Preparing for the probable storm.
(This post was written over a month ago. I was feeling small and vulnerable. I felt that no one could relate. Thank you to a friend who urged me to post anyway)
I don’t believe anyone comes out of this life unscared by trauma. It might be the death of someone we love, a severe physical injury, or (as in my case) abuse. While I may be uncommon in the number of traumas I’ve endured, I do not fancy myself unique.
Because of these traumas, many people develop anniversary reactions. These are just what they sound like, a cyclical reminder of that negative event. For some people, it is a day of sorrow. For others, the reaction lasts longer and is more profound.
It is mid-October, and I am preparing myself for my most enduring and severe of my anniversary reactions. Briefly (for those who have not read my book or blog yet), on my 9th birthday, my father abducted my younger sister and me during a visitation. He ended up leaving us in the day-to-day care of a group of five malignant narcissists. There were 2 women and 3 men, who I simply identify as Them. Their greatest pleasure in life seemed to come from my pain and shame.
We were stuck there for about 6 months, with no significant contact with the rest of the world. I grew to believe I would never be free of that place and the abuse, much of which was sexual. To make it harder, although I could not recognize it then, my father would teach me sex acts which They would later require of me.
It was further complicated because I feared my mother and wanted to be with my father. I was sure that I was the problem. If I could just feel and believe in what my father was teaching me, everything would be ok.
My first experiences
I don’t know when my anniversary reactions started. Certainly, by the time I was in high school. I began to desperately, excessively, love and celebrate my birthday. It was rather like running on a treadmill, using all my energy just to stay in one place. Surely, if I stopped for more than a moment, I would go flying and be lost forever.
Over the years, it became my “thing”. I grew to celebrate my half birthday, as well. They were the only two days of the year I allowed myself to be visible. I wasn’t looking for presents, but for the acknowledgment of my presence. Any other day, I strove to be neutral. I didn’t want to draw any attention. Good or bad.
I didn’t realize I was also running from the deep, dangerous depression that fell upon me every year. I wanted, no needed, to disappear. Even death didn’t seem final enough. What I craved was an end of being. Yet I couldn’t commit suicide. First, because my little sister needed me. Second, because that would just leave me stuck in my pain forever.
I didn’t know a way out. So I kept running.
Once my birthday, Christmas, and New Year were over, I would emotionally collapse. By then, however, I had run past the worst of the depression.
Once I knew what I was doing
Naturally, I didn’t realize any of this then. I just knew there was this bubbling need inside me. When I got older, I assumed it was a manic swing of my bipolar disorder. It was not until my final years in therapy that I recognized what I was doing.
Unfortunately, recognizing this complex coping strategy made it less effective. I still love my birthday. I no longer have that manic sort of push about it, however.
Now, the depression still comes. My mind has found other ways to keep ahead of falling off the end of the treadmill. For many years, it became spending money on myself. Showering myself with things I really want. Things I would be smart enough to know couldn’t afford any other time.
I also pamper myself with foods I wouldn’t normally eat. Another remnent of my past is binge eating disorder. Yet, then, I am able to buy large amount of my favorite candies and parcel them out over the course of the month.
None of this stops the depression completely. And, in the end, I have bills that need to be paid and weight that never seems to come back off for months to come.
Doing something different
This year, I am doing something different. At the end of September, I knew I didn’t want to cause anymore chaos in my life. So I reached out. I hooked up with a nurse case manager to help with my overwhelming physical issues. I also got a peer specialist to provide support.
I have been building accountability into my days by using checklists. I have a set of activities for everyday. This is not particularly new, though I had fallen away from it in the last months. What is new is a bottom line, no matter what list. Things like personal care.
Some days are light and hopeful. I feel good ticking off my tasks. I do my physical therapy exercises or meet my personal trainer at the gym. Professionals always say exercise is one of the best ways to combat depression. They say it because it is true. But motion must precede motivation. That can be a lot to ask.
Because other days I fight to do anything. I still go to my job and church. Habit and obligation see my through. Everything else, including writing and advertising for my book, become very hit or miss.
However, I am doing very few of the behaviors I feared when I started setting up my checklists. No binging. No crazy spending. I’m getting to the gym twice a week, because I have a trainer waiting for me. The big surprise is, I am a little more motivated when I am done.
So, where does this all lead? Look out for my next blog post.
Winning Over Shame 