I don't talk to people

I'm not ready to actually write this up but I just thought I'd let the next topic out there. It's a revelation of sorts and I am still sorting through it.

Why?

I've got a few friends in town I needed to talk to about the year + that I 'checked out'. Well, really only two and seeing as how they are married (and how the answer I got from the one made me feel) I think only talking to one will do just fine.

He was my campus minister while I was in University and after I asked him about it it felt rather like a mistake. Certainly it was not a good idea. Not with how it has made me feel since. Because apparently I was just gone...

He told me that the year before it had seemed to him that I was only participating because I felt obligated to. This lead to them believing that when I stopped coming altogether that it was because I did not want to be there (as those of you who have kept up with my blog know -if there are any of you, lol- my last year at University I decided to no longer be on the leadership team of our University group at church. This included leading worship at our Uni nights.).

But why? Why in the world did he (they) think that? Why did they believe it? I had been so happily involved not only in our Uni group but the church in general. I was always there. For the longest time the only times I missed the group was when I was out of town. I talked to JAJ and his wife (but mostly him) about all sorts of things. I babysat their oldest (and for a few years their only) child all the time. I (thought) was a big part of what went on there. And I loved (still do, really) that family so much. How could he (they) believe that all of a sudden I decided I did not want to be involved any more. That when I started fading away and eventually stopped coming altogether it was simply a case of my not wanting to be involved anymore.

He is right about one thing. The year before my life fell down around my ears I did get to a point when I was participating mostly out of obligation. I had a responsibility to the group and so I went. But it was not because I woke up one day and decided I didn't want to be involved any more. I was already at a point that I wasn't doing very well and it was continuing to spread to more parts of my life, even the parts most important to me.

And that year? That year I spent much of my time hardly functioning. It was not that I did not want to go, to be a part of 'my group'. It was that I couldn't. I honestly couldn't bring myself to do anything more than necessary and even then I often skipped over the responsibilities I still had.

Now, to his (their) credit, I did not really say anything to them. But it's not exactly an easy subject. How do you tell someone who has never experienced anything like it that you are just too tired? That for some reason you really cannot do much more than lay in bed and stare vacantly at the ceiling, or hide under your pillow and stare vacantly at the wall (there's a lot of vacant staring), or simply just sleep the hours away? How do you tell someone you care about, who you believe cares about you, that you do not want to live any more. That not only do you not want to live but that you are very willing to take your own life as soon as the time is right. That you already have it planed, in detail: the notes you will leave (the note in the bathroom with me and another note on the door telling my roommate to call someone for support and then call 911), the time of day you will do it (after all, you will need enough time to actually die before the roommate comes home and stops you), how you will do it (a bottle of pills and then settle in the tub -fully clothed because I refused to be one of those folks found naked as the day they were born- so I don't make too big a mess and slit my wrists. I couldn't.

But why? Why didn't he check in? Why didn't he ask? Why didn't someone do something? My behaviour was clearly out of character... why did no one clue in? Why did one of the people I care most about, one of the people I felt closest to... why did he assume something so out of character for me... and not ask about it?

They left me alone to kill myself... And I came so close to doing just that... All the while they just assumed I wasn't there because I didn't want to be.

For the love of God, why did no one ask?! I love these people, I care about them so much... and I thought they felt the same... yet the did nothing!

'Relationships' Workbook Entry, II

I thought I'd break this up into two posts. After allm they are rather long.

So here's the rest of 'em.

