number 9

So we the numbers one to eight have given up our place as focus of attention to number nine. Number nine, you may remember, is our body and numbers one to eight are the shadow voices. Shadows of long gone personalities.

For the last 4.5 years numbers one to eight have rightly had the focus. They have needed it. Talk therapy has been the required space for them all to unwind and have space. We have become friends and learn to respect each other for the different qualities everyone has.

About a year ago we came to a quiet dramatic realisation that there was another thing, not a voice but a sense of something being there. Over the months we all realised that we had killed number nine. As therapy went on we all reached out to number nine and we were utterly mortified that she had been eliminated by us.

So out of respect we all agreed to sit back and allow number nine to tell her story. We have started body psychotherapy. Body psychotherapy involves touch. It became apparent pretty quickly that number nine was no easy character.

You see number nine is probably not even the age of nine yet. She is so young she has very little understanding of anything, she is innocent and trusting. When she speaks its with such joy and hope. So why is it so hard. Imagine you had a young child who was all the above and you had to give her to the big and the bad. Imagine how it would feel to leave something so innocent with something that you knew was only going to cause pain and when that pain had passed there would only be more and more pain until there was nothing left. No shadow no nothing. Nine was going to die.

We the eight have been so angry this week and everyone is in upheaval. This being the third session in body therapy, number nine has been seen or at least is being seen but she's being seen before it all goes wrong before we have to abandon her. Its like watching a disaster in slow motion or a horror movie.

• We want to change the script! 
• We want her to live! 
• We are doing this so she can live and feel! 
• We want to not have to leave this time! 
• We want to stay whole and protect her! 

It was impossible before. So starts this new journey. Number nine, we eight make you a promise we couldn't keep all those years ago. We know what is ahead but we will use all we have learnt to help you process. We are older now  and have older skills; and we are so so sorry we couldn't have done this sooner.

Trust

Your so brave!
Your doing so well!
You've come a long way!

Keep going!

People often say these things, but what they don't know is that inside there is very little feeling. Days are some times broken down into moments or hours, and hours into minutes. Process and patterns are the slides which keep you moving. Process and patterns become the tried and tested formulas for being 'appropriate'.  If a situation or an event occurs once the correct pattern of behaviour / speech is found and matched, it is then employed and that apparently means you are doing well?

Sometimes the formulas let you down and you miss what is meant or a trigger can send you spiralling into uncontrolled panic. Then there's the fall back position of frozen silence. Silence is something very few understand but silence has been my friend since I can remember.  Silence is always filled by other people as people like filling the gap.

"Your so brave, look how far you've come"

"I'm actually a lot further behind than you see my friend"

What it's actually about is trust. Trust is being able to let your guard down and know that your safe. I get scared at the reality of how little trust their is inside me. But my real goal is not to be what looks right to others; my real aim is to feel trust. 

Sometimes I look at my children and I hurt inside as they have trust naturally there. I look at people around me and they have this beautiful 'trust'. I can't remember anyone that I had to trust until I was in my mid twenties and  it has taken me until now (aged 39) to realise that my trusting is still only functioning at about 30% (but at least its now there). I'm not ashamed of this or even care what happens next. Maybe 30% will be all it ever gets to but at least I know know what it is.

The most radical thing I can do today is....

The most radical thing I can do today will not be painting the other half of the bedroom that Zippy and I are making, as my temptation suggests.

Nor will it be:

• Drilling seven new cupboards to the kitchen wall
• Moving all my art things out of storage
• Taking all and everything we don't need in the flat to charity shop or recycling center
• Putting a tarpaulin on the lawn and digging out all the garden waste and making a new pallet compost bin

Temptation!  Suggestion! Frustration! 
Temptation!  Suggestion! Frustration! 
Temptation!  Suggestion! Frustration!
NOW!!!NOW!!!NOW!!!

'I am more important!!" 

"no I am more important!!!!"

 "achieve me and I will be the answer!" 

" no I'm the answer!!"
Run freeze run freeze run freeze run freeze run freeze!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It will not be:

• Clearing out my daughters room and scrubbing the paint off her window
• Painting four pine wardrobes, five chest of draws and four side tables
• Hoovering the flat to within and inch of its life
• Cooking mushy peas from scratch
• Painting the floor blue
• Swapping all the mattresses around

• It will not be giving into all the voices dancing and colliding as they shout and whisper what "should be done?". 
• It will not be giving into the frustration of the looping 'One Direction - Story of My Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiife'! Stupid Unfinished song line that I woke up and that is presently is trying to knock Kate Bush (CBE) of her perch. 
• It will not be giving into the need to hide in bed and lock the door and wish the day away, whilst simultaneously thinking I actually have enough energy to run twenty marathons and cook dinner for half of London.

