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Svasti: A Journey From Assault To Wholeness

~ Recovery from PTSD & depression + yoga, silliness & poetry…

Svasti: A Journey From Assault To Wholeness

Tag Archives: Confusion

Branches vs roots

08 Monday Nov 2010

Posted by Svasti in Therapy

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Anxiety, Bad Old Days, branches, Change, clarity, cloud of doom, Confusion, Courage, dread, Expunged, Fear, gunk, Kinesiology, Nourishment, Panic, peace, Purged, remnants, roots, routed, self-honesty, source, That Which Has Been, Universe, wading boots

This entire universe and everything it contains comes from the same place. This I believe unreservedly.

Our roots are common, but it’s difficult to keep that in mind when you think of yourself as one of the branches somewhere at the top of the tree, far removed from the root system even as it ultimately provides the nourishment we need to exist.

We forget, and find it hard to identify with the whole tree, let alone the source of life that animates us. And we think that if we lose all or part of a branch or twig that we associate with ourselves, it’s a catastrophe. That life as we know it is over…

We get stressed, freaked out and whatever other reactions seem appropriate at the time. But this is just change. And our response to change is only as severe as our association with those things that are a-changing. To feel better, we have to learn to let go.

This concept can be applied to our lives at all kinds of macro and micro levels. Easier said than done sometimes, however!

And I’m reminding myself of this quite purposefully today as I prepare for this evening’s appointment with Kerry from Awaken Kinesiology.

I made the booking last month when I realised I was having some sort of intense energetic response to my five year anniversary. Because I want the remnants of all that gunk routed. Purged. Expunged. So bring it on!!

However, my body has other ideas and is bestowing a rather visceral response in anticipation of this appointment: fear in my belly, anxiety in my heart, confusion and panic in my mind (making things all cloudy and fluffy).

Seems crazy, this little cloud of doom I’m sporting on this gloriously blue-skied and sunny Spring day. The sunshine is matter of fact and reminds me that everything is going to be just fine. Yet, this morning I had to drag my sorry ass out of bed, like the Bad Old Days.

I know it’s all good and I WANT this for myself. Clearly though, there’s more than a few bits and pieces quietly haunting my insides. I function pretty normally now (whatever that means!) compared to how things have been. And maybe for some people that’d be enough. But it’s not enough for me, not by half.

So I’m pulling on my wading boots to trek through the muck. Time for another clean up, you see.

And it has to be done, despite the physical experience of dread that accompanies such ventures. This post is by way of gathering a little courage and exposing what’s going on in my body and mind for what it is: fear of change, even if that change is for the good.

I’m not just the branches, I’m the roots too. Especially the roots!

So here’s to more clarity, self-honesty, peace and freedom from the corset-like confines of That Which Has Been.

And here’s to a little more peace for y’all on this lovely day, too.

Om Shanti!

~Svasti xo

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Response to BlissChick – part 1

22 Friday May 2009

Posted by Svasti in Depression, Health & healing, Unspoken Conversations

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Abuse, Anger, Anxiety, Assault, Confusion, Depression, Family, Fear, Rant, Relationships, Surrender, Trust

In case you missed it, my world was well and truly rocked by BlissChick’s incredible post on depression, and some of her subsequent posts…

So here’s sort of an abridged version of her post (in italics), and my replies…

…People on anti-depressants are, from my own experience of them, still sad. Why? …Because they are putting a band aid on a broken limb…

I’ve never considered medication seriously, and the question has only been put to me once.

I understand there may be short term relief, but like you, I think it’s not something that ever fixes anything. So, I’m not interested in that path. Sure, it means things might be a little rougher for me, but I’m willing to tough it out.

…our souls are made of stories… They must be integrated into your essence or they will always be there. No amount of positive thinking will get rid of them. No amount of medication, eating “right,” supplements, herbals, or exercise… you will react because of them; you will be their slave…

I can see the truth this statement. Oh yes.

When I started writing my blog, I thought I was just writing about being assaulted. But what I learned along the way is, I’m actually writing about everything in my life that led up to that one fateful night.

Fateful, because it was a turning point, even if I didn’t start doing anything about it for almost three years.

…( (Honesty + Witness) + (Compassion + Patience) ) x Commitment

The hardest part of this formula is the first variable: Honesty about our stories.

We do everything we can to avoid this. We try to gloss over our stories… The first question to ask yourself is this: Who are you trying to protect by not being honest and why are you going to such lengths to protect them?

