Month: August 2015

Dr. Dragonfly and I started the session like we do every week, by discussing any problems with last week’s session or anything new that had come up and they we put them in the dumpster. We continued with the you’ve just been born scenario and are being whisked away from the white curtain. You can hear your mother screaming and sobbing in the background and other voices that you may or may not recognize. What’s going through your imagination? How does your body feel. [From what I’m able to understand at this early point, much of this is creating a baseline to allow your body to figure out how to let go of the pent up memories and energy it has stored up over the years.]

I told her that I was confused and afraid. That I felt disconnected. I wanted to go back to the curtain to what was on the other side but I was being carried away. I was spreading my little arms and hands in order to get back, but I never saw the curtain or what was behind it again. I never heard the only voice I knew again. All of a sudden I found myself in a box with glove holes in it and bright, warm lights with white blobs poking at me and putting tubes in me that I kept trying to get out with my little arms, hands and feet, but I couldn’t. I suppose somewhere, I drifted off to sleep to the strange beeps around me. [I know I was in the hospital for anywhere from 3-6 months before my parents could take me home, but they won’t discuss the circumstances, why or what happened.]

For awhile, I was poked and prodded by everything through the strange holes that held the people’s hands away from me. I never felt the touch of anything but latex and cold, metal things, sharp things, dull things, always cold. They were right there, but were still disconnected from me. They didn’t even talk to me or really look at me. They talked about me, sometimes as if I wasn’t even there.

Finally, one day, they opened the box and took all of the tubes out and electrodes off and everything. One of the white blobs actually picked me up with her bare hands. They were warm. I may have smiled as I looked into her face. It was probably my first real human interaction. It was short lived. She carried me down the hall and plopped me face down into another cage, only this time, luckily, there were no tubes or doctors or anything. There were just a bunch of other little crying things like me.

I would watch the nurses come and go. They would feed me, change me hold me, whatever, when I cried, but they didn’t really interact. There were too many of us in the cribs. I would also watch the people go by and stare into different cribs. A nurse would go over and walk that baby to people and they would smile and look happy. A couple of days later, that baby wasn’t in its crib anymore, another one was. No one came for me. No one wanted to see me through the glass, so they just picked me up and gave me attention when I needed it. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t going home with anyone anytime soon. The emptiness and disconnection were again reinforced. I obviously can’t know for sure, but maybe my primitive self though, maybe I shouldn’t be here. No one cares. No one is showing me any sort of attention good or bad. Anytime anyone comes up to me, I fear them and what’s going to happen when they pick me up or do something to me. All of these other babies have gone home, been replaced, gone home and been replaced, yet I’m still here. Clearly, I’m not wanted, needed, loved or meant to be here. I’m quite sure that was very difficult for a newborn’s psyche, even if I didn’t really understand emotionally. My body did.

Then the conversation shifted. Dr. Dragonfly asked me to imagine an important mother figure who was not related to me and put her in that spot, in the place of the overworked maternity nurse(s). What would that be like? I chose immediately. I had trouble seeing her in that role at first. Dr. Dragonfly prodded for emotion, description while I tried to adjust my senses to the time differential. She would’ve been kind. She would’ve come over and looked at me in the crib with her smiling face and her big, happy brown eyes that hid all the pain in the world from you. She would talk to me and held me and played with my fingers and toes. She’d take care of the other babies too, but in her spare time, she’d be with me. She’d tell me I was special, loved, adored and wanted.

“But, that’s not what happened is it?” Dr. Dragonfly asked.

Probably not. I probably had the regular maternity nurse who spent the time she needed to with every baby and did her job.

“What would’ve happened if your nurse came in one day, wrapped you in her coat at the end of the day and took you home to be hers?” Dr. Dragonfly continued.

That’s when I started losing it. You see, this woman actually did this when I was 22 and had really no one to turn to. I had just been outed to my parents and that was a huge mess. I told her that Carmen would’ve taken me into a beautiful home. My body would’ve completely relaxed and no more trauma would’ve registered. I would’ve been unconditionally loved from the moment I was carried into the door. If Carmen didn’t have me, Mamá Flor or one of my sisters would. I would have a completely supportive environment. Carmen would take me to bed with her and dad every night until we all fell asleep. She would always tell me, either saying it or with her big brown eyes, you’re loved, wanted and adored. You’re special. You’re home. [At this point, I’m an oozing puddle of KY on the recliner.] My upbringing with her would’ve been totally different from what actually happened. Like I said, Carmen, and her family, did find me when I was in a really bad place at 22. They took me into their home and into their family as one of their own, a place I still proudly occupy today. I use the word Boricua with pride because of them and try to visit Puerto Rico often. They gave me roots and grounded me. Too bad it had to come 22 years late.

“What happened?”

