Another mild flashback, not as strong

[isilme]

So we buried a friend last week.  I never pried too much into his past, he was older, eccentric, and all I really knew was that he had an ex of some sort based on some of his jokes.  He was former Navy, buried in full honors, and it turned out he had 2 sons, different mothers, and THE EX was at the funeral with a boy about 15 that was our friend's youngest son.  The poor kid was the one handed the flag and rifle shells from the salute.

I don't know the details, just that the boy had not grown up knowing his dad.  This is sad, but I can't tell who left who and how.  She may have insisted he have no contact, and I'm not going to ask now.  All I know is that he was good to me and my husband, and he had lots of friends present who will all miss him.  And I feel bad for the kid, because the person I knew as his dad was a good friend and he never got to know him.

But, other than the sadness of the entire event, I had an old memory come back to me, as a kid about 15 years old, thrust into a room of strangers called "family", when my dad tossed me in a car and we drove 18 hours and left mom. 

My dad's family never really contacted me.  They had little to do with us, I will never know why, but they had a closeness with each other from simply being around each other even if only for holidays.  I was a stranger.  They were strangers.  We lived with my dad's parents while he looked for work and a place to live.

A few days/weeks after ending up in Texas, dad planned to head back to Tennessee to get the rest of our things from the apartment.  I'd planned on going.  I wanted to referee in case mom was home, and prevent anyone from getting hurt, going to jail, and yes, to make sure I got any of my own things left behind.  We'd just been evicted from our house in Florida 6 months prior, and I'd lost a lot of material possessions then, only to lose even more this time around. 

I was told no.  I could not go, I was to be sent to a weekend water park trip with no money, with an aunt and uncle I knew by name alone, and their kids and cousins from my uncle's (totally 100% unrelated to me) side of the family.  So.  I'm with strangers.  I'm chucked off on a 3-hour road trip.  Beholden to them for food, feeling guilty for ordering anything at all at restaurants.  I think I slept on a floor in a hotel, I really can't remember, which is odd, I tend to remember everything.  I remember air mattresses, tow red headed girls, and the one girl cousin I actually had heard about before, all being in one room, maybe?  I had to have a swimsuit bought for me.  I was an overweight, shy, awkward, teenage girl, with glasses, swimsuit shopping in a Walmart with strangers.  Kinda horrifying.

I made it through that weekend, did my best to not seem strange or rude, but it was damned uncomfortable.  I later learned my dad and his dad grabbed what they wanted, supposedly my mom OD'ed again and was in the hospital, she denies this, but who can tell with either of them what is the truth?  She claimed she got out, found herself homeless with no furniture, heirloom items were smashed in a dumpster like her dining table.  I know Dad made it to Texas with enough furniture we were able to have my bedroom stuff and his (and mom's) in the apartment we got later.  And later all my furniture was taken from me anyway and given to my stepmothers granddaughter.  I was put in her guest room, on a bed with springs poking through the mattress.  I just slept on top of the comforter, wrapped it around me.  It never occurred to me to mention it to anyone.  How messed up is that?  I accepted a broken bed, with sharp bits of the springs sticking up quietly witout comment.  And people wonder that I had to learn to not be a doormat.  I was so insecure I did not assume I'd have a home day by day. 

I just felt bad for the kid, getting that flag, surrounded by his dad's friends, and a few uncles none of us had ever met.  They flew in from Florida, and left that day.  I have a small inkling how weird that must have been.  I hope he's okay. 

[Harri]

Hi Isilme.  I can see how the situation with that young man at the funeral mirrors the one you had with your unknown relatives long ago.  What a difficult situation then and now it is so sad for that kid.  Again, I am sorry you lost your friend. 

Your line about shopping at Walmart made me shudder for young Isilme.  Horrifying to a teenager... .and I would feel that now as an adult.  It speaks to vulnerability to me and abandonment. 

Your parents weren't there.  Even when they were there, they weren't *there*.   

Do you see this memory as a good thing, to remember I mean?  Does being able to sympathize with the 15 year old translate to your being able to sympathize for younger Isilme (or is that already a given?)?

