Fuzzy Trauma Llama Dreams of the Past

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on June 2, 2012]

Here’s to hoping June is better than May! As of this morning, I believe I consider May 2012 to be one of the most difficult months of my life. Not necessarily the saddest or the most destructive or…something. Maybe not the worst? If not the worst, only because I think I have more tools to deal with difficulty, now.

For the past ~4 nights, I have had nightmares. They aren’t sexual, they just involve me being stuck in a violent or threatening situation and having to escape. Last night was wholly different and unexpected. Last night I dreamt about E again, but not like I usually do. This time, all I wanted to do was talk to her. She was so angry in the dream — she wanted nothing to do with me at all. When I finally did talk to her, I wanted to tell her that I’m going through this process now.

By the end of the dream, I think I finally had some subconscious info about our relationship because I think I kind of understand what went on there. I think it’s interesting I never put all of this together before, but as soon as I told E explicitly some of what happened to me (in real life, not in this dream), and she was the first one I ever told that to, I think I knew, somehow, that we weren’t going to work. I think E is the relationship I had to sacrifice in order to do this whole healing thing. For the last 4 years, I’ve been talking or thinking about hate crimes* as the reason our relationship didn’t or couldn’t work. I kept thinking and feeling like I just wasn’t getting the support I needed from her. I think that was and is true. I don’t think she could have supported me from ALongDistanceCity and I also don’t think I was ready for this healing, but knew somewhere along the line it was going to happen. It’s like, once I had the courage or impulse to say out loud what happened, it was the first step in dealing but I didn’t know that’s what I was doing. There must have been something inside of me that knew this was coming and knew E wasn’t the one to do this with me, if anyone was. I think hate crimes provided this trigger-like response — they created an unsafe and violent sexual environment which awoke the part of me that had felt the same ways before. I don’t think I realized at the time, but I think I was asking E if she could stand this sort of pending struggle, and something about her response told me she couldn’t.

In some ways, I think she actually did help me along this road — if all of these choices are first steps, then she helped me start. 4 years later I feel like I’m really doing this. I am healing and clearly coming to a greater understanding about how all of these seemingly dissociated events are linked by the fact that they’re all my experiences. It’s clear I don’t understand how my life fits together yet — I still feel overwhelming pressure and sadness and confusion and exhaustion on a lot of days. I still feel like I am not living a life in which my experiences are unified. I am still working to understand what it means for me to be healing from childhood sexual assault and what that means for the overall thread of my life.

But, after 4+ years, it seems like I’m finally starting to understand how my whole life is affected by my childhood, and once I figure out how to live that full experience, I really do believe there’s greater understanding and the “end” — not just about me and my life, but about how my life and experience is connected to all of the violent norms in our society. This isn’t just a fight for my own life back. This is me trying to gain something that leads to a deeper understanding of pain, struggle, trauma, identity, recognition, and individual agency with respect to the choices we make for ourselves. The resolution will be amazing, whatever it is. I just have to keep trying to get there. Along the way, I think I’m going to learn a lot about myself I didn’t know before.

Here’s to June.

-FTL

*I was a target of anti-queer, anti-gay hate crimes in the early months of 2008, during my final semester of undergrad. It pretty much sucked, and E, my girlfriend at the time, was living across the country.

There’s a Grey Cloud over Fuzzy Trauma Llama’s Head

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on May 24, 2012]

I continue to struggle with motivating myself to write in here daily, so since I currently have the motivation & desire, I’m just gonna go with it. I have had a crappy past few days, hopefully getting some of it out will mean another turning point — or better, a break from these rapid “phase changes,” as I’m calling them. I guess the phase I’m in right now is just sad. I am sad. I feel it in my chest and jaw and fingers. It’s this…full feeling. It’s like feeling the emotion fully for the first time — feeling its Platonic essence, or something. It’s like my body feels Sad.

I can’t pinpoint what I’m sad about, and I’m beginning to think I’m not sad or mad about any one thing; these phases aren’t leading me to one specific answer. More and more, I think I’m just headed for some sort of “hmm” moment when suddenly I just know something or feel something. It’s hard to describe all of this, especially being the feelings-averse creature that I am. Anyway, I currently feel a whole lot of sadness and it’s further exhausting what I felt was already a decently high level of exhaustion. (Man, it’s SO windy tonight!)

