Getting the jump on avoidance #reverb10

Tags

#reverb10, Anxiety, Avoidance, budget, Coping, Depression, expectations, fear of failure, horse dung, perfection, PTSD, survival

Would you believe that I’ve been avoiding the #reverb10 avoidance topic? Yep. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a good reason for that, but then aren’t reasons just justifications for our need to avoid stuff? I kinda think that could be the case…

Beyond Avoidance. What should you have done this year but didn’t because you were too scared, worried, unsure, busy or otherwise deterred from doing? (Bonus: Will you do it?)
~ December 20 prompt

You know what? I don’t believe in “should” any more. “Should” suggests that if you don’t do something, then you’re a bad person or a failure in some way and I think that’s a load of horse dung.

However, I can talk for miles about avoidance. From first-hand experience I can tell you that avoidance is a coping strategy, and if you’re living with PTSD or any other kind of anxiety or depression then you’re gonna be a master of avoidance. You’ll probably even avoid talking about the things you avoid, especially if asked a direct question.

Why? Because the things a person in that situation is avoiding – large or small – are things their subconscious considers dangerous to their mental and/or physical health.

For example: I refused to say the name of my abuser to anyone, even myself. For almost three years I couldn’t write it, think of it and I sure as hell couldn’t say it. Eventually I did, but it almost killed me to get those words out.

My most common reference to that dude was “the guy who assaulted me”. I simply avoided drawing attention to the fact I hadn’t named him and as such, most people didn’t notice. Which was great because for the longest time his name – which is Apu – held a lot of power. Power I allowed it to have, not anything real.

So avoidance is a reaction to fear, and way of surviving when we feel threatened. But the more we give in to avoiding stuff, the less likely we are to do the thing we’re avoiding.

Avoidance in 2010

For the first four months of 2010 I avoided doing much at all about being a yoga teacher. Eventually I nailed myself on that however by telling myself I had to give it a go. As terrifying as it was I knew if I didn’t at least try, I’d kick myself later.

What else have I avoided? Hmmm, I’d say lots of things. I think it’s a standard human response to being busy, stressed or fearful and the best way to combat avoidance is to pay attention to what’s going on. It gets exacerbated by mental health issues, but we all have to deal with it in some way.

As I might’ve mentioned, I’m terrible with money and detest doing my own budget (although if I didn’t have one I’d be completely lost). So every pay day I drag my heels when it comes to looking at my budget spreadsheet, moving money around and paying bills.

Usually it only lasts a few days until I give myself a nudge, but in those days I notice my ever-increasing reticence to this mundane task. There’s a haze of (fake) confusion and overwhelm that grows in direct proportion to my heel-dragging.

Kicking avoidance in the nuts

In the 11 things post, I’ve made a list of the stuff I plan to kick out of my life next year. And if I’m going to avoid anything important, I guarantee you it’ll be something that’s on that list!

I find it helps to have such a list, put it somewhere prominent and then break it down into practical activities I can do. I also use Google calendar to send Future Me reminders because it synchs with my beloved iPhone. Reminders can be about specific tasks or a point in time to review how I’m going. The important thing about the reminders is to act on them as soon as they appear, otherwise they pointlessly float on by.

The other key for me to stop avoiding things is to be okay with what I do make happen. So what if things haven’t turned out exactly I as I wanted? Discarding my expectation of perfection dispels some of the fear of failure, and allows me to act in whatever capacity I can.

And after all, if I completely avoid things I want to do because I’m afraid it won’t work… then it really won’t work, will it?

~Svasti

So… I said it…

Tags

Andre, Anxiety, Avoidance, Denial, EMDR, Grief, His name, House of cards, Loss, Therapy, Trauma, Trust

I need to come clean about something.

Actually, I don’t. I could ‘not’ write this, and not publish it either.

There’s a lot of ways I could keep this to myself.

