sadtraumatizedlonely

[sadtraumatizedlonely]

Chapter 5—The Shame Game

When you become invested in trauma theory, buzz phrases like “shaming” and “guilt tripping” seem to come up quite a lot. My whole life revolved around the shame and blame game. The rules of the game are simple: do not be caught doing anything wrong or else you get to carry the family shame.

I have known about this game for as long as I can remember. I had quite the obsession with pushing boundaries and seeing what I could get away with. When I was seven, I drew a picture on the wall inside of my sister’s closet. My seven-year-old self knew right away upon the drawing’s completion that I was in big trouble if anyone found out about my drawing, so I wrote “K did this” (K being my sister) near the bottom of the drawing. Genius for a seven-year-old you have to admit. Anything to avoid being shamed or punished.

My father later discovered the drawing while he was moving us into a new house (around 5 years later). He and my step mother criticized my sister for her lack of intelligence in labelling her own name on the drawing. To this date, they still do not know that it was me who drew the picture, nor that I was the one who tactfully labelled it with my sister’s name.

Being caught doing something I’m not supposed to was unacceptable at that time, and it largely still is. It’s interesting how the more someone shames you, the less you can trust them. Afterall, we are only humans, and the universe knows how fucked up we all are.

Today, my best friend (boyfriend) shamed me, and I don’t know how to move forward with our relationship. After a long day of work, I was exhausted and just looking to go home and relax. As is our tradition, we ordered some takeout. Unfortunately, there was a film production blocking off all the street parking, and even blocking off the street that we lived on. I fumed when a security guard told us we couldn’t park in the empty street parking spaces, even though filming had wrapped, and the streets were empty. Even worse, after we had retrieved our food, all streets leading to our home had still been blocked off, and we would have to take a longer way home. The person working the road was rude, and I had just had enough for the day.

As we were driving away, my partner was arguing on the side of the street worker, talking about how they were “just doing their job” and “they were just a minimum wage worker” and I could feel the anger and frustration of just wanting to be home already start to take over my body and I shouted “Well I make twice as much money as they do!”. I’m not sure where that came from if I’m being honest. I think it was my general reaction to the person being so fucking rude and treating me like an idiot instead of just telling us where to go. I still remember her cackling and telling us “Good luck” as we drove away from the street that my home was at the top of (a one-way street at that).  

Was it an appropriate reaction? Probably not. Did anyone hear it besides my partner? No. But for some reason, he took it as a personal attack and shamed me.

 “That is just gross”

 “I don’t like that, that’s gross”

“They’re just minimum wage workers”   

“They’re just trying to do their job”  

Shame, shame, shame.

But he was the only one to hear it. It wasn’t directed toward the person per say, just an expletive sentence that my brain needed to shout. I needed to be frustrated. I needed to air my frustration. Especially since this bitch made me feel stupid for not having a map of the blocked off roads.

Upon explaining that I was frustrated, and that it really wasn’t a big deal for them to just let us through since filming had wrapped, my partner again played the shame game.

“Well, we really could have just went the other way”

 “We really did lie when we said that that was the only way for us to get home, so she was right to give us directions like that”

All of which did not help my frustrated state, nor did it make anything better.

“That’s gross”

“That’s gross”

Around and around it goes. And what I have learned from that is that it is not safe to have big (any maybe inappropriate) feelings around him. It’s not like I was some psycho that fucking jumped out of the car and started an altercation with the worker. I had an unintentional outburst about someone that was 1) not even there or near to us, and 2) I would never, ever see again.

“That’s gross”

“That’s gross”

It’s gross for me to have strong feelings and say unintentional, possibly inappropriate things. It’s gross for me to vent my frustration with the traffic and inconvenience after a long day at work.  It’s gross to have any negative feelings or thoughts at all, and I must be pleasant and understanding always.

I’m gross. I’m gross for having a single lapse in self control in front of the person I love the most.

So, how do I move forward?

I really don’t have a good plan this time. I’m slowing finding myself unable to trust this person to always have my back and to see the good in me when things are going wrong.