——> spent some time being distracted by wind

Before this whole Immense Sadness thing set in, the exhaustion was the biggest of my problems. It still amazes me that I’m sleeping ~9+ hours/night (thank you, Mary Jane and valerian!) and when it gets to be about 10am, I’m sleepy. 12pm, quite tired, eye twitching, etc. 1:30pm — done. I have nearly fallen asleep at work while sitting on the toilet. Needless-to-say, no amount of sleep satisfies me and I go through every day feeling the exhaustion of what K calls “backlog.” I explained it to B using computer language — it’s like copying an old hard drive to a new computer. It takes a while for the new one to read through all that new data, sort it, match it up with duplicates, etc. I guess that since I’m open to this sort of Healing Process right now, my mind has subconsciously started doing the backlog and, as a result, my body is feeling the effects. It kinda explains why I’m going through all these phases at what feels like such rapidly shifting pace. I felt so angry for ~1 month back in March/April, then zen, then anticipatory/anxious, then alien-obsessed, then simply broken down, then tired, then enlightened/”I Am the Yogi of My Body,” then exhaustion, now deep sadness…all within a few months. I feel like I’ve been 18 different versions of myself/moods of myself in the past few months — no wonder I’m exhausted and seeking some sort of reprieve. I am simply out of energy and right back to needing time. I just need some time that doesn’t count for anyone else — freeze time for them and give me a few days…or a few weeks, to be outside, by water, with books and this journal and Mary Jane and a guitar. Mostly the tent+outside+water part. K suggested I look at Green Gulch, a zen meditation center up by Muir Woods. K said that might be a good place for me to spend a few days in silence and peace and solitude. Never thought I’d see myself writing about zen meditation centers! Well, at least me going to one…

And, I think I’m done for now. I’m taking one thing to work on in the coming weeks, days…

Patience

Clearly not a strong suit, but it is clear this is going to be varying levels of difficult for who knows how long. I need to be patient through these harder parts with the knowledge that the shit is just me winning. No matter how much this sucks, it’s better than a year ago when I hadn’t even started.

-FTL

Fuzzy Trauma Llama Plays with Building Blocks

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on May 20, 2012]

For whatever reason, I just haven’t wanted to write lately. I don’t know what it is about writing in particular that’s so hard. It’s probably that it’s so much slower than typing. K probably has some sage wisdom about why writing it out is helpful in a specific way — I know there are benefits to physically writing things out with respect to memory, etc, but there’s just something somehow exhausting about looking at so much empty space and the task of filling it with words. I’m in kind of a sad place right now. I’ve been so disconnected from my body, I’ve had a hard time making an honest effort to take care of it. Sleeping/rest is clearly one step in the right direction, but I think there are three overall goals I need to strive for aka Pillars to Strengthen Yourself:

Sleep. The good kind and lots of it! As much as my body needs! Caveat: Make sure to watch for signs of depression — sleeping/laying about out of despair, lack of motivation, etc.
Nourishment. This is of the mind and body, but also the spirit. Yes, I said that. I think this means therapy and writing in here, even when I don’t want to. I think writing is therapy of the mind that soothes my introverted self, so even though writing is like more therapy, I just need to suck it up. This also means feeding my body good, healthy, nurturing foods. It means finding a way to enjoy exercising with it again. This is key. Also, meditate. Sit outside, go to water, play softball, etc. Cultivate community, play music, listen to music, read…
Relaxation. The above, though some of those things are very enjoyable, are all active goals/Pillars — even sleep. The goals are to actively replenish or rebuild or evolve. This one is all about sitting down, or swaying in a hammock, or lying in the grass…this is about taking a break!

With those established, the evolution of this healing thingo will be much better supported. It’s no like there isn’t more suckage ahead, but at least I have some tools to deal with the suckage and now tools to use in rebuilding/recovery. Hopefully I get tools for discovery/enlightenment next!

-FTL

Fuzzy Trauma Llama Takes a Nap

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on May 12, 2012]

Today I had a pretty awesome day in comparison to the past week, so for now I’m just going to revel in that. I’m still sleepy and a bit sore and am finding social situations to be quite challenging/taxing, but that’s better than impossible. So, all signs point to better than before and now I just need to take care of myself.

-FTL

Fuzzy Trauma Llama Gets Phased

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on May 11, 2012]

I very nearly went to work today! In general, I feel almost normal, at least with respect to the orb*. I walked to the grocery store, nearly finished Hitchhiker’s (and with only four pages left, it’s a wonder I’m writing this instead), and actually did a fair amount of work. It’s nice to finally know this orb thing isn’t just going to be pushing its way out through my chest every day until this process is closer to over. Today, the biggest thing I’m coming away with is:

It won’t always be like this / This feeling won’t last forever.