Actually the most radical thing I can do today seems harder than all those things.  
Today I need to have a shower and wash my hair.

From eight to nine

I've not blogged for a while, not because I haven't wanted to but because I've been learning. For those of you that know me, I love to learn. Sadly however I have had to come to a realisation that no matter how much you "know" or can understand whats "happening" knowledge itself will only get you so far. It can give meaning, help you express and communicate, it can even give you confidence, but there are some things knowledge can't do.

It can't stop your over wrought nervous system shaking when something spontaneous happens, it can't get rid of emotional pain trapped inside you, it can't help explain fear even if the logical explanation might help comfort "it" a little.

So as those of you who read my last post have realised, I have got to a stage where I am ready to introduce my mind to my body. "What?" you may ask "your attached to your body, what on earth do you mean?".

Sticking out

I once watched a series of you tube videos looking at how different communities embrace harsh experiences. For example if a whole set of people have experienced an earthquake then they journey together in the path to processing that experience and coming to terms with it. Everyone in the same boat wobbling along together, everyone having and giving support in the most basic form by just knowing what the other has experienced the same experience.

Similarly we at the moment in the UK have just been through the last few years of our banking system collapsing. Everyone has an opinion on it and has or knows someone that has been affected by the capital fear. Its a journey we as a country have travelled together and are still travelling together.

We have friends that work in the village in Romania (near the old orphanage which made us shudder on early 90s news headlines) and although divided in its opinions there is an understanding for those who grew up in the orphanage, there is a massive amount of unsaid communication as to what and why those individuals are the way they are. 

Connections

I often wonder why I write these blogs?

I wonder what the purpose really is?

Some have asked me "but that's all behind you, why drag it up?". Some consider me to be attention seeking and making trouble. The phrase 'let the past be the past' can leave you feeling weak and stupid.

Originally I wrote because I wanted to learn how to write. A magical thing began, a blessing. I began to learn the peace of connection, explaining and giving meaning.

You see its all well and good if your past is in the past but for me my past was / is very much in my present, I am going to write quickly now in case I end up in a muddle. 

Imagine your a maths professor. Now imagine there was a maths formula you could not understand. You mull it over in your mind and think about it day and night (sometimes even when you don't want to) it haunts you. You seek solution to the formula by chatting with others who may help you read and research similar maths problems. You keep going until you have found the solution and then you have peace because you understand and have meaning for the formula. That formula then gets filed under 'understood'. Occasionally you are even in the position of being able to help another understand the formula in a quicker way than it took you, you enjoy the victory of understanding by connecting to others who have also understood the formula and can talk with you about other maths issues.

Frog Face

1991 aged 14 and 'frog face' started to follow me. I did not get away until 1997 then aged 20.

Frog face would wait for my school bus and lurk in the roads opposite. Frog face would watch me through the door to the sweet shop I worked in. Frog face would call, send letters and sit on the other side of the road watching our house. Frog face could appear at any point, at any time of day. I could not shake Frog face.

You may think that Frog face was a figment of my imagination, unfortunately that was not the case. For almost 6 years I was stalked.

As previously discussed I have a complex history. Frog face was just part of what has made that thick strong 'C' in the word complex.

Already fairly damaged in my world view, I found myself having to learn to live being disempowered daily. By the 'fear' of the 'ifs, maybes' by the potential of Frog face appearing without my control. I would stand on one side of my front door not knowing, would there be another note on the other-side. I jumped if ever the letter box clanged, or the phone rang.

For reasons I cant go into in this blog, I was unable to tell any one about my situation. All I will say is that Frog face was an adult who held a secret over me. To endure those days at the time, I believed outweighed the shame of anyone finding out. (As I said my perspective was already damaged).

So why write this? if I don't want to write about what happened and why?

Well I love brains, I love how they cope and how they protect themselves. During those years I found my brain doing just that. Protecting me in the best and most honest way it could. You see my brain was my greatest friend. We argued, we fought, we had stand offs! we did all the things together that BFFs do. But it has only been in the last three years that my best friend 'brain' has aloud me/us to share our friendships with others.

