Tag Archives: 35

ever since June 3rd

Posted on by
5

I’ve had an email in my inbox that I’m terrified to read.  Turns out I’m not the only one who writes about the pain of the church.  One of the other people wrote their story and emailed it to me.  And I’m totally gonna read it.  But I’m scared.

I guess, I feel that their pain will be more real if I read it.  Maybe, it’s easier to think that it’s easier to contain if I’m the only one talking.  Maybe it’s cause I’m a Leo.

A double click will keep my commitment.  I feel like such a hypocrite, publishing tomes of my memories and not being able to read theirs.  But when I was showering, I thought about something else.  It’s bigger than me.  I think that reading their story will make mine times two. And open an exponential door into a monstrous house of pain.

If I hurt this much and they hurt this much – and there were 40 families.  That’s just too much.  It’s too big.  I feel like it’s opening the front cover of a really big book.

I also feel like this whole thing is a mystery.  I hear so many stories about how the church ended, how it crumbled.  But I don’t know 100% because I’m the one who walked away.  I got disowned by my family and excommunicated, yes I engineered it.  And yes that played a big part in exposing a lot of the BS going on.  But I’ve learned there were so many other factors at play.

So, after walking away from rubble it’s scary to walk back in and excavate and see what really went down and what the damage was.

But, dang I feel like a hypocrite for not being able to read that email.

outside talking to the outside looking inside

Posted on by
Reply

Recently, I had a phone conversation with somebody who is the best friend of one of the people from the church.  (You found my blog online.  Now you are in it… Hope you don’t mind…)

But she’s been friends with the woman from the church since before the church.  And she knew all of these things that had happened.  She knew people, names, had socialized with some of us.  She knew my mom.  I heard what it was like for her to be the best friend of someone in a cult.

How scary, it must have been for her.  She walked a delicate balance because she didn’t want to drive her friend away.  She was a delicate anchor.

It made me think of the person I met before I left the church who told me that what I was experiencing might be abuse.  She was very gentle.  She knew that if she came at me passionately that I was freak out and shut down and run away.  I am forever grateful for her intuition that helped me find a way out of the church.

It was amazing to hear her talk about it.  Validating in a lot of ways, because what happened was so weird.  And sometimes it feels like a bizarre dream that took up the first half of my life and haunts the second half.  She talked about the cult de sac where so many people from the church lived and how some realtor listed it as hot property because it always sold so fast.  They didn’t know all of the demand was driven  by a cult trying to buy into the same area, and that once the church was gone the demand dried up as the families dispersed.

She talked about one of the women in the church, who has a very special place in my heart.  But she saw a completely opposite side of her.  And of course she would.  Because she doesn’t know that that woman was my very first dance teacher when I was five years old and she’s the one that gave me the keys to my soul’s freedom.  She was also my brother’s first art teacher and although the Army crushed my brother’s arm, he’s still an amazing artist.

There was anger in her voice and that made sense too.  The same anger that is in the voice of a lot of my friends.  The anger of “WHY DID THIS HAPPEN TO SOMEONE I LOVE”.

It was a good talk.  It was a hard talk.  I was proud of myself because when it got too triggery, I set a boundery and we moved on.  That for me is progress.   But, it really opened my eyes to the damage of the church.  The friends and family that were cut off from loved ones because of this cult.  Because of the spiritual abuse and the forced isolation.

I still have so much trouble reaching out to my blood family, because I see them as a them and not a me.  I am trying so hard to change that in me.  That and something called ambivalent attachment disorder, which is something you get when the people who are supposed to keep you safe do so only some of the time so it’s not reliable.

way back machine

Posted on by
1

The setting:  I am 11 and I had a rash or something on my thigh.  Our pastor wanted to look at it because he had medical training and it probably didn’t need a doctor’s visit.  I am in the pastors big leather chair wearing a shirt and my underwear and a towel over my underwear.

Pastor: OK, let’s see the rash

(I show him and am careful to keep as much as possible covered because it’s at the top of my inner thigh.  I am really scared.)

Pastor: Hmmmmm.  It doesn’t look too bad.  Is it itchy?

Little Feisty: yeah.

Pastor: WHAT?

Little Feisty: Yes.  Sorry, Sir. Yes.

Pastor: It’s probably from your tights and dancing.  Do you wash them?

Little Feisty: yes

Pastor: Are you clean down there?

