My oldest son tried stopping with smoking, reading the book by Alan Carr. He then makes the mistake of smoking this one cigarette, and is soon back into full addiction. But all 3 attempts to stop, were successfull for him. Do not take Zyban, a drug to quit smoking. Apparently it is Welbutrin with a different name. Welbutrin is or used to be a common antidepressant. Peter Levine says one should not take drugs with ptsd. When one does, one cannot engage in transforming the trauma. Endprognosis is that all organs will come to a full stop/stop working. I was in contact many years ago, thinking to do his therapy with her, who herself suffered from early childhood trauma. Her kidneys just stopped working altogether, which made me think.
I tried the therapy with a different therapist, and became more and more dangerously suicidal, so i quit. I guess 3/4 hours per session, then to be sent home in anguish, many triggered trauma’s, without transcending them, is not the way to go with complex ptsd, RAD.
I am now going to have a talk about SP/Pat Ogden. Saw a teleseminar by her, and the way she talked about transforming extreme feelings of unsafety touched me. As usual i do not know, how many consult that would take. THus i might simply not be able to afford it. As insurances cover about 5 sessions at most a year.
I once did therapy with a belgian psychiatrist called Karel Ringoet. He wrote a book Dancing with the clowns, i think the title was.
He mainly worked with schizophrenics and disabled people. His idea was to bring people in contact with their experiences in the womb, where they felt safe and attached, so that in their current reality they would improve on having more healthy social contacts. His therapy worked with the schizophrenics and handicapped and had worked with a dutch woman with similar experiences, he thought, like mine. After a telephonecall, he invited me to try out his therapy, free of charge, as to put in a claim with my insurancecompany would most likely end up negative, while costing a lot of expensive time to put in the claim.
He built a sort of artificial womb, painted red and blue veins, of cloth, attached to a large iron ring, hanging in the deep end of a swimming pool. The part of a pool they use to practice with people who learn to dive. We then learned to dive with a airbottle into that artificial womb. I was blessed that a female psychologist took an interest in my case. She dived in with me together and succeeded in making me feel what bonding in the womb would have felt like. As she was a mother herself, being clearfeeling my self and an extreme empath, i could connect with that part of her.
In his book the psychiatrist introduced his new therapy to a congress of peers. He was ridiculed and experienced how it felt to be in a borderline state, while flying back home. The female psychologist later explained to me, how all these professionals, they had invited to be present and watch the therapy, were too scared to show up, only dressed in a bathing suit. Those supposed to know the ways, the paths of our healing, are often very damaged, vulnerable, prone to secondary traumatisation, themselves.
Many years later i went to a congress for professionals about early childhood trauma. Qualified as a complimentary healthadviser was my ticket in. I never saw so many arrogant, hypocrite, contactdisturbed people together. Feeding their egostates, while only talking to peers they were already familiar with. Talking about transference between client and therapist, telling how a client was always responsible for their own healing, guilttripping clients allover again, while charging exuberant fees to support their celebrations of their own lives. The only one i felt any report with was the waiter. Looking at the faces of all these professionals, being the extreme empath i am, i saw noone i felt safe enough with, to enter into any kind of therapy with. No wonder all or most, this professional group now work with, is chemical pills. Chemical pills that can have devastating sideeffects and cure nothing. For Reactive Attachment Disorder, they have not yet? managed to make a pill. Possibly the Universe itself protects me in this. Leaving me this window of opportunity to collaps, get up again, and have another attempt at full transition of all my traumastates.
I guess the sessions in the womb, the minor transitions, helped me to construct a part within me, with which i could learn many modalities to be my own therapist. That has been walking on tiptoe. And little is needed to be triggered and to have all collapse like a house of cards. Extreme stress polluting my whole bodysystem, making my health detoriate, my pain in muscles increase, blood coming out of my nose when i blow it, possibly from inflamed brains. I go into an eatingfrenzy, even eating gluten, which my digestion cannot handle, possibly due to leaky gut syndrom, to most probably calm my nerves, resembling the sucking a baby does at the breast of its mother. I have learned to just allow for it, fighting it does not work. Like a surfer i will have to accept i have fallen of the board, almost drown, and have to get up on the board again, to try to find another wave, which holds another promise to carry me ashore.
Building stability with new neural brainpaths takes 10.000 hours of practice. But when one gets triggered, feeling like being run over by a truck, does one then have to start all over? Or dose some of the former practice still have some influence? I think the latter. But it is 3 steps forward, 2,5 backwards. And my supported loved ones, take it for granted, have no clue what it took, and just blame me for the moments i totally collaps, inconvenience them. Noone pats my shoulder, noone is fiercely proud of me.
