Living in Hide Mode
Monday, January 2nd, 2012It is no secret that my mind is constantly going. It never stops, even in my sleep it seems to be trying to explain things to me. Apparently I am supposed to have listening ears, and I am gaining some major ground in my independence and creativity. Well according to some dreams interpretations, I can interpret it that way because I do like cats. If I did not like cats it would be a completely different outcome.
I do like looking things up from all kinds of sources, but I know that the bottom line is my brain is processing what I already know.
The question is if I want to listen or not.
My dreams have managed to wake up some memories that I had forgotten. Many were traumatic, but I am in a good place to work through them. A main reason for this is gaining the understanding that you are allowed and validated in calling out the wrongs that have been done to you. It is valid to say that you are angry, upset, or affected emotionally in some way by what people have done. Realistically I know this, I teach my kids this, and I give them a voice to speak openly. I am constantly telling others the same thing, but for some reason it has not applied to me. I have said that it does, but I did not accept it. I still held on to guilt about speaking out my fears, anger, hurts, and even joys.
It was a huge revelation to me to comprehend that it does not have to be black-and-white.
I watched a program where they were doing intense therapy, I was very happy to know that I have been on the right track with my own healing. I also got confirmation that in these months that I have been doing this emotional work my sudden outbreaks of emotional devastation and crying spurts are very normal. This has been hard to accept for a person who has not allowed true release while shedding tears — they were just salty waters that fell. The trauma and pain was still trapped inside a locked box. It also revealed that I had been in denial for years, which can cause you to think that you have dealt with things when you actually have not. Or that there was (is) no problem at all.
This explains my repeating loop pattern over certain events because I did not really deal with them.
It is very important to understand and accept too that there are many layers to trauma. One of my main problems was that I didn’t think that I was traumatized — I believed what people told me that I was “just overreacting”. I have clusters of trauma throughout my life, some of it more devastating because of my Aspie mind, but still some of the things that I have gone through “normal” people would have a hard time with as well. Trauma is trauma every person is affected differently, just like stress, and it all matters. We all have to deal with it or block in whatever way to help us cope.
I have managed a lot of my trauma by hiding.
I hid behind masks, I used mirroring as a way to cope, I used friends or significant others to shadow, I used alcohol, and various other things as a way to escape into my own world. I forgot the things that started me hiding my writings, poetry, and stories. I used to write songs also, but I would not dare tell someone that after the way dad responded. He didn’t really express any interest at all, but a few years later when my little sister wrote a song it was all he talked about. He told me about the events of it being created and then, when they came to visit us he played guitar for her and they both sang the song together. I was not jealous, I was confused. I was happy for her. I thought it was great, but I knew that I had to hide my response because my dad would have accused me of being jealous — I have been accused of being jealous of my sisters a lot. I am not we are completely different, and I like that. Many times my response to things like I just mentioned was taken as jealousy.
I was confused, I believe rightfully so.
AND I do not feel guilty for saying that. I cannot recall attempting to write any songs since then. While in high school my first boyfriend would invade my room. He read my diaries and that caused me to stop writing my true feelings. I wrote in my notebooks and hid them in my locker, he found them. I got in trouble, and one time he threw the spiral notebook at face cutting my cheek in the lunch room. In front of my “friends” one of which ended up being my second boyfriend, who did nothing. I will mention here as well that during lunch one day my second boyfriend to be called me “Moose Hicky”. I got up and left holding back the tears until I got to the bathroom. He was always making fun of me, but telling me that they were just jokes and that I should lighten up. He did that throughout our whole relationship.
I could not tell friend from foe, and I assumed that I was wrong and he was right.
I digress — my first boyfriend went through all of my things, all of the time. I started to hide things that I wrote in my basement. I would hide poems and things behind my cassette tape cases. I hid things in my books because he never touched my books. I hid my writings in my mom’s album sleeves. Then, came a day when all of my diaries were gone. I had not been writing “real” things in them because I knew that he would read them. I still started to panic though. They were gone. They were mine and they were gone. I asked my mom about them, but she was the extreme opposite and would not go in my room or touch anything of mine like that because of her parents invading her space while growing up. She swore that she would never do that to her children. She knew nothing about me or what was going on in my room unless it was too messy or I got in trouble then she would remove my doors so that I had no privacy at all.
I asked my step dad if he knew where they were, he claimed not to know.
I discovered later that he lied, when his truck was impounded after their divorce, the truck was in my mom’s name so she had to get it back and pay for it — I found them hidden under his seat. I also discovered a while later from my first boyfriend when my step dad and his friends would go deer hunting they would get drunk and stoned sitting around reading my diaries. My first boyfriend had similar connections in town since he and my step dad both did drugs. I was beyond devastated. I was sick for weeks, at least I had them back, but I stopped eating and sank into depression. From then on I made sure that I hid everything very well. I did not start sharing my writing again until I shared my poetry, songs, and other writings with family.
I received what felt like mostly indifference, silence or comparisons with other family members.
I will say not all of all them responded that way, but since it’s so hard to read people I was not sure what their responses meant. I assumed that my writings and what I had to share had little value. I still had the impact of my mom’s response from years earlier as well that stuck in my thoughts. I had hidden away my imagination and emotions and only allowed myself to write prayers or petitions to God. I still wrote, but I hid them on my computers, tucked away in the middle of prayer journals, and various other places never to be seen. I normally told no one that I wrote anything. I started writing stories again in 2009, but would not allow myself to finish. I didn’t begin writing poetry truly connecting to my own emotions or thoughts until I started the poetry blog. I actually started that one so I could use the “like” button, not to put my poetry out there, but I found that it was helping me. When I started sharing some of my short stories by creating another blog for them it started making me feel more comfortable. Slowly I have been working through my fear of sharing, and coming out of hiding even more.
It is a huge feat for me to overcome these fears and share what I write.
It wasn’t only that people read my innermost thoughts or violated me, but that they mocked me that helped to form these fears. My first boyfriend made fun of me or got angry and violent. I found out that my step dad and his friends sat around laughing and mocking me as well. I think I was between 14-15 years old when all of that happened. My first boyfriend continued this invasion of my notebooks, room, lockers, and later my car until I was finally able to be rid of him. That is another long story. All of this made me hide, and hide my writings. I have taken back my writing, and most days I feel comfortable with sharing. I welcome constructive criticism I do not see that as rejection, but a helpful tool. The difference with sharing now is that I am not being violated — I am sharing freely so now the fear lies in another form of rejection.
Though it does not consume me, well most days it doesn’t.
I managed to get some stories out in the past few months by forcing myself to not edit and just let the story flow. I have also been attempting story poems, or longer poems. I am trying new things. I have many hidden away on my computer, but I have been afraid to read them again because of what I may have written. I have only shared a few of them with people, and got derailed a bit my no response. I decided to treat it as I do with this blog I just write on here more freely than in the past, but I allow myself to share. That is one reason why I started my story blog to write a story and not care so much about the grammar, and writing rules. I wanted to allow myself to write whatever I felt. I was forcing myself to face my fear. I have allowed my imagination to go free. It takes a lot for me to share stories or poetry because I feel very exposed. They are a part of me that has not been allowed out for quite some time.
I think this, I can define as an accomplishment.


