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"I never wanted him to be like me, or to have any power over him. I just wanted him to leave me alone. To be able to get out safely." ~ comment by castorgirl on Motive for Staying in Abusive Relationship
Castorgirl's comment bothered me all week. At first I thought it was because she seemed so blind and innocent, unwilling to see the truth. I wanted her to plainly see the hidden dynamics of an abusive relationship. But then in one clear instant, I remembered being castorgirl. I remember when the only thing I wanted was for him to leave me alone (The Invisible Line Between Verbal and Physical Abuse).
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Tomorrow, my children will both go back to school.
(Excuse me while I do a little dance and high-five myself for having lived through--and allowed them to live through--this very long summer.)
The school supplies are ready, the new clothes are in the washing machine as we speak--all in anticipation of a new school year. "Back to School" night was Monday, and we've already met Bob's fourth-grade teacher and know who his classmates are. We are completely prepared.
Or are we?
I went for four months without medical treatment that I received within four days of my transfer to LaRue D. Carter Memorial Hospital. The major difference between the two state hospitals is that LaRue receives some private funding--which made for better conditions.
I was watching TV last night, absentmindedly flipping through the stations, when I settled on an advertisement for Seroquel. The woman in the commercial is flying a kite. She is laughing without abandon. The sun shines just for her and a border collie stands beside her; he smiles with his eyes and wagging tail. In sum: she looks like she just won the lottery. And maybe she has: it seems that Seroquel has made her well. She can fly kites now. Bravo.
I have spent many months of my life with an inability to feel pleasure - this is known as anhedonia. This means that no matter what happened, no matter how great it was, I couldn't feel happy about it. I couldn't feel happy at all. However, there is something I have learned about anhedonia, even without an ability to be happy, I can be thankful.
What don't you have if you're struggling with anxiety? Emotional health. Not the most earth-shattering statement but pertinent, all the same. Do you really know what's missing, though? I'm not always sure.
I struggle with anorexia even now because eating disorders are complex and deadly illnesses. They manifest differently in each individual. For me, anorexia was not about being thin. And yet it was. That is the paradox of anorexia. I was addicted to starving, driven to be thin. I could never be thin enough, and it took years to break the chains of those thoughts.
But have I completely broken free?
I write this from Las Vegas. My son Ben has been living at home with us ever since his discharge from the hospital three weeks ago. The last time he lived at home was over seven years ago, when his schizophrenia diagnosis was so new and his rebelliousness so out of control. This time, he is a delight to live with, and wants to be fully cooperative with the "program" we have set up for him - routine, structure, rules, meds. But - for how long? And is this good for him?
One of the myths about mental illness medication is that it is used to control its taker. In other words, by taking the pills prescribed by a psychiatrist you become a pliable, braindead lemming.
So, let's take a look at my pliable, braindead, lemming life.
I read this book many years ago, just as I was entering the turmoil of remembering, questioning and doubting myself all the way (as I'd been covertly taught over a lifetime). I happened to mention to my two sisters one day, "This is so strange but I've been diagnosed with PTSD." Both my sisters surprised me by responding, "Me too."
THEN I happened upon an old book manuscript that my now deceased father had written (not published), wherein the protagonist was obviously based upon himself and he rapes his "fiancee," who had my unusual name. Yes, truly.
Then I made myself look at the peculiar memory I always had where he violently threatened me but somehow I had never been able to recall what came before or after the episode. I had to admit that was a bit strange.
The pressures and powers to forget sexual abuse are great, both in family and society. In fact, I've come to the sad conclusion that the vast majority of survivors never really deal with their childhood wounds (a neglect for which there are always repercussions).
To critique an encouragement of people trusting their intuition in such matters is really getting the prescription dangerously wrong.
Thanks!