• 
  The ‘last time’ after I thought he had grown and stopped it. It had been something like six years since the ‘Good Friday incident’. I was on Christmas break from University and my brother and I were 22. Dad had borrowed Grandpas truck to go and pick J_____ up from school. We (J____ and I) had made plans to see a movie with mom and her fiancé that night and dad and J____ were running late getting back to town. I was talking to J____ on his cell phone, keeping track of their progress. At one point mom told me to ask J_____ to ask dad if he could just drop him off at the house (the original plan had been for me to go to Grandma and Grandpas to pick him up). I should have known better than that. Mom had never wanted him to drop us off at the house the few times he felt like doing something with us. However, I asked J____ anyway. The laugh I heard from dad on the other end of the line should have clued me in to how the rest of the evening was going to go. Then again, I had been sure he was no longer that person. It didn’t even enter my mind. Needless to say he said no (siting the ‘no-dad-at-the-house policy mom had had before). Later J____ called to tell me they were almost to Grandma and Grandpas and so I got in my car and drove ‘up the hill’ as we put it. Again, I should have been prepared for what was to come when I saw dad waiting for me in the driveway waiting for me as I pulled up. He approached the car as I turned the ignition off and swung my legs out of the car. By this time he was standing in front of the opened car door blocking my exit. He looked down at me and said that he hoped I was planing on spending some time visiting. I laughed weakly at that and reminded him that he knew we did not have the time. He started screaming at me, telling me how much ‘those people’ (Grandma and Grandpa) had done for me (yeah, including teaching me how to really feel guilty about the smallest, most meaningless thing or telling me to ‘get the hell out of my house’) and on and on. At one point I considered using my cell phone to dial 911 but reconsidered after reminding myself of the other problems that would cause with that side of the family (and besides, what would he do later if I called the cops on him??). Eventually I managed to stand up and tried to get away from him. He used his body to block me all the while he was yelling in my face (at one point he asked me if I wanted to ‘feel like a Marine’). I told him quietly to leave me alone, to leave me be. He continued to yell at me and use his body to block my escape, sometimes pushing me with his body . . . He never actually used his hands. Funny, afterwards I would come to the conclusion that the yelling and pushing were worse than any time he had pinned me down and hit me (strange? Maybe but that is still how it feels, even thinking about it almost four years later). When I finally managed to get away, he grabbed the collar of my coat and yanked me around. It was the Navy pea coat my Uncle had given me, the one he had when he was in the service. Here’s something else funny for you: When he jerked me backward, I heard the coat rip (thank God it was just the lining). My only concern? Not that he was jerking me around but that he had just ripped my coat! (I do love that coat though, lol.) I never said I was always rational ;). He jerked me around a bit more, yelling and sometimes pushing me with his body. My brother said later that it was about this time he heard what was going on outside. He jumped up and said “Shit! Stay in here!” and ran out side leaving our grandparents in the living room wondering what in Gods green earth was going on. By the time J____ got outside dad had let me go (I think. Parts of the memory are pretty vague) and I was on my way into the house to give Grandma some makeup that my older sister had sent for her. As I passed J____ I tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill from my eyes. I said ‘J____ (actually I used a childhood nickname but I really am trying to keep this blog as anonymous as possible), please get in the car.’ From behind me I heard dad say in a mocking (and childish) voice ‘J____, please get in the car’. I looked over my shoulder, glared at him through the tears pooling in my eyes and said ‘Bite me’. By then I was almost to the kitchen. Dad lunged at me and I made it to a corner in the kitchen (actually it is a space between the counter and the refrigerator, really rather perfect for cowering in) before he could get me. It all happened so fast, I really can’t give you a lot of detail. Later I noticed that Grandma had been in the kitchen (stupid man could have knocked his own mother over!). I also looked up and saw J____ had managed to pin to the door frame between the kitchen and the dining room. As I stood from where I was huddled in my corner (I’ve huddled there before, you see, so it really is ‘my corner’) the only emotion I was aware of was one of sadness at seeing my dad pinned there by J____. Not much later I sat on the kitchen floor and cried in my Grandmas lap. Even then, after seeing what she did, she could only defend him. And I still cried in her lap. I couldn’t help it. I had to. Before we left the house my dad tried to apologize . . . and unfortunately this time I think I actually let him (what an ass! What makes him think an apology is good enough? And why in Gods Name did I let him? OK, well I think that can be blamed on the sort of numb state I was in at the time but for heaven sake . . . ) *blush*. On the drive back hone I told J___ not to tell mom what had happened. After al, I told him, she shouldn’t have to worry about it and besides, it would really only make her mad and ruin the rest of the night.
  
• All those times mom told me not to tell anyone what dad had done. She would tell me not to tell because then they would take me away and put me in a foster home where they would rape and beat me. It sounds horrid I know, and heaven knows why someone would say that to their child but I really do believe she thought it would be safer to have me there with her then with some other family (after all, I was never the easiest child to deal with).
  
• All those times dad beat me and mom only stood there repeating his name over and over again. Quietly, at that. I suppose he would have only turned on her if she had done more but still. I was the child after all.
  
• When, after the ‘Good Friday incident’ my sister told me that, by arguing with my dad I had asked for what I got (that she never experienced anything close to the same treatment didn’t register or matter I guess).
  
  2. Are there people from your past or present that you blame for not being there for you? Who are they and what do you blame them for?
  