[isilme]

I'm not sure - I seem to have squashed my life into movies of the week about someone else.  Many of my memories are not emotional, they are just images and events.  I really hope I am not actually a sociopath because I cope(d) by turning off feelings.  I'm scared to be like that.  H did not seem disturbed by me crying, he usually is. 

I spent a lot of time crying - I don't face death well at all.  I just saw the boy, understood who he was, and my friend's estrangement from his own family, plus his son, and his son's being thrust into this all felt so bad.  I think the Florida uncles plan to reach out to him, even if it's just online.  I think that's a good thing - say what you will about Facebook, it's a good way to keep a safe amount of space between contact. 

Our friend was a happy go lucky kind of guy, never had a harsh word, even THE EX was just referred to in silly jokes or stories, nothing angry, or full of venom.  He brightened most gtehrings, and could cook, to boot.  And she seemed really struck by the death, it was a car accident, so it's not like she hated him, she was in contact with his roommate who seems to have made most of the arrangements. 

I'm praying for the boy - I think he will be okay.  I hope he will. 

**And the Walmart trip wasn't even the weirdest.  My dad's mother insisted on taking me bra shopping.  I had very little by way of clothing - it did not occur to me to ask when things were wearing out.  Anyway, grandma got mad I would not let her in the dressing room with me to try on a bra.  I was like, "I just met you!  WTH are you thiking, I'd prance around topless in front of a strange lady?"  (I did not say this).  Oh man, that was all just weird, living with them.  She was a "bathroom door open" kind of person.      yup.   

[Harri]

I really hope I am not actually a sociopath because I cope(d) by turning off feelings.  I'm scared to be like that.

I understand your fear I really do and I do not mean to invalidate you but (!) Have you ever looked up the characteristics of a sociopath?  You are not it.  Not even close.  You have empathy, you are responsible, I get the impression you are honest, I don't find you manipulative and you are not cold, callous and calculating.   to you.  Re-read your post:  you feel empathy, concern, sadness, good will, ... .

Good grief about the dressing room.  No!  Horrifying for a young girl.  I am sorry that happened to you.

One comment I want to make about your flashbacks not having emotions... .I thought mine were like that too but it turns out the intensity of my emotions were too intense and I shut them down so quickly I did not even know they were there.  A lot of the ways I dissociated was to go numb or emotionless.  It gets better.

[zachira]

I am not surprised that you felt concerned for this boy who never knew his father. You thought the father was a kind man and you are sad that the boy missed knowing his father, and suspect that maybe he is not being treated so well by his mother. What kind of parent deprives their child of a caring parent? So it seems natural that you started to remember some painful events from childhood and in your heart hope that this boy has not experienced or will experience anything like what happened to you. It is so normal for adults to want to help and care for children. I find it healing to help other children, especially those that  have parents who parentify their children instead of putting the children's needs first. 

[Learning2Thrive]

I just felt bad for the kid, getting that flag, surrounded by his dad's friends, and a few uncles none of us had ever met.  They flew in from Florida, and left that day.  I have a small inkling how weird that must have been.  I hope he's okay.

This pretty much tells me you are not a sociopath, isilme. You show empathy and compassion and desire for the boy’s wellbeing.

I’m glad the flashback was milder this time. I’m sorry for the discomfort they cause but I can empathize. My own mother was a bathroom door remains open ALL THE TIME kind of person. It was common for her to come in and watch us take showers, especially after we became teenagers. Blech.

You are working so hard through all this. Please take good care of you.

Sending gentle hugs and compassionate smiles. 

L2T

[Harri]

zachira said: 

So it seems natural that you started to remember some painful events from childhood and in your heart hope that this boy has not experienced or will experience anything like what happened to you.

What a great way to look at this and I really like the way you said it. 

L2T said:

This pretty much tells me you are not a sociopath, isilme.

See... .now you have two people telling you the same thing!  I do get the self doubt though.  I think it might be the inner critic.  Maybe re-read Pete Walkers page on silencing the Inner Critic?  Or is this just an occasional thing that is generally not an issue?