I had my first human contact with Carmen in the hospital. She told me that I was loved, adored and wanted. Something was still wrong though. More babies came and went. Carmen still paid most of her attention to me. I didn’t like the days she was off. The other nurses didn’t pay attention to any of us like she did. I was always happy to hear her voice and see her big brown eyes when she picked me up and started talking to me. I knew that at least while she had me, I was relatively safe. But my guard was still up. I knew that something wasn’t quite right. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Then, I saw Carmen, one of the humans dressed in white and two other people following her. She picked me up out of my little cage and held me up to her face like she always did. She told me that I was loved, wanted, adored and special, but that it was time for me to go with my new parents into a new life. I only knew Carmen. I didn’t know anyone else. I was afraid. I was in danger. I didn’t want to go. I clung to Carmen. It was probably difficult for her too, but it was her job. I’m sure I sounded like a banshee and woke up every baby in maternity. Again, arms, hands, legs flailing, I desperately tried to hold onto the only little bit of stability I knew, to no avail. Carmen went back into Maternity and to the nurse’s station and I was in a new cage headed again to the unknown, disconnected, detached, alone and afraid of what was to come. [and with good reason]

A very good friend reminded me today of a purpose and responsibility that I have to a group of people. She reminded me of why I returned to the group after a nasty little episode in June nearly tore the group apart, as well as a couple more because of a false agreement and set of rules that were in place to control the board. The agreement didn’t exist and had never existed. I trusted the person who made the agreement, but as more and more people questioned me about the never-ending rules and I couldn’t answer them or get an answer for them, I was unable to defend them anymore. I asked my doc about the agreement and he had absolutely no clue what I was talking about, not did he care. It’s a secret group on FB. We don’t exist. There was never an agreement, and that’s where the shit hit the fan. (Which I won’t explain in detail.)

I found myself falling into the same trap, only with fewer words and needed to be reminded that the board is for communication, support and exchanging info/ideas. It’s also there for fun. We can’t be serious about our situations all the time. We have to take the time to laugh at ourselves and our situation from time to time or these little demons will consume us completely. In order to correct my mistake, I’ve taken the admin and mod rolls out of directly policing the group. If they find a huge error, they IM the person involved to fix it. If it’s not fixed, it’s deleted, no muss, no fuss. They are also in an arbiter’s role and will only intervene when called or if things get nasty. Let the people talk. They know what they can and can’t do.

I love the board and its denizens. I put many hours into it. I don’t get paid for it. However, it’s something that I enjoy doing. It’s therapeutic for me. I also get a lot of support from the wonderful people I interact with on a daily basis. It tells me that it’s not just me and the cat. I refuse to let it dwindle away and die because people are afraid to express themselves without upsetting the admin/mod police. I really hope the new approach works.

I was going to post this yesterday, but my cluster headaches and the narcolepsy had other plans. The weather around Phoenix wasn’t pretty. Anyway, Dr. Dragonfly called me yesterday to check up on me and see how I was feeling and getting along this week. She wanted to make sure that I wasn’t drowning in anger and rage like last week. I thought that was nice of her.

This is the day last week when I turned into a neurotic mess and had to be sedated for the rest of the week. I’m not that bad today. I will most certainly keep the Xanax close at hand though. I’m waiting on my docs to decide what else I need.

Today I’m left with questions and uneasiness about yesterday’s experience. It was 1969. I jokingly say that I was a prom accident. It fits the time frame, but I really don’t know anything else and my Mom just won’t talk about it. While in-utero, did I have a caring family and a caring birth mother? Abortion obviously wasn’t an option, so did she get sent away to Aunt Millie’s in the city until the little problem went away? Did they constantly argue and fight about how much shame she had brought to the family and how she had sinned against god and now everyone had to suffer for it every time they looked at her? Her sin would be inflicted on the entire family. My guess is options two and/or three. I was adopted from a hospital that, for that time period, would’ve been a trip for my adoptive parents.

Reflecting on yesterday, I feel cold, empty-disconnected. I almost feel like I either shouldn’t exist or don’t have the right to exist because of the inconvenience or trouble I caused in my proto-life. I know that it makes absolutely no sense at all. I also know that the situation was completely out of my control. I know that these feelings are irrational. However, it doesn’t change the fact that the feelings of emptiness and disconnection are there.

Today (8/24) we started the actual therapy after I told her what a mess the prior week had been. Dr. Dragonfly chose the memory we were going to start with. At first, I didn’t follow her. I didn’t understand. I don’t remember if I mentioned that I was adopted or not, but that’s important here. There are things that your body remembers, but you don’t.

