I profoundly & comprehensively affirm those bitches were undeniably wrong

ok.. Fine, as much as I have a fear of horses I’m not able to just “throw in a horse bucket” I guess I’m back on my high horse (see what I did there?) about the mother-fucking DBT…again.  See, here’s the thing… I suppose if you choose to go, much like, say fundamental structured church, and it works for you, awesome! But if you’re, shall we say, a traumatized rape victim who was forced to have sex with your step father, forced to stay with your abusive parents, forced to eat things that were repulsive, forced to keep your mouth shut out of fear…well, it’s just quite like another trauma.  A big one.   And it’s even more traumatic when the person who forced you to go takes absolutely no responsibility, or even acknowledges your pain and it’s just one big teenage debate.  But, I guarantee you this…. I’m stronger…. Stronger because of what I’ve lived through.  You will never break me.   If it’s the last thing I ever do, I will scream it from the rooftops, and publish it in every bookstore! You will never force us to go to another retraumatizing class again because YOU are afraid.  You take the class to deal with your fear!  Do not project your fear onto me!  I will never again be your subject, muse, prodigy, or “Rocky”. And you will never be my “coach” because my coach doesn’t walk out on me in “fear”. 

So “radically accept” that!  Which, that in itself is just a ridiculously made up term taken to the extreme by the marsha morons. 

Radical: relating to or affecting the fundamental nature of something; far-reaching, or thorough 

Acceptance: the act of consenting to receive or undertake something offering

How can I  radically accept something I feel morally wrong about?  Am I to “accept” as a child “in that moment” being raped by my father as my mother is passed out drunk because I cannot change my situation in that moment.  And later in my adulthood when I’m triggered and have flashbacks and am emotionally upset by the incestuous  brutal torture of what happened to me, am I to just “accept” that this was my life and forgive and move on?  Do I sell a part of myself and my own moral fortitude and bury the pain and unrest of my past in a bucket for the rest of my life, each day tearing away the grief and shame and self betrayal from my flesh when I was merely trying to find peace within my very soul for what was done to me?   

If I find I’m unable to do this, is there anywhere I can go and not face the stigma of my own past, now compounded with the psychological torture of being forced to try to “radically accept” what was done to me, while left emerged in my own personal hell storm of traumatic emotions?   No, because you couldn’t handle the truth that was me., or hold the “fear” that you promised to hold.  And now you admit nothing.  

I have to say, as a survivor of many years of childhood abandonment and abuse, this has been my own personal experience.  And to the therapist who forced me to go to the classes, to accept and practice somenting without any explanation of what it would cost a traumatized abuse survivor: yes, you may have your “own experiences”, we all do, as you like to say (repeatedly) but what was done to me was grossly manipulative, and unless you have had MY experiences of being raped by your father, and abandoned by your mother, you can only fathom (not empathize!) what I experienced.  

Post vacay sickness & blues

I’ve really been unable to move since my return from vacation.  That’s a slight exaggeration…perhaps I should say, I’ve been unable to move without pain since my return from vacation.  That would be  completely accurate.   I’ve also developed what my daughter lovingly refers to a ‘smokers cough’ but that actually started before we left and has really reached the point of what F.O. Stanley must have felt before he was told to run for the Rockies when he was diagnosed with TB for the second time…okay, perhaps a slight exaggeration again,and perhaps nothing to joke about since there has been a confirmed TB case near here,  but really, it’s getting rather ridiculous.   And no, I am not just wwhhiiinnniinnnggggg (bitching, moaning, or otherwise) I have been to the doctor three times in a week.  I can at least think now – well, sort of – if you call watching hours of mindless TV thinking, and I consider that a step-up…so we must be heading in the right direction.  Unfortunatly, I am unable to sleep well, or pain-free – nor am I able to sleep on my side (preferred position) but only on my back, due to the pain in my hip which is concerning and just downright angry-making because sleeping when you are sick is really a necessity and of course my body does not wish to cooperate.  Sadly, yesterday, my daughter develped a fever, stuffy nose, sore throat (insert catchy nyquil commercial) and and I’m now wondering if this will ever end.

Since I did take those unworthy nontherapeutic classes, and sat next to a lovely woman on my return flight who was returning from a week long meditation retreat in Mexico (that did allow booze! sort of an oxymoron – if you ask me, but honestly, the only way I’d consider going – so perhaps they’re lagging in business and trying to bump up their enrollment!) so I realize everything is temporary – meaning well… ya know….everything…vacations, sickness, health, sadness, happiness, life… everything.