 It just brings me back to the childhood shame game. You must say and do nothing out of turn or else you will be shamed and blamed. There is no room for mistakes, big unreasonable feelings, or outbursts. You must be calm, polite, and complacent no matter what happens, and if you step out of line, I’m going to make sure you feel shame and guilt.  

Unfortunately for him, I’m human with sometimes fucked up intrusive thoughts. Maybe he should reconsider what type of person he wants to spend his life with, because if he wants a calm, polite, complacent robot that acts like a fucking saint, he is barking up the wrong traumatized tree.

#childhood trauma #living with cptsd #intrusive thoughts #outbursts #rudeness #mistakes #shame #Guilt

[sadtraumatizedlonely]

Chapter 4—Panopticon Theory: Always Being “Watched"

In my feminism class in university, we discussed the panopticon theory of “watching” or rather, feeling like you’re being watched, within the context of self regulatory practices of women. The feeling of always being watched, that people are always looking at you so you have to behave a certain way very much resonated with me.

This feeling of being watched started when I was very little and has unfortunately followed me into my mid twenties. I am always prepared to get in trouble, even if I’m doing nothing inherently wrong. As a child, I believed fully that my father could see everything I was doing, this feeling was probably escalated by him saying “I have eyes and ears everywhere, there’s nothing you can do that I won’t know about.”

For a long time, I believed that he could read my thoughts. I still feel that sense that others can somehow know what I’m thinking and are watching me. Watching every mistake, monitoring how I behave, am I not acting normal? Am I giving someone a weird look? Am I too inviting to strangers or asking for trouble? Am I not nice enough to strangers? The thoughts swirl round and round in my minds eye, as I look up from my shell at the world silently judging me.

I once got in trouble for walking on the wrong side of the road when I was 12. I was headed to the library, and I decided to walk on the side of the road that doesn’t have a sidewalk. Word got back to my father (the local mechanic), and we had one of his famous “discussions” when he arrived home from work that day. Now, I can’t help but feel as though people are watching me, just waiting to see me misstep, all to get me into trouble.

The trouble, of course, no longer exists (unless you count getting into trouble with the law), as I am a grown woman, I pay my own bills, and have my own place to live. But this unfortunate feeling has still followed me. I make myself sick and sleep deprived worrying about “being in trouble”.

But, why the focus on being in trouble? Well, my survival relied on not being in trouble. Being in trouble meant physical pain (when I was too small to defend myself), shame, ridicule, and, or course, punishment. Not being able to leave the house, getting the phone I pay for taken away, having to be spanked, slapped, and screamed at, and being told I’m no good and never will be.

That is what I fear the most. I fear that my parents are right. I fear that I am actually a mistake that they decided not to get aborted. I fear that I’m not a good person and I make terrible choices. I also fear that I will pass these feelings onto my own children someday, as thought they can absorb my experiences in-utero.  

Let’s be real, maybe 5 cars total drove past me on that street (definitely not a highway), and if you are so concerned about my “safety”, why do I have to feel fear when discussing it with you? It is ridiculous to lecture a child about walking down the wrong side of the road, but that wasn’t the point of the lecture. The point was that someone told him I was “misbehaving”, and he could no longer keep up that “perfect child” mask I wore to protect him and his “reputation” around town. Unfortunately, the criminal charges my sister decided to press unmasked him for what he truly is: insecure, a bully, and a child in an adult’s body. My step mother only enabled this behaviour, adding on her own secret “spice” of verbal abuse and manipulation. All behaviours needing to be concealed from the world, to protect their senses of self.

So, how do I move forward?

I don’t think it’s as simple as “just ignoring it”. I think, unfortunately, having to prove I’m good will not go away easily until it finally sets in that I’m not only good or only bad. Until that child like (black and white) theory of goodness goes away, I’ll have to work on just “being”.  

#living with cptsd #being in trouble #panopticon #childhood trauma #unmasking #judgement

[sadtraumatizedlonely]

Chapter 3—Why do I attract Toxic Bosses/Authority Figures?

I’m a serial job jumper. In almost every single workplace I’ve been employed, I have somehow ended up having a professional relationship with and/or working directly for a covert narcissist.