I was protecting both my parents, trying so hard to be who they needed me to be …a parent or both parents are exactly who most people are trying to protect…

I’ve really, really shied away from looking at my parents as neglectful. The physical abuse came from my brother, but it was ignored. And my parents were, and remain busy with their own emotional issues. It’s been that way for pretty much my whole life.

I haven’t wanted to admit these things so openly. I’ve wanted to accept them as they are and do what I can to compensate, because it’s cleaner, simpler. Because I know they won’t change. And because there’s nothing to be gained from blaming them for how they are.

…Regardless of someone else’s past, they were cruel to you. YOU were the child. YOU had the right to be the child. Your parents were not and are not your responsibility…

The crucial part, the part I’ve protected the most, has been to avoid admitting my parents were kind of shitty at their parenting job. I still have trouble with that.

I feel like, as a grown up, I should just take responsibility for myself and be done with it.

But perhaps that’s the point – how can the adult truly take responsibility when their inner child is having trouble being heard?

…Trying to understand your abuser is a classic psychological survival method… Your mind has to try to understand why this person is treating you this way, so you start to feel badly for them…

I recognise this. I do. My brother. My mother. My father. I never understood. I still don’t. And I feel bad I can’t be part of the “let’s all be close and loving” fantasy family relationship. I can’t be the “friend” my mother wants, either, especially considering she’s still self-centred and not interested in whatever I might be going through…

Every time my dad loudly has a conversation in front of me with my brother-in-law, about the importance of family (the same one on repeat), I want to be sick. Because he says those things and I KNOW he’s really chastising me indirectly for not being in touch a lot.

But heck, here I am on the brink of bankruptcy and where are they? NOWHERE.

When I was assaulted and hurting and hiding for years… THEY DID NOTHING.

What did they do when I complained again and again and again about my brother hitting me? MADE HIM APOLOGISE EACH TIME BUT NEVER STOPPED IT.

There’s more, much more. YES, they were neglectful and unsupportive parents. YES THEY WERE!!

And YES! I DO feel badly for them. I know they both had unhappy childhoods. I know my mother’s father was an alcoholic and her mother was controlling and manipulative. And that my father’s mother was the most self-centred person I’ve ever met. And my father’s father was adopted and emotionally vacant.

I expect less from them as a result. And yet, if ever I am blessed with children, I know I’d do whatever I can to make sure they feel loved and adored.

…You must be heard and seen… As an adult going through your stories and trying to order them and integrate them, a witness is the person who will give you that “real” feeling…

My witness, of course, has been Marcy. But I have also been graced with others…

Unfortunately I don’t have a ‘Marcy’ in my life. Instead, I write. And write, and write, so I can breathe.

But, those stories are slowly coming out on my blog. Which makes my blog readers my witnesses, I guess (hope you folks don’t mind!).

So witness this: I feel crappy about writing this stuff, like I’m betraying my family. Making a mountain out of a mole hill. It feels wrong and childish to sit here and write about things that have hurt my feelings over so many years and that, truth be told, still hurts my feelings.

And I’m not even half-way done yet! Not even close… however, I don’t know if it’s all for public consumption. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

Read part 2…

~Svasti

BlissChick’s story

15 Friday May 2009

Posted by Svasti in Depression

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Anxiety, BlissChick, Confusion, Depression, Family, Recovery, Relationships, Stress, Truth, Unemployed

I am tired. And stressed to the eyeballs. I still don’t have a job, and very soon I’m about to be very, very broke unless the universe interferes. I’m working hard in so many ways, and I’m being assailed and tested constantly right now, on the planes of mental health, spiritual life, family and friends and… kinda everything. My belief in myself. The core of who I think I am.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that despite all of that, I’ve just read a marvellous post by BlissChick: Can I Get a Witness: Overcoming Depression through Story.

Go and read it now!!

There’s some highly truthful truths within that post, stuff I’ve thought about timidly under the covers with the flashlight on, but never ever out in the open.

Christine (BlissChick) and her partner Marcy (Ordinary Enchantment) really have got somethin’ goin’ on. Together, they’re a force to be reckoned with (not to mention their wonderful and wise pets). I hope some day I get as lucky as these gals, in meeting that person, where we just fit into each other’s lives. And support each other with strength and love when we need it most.