There are some supplements that help me with the extreme stress, irritability. Rhodiola works instantly. Ashgawanda. And i use Niacine, the flushkind, B3, to deal with suicidal depressions. When taking high doses, it is said to be even able to prevent a suicideattempt. Since i take it, i no longer had ongoing suicidaldepression lasting for weeks, sometimes months.
I do not know, but most likely it is an inherited inprint, from my mothers suicidal depressions/attempts, in the days inutero, or when she tried to kill herself when i was 1 year old and she found out about my father’s adultery.
I have noticed different brands of cigarettes have different effects on the brain. My exhusband smoked Marlboro. If he did not smoke for more then half an hour, he went crazy. Many additives are added to tobacco, among them marihuana, and ammonia. Sauce they call it. Some or all tobacco is now GMO, the paper is full of chlorine, mixing those together, seems to cause a very unhealthy exposurerisk.
My exhusband took my advice to try out rolling his own cigarettes with what we call shag. Samson or Drum. There was a significant effect. It made him a lot calmer and better to stand not smoking for a while longer then half an hour.
I cannot stand passive smoking. Get terribly ill when someone smokes in front of me. Possibly my body cannot eliminate any toxins.
I stopped when pregnant, some 39 years ago. My first husband abandoned me when almost 4 months pregnant, after severely abusing me. I often stayed with his parents, who felt terribly guilty. My father in law was a chainsmoker and he kept telling me to take a cigarette. After my son was born, he succeeded. Then my body started detoriating. I got trouble in walking. I was told my kneecaps were gone, had lost the cartilege on the inside and i would probably end up in a wheelchair within a year. I had also trouble breathing. So i decided to do a fullstop smoking. Drank 7 big glasses of water a day for one week and it was effortlessly. As i was a shagsmoker, i missed rolling my cigarettes when in a pub, as that always gave me some space, some safety to observe my surroundings. Check for danger or relative safety in others. That lasted for a decade. In the beginning to handle that i smoked 1 havanna cigar, when in the pub. I knew i would not get addicted to those. After a while i stopped that too. Having trouble while others were smoking in front of me lasted for a decade. Being susceptible to falling ill, loosing all brainfunctions has been ongoing. Even when forbidden by law, to smoke in a workrelated invironment, smokers, who can get away, avoid being seen, will do it anyway, no matter the debilitating effect on others. Even when told previously, how i pay for each exposure, even when outside in nature, they do not change their actions or possibly cannot. They will expose me even without any warning. On railwayplatforms they now risk € 90,00 for doing so. But recently i saw a worker give a warning laughingly, saying his colleagues might react differently.
The consequence of my quitting smoking, was my inability to stand passive smoking returned. It took a long time, before i myself, made that link. For many years doctors told me it was chronic sinusitis, and i was given many antibiotic cures. In time the connection became clear to me. Now when exposed i can stay sick for many weeks. my brainfunctions go instantly, causing Alzheimer like symptoms. Taking many brainsupplements helped me to reverse that. But today i have again blood in my handkerchief when blowing my nose, feeling as if coming out of my brain. So i suspect my braininflammation has returned due to all the stress over the total recent collapse.
Every time i wonder, death feeling very close, if i will again manage to reverse things back in some kind of survivalstability.
Today i will try to get back into some of my therapeutic methods.
If my second son, got some clarity, on how severe, lifeendangering my symptoms become, when he started pushing me to act, talk in a certain way, so others will not feel so inconvenienced by what i am, symptoms included, it was worth it. Communicating to him how extremely afraind, terrorized/terrified i become was possibly a breakthrough in taking my place as i am in this reality, regardless of the consequences. Regardless of whether i have parental permission or not. My angellobes know, i do not need that kind of permission. The very fact, that i was born, is all the universal permission i need, to have the right of existence. People who deny someone to have that right, like my mother, my father did, are fools in those aspects of themselves. And of course, they are also not/never their symptoms. Blame, hate never works and i was, again due to those angellobes, only forgiveness and never blame. Writing deepfelt emotions, was just an effort in sharing, hoping they would understand and thus become a less toxic presence in my life.
My letters did not. The blame against me got even more and everlasting, never to be forgiven.
When called one day to visit my mother, i found her not to be at home. So i asked her neighbour, knowing she was in contact with her, whether she knew where my mother was. I was told she was with my sister. I had taken my 2 cool, not easily triggered, sons along to provide some safety. When arriving at my sister, it appeared they had found my mother almost dead, black and blue bruised, lying after the frontdoor. The visit went ok.