According to Google, narcissists thrive in more “boastful” or important jobs, such as academics, finance, and (you guessed it) law. I have worked in the private law sector for a year, and lamented over the incompetent and narcissistic behaviours that were present in management, but never actually encountered an actual lawyer with this issue.

However, when gaining my employment with out local Legal Aid office, I was shocked to find out that my direct-report lawyer, (a Family law lawyer at that) displayed narcissistic behaviour.  I would not have expected this from a Legal Aid lawyer, hence why my ambition was more geared toward the “helpful” and not “money hungry” sector of my profession. However, this seems not to be the case. 

If someone is a narcissist, it is almost like they release a pheromone to which I become highly triggered, even when something problematic has not really occurred, I get a deep seeded feeling in my gut that something is off. Although it somewhat feels like home to me, it is an intensely troubling sensation. I get feeling of always being looked at and studied, like she is waiting for me to make a mistake. She wants to control everything I do, and if something doesn’t “look right” I do not get the adequate feedback I need in order to fix the problem. Instead, the goal post keeps zigzagging, making her impossible to please.

Lately, there has been a string of problematic behaviours and actions from her, including her blaming me for a mistake that SHE (as the lawyer) has the final obligation to notice and fix if necessary. It is clear that from this incident (which occurred within my first few months of employment) she has harboured a deep seeded resentment towards the work I do, and doesn’t trust me. She takes no responsibility for this, and it is agonizing, as she is ultimately responsible for the work product that leaves our office. 

We had an instance of friction when my other boss (who thinks I do a stellar job and basically brags about my hard work and competence to my other colleagues) took me out for a celebratory lunch with my colleagues to network and to have a good time on a dreary Thursday afternoon. I came back to a passive-aggressive email about how something wasn’t done within a “timely” manner for her (I was planning to complete this task as soon as I returned) and she chastised my willingness to go to lunch when we had this “ultimately important thing that must be done ASAP”.

That urgency was never communicated to me, in fact, the due date for this LETTER (a single letter) was the EOD of the following day. She had known about needing to write this letter for over a week, but decided to only start at the end of the day on Wednesday, a mere two days before it was due. Somehow, that urgency became my problem, and I froze.

What was I supposed to do? My colleague Cee-Cee came over and read the email. Her jaw dropped at the sight of it. Rude, blamey, and unprofessional. I forwarded the email to my manager and walked into her office weeping.

After reporting the incident to my direct reports, a week later she calls me into her office for a chat.

Her:

“What was soo awful about that email I sent?”    

“I would prefer if you keep our issues between us, and not involve other people”

“In my 30 plus years of working for this company, you are the most resistant assistant I have ever encountered. You do not follow instructions, have weak attention to detail, and I cannot approach you/ give you tasks without getting pushback”.  

Gives bull-shitty example of me setting a boundary/ defining my scope of work.

“I get to determine what is and is not a priority, even if it does not make sense for you”

“I own a block of your time, and I get to determine what you do with that time. If I want you to act outside of the scope of your job duties, you must do that”.

“Chatting with your co-workers is problematic when you are supposed to be working, I can hear you from my office”

“Remember, you are on a 12-month contract and you are only 6-months in and still on your probationary period”.

“When I was busy one day, I saw you having lunch and I take great issue with that”.

Me:

“The message wasn’t inherently awful, however the tone was off and hurt my feelings. You can ask for help without using blamey language”

“I’m covering my ass, I need to protect myself”.’

“I’m shocked to hear this, as you have said nothing about this before, can you give me an example of a time I was resistant?”

“I apologise if my tone was off, however, I never said that I wouldn’t do that for you, just that that day it was a waste of my time, as I had other things to do”.

“I work for two other people besides you. I cannot go off site and be a courier when I have other responsibilities to attend to”.

 No response.

“I’m entitled to breaks, and I can chat and work at the same time”.

No response.

“I’m entitled to a lunch break.” I apologise again if my tone was off, and assure her that I am dedicated and can be trusted.

End of conversation.

So, as a trauma survivor, what are my options?