Little Feisty: What?

Pastor: Show me how you wipe after you go to the bathroom.

Little Feisty: um….

Pastor: You can show me over the towel.

(I pantomime for him, and it feels awful)

Pastor: OK good, that shouldn’t cause a rash.

Little Feisty: ok

Pastor: You might need to dance without tights for a while and I’ll have your mom sit you in an oatmeal bath.

Little Feisty: ok

Pastor: We need to have a talk.

Little Feisty: About what?

Pastor: Well, you’re in the older school with the older kids.

Little Feisty: yes

Pastor: And you’re the youngest.

Little Feisty: yes (I was very self conscious about being in my underwear and a towel)

Pastor: Do you like any of the boys?

Little Feisty: What?

Pastor: Do you think any of them are handsome?

Little Feisty: (I was silent for a long time, because I had two crushes and I was not sure where this was headed, but I had to come clean once I was asked) yes

Pastor: who?

Little Feisty:   J & B

Pastor: What does it feel like?

Little Feisty: What do you mean?

Pastor: What does it feel like when you are around them?

Little Feisty: I feel happy.

Pastor: What else?

Little Feisty: um…

Pastor: Do you feel it physically?

Little Feisty: I guess?

Pastor: where?

Little Feisty: um…. well (and I started to cry) I feel something in my vagina a little bit.

Pastor: What does it feel like?

Little Feisty: A little warm and tingly.

Pastor: And do you masturbate and think about them?

Little Feisty: NO

Pastor: you don’t?

Little Feisty: no

Pastor: You need to be very careful, you are growing up.  And getting toward a dangerous age.  Masturbation is a terrible sin.

Little Feisty: I don’t do it.  I know it’s a sin and I never have.

Pastor: I’m going to go talk to your mom, put on your pants.

Little Feisty:  ok

Then we went home.

how can it be this good

Posted on by
2

Every touch.  Every kiss.  Every hug.  Every look.  Every time we cook and dance in the kitchen.  Every time we talk and come to resolution.  Every time we watch a movie and turn our bodies into snuggled up pretzels.  Every time we wrestle.  Every time we go for a walk and hold hands by the lake.  Every time we dance in the grocery store aisle because we like the song and sometimes you gotta break it down next to the hummus.  Shamelessly in love.  I sure didn’t know love could go this far or feel this good.  I sure didn’t know that it could make me feel this mighty.  I sure didn’t know that love could make me feel safe enough to look into me and know that no matter what it’ll be ok.  He makes me want to do things I’ve never done before: listen and compromise.  This is a crazy new world, my friends.

OMG TMI

Posted on by
6

“Really, Suzi?  Wow.”

I’ve heard it a million times.

TMI!!!

I thought of this when I was blogging yesterday about what do you tell a client about PTSD.  What do you have to tell a client or a boss about a trauma, a disorder or a mental illness?  I don’t know.  Mine makes me kinda flippy outty and tactless and times.  There’s the crying.  People kind of notice.  There’s the good days where I’m not triggered.  Or the OK days where I can bottle it down into a nice little coal in my gullet.

But gullet coals aside…  Why the oversharing?  Why the saying too much?  It’s been hard on relationships because I’ll be out to dinner and the start a relationship with…”so the other day in bed…”  Keeping it classy.

So, I was thinking about it, and talking (too much jk) about it.  And then I went to therapy and danced and screamed about it, and it hit me.  Not literally.   But the cult maintained control over us by brainwashing us into over-confessing everything.  We were trained to tell every thought and every feeling, or we would feel awful-nauseous.  If we ever saw someone from the church and had a bad thought about them and didn’t tell them, it was a sin and we had to tell them before the next communion or it was like the sin was locked in forever.

By making us a self policing congregation it really cut down on enforcement.  Which is actually good business automation practice if you think about it-but back to the cult…

So, I am in pain if I allow myself privacy.  I feel like I am lying to you if I know something that I haven’t told you.  It’s misery.  And if you confess before something gets found out the punishment is somewhat lessened.  There is a constant paranoia scan in my head that is looking for wrongs committed…

So, this over-confessing still makes sense.  I’ve adapted it a little.  In the past few years, Ive been more jokey about it so that I can still make sure that I’ve said everything but in a jokey way so that I don’t get looked at like I’m a martian all the time.

