Absences

I have some things to lay out on the virtual table with you, my friends.
Pull up a chair and let's have tea together while I whine a little bit.  Just a little bit, I promise.

I've been sporadic at best with posts, reading and comments lately, and I've been working to identify some of the reasons for that.  I'd like to share what I've learned, not becuase I feel I owe an explanation so much as that I feel I'm identifying with some ACoN commonalities here that others might also feel.

First off, and I'm bringing this up for a specific reason, I'm sick.  I posted last May, I think, about my stinkin' Graves Disease, and I'm been concientiously working with my doctor and endo to get my thyroid hormones under control since then.  The problem is that - so far - it's not working very well.  I have days where my levels are so high that I feel like I'm on speed and my energy burns out by the time I eat lunch and I have to take a nap in the freekin' break room like a much older than 35 year old person, followed by days where my levels are so low that it feels like a gargantuan effort to haul my ass out of bed after sleeping for a solid 8-9 hours. 

It'll get better, I know this, and I'm not talking about it here because I'm looking for sympathy.  Better people than me have had far worse problems than this. But I need to say it out loud for one reason only: in the taloned grip of the Crazymaker Clan, I was never allowed to be sick, even if I was.  I was also, therefore, never allowed to take care of myself in order to get better. I was always expected to gut it out, just move on, walk it off.  If I didn't shake off an illness and hide it, I learned that I would be made to pay for the attention it took to get me well, most often by constant humiliation for - potentially - ever after.

So, I've been making a concerted effort to give myself the permission I need to take care of myself.  When I am tired, I go to sleep, even when I would really, really, really, like to post something here or take a look at your blogs.  I miss you, and I feel out of the loop a bit, but I'm consoling myself with the thought that I am learning to obey my body's needs and unlearning a lifetime of external instruction to deny myself.

Second, I am reasonably sure that at least one member of the Crazymaker Clan has found my blog.  Although I'm not particularly interested in their input (rimshot, please,) I did need to spend some time making sure that I have properly analyzed and understood my reaction to this potential.  Now that I'm out of the grip of the gaslighting manipulators, I have learned that my gut reaction is often the right reaction to a stressor, and that I only revert to my Scapgoat training of Ye Olde Life when I overthink a situation.  My gut reaction to a potential breach by the NFOO is this: Fuck you, I'm telling the truth, read it if you want or better yet, shove it up your ass so far you choke on it.

But, I needed to sit with that for awhile and make sure that my gut is on the right track, that I'm not going to hurt anyone I care about with that reaction and that I haven't overlooked anything.  Honestly, after some time, the only thing that I can say has changed is that I feel more and more strongly that I'd like to get rid of the pseudonym.  DH and I are in the opening stages of negotiations on this as it would affect him too.  We'll see.  Other than that, though, I think if I have anything to say directly to the Narcs or their minions, it is this suggestion, to quote the late, great, Kurt Vonnegut Jr., that, "They can take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut. They can take a flying fuck at the moooooon!"

Third, I'm still seriously disturbed by the Major Kerfuffle (go ahead, salute, you know you want to,) that took place because of a couple of Narcs in ACoN clothing around here.  I've read and read and re-read a lot of what went down with all that when I have had time and energy to do so, because I'm still trying to figure out exactly why it pissed me off so badly, why it bothered me so much.  I mean, of course betrayal and deceit create bad feelings, but I am not particularly thin-skinned.  So, I wanted to make sure that I hadn't done anything that I  needed to make amends for, because this sour feeling in my tummy that's still hanging around when I think about the whole thing hasn't happened to me very often before, at least not since I got sober, and it's often associated with my own bad behavior.

I can't think of anyone who I maliciously attacked, but if I did, please, be friends and let me know.  I certainly used some strong words and drew some firm bounaries, I'm aware of that, but I didn't attempt to impeach anyone's character inappropriately.  I'm not entirely sure where the acid still floating around from the attention-seeking double-speakers will pop up next, but I do know that it well, just as soon as those involved run out of fresh meat and come trolling back looking for a new supply.  I'd like to make sure I'm on an even keel before I have to whip out that harpoon again.

