There will never be a book

Writing

Writing (Photo credit: jjpacres)

I love to write.

Although I do not have enough time, and sometimes I lack ideas. I love to see the words form, and sentences get meaning. Writing this blog has been so important for me. The issues that I managed to put into words, all those difficult things that I never could talk about. I wrote. I could hardly look at comments and “likes”; it made me really nervous. In retrospect, writing helped me to make all the dangerous stuff less dangerous. I found that I could think about it without ending in hopeless flashbacks. It was never good, to write, as in “getting it off my chest”. But I think that by writing, I got to use something not so closely connected to feelings, I had to be specific and clear, to the point. Set all feelings aside for a while, though my hands were shaking, and I cried sometimes. I had to plan, to decide what to write about as I sat down to do it.

‘You should write a book’, my therapist said.

Maybe I will someday. But not about this, not about, PTSD, child abuse, insomnia, flashbacks. Me, as a child, can rest now, I think. I feel ok about it all, I never would have guessed that last spring, before I started this blog. 🙂

You are all an inspiration. Thanks 🙂

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So; life’s like a river. Things passes by, and we move on

myWPEdit Image

I am leaving therapy.

It has been some years. Getting ready to let go of that helping hand, is a long process. I think I decided that the time had come after summer vacation. However, I was not in a very enjoyable mood just then, returning to work, feeling the pain everywhere, from being so busy. But it was really just a bad mood. No depressions, nothing not normal about it.

So last week we decided to end treatment, or talks, as it has been lately. I have two more appointments, one in November and one just before Christmas, I think I will try to change that to after Christmas. Christmas is never a good time for me, too much family, to many memories and feelings.

I’ll get back to more thoughts on this later.

So; life’s like a river. Things passes by, and we move on

Acnowledgment, sort of…

Sometimes, if something very bad has happened, people just hide it away. I did that too. As I have written about earlier, I started remembering after he died. I don’t know how many years it took for me to understand that all these horrible things actually did happen. Still, if a flashback has sort of new content, I doubt that it is true. I think it just can’t be…
I have been very open about everything with my youngest daughter, and she discussed this with her cousin, my niece. Both of them are grown up. My niece then told my daughter about anmemory she has, of him, my father. Nothing very bad, really, but an incident when she as a child (she was seven when he died) had THAT feeling. That one, when even as a small child she knew, that this is uncomfortable, intrusive, wrong.
I am so sorry she had to have this memory. But it is also a relief for me.
It’s not me.
It happened. My story is true, my feelings are not crazy, there is logic.

Bad bad feelings?

English: Toy balloons Русский: Воздушные шарики

Up and away, never to be seen again (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I really hate it, when I get into those «if only» thoughts and regrets. Why is it so hard to accept the past, and be OK with it? Guess that’s the essence of it all. It’s no problem to see that what happened to me was so wrong. I guess I used a few years just accepting that it happened. And a few years trying to find ways out of it.

Sometimes I think I have found it, the way out, and some days it is just lost again. Some days there are things that trigger feelings and memories, which I wish to be gone forever.

Some days I need help to see things in perspective.

I try to meditate, I try to live by all the mindfulness ideas, and know that it helps. But some days are just different.

I wish I could put all of these feelings in a bin bag, tie it up and throw it away. Never to be seen again.

To my:
Anger
Shame
Loss
Sorrow
Regret

Please leave. Now.

Another strong movie; Incendies

Incendies

Incendies (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As we are into movies, this one should have trigger warnings all over. It is about a pair of grown up twins left with the request from their dying mother, to find her story, their father, and their brother. She was once an immigrant from the Middle East, and a victim of rape.

She never told her story to anyone. But as she is dying, she needs for them to know. The movie takes you through some really rough patches, and the truth is nothing but gruesome.

This is one of the greatest movies I have ever seen. There are so much I can relate to, though I never grew up in Lebanon or experienced war. But all those other things, her feelings, the flashbacks, her life as a victim, the secrets. ‘Incendies‘ is a reward winning movie, and I thought about it this morning, since it seems most of my readers are English speaking, you might not have heard of this one. It’s in French, but a Canadian movie.