She asked me how I thought my life was while I was still in-utero. I guess I kind of looked at her like she was insane, but she pressed on. She said that no one has a memory of that, but our bodies do. So, fine, I’ll play this little game with you. I saw myself as a little tadpole swimming around in nice warm water with a pleasant pink light emanating through. How do you feel as you grow and the space around gets tighter? What do you think your mother is doing? Do you think she’s reading or playing music or talking to you? I had never considered these questions before. I never even thought about them. I told her that I hoped that she was talking to me and reading to me, but that I didn’t know. Teenage pregnancy wasn’t socially acceptable in 1969. What do you think might have been happening, then? I said, maybe she was constantly arguing with her family over what was going to happen to the baby. How do you think that would’ve affected you as a happy little tadpole swimming around in your now hostile little pool? I told her that I don’t think I could’ve done too much about it. Yes, you could. You could’ve let go and said bye. I was confused, like a spontaneous abortion or stillborn? Yeah.

So now you’re in this crowded little womb that has no room for you. You’re in a hostile situation, what do you want to do (even if you’re not in a hostile situation)? I just said, get out. Exactly, she said. Then what usually happens? They make sure the baby’s ok, weight it, bundle it up and give it to the mom. Yes, and what happens when they give the baby to the parents? It bonds. Did that happen to you? No. I was adopted. Michael, try to imagine yourself being given to your mom just after birth. I’ve seen it 1000 times on TV or in the movies. I tried to picture my baby self as that kid going into his mother’s arm, but I couldn’t. I saw nothing. I felt nothing. I felt empty and started to cry. That connection was never made with me and my body remembers that while I don’t. I kept crying as she tried to talk me through it, but in the end she had to bring me back through guided meditation. It’s a truly horrible feeling to know that at the moment of personhood, you never imprinted with/on anyone. I was a sickly child so I believe I was in the hospital for 3-6 months before my parents could even bring my home. My mom won’t talk about it. So for the first 3-6 months I had very little human contact and learned that when you cry, no one comes.

Session 3 was absolutely not something I was prepared for. Everyone has all of those neat little boxes of memories that they do not want to ever relive locked up and stored away neatly somewhere in their brain where they can’t be triggered. I have millions of those little boxes.

I grew up in a little shit town in the middle of nowhere in Ohio. I’ve never understood why people say that small towns are the best places to raise kids. They aren’t. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone either knows everyone’s business, or invents it. Everyone knows what’s going on in other families but does nothing to prevent or protect the innocent. I was tormented from first grade, but it really got started during third grade. I was not an athletic kid. I was intellectual. I read at a 12th grade level by 3rd grade. I didn’t like sports. I liked music. I wasn’t your typical jock-farmboy. It wasn’t my life. In the 3rd grade, I learned every iteration of the word “gay” you can possibly imagine. I had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, but I knew I was being insulted. I was also raised as a hellfire and brimstone fundamentalist/evangelical Christian. I knew “gay” was bad, but I still didn’t know what it was. I didn’t even realize there was anything different about me until other boys started talking about how cute some girls were and I thought the boys were cute, then I knew there was a problem. (I digress.)

Dr. Dragonfly had me open those boxes one by one from the time I was five until recent times. The first two or three opened slowly, but by the fourth, it was a zip line over the central American rainforest. They couldn’t be stopped and completely overwhelmed me. My dad was an absolutely tyrant, mean and extremely physically abusive to both me and my mother, later, just me. He tended to leave my brother alone. Once I was taken to a point of rage after being bullied on the bus home that I busted another kids arm in two places for asking me why I wasn’t staying for cheerleading practice. The list just went on and on and on until the end of the line and the 3 rapes came out. It was horrible and I was not equipped to deal with it. The dumpster was full by the time I was 10. While I was growing up, everyone knew what was going on, but no one ever intervened, not even the gym teacher while a group of boys forced me to suck one of their cocks in the locker room when I was around 13.

I felt ok as I left the office, but by the time I got back to my apartment, I just got angrier and angrier and angrier. One of the things we’ll work on is how to release rage and anger. I don’t know how to do it safely because of my father. The anger turned to rage, anxiety and frustration as none of my coping mechanisms worked. I love video games, but they couldn’t even distract me this time. I was a neurotic ness and had absolutely no idea what to do with myself and no way to release what I was feeling. Tuesday wasn’t any better. I called my clinic and explained what was going on. Migraines were morphing into clusters. The clusters were extremely severe, etc. They wanted me to continue with the therapy, but not at the expense of making the headaches worse. I spent the next four days completely sedated. They wanted me clear headed Sunday so that I could go to the appointment Monday without any drugs in my system.

I have to tell you that it completely sucked! It was an awful experience that will probably be repeated this week. I simply fixated on four different memories and couldn’t get them out of my head regardless of what I tried. They’re still there, but they’re in the back of my head at the moment.

On our second meeting, Dr. Dragonfly explained a little bit more of what EMRD is. It’s all connected to the fight, flight or freeze modes that all animals have. Only humans are able to control them. People with chronic pain tend to stay in the freeze mode (high alert) and are never able to “shake it off.”