But i got put in a spot, when my very dominant, estranged sister, asked me whether i was a grandmother. I cannot lie, so yes, i am of 2 grandchildren.
Grandchildren i never mentioned, wanting to protect them from my toxic family.
Then my internal struggle began, whether i had a right to not introduce them to their greatgrandmother.
In the end i decided i had not, made an appointment.
When i came with my son, his wife, toddler and baby, it felt so toxic, i wanted to leave, protect my grandchildren, immediately. My mother was not even out of bed. Later my sister told me she had not want to get up and meet me. Then why did i make an appointment?
Apparently they had expected me to come alone with the children. Not bring along the breastfeeding mother and my son. My son having stayed for a while, when addicted to drugs, with that sister, without my knowledge or permission. Institutions helping young people to correct their lives, had promised me they could deal with my son, who had become more and more threatening and disruptive to his siblings. Some fool, a former heroinaddict himself, with a very bad relationship with his own mother, had taken an instant dislike to my assertive being. He broke all communication with me, and instead approached my sister, telling her she was the only one who could give my son a roof above his head. She had no knowledge about drugaddicts and i was complying with advice from youthpolice and childprotectionservices, to put my son out on the street, with the expectation he would discover soon enough how hard that life was, so that he would return home, with insight in his dysfunctional behaviour. All of this almost cost my son his life.
I do not do blame, always forgive.
But apparently my sister and her husband, had not, could not. So my visit to my mother, with my grandchildren. exploded into abusive shouting by my brother in law to my son. All i could do was to get the children out as soon as possible, to get my son and daughter in law out.
I tried to soothe my brother in law, saying trauma is trauma, pain is pain. I wanted noone to suffer. Then my sister started raging, misinterpreting our entering without kissing her in denying her the right to be present in her own house. While the real truth was i almost feel, baby in my arms, over the standing in the way stroller/walker of my mother. None of us wanted or intended anyone to get hurt, nor did we want to allow my dominant, controlling sister to take over our lives.
In the end i got triggered. Her mistaken efforts with my son had almost cost him his life. She had not called or written me in those days, about his whereabouts, telling me he was safe. There were times i believed my son to be dead in some gutter. Later she even told me how she and others had read a personal letter from me to my son. Not being on my level of thinking lacking all capacity to even to that letter justice, or to understand it correctly.
I had stayed silent, but i broke. I started screaming how she had almost caused my son’s death, by her unprofessional interventionattempts. Only much later i learned that my interpretation of those had been false too. I always believed her to want to steal my children, having none of her own. Instead it was the former heroinaddict, who put her on the spot, telling her there was noone else. Which was a lie. There were several adults in my personal surroundings, who were involved as caretakers, legal guardians in my children’s lives at that time.
What sister does not call a nephew’s mother, her babysister, when things go wrong. Things she knew nothing about. I felt she wanted to steal my child/children. She had been unable to have any of her own.
I was informed my mother no longer wanted me or allowed me to visit her. I was banned from her deathbed, her dead body in her coffin and her funeral. I cannot interprete that decision. Lacking too much information on what it was based on.
That whole year of her dying, i kept my heart open for my mother. Not in hope that she would change her mind, ask for forgiveness, tell me she really did love me, but in case she wanted me/needed me to be there at her deathbed, to be there again as her mother, her confidante, the only one she could really talk to. I had no expectations. Was aware it might never happen. I felt responsible for her until the moment i was informed by an anonimous notary, that she had died a week previously, and was buried a day previously. I called my children, and we went to her grave immediately. Cold iron slabs covering a grave. My youngest son saw a tiny space between the slabs, through which we could see her white coffin. I put flowers in her favorite colours, white and blue, gentian among them, in a vase at the grave. The Bachremedy for devastating sadness. Standing there i was not a daughter, nor were my children grandchildren burying their grandmother. I felt more, while standing at a grave in Cielle, The Ardennes in Belgium, where a 18 year old had died in the first worldwar, his mother expressing her deep grief on the stone, for me to read. Emptiness of never having bonded with this woman who had birthed me. It felt as if she had not lingered close to earth, like i felt my father had done for weeks. It felt she had travelled straight into the lightrealms and i could let go, trusting from then on angels would take care of her.
When visiting my mother, staying/living with my sister, the greatgrandmother of my grandchildren, for which i had made a special appointment with that sister to do so, I put my little granddaughter, in my mother’s arms, whilst supporting all the weight myself. My mother afflicted with arthritis, overcome daily/nightly by extreme pain, haven shrunken 20 cm in 2 years. Afterward her death, i was told, she had complained to my sister, how that child was much too heavy for her. I intended to let her have the most precious experience i thought a human could have, to hold your great granddaughter in your arms, and she just dumped it again as burdensome garbage. Just the way she had made me feel, when a toddler, when needing an operation in the hospital when 3, or when my siblings were very ill, or even when i lay sick in my bed myself.