I can’t say “enjoy”, because the story is so strong. But I can say “have a cry, and be touched”, and “learn more about abuse, PTSD, life, choices”.

I love this movie. It gives me hope. I guess it is partly the reason for this blog. If I should die, my story is in here. I dared to tell someone, and I have shared this blog with my youngest daughter. They will never have to dig so deep for family history and all the reasons why, as I have.

Have you seen it? What did you think?

We cannot let go of the pain, we have to carry it with us forever. That is what it means to live.

Cover of "Triage"

Cover of Triage

I don’t know if you’ve seen the movie. It’s called Triage, and is about a photojournalist going to Kurdistan, to work. He and his best friend go together, on a quite horrible trip to the war zone. When he gets back, something is not quite right, and eventually, he meets the grandfather of his wife, who has dealt with this kind of trouble before.

‘We cannot let go of the pain, we have to carry it with us forever. That is what it means to live’, he says. ‘Now, I can help you to live with this pain’.

And he does. It is a very tough and touching movie. Recommend it!

Listening to that wise old man saying this, made me think. I actually wanted to play back to find the correct words, but found it on the web instead.

What is done, is done. We always carry our experiences with us somehow. Sometimes we expect too much of friends and others we are around every day. We expect understanding, forgiveness maybe, compassion, but so many times, we find ourselves alone with our feelings and hurt.

What you can change is the way to cope with those feelings. It happened. How many more years is going to be spent inside those feelings, so alone?

I have written before about flashbacks and PTSD, and all the other dreadful things that follow. I’m not sure if I can ever live (happily ever after) without expecting flashbacks to reappear. If what it takes is ‘to live with this pain’, it’s ok. I’ll be fine. I’ve found a way to make it less painful.

I cannot make it undone, however hard I should try.

Death as routine?

Gravestone of William Butler Yeats, Poet and S...

Yeats, Poet and Statesman, at Drumcliffe, County Sligo. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We had a discussion about family and stuff last night, my youngest daughter (she’s 21) and me. Our family has had so many funerals to go to. We talked about how this one is just another one to be arranged. And that’s it, sort of.

She made a list.
Grandma
Uncle H
Grand uncle R
Grand aunt A
Step grandma
One friend
Friend of boyfriend
Best friends mother
Step-grandma #2

My list:
Aunt H
Mum
Grandpa
Grandma
Grandpa (mums side of the family)
Grandma (mums side of the family)
My father
Uncle S
Father-in-law
Aunt A
Brother in law H (we never had much contact though)
Good friend O
Mother –in- law
Uncle R
Step mother
Mother-in-law #2
Aunt M

That’s 17 during my 48 years. No wonder funerals are getting to be routine.

We do remember them, all of us who are still here.

I feel just empty inside, thinking about it. And the pain  I  endured, sort of makes it impossible to grieve. Or maybe it is something else. It might be that it has never been good, my family. It has been hurt, pain, loss, and so many other of those bad bad feelings. Have I ever felt loved by the ones in the generation before me? I don’t know, I won’t dwell on it right now anyway.

Here’s to them all. Honour, respect, acknowledgement. You probably did your best, and if you didn’t, well, you might not have known better. I hope you live life to the fullest. All of you but one.

Those dancing days are over
Come, let me sing into your ear;
Those dancing days are gone,
All that silk and satin gear;
Crouch upon a stone,
Wrapping that foul body up
In as foul a rag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

Curse as you may I sing it through;
What matter if the knave
That the most could pleasure you,
The children that he gave,
Are somewhere sleeping like a top
Under a marble flag?
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

I thought it out this very day.
Noon upon the clock,
A man may put pretence away
Who leans upon a stick,
May sing, and sing until he drop,
Whether to maid or hag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup,
The moon in a silver bag.

William Butler Yeats