Last, I haven't been enjoying my tone lately.  I think that this is in direct relation to how crappy I've been feeling.  I'm hoping that it will improve with more consistent levels of energy and feeling better in the future, but of late I've been under the weather enough that it's made my writing under the weather as well.  As much as I'm a fan of Truth, and wouldn't ever hide mine from you, I'm also a fan of trying to share the message above the mess, and I've felt like a mess lately.  That mess has been big enough to peek through and in some cases saturate what I'm trying to say, and I don't want to hand you that.  It's not your rock, see?  So I'm working to feel well and hoping that wellness is what I can convey again soon without having to work so hard.

There's nothing wrong with talking about the mess, talking about the problem without the answers, please don't think I'm saying that.  I just don't like the dark paths that I end up on when that's what I have to offer.  I feel stuck in a loop when that's where I am.  It's my Boo'Ya Moon, I guess.  I'll get out of it, I'm confident, fuck, look at all the other shit I've survived: this is nothing.  But feeling well isn't happening as quickly as I'd like, and that brings me back to my first point... So.

I came to this place in the great wide cyber world because I felt like I had survived a very specific set of circumstances that I wanted to talk about and hear about.  I was not expecting to find the wonderful people that I have met here, I wasn't looking for a community or a wealth of knowledge.  I just wanted someone to understand when I needed to say that I scan the obituaries every day looking for certain names and that I am disappointed when they're not there.  I wanted someone to understand that all mommies aren't kind and that all daddies don't protect and sometimes sisters and brothers use you as a human shield and expect you to thank them for it. 

I've found all that, and so much more on these blogs and boards, and I'm absolutely, completely 110% grateful for that.  I think about all of you every single day and I send out pixie dust and happy thoughts to you every chance I get.  If I'm absent a little more than I'd like, please know that it has nothing to do with you and that I and my real world loved ones are all fine.  Where we are not, we are getting better, and that's enough.

Love,
Vanci

Voices

There have been so many awesome posts up lately.  From the bloggers that were here when I arrived on this scene to the newly arrived, man, we're throwing some seriously good writing, great ideas and fan-fucking-tastic conversation around this ACoNverse.

I hear us talking about:
Overcoming fear.
Re-thinking doubts.
Standing tall.
Reaching out.
Our right to be heard.
Protecting ourselves.
Changing our minds.
Sharing our souls.
Spiritual journeys.

I hear us saying these things with:
Grace.
Intelligence.
Joy.
Humor.
Beauty.
Wisdom.
Hard-won experience.
Correctly directed anger.

I hear us saying that we are:
Stronger than we thought we were.
Able to take care of ourselves.
Smart enough to know better.
Willing to break our chains.
Wiser than we should be.
Willing to pass it on.
Hopeful for our futures.
Accepting of our reflections.
Gentle enough to help.
Kinder than kisses.

I hear a group of people who were intentionally and maliciously broken down to lower than low, laid flat by evil people, forced into subservience and humiliated at every turn, beaten to a pulp and left isolated and alone inches from death of one sort or another.

I hear that same group of people reaching out to each other and the world at large and speaking in their true voices, calling out to the stars and sea and saying, like all the little Whos in Whoville, We are here! We are here! We are here!

We talk so much about the Narcs.  We detail their offenses to the most minute fragment.  We re-live the power that they had over us, the horrors that they inflicted on us, the pain that they caused us and their shadows that still lurk waiting for us in so many dark alleys.  We have to, we speak out so that others can know.

We talk, too, about getting away from them, in inches or in leaps, and the how and the steps of that process.  We talk about surviving, cherishing, thriving, feeling, loving, living and the ways that all those states improve when we are Narc-limited, Narc-less, Narc-free.

They tried to make us theirs,all theirs; readily available for their consumption and soul-killing fulfillment.  And when they couldn't, they tried to make us monsters.  And in doing so, they discounted our strength and thereby created something that they fear.

