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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: Memory loss

Happy 5 year anniversary to me!

29 Wednesday Sep 2010

Posted by Svasti in Post-traumatic stress

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

anniversary, Assault, Depression, Healing, Memory loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, Therapy

Shhhh! Did you notice the date? The time? I did, but only just.

Five years ago tonight and roughly around this time, this was happening.

Yep…

I don’t have time to write about it tonight. Because I’ve just finished writing a post on Facebook, sort of “coming out” to a whole bunch of people in my life that I’ve never really told the full story to. I also told a short-hand version of the story on Twitter – that’s another whole bunch of people there I’ve never told, either. Well, except for those who follow me on Twitter from this blog!

I’m not de-cloaking my Svasti identity though…it’s sort of an open secret these days I suspect, but as long as it remains separate from my professional life, then it’s all good. 😉

I never told most people in my life because I used to be terribly embarrassed and ashamed about being assaulted.  And then eventually, I simply couldn’t remember who I’d told and who I hadn’t – it’s a memory loss thing associated with having PTSD.

Anyway. Five years. And wow, SUCH a five years it’s been. Of course, life hasn’t been anything like I expected it might be. I thought by now I’d have met the man of my dreams and perhaps even have had a child or two. But no. In fact, I’ve barely managed to date at all in this time and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had sex (no dirty puns, please!! Hahahaha!!)

Nope. Life has given me a handful of 360 degree shifts instead. I’m still not entirely sure where I’m at as a result, but mostly I think I’m better off. I can barely believe I’m writing that, but I think it’s true.

Anyway, more on all of this soon. Just not tonight.

I’m feeling a bit weepy now that I’ve noticed this milestone. Generally speaking I haven’t paid attention to my “anniversary” dates at all. Most of them have gone by without raising so much as a blip on my radar. But for some reason tonight, I was prompted to check the date (one of those little voices in my head – so I had to look it up) and there it was. Today. Right now.

*gulp*

Yeah… time to go to bed. Process. I’ll chat to y’all about this maybe tomorrow night.

But one more thing before I finish this post… the next five years? I reckon they’re gonna blow the last five OUT OF THE WATER!

~Svasti xoxo

P.S. Here’s to all those out there dealing with PTSD, depression and/or any other mental health issues. Keep on fighting, digging deep and working your butt off, because life can get better eventually!!

-37.814251 144.963169

Lil’ update…

20 Thursday Nov 2008

Posted by Svasti in Post-traumatic stress, The Aftermath

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Anger, Fury, Healing, Heart, Memory loss, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Rage, Reocvery, Therapy

So this is tricky…

There’s plenty I’d like to be writing and telling you about but for now I’m just not up to it.

A certain friend (who shall remain entirely nameless) has been engaging me in discussions about things which… well, I really want to post about. Perhaps to distract or amuse me, but really they’re things we’ve been debating for a while now. However I need to be a little less exhausted, a little more back in one piece first.

So, there’s plenty more coming. The post topics, they’re backing up people! Sometime soon, this blog will return to normal programming.

Last night I made it to my therapy session, ten minutes late, thanks to the train choosing to sit motionless just outside of the station for some time. Good thing I had my push bike with me!

It was such a necessary and helpful session. I’m glad I went, and in retrospect I’m kind of amazed I was even contemplating – should I try to get an appointment or not?

I managed to get quite a bit of the rage I’m feeling to surface (poor H!). But there’s more work to do. I’m still choking on the energy that wants to come out. H has suggested to try and visualise this mass of fury – break it down, reduce the size so its not so hard to expel. As a highly visual person that works for me, so I’m giving that one a go.

She talked about alot of other stuff too, but I’m just not ready to write about it yet.

My heart feels a little bit returned… especially with all the brisk walking and cycling I’ve been doing. Causing my heart to pound at least proves its still there, even though the sensation of absence persists. Each day more pieces seem to come back, but it still doesn’t feel particularly normal yet!

And – this has manifested as physical pain too. If I touch the area above my heart it actually feels bruised… the body and mind are just fascinating like that aren’t they?

Intense physical pain is what finally brought me to get some serious therapy earlier this year, actually. Depression masquerading as pain. But this time I think its a side effect of the intense rage spewing forth from the depths of my being.

My memory is shot to pieces. My brain matter, scatty. Its exceptionally difficult to focus on anything for long periods of time right now. Which isn’t so great given I’m in a new job and a position of responsibility. I’m just doing what I can and trying not to suffer anxiety about that too!

