The summer of 2014 I would have rage. So much rage that I didn't really know what to do with it. I would hop in the minivan and listen to chick metal. Then one day, while in Asheville (in a fit of both anger and believing I was an "infinite one" I googled, angrily, "hebrew word for infinite one." Up popped an image. Perfect. I'll drive to the closest tattoo parlor and get that image on my arm. That will show everyone.
Let me now introduce the traumatized brain, as it has been explained to me by my doctor and therapist.
When I was fourteen, the FBI raided my house in search of my daddy who I really loved. Long story short, he turned himself in. That would be the end of our relationship.
For several years leading up to that, he would confide in me. He would tell me secrets...grand secrets...and tell me not to tell anyone, not even my mother. I felt special.
Because of these things (all traumatic and abusive) my brain helped me to survive by developing "parts." For example, I have a missionary part that helps save the world (On the day that the FBI came, that story line started in my head and continued for many years). I also have an angry middle schooler (who got the tattoo). I am in the process of helping these parts heal, retraining them...letting them know that it is safe now. They are free to just help me raise my kids.
So...my tattoo. I'm not a tattoo person, but then...when I came out of the psychosis, I had this tattoo...which was actually misspelled in Hebrew and it doesn't even mean anything. So I felt shame for several months. Until I realized that I needed to love and care for that part...who didn't know what else to do. So I have an unlikely, but now loved, tattoo.
It makes me angry that so many people who are considered mentally ill are probably just traumatized (that's what my doc tells me). They really can get well...because after 10 years of horror, I am getting well.
Let me now introduce the traumatized brain, as it has been explained to me by my doctor and therapist.
When I was fourteen, the FBI raided my house in search of my daddy who I really loved. Long story short, he turned himself in. That would be the end of our relationship.
For several years leading up to that, he would confide in me. He would tell me secrets...grand secrets...and tell me not to tell anyone, not even my mother. I felt special.
Because of these things (all traumatic and abusive) my brain helped me to survive by developing "parts." For example, I have a missionary part that helps save the world (On the day that the FBI came, that story line started in my head and continued for many years). I also have an angry middle schooler (who got the tattoo). I am in the process of helping these parts heal, retraining them...letting them know that it is safe now. They are free to just help me raise my kids.
So...my tattoo. I'm not a tattoo person, but then...when I came out of the psychosis, I had this tattoo...which was actually misspelled in Hebrew and it doesn't even mean anything. So I felt shame for several months. Until I realized that I needed to love and care for that part...who didn't know what else to do. So I have an unlikely, but now loved, tattoo.
It makes me angry that so many people who are considered mentally ill are probably just traumatized (that's what my doc tells me). They really can get well...because after 10 years of horror, I am getting well.
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