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Happy New Year
I am struggling to be all positive and bright as we start this year. The broken sleep and the endless nightmares are starting to annoy me now. There was a discussion somewhere about how when we nap during the day, we’re not asleep long enough for REM sleep to kick in, so we don’t dream during day sleep. Which might explain why I prefer it at the moment. I’ve certainly found it to be true. It almost feels deeper and more satisfying, but sometimes leaves me feeling slightly woolly-headed afterwards.
I cut all contact with The Mentor over Christmas. That sounds a bit drastic, but he deserved a break from my whining, and I wanted to see if I could try and regain some semblance of normality. I stopped writing this journal and tried to reduce my visits to the chat room. I still hung out there during my night, but tried to restrict myself to that.
I’m not sure what I proved. The sleep pattern stayed broken, and I struggled to keep my balance. I missed The Mentor to bounce things off, and the moment I hit anything tough, I realised the lack of support in my real life. Well, of people who understand properly. You know what I mean. They’re not you.
I decided to download The Body Keeps the Score. It kept being mentioned, and I figured one more book wouldn’t kill me. It made me think. A lot. It pulled together various bits and pieces — half-heard ideas explained properly, and whole things I knew nothing about. I kept putting it down and musing on what I’d just read, realising there were reasons why I felt, or acted, or thought the way I did.
It helped me with the whole “it’s not my fault” thinking that I still struggle to hold onto. If all this stuff is known to happen, if it’s been happening to my brain and body for decades, then maybe there’s an explanation for the life I’ve had.
It also led me somewhere inevitable. I need a therapist. I can’t do the next bit on my own. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m a little scared of what’s waiting, but I know enough to know that I don’t know enough.
My starting point is to find a therapist well-versed in the whole Traumasexuality worldview. Failing that, a good trauma therapist. No idea where to start. Here, everything NHS is long waiting lists and a little too fond of CBT, which feels like therapy lite.
If I end up doing EMDR, I’d prefer that to be at the say-so of a therapist I have a relationship with, someone who agrees it’s appropriate. I don’t feel equipped to make that decision alone.
The cost of going private here is hideous, and while I subscribe to the idea that it’s worthwhile, there are two things I want to avoid. I want to avoid the expensive mistake of shopping around therapists. And I have no intention of doing this for years. I want a plan. I want to know where we’re heading. When we get there, I’ll cope with the rest myself.
Yes, I can hear you forming your argument and tsk-tsk-tsk, but there’s one factor that overrules it all. I don’t have that much life left. I’m not spending a significant chunk of my remaining years sitting with strangers talking about my problems. Navel-gazing has never been a hobby of mine, no matter how it might look over the last few weeks.
I read a comment somewhere — sorry, I’ve forgotten where — but it stuck. It said:
“You do know that he never touched you for the intention of giving you pleasure? He only touched you because he enjoyed it.”
That had never occurred to me. Probably very true.
And why had I never thought that before? Why would I imagine it was anything else? Why do we normalise their behaviour, even to the point of making excuses? We’ll take the blame before we’ll acknowledge that there’s nothing normal about touching a child. Our starting point should always be: unacceptable behaviour. Now, what was the question?
I’ve got to the part of the book explaining neurofeedback. Fascinating. Attach electrodes to your head, control a game on a screen, and train your brain. (That’s what I heard.) Better success rates than drugs, non-invasive, long-lasting results. Over here, it’s £2k for a course of treatment. I should have asked for it as my Christmas present. Maybe next year.
This entry feels disjointed, and probably is. It’s representative of my headspace at the moment, so I’m just posting it as is.
64 days since I first walked into this glittery little world, and I might be more confused than when I started. I still think it’s going really well and worth all the sleepless nights. Members of this eclectic group assure me that over time things get better. Not one will put a time frame on it.
A myriad of theories. Opinions galore. Facts by the dozen.
Try finding one person who will commit to a timeline… worse than hiring a builder.
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