Tappa Tappa Tappa

Tappa Tappa Tappa

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Most of you probably don’t know much about my more normal growing up activities. I took dance classes at a local studio from age 3-18, and then came back after I graduated from high school as a feature soloist for the next recital (actually it was just the solo I did my senior year since it was the fall of my first year of college and I had already been in classes since July). I’d say the vast majority of my dance “career” (if you want to call it that) was positive. I enjoyed what I was doing, aside from measuring for costumes (the life of a fat kid). Those last few years, I really wanted to quit, but I got a good dose of guilt from my mother. Plus I had a sense of loyalty since there was only one other person still dancing out of our class (we’d been together since age 3).

Earlier in the summer, one of the girls I danced with (not the one above) posted on Facebook that she was having adult tap classes (as well as other classes) at her studio. I mentioned that I’d love to to take it, but I didn’t get out of work until 6:00. Fast forward to a few weeks ago, and I see another post about the upcoming session and the tap class is scheduled at 6:20. Perfect! I can get there in time. So I joined the class.

I didn’t have shoes for the first class, but I didn’t do too bad “tapping” in tennis shoes. Last week, I finally had my tap shoes and I was giddy to just start fooling around in the studio. Last week went so much better than the first. My muscle memory is coming back, which is amazing since I haven’t danced in 25 years. That old saying “It’s just like riding a bike” was spot on. I actually picked up the choreography faster than I did as a teenager. Funny things like treated depression make a huge impact on your learning ability.

Next week is “bring a friend week”, so I’m inviting any of my Cleveland area readers to come experience Rebecca’s teaching at The Studio. No need for tap shoes. Tennis shoes work. No prior experience needed.

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Pink Pajamas

I’ve tried to write this out many times in the past.  In fact this is the seventh time the post was titled “Pink Pajamas”.  Today is Therapy Thursday and the topic took up a solid half hour.  Me just sitting there trying to get the words out.  Working hard to keep my head in the present.  Posting this is hard even though I just talked about it.  Here goes nothing.

I was 7 or 8 years old.  It was Christmas Eve.  We read the Bible and ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.  We hung up our stockings.  It’s a Christmas tradition to get new pajamas on Christmas Eve.  Mine were those one piece pajamas with the feet.  Mine were pink.

It was time to go to bed.  But I was warned that bad little girls got nothing in their stockings.  And I sure that I was a bad little girl.

Later that night, my dad came in and undressed me.  I remembered how cold it was.  He whispered in my ear that he knew how to make me a good girl.  Then he had his way with me.  He didn’t dress me though.  I slept all night naked.

In the morning, my mom came in to wake me up.  She asked why I didn’t have my pajamas on.  I told her I got hot.  I put them on and followed her to the living room.  I guess I was a good girl because my stocking was full and there were presents under the tree.

Dr. D pointed out that things came with strings attached.  And they really did.  That’s the topic for Monday.  I thought in light of everything going on, I should probably see her twice a week for a little while.

“Our Shower”

Holy shit.

I’ve finally pulled myself together after a good 10 minute panic attack.

Dad loved to fondle me in the shower.  He did call them “our showers”.  Ugh.

Dad was getting ready to take his shower.

He said I’m going to take “Our Shower”.

Not a good afternoon.

The Day After

So I saw Dr. D yesterday.  It was tough, complete with a panic attack.  She encouraged me to call Dr. W.  Since I seen her earlier this week, I didn’t think it was a good idea.  But Dr. D gently explained that Dr. W would be concerned that I let myself continue to suffer needlessly.  So I called.  I got a call back that evening, which surprised me because she’s on vacation.  She asked what was going on and I told her everything.  Well almost everything.  I didn’t tell her how long things have been going on.  She gave me hydroxyzine, which she has given me before.  Dr. W said she’s hesitant to prescribe a benzo at this point.  Not because she’s worried about addiction.  But rather given the amount of medication I’m on.  I understand her point of view, and I respect it.  What it says to me is that she’s being conservative, but is willing to go with something more powerful if I need it.

Dr. D wants me to come back on Monday.  I don’t really know how I feel about that.  I do have somethings I want to talk about related to the physical abuse.  But I’m not completely confident that I can get through it without losing myself in the flashback loop.  It makes me scared just thinking about it.  I’m going to copy/paste it in here so I can just read it if need be.

It was my grandfather. The summer after kindergarten, my parents made me stay there while they took my grandmother out of town. I don’t remember what I did that was so bad, but I got punished but good. He took off all of my clothes and made me lie on the bed. He put my arms over my head with my hands together and told me to stay that way. If I moved or cried, he hit me with a leather belt.

I don’t know how long I stayed in that position. It was so cold in there. He had the air conditioner on as cold as it would go. It felt like it was forever. I had almost fallen asleep when he came back into the room. I laid there while he felt my whole body, from top to bottom. He was on the bed with me. Then he left and told me not to move or I’d get it with the belt again.

I tried not to cry, but I did. As soon as he heard me, he came back and punished me for disturbing his baseball game. He told me that I better not move again. So I didn’t. I laid there and counted the cracks in the ceiling, over and over, and over again. But I couldn’t help but listen for him. I was terrified he would come into the room again.

After what seemed like forever, he came back into the room. And he got on the bed again. I was so afraid he’d get the belt out again. He wasn’t touching me anymore. He was on top of me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. He was so big and heavy. The penetration was extremely painful. I wanted to scream and yell, but I couldn’t. It hurt too bad.

