I had been to see my doctor about my chest and she was chatting to me after and asked a few questions about my anxiety. She could see it, my hypervigilance, my stress and after she asked me one very well directed question, I triggered in her office. I was ranting, shaking and crying and the story of my life poured out. She calmed me down and suggested that I needed to go and see a therapist that dealt with victims of war, gun violence and rape.
Morag watched me quietly making notes as my story poured out. After a few months of Brain Working Recursive therapy which reconditions neural pathways in the brain to reduce unwanted behaviors and emotions and habits associated with stress. I had severe PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) 'The body keeps the score' by Bessel van der Kolk. See also, 'When the body says no" by Gabor Mate.
My self esteem was rock bottom although I came across as confident I encountered bully after bully and would trigger often. I was hypervigilant and couldn't sleep without aid. As a child I would sleepwalk and have nighmares and wet the bed often. I remember an incident at boarding school in Standard Eight. My last hiding from my dad was in Matric. I wet myself then too.
Whenever I triggered my immediate reaction was to run. As a child I would run and hide, from beatings of which the last was in matric. My overriding emotion was a feeling of abandonment stemming from childhood neglect and not feeling supported. I repeated my trigger pattern as an adult. I ran away and hid from my husband of 25 years and again from Pretoria after 9 years.
The therapy was amazing and lasting.
Die kak sit op my kop
Dit stink hier om my
My hande is te kort om daar te kom
om hom af te haal,
ek is boonop effe bang Hy byt my.
Ek het onlangs besef hys daar.
Hy vang 'n lift al jare lank bo-op my kop
Hy klou soos 'n vokken vlermuis aan die boom, maar ek Hou van vlermuise
Dis 'n leun-duiwel
Die ene wat in my oor vluister
Dat ek Klein moet bly
Dat ek ja moet se as ek nee bedoel
wat met my kop smokkel en vir my se Dat ek niks werd is nie
Of Dat ek net 'n pop moet wees,
vir enige Iemand wat vir my Sal verdra
Ek is niks.
Ek is nie toelaatbaar nie.
Ek is' n pyn in die gat.
Ek Wil net vir jou se Dat sy my gesoen het en dit het nie lekker gevoel nie.
Want ek is vyf jaar oud en ek verstaan nie.
Help my!
Kyk vir my!
Sien tot hoe rooi is my wange! Ek is 'n slet!
Ek is vyf en ek weet, hoe stink ek.
En daar het' n Engel voor my gestaan,
Wie se arms Langer en sterke was as myne,
En sy lig daai kak van my kop af
En sy bere hom nie net saam met my nie,
Sy 'nuke' hom letterlik todat hy die kleinste kakpresentjie is wat niks werd is nie.
Klein en droog in die plastic.
Die doring in my vlees.
Die fokkertjie wat my lewe verwoes het,
my hart gebreek het,
my moed verpletter het.
Ek is verevig dankbaar Dat jy my glo.
Ek is verevig dankbaar Dat jy my gesien het.
Dat jy daai kakspul op my kop geruik het en hom uitgesoek het....
It was a biggie today, Thank you! Hooray!
The Orphanage
"Come along, Come along". The grey coat of a nun with a funny hat, sho's us up against the grey shiney wall. (Easy to wipe down) Three little beings standing to attention. I was snivelling and terrified. Little steel grey beds with rough grey blankets tightly tucked. My mom had a funny hat and gloves and a short dress. My dad very reverend in his black suit with the plastic round collar at his throat. Smiling broadly they nodded at the grey coat and turned away.
Down to the other end of the room full of beds they walked away toward the passage. They turned into the passage but never looked back. They never said goodbye, they never looked back. I felt faint and the air around me wasn't enough. That homesick feeling stayed with me all my life.
After the fact I found out that it was favour of the orphanage to babysit the clergy's kids on the odd occasion. A perk for the Reverend and his wife. Fifty years later that orphanage was my first stop in Cape Town. I made inquiries and asked them to check their records to find my name. Would I possibly find something that I had lost?
Born Guilty
Born to be guilty and full of sin, the bible tells me so
Uncomfortable under my stubborn gaze
He beat me to tears and silenced me with fear
She lit her gaslight smile and made us a nice cup of tea
A glowing stepford object
I hid my Gwen inside me and we began to fight
Conflict raged within
Who am I?
On occasion before dad got home mom would get us to march up and down and lead us in song:
"I'm a brave brave mouse, I go walking through the house and I'm not afraid of anything
For danger I'm prepared and I'm never never scared, no I'm not afraid of anything....
What about a cat? OOOOo a cat! Well except for a cat, Im not afraid of anything."
LOST
You lost me in the long grass in front of the house
next door to the blue light, a police station
The grass was taller than I was, I looked up at the sun
I called for the dog and she came, and we lay down in the grass
My sister emerged in a rustle, "you think you're the queen of Sheba"
She sat down with a scowl and stroked the fur with a little hand
Loud screaming from the Patio scared our tiny ears
While Sheba licked away the tears
MgMusings (Lindhurst)