To their dismay, their best efforts only served to create truth-tellers, light-seekers, hope-spreaders, joy-sharers, memory-keepers, path-walkers, precious human beings who will never be defeated.  We are not to be trifled with, we are stronger than strong, smarter than smart and I just have to say out loud that after jumping around and reading so many of the awesome posts and comments that have hit these pages in the last week or so that I've come to one conclusion.

We, my friends, in all our different incarnations, are some Bad Mother Fuckers.
And I love that about this place.
As TW says, BLOG ON!

Love,
Vanci

Why We Need War Stories

"I was tied to a chair with dishrag stuffed in my mouth and made to stay there all day."
"They beat me for not cleaning up after my younger brother's diaper mess.  I was four years old."
"He broke my arm and threatened to break the other one if I told the nurse the truth about how it happened."
"She locked me in my room for days on end with no food or bathroom."

The above are only fragments of a portion of the true stories I've heard in this community and other arenas in which we ACoNs and survivors of abuse huddle together seeking shelter from the storm of our memories.  When we're in the middle of the abuse, when it's actively being forced upon us, it (and those who wield the abuse,) are the gale force winds we're threatened with.  They're alive, they're monsters, they're right outside of our minds, ready and waiting to exert their influence; they're looking forward to hurting us, breaking us.

Some of us don't make it out.
They take our hearts, our time, our money, our souls, our relationships, our careers, our creativity, our lives.  They appear in our bedrooms and our offices and our sacred places and they ravage us like the beasts that they've allowed themselves to be or become.  They wear us down, they confuse us, they find ways to make us shoulder blame that we don't deserve and shouldn't be forced to carry.  They consume us in any way they can, and then they convince us that their cruelty was what we deserved in the first place.  Most of us have only the defense of denial to block out the pain while we try to live through it.  Is it any wonder that we live in shame, fear, dread, terror?  Is it any wonder that we become broken people?

Some of us get away, to varying degrees.  We survive the atrocities and we spend time and energy and money and emotion and will digging out of the premature graves - be they metaphorical, emotional or physical - that the abusers put us in.  We overcome, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, sometimes all the way.  Sometimes, yes it's true, sometimes we fucking thrive once we get out of that dark, dank, dirty hole that they dug for us.

And when we realize that we've made it into the light, we commit the ultimate alleged 'sin' against our abusers, our dysfunctional families, our narcissistic or deranged or sociopathic or psychopathic 'loved ones,' be they parents or siblings or spouses or friends or ministers or teachers or neighbors.

WE TELL.

We break the cycles of abuse with our voices and our words and our experience and wisdom and support of each other.  Bedraggled veterans of combat, we speak of what happened, what it was like and what has changed.  We share our memories and the tears, anger, shame that come with them.  We talk about how we got out and how we stay out and how we move on and how we live, not just through it, but also with it.  We tell the truth about what we've suffered, and we tell the truth of how we survived and we tell the truth of how to live well for different reasons and with different motivations from each other, but the core we share is always the same: we made it, we survived, we're here, we're together, we can do this.

We tell our stories for reasons that only survivors can understand.
We who have been forced to swallow the horror and pretend it doesn't exist (in my case while singing in front of the church on Sunday morning with a big, bright SMILE,) have to speak it out loud in order to affirm its reality.
We who have been forced to sacrifice ourselves to atone for others' transgressions need to unravel the story with a willing audience to help us keep it straight.
We who've been forced to live in shame for crimes we didn't commit (often simply for being born) need to speak out into the light and have others return to us that ...

It wasn't our fault.
We didn't deserve it.
We aren't responsible for it.
It shouldn't have happened to us.
We are lovable.
We deserved better.
We can live through it.
We can grow.
We are not alone.

And most importantly: no one has a right to hurt us ever again.

With all my heart, thank you for sharing your stories and for allowing me to share mine.

Love,
Vanci