Flight: I should just quit, obviously. I can’t do anything right and I never could. Maybe I was not cut out for this job anyway and I should go back to working in food service jobs.   

Fight: I can’t believe she said those things to me! I should go tell her off. She is treating me like shit and being unreasonable. Who does she think she is treating me this way? We’re on the same team and I’m working my ass off!

Freeze: I should just stay at my desk and do nothing until its time to go home. There’s nothing to criticize if there is no work done.

Fawn: But this behaviour isn’t inherently wrong right? Some people are just picky. I just have to work harder and ask her more questions. She’ll see my value once I prove myself.

To her face, I fawn. Behind her back, I fight and plan for my flight if the fighting does not solve the problem. It is a vicious cycle of not being fully able to stand up for myself and call out her toxic behaviour.

She waived my job security in front of my face, and ultimately, she is in control of 25% of my workflow (I work for her and two other lawyers at my firm) and thus has a portion of control over my reputation.

What is so bad about having a less than stellar reputation?

We’ll, my inner child relies on being “good” for my overall survival. If I’m not “good”, I’m worthless. As a former scapegoated child from narcissistic parents, not being good resulted in the following:

Getting yelled at, belittled, and shamed;

Having my personal property taken away;

Being grounded; and

In my younger years, physical abuse. 

My therapist would advise me to check in with that inner child part, and to reassure it that being “good” is not inherently a part of my survival anymore. That good is subjective, and determined not by your mistakes, but by how you respond to making a mistake.

What’s not good is blaming other people for your mistakes.

What’s not good is shaming people for their mistakes.

What’s not good is lashing out at others when you are stressed or overwhelmed.

What’s not good is belittling the 25-year-old new employee because she refuses to do work that is outside of the scope of her responsibilities, especially when you are over the age of 50. Reminding them that YOU are in control and THEY are just supposed to do as they are told without asking questions. 

So, how do I move forward? 

 It’s so easy (and Fawnish) for me to take the blame in attracting these people. Unfortunately, they just exist everywhere, especially in my field of work. Fawning to their face may be the only option if all else fails. However, taking steps to report this abuse to trusted (and safe) individuals is a good start.

Maybe, if all else fails, this career path wasn’t meant to be. However, only time will tell.  The bottom line is that trauma survivors have the right to a stable career with good pay, without having to be triggered all of the time.    

#narsissistic abuse #emotional abuse #trauma survivor #scapegoat #cptsd

[sadtraumatizedlonely]

Parents Give me the Ick

I’ve never quite understood my discomfort surrounding parents until I started my healing journey.

I’ve always been quite weirded out by people who have very close relationships with their parents. Things like kissing them, having intimate and/or deep conversations, praising them (almost placing them on a pedestal like behaviour), all of this seemed strange to me. Especially anything surrounding parents showing up or being physically soothing to their “grown” child. I understood this for small kids, but in my mind, after 10, parents lost interest in soothing, kissing, hugging or cuddling their children, as they were now old enough to not need that.

I didn’t quite understand this discomfort fully until I spent the night for the first time at my friend Janella’s house. Well, Jann’s father’s house. I would have been 12 or 13 at the time, and Jann’s father was rather strict so it was surprising and exciting to be invited into his home and asked to stay the night. Before going to bed, Jann kissed her father goodnight on the lips, very casually. I was taken back by this strange gesture; in my mind, kisses on the lips were reserved for those we had a sexual relationship with, not parental.

I believe this is my first experience with my old pal limerence. For those readers who don’t know what limerence is, it can be defined as a “state of infatuation or obsession with another person that involves an all-consuming passion and intrusive thoughts”, and man were my thoughts intrusive. I would fantasize about him coming to the spare room that I slept in when I had a sleepover with Jann, scooping me up out of the bed, and kissing me passionately. I felt a lot of shame for these thoughts, as I knew it was inappropriate, and, let’s be honest, Jann’s dad was not really someone 13-year-old me was interested in starting an illicit relationship with (gross).