But it would be against the spirit of my blog, in which I’ve truthfully (and often painfully) divulged much of my inner world goop. Always, always with the intent of de-clogging myself, and seeing more clearly what’s going on.

And so, I feel if I don’t get this out there, I’m lying. Mostly to myself, but sorta to those who bother to come here regularly, too. ‘Cept, if I didn’t, you’d never know. But I’d know that you don’t know. And that sucks.

So, yeah. I said it.

It wasn’t easy.

Going back a few weeks, this is my second last session in recent times. AN (my therapist) didn’t even know it was gonna be that sort of session.

Til I start talking…

You know, the reason I ended up coming to see you for EMDR therapy, was when H (my other therapist) uncovered my secret. That I never speak his name to anyone. H said she wasn’t sure how important it was for me to actually ever do it, and neither do I…

So what’s his name? AN butts in briskly.

…

[Radio silence]

And tears.

Could a red flag be waved more obviously?

AN says Okay. It’s time.

Nooooooooooooooooooo… I don’t think I can…

We start another EMDR pen-waving session. Me, stubbornly incapable of turning air into sound and forming that word. His name.

His fucking name. That stupid, meaningless word I’d allowed to assume such power. To mean other things. Become a symbol of terror.

Not saying his name it seems, became equivalent to wearing garlic, hopelessly attempting to ward off those vampirical horrors and fears, preying on my heart and mind.

Here on this blog, I’ve labelled him Andre. Where most other people I talk about have been given an initial only. Why? Well, he’s the main character of my story, right?

Right. Or is that denial? Avoidance? Being exceptionally cagey? Lying to myself?

It’s become so impossible to enunciate that I have violent psycho-somatic reactions. Coughing. Choking. Feeling like I’m about to die. An incredible sense of doom.

All of that, rather than speak that word.

Just a house of cards trying to cover for myself, willing to appear helpless rather than face it all squarely.

He was my friend.

He didn’t just take my safety. He took away my friend and replaced him with a monster. One of the few people I’d met down here that I could resonate with on some level. He was my friend, and he screwed it all up!!

I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!!

Swift-moving bile erupts from my mouth and body, scaldingly hot.

Can’t get that word out, not with all the grief and pain there. Sitting on the trigger like a trap.

AN asks me again, as we work through various emotions.

…

Still, nothing.

Mentally, I say it. Urge myself onwards. But no… nothing, again.

It’s dangerous. It’s scary. It means something… it means he wins. If I say it, I’m somehow bringing him to life again. And I’ve tried so hard to bury him, bury that night.

I’m powerless to command myself. Powerless. But it’s just a stupid name. Two syllables. Three letters. For fuck’s sake!

I can talk about anything else. Everything else. Just not this. Not this. Not…

Quiet now. I’ve sobbed til my heart is empty of tears. Raw raw, and fragile, and yet… false starts. Many of them.

His name is…

It’s…

I can mouth the letters silently. Only.

AN asks Does it start with a B?

No, it starts with an A.

That’s one letter. Only two to go.

But no. Locked into my seat in a small room with a kind but firm therapist, trying to shake me from my precarious perch. Gently, ever so gently.

My world right then, small and sharp. Pointed and painful. Dangerous, dark and terrifying.

It was coming. I wanted it to, but oh my god… the heartache, painfully beating like a foot trying to stamp its way out of my chest.

Like I’m talking to a child I say, It’s okay. Okay…

It’s okay… it’s only letters… its okay…

Why don’t I believe myself?

Just sitting and breathing now. And I can see, it’s just about courage now. That’s all that’s left. Finding a way to be unafraid long enough to squeeze it out. A little breath. A little sound.

His name. Its… its… okay, its… FUCK! Its… (wish my heart would stop aching), damn it, its….

And now it’s dead quiet in our room.

Its Apu.

AN repeats it a few times, loudly, so I can hear it, while I cry like a child. A child in shock, crying because the expression is entirely appropriate. Suitable to work through the pain. It’s shocking to say it. And hear someone say it. But somehow, its better. Already.