• I think (no, really, I know, I just don’t want it to be) some friends from town (where I live at present). Either they did not notice or just chose not to do anything the entire time I slowly faded away. For a year and a half (give or take, probably ‘give’) I teetered on the brink . . . and they just let me. I was almost hospitalized twice and came very close to killing myself (if you’ve kept up with my blog you know how close) . . . and no one tried to get a hold of me to see if I was all right, to ask what was going on, to enquire as to why they no longer saw me out or why I did not participate in church activities anymore. I suppose it might sound unfair of me to have expected any of this from them but you have to understand that the likelihood that they would not notice was really very slim given how much I had been involved before. The years before I served on our college groups leadership team. I lead worship at our college night (sometimes even during a regular church if need be). I sang and played electric bass in the Sunday morning worship band. And I just stopped. Some of it was more gradual (I did not stop playing bass or singing completely until that next summer). Other things, like my participation in the college group just happened one day. I stopped going. My last year at University (when most of this took place) I only made it to our college night twice. For someone who usually only missed when she was just too sick to go that is a huge change. And it’s not like these folks are incapable of noticing such things. Toward the time I finally began doing better (though was not out of the woods yet) one of these friends and I, one of the two friends that make this hurt the most, were talking about another gal in the group. Apparently she was going to be moving into an apartment by herself and he was a little worried . . . about the same stuff that I had been dealing with (though mine was much more sever). They just let me fade away...
  
• My mom, some times, for staying with my dad, for not stopping him. And of course, my dad.

3. As you review these painful moments from your past, do you see ways in which they may be impacting your present? In what ways are they determining choices you are making when it comes to your relationships?

• I honestly don’t know. Sometimes I think my dad may be the reason I seem to get scared if a relationship seems to be getting too serious too fast. Other than that . . . *shrug* I don’t know.

4. Are you able to forgive whoever is involved in your painful memories? Are you able to release any resentment you may be holding onto? What might you need to do to take care of your ‘unfinished business’?

• Yeah, I think I can forgive those involved. I mean, it’s just stuff you need to eventually be able to get past, you know? But... I probably should tell some of these folks how this stuff has made me feel... however, I’m not sure that I can. I actually used the word ‘beat’ once (just recently actually) with my dad. He was saying how I was a hard one to raise because I was ‘spirited’ and had a strong personality; that it was hard to discipline me because of that and not ‘break’ my ‘spirit’ at the same time. He also said he thinks he did a pretty good job. After I told him that maybe he had been a bit sever (OK I can’t remember exactly what I said but that’s the idea anyway) he told me that I could not be allowed to just ‘run off at the mouth’ to which I said something like ‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean I needed to be beat’. His reply? He laughed and said ‘You were never really beat, kid’. And, once again, I let him get away with it (I maintain it was something I learned as a child)! I just said ‘Yeah, I know’ and the conversation continued. Ugh, I hate that I did that.
  I should also talk to some of my friends here (specifically the afore mentioned two) but I don’t want to make them feel bad or obligated or . . . something. *shrug* I don’t know. I know I should...

So, that's it. Nothing really all that interesting to others, I suppose, but there it is anyway.

Questions are taken directly out of the book 'Relationships' by Drs. Les & Leslie Parrott

Parrott, Les & Leslie (1998). Relationships. Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530: Zondervan Publishing House.

'Relationships' Workbook Entry

I’m reading this book on relationships (titled, 'oddly' enough 'Relationships' ;)). Thankfully it is about relationships in general and not just those of the romantic type because honestly, one like that would make no sense for me as I have not been in a relationship in just over two years. Anyway there’s a ‘workbook’ of sorts in the back of the book (no surprise there as the authors are a husband and wife who are a psychologist and marriage and family therapist respectively and you know how folks in the field of psychology like workbooks ;)). As I was working through the first bit from chapter one it hit me that it might be something worth putting on my blog. Heaven knows it was bringing up the same type of feelings that I often have which then compel me to write a blog entry. So here they are. Honest and sometimes (most of the time) painful answers.

Chapter one is called ‘The Compulsion for Completion’ and basically speaks to the need we all have to form relationships. Part of being able to form healthy relationships is understanding parts of your past that may cause difficulties in your present (my words, not theirs. They shouldn't have to take credit for my poor writing skills). Exercise two of the workbook is entitled ‘Healing your primal pain’ (it even sounds like a psychologist came up with it ;))

1. Reflect on your personal history and make note of any memories you have of feeling abandoned or neglected (even if they seem fairly insignificant).

• When I was fairly young (I don’t remember how young exactly) my mother, grandmother, brother and I were at a mall in one of the larger cities in the area. This mall held a particular interest for us as kids because there were several fountains in the middle of the building (and who doesn't like fountains when they are little?). My mother had gone in to a store while my Grandmother, brother, and I played around the fountains. I soon realized that I had become separated from Grandma and J_____ and made my way around the maze of fountains in an attempt to find them. When I could not I went to the front of the store my mother had went in to and sat on a bench to wait for her, knowing that she would see me when she came out. I do not remember really feeling scared, abandoned, or neglected but there must be some reason that memory has stuck with me so vividly.
  A good handful of memories like this involve my dad. They are as follows (though not necessarily in chronological order).
  
