Long Talk with my Bro

My brother and I have been talking for the past coupla months.  Which is a big deal.  Because of the way our mother manipulated us, we have stayed pretty seperate as adults.  So Jem (my bro) has had a helluva month.  He basically has had a trauma breakdown.  And we talk/have talked a lot lately about our childhood and our mother and her behavior.  There is so much I want to say about Jem, but right now, I just need to get down some points that came up in this convo.

1. Mom sat with Jem at a table and said "You have to become a lawyer, it is like a license to steal."  This may not seem like a big deal, who cares.  But it is huge.  Because the mother I know would never say something like that.  So our mother talks to us in different ways.  Meaning she is manipulating us, and is fully aware of doing so.  The Allison/Mother connection would never think "a license to steal" is a good career choice.  We are all about nobility and truth and working hard and making money that way.  And doing good, and being ethical and trustworthy.  So basically, MY MOTHER IS A LIAR, AND QUITE PROBABLY A SOCIOPATH. A PSYCHOPATH, SINCE I NOW KNOW THEY ARE THE SAME THING.  Not just a narcissist, a psychopath.

2.  I found out about yet another time when my mother did not tell me that Jem was sick and had had a suicide attempt.  She has never told me that Jem's problems were that serious, and thus I was never able to support him.  I had NO IDEA how bad it was for him.  NONE.  And I think my Mom deliberately kept the information from me.  She never visited Jem in the hospital, never comforted him.  Nothing.  Angry, anger starting.

3.  Jem just found out that 15 or so years ago, when he was in a relationship with a girl I'll call Mary that Mom did some fucked up stuff.  Mary sent a letter to Jem that she was pregnant, and Mom got her hands on it and Jem never saw it.  Mom then proceeded to attack this young woman (maybe 19) and call her white trash and a gold digger and that she was making it up to get money from Jem.  Mom then paid Mary some amount of money to go away and never talk to Jem again.  16 year old Jem had no idea any of this happened, all he knew was his girlfriend went away and never talked to him again.  He was heartbroken and depressed and started smoking weed.  Which I now understand, probably made mom very happy in her fucked up head.  So fast forward to now (a few months ago), and Mary and Jem connect via Facebook.  Mary asks Jem, what was that all about with your mother? Jem has no idea what she's talking about.  Mary thinks Jem is bsing her, pretending not to know to not take responsiblity, and it takes four or five conversations before the truth becomes clear- the Jem had no idea, and that mom is a monster.

I am very specifically writing these things down so I can take them to my therapist tomorrow.  I am so disgusted and angry that I think I am in intellectualization mode and am numb.  But actually, it may be just acceptance.  My mother is a monster.  I am lucky to have survived.  I hope Jem survives this breakdown part of the trauma fucking path.  I can only suggest to him what I did, which is to cocoon yourself and GO TO THERAPY. He is a different person, so his path will differ.  duh.  I just want him to know that he is lucky to be alive, and that he should pat himself on the back for surviving not only our childhood, but also the past month of shenanigans he has self-harmed hisself through. (I am fully aware of my atrocious grammar).

OK, now I am going to fucking be dark and angry and usefully vengeful and watch "Men Who Hate Women" Swedish version, with the amazing kick ass Noomi Rapace.  GRRRRRRRRRRRR

I am exhausted

Well, I am officially a badass.  I had one hell, whopper of a migraine last night after I got off the phone, so my sleep was very shallow and troubled.  But I got up and went to group anyway.  And that is when I was awesome.

Trigger Alert:

I told about the memory I had 3 weeks ago.  The memory of being orally raped by a male when I was an infant.  Yes.  Part of me still has a somewhat hard time believing we can remember something that happened when we were an infant.  But most of me believes it.  I have read enough research about traumatic memory that I know it's possible.  And it happened to me.  This is not the first memory I have had about sexual abuse, but it is the most complete and concrete.  It was all senses at once.  Other times I have had body memories, but no visuals, or visuals when I was high that I discounted because I was high.  This happened dead sober, when I was least expecting it, meaning I wasn't trolling for a memory.  It just came. 

