still, I had to continuously remind myself that I was, indeed, safe.  I also was/am aware that it’s not the ‘place’ that did it, just as I know it’s not the fault of the island.  It was a person who attacked me, and he is no longer here to harm me or anyone else.

I thought I’d just KNOW exactly the spot where the attack occurred.  Didn’t exactly jump out at me, though.  We kind of had to figure it out.  The whole last 13 months, in my mind, it happened at the corner of the Beach Village and the Windsor Cottage, but in reality it had to have happened in front of the Windsor Cottage because of the way the path/sidewalk winds around.  It’s not a huge difference, but it makes/made the difference in my being heard and/or seen and rescued by my angel.  The picture below is where it happened.  It looks so unassuming.

And from the opposite direction.

And the shot below is what I would have been seeing if I would have been looking anywhere but my attacker’s face as he attempted to rape me.  It sure doesn’t look like anything bad could ever happen there.  Unfortunately, that’s not the case.

Lastly, me on the spot.

I guess it is a relief that I finally did it.  I am still processing it.  Another step closer to being finished.   I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it, but I did!

BACK FROM THE EDGE

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The following is a post I did on my blog (www.alittleofthisthatandtheother.blogspot.com) before I launched this web site.  I said some important things that I think need to be included here.  I am still figuring out how best to proceed with the story of my last year, so thank you for bearing with me.  If you have any suggestions, feel free to leave me a comment.  You just click on the little bubble that appears at the top right of this post.

BACK FROM THE EDGE – LITERALLY

It has been nearly 9 months since my last post.  At the time, I had every intention of continuing to blog and carry on with my life like nothing had happened.  Trouble was, something very traumatic had happened,  and it was much harder to heal from and took far longer than I ever imagined it would.  In fact, I am still in the process.
On 24 September 2011, I was sexually assaulted.   This coming Monday, which is the one year anniversary of the attack, I am launching a new project called At Long Last Heard.  The statics say that every 45 seconds someone in the United States is sexual assaulted.  If this is correct, then that means that NO ONE I know has had that happen to them?  Seems impossible.  To me, this means that people simply do not talk about it.  (That has changed a little; I think maybe 5 women I know have told me of their ordeals.)  In our country, there are still two subjects that are very taboo:  sexual assault and suicide. I think the time has come to change this.  I am only one person, but I truly believe that the good that can come from my attack is to, at the very least, begin to change the attitudes and thinking about these subjects.
My new web site will tell the story of my journey this last year:  the good, the bad and the really ugly.  It is a little scary opening up my entire life so much, BUT I think it is very important.  If I can help even one woman understand the process she will go through or make someone feel like she isn’t alone, then it will all be worth it.  Let me say right now that I understand sexual assault happens to both women and men, but as I am a woman, that will be my focus.  (If you are a man that has been sexually assaulted, I suggest you start your own web site to help other men.)
At Long Last Heard will launch at 12:01 am on Monday, 24 September.  I also have a Facebook page set up and next week, will set up a Twitter link.  (It is now set up:
@TamerieShriver).   If you, or anyone you know of, would benefit from this, please check it out.  And I would be forever grateful if you would copy this post and put it on your own site.  Or your Facebook wall.  If you would prefer to contact me directly, please write me at: atlonglastheard@gmail.com.

AFRAID OF THE DARK

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I awoke this morning around 4:30a.  Yes, it is still dark, at least in Southern California.  In my ‘old’ life, BTA (before the attack), I would have gotten up, put on my workout clothes, left my house by 4:50 or so  and gone out to do my daily walk.  I would have done between 6 and 8 miles and would have been home, at the latest, by 6:30 or 6:45, if I had chosen to walk 8 miles.  These days I am unable to do that.  I have had to relearn how to operate in the morning.  I am a natural early bird and I have had some difficulty adjusting to not being able to go out in the dark.  Realistically, I know it’s not the dark that attacked me; I know that the odds of another attack are ridiculously low; I think I would probably be perfectly safe; BUT I cannot do it.  Unless I am with someone else.  I do have one friend that gets up as early as I do and we try to walk once a week at 4:30.  The difference now is he has to come to my front door because I can’t walk the 4 blocks alone in the dark to meet at the corner we used to meet on.

BTA, I walked between 60 and 90 miles a week.  I live on a small island and I walk or ride my bike  everywhere.  I rarely drive my car unless I am leaving the island.   Not only did I do a fitness-type walk early each morning, I also walked all my errands.  It adds up.  (You should put a pedometer on and see just how many miles you walk in a day.  You might surprise yourself.)  So, I went from 60-90 miles a week to ZERO.  As you might imagine it was a huge loss for me.  Luckily, I had just started to do yoga, had been to one or two classes before the attack.  I continued to go to yoga each week.  I was able to walk there because the class I attended didn’t start until 7a.  Even in the winter, it was light by the time I needed to leave my house to get there.  (I know I could drive, but, to me, it seems silly to get in the car and drive to workout, especially when I can walk there.)  Over the course of this last year, I have continued to do yoga and now do it 2 or 3 times a week.  I feel like it was very important in the entire process of my healing.  For one thing, it was exercise and since I basically was not walking, it was my only outlet.  For another, in spite of the men in my class, I felt safe in the yoga studio.

 I definitely mourn my walks in the dark.  The truth is I loved walking alone in the dark.  That was my meditating, praying time.   I could talk (quietly, of course) out loud and no one could see my lips moving.  I would listen to inspiring books.  I saw the sunrise every single day.  Not anymore.  I think I have only seen it once since then and that’s only because I was taking a friend to the airport just as the sun was coming up.  I understand that in the scheme of things this is relatively minor, but it was something I loved to do, something I looked forward to each day.  It would be one thing if I had decided to stop getting up early, but I didn’t.  The option of beginning my day with a walk alone in the dark is gone.  Chances are I will never do it again and that makes me sad.

These days I wait until it is light to walk.  And if I go to the 6a yoga class, I do drive.  This morning, for instance, I will go to the 10:15a class, so I still got up early, but I will do work until it is time to leave to walk to the class.