I think this needs to be a sort of mantra when I enter these phases. When I was feeling so angry those few weeks last month, I got so caught up in it. I had no idea how to ease the feeling or get the energy out. Then there was this zen phase, then the contemplative phase, then this week of exhaustion and crying and soreness and the feeling of just needing time. Now I feel like I’m kind of moving out of this craptastic phase and I’m not sure what’s next. However, no matter what it is, I need to remember those are all phases along some sort of healing path, and luckily the nature of phases is such that they ultimately end. Angry? Won’t last forever. Can’t stop crying? Won’t always be like that. I think it’ll be helpful during difficult phases and likely true for the overall process, too. Right now, I have no idea what “the end” looks like, but it’s gotta be there. I mean…the end will never really be here, but at some point this is gonna get a helluva lot easier. It isn’t gonna be a daily surprise finding out how I’ll feel that day. Another thing coming out of today was:

It is not only ok, but necessary, to take breaks.

I know I would not be at this point had I gone to work earlier in the week. I know I couldn’t have made it through Monday and Tuesday, but it was absolutely beneficial and wise for me to take the extra time. Even today, after a week away from the office, I am totally exhausted, sore, and by 7pm was ready to lie down. I’m sure not every phase will take it out of me like this one has, but even when things aren’t so catastrophically terrible, our bodies still brace for all that energy. We talk about our minds reeling, but my body is reeling now and I need to rest and sleep. Tonight feels really similar to healing after a week of physical illness. It’s like I had the flu all week and now I’m just drained.

-FTL

*I often felt this orb thing in my chest. I once described it as: An orb. It glows, in my chest, orange-ish/gold. It feels like it pushes outward, creating pressure starting in my ribs and pulsing bigger and bigger. Feels almost like I could reach in and pull it out.

Fuzzy Trauma Llama’s First Steps

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on May 10, 2012]

Today’s probably the first day this week I haven’t felt totally overwhelmed. I still didn’t make it to work in person, but I was online all day and essentially worked as normal. Between breaks and work, I mostly just sat outside in the sun. During all my breaks I read Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. During this week of weird orb-ness*, very few things have become clear except that:

I need to have consistent, frequent outdoor time.
Water is soothing, particularly waves, and makes me feel grounded.
Meditating is totally real, no matter how new agey that makes me sound.
Therapy is awesome, everyone should dedicate this much time to knowing and understanding themselves with respect to others/society/etc. ||: above new agey comment : ||
Cook your own food. What better way to reconnect with your body when feeling lost, disoriented, exhausted? Nourish the body. It expends energy, allows you to take care of and nourish yourself, plus, the body has a natural tendency to seek rest after eating. Expend energy, eat, sleep, wake, and start again.

Despite this, I still fell just as lost as before, perhaps slightly better equipped to deal with it. I really did have to pull out all the stops to find this state of respite…or whatever it is. I stayed home for 4 consecutive days. For many of those hours, I never once looked at email. I slept during the day, at night, 20 minutes, 10 hours, whenever I needed to. I cried. As much as I could, which is at least a step in the right direction, I think. I did meditations. Sometimes I did a few meditations consecutively. I even “created” some of my own physical meditations, as I’m calling them. K mentioned that my intense love of solitaire and current impulse to play as much of it as I can stand, might actually just be an ok coping mechanism to have. I have come to realize pacing is very soothing. I also play this game where i tap each finger tip to the thumb in order from nearest (index) to furthest (pinky) and back again. First it’s one tap each. Repeat. Then two each. Then three. Up to five. Back to four. Continue back to one tap each. Repeat one tap each. If I can get through the whole thing flawlessly, it always means my mind is calm enough for muscle memory to move my fingers. I do both hands, one at a time, until I “win” with each hand. Somehow, by the end, I feel more grounded.

[…] <—- there was a break in here, a matter of hours, it appears.

Since upping the meditating, I’ve stopped the whole solitaire thing. The intense pain in my chest from the orb of somethingness has somewhat soothed, and my main remaining feelings are tiredness, residual soreness, enough herbal enjoyment in my blood to last a few failed tests …

I want to read, outside, for a few days. Living in a tent by water with enough supplies to last me at least a few nights out there. I feel like I just need time. More of it. Or a pause button for everyone else. Somehow just a way to take a break. For me.

-FTL

This orb is something that haunted my body for a long time. After a lot of searching, and lots of different healing modalities, I can say the orb has moved to the realm of Former Friends. A painful teacher, but an important one.