I’m practicing privacy now.  Which is one of the reasons I’ve been so silent on the blog.  I’ve been evaluating again: what do I want to say?  Why do I want to say it?  What do I want to get out of this?

And so I don’t know that I know what I want.  But I know I have more to say.  And this is my forum.

everybody limbo

Posted on by
1

I’ve been enjoying contracting.  I’ve picked up clients and done a lot of work.  Since prioritizing recovery from my PTSD and trying to knit my brain back together from the nervous breakdown it’s been a hard path.  What do you share with a client?  I am much more fragile than I used to be.  But also stronger now that I am sober.  Sobriety is stupid because I feel a lot more feelings, but apparently that’s part of the point of it.

 

My contracts have been on average four months.  And that seems to be the lifespan for what I can handle right now.  I have told some clients about the PTSD and it has backfired horribly, others I didn’t and it wasn’t an issue.  With one boss, who had anger issues (probably because of his cocaine issue) I left the contract because I was horribly triggered when he flew into a rage and slammed his hand on the desk.  The sound of his hand on the wood desk was exactly the sound that it would make when a oak rod would hit someone.  I winced and started to have a panic attack and never came back.  Horribly unprofessional: on both of our parts.  But you know what…  I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe and I felt like I was going to die.  I went home with every intention of coming back the next day.  But I couldn’t get out of bed for three days.  My body would not let me go back.

 

Another client and I worked together really well.  He spoke so conceptually, and I am so literal.  He told me that he thought I was autistic.  I told him I wasn’t.  “He said, well there’s something wrong with you.  English can’t be your first language.”  And I realized that I was so sheltered by my cult growing up and we definitely had our own culture.  After that, I was with my friends and it was such an eclectic group that I was just accepted.  From there I went into IT, and well, weird just happens there.  In a lot of ways, I feel like I’m in the world for the first time without a massive support system and there are all of these people commenting on me and it’s vulnerable out here.  I am so grateful for E and my scaled down support system.

The gig I have now is hard and very much in limbo.  It’s not in limbo because of me there are just changes going on and a lot of stress.  I kind of wish it was about me.  But it’s not.  I am dealing with some politics and some people’s fear.  It seems like we’re waiting.  And I hate limbo.  Because limbo is the part where you wait and you fear.  It’s an uneasy, wait till dad gets home, kinda feeling.  And there is tension.

It’s hard being a cog in the wheel, after you’ve been the driver.  Because I used to have the map and make decisions.  I think that feeling of control really helped manage my PTSD.  But since I’m not prioritizing my career now and I’m prioritizing my recovery and my love life, I am sitting back and dealing with the other side of those issues.  And it’s really really uncomfortable.

I hate waiting.

 

 

A tiger is a tiger not a lamb

Posted on by
3

When choreographing, just like any art form people can tell when it’s not from the heart. I was so used to working with women. That was at a time when I was really connecting with women. It was hard for me to be in a heartspace or open to the sensuality or the sexuality of men.

So, when drawn to the idea of choreographing a male version of “Mein Herr” from Cabaret, I was thinking drag and camp. When I called the dancers and asked them, they were mostly in. But if they were going to dance the dance, they didn’t want to clown around. They wanted to bring the heat.

You have to understand the way I am, Mein Herr.
A tiger is a tiger, not a lamb. Mein Herr.
You’ll never turn the vinegar to jam, Mein Herr.
So I do…
What I do…
When I’m through…
Then I’m through…
And I’m through…
Toodle-oo!

Three gorgeous guys, trusting me to get over my fear and sexism and give them moves from my heart that would make them look amazing and seduce an audience. I was expecting that they would lip-sync, but they surprised me again when they wanted to and could sing.

Bye-Bye, Mein Lieber Herr.
Farewell, mein Lieber Herr.
It was a fine affair,
But now it’s over.
And though I used to care,
I need the open air.
You’re better off without me,
Mein Herr.

When a move didn’t work, it was a great collaborative effort. Just like so many things in my life, work like hell to create a framework and then stand back and let the magic happen. The problems come from controlling, fearing and not trusting in the inspiration that flows. And when you’ve got three guys writhing in unison in black on chairs that’s a form of inspiration.

Don’t dab your eye, mein Herr,
Or wonder why, Mein Herr.
I’ve always told you I was a rover.
You mustn’t knit your brow,
You should have known by now
You’d every cause to doubt me,
Mein, Herr.