I read BlissChick’s post and I bawled, big heavy wet and salty tears. I’m gonna have to re-read it before I can coherently process the things that’ve touched my heart and soul so deeply at 1.30am in the morning.

But I want to say a big thank you to BlissChick for her post, honestly, and from the bottom of my heart.

~Svasti xo

Life choices as a graph

28 Saturday Mar 2009

Posted by Svasti in Life

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Confusion, Life choices, Options

What’s better? The safe, well-worn path? Or the exciting trail-blazing one? What about the middle way?

Does the answer depend on where you’re at in your life? I tend to think so…

But what if you can’t choose? What if you’re stumped and there’s no hint as to your next move?

Well, if you’re a geeky dork like me, you make a pros and cons list. Then, if you’re also a visual geeky dork, you make a chart to help you see clearly.

My life choices as a graph. Not as helpful as I'd hoped.

Pretty, isn’t it?

But it doesn’t help.

Is the path with the biggest risk, but most possibilities the best one to take (option 3)? Try my luck? See what happens?

Then, there’s playing it safe (option 1). Will things just work themself out, anyway? What about the risk in not sticking with this option?

Or there’s option 2, somewhere in the middle. Is that a big enough gamble to reap the benefits?

Based on this very brief analysis, its either option 1 or 3…

I’m still very confused. But now, I have a pretty organge graph to represent that confusion.

Then, not choosing at all is a bad place to be. And in effect, chooses for me.

Or, perhaps I’m asking the wrong questions? Considering the wrong options?

Sigh.

~Svasti

The first time

25 Wednesday Mar 2009

Posted by Svasti in Relationship History

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

Anger, Confusion, Debutant, First time, History, Lost, Marvin Gaye, Relationships, Sexual Healing, Stripper, Stripping

A step forward in white high heels

When she finally said yes, it wasn’t much of a decision to make.

After all, she was most of the way there already.

Angry, confused and reckless. Just eighteen, and not quite moved out of home yet.

It’s not like she spent a lot of time thinking things through.

She just said okay, I’ll do it. Then, she had to think about how, exactly. Covertly and perversely, selecting music from her parents’ limited and old-fashioned music library. Kinda lame really.

Then, the final steps were so mundane.

Surroundings were familiar. So were the people. The location. The activity. The beer.

Except that, someone stole her favourite t-shirt. Although everyone knew the culprit, she never did get it back. It’s probably the most prominent memory of that day.

But really, it really wasn’t so hard to do. Not physically or emotionally. Most of that was… numb, anyway. Not that she knew it right then.

She didn’t have to imagine herself elsewhere, either. Everyone in the pub was a familiar face, wanting her to do well. She wasn’t even nervous, really. There was no shame. No fear. Just… why not?

The day she crossed over from working as a topless barmaid to a stripper.

Dancing to Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing. Ironically.

Cue music. Move seductively, wearing white high heels purchased for her debutant ball just a couple of years ago. Eyeball the very familiar punters. Slowly remove prissy lingerie.

Til it was done.

But how did she get there? She couldn’t have told you then. Perhaps she can now…

~Svasti

-37.814251 144.963169

Crash

15 Sunday Mar 2009

Posted by Svasti in Depression, Life Rant

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Accident, Anxiety, Bike stack, Confusion, Crash, Depression, EMDR, Fear, Gravel rash, Injuries, Intuition, Mojo, Panic attacks, super powers, Unemployed

Been in a funny little funk this week. And its made it hard to write, damnit. Which really doesn’t help matters.

Where there’s movement after a long period of stagnation, often what you get is the discovery of more stuff to deal with. You couldn’t see it before coz there was so much else in the way…

Fell off my bike the weekend before this one. Took a major tumble. I’ve mentioned my clumsiness before… Somehow though, I managed to not break any bones, trash my clothing, and I didn’t wreck my bike. Overall, it was a pretty successful stack (Aussie term for fall/crash).

Returning from my yoga studies course, I was travelling on the footpath (which I don’t do a lot, but this was a busy road), and probably going just a touch too fast (ahem, when would I do that??). So when the broken footpath came into view, it was too late to avoid it. Just beyond this nasty piece of trouble was dirt – not helpful when you’re trying not to skid.

I could see what was gonna happen, and so I called on possibly the only super-power I actually do have… the ability to think clearly as I fall, and do what I can to minimise the end result.