Over those long years my identity went from singular to plural. It still remains that way today, I am not an 'I' I am 'we'. At first I split myself in half. The day belonged to Frog face but the night was mine. During the day hyper vigilant, my whole focus was on avoiding and planning ways of out witting Frog face. At night I sewed a hidden pocket into my jeans. In it I tucked a protective knife 'we/I' would go out walking with the families fat springer spaniel. I'd walk in freedom owning my world and revelling in the sense of safety.

Pretty quickly I realised another split was needed if I was going to avoid anyone  knowing what was happening.  At school I created another split in another world as although bullied, it was at least 'seen'.

This splitting carried on until I was nine different people / personalities.  I jumped between these personalities daily depending on the environments encountered.

Soon we were all defined enough to speak for ourselves. We made an internal community. We had all our answers, we did not need anyone. Having lived through this process quite naturally and at the time logically. I have nothing but respect for grey matter.

I met Zippy and so started the great clamp down on the now completely dysfunctional set of people living in my head.  The greater the safety I could trust, the greater the need to want to quiet everything down into something less confusing. As Zippy says 'Carwen nothing directly bad has happened to you now for 13 years'. Today my personalities have been whittled down to bare shadows. Only their voices remain with me. I have learnt to accept them and accept us all living and chatting in my cortex. On good days we are friends, on bad days we are enemies  (especially when I'm tired), there is sometimes just complete overwhelm. But as my strap line says. I am Colourful Carwen, a crowded brain learing to be at peace with itself and its inhabitants!.

The pattern of "Sorry"!!!!!

Sorry

From pretty early on I learnt the word 'sorry'. In my younger years it was my violent behaviour that made me say it but even back then I used to feel extremely frustrated at people not understanding why I had flown off the handle.  To be totally honest I didn't understand either as was too young and used to believe I was an awful individual.

 An example of the build up to 'loosing it' would be a sound or a feeling that would overwhelm me. 

Unable to process the invading stress would result in me launching myself at whoever or whatever was creating the problem and attacking it. 

By the age of four I had scarred my sisters face and thrown her down the stairs and, quite rightly, both my sisters we're scared of me and kept their distance. Now I'm not talking about obvious stresses that everyone can understand creating this behaviour; my stresses, built out of nothing, escalated rapidly and left all involved in shock. let me give another example.  Once aged five I had been put to bed excited, my mum had told me she was going to the shops to buy us all new pillows and was leaving us in the care of my dad. This you must understand was extremely rare, I felt scared in the dark and she would not be there. I also wanted a new pillow. So I started to act up and in the end my mum came into the room I shared with my little sister. She said "If your not asleep when I'm  back then you won't get a pillow".  I cried more, the threat, my brain processed it as an unsolvable problem. "If I sleep, how will I know when you come back to get the pillow???". So I tried holding my breath to look asleep which also failed and gradually the dispare gremlins arrived playing in my head with no ability to get out of the loop, couldn't get to a new view or thought that I could get my reward the next day. Neither did I believe that the situat could ever be ok as it seemed impossible to be asleep and awake at the same time. I took my mums words literally. My brain even at that age was over thinking and became overwhelmed by all the possibilities It came up with to solve its predicament. My body got wound up and full of anger as each thought or action failed.

My Creative Twin

Been wanting to write about this for a long time, finally there seems to be enough meaning.

As you may or may not know I am creative , having what I almost term as a relationship with it (creativity). I would describe it as yet another split in my personality (me and it /  it and me).

Last year I joined an art group in fear and trembling knowing it was time to meet my nemesis. Prior to this I had only allowed myself to only make crafty things, no paint or unstructured elements permitted.

But I have a twin, an untamed sibling, and we are joined at the shoulder. She has her own head and neck and I have mine. We battle as to who's eyes to look through and whose ears to hear with; she works alone and only in isolation; she can not communicate but she is dominate.

From 2000 till 2012 I kept her hidden and insisted on my vision only. I explained to her that her ways of doing things was impossible! I explained to her that I needed connection and relationship, unwilling to cope with what she produced I feared dying myself if it carried on. We share a body but constantly fought and argued and she won to often.

Conversations

Silence is a very safe space.

Silence is something that's easy to achieve but silence is a mock friend. It is impossible to build bridges out of silence.  Similarly only listening and commenting on what everyone is doing with their lives is equally one sided and isolating.

