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The Whole World Disappeared

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I have been reading The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel Van Der Kolk, MD which is a fascinating look at trauma and PTSD through a neuroscience lens. The author was involved in the first PTSD studies through Harvard in the early 80s and he co-founded the  National Child Traumatic Stress Network in 1999. I am still processing a lot of the neuro aspects (boy does my frontal lobe needs some fine tuning), and I’m about to start reading the final section which guides you through the healing process.  Before starting that final section, I’d like to share quoted excerpts about trauma and childhood sexual abuse that really stuck with me, to the point that I marked up a book for the first time in years.  (As much as I would like to react to  these quotes, that would take forever and would be quite draining. I think I should choose a few and write about them when I’m ready.)  What has stuck with me the most? In the most simplistic terms, trauma basically rewires your brain, hormones, and often ke
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You Know I Just Closed My Eyes

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I don’t know if it’s the meds, hormones, depression, pandemic, trauma, impending mid-life crisis or what. But I have been feeling completely disjointed and out of sorts these past couple weeks. I don’t know who I am. I relied on pop culture to define me throughout all the stages of my life. (Ahem, see above....) Well, except for this most recent one: motherhood I love being a mom to these kids. I may be an older mom, but I also know that I was as ready as I was ever going to be. The pandemic may be making me a little batty, but I think all parents are going through that right now.  It’s just rough. We barely had a village to begin with and now we really don’t.  My need for defining pop culture started slowly slipping away as my trauma started pushing more towards the forefront with each child. Postpartum hormones were certainly a bitch, but it was the hormone crash and change after my milk dried up that changed me both times.  The time period was 6 months for both kids. I gained weight
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The Broom Closet

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I am not a religious person. I was baptized when I was 5 to get into Catholic school which only lasted 2 years. Organized religion and I don’t get along. Good for you, not for me.  I am overly logical and fully skeptical leading me to have a very hard time with blind faith.  Every time I have to be in a church or synagogue for varying reasons, I keep wondering "will this be the day that something finally clicks?"  Instead, I leave more jaded than ever.   There were many people in my life since my college years that practiced Wicca and/or witchcraft. The crystals people gave me sat in a jewelry box, and I unpacked mystical stuff at the store without flipping out like my coworkers. Most incense gave me a headache and I had a hard time staying in magic shops for more than a few minutes.  I did meditation/light hypnosis and rubenfeld synergy with my therapist. I politely sat through psychics and medium stage shows.  I was freaked out while watching Willow go dark magick after Tar
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Tell Me Where Have You Been

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I can’t dance But oh do I love dancing  I wasn’t as confident as Audrey Horne  Dancing in front of a diner or her father’s hotel  But I would just let loose in my room I didn’t know moves Did it matter?  I just felt the music Even when I was in my darkest moments I still broke out the Right Stuff shuffle  My first real hip grind song was Town Without Pity (thanks Look Who’s Talking) I would pretend to be Molly and wonder If I would ever have a James burst through the door  I sure didn’t see that behavior at home  My father only got close to my mom to strangle her  I saw him kissing his girlfriend with my glasses off From that point forward, everything changed I still danced The music changed  The pop faded, the hard rock pounded The music thumped through my soul The videos fully awakened my burgeoning sexuality  I was shy and scared yet personally experimental  I knew what I liked But would anyone else? It became an obsession I could never talk about it with others.  I stumbled on an e
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Father of Mine

I have randomly written about my father over the years.  The pattern always stayed the same:  "He was a sonofabitch, he beat up his disabled wife and little daughter - such a big man, right??  Ugh, it was a blessing he passed.  Yup, he just beat me up, that's all.  Christ, he wasn't that much of a monster!" But what if he was? What if he had done such reprehensible acts to his daughter that she can only remember them during her night terrors that have been incredibly active for the past 15 years?  And in a bitter twist, she can't remember any  of her parasomnia, instead depending on her husband to fill her in with the phrases she says in her sleep that make him want to vomit?   (I won't specify the reprehensible acts that I've deduced.  That's just unnecessarily cruel for all of us and is meant for a private paper journal. Vague allusion will be the name of the game here.)   But yes.  He WAS that much of a monster.  I don't blame him for all my iss
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