As in, make sure my fingers aren’t in bad places, don’t try to break the fall with an outstretched hand (which can result in broken wrists) and try to relax as much as possible. The opposite of ‘bracing for impact’. Also, I threw myself off my bike, knowing I didn’t really want a handle bar or any other part lodged firmly against my ribs, for example.

‘Course, that doesn’t mean that I got off scot-free. Hardly! As I lay there fully stretched out on my belly, arms in front of me… trying to asses if I was okay, a lovely, well-meaning dude (himself a cyclist) came over to see if I was alright. But then, without warning tried to lift me to my feet, grabbing me under the shoulders while standing in front of me, causing my back to arch upwards… Don’t do that, please, I begged.

He looked offended, but I explained, I need to get up a little more gently. And y’know, its handy to understand if someone is really injured or not, before hauling them up by the shoulders! Rolling to one side and sitting up was much more ideal, once adrenaline stopped pumping so hard and I could start to feel the extent of my injuries.

Thank goodness for cycling gloves, is all I could think while inspecting the trashed palms of my gloves (grateful it wasn’t my hands). Elbows didn’t fair so well, though. The day was warm and I was dressed in an orange North Face t-shirt, not really ideal for cycling (though tempting when you think you’re invincible on a warm day).

Oh yes, it wasn’t pretty.

It was gravel rash.

Both elbows and knees, and my stomach. Found out later I was also gifted with a bruised boob. Ouch!

Left elbow was the worst. But both were nicely mashed up. Blood, dirt, tiny pebbles. Profusely stinging.

And what was that? My left shoulder was putting in a serious complaint. Didn’t have time to think about it too much, coz I was in danger of fainting.

The nice old guy checked my bike was okay and seeing I wasn’t in need of emergency treatment, directed me to a nearby seat. Which I needed, to catch my breath and make sure I was okay.

I needed to regroup if I was gonna cycle another five kilometers home.

Almost there, I dragged my bruised and battered self into the pharmacy conveniently placed on the road home… got pain killers and bandages and stuff from a very unsympathetic looking pharmacist.

Luckily as I said, nothing broken. I did wonder though, where my hot male nurse was… the one who shoulda been there to pick up the pieces!

So, anyway. Here I am, just finished a course of EMDR therapy. I’ll go and see my therapist again in a month. Just to see how things are going.

But on top of the physical meshing of body against pavement… there’s been another sort of crash.

Or, perhaps the best word is… panic.

No job. Again. No income. Limited stores of cash that won’t last forever. The job market is D-E-A-D and I’m not even getting a nibble from applications I’ve sent in! Doom and gloom on the news, unemployment’s jumped x%. Whatever skills I have, they’re only useful as long as there’s demand for them…

But there’s actually a bunch of work in my field in Sydney right now. So what am I doing here, anyway? In Melbourne? With nothing really going for me? The only thing that’s actually working for me here, is my yoga course. The whole move-to-Melbourne-and-become-closer-to-my-family thing was a wash. Of course, there’s my beautiful nieces.

But they aren’t my life. That’s my sister’s family, not mine. As for me? I’m trying to get my life back on track, fighting really hard for that and… its one thing after another.

Not to mention… my mojo has vanished! That little light of intuition, voices in my head that talk to me, tell me stuff… well, its been radio silence almost all of the last couple of weeks.

So what the heck am I doing again? Do I actually have a point, here? I’m not so sure about that right now…

That panic attack it seems, was just waiting for a clearing to have its turn. And so I couldn’t write. Couldn’t do anything much, especially in the last week… and I’m not feeling pulled in any one direction or the other. Nothing to guide me. Nothing.

And that’s where I am, still.

Got ordered out of the house on Friday by a friend… which helped but still, I’m not cool with all this nothingness. Though as a yogini, I darn well should be!

I know, I know. I’m still healing, moving on from demons of the past. Licking my wounds. Give myself a break. Yaadayaadayaada…

~Svasti

Jigsaw puzzles

25 Tuesday Nov 2008

Posted by Svasti in Post-traumatic stress, The Aftermath

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Abandonment, Adoption, Anger, Anxiety, Assault, Brit Lapthorne, Confusion, Panic attacks, Pinocchio, Post-traumatic stress, Rage, Wrathful

Pinocchio’s nose is less obtrusive than the sure knowledge of my mother’s combustible nature, both from my childhood and right up til the present day.