This woman I met on the plane, she was telling me about how she goes on this retreat each year and how beautiful it is (of course encouraging me to go).  All of the famous meditation gurus who go there.  I expressed my lack of ability to meditate, acknowledging how healing it is for so many, but not for me, at least not now.  I often wonder how differently I might feel about certain things had not not been forced into doing things – being forced into things really skews your life long perspective – even on things that MIGHT have been helpful, had they been presented differently. For example, most people like onions.  I however, gag at the thought of an onion after being forced to eat a bowl of onions for four fucking hours by my evil step father – simply because he was exerting his asshole power over me, a child.  And now, still, at age 43, I cannot eat an onion, not even cooked onions, in any type of food.    Yes, folks, it is often about presentation and the misuse of power (whether an evil abusive parent – or, who was once thought of as a kind caring therapist – turned marsha moron) can turn you off to what might have proved to be something useful, or healthy, all because it was presented in a “SHOVE IT DOWN YOUR FACE” kind of way.  At least I have found that to be the case with me…  At any rate, this lovely woman was speaking of her meditation retreat in a way that I thought, ‘That sounds like it might have been something I would have done, had I not been tied down and forced to get dbtassfucked’  but alas I was -so that’s over for me.  I imagine now, I would just eye-roll and make fun of the others and the instructors and drink way to much of the wine they now serve…which wouldn’t be fair to anyone.

I did have a wonderful vacation with my kids and my bf, K, and her family.  It was certainly not a “relax” at the beach kind of vacation…my friend and her family don’t do those.  It was a “how much stuff can we shove into a week” vacation.  Which, perhaps what was exactly what I needed.  My time was totally occupied the entire time  We were busy, sightseeing, enjoying beaches, walking, harbor tours, the zoo, segways, walking A LOT…honestly, I could hardly move by the time we got back to the hotel each evening.  Which was both good and bad.  But it was mostly good…it was only bad because my body was screaming at me and I was in a lot of pain.  But I will happily exchange the pain for the memories – I wanted something happy to exchange for the hell trip of November and I got it… The kids were wonderful (mostly well behaved) and the weather was perfect, and it was lovely.

My daughter, however, loves the Island life that we lived the last two Thanksgivings.  I did too, the first year.  And of course our family friends are planning to go back this year, and have already started posting about it on social media (ain’t social media grand?)  It’s very difficult to explain things to a 13 year old, especially when they don’t understand the intricacies of everything from my past and I try so very hard to protect her from everything that I can.  Obviously, I cannot go back there – for my own sanity.  And I have explained SOME things to her, but she still desperately wants to go (I would too, if it would be like it was two years ago, but I know that’s over, and I have to somehow find a way to accept that and file it away) but she’s angry and that’s understandable.  So her friend, and the bitch (Punchy) are already posting “when we go to the Island” and it’s hard to feel left out as a 13 year old.  Hell, I feel left out too, and I’m 43… but I also know that I cannot mentally go – and Punchy has replaced me there and as painful as that is – it’s reality – much easier to accept as a 43 year old.  I’m not sure how to help my 13 year old with this… I know I feel hurt, so I imagine her hurt is 100 fold.  My poor kid… and she doesn’t understand that none of this is her fault.





People on the right…

my daughter took this awesome photo of the Grand Canyon on the flight back from California.  The pilot came on and alerted the passengers to the gorgeous view (I just love it when the pilot communicates something other than, yeah, we’re flying around this storm and we have about 30 minutes of fuel left… That can be alarming to someone with an anxiety disorder since we start the countdown on our clocks, watches, phones, whatever… And 20 minutes, a xanax and a mini-airline vodka later, we start to feel our chest tighten.

This was better…  It was more like…

“The passengers on the right side of the plane have a gorgeous view of the Grand Canyon right now.  And…the passengers on the left have a great view of the passengers on the right….”  Or something like that.  Sadly, the attractive peeps – me (and aside from my kid, obvi) were all on the left… But we got to see the photo.

So awesome!

It’s the “future” & I still hate DBT… Just as I predicted

Occasionally, I still get comments and emails on my old blog (which I’m not able to publish now since I cannot remember the password) on my ranting DBT posts and how horribly traumatizing I found it to be.   I feel a sense of comaraderie with these lost folks, and so much empathy… As most of them, like me, were *voluntarily* forced to go.  The “or else”… Which, as a survivor, is horribly retraumatizing, since you are “voluntarily” forced to go for “the therapists” safety.  That in itself, is terribly ironic.  Since therapy is actually supposed to be about the client’s safety.  Or is it?  I question that… 

At any rate, I received another comment last night (well, actually, the night before, but I’ve been sick and not checking my email or Internet).  Since I am not able to post it there, I thought I’d publish it here.  I still feel DBT to be a huge crock of shit, and I cannot allow myself to get caught up in it right now because if I do, I will find myself in a place of anger that I might not be able to pull out of, and I have to save my strength for things that matter now. And frankly, the fat ass lying full of shit nun (Marsha) and her non helpful retraumatizing not-therapy is just not it.  And when I look back at myself during that time, I find that I’m so angry at myself for actually allowing someone (the therapist I actually trusted and allowed in my heart and head then) to break me to the point that I attended those un-therapeutic, re-traumatizing classes.  And then I wonder how many fewer scars I might have had I not done those things, and actually listened to my body, and myself (you know, like the “old” *trusted* therapist told me to do before she drank the Marsha kool-aid (there seems to be a lot of that (still) going around. 