We finished things up, AN making sure I’m okay. And I left and went to a movie.

Then later, I wrote this…

And now you know. And I know you know. And again. It feels a little less covert. More real.

Still tender though, weeks later. Still hard to admit I’m okay with it. Even though its out there. And I’ve said it more than once now.

But guess what? I no longer choke (literally) when faced with those three letters. Not any more.

~Svasti

A tap dance

Tags

Avoidance, Denial, Meh, Permaculture, Repressed memo, Say his name damnit, Service, Therapy, Trauma symptoms, Yoga teacher

So at the end of our last session, you weren’t doing very well, prompts H (my therapist) in our appointment last week.

That’s right. I wasn’t… in a very good place at all…

It begins, accidentally sort of… on purpose sub-consciously… tapitty strike tap tap tap tap… oh but surely you want to hear about the latest with my family, my stressful job, my niece, what else is going on, what I’ve been writing on my blog… tic tac tap tap step ball change…

So how long do you think you can avoid talking about it? H gently questions me as we reach the half-way mark for the session.

Ah, oh… (friggin’ tears, just fuck right off!) I… look I know I need to face up to that stuff but really… I don’t know what to say about it right now. I still can’t say his name out loud. And I know it’s stupid! But it hurts worse than anything else I can think of, for some reason…

[Just thinking about that topic makes me feel like I’m dying. Even when I know I’m not.]

H changes tack. Okay, perhaps it’s not that important to do that right now, or ever… I’m not sure…

Yeah, well me neither.

H tries to pull me in closer; I desperately back away at speed.

We start talking about other things… and in a further attempt to avoid – I mention my annoyance with the length of time all this is taking.

This is the first time H admits that perhaps what I’m going through is somewhat more elongated than normal trauma recovery. The longer the symptoms are around, the harder it can be to shift them. But you can, and you are making progress.

Ah. So if I’d dealt with things properly in the first place…

No, don’t go there. It’s not about fault. It’s where you’re at. That’s all… you did what you could.

[Side note to Self: if I ever come across anyone else who’s been through trauma – insist they go get some help straight up. No matter what. Coz this royally blows…]

Uh huh. Well, I’m so over it.

So instead I mention how the anxiety and panic attacks seem to have increased a lot since this whole repressed memory thing. The rollercoaster of my emotional highs and lows right now (I used to be so even-tempered) is particularly unstable. Now much more so than before.

I even spill a little bit… about my general thoughts on not particularly caring if I was annihilated any time soon. I mean, I’m not really a part of anyone’s life exactly… just kind of an add-on. Y’know. Its all one great big dirty pile of… meh.

And… how I watch and witness these insane feelings and thoughts of negativity, completely neutrally (in regards to myself), insecurities running wild and free. I witness, and I do everything in my power not to dive in, but they’re there, all the same. Non-stop.

It takes very little to kick it all off and then… it’s a hike back to base camp.

Tip tap kick spin tap tap tap…

H writes alot today.

I know its devious. I feel a quiet satisfaction that we’re not talking about the other thing. It’s the first time I’ve consciously avoided talking about anything with H. I’m just not ready. And I hate that.

But somehow, perhaps because I’m letting some of the other less worrying negativity out of the bag… we get around to talking about what I actually want to do with myself.

If I’m not, y’know, gonna end up under a truck any time soon.

The words flow out of my mouth faster than I can think.

I wanna become a yoga teacher and a permaculturist. And I wanna… help under-privileged kids somehow. I want to help them learn more of the world than they might do otherwise, open more possibilities… But, I feel like I’ve got a long way to go before I can get there.

So is H my therapist or my life coach? Suddenly she’s got me focusing on what I’d really like to do. Things that would really make life feel like it was worthwhile. In a word: service.

And I still got away with avoiding the friggin’ subject. For now. Phew!

But it was interesting turn of conversation, all the same…

Round of applause. Bow. Cue curtain.

~Svasti