Few are the Christmas or other family holidays in my recollection where she didn’t spit the dummy (in a seriously major league kind of way). Often it was over small, inconsequential things. At least once, if not multiple times during the hours we spent cloistered confusingly and unhappily as a family… this is the meaning of family?

I don’t want to be like that. Ever… I would chant to myself…

Mostly I recoiled in horror from her irrational and emotionally violent outbursts. They froze my mind, rendering my ability to respond practically useless. It was easier to slink away and wonder what the hell it was all about, knowing we’d probably never find out.

The collective debris of these moments gathered and surrounded us til we knew what to expect and how to pretend it never happened.

Eventually through my own wilful misadventures brought on via naiveté and romantic idealism and because I accused my parents of not understanding, very bluntly one night, the poisoned agony driving my mother’s experience of life was explained. Or at least some of it… she jealously guards it… no one can interfere, no one can understand her miserable life and no, she doesn’t want any help with that thank you very much!

The angry outbursts continue to this day. She even rants about people on TV, in the news. Brit Lapthorne’s parents? They spent way too much time courting the media – media whores! Anyone who’s ever adopted a child? Dirty rotten baby stealers, worthy of her scorn and hatred the lot of them (her own child – my absent half-brother – was forcibly removed from her as a single mother in the 60’s). Rant-rant-rant. And she don’t stop.

We three kids grew up with one explosive and unpredictable parent, and another who was mysterious in his own way – very quiet and internalised, never expressing anything much. My sister and I would question each other: Have you found out anything new about mum and dad lately? What do you know about them? Why don’t we know much about them??

I can’t count the number of times we had that discussion…

When we kids tested my mother to her limits she’d become extremely angry and threaten us… she’d leave the whole family – just walk out the door and never come back. Terrifying to a young child. This generated much anxiety… we’d beg her not to go, cry and say how sorry we were…

After several repeat performances we realised she never went further than the car. She’d sob there, before wearily returning silently and ignoring us til dad came home.

To this day, I cringe when confronted with irrational, illogical and extreme expressions of anger. Those who won’t be reasoned with. Anyone who’s really angry at me. I still freeze, I feel physically ill and I don’t know what to say in the face of such a horrible human expression.

Heated and passionate debate? Not a problem as long as there’s logic and open lines of communication. In fact, I enjoy it. Bring on such passionate exchanges any day of the week…

But wilful, wrathful, single-minded fury, the likes of which I expressed not so long ago (possibly for the first time in my life)? No. I run from that sort of anger. Like a rabbit. Whether it’s mine or others’. I lose my communicative abilities entirely.

It seems, despite everything I’ve been through with this wretched assault that I’ve allowed to invade my life and take too many hours of enjoyment and love away… I’ve never, ever, permitted myself to feel totally and utterly pissed off about any of it.

And so, from within deep ravines of my inner being (where wounds never quite heal over) came the furious host, unstoppable til it ran its course.

It dragged its dirty unsanitary claws raggedly across the newly salved scars on my heart tearing them wide-open… awakened, the terror replays in its familiar groove generating intensely painful panic attacks and anxiety, destroying the structure of my brain (leaving jelly-like mush) and my ability to concentrate, bringing to the fore that ever-present teary-ness…

Prickling just beneath my pores. With ridiculous ease I cry (not because I want to) wandering the streets, in private bathroom-break minutes, sitting here alone typing, entirely vulnerable and so completely and utterly sick of myself. And of dealing with this stuff alone, never, ever, with anyone here to put their arms around me and tell me it’s gonna be okay.

I’m temporarily weakened and disarmed. But I know this place. I know I am not that. Confused, for sure, I don’t get it, this return of pain (H tells me its common for trauma to re-visit, damnit). I know this is just energy passing through in a wretchedly painful form… and for now it’s a parasite, not budging, despite my many valiant efforts.

~Svasti

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In a whirl…

12 Friday Sep 2008

Posted by Svasti in Sex & Dating

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Batman & Robin, Confusion, Dating, Lady Luck, Men, Mexican stand-off, Murphy's Law, Relationships, Writer's block

My brain feels like a schmooshy mixture of brain, goo, mist and haze. Add a dash of confusion and its all whirly.

I’m still battling this cold/ear infection/burst ear drum. Also, there’s that bunch of stories wanting to be told. They’re confusing me at the moment however, and its blocking up the pipes again. Sigh. They want to be longer and more mindlessly detailed than I want them to be. And they refuse to be edited. So, I currently have a number of unfinished pieces of writing and we’re having a bit of a Mexican stand-off.