And it all just makes me sssooooo-very-sad.  Wondering how many survivors could have been, or could still be helped.  But it is to no avail. Because the MHPs  have od’d on the kool aid.  And I didn’t listen to my body, the trusted therapist did turn into a Marsha moron (maybe yours did too).  I went to dbt instead of an oncologist and the rest, my friends, is history! 

So I have nothing helpful to say to this woman, only anger toward the MHP who left her in the midst of her pain, but perhaps you do…   The only advice I would give any trauma survivor, is if you’re looking for a therapist, a question on my list would be: do you do DBT, or refer your trauma clients to dbt? If he/she says yes, hang up. 


And perhaps there’s a MHP who can answer this, sounds like maybe her T is DID… Happened to me!  I have no answers other than “run!!! Don’t go back!!!! And you are not alone!!! This happened to me!!”  Sadly, that isnt aways comforting.   Maybe there’s a therapist out there who can answer why the hell they want to be more damaging to clients, instead of helpful.  Or maybe it’s really just about the money and power.  I surely don’t know.  It’s terribly sad to go through what we do as children, survive, and then to be retraumatized when trying to find *help* as adults. 

Email I received:  

Hi, I wanted to contact you after reading your post about DBT and I am in tears. I have been with a very sweet caring therapist who has listened to me and helped me immensely for 3 years. I have a dissociation issue and my therapist said she wanted to find someone more qualified with dissociative issues to be part of our team , instantly without any knowledge of me or my therapist , this other therapist said that I am not allowed to process my feelings because I am not safe yet ( I am still living with a family member that they say triggers me but she really doesn’t) , but that doesn’t matter . I  at first didn’t know what DBT was but all I knew were my feelings . This therapist always made me feel angry invalidated, and trapped . My old therapist kept taking her advice and said we cannot talk about heavy things in therapy anymore  then for months I lost time and now I had a breakdown and I told my therapist , the first one and she gave me good advice about listening to my feelings and trying to listen and analyze for myself . And then she emailed me again saying ” I just spoke to the other therapist , shesuggests you do not do what I said but instead put all your worries in a box for a later time . “‘I was fine until that email which now it is 1:07 am and I am in tears I cannot stop sobbing it’s not my fault I dissociate and I can’t DBT any way out of it because it’s real and not fake . I am struggling so hard to be heard but I’m afraid to speak up because I don’t want to be labeled stubborn resistant or uncooperative . But I’m screaming in my chest and I’m going back to where I was years ago . A place of distrust and silence . 

When I read your post I just felt finally someone is saying what DBT is like . I’m not even BPD why is it being used for me? Why is it she always has to say ” all trauma survivors Must go through DBT!” I just feel like I’m not fitting her theories or her methods and it’s all my fault . 

I just wanted to converse possibly with you about DBT and  learn more about your experience. Thank you for posting it 

Kids can always entertain themselves 

at the airport

even without a bar…

Hate to see this vacay end – but I’m still smiling because it happened – and t was awesome!!!!

That’s never happened before

of course it hasn’t….

Two days ago we went to the zoo in San Diego and had so much fun!  Well, you know how they take your photos after every exhibit and charge you a hundred bucks to buy them? Yeahs, well we got suckered into tbiying one at the cute panda bear exhibit.  Only, here’s the thing… We looked at the photos, aawwwww- they’re so cute! You only live once.  Let’s do it! If we solit the cost between two families, it’s really not that much.

Tuesday evening, my bf’s Hus comes out of their room and says, “we have a problem.”  Expressing alarm.  What? “The photos from the zoo are not us.”  What the heck…  So I looked, and he was right, it was a couple, not even resembling us at all,.

So this morning we headed back to the Zoo, because of course there was no way to resolve this on-line (I mean it’s only 2015″ after all)  and I walked up to the zoo man and explained the situation to him, and he laughed hysterically and said, “this has never happened before!”  Shocker! He walked us over to the photo place and they were not able to find the actual photo with the pandas but we got another one instead.  It’s still cute.  Honestly I can’t believe it’s never happened before.  Or, has everyone else caught it before leaving the park. Or of not, just never gone back…. Out of embarrassment of not checking the photos before leaving.  Surely, we are not the first to experience this….