The Beginning of Trauma Llama, before there was Fuzzy.

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on March 22, 2012]

I originally wanted this blog to be called “shit that pisses me off” — I felt that title would most accurately describe what I felt I wanted to write about, what I felt I’d be moved to write about. In retrospect, that would be a depressing blog as most things in the news, popular culture, streets…let’s just say, lots of shit pisses me off. Also in retrospect, I think I was looking for a way to deal with a specific type of anger and the news is a really easy scapegoat.

Perhaps that’s why it’s taken me so long to start this thing. I feel like every blog needs an introduction piece, or “here’s me, here’s what you’ll find” section. That’s daunting, but I think I’m ready to kickstart this project, so I’m kickstarting.

I’ve tried to find ways to describe who I am, why this blog matters to me, and why I decided to use this method of expression in the first place. To fully understand where I’m coming from, I feel like I should give you a biography of the life events that bring me here, that formed my surroundings and informed my decisions. Every time I try to start, I see one of those word clouds (ie these things) floating around in my brain. What are the buzz words you should know about me before I start spouting off all sorts of shit about me and my life and my thoughts?

What you should know about me is that I am extremely introverted and have a lot of shame when it comes to emotions. It’s one thing I hope to explore through writing this blog — writing publicly is far more outwardly expressive than I am in person, and I will write things here that I may have never uttered aloud. I’m not saying I don’t have friends and co-workers and family, I’m just saying that I grew up in such a way that I have never felt comfortable showing weakness, I have never felt comfortable expressing emotions, and as a result, I am not that great at anything that involves feelings. But, I’m working on it. I’ve found a really helpful MFT who works to understand me where I am now while also making sure I feel I can move forward from there in a healthy and sustainable way. In the general history of my life, just taking the step to find a therapist was a big one. Actually going on a regular basis and not lying to her was another one.

There are, of course, things I haven’t been able to talk about yet, things I’m sure exist that I don’t even know about, things that I think are fine that aren’t, things that aren’t fine and it’s ok that they aren’t… But, again, I’m working on it. Baby steps, right?

You see, I got to the point about a year ago when I realized that no matter how “strong” and “smart” and “together” I seemed, I’d been burying sadness and pain and anger and confusion for decades and burying things doesn’t make them go away.

I’m starting this blog because therapy is great, but it isn’t enough for me. My partner lost her dad in 2008, right as we were graduating from college, and since then we’ve both done a lot of talking. We’ve talked about it with each other, we’ve talked about it with mutual friends, we’ve talked about all of the other people in our lives who have lost people, who are losing people. We’ve talked to doctors, therapists, family members, co-workers, people we meet through other friends. We’ve talked about the hurt and exhaustion and the anger. Sometimes it feels like we’ve talked about it all. And, honestly, I think talking has been the most helpful part for her.

But, lately, especially since my foray into the great, wide world of therapy, I’ve realized that it’s a very particular kind of grief we talk about. It’s her grief. It’s loss. We all have our own hurt to deal with, and I don’t intend to belittle any of that hurt or the work that goes into understanding it. What I do intend to do is talk about something that no one talks about. I intend to talk about my own journey with grief, and it’s one that I’ve been on for a lot longer than I used to admit. My grief doesn’t come from losing some else, necessarily, my grief comes from losing what I think is part of myself. I was sexually assaulted multiple times as a child. It happened the first time when I was 5, and as I tell my therapist, “that one wasn’t that bad.” It “wasn’t that bad” when I was 6, either. It was pretty damn bad when I was 10, though. So bad that I didn’t even remember most of it until I was a sophomore in college, a full decade later. Now, I’ve rarely said the words “I was sexually assaulted” or “I’m a survivor of sexual assault” — in fact, I still use a sarcastic tone in therapy or use other words to introduce the topic. I’ve never told my mom, never really told my sister, my friends don’t know, my teachers didn’t know. Even at the young age of 5 years old, I understood, somehow, that this was not something I should talk about. It was something I felt shameful about, it was something I was embarrassed about. It was something that seemed almost other-worldly to a 5 year old kid. I didn’t understand why it was wrong, I didn’t even fully understand what was happening. I just knew it was a secret. It was my secret. And I kept it.