Which is not so bad really, except for the desire I have to create, express, to publish more bloggy oddness.

But right now my focus is a little skewed because I’m waiting to hear if I managed to get a job I really want (whilst trying not to get too attached to the idea of having it).

And… I *think* a boy might like me… which is REALLY confusing…

My life is a series of question marks at the moment. Cartoon ones, like those that used to appear over the heads of the villians in the Batman & Robin TV series. Will I get the job I want? Or like Catatonic Kid, is my relationship with Murphy really that ironic? I do wonder about that. Actually, I wonder if Murphy and Lady Luck have battles over who I really belong to. It seems a bit that way sometimes.

Then there’s this boy. Well, I suppose at my age I shouldn’t be calling grown men “boys” any longer, but its a habit that’s stuck.

He’s someone I used to work with, and I’m unclear if he likes me or not. I mean, in my experience, unless you’ve become good friends with people you’ve worked with, they don’t generally try to stay in touch once you’ve left the place of your mutual employment. And you certainly don’t go out of your way to invite them to your birthday drinks, giving them plenty of notice of the date etc. But we’re not that close, and he’s done just that.

Towards the end of my trip in Thailand, I logged on to check my emails. Like alot of people I work with, he’s a friend on my GTalk (we’re geeks!) and he started chatting to me. Since I’ve been back we’ve had a couple of other online chats as well. Then last week he invited me to the birthday drinks he was organising for himself. I mean, they’re straight after work on a Friday, near a place I no longer work at.

In the course of that chat, I discovered by the way that he and his girlfriend had broken up. They’d been together for almost as long as I’ve known him. The conversation was a little flirty I guess. And the idea percolated away there – wow, what if he likes me? But am I just imagining things?

Tonight is the night. But its not a date or anything – there will be heaps of people I know there. And maybe he’s just being friendly?

I suppose I can only go with my gut feel – even though he was with someone else, there was always a bit of a spark between us. I think anyway! Actually, I sort of need someone to spell it out for me if they like me, otherwise I really don’t get it. As a rule, I tend to think men don’t have any interest in me. So I don’t know.

But he did send me another message just today, checking to make sure I’m coming tonight. So I am nervous.

I do like him. I think he’s cute. And he’s really sweet natured too. He was one of the “safe men” I used to enjoy hanging out with and having a harmless flirt with during the time I was working out how to relate to men again. I suppose I don’t know him well enough to work out if there could be anything more than that. One of the posts that I wrote not long after getting back was about how I can’t be in a relationship at the moment.

For one thing, I simply have no sense when it comes to men, and working out what’s best for me. Secondly, as I mentioned in that earlier post, I find that men tend to flock around me once I’ve returned from retreat – energy sucking men that is. Not that I think this boy is an energy sucker at all.

But whenever I decide these sorts of things, it seems that fate has its own way with me. Its not like I really need more time to myself I guess. But I really haven’t processed all the stuff that goes with getting close to someone again. So… even the thought that someone might like me, and that I might have to face some of this stuff is a little scary.

Right now my life is still in limbo. My sister still isn’t talking to me properly. I don’t have a home of my own and I don’t have a job. There haven’t been any men in my life for the longest time. It would be nice if things started turning out for the better…

And if someone has a good cure for Writer’s Block, please feel free to pass it on!

~Svasti

Ground zero

22 Sunday Jun 2008

Posted by Svasti in The Incident

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

Anger, Assault, Black eye, Broken glass, Confusion, Fear, Memory loss, Pain, Panic, Violence

An atomic bombConfused and a little disturbed, I couldn’t work out why he was shouting at me.

We’d just had dinner. A slamming pumpkin soup I made with sweet potato and a little ginger, paprika and rosemary. He checked his emails on my computer and later played some tunes on his guitar, plugged in to his mini amplifier. It was all very chilled.

He’d come to see me as a favour to his ex, who recently bought my old car. She still owed me a bit more money and this was the final payment.

Everything was going pretty smoothly, even though Andre sort of mentioned the fact that we weren’t seeing each other any more left him sexually frustrated. But I let that comment slide through to the keeper.

I hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks until this night, a Thursday night. I ended things because I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. I think we both knew that. So when the ‘car drama’ happened, it seemed like a natural break.