All of a sudden, he jumped off of me and the bed. I put my arms down. He started to scream at me. He told me that he had said not to move. He told me I was an evil child filled with the devil. He was right. He got the belt again and told me to put my hands back up or he’d punish me again. I begged him not to, but that made him really angry. He took me by my shoulders and shook me. He kept yelling how little girls should obey their elders. He put my hands back over my head and made me stay like that.

I laid on that bed for hours. It was so cold in that room. I really had to go to the bathroom, but he told me not to move or say anything. I had to go so bad, I ended up wetting the bed. When he found out I had wet the bed, he beat me again. And then he was on top of me again. It must have gone on like that for hours. I remember watching it go from day to night.

I hurt right now just thinking about it.  I think I’m going to sign off, take some hydroxyzine, and eat.  Toast for breakfast and not eating anything else doesn’t cut it anymore.

Survival

Much of my childhood and adolescence was about surviving.  Surviving the best I could given the circumstances.  In some ways, I still feel like I’m in survival mode.

Abandonment

First let me say I was not physically abandoned by my family.  This is true despite it being threatened with being taken to an orphanage and left there.  But developmentally, psychologically…  I was abandoned at an early age.

It was often threatened to be driven to the orphanage when I was young.  On more than one occasion, I was put in the car and was driven around.  All the while, I was being belittled and told that nobody would want me.  I lived in fear of those car rides.

But more than that, I was abandoned when my mother looked the other way.  She knew what my father was doing.  She did nothing to stop it.  She looked the other way.  I had no one to protect me.  My grandmother looked the other way too.  In some ways it didn’t seem as sinister as my mother.  I think she had almost no power when it came to my grandfather.

My parents were simultaneously over-involved and under-involved in school.  On the one hand, bad grades were severely punished and usually involved a message to the teacher asking what happened.  But good grades (what I usually brought home) were ignored.

Abandonment is a tough issue for me.  I’ve learned to rely only on myself.  Not having someone who cared enough to stop blatant abuse scarred me for life.  And trust…  Well that’s a tricky one too.  It all goes down to not having someone who cared and left me to my own devices.

Hiding

I spent a lot of my childhood hiding, both mentally and physically.  I clearly remember hiding, although I don’t remember a lot about other things.

I used to try hiding from my mom when she was drunk.  I didn’t want to be hit or berated.  I just wanted to be left alone to do homework or read.  Hiding didn’t always work.  I think me trying to hide made her angrier.

Many a night, I tried hiding in my closet.  I sat there hoping that my dad wouldn’t come that night.  But eventually I had to come out and go to bed.  I could only hope at that point I would escape whatever was coming that night.

I spent a lot of time hiding my depression, suicidal thoughts, and anxiety from my teachers at school.  I trusted no one.  I guess I thought it would be more of the same pain.

Showers and Stuff

One of my biggest challenges has been taking showers.  There were countless times where my father fondled me while washing my hair.  I came to hate showers and associated them with pain and anxiety.  And the fear and anxiety led to what I call the 3 minute shower.  In and out just as fast as you can.

I’ve been struggling with shower issues for years.  I finally buckled down and got my fears under control.  It took a lot of time.  I started by just standing in the shower, fully clothed, for increasing amounts of time.  Once I felt comfortable there, I moved to standing in the showers with no clothes on.  That was really hard.  But with time, I was able to be in the shower for increasing amounts of time.

Then it came time for actual showers.  This brought back the panic full force.  I just had to power through it.  Now, I was doing all this in the daylight.  Nighttime was nearly impossible.  So once I finally got comfortable with showers longer than three minutes I started back at the beginning, but after dark.

It feels like the entire process took f0rever.  Now it’s to the point where there isn’t any anxiety surrounding the shower.

Organizing Thoughts

I’m having a hard time organizing my thoughts lately.  More so than ever, my thoughts are scattered and racing.  I have all these memories just swirling around.  And I just don’t know what to do with them.  It doesn’t help I have writer’s block.  Just typing these few sentences has taken me a solid half hour.

So, how to organize the thoughts and memories.  Dr. D asked me to think about how I could organize the memories.  It could be by house.  I was 4 when we moved to MH from L.  That doesn’t make a lot of sense.  The time just doesn’t work out.

I guess I could organize them by time.  But so many things blur together that I don’t think it’ll work.

The thing that makes most sense is to organize things by abusers.  These incidents are separated pretty well in time and space.

Now to just get over my writer’s block…

Creating a Dialogue With Your Inner Young Child

From: Cathryn L. Taylor M.A. The Inner Child Workbook

 

1. What is her favorite food?

Fried chicken.  But only her grandmother’s chicken.

2. What is the activity she would most like to do?

Read.  She could read all day and all night.

3. Has she done this before? Is so , what happened? If not, ask why.

She reads all the time.  Her favorite book is still Green Eggs and Ham.  But now she can read it on her own.

4. Ask her to tell you about her fear of being blamed and criticized or of doing or saying something wrong.

She is always afraid of doing something wrong.  She’s terrified she’ll bring home a bad mark on a school paper even though she’s only in Kindergarten.  She’s terrified that she’ll be taken to the orphanage for real this time.  She’s afraid of messing up her dances.  She doesn’t want to disappoint Miss R.

5. Does she feel overly responsible? Why?

Always.  B was just born.  She’s supposed to take care of him when mom is drunk.

6. What does she need most from you?

She needs me to understand that she wasn’t a bad kid.  She was a good kid in a bad situation.

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I’m exhausted now.  I’ll try to finish the remaining questions in the near future.