The one on the left always had a sexy smolder in every movement. He could hold any position and would stick at a step until he knew he had it nailed. The one in the middle had the drama, his muscular shoulder would always hit that roll like it was the perfect punctuation. The one on the right was like engagingly aloof, undulating clockwork, and there was something in his eyes that made you want to be in on his inside joke. Each so uniquely perfect. The audience went wild. This dance and the feelings of healing and freedom of this artistic process remain with me and I hope always will.

The continent of Europe is so wide, Mein Herr.
Not only up and down, but side to side, Mein Herr.
I couldn’t ever cross it if I tried,
Mein Herr.
So I do..
What I can…
Inch by inch…
Step by step…
Mile by mile…
Man by man.

Sometimes, a song will haunt me. I will play it over and over again. It needs to come out. But I don’t have dancers or a venue to express it. I love to choreograph, and need to figure out how to express that in my life

Bye-Bye, Mein Lieber Herr.
Farewell, mein Lieber Herr.
It was a fine affair,
But now it’s over.
And though I used to care,
I need the open air.
You’re better off without me,
Mein Herr.

I have two songs in my brain, clanging around right now. But this memory of this dance has been banging around, I don’t know why it is. Maybe it needs to be written about.

ouch

Posted on by
4

Life is better for me sober.  I have to say I miss some of the social situations in which there was a lot of drinking, but it’s still better for me to stay away for now.  My last real binge was in Sacramento, where apparently I do most of my drinking, on January 29.  So, it’s been a long time.  I don’t think I’ve had as much as a glass of wine in about three months.

But there’s this part now, where other people are getting used to my sobriety now.  And they are telling me how my drinking affected them.  How things I thought were hilarious, were in fact-horrible.  I feel really humbled and grateful because I get to heal a lot of relationships.  It’s the hardest when it’s from E, BFF or M and they are telling me about pain that my drinking has caused.  They keep sticking with me and I love them so much.

It’s overwhelming and I try not to get self-loathing.  In a lot of ways, I was coping the best I could then and now I can cope better.  I trust the people who are supposed to stay in my life will do so.  But I’m sure that, same as with the divorce – I may lose some more in the process.

This triggers something in me, because I need to keep solid on my emotional boundaries.  The church forced us to confess every thought, every feeling.  And I don’t have to do that anymore, but that is really hard.  I think that feeling like I owed everyone everything that was in me, was one of the reasons that I needed to be numb – or have an excuse when I drank.  Or maybe alcohol is delicious and I’m a drunk.

Obviously still working on it.  I don’t know if I need a why.  What happened to me was big, and I needed to slow down my brain – stop the hyper-vigilance and coast for a while.  Most sufferers of PTSD self medicate in some way, and I think that I’ve been working really hard and caring for myself in a lot of ways, and now having a really caring, understanding partner, these parts are coming together to take these shaky steps of trust towards dropping this crutch.

dream baby

Posted on by
Reply

Dream baby shows up in my dreams about once a week now.  It used to be a couple times a year, then monthly.  Now dream baby arrives weekly in my sleep.    I used to be terrified to have a baby, and now I want one.  I know that E and I won’t be perfect but I am now at a place where I can give.

I used to say, “Who am I to decide another child should be born?”  This was when I saw life as a chore and a burden.  But I see now that I am now craving a family of my own, for E, me and the baby.  The love and forgiveness that I have cultivated in my heart toward my family has given me faith.  Seeing how my brother and his wife are such great parents has given me hope.  And the absolute love I feel for my nephews has made me want to give them cousins and to grow our family.  I want to know the mother side of me.

In my dream, dream baby was 3, and E and I dressed it up as a frog* for Halloween to go trick or treating.  I was excited, because it’s something I never did growing up.  And I had a plan, like I always do.  But dream baby didn’t want to trick or treat or have candy.  Dream baby wanted to hop down and up the sidewalk because it was a frog.  So, we spent the evening playing “toad” and I let go of my plans and we all had a great time.

I guess it’s dumb to dress a three-year old up as a hoppy thing and expect it to walk around.  I woke up peacefully and looked at E who was making me blueberry pancakes (yup the apartment’s that small and awesome) and I can’t wait to be his baby mama.

 

*Like in Mario Brothers 3 when they get to wear the frog suit.  Dream baby looked almost just like that.