[isilme]

It's self-doubt.  Most days I don't feel I'm suffering from the same issues my parents had.  But, I also know never questioning if you're crazy is usually a sign you might be crazy. 

So I worry about things like shutting off emotions, or not reacting (or at least not in real-time, that's a privilege to me, reacting in a moment, not in an "appropriate" time).  I watch other people, and sometimes they seem so loud, impulsive, reactive.  I feel like I should be from Victorian England, quiet, controlled, mostly reserved, by comparison.  But I don't know how to be any other way. 

Like this - other people are just loud to me.  Like some just are loud talkers.  Some shout with glee or anger at the drop of a hat.  Some can't contain exclamations at all.  For a long time it looked like people were overreacting for attention, doing it on purpose.  But I am wondering if I am just too hypersenitive?

Part of my rules for living with my parents was to remain as quiet as possible.  I would watch TV on the lowest bar possible, often sitting on the floor right in front to be able to hear.  I learned to operate in semi-darkness to avoid waking mom up (as if I could, but dad was insistent I not disturb her and thereby him, and I knew him finding me moving around the house, even if it was not bedtime, annoyed him).  It was also just best to escape notice during periods of heavy dysregulation.  So, a simple task like making a bowl of cereal in the early morning or late evening was a quiet creep down the stairs, knowing which ones squeak, use the fridge for light, get a plastic bowl because it won't clink, muffle the cereal as it pours, pour the milk just right to not make an additional noise or cause a spill, quietly find a spoon, and sneak into the basement family room (my toys were always relegated to being as far downstairs as possible, usually in some sort of finished or unfinished basement) so eating does not wake anyone.  Then wake for them to wake, or move quietly upstairs if I needed to get dressed, go back to bed, whatever.  I hated the basement bathroom in every home that had one, it was always kinda scary, but sometimes it was preferred to trying to make it to the main one upstairs.

Heaven forbid if I wanted something warm and needed the microwave.  I just ate things cold a lot to be quiet, or weird stuff, like slathering honey onto bread until real food could be made.  I get funny looks if I try that now. 

But I never saw how strange it was to feel a need to be so quiet, and honestly, loud noises scare me a bit, loud environments.  I can do okay at like a concert, but still, it takes a while to acclimate.  Loud TV bothers me a lot.  H's mom likes to have it on, loud, and try to talk to us, and I can't focus, feel like nails are being scraped across a chalkboard.  I know it's a type of PTSD, but it seems so silly. 

We have a couple of friends like to craft and create things as much as H and I do.  We invite them over, and right now, sewing is a big part of the projects we are undertaking.  Any sewing means you will poke your fingers, and might even bleed.  Sewing on leather, it's almost a given, because of the force you need to use to get the needle even into pre-drilled holes.  I sew, poke myself, even bleed, grab a band-aid, keep going, without comment - it's sewing, it happens, comments don't help, and can even make the other person for whom it's being done feel bad.  H, and our two friends, loudly react to any poking of the needle or any discomfort.  It's just odd to me.  It almost seems overly dramatic, but then I wonder, am I just the odd one, underly-dramatic? 

I guess I just have to accept that I will forever be making note of things that weren't "right", or that my perceptions of "normal" are just off.  I can't expect the world to be quiet because I had to be. 

[Harri]

For a long time it looked like people were overreacting for attention, doing it on purpose.  But I am wondering if I am just too hypersenitive?

I don't think you are being too anything actually.  You are being you, who you are right now and that is okay.  Pretty cool actually.  Our pasts definitely affected all of us in lots of ways.  That is okay as long as it is not hurting you or others.  another important thing to be careful with is that you don't use any differences to turn about and be harsh with yourself.  Put aside, if you can, the question of being hyper/hypo whatever.  It just is.  I just wanted to put that out there in case you needed to be reminded! 

You describe trying to be quiet so well I could feel the tension and the fear while reading.  I think we have this experience in common, or at least aspects of it.  I am sorry you had to do that.  It was horrible and those early experiences had an impact. 

I guess I just have to accept that I will forever be making note of things that weren't "right", or that my perceptions of "normal" are just off.  I can't expect the world to be quiet because I had to be.

