Monday, June 9, 2014. Baby stayed home today with his daddy, neither of them feeling very well. I caught baby’s cold last week. It hit me hard so I am very grateful for a second quiet day to myself.
I discovered thoughts this morning I jotted down in a letter to my 88-year-old friend who was our closet Alaska homesteading neighbor during my childhood. My friend understands the lifelong effects of severe abuse trauma in early years. She also had a mother who hated her, but she also had a father and many other relatives who loved her. I’ll just copy those thoughts into this post. Perhaps they can mark even a small turning point in my continued hard battle to adapt to conditions last fall’s drastic move here have created in my life.
I called the senior ride people this morning and they will get me for my doctor appointment this Friday. Even such little things scare me! It costs $3 each way cash so I need to get a stash of ones here. Better than a hassle with city bus lines which would scare me even more.
Going to the doctor scares me. I haven’t used that word applied to myself before — but, yes, it’s anxiety — but it is so because I am scared!!
I am trying to get back to sewing my long-handled shoulder bags and I’ll tell you — as strange as it is — even “being scared” is present with that!! Even stranger I just connected how I feel here with being attacked millions of times as a child [from birth] for the whole 18 years of my childhood by PSYCHOTIC mother [Dorothy knew Mother].
That kind of terror out of nowhere came from Mother every day of my life and I never knew when or WHY! I am only in this past year coming to understand how the PSYCHOTIC nature of her abuse was both unique (among child abuse) and SO devastating to me.
This has made CHANGE itself my terrifying enemy. I just chose to change everything in my life [by moving up here] — but even setting up for and returning to my sewing requires hundreds of steps of change because nothing is the same as it was.
Instead of two big rooms to work in I have a little tiny space. My friend so kindly gave me an older but seems unused Wards sewing machine — but I think I have to restart my sewing with this familiar old nearly worn out machine I used in Arizona. I am scared of the new one!
My anxiety is so overwhelming no matter what it’s connected to because — I see at this moment — I no longer have any barriers to all that terror Mother created in me that is IN MY BODY! [I was built that way.] I used to be able to block it but I no longer can.
How strange. How real. How unfortunate! This is what terrorists do. They terrorize people. Your mother did that to you. I think it created (for me) a massive ocean of terror inside of me — no more ignoring it. It hasn’t GONE anywhere. My simple and familiar life in Naco did not create continual strangeness which exists here around everything. I cannot keep it all at bay here.
But I can slowly work through this sewing chaos. I need to know where everything is — every kind and piece of fabric, scissors of which I can only find one good pair and I have at least four — sewing must be orderly and efficient if I am to enjoy it, be creative and effective. At least I have this day as a bonus to try to work through some of this.
I add…. I don’t believe that anyone who was not themselves “built by terror” has a clue what I am talking about let alone what I am experiencing. I intimately and permanently know what “disorganized-disoriented” insecure attachment disorder feels like, what Reactive Attachment Disorder feels like. I believe the basis of these feelings is terror.
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