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.

Speech and communication

"Can you put the peanut butter in the box please?"

Interpretation, "Can you put the butter away in the fridge?"

"I've made a rose pot last night"

Interpretation, "look I designed some rose patterns on a wooden vase last night (art)."

"Can you put the sandwiches in the boot?"

Interpretation, "Is the food in the car?"

Those of you that know me on a day to day have got used to my inability to consistently communicate. Some days I am able to speak consistently and coherently but other days it all just comes out wrong. Sometimes this misattunement can go even further and I find myself unable to speak at all. I know exactly what I want to say, have the words in my mind but they just won't come out. If I manage to force them out it will be because who ever I'm talking to has waited (sometimes up to a minute) for me to rally round and find a way.

I find conversations extremely hard. On a one to one there is often no problem, but put me in a group and its extremely stressful. Then put that group in a restaurant or a bar and I will openly admit to often resorting to alcohol to keep me relaxed enough to have any hope of surviving.

Recently I was reminded of the basics. When you have a brain that is hard wired to constantly scan for danger it is impossible to function efficiently if you feel unsafe. When under threat or perceived threat your pre frontal cortex (the logical bit) is switched on and off. Chemicals produced during this process such as cortisol and adrenaline can remain floating in your system in debilitating amounts for up to four hours after being released in enough amount to help you lift a car (pass the wine please or can I go to bed now).  

Add to that the unsafety of not being in total control of your inner world, I often have looping lines of songs that haunt me for days, ringing in my ears, banging in one ear and voices arguing or interrupting my thoughts. The voices may be commenting directly on the situation or giving me advice about the person Im speaking to, sometimes they just challenge me to swear F***k OFF!!!!!, they loop often saying the same thing over and over whilst getting louder which will invariably bring out maybe another two / three voices to argue back or endorse whats going on. (I ask for more wine to numb things,"I need to go to my room").

Part of my healing journey has been to acknowledge that there are very few spaces I feel safe in. I carry within in me enough to make the safest place unsafe. I feel like a walking sabotage. I have had to learn that this sabotage is not a direct reflection of my character but it is an addon to my fragmented identity. In the past I have thought I was just a very bad person rotten to the core. In those days my lack of understanding would result in distruction of some kind which would then just confirm to me my horridness.

But I have learnt other things aswell. I have learnt that to try and deny the voices, the need to sleep, the banging, looping, swearing and inability to communicate only makes it all worse. I have learnt that to try and constantly "make myself like look like everyone else" also makes things worse. We live in a new era of understanding and tolerance where expression is allowed and I want to say thank you to all my friends and family who make me feel safe and normal by letting me be and do what is "my normal".

Trigger Warning Shame.

 

What do you do if your world view is lived through spectacles of fear. Some one might say, "do you remember that holiday?" and the memory  leaps into your mind as, "DO YOU REMEMBER THAT HOLIDAY!!!" or a comment "What a lovely sunny day" and you interpret it as, "UNKNOWN SUNNY DAY!!!". Here another classic "we are going out today" and you spiral out of control "WHAT?  WHY?  WHERE? WHEN???".

As I have discussed in previous blogs my world view only came mostly from one point of origin  FEAR! and I want to break another littlle chunk of that " fear off" so here goes.

I first met frog face through a girl on the school bus. Two other girls and myself would go to smoke at her house. I was 13 and the others where 11. Soon frog face used to ask us to go and collect more cigarettes from different mens houses off the estate. The men would ask us to sit on their laps and watch TV with them, in return we would have earn our own packet of fags. Over a few months things escalated and frog face started to send my friends on thier own to collect cigeretts (and now money to).

I, having already developed a pretty soild freeze response to threat became pretty useless on these "collecting missions". I still have incredible memories of beiing frozen sat at certain tables unable to move whilst smelling and listening to noise. Often the noise would be my friend laughing and giggling, deep inside me these noise's would cut thru me like ice. I knew things where not right. The smells were wrong!

Soon frog face would not even send me, instead she would do what was called the "staring game".  You see frog face had another power she practiced white witchcraft and claimed to be psychic. Frog face introduced me to smoking skunk with her, I felt guilty but important. She would draw pictures with me and make me dinner at the weekends, she would meet me straight of the school bus and take me to the chip shop.

As you know I came from a strict brethren  type back ground. I was not just smoking but smoking drugs, I was listening to music and enjoying it!. I new my friends were in trouble but I couldn't help no matter how much I prayed and I knew this was because God was angry with me. I was selfish so my prayers ment nothing. To top it all my new friend was into whitch craft. The shame was over whelming. The serect grew and grew. So to did my thinking that frog face really cared for me. She would stare into my eyes and claim to have read my toughts. I knew my thoughts were of how sinful I truly was, how evil I had become. So Pretty early on I cried and frog face would hug me. Not just a quick hug but a hug that felt like it would never end, she would stroke my head and until my tears dried up and I felt safe.

I dont need to write what happen in the months after as Im sure you all understand, and this blog is not about that its about sticking my fingers up at shame! 