However, the thoughts and feelings persisted. I would dream about sharing time with him, being his centre of attention, being invited to help him organize his antique model car collection, and then sharing a passionate kiss.  Fortunately for me, he was not attracted to children, and I successfully hid these true feelings from both him and Jann, only daring to think about it a night after she went to bed and I retreated into the spare room to sleep.

I only recently learned about what limerence was through one of my YouTube therapy videos. At first, I thought I was the only person on the planet to experience this sort of attraction with VERY inappropriate people, and I just assumed I had a weird taste for way older men. Mr. Teahan, the YouTube therapist guy, explained that people experience these weird, intrusive, not necessarily sexual feelings when they have been severely neglected by their parents and are looking to satisfy some sort of need.

For me, that need was closeness and intimacy. However, I could only equate intimate touch as being inherently sexual. Which is no surprise when I consider my upbringing. I can never remember the last time either of my parents kissing me. I have sparce memories of being held, cuddled, or even being treated with the sort of intrinsic warmness that most parents have the ability to display. The last time my father deeply hugged me/ soothed me was when I was 12 (about 13 years ago, jeez). I had strep throat for the second time in a row because I forgot to take the remainder of my antibiotics, and I was in great pain. It was the first time in years he offered me a shoulder to cry on, and it hasn’t happened since. I still remember that moment with gross optimism hoping that in some intrinsic level he actually does care for me, however, the closeness in that moment felt naturally uncomfortable and weird. Which I believe speaks the truth about that situation.   

I craved physical touch and love; I desired it more than anything. To the point where I had sexual fantasies about most nice/ warm men I encountered throughout my mid-teens. Teachers, coaches, you name it, I probably fantasied about kissing, touching, or even in some regards, having full adult relationships with these grown men. But I could never understand where that feeling came from, and I felt deep shame for feeling that way. Honestly, I’m just lucky I didn’t feel that way for an actual predator; that would have been very messy.

The desire for touch and love has dimmed over the years; those limerence-esk feelings still pop up for men who are warm but inappropriate to date, however, I no longer feel a sexual attraction to them. I suppose being in a long-term relationship with an outstanding human has taken that sense of sexual attraction out of the picture. On the other hand, it may have dissipated due to my lack of receiving such attention, as I am now numb to my desire of being touched.  

#childhood trauma #limerence #parents #icky thoughts #CPTSD #complex post traumatic stress disorder #recovery story

[sadtraumatizedlonely]

Chapter One—Am I an Asshole? (Rhetorical)

My boyfriend got invited to play baseball this evening. One of their usual players was sick, so a friend asked him if he could fill in for that other player. He texted me in the late afternoon to ask if we had any plans (i.e. he was seeking my approval) and all I could muster was a simple “You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want”. A sentence that boarders on sassy, but still allows me to vent my hurt feelings and frustration covertly, without him thinking much about it. We had playful banter through out the rest of the afternoon.

The issue was: we had just received an email from our new landlord confirming that we could move in early, however, we would need to prepare some paperwork. All of which he said we would do tonight during that short text exchange. I scoffed at his answer as I knew that it would take the back burner to the exciting plans he had with his friends, and I went back to work feeling a profound sense of loneliness.

That feeling was made worse when he told me, upon arriving home from work, that they had also invited him to go swimming after the game. A great way to cool off after a game on this terribly hot day. I couldn’t help but feel that sense of loneliness swallow me whole as I saw him packing his swim trunks in his sports bag. I stonewalled him, but not wanting to seem difficult or irrational, just played the “tired” game. Like always, he gives me the benefit of the doubt, kisses me goodbye, and leaves for his night of fun and excitement that he desperately needs and deserves.

“How to feel less lonely”

A statement I shamefully type into Safari as tears start streaming down my face. This Google search (not surprisingly) gives results such as: Join a Sports Team, Volunteer, Practice Self-Care. But those answers are unsatisfactory. The deep, intense loneliness is something that comes from an intrinsic feeling of unworthiness and shame. I have attempted to mitigate these symptoms with art, hiking, dancing, volunteering; all which work for a while, until I become too exhausted to handle them, and I crawl back in bed still lonely and empty inside.   

“Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and loneliness”

My second Google search of the evening. If you haven’t noticed by now, or couldn’t guess from the title of this...whatever this is, I suffered a lot of childhood trauma and have been in therapy for years trying to heal from my childhood experience of living with a narcissistic (mentally ill) mother and a father who is ruled by his own trauma. Those experiences caused me to have great dysfunction when it comes to relationships, closeness, and connection. Many of these things, I’m too ashamed of bringing up in my (very expensive but necessary) therapy sessions.

So there I was, overweight and crying, in my PJs ordering takeout on UberEats, watching my childhood trauma therapy Youtube videos that make me feel less alone and crazy, while my partner was having a blast, making new friends, and having what would probably be (in my opinion) a better night than being home with me and completing the “sorta but not really” urgent paperwork for our new apartment, smoking weed, and spending time in separate rooms until it was time to meet up again and hang out just before bedtime.

Inside, I know that alone time is important for all relationships. And it’s not necessarily the fact that he was invited somewhere without me that made me feel so absolutely alone. I feel alone because unlike my very popular and extroverted boyfriend, my phone remains vacant of incoming messages or calls (unless it is Statistics Canada asking me to complete their survey). Even still, infrequent messages come from distant relatives or acquaintances who (in my opinion) either want something from me, or have for some reason taken an interest in me out of some underlying duty to be polite and to keep in touch. No one is texting me to make plans. All the plans I have I’m only invited to because of my partner.

And I do not reach out to anyone. The fear of being “left on read” or ignored is too painful, which further fuels my loneliness.

“Does life insurance cover suicide?”

My final Google search, as I’m considering the fact that this loneliness may end of killing me with how deep and profound it is. My partner has a $300,000.00 life insurance policy in my name that he will be entitled to if I die. I want to make sure that he is taken care of, especially in this economy, if this did in fact lead to me taking my own life, which I know is a real possibility.

It would mostly be an inconvenience for me to kill myself. A mess to be cleaned, a 230lb body to cart to the morgue. I mostly think about ways that require no clean up—launching myself off a bridge, going “missing” in the woods and dying of starvation, going to the most turbulent ocean and drifting innocently into a rip tide.  All of which could be covered under my accidental death policy. My self view is so horrendous that I can only think about how inconvenient it will be for those left behind to clean up the mess I make. How absolutely fucked, eh?  

Funnily enough, the first search result is the Canadian Prevention for Suicide website screaming DON’T DO IT, GET HELP. But what if I don’t want help? I’m an adult, I pay a third of my paycheque to taxes (and I probably pays for that initiative), I have an education, career, and home. Why can’t I decide if I live or die without so much judgement or people telling me not to do it?   

“Life is sacred”

But what if I do not feel like mine is? What if I feel that I do not belong, like an alien in a human’s body. I’ve always felt that way. A burden, not good enough, ugly, fat, just wrong in all sorts of ways.

My life isn’t sacred. My lack of social relationships proves that. No one can stand to be my friend after they get to know the real me, or they just put me on the back burner while they find closer connections with less damaged people. Ones that are not too exhausted by their lives that they can text first and often. Ones that aren’t filled with shame and find agony in reaching out and making plans. Ones that can afford to spend the night and will be there for you no matter what. I cannot offer those things. My trauma will not allow me. It is too exhausting for me to take an active role in someone else’s life. Which is why my friendships fizzle out and die.

I’m too ashamed of my appearance to reach out to my old co-worker who I used to spend time with every summer drinking and tanning in the Quad. I was a lot skinnier in college, and she works hard to keep her body tight and strong. I couldn’t help feeling shame and pain the last time we hung out because of my appearance. “Why would she even invite me over?” “Was it to make fun of how fat and ugly I’ve gotten?” Those thoughts circled in my head, and that was the last time I was invited to hang out with her.

Embarrassment and Shame rule everything I do, and it keeps me lonely. So, am I an asshole for feeling so strongly about my boyfriend having exciting plans when I can’t even get my best friend to prioritize a phone call with me? I think the answer is complicated, not unlike like my complex trauma.    

#lonliness #living with cptsd #relationships #struggle #friendships