He looked a little sad, and whilst I can’t recall exactly what he said (memory loss issues!); he brought up the topic of the ‘car drama’. Somewhat apologetically I think.

My response was something like: You know, I should have listened to my gut instinct. I don’t really like doing business with friends because money often causes problems. I shouldn’t have sold your ex the car.

Then the shouting began. Don’t ask me what the content was. It just sounded like loud white noise ringing in my ears.

Now – I don’t like shouting. I never have. I’ve always been sensitive to outright bursts of anger. I find it very draining and upsetting. I don’t mind having disagreements, but shouting puts me off-balance.

My first response was: I think you misunderstood what I said. I just meant that money and friends often don’t mix well – and look and what’s happening here. Please stop shouting.

But he didn’t. He got meaner. More cutting and insulting.

Please leave my house, I said.

I recall feeling composed at this point. I was telling myself how well I was handling the situation.

Asking him to leave just made him angrier. He made no effort to do as I’d asked. He just stood there shouting at me.

Please leave, I repeated.

He began taunting me. Why don’t you call the police?

I have no idea why I didn’t.

Except, my innocence about people and their motives is rather child-like. I tend to believe people are who they present themselves as. This is despite plenty of evidence over the years that most people aren’t that honest.

So, even though he was mad for some reason I couldn’t fathom… I thought he was ‘just’ mad. I didn’t expect the situation to escalate. And I thought I could handle things – that I was handling things.

From this point on, my memories aren’t coherent. I see snapshots of things that happened, but I have no idea whether they directly are connected to each other or not. Perhaps there was something in between each flash, but perhaps not. Also, the conversations below are all ‘approximate’ because I just don’t remember what was said. I have more of a general feeling of the words used only.

I know I kept trying to explain that I wasn’t accusing him of anything, that I was talking about the whole ‘friends/money don’t mix’ thing. I also know that he wasn’t listening; he just kept shouting at me and refusing to leave.

He hadn’t put his shoes on yet. His shoes, guitar, amp and a small bag were sitting in the hall. I decided that if he wouldn’t leave, I’d start moving his stuff outside. Possibly not the wisest move, but my therapist thinks I have a history of taking unnecessary risks…

I grabbed his shoes and his bag and opened the front door, ferrying his belongings to the driveway. When I came back in I felt, rather than saw, a shift in his attitude. I went to pick up his amp.

Before I could, he grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me against the wall. The flat part at the base of my skull hit the plaster with a crack. My vision went white for a few seconds.

Don’t touch my instruments! he thundered.

Well get your shit out of here and just LEAVE, I demanded, in shock. And how dare you touch me, get your hands off me!

Now we were both standing in the hall, the front door was wide open.

He was taking cheap shots, attempting to use things I’d told him against me. Trying to upset me. No wonder your mother… I can’t remember the rest. Only that in the face of this maelstrom I remained strong.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, quite clearly. My parents love me.

Things were very tense. Stressful. Extreme.

I slowly inched him towards the door. I was getting desperate. The verbal abuse continued. More nonsense. Menacing nonsense.

The very next thing I remember was afterwards. You see, I didn’t know it had happened til it was done.

He looked at me with intense anger in his deep brown eyes, staring defiantly.

The world was surreal.

WHAT JUST HAPPENED? WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME? WHY IS HE LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT?

Then I started to feel the pain.

My black eye courtesy of AndreOh. My. God. My face… Did he? Hit me?

I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t even see his arm move.

What the hell did you do? Did you just HIT me? Why would you do that? You fucking PRICK, I was crying.

He stood there silently then said, Go on, hit me back. Go on.

Andre is incredibly strong, muscular and a martial artist. I’m also trained in martial arts, but my inner voice was screaming at me not to respond. DON’T BE CRAZY. HE’S MUCH STRONGER THAN YOU ARE. DON’T DO IT!

But somehow I clumsily slapped him, with almost no strength in my arm. Yet the earring in his right ear fell out, onto the carpet.

Good. Now you can’t complain to the police. You hit me as well. And geez, I hardly touched you. If I really wanted to hurt you, you’d know about it. I could smash your fucking head in if I wanted to. And I might just do that some time… he mumbled in a low deep growl.

I focused on that earring even though I was shaking and crying. I needed the situation to change. I wanted the shouting to stop. I wanted him gone, but I didn’t have a plan. I was totally winging it.