So what are these things called group conversations. How on earth do they work. I find them terribly confusing but am determined to persevere.

Recently I realised a great longing to be connected to people, however, I have not got much training in the correct ways of making this happen. The following are some of the formulas I have tried to work it all out.

Three in one

There is a great big wall in my life at the moment. Split in two: one Carwen on one side and one Carwen on the other  (and then a third watching from somewhere high up).

Firstly let me describe the wall, it's made of thick concrete and it's all grey. The surface is smooth on one side but gritty and sandpapery on the other. It's tall so so tall and it's wide. In short it's impenetrable and it's so densely made even sound can not get through. The Carwen stuck on one side has no chance of getting to the Carwen on the other. Only the Carwen high, high up can see into both sides.

Let me describe each Carwens predicament. 

The Carwen on the left hand side is presenting what look like anger. She is volatile and flies off the handle in a moment. She is the strong, the determined and the fighter. The wall on her side is smooth and she uses it as a guard to watch her back. If anyone approaches this Carwen they are met with suspicion that can turn into attack at the mere fluttering of potential threat.

The Carwen on the right side is beaten. She has been trapped by this wall for such a long time. Her body is thin, tired and bruised. She loves the Carwen in the left hand side, she wants to calm her down. Understanding that really angry Carwen is only scared, the anger is a front for deep pain.

 But now she sits immobile, the wall on her side is  sandpapery and rough. It scrapes and shaves at her thin arms and legs. She has sat now in defeat and despair, knowing her twin is hopping around misunderstood and communicating everything that is not true.

The third Carwen, the observer. She looks down on the other two. She watches as if it were an amusing game. She looks from one to the other but feels nothing. There is not much to write about her as looking is really all she does. 

Occasionally she considers climbing down to help one or the other but she is met with such confusion as to who is in most need. So the result is to just sit passively and not get involved. She is frozen by overwhelm.

This Blogg I dedicate to my young fighter friend. I write on your behalf as you are to young, in the hope that my experiences will help others see meaning in yours.

Body brain and bed! (A short poem)

Energy, physical energy!

It would be lovely to have enough spark
to go from morning to night.

To not give up half way through a day
and SHOUT "turn out the light".

But what we must realise is our head
is never severed from our body's form.

Our beautiful nerves and sinew are intrinsically linked
and this can make the whole mass forlorn.

It's just like a headache
measles or stress. 

head and nervous system intertwine
but sometimes end up in a relational mess!

So spare a thought for hurting heads
that can't stand straight on toes. 

It's not that they are lazy and can't get out of bed,
like everyone thinks they know.

Fact is they are physically exhausted
trying to move in a tied up rope. 

Takes a lot to keep a perspective
Energetic... Light... Hope.

Next time you take ill
please take note of it's effect on your whole mass.

Spare an understanding thought for those
who feel they keep coming mentally physically last.

Carwen

A simple mess.

Sometimes things build up and get overwhelming; the flat crusts up as if it were a piece of metal rusting in the rain (wet cold and unyielding).

The ability to deal with the rusty crust and to know how much effort it's going to take to sand it back to to metal stops me in my tracks (fear creeps in I gulp it down and look again). I know what it needs. 

You need to fill the dents and prime it up. Give it a first thin coat so it doesn't show a drip and then a second (possibly a final third coat) so it ends finished  in a lustrous deep colour of white.

Ah yes! when the flat creeps into a concentrated mess of layers and sub layers. The easy thing to do would be to sit paralysed  and unable to take your finger out of the dyke for fear of drowning. 

Boldly I learned one day from a friend the following: Go into the mess and pick one thing up. Ask yourself "were does this belong?" Take the item and put it away, if it had no 'home' then make it one. 

Tourettes friends and family weekend

Family & Friends weekend 2013

May 2013 -  The whole family are all helping to put together a holiday weekend for people and families affected by Tourettes.

Back then having only showed or talked about the inner workings of my world with a handful of people. Back then it was to much of a risk, not only was it probable that there would be a melting internally but I was scared and covered in shame. Still at what seemed like the mercy of my physical self and unsure / unaware of why my body reacted the way it did.

As our fellow campers arrived, we watched from our camp. The dodge (our beloved converted camper-van) was placed away from the majority in the corner of the field. This placing of distance was a standard for me and Zippy as partly it meant a place for me to retreat to. A place I could complete my rituals to calm down and not being seen by others but there was a huge surprise to this normality!