I agree that you/we will probably notice the differences between us and others, but those differences don't make us abnormal (or them for that matter).  Sometimes I am okay with loud places and other times I'm not.  It just is.  And yes, unfortunately we can't always turn down the freakin' volume! 

[zachira]

For many years, I was terribly sensitive to loud sounds and bright lights especially during the night, and had terrible nightmares. I regularly woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, after dreaming I was falling and falling and would die when I hit the ground. I always woke up before hitting the ground. After years of therapy, I now sleep through the night, am not particularly bothered by bright lights or loud sounds. Just my story and what has worked for me. Those of us who grew up with abusive parents, have so many sensitivities to certain scenarios, and seem to have a magnified experience of some of our senses.

[isilme]

zachira,

I am working to improve sleep maintenance insomnia.  I have realized over the years I do not sleep appropriately?  I am a hypervigilant sleeper, often barely passing from light sleep much of a work night.  I sleep best at the wrong times:  6am-noon.  3pm-6pm.  I can actually dream, I seem to go through the full range of sleep stages. 

I think I can tell why now - the parents fought a lot at night.  I can tell from BPDH that night time seems to be a trigger for dysregulation.  Maybe the body is tired so the mind races or is on edge, I know for H, there is a panic about time passing and he has a thing where it only really changes days if you fall asleep, anyway - the fact he seems prone to being manic and "going down a rabbit hole" right before bed leads me to believe my parents were similar, and it likely sparked many of their fights and conflicts.  Also, dad had to get up really early to commute in, so if my mom was having a manic episode, I can see how his anger at being kept up could be triggered, and then reflected by her instability.  So, it was loud enough I'd hear it, and being the caretaker in the family, I felt obligated to somehow stop it.  Shame them, try to mediate, reason, intervene if things got physical and I was big enough.  Mom also tended to need late night trips to the ER for her migraines, where she'd demand a shot of Demerol and some Seconal to bring home to polish off.  Surprisingly, until I was over 12, they felt it was inappropriate to leave me at home while they drove 45 min to the only hospital that would give her the shot (the others accused her of being an addict) so I'd get tossed into the car and left alone in a waiting room for hours while they were in the back. 

So, I seem to listen while I am asleep, to be ready to jump up at a moments notice.  The daytime sleeping, I hate it.  I don't like being a full-on night owl, it's depressing in a way, and I need to function when other people are awake.  H gets anxious, trying not to move or wake me, not understanding I can't help it and also, if I can quickly determine he is what woke me, a cat, the train, the dogs next door, whatever it's not a threat, and all is well, I'm okay. 

I know now that the time I can sleep best correspond with not having an alarm clock set/work or other obligation, and also, I was so exhausted in high school I'd grab a nap after school if possible but had to be awake and have chores done before dad got home.  He hated me sleeping, told me I was just lazy. so, 3-6 was "safe. and 6am-noon is "safe" if I am not going to work.

Anyway.  I have been working on sleep hygiene, making sure I am giving myself permission to sleep.  I am also using homeopathic remedies (my mother's addiction and attempts to get me hooked since I was her-the-sequel make me scared of anything stronger) and am having some success.  I may never sleep like a rock unless i'm sick, but I can get more than 4 hours a work night - working my way to about 6. 

H surprised me once, I was fighting a bad infection and was pretty heavily medicated on cough medicine and whatever else they sent me home with, and I was actually deeply asleep when he came in the room and found me snoring.  He did not know what to make of it, usually, I stir the minute he opens the door (I hear him turn off the TV the living room, but it's a tiny house), and it actually startled me to find him standing over me trying to get me to roll over.  I now pretend not to hear him as he tries so hard to be quiet and it's not his fault my brain is wired like it is. 

[zachira]

It is so hard to struggle with sleep deprivation and sleeping during the day because it too hard to get enough sleep at night. Many trauma survivors feel more aroused during the night possibly because it was when they were truly alone with their perpetrator/s whereas during the day there were other people around. What did wonders for my sleep challenges was EMDR therapy which is quite challenging and can be very uncomfortable. Hope your sleep continues to improve. I admire your courage to go forward. Keep us posted on how you are doing.