Your earring fell out. It’s on the carpet. Pick it up, and get the FUCK out of my house!

What? Is this a joke?

No. Get your fucking earring and leave.

As he bent down and grabbed it, I used all the power I could muster to physically push him backwards, out the door, and I closed the door in his face.

Only I wasn’t quite fast enough.

The door that Andre brokeHe regained his balance and leapt forwards, his guitar slung over his shoulder. The head of the guitar smashed one of the glass panels as he put his shoulder into the door and forced his way back into the hall.

There was more verbal abuse, screaming, shouting, threats of further violence. Words that are lost to me, drowned out by shock. Drowned out by the ugliness and anger in Andre’s face.

In desperation, I remembered something. A strategy. A way of breaking the energy of a confrontation.

So I started screaming at the top of my lungs. HELP!! HELP, SOMEONE HELP ME. HELP, I NEED HELP. SOMEONE PLEASE COME AND HELP! I’M BEING ATTACKED!! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME! HELP, HELP, HELP!!!

Directly over the fence from my front door was a block of flats, no more than three meters away. There were multiple tenants, some of whom must have heard me. I was also living in a split residence with neighbours who always complained about the slightest noise. So they must have heard me too.

But no one came.

The night was dark and freezing cold, and my screams were lost in the chill blackness. Not even an echo remained. And no help came.

Inexplicably my screaming seemed to break the spell and he walked out. I slammed the door. But he didn’t go away. Instead he stood outside yelling abuse, making threats. Terrorising me a little more.

JUST GO AWAY!!

I was in tears, pain, shock, distress and fear. I was terribly confused. My body was shaking non-stop, which lasted the rest of the night and much of the following day.

I was still trying to work out what just happened. Why it happened.

The rest of that night’s story is told here: Those eyes – or – don’t step in the glass

*********************************************************************************************

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ground_zero

The term Ground Zero may be used to describe the point on the earth’s surface where an explosion occurs. In the case of an explosion above the ground, Ground Zero refers to the point on the ground directly below an explosion (see hypocenter). The term has often been associated with nuclear explosions and other large bombs, but is also used in relation to earthquakes, epidemics and other disasters to mark the point of the most severe damage or destruction. Damage gradually decreases with distance from this point.

~Svasti

Dragging my heels

15 Sunday Jun 2008

Posted by Svasti in The Incident

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Anxiety, Assault, Confusion, Courage, Fear, Memory loss, Procrastination, Trauma, Violence

ConfusionI admit it, I’ve been putting off my next post – which is not this one.

Ever since I decided my next post would be about the actual assault and not the direct aftermath or any of the myriad of related topics… I’ve found many reasons for not sitting down to write in more detail about the night that brought drastic changes to my life.

The two strong contributing factors are confusion and fear.

Speaking on behalf of my confusion – I actually don’t remember that night too well. Not the part of the night that’s “pre-assault” anyway. Well, that’s not entirely true. I do recall that Andre was coming over to drop off money I was owed and that he stayed for dinner. I vibrantly recall that I made pumpkin soup for dinner. Really great pumpkin soup actually. I remember that he played some guitar for me (he is a jazz/blues musician). And branded on my brain is the moment everything turned bad.

But after that… its not entirely clear. The order that things happened in. The exact chain of events. How I ended up standing so close to him that he could – without me seeing his arm move – punch me in the face.

Its a ghostly memory of a movie. One you’ve seen before and sort of know the details. But when you watch the movie again, everything comes back to you. And so I know what’s waiting for me.

As for fear – the twisting and churning of my stomach as I draw those memories up from their hidey hole is sickening. I feel my internal temperature rise, the skin tightening in my body and face, and the definite sensation of wishing I could throw up even though I don’t have the urge in any way. The tears well, and my eyeballs sting.

It was much easier to write about the direct aftermath – what happened after he finally left. Why? Well, time slowed down. I was living microsecond to microsecond. Everything moment was enhanced by the fear, the shaking, the crying and the pain. In some ways, perhaps this too, has played a part in sending the ‘just before’ memories into the background?

Despite all this, I’m determined to write this story. I need to write it. To get it out. I’m at a loss in terms of where to start, but I know that to find the words, I need to journey further. Deeper.

The creative urge and desire for truth to come out are ready to go. Its just my courage that’s having a few issues here. But its coming…

~Svasti

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