But I smiled today. Quite a bit, and it wasn’t so forced.

More soon folks – and many thanks to those of you who’ve been visiting and offering support.

~Svasti

-37.814251 144.963169

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

Courage

18 Wednesday Jun 2008

Posted by Svasti in The Incident, Therapy

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Assault, Courage, Fear, Memory loss, Therapy

The cowardly lion finds courageI had a really great session with my therapist this week. H is a truly down to earth, realistic and caring person. She’s also fantastic at zeroing in on anything I’m stumbling over.

So just after I’d confessed on this blog how much trouble I’m having writing about the actual assault, she helped break down a few more of my blind spots.

I know some of the lovely people reading and commenting on my posts haven’t necessarily agreed that I should feel the need to write about this topic. But H thinks its good for me. She’s seen the benefits I’ve achieved from what I’ve written so far and she’s supportive.

There’s definitely a massive sense of panic and distress still associated with these memories. Whether I like it or not, if I start talking about it, its instant tears, raised heart rate and body temperature. Sometimes its easier to control than others, but the point is that I have to try to control it or I go to pieces. Not ideal.

H said, “I think for you to be able to get a handle on what happened, you need to face the fear and the panic. If you don’t, it won’t be possible for you to take the emotion out of that experience”.

Hmmm… good point. I know this of course. But it helped to have her re-state it anyway. So we talked.

It seems there’s a few key pillars.

The trauma associated with the assault has dulled my memories. To the point that the event often feels like a bad dream. Which was convenient when I was just trying to survive. But now, its a pain in my ass.

H also suggested that at some point, its possible I thought I would die. That he would kill me. He certainly seemed crazed enough. I think that on some level, she’s right.

There’s also the shock and the total loss of control I experienced. My gentle friend turning into a monster? Completely unexpected and outrageous things going on? Freaky shit, I’m telling you!

And of course, my internal Supreme Judge. If I could visualise him, I think he’s about 80 with grey hair, bushy eyebrows and both nose and ear hair. He’s all bent over, his skin is flecked and craggy. He has a comb over with what’s left of his thin whispy hair. He wears a dark grey suit and he walks with a limp. He has seen the worst of humanity and its left a deep imprint. He is narrow minded and he’s intolerant of weakness. He’s friggin’ scary!

I’ve written posts about this already, but I know the Supreme Judge seriously judged me as having failed. I failed to control the situation. I failed by having it end the way it did.

Crucially, in talking to my therapist, I remembered a teeny tiny detail – it was when I noticed Andre’s demeanour change. Not overtly. It was more like an internal… ‘click’. Something went ‘click’ and I felt it.

What happened just before the ‘click’ is that I started moving his belongings out onto the porch, trying to encourage him to leave. He hadn’t hit me yet.

And for this one action… I’ve been holding myself accountable. There’s been a game of ‘what if’ going on deep within. What if… I never touched his stuff. What if… I’d stopped trying to handle the situation myself and just called the police? What if… would things be different now? Is it possible he might not have assaulted me?

The catch-cry of those comforting people who’ve been assaulted or abused is ‘its not your fault’. I know. Its logical, and its true. I can use logic and reason til the cows come home. Intellectually I can explain an awful lot about what happened, why I think it happened etc. But the Judge still gives me a hard time.

And whilst I allow those memories to remain hazy and scary, the Judge remains. But I think I can change the paradigm if I confront the lurking ‘boogie men’.

What I really need right now is a good dose of courage. You know, just stating that fact… helps bring my courage into being. And now its slowly building.

I’m calling on all benevolent beings who hear this call for assistance to send me love and support. Ganesha, Yeshe Tysogel, Dattatreya, Siva, Sarasvati – and all mahasiddhas and enlightened beings! Please help me!!

I do promise, I’m not teasing any of the readers of this blog. I’m not being coy on purpose. Its just really f*cking hard to get it out.

BUT – I have started. I’m currently writing ‘stream of conciousness’ style which will need some re-shaping. And shortening!

And so, in the words of the Cowardly Lion:

Courage! What makes a king out of a slave? Courage! What makes the flag on the mast to wave? Courage! What makes the elephant charge his tusk in the misty mist, or the dusky dusk? What makes the muskrat guard his musk? Courage! What makes the sphinx the seventh wonder? Courage! What makes the dawn come up like thunder? Courage! What makes the Hottentot so hot? What puts the “ape” in apricot? What have they got that I ain’t got?

Courage!

~Svasti

-37.814251 144.963169

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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