Apparently even for greatgrandchildren she could neither feel, nor fake any love.
Some people are prone to gossip. And i believe that was the wavelength, the frequency she was on with that sister.
Now making an attempt to become sisters, belatedly, she is of another generation, 12 years my senior, i observe that sister’s own traumatized responses. Exploding into uncontrollable raging, mostly seeing the negative in situations, meeting conflicts whereever she goes. And a different side of hers. Having friends everywhere. Being a caretaker of everyone’s needs.
For me she is a force too dominant, too strong. I drift into a timeless zone while with her. But this time i have a defense, of having built myself into this very assertive woman. Even when i cannot say things in reallife contact, directly or by phone, i can email her later.
This week twice though, she has taken over my life. I was ordered to directly come and collect some items from my mother’s home at her house, which is one hour’s drive away, costing me too much on petrol alone. And now i am ordered to go and visit my eldest sister in hospital on sunday, tomorrow. Who has had a kneereplacement and is almost 80.
A new challenge which terrifies me. How am i going to find a new balance in accepting she takes over my life, and sticking to my own therapeutic methods to gain back some form of stability?
It is hard to be the youngest and the only one dealing with the consequences of having lived in such a dysfunctional/abusive family of origin. Saying i am mild, one only starts doing something about the trauma’s when all other options are not open, but living that facing it directly is a different thing.
For future generations though, i want to continue this next step in healing my bloodline. And i guess my siblings, although they never were that during my childhood, banning me, upholding the denial of my right of existence by my parents, or having fled the abusive home themselves, are part of that bloodline.
How strong, how adult do i need to be? And how then am i going to protect/take care of this foetus, this child calling for care, nurture, attention, for being given the right of existence, permission to live/be alive. She who remains invisible to others, unperceived.
Yet for me she comes first. She has to come first, or the combination of all my different fragmented states, will cease to exist alltogether. My mothering is no longer needed by my adult children. I now need to mother her. Accept my adult children are getting hurt by this. My grandchildren are possibly getting hurt by this. Hoping they are equiped to handle this, worrying attachment disorders are, have been passed on to next generations.
My son, does not take as much precaution as to which video’s or books to expose his children. I worry about the way their brains are inprinted.
And i know my grandchildren cannot help, that adults in this world do not assume responsibility and expose their little brains to false illusions, paving the path for future disappointments, future failure.
In some children’s dvd there is even pornography hidden, stripteaseclubs. Unrecognizable for their young minds, but inprinting the patterns for when they get to be adults.
My son, have not learned from me, to check all books, all children’s dvd’s/movies on their contents.
My daughter in law worries about her children wearing a cap when bicycling at a low speed, but she has no clue there are much more important things she has to protect her children’s brains against. I guess for some women, becoming pregnant, pregnancy, breastfeeding is just another kind of addiction. Just the other week it was on teletext how pregnancy of a first child causes this ultimate high in both parents, prior to giving birth. Apparently it only works with the first child. Possibly another thing comes into play, mothers projecting their own unlivable issues into their children, or mothers living life through their children, as the only option they got.
I was blessed, reading books, that making one’s children into emotional partners was the worst kind of abuse one could inflict on one’s children. But possibly i was so good at that, i did not teach my children, that respecting, loving , taking care of one’s mother was just another duty in life one had to assume willingly. She who had carried you for 9 or 10 months, in my case, in her body, fed you even when malnourishing you, even when her womb felt like Guantanomo bay.
I created my children to be a counterbalance, for the rightwing politicians. For a long time now, i understood, how i raised/educated my children from a soulperspective, one of my fragmented states. Only now i learned, all this time a researcher was aware of what he called angellobes. Paul Maclean.
And i wonder, if any professional had kept up, had taken the trouble to learn from and of his work, what damage could have been prevented.
When i learned about PTSD, through reading a book by Judith Herman, the Netherlands still did not speak about ptsd. The knowledge was 25 years behind the US it was stated. Some therapists had just started treating some patients suffering a one time traumaevent. Like policemen or veterans. Until having a random look at Amazon, under the catagory of attachment, had i ever heard of reactive attachment disorder. Yet i had been screaming all the symptoms, to several therapists for decades.
Possibly they were still addicted to the memes of Freud. Memes he all recanted on his deathbed. A man himself addicted to cocaine, an adulterer to the wife he married.