I don't understand someone who would do that to a baby.  It is so foreign that it seems almost impossible.  But my body memory was real.  So I believe myself.  I just am devastated.  Devastated that I was hurt before I could even walk, made to dissociate before I could even communicate.  It is a wonder I'm still alive.  I think some seriously terrible things happened to me in that house, and I know seriously terrible things happened to me in the other house.  I know my mother beat me, emotionally abused me and terrorized me my entire childhood until I was 21.  I told her she couldn't hit me anymore at 21.  Twenty fucking one, and she was still in such utter control of me.  37 and the control is just finally waning, after three years of intensive, intensive, intensive therapy.  Almost 4 years now.  Wow.  I don't like to think about it.  It feels like it shouldn't be taking me this long.

But fuck that.  I was one of the most defended people ever.  I was in total unreality about my childhood, because it was never safe before to truly understand how bad it was.  It took me 2 years to truly trust the therapeutic process.

I am so sad, but it is a good sad, an authentic devastation about my childhood.  I had no one safe, ever.  Ever.  So, I am a badass for making it through.  Yes, I am.  We all are. 

Just Be. And a short description of a radical life changing event.

OK so I'm back again, writing.  I found my old LiveJournal from when I lived in Otown, and was so happy I had a window into my life back then.  So, I want to have a window into this time of my life too.  Thus the writing.

I am not sure when (or ever) I'll be done with going to group.  I have not been there for about 6 weeks ? I think, but I'm probably going to start back up this week.  I'm meeting with Lara about it manana 9:30 AM.  It was really nice to hear from her on Friday.  She called me to set up the meeting, and I told her how I felt- pissed off (when am I not?) and feeling extremely judged.  She told me I wasn't being judged, and that other people have had to write proposals to come back to group.  It made me feel better.  Also, she said she was invested in me :)

She's going to be gone from group for the next coupla weeks, so if I go back I will have my most recent (and recently loved) therapist in group as she will be taking over while Lara's on vaca.  Hmm, what to call this therapist?  How about:  Sharon.  OK.  So anyway I've been with Sharon since May and love her.  She is a great therapist, plus I got some raging transference going with her.  But THIS time I have a therapist who knows how to handle it.  She has talked with me hours about it, and the transference is going away.  I really respect and like her still though.  And if she weren't my therapist, and in a relationship, I would probably still want to date her.  Although she is a bit too much of a rule follower for my taste.

So I am lying around the house, avoiding leaving.  I know that if I continue to do this it will lead to depression, so I am going to go for my walk as soon as I'm done with this. 

Oh yes, for the past two weeks I have been trying to change my lifestyle around so that I will want to live.  I have been walking almost daily and doing yoga 3 times a week.  But I got tired the past few days and have not gone to yoga.  But that's OK.  I will go back.  Courage is getting up in the morning and saying "I'll try again."  That's a bastardization of a quote I love.  

Two weeks ago I overdosed on DXM and a bunch of things happened at once.  I incorporated myself if that's possible.  I convulsed for hours because of the memories I was having and probably from the DXM too.  But I've convulsed before completely sober, so I know it was because of the memories.  I wrote them all down as well as recorded them on my phone.  I then had a psychotic break and it was not fun.  I drove my car high.  I got my passport and drove to the airport and was going to fly to Colombia.  It is a loooooooooong story, but my brain just sort of short-circuited and it was not good.

But in all it was a wonderful experience.  Some might say a spiritual experience.  I learned that I loved myself.  That I can live.  That some truly awful stuff happened to me.  And that it hurt me, but I'm getting better.  It was wonderful.

And so this past two weeks has been living up to the health and love I felt that night.  So I'm taking care of myself- eating more healthily, stopped eating meat (because I find it morally repugnant but never respected my own thoughts enough to do anything about it, but now I do respect myself), started walking for 2 hours daily and started the yoga.  Plus going to meetings 5 times a week.  The yoga is very hard by the way.  I think I am intimidated and discouraged by how hard it is and how beginner I am.  Just writing this down makes me feel better about it though.  I am on my path, and right now I'm a beginner and that's why it's hard.  The teacher even said I was doing well. So there, other teacher who kept telling me I had to push myself!  As if I have EVER been easy on myself.  The problem for me is not going to be pushing myself, it is to stay kind to myself.  So it is OK I've taken a break for the past few days, and it is OK if I go back!

Speaking of taking care of myself, it's time to go for the walk.  I'm excited!  I'm excited to see Lara tomorrow, I've missed her.  I want to get better.  I have no idea what that looks like.  I have no idea what my healthy life will be.  I don't know what I want to do for a living.  Nothing.  But that's good, and I won't let anyone, be it my mother or the head of IOP guilt me into feeling otherwise.  It is OK if I'm not on the fast track to success.  I am allowed to just be.