Wednesday: Today I’m grateful for feeling…

Ashamed because I talk way too much at work. That trend was not exclusively from the Vyvanse as it turns out. I applied for this job for the sake of having coworker connections and I seem to really be taking advantage of that right now. I’m trying to be kind to myself because I’m going through big things and in need of community. But I know work isn’t the place for that, at least not in the amount I use it. The shame comes in because I know this and I can’t seem to stop. A coworker that once applauded my work ethic now seems to be giving me disapproving glances, although that could be me projecting. The problem is I don’t want to stop. My manager is happy with me so I’m just going to hold onto that and see if it passes.

Absolutely wretched. I’m enraged, I’m in deep mourning. I want to pull down the skies and crawl into the earth at the same time. My dad sexually abused me. Eight months into this work and the last of the denial has been taken from me. In my SIA meeting today, I realized a pattern with my ex boyfriends that slapped me in the fucking face. Firstly, I’ve always had an obsession with TALL guys. I don’t mean over 6′, I mean 7′, 8′. I wanted at least Yao Ming height. But also muscular or bulky. They needed to look like a bear. One key part of my sexual attraction was, and I hate saying this, how rape-able they made me feel. And then I noticed the pattern. I wanted men that would look like how adult males looked to a child. I wanted a huge, hulking figure that I couldn’t possibly escape from. They needed to look like they could murder me without trouble. I had read that CSA victims frequently have sexual preferences that mirror their abuser’s aesthetics and abuse type, and it comes up in meetings a lot. I hadn’t thought to look back at my history, probably because I want to see it. The cherry on top is that the only boyfriend that excited me, the only one that got me going just by looking at him, looked very similar to my dad. We used to talk about how he could kill me all the time because he could tell that was a kink of mine. He was a good guy at heart but, super cunning and manipulative and in the back of my mind I remember being so attracted to that. I remember his attributes and his aesthetic having a familiar comfort. How fucking sick is that. Until today I had only 50% believed any of my stories. Had only 50%  thought I was telling the truth, that I wasn’t an imposter in my meetings, that I wasn’t fabricating it all. I’m fucking crushed. I feel stripped of defenses, vulnerable, and achingly certain. This is full acceptance and it was not gentle at all.

Fury. Rage. Violent beyond measure. Something about fully accepting my past completely unlocked my gates on anger and it came burning out of me. I beat the absolute shit out of my bed. I had just enough lucid time to stack up pillows before I unleashed 1.5 years of kickboxing practice on them. I was screeching and growling like an animal. I had slobber coming out of my mouth and I lost my voice by the end of it. Then I went and journaled the worst end I could devise for him and it was completely deranged. It’s like I was taken over by a demon, I have never spit out anything so creatively acidic in my life and wanted it wholly with every cell I inherited from him. I’ve never felt fury like this ever, it was kind of terrifying even as it felt empowering. If my dad weren’t dead and he were near me, I think I could have killed him. I’m a fucking pacifist. The whole thing was a shock. I didn’t realize I had this monster sitting in me, seething and gnashing and waiting. Now I don’t know how to put it back. And the worst part is that, in the middle of all this, there was a child’s voice in my head that said “This isn’t all. You don’t know everything, there’s more, and this isn’t all.”

Feelin’ good…

• I had a great conversation with my coworker Quill today. And she’s so sweet, she brought me a coffee and remembered oat milk for my stomach. She’s someone that I was closer to last year then pushed away. For context: when I was a kid I moved at every important developmental stage. I’ve been examining my friendships recently and trying to figure out why they only seem to get to a certain point. I realized that I’m the problem. Moving around so much, I distinctly remember hitting 10 years old and deciding that I can’t make friends like I used to because they could be taken from me. Once people that I enjoy get close enough for emotional intimacy from me, I find something in them to judge so that I can create distance. With reflection, I realize this is very much a learned trait from my mom. Quill coming to me with this offer of friendship right in the middle of me taking stock of my friendships and wondering what I need to deepen them doesn’t feel like a coincidence. I don’t quite know how yet and I hope I can figure out how to return it. I’m very grateful for her friendship through my ups and downs and I’m so tickled to have gotten a lactose-conscious coffee gift.
• The timeline went: meeting, breakdown, recovery partner, rage monster, journaling, Edward. When I called my recovery partner and told her what I’d uncovered, I was reminded how much I love this woman. She is so gentle and open. She gave me her time to just be there as I tell her this awful, nightmarish thing that has no resolution. After the rage monster journaling, I recognized that I still needed support and cold called Edward so I could read to her the torture I planned for my dead father. She’s so very down with this kind of thing, being trained in poetry as medicine, and I’m so grateful to have her in my life too. After expressing how happy she was for me to get this out, she told me that she’s so proud of me. That she sees what I’m doing, facing pain head on, and that I’m a badass. She, a badass, called me a badass. And she’s right, I am a fucking badass. How lucky am I to have these extraordinary people that will stop their day to stand beside me as I struggle through mine?? I’m feeling very grateful.
• A fellow survivor mentioned a feature about facilitating meetings that I immediately identified as a defense that I hide behind: when you’re hosting a meeting, there’s enough responsibility that it’s hard to get to your deepest level. It’s like working, I can’t give my inner kids the full attention they need to say their most vulnerable truths. Once she said this, I knew I was doing it at least partially for that. Subconsciously, but still. After that meeting I brought up that I’d like to co-host with someone so I don’t have emotionally-stifling responsibility every meeting. And I’ve already switched to that in my Friday meetings as of last week. I’m proud of myself for recognizing the pattern and making moves to change it. And I feel I need to be more vigilant in the future at spotting other unconscious preferences that could be in my way.
• Cubu and I went tubing down the river with a few of our volleyball friends. I swam the whole thing, keeping up with them and scanning for litter, tugging their tube group away from fallen logs and retrieving things people point out in the mud below. It was great, I loved feeling like a fish and getting to really play in the same river that I normally use to maintain my sanity. I also loved showing Cubu the markers of where I turn around in my swims, how they’ve moved further up river these past couple months and what the currents are like at different places. I felt so warm and seen, sharing this love of mine with another love of mine.