While I kept it, I developed depression, anxiety disorder, disordered eating, masochistic behaviors, insomnia and dealt with (what I now know are) bouts of PTSD. I have nightmares sometimes. I often don’t sleep well or at all. I am hyper-aware of my surroundings and have a crazy tendency to profile everyone around me. Until recently, I thought a lot of this was normal. I didn’t realize that my need to control situations was because I had likely felt like I didn’t have any control as a kid. I didn’t realize that my suppression of emotions was probably because, at age 5, 8, 10, I didn’t know how to deal with some of them. I didn’t realize that my insane need to protect my mom, protect my sister, came from an internal desire to protect myself, too. If I can make sure everyone else is ok, that means I must be ok. How can I help other people if I need help myself?

Everything got worse after I started remembering more. I was scared to sleep because I didn’t want to dream. I was scared to be awake because it meant I had to keep pretending like everything was fine. I was both terrified of, and desperately in need of, rest. I still am. But, I’d like to think I’m making progress. I wake up some days feeling like I’m trapped in an hourglass. I go to therapy, I talk about stuff, most often not this because it’s just too damn hard, and I dig myself just a little bit further out of this hole. Then, a few hours later, something triggers my stress, something sets me off, and suddenly it’s like someone flipped the hourglass and I’ve got a whole new pile of sand rushing down on me, suffocating me, reminding me just how far I still have to go.

I guess this is the beginning for me. Who says I have to bear this burden by myself? I didn’t choose this. I didn’t do this to myself. Someone else did this to me. Fuck that. I’m the one dealing with this 20 years later. I’m the one who doesn’t sleep, I’m the one who just can’t stomach food some days, I’m the one who remains closed off, guarded, aggressive. I’m the one digging myself out of this, grain by grain, and I’m sick of shouldering this type of grief alone. So, I’m gonna talk about it. Maybe no one will read it, but I’m sick of people pushing this under the rug. I’m sick of people talking about my uterus and who I should or shouldn’t marry and what type of healthcare I have the right (ha!) to, and how if people would just work harder they’d have a better job.

Yup, that shit pisses me off, but this pisses me off more.

-FTL

Why is Trauma Llama Fuzzy?

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

Because trauma is one of those things that goes BUMP! in the night and sometimes you need a Fuzzy cuddle buddy to help you through. Cue Fuzzy Trauma Llama. Spitting not included.

I’ve decided to start putting some of my writings on This Here Internet. I’ve made this decision because I’m deep in the throes of healing from years of trauma buried under years of not-dealing-with-my-trauma. Whenever I mention to someone that I have PTSD, this look of shock mixed with confusion flashes across their face. “You were a soldier?” No, I say. And then I struggle to communicate my “T” in PTSD without needing to have a difficult and graphic conversation about rape and child sexual abuse.

One of the reasons that particular conversation is so difficult is because our culture consistently and firmly reinforces the idea that “we don’t talk about that stuff.” It’s messy, it’s painful, it draws attention to the violence we allow to happen in our communities.

The other, and often more present, reason I have a hard time explaining my “T” is not because I feel shame, embarrassment, or self-blame, but because there simply aren’t many other narratives floating around out there. Survivors of violence have to search with great intention not only to find other survivors, but to find other survivors who are talking about surviving. The prevailing narrative about rape and sexual violence is that the attacker was provoked, the attacked should feel shameful, the court won’t convict the attacker anyway… There’s so much stigma and discomfort attached to the idea that someone would talk openly about the violence they’ve suffered. It’s something that draws a stern glare, saying, “this is not appropriate talk, shut it down” or a confused and bewildered response with an “I’m so sorry….”

I say fuck that. I believe in the Jungian collective consciousness. I believe that simply throwing my story out there, written honestly, with no sugar-coating or bullshitting, creates an opportunity for someone else to grab on. Everything we say, think, feel, and do tosses a li’l nugget in that big ol’ consciousness soup. Since we’re all eating from the same soup, my one little pea, or those few grains of wild rice, might just end up in someone else’s spoon. And that’s really the beauty of this healing and talking process. I don’t think true healing can happen on a personal level without really flowing with, and leaning into, the painful stuff. I also don’t think we can heal our community without honestly and collectively addressing the same painful stuff together.

So, here’s the first bay leaf, and I’ll just keep adding to the soup. I hope you find it tasty.

-FTL

**Obligatory Logistical Comment re: the future of Fuzzy Trauma Llama — The first few things I post up here will be writings I did on paper with a pen. Eventually, I’ll run out of those and start writing new stuff up here. I do still intend to write with my pen on my paper, so for the sake of preserving the trajectory of my healing journey, I’ll put a little “written on…” message at the top of the post if it was written sometime other than the date it gets published.