We started with a safe place, the safest place where I felt the most comfortable and protected in the world. I chose the Plaza Real in Barcelona. Then she put little vibrating things in my hand and told me to watch the lights going back and forth on the machine. Dr. Dragonfly started asking me about different things in the Plaza Real. What it was like; What I was doing; What other people were doing; smells, sounds everything. Every once in a while, she’s stop me and ask me how my body felt, not my mind or emotional state, but what my body was doing.

We left Barcelona and went to the “container.” Dr. Dragonfly asked me what kind of container I would use if I could dump all of my bad memories in it. I chose one of those huge WasteManagement type containers with the plastic lid. (Yes, I had to specify.) She asked me to put two or three “bad” memories in the container, not the really horrible stuff, but just some bad memories. Again, she would stop and ask questions during the process. If I was getting a little stressed, she would tell me to close the container and go back to the Plaza Real.

While inpatient at the clinic I go to for my headaches, I was given a psyche evaluation that make me sound like some sort of invalid who was doomed to suicide or something. They knew I was coming to Phoenix and wanted me to see someone here too. They gave me a list. Of course, I can’t drive and public transportation here is a bit spotty if you’re not in the center city, so I wanted someone close. I also wanted someone who dealt with PTSD, major depression and chronic pain. I will admit what I was completely apprehensive about going in the first place but I knew I had to. I took the horrible report with me.

We met. She seemed like a very, very nice lady. We talked about different psycho-therapeutic approaches and decided that what would best fit me would be the psychodynamic approach. I told her about the report and I had a fundamental distrust of all psychologists because of how they are in my particular headache inpatient program. We talked about different things for the rest of the hour, she basically let me tell stories, and at the end, she suggested EMRD and Somatic therapy. I told her that I was open to anything except being hypnotized.

She asked if I though we could work together. I told her that she didn’t make me passive aggressive, so I’d give it a shot. Same time next week.

I suffer from chronic pain. I have chronic, intractable cluster headaches, chronic migraines, chronic daily headaches and narcolepsy, just to top it all off. On the 1st of July, I moved from Chicago to Phoenix to see if the climate here was nicer to my headaches that it was in Chicago. It is. Unfortunately, climate is not my only trigger. These headaches are so bad that they’ve taken most everything away from me.

I was a teacher for 22 years until I finally got to the point where I couldn’t put a coherent sentence together. I was in and out of the hospital at that point every three or four months. It got to a point eventually where I knew I had to stop. My doctor and the school district forced me onto disability. That was a massive change in my life and it took me a long time to come to terms with it. I can no longer drive because of visual disturbances. When in Chicago, I have to walk with a cane because I have no balance. I think it’s related to the weather because I don’t have to use the cane here in Phoenix, although I am off balance sometimes.

The clusters have severely impacted my life as they are incredibly painful and they also come on a schedule. The come at more or less the same time every day. In Chicago, I don’t function at all. I’m on the couch with the cat laying on top of me playing videogames. Here, however, clusters and the migraines both act differently. They have a beginning and an end. They’re still beyond painful, but eventually, they fall back down into my comfort zone.

Since this is just an experiment over a year to see if the climate actually does help, my husband has stayed behind in Chicago. We FaceTime or text every day, many times a day. He comes to visit at least once a month, but it’s not the same. Down here, it’s just me and the cat. Around the last week of July I noticed that my emotional states were starting to get out of my control. I’m here, basically alone, with my cat. I have a friend here, but he’s been here for three years and has his own life. If I already felt my emotions destabilizing, it was time to see someone.

UPDATE:

Two months ago, after being hospitalized in Chicago once again, it was decided that my nephew would come down to help me out. I have gotten to the point where it is dangerous for me to live on my own.

I love living with him. He’s like my own child, since I am basically his mother. He is empathetic and knows what I need almost instinctively. If I can’t do something he’ll tell me to go sit down and he’ll do it himself without complaining. He’ll even draw, give me shots and put bandaids on/clean blood. Brian won’t touch that with a 10 foot pole.

The decision had also been made to move here. It was very hard on me bc it was my fault that I was taking my husband away from his family, friends and a job that he really liked, for the most part. That’s something I had to get over and I have for the most part. My family doesn’t figure into this.

We’ve been sharing a studio, 550 sq ft. Three adult males and two cats have lived in this studio since the beginning of May. I have a full bed and Trino sleeps on a futon/sofa. It’s driving me crazy at this point. Luckily we’ve bought a gorgeous house and are just waiting on the closing date to get out of this little cardboard box. We won’t have much furniture until our house in Chicago sells, but I’ll be happy to be able to go outside or into another room while Brian watches Silicon Valley. This place is too small and there’s no escape. Beyond or despite the continual headaches, things are looking up. I certainly am better off here than I ever was in Chicago. I’ll always love Chicago though.