• The time I couldn't’t find my church shoes (sounds silly, right?). It sounds insignificant and heaven knows it was not the only time it happened. I was around 11 at the time (I can remember the dress I was wearing and the shoes I could not find...helps me locate the incident in time). I remember being in tears as I frantically dug through the mess at the bottom of my tiny closet. I remember that after dad slapped me one of my parents (I do not remember which) getting ice for my face. I do not remember why the ice was needed or why we didn’t go to church just because he had slapped me (I always thought maybe it was because I’d gotten so worked up and my face was flushed. I thought it was a weird reason not to go because if I just calmed down it would be gone by the time we got to the church. As it turns out (I recently asked my mom) the reason was not my flushed face but the hand print my dad had left on the side of my face (no real surprise there... I’ve always likened being bit by my dad to being hit in the face with a baseball). I suppose the ice was to stop any swelling that might occur and not going to church was because of the possibility that e may have left a longer lasting mark.
  
• Dad smacking heads with me when I wouldn’t stop talking. I don’t remember if I just wouldn’t shut up or if we had been arguing. I do remember that I was relatively young... and that we were on summer vacation in a swimming pool.
  
• Dad slapping all three of us kids one Easter morning. Poor J_____ didn’t even do anything; he was just the closest to dad. My sister and I had been arguing over Easter eggs. D_____ thought we should trade those we had found so she could have the ones she had dyed (which were a very vivid color because she had left them in the dye for so long). I did not want to trade because I thought hers were pretty.
  
• Dad chasing me around the B_____ street house (the first house I lived in). You could run in a circle through the kitchen (where it started, apparently with something mean I had said to J____), the living room, the dining room, and back to the kitchen. I don’t now how many circuits we made before he managed to grab the hood of my sweatshirt and pull me to the floor. Then he straddled me (I think my stomach but to be honest, as with other times he did this my memory is vague beyond what I describe here) and began to hit me, mostly in the face -I think- and maybe the upper body (like I said, vague). All the time he was right in my face, yelling.
  
• The first time he beat me at the house on W__________ road. I don’t remember what I had done but once again he caught me (I don’t think there was much chasing involved this time). He straddled me, hit me, and screamed in my face for some time (all the while my mother stood in the background quietly saying his name over and over). When he finished I crawled over to where the dog was and hugged him so hard he couldn’t breath (I didn’t realize how hard I was holding him until he coughed). I wore glasses at the time and at some point while he was hitting me they bent. When my sister and I walked to the eye doctor to have them fixed and the gal out front asked me how they had become bent D_____ and I looked at each other and then back at this woman who we had known for years. I lied. I don’t remember what I said, but I lied.
  
• The second time at the W_________ house. I can’t remember what we were arguing about. I think my sister had just graduate university. I know we were unloading her things from a U-haul. I remember I made it through the mud room, into the dining room and almost to the library before he caught me and put me to the floor again (this time on the tile between the dining room and the library). He followed the same MO, straddling me, hitting me about the face and upper body (I think anyway... I know my face was involved) and screamed in my face.
  
• The ‘Good Friday Incident’ (strange, I just noticed a pattern here... Easter. Hmm). I believe it was the spring before I turned 16. I had not been asked to play my ‘usual’ part in the Easter sunrise service and was hurt and upset. I was complaining on our way home from the Good Friday service and dad told me to stop (I do not remember what he said only that it just hurt even more). I told him to shut up (smart kid, huh?). He jerked the van over to the side of the road and came into the back seat. He sat on my lap and yelled in my face as he hit me. He wanted me to say something specific (I do not remember what). He kept yelling at me to say it. When I finally said it he stopped hitting me and returned to the drivers seat. He looked back at me and said ‘See, that wasn’t so hard was it?’. I glared at him through the tears streaming from my eyes and said ‘I lied!’. Needless to say that got me some more ‘road side beating’. After we got home that night my mom got busy preparing things to dye Easter eggs and the three of us kids went about our own business. I went to the computer to play solitaire. Dad approached me there and tried to apologize with ‘I’m sorry, but...’. I interrupted him there and told him that, no, there is no ‘but’. It does not matter what someone says or does you do not do that to people. Surprisingly enough he left it at that (I was a little amazed that he didn’t start in on me again but I was never one for thinking before I spoke, especially when I knew it was right).
  

lol it just hit me... this feels like something my last therapist was trying to get out of me for some time during our 'work' together. Poor guy, it didn't work too well then. But I was in a much worse place than I am now and I think that has made a difference.

More to come (and you thought it was long already ;))... I just ran out of time typing it up this morning.

Questions are taken directly out of the book 'Relationships' by Drs. Les & Leslie Parrott

Parrott, Les & Leslie (1998). Relationships. Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530: Zondervan Publishing House.