 Back then in that religous world there was only black and white, there were leaders, elders, prophets, and their judgement it absolute. Often their understanding was fairly flawed. Having already got  a  reputation of unruly angry behavior from about the age of two, I was in the dog house with the majority of most people's thinking. I already hated myself and my reactions. It came as no suprise to me that I had "fallen way beyond" the point of grace. 

I decided that God had given me a way to redeem myself, that because me body was alredy filthy it could be used until such times as frog face joined the church. I decied that this must be Gods way of saving frog face and if I could just hold out she would have a damacas experience and everything would be ok. We could then just be friends she wouldn't  need to do thoes things to me any more and I would have helped save her, bring her to the narrow path.

Frog face played on this she stole bibles and but them under her bed, she put a picture of Jesus on her bedroom door and kissed it regulary, she would cry and say how awful she was but that the devil had her in his grip. 

 

After a while I gave up, my spirit broke as her "rituals" started leaving marks on my body. It was as if she never left me not even at school. I bunked PE because I could no longer get changed. One day I got  of the school bus two stops after mine so frog face would think I was not on it. I sneaked home. I realised I was going to have to hide and let God down. I couldn't  wait for her to be saved any longer.

So the shame grew. I had now let God down again! the one chance I had to redeam myself gone. I hated myself, I was thoroughly  disgusting. Frog face continued to stalk me for six years until I moved to Nottingham. My only way to try and fight back was to sneak out in the middle of the night. I took the dog and a knife to try and kill her. So the shame grew I was now lusting after murder, there was no goodness left, my heart must be black. To counter act this horrendous realisation I decided it would be best if I could get raped. I knew people got help and understanding and forgiveness from the church if you got raped.  I would be able to keep frog face a secret but get forgiveness. All my behavior would be understood and I would be acceptable again. So I now wandered at night into every dodgy palce I could find, and I would cry because I was to dirty to even be raped no one came near me. God must be so cross with me. So the shame grew.

I write this now because as I said I want to stick two fingers up to shame, I still sometimes have the thought as people compliment me, but what if people found out you tried to kill? (although I now know that it wasnt my fault),  Well  to you horrid untruth, I stick two fingers up! because now everyone knows!  

From the valleys to the extreme heat

Quite frankly I have reached a stage where writing anything makes me sick with worry. So why write? Well I am also aware that part of the root of the worms living in my stomach is fear. Fear of writing the wrong thing, fear of hurting people, fear of creating conflict, fear of just mucking up without realising till its too late.

On reflection comes the realisation that these are the very fears that have often got me into so many pickles. So I want to push through.

 I was brought up in a "strongly faithed' family although not strict brethren we were a sort of off shoot 'radical type' style of brethren. Women adhered to the submission of men in a classic sense. Women wore head coverings and dressed in simple fashion. Main stream life/music/dress were seen as wrong and sinful  "of the world".

The men in our lives were strong larger than life dominate characters who took the younger men under their wing. Teaching them the same radical strengths they believed would  help build a more forgiven, holy cleaner world.

Now at this point the worms have wriggled into my core. You see I still have a very strong faith but only as a result of rejecting most of what I was brought up to believe. In fact I imagine if I were to sit down with any of those from my childhood, many would shake their heads at the way I have been 'polluted'. 

But I can honestly say my Faith is at peace now.

As a child my impression (rightly or wrongly) from an early age was of a danger, the world  simply being split between Good and Evil. The scary devil and the loving God. As a child my physical and emotional world views were full of extreme things, extreme situations, extreme environments, extreme beliefs and extreme change. No grey areas. 

The first environmentally extreme change came between the ages of four and five.

I had been born in a Welsh farm cottage in the middle of a valley, the world was mine I would wander and roam the fields and woods unhindered, it was often said that if you couldn't fine Carwen she would be at the bottom of the lane sitting in the big puddle, or watching snails gliding across  the wet garden stones (a pastime that is still well loved today).  On a Wednesday my mum would drive us to a village playgroup and then to a market for food, food that would last till the following Wednesday. That was pretty much how life ticked over. Simple, calm, isolated at peace. Very few people were around for the first four years of my life.

Then my dad decided to build himself a house from scratch in the village. We moved from the cottage and I started to attend the local village school. Only having 14 pupils it was small, but I remember grappling the mixed feelings of overwhelm, unwanted confinement, people and restriction. I would wet myself almost daily and once soiled myself which led to being teased for the first time. I was frightened by the girl who was rumoured to have a witch as a mum and scared of the boys who found it funny to run at me and shout 'boo' in my face to make me cry. I can remember the panic of watching the window getting darker and darker,  thinking it was late but I wasn't in bed? (winter evenings).

Then as I reached four and half my dad decided to sell his business. 

He brought  a Peuoght 505 estate, we travelled the country saying good bye to people and moved  into the hub of church life in a busy five storey victorian house. The house was in yet another foreign world (the middle of Toxteth Liverpool). 

For a few months my sisters  and I were put into a school full of more kids than we had ever seen.

Dad packed up two containers with tractors, wood work machinery and the newly brought car.

We said more goodbyes and were prayed for and we got on a plane.

Overnight (the length of the plane journey) our worlds changed completely and utterly forever. We woke  to a world that we niether recognised and I never made peace with. We had landed in the newly independant Zimbabwe. We were going to be missionaries!

To be continued......