Out of suffering...

There have only been a few books that when I encountered them I was simply compelled to buy, without any prior knowledge of the author.  The Prophet, by Kahil Gibran is one of those books. I saw it in a thrift store in Virginia in the 90's and although I couldn't tell what it was about at first glance, it immediately resonated with my soul.

Books have been one of my favorite escapes for as long as I can remember. I've been told that my mother read to me often when I was very little and I was reading by the time I turned four. When they were loading my mother in the ambulance I was calmly perusing my bookshelf to decide which books to bring. During childhood summers I  remember reading about a book a day.  Lovely fantasy worlds that I needed to visit frequently to survive the reality of mine. One of my favorites that I read over and over again was about a teenage American girl who found out that she was switched at birth with a princess. By the time I was in junior high I had turned to Stephen King and RL Stine. Even when I was grounded from everything else (which was often)  my mother still allowed me to read; she recognized it's importance and I am grateful for that. Not all of my memories of reading are happy ones...

We were on a long road trip, I was about 7 or 8, my parents were arguing in the front seat. I was reading in the back seat. It was approaching dusk and my dad told me to stop reading because it was bad for my eyes to read in low light. I closed the book and looked out the window for awhile. When the arguing got too much for me, I picked up my book again; escaping to another world in my mind was my only coping technique at the time. I tried to be sneaky about it and no one noticed for awhile, but eventually my dad realized it. He pulled the car over on the side of the freeway and told me to get out as he took off his belt. I wasn't really surprised, I knew this was a risk I was taking by disobeying. He had me walk around to the back of the car and put my hands on the hood; the familiar sound of the belt sounded different in the open air than it did inside the house. I looked around as the belt hit me again and again, we were almost to the overpass, but I couldn't quite see if there was water or another road beneath it. One car passed, he kept hitting, the rest of my family sat silently in the car. Another car passed. I stared at the back of their heads through the rear window; they didn't even turn around. Another car, and another.

Writing and waning...

"If you bring forth what is within you, what is within you will save you. 

If you do not bring forth what is within you, 

what is within you will destroy you."

  ~Gospel of Thomas

The secrets within me are indeed destroying me and the time has come to bring them forth. I just signed a contract for some of my writings to be published - in an actual, printed on paper- hold it in your hands- feel the weight of it in your arms- book. I've been writing for years,  but mostly for myself and  never with a deadline as important as this. I knew it would be challenging but I didn't realize the degree of difficulty that would be involved. I had been nightmare free for about 3 months, which  is the longest I've been without them in more than a decade.  After only a few weeks of recounting the realities that have been recurring in my nightmares for more than 20 years I stopped being able to sleep at night or even in bed at all. For the last 2 and a half weeks I haven't been able to fall asleep before the sunrise, usually about 5 or 6 am but sometimes I'm up until as late (or early?) as 9am. 

Countless times I catch myself having to unclench my hands and my jaw or have to remind myself to breathe. Which is difficult when it feels like a boa constrictor has permanently set up residence around my ribcage. My shoulders refuse to stay at shoulder level and instead insist on climbing as close to my ears as they can. I try to  distract myself with movies or games in hopes that it will help me relax. My body is alert and awake while being simultaneously exhausted and much more so at night that during the day. When I'm finally to the point that I'm ready to attempt sleep having a favorite movie on helps me be able to close my eyes. The audio helps keep me anchored in the present and when I have a flashback or intrusive memory I can open my eyes and hurl my mind into the movie.  Eventually I close my eyes again and hopefully fall asleep without another flashback, but most nights this cycle repeats several times.  

Then there's the fact that I have been nauseated for at least part of every single day for as far back as I can remember. Doctors haven't found a medical reason and have prescribed 4 different anti-nausea medications over the years - none of which had any effect except when relieving the nausea caused by morphine in the hospital. Today it was 10:30pm before I realized  I hadn't eaten anything since getting up at noon. I managed to drink some milk and entirely too many glasses of Dr Pepper but the thought of swallowing food ...ugh....not happening today at least.  Once or twice a week a particular food will sound appetizing but after a few bites it usually doesn't seem worth the effort of overcoming not only the nausea but also the craniofacial issues, which are myriad. 22 screws in my jaw and a septum that was mangled in the jaw surgery and later crushed in 2 separate car accidents. Despite the original septoplasty and revision septoplasty where they placed bone grafts to hold open my nasal passages, I can barely draw in air through my nose. Luckily I'm usually eating home alone & my pets have yet to complain about me eating with my mouth open.

"How Secrets Sabatge:
Although we encounter secrets in every area of life, they are perhaps most destructive when kept in the home. Families are support systems; our identity and ability to form close relationships with others depend upon the trust and communication we feel with loved ones. If family members keep secrets from each other--or from the outside world--the emotional fallout can last a lifetime.   A person who seeks to undo the damage caused by family secrets must accept that revealing a secret is not a betrayal but a necessity ...the secret wedges a boulder between those who know it and those who don't."   

I've been questioned by extended  family as to why I don't speak to my parents, even scolded for not doing so. I have always been afraid of answering that question honestly because the reaction of the other person is so unpredictable and my honest answer would make me feel very vulnerable. There are so many members of my extended family that I would love to have relationships with but with this secret wedging " a boulder between between those who know it and those who don't.", it is impossible to establish a wholly authentic relationship.  Those who don't know have a different version of family history than I do and therefore have an entirely different expectation of my role in familial interactions. 

I went into foster care because because I couldn't handle the secrets anymore. When I went into foster care I had already told my best friend and my boyfriend everything- they were safe to tell - but I wasn't able to tell anyone else that I had been molested on a regular basis for years. In court ordered therapy they had me take 6 hours of tests. When the Dr discussed my results, it was with me, my brother and sister in law (who I was living with in kinship care by that point) in the room. So when he said the tests indicated I had been repeatedly sexually abused, I wasn't able to tell them the truth. I told my mother the first time it happened and she didn't believe me, I had no reason to think my brother or sister in law would be any different. I told my brother and sister many years later after I had moved to the other side of the country. It wasn't well received by either of them so I stopped telling family.

"Since individual well-being takes a backseat to group fidelity, being the family member who challenges internal secrets is difficult. Taking the risk of opening a long-held secret to friends and loved ones may seem like an act of betrayal. The anticipated catastrophe of exclusion from the family stops many people--often long after leaving home."