KNITMAN

April 23, 2016

BECOMING DEPENDENT-DEALING WITH FORCED CHANGE

Filed under: Uncategorized — Knitman @ 12:54 pm

I am certainly no angel. People often say to meal how brave I am and whilst I appreciate that they are being kind something which I really do appreciate, it isn’t really true.

For one thing I do get very down about the limitations my disease puts upon me or I get very angry and break things and shout, scream and swear.  For short periods I even find myself feeling that I have been unfairly given to much on my plate.

I am not going to go over yet again my rotten childhood. Most of you reading all about it and those that don’t will search it out if they are that interested.

What has been bugging me a lot recently has been my loss of independence. I can still drive and I drive very well. I can also still knit and I still knit well.  However, I can barely walk and I need John to help me dress. If we are not going out anywhere together then I stay in my lounge clothing which is bright and cheerful at least.

With the use of aids  lot I can take care of myself when it comes to the bathroom and showering I hope that I will always at least keep that part of my dignity.

 I adore music and watching films and TV series.  When John is in London on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday that is all that I do  apart from feed the dogs and play with them and talk with them.

I certainly would like to go back to travelling next year. I realise that we will not be able to do the long distance thousand mile destinations. I have had many friends who have left me to get on with it.  whilst it was painful I am more circumspect in my choices now

April 7, 2016

HOPE…I CAN’T FIND IT

Filed under: Uncategorized — Knitman @ 9:44 pm

Every time I feel down the same thing comes up: I have no hope. Yes, I k now how lucky I am to have a husband who adores me and takes care of me. 35 yrs this coming July. I get to listen to music every day on the best equipment, can watch what I like on a 4k TV. (4k meaning resolution not cost!!). I have my dogs to love and who give me great pleasure.

But I have no hope. Nothing to look forward to. Since my disease forced me to stop showing, I have had nothing to hope for. So what if I can still breed a litter. What for? I will only be upset if I produce a stunner. No one will buy it. I don’t have the next show to look forward to, the next litter, the next possible win. Nothing. 

It seems I just must enjoy each day I can watching tv and listening to music and reading until I die. The recession has put paid to my hand dyed yarn hobby.

I don’t say these things because I feel sorry for myself, or because I feel depressed. I feel neither. I truly cannot find hope. 

April 3, 2016

HOW IT WAS….OR WASN’T.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Knitman @ 5:58 pm
If you are an adult and I came up to you and slapped you or punched you or kicked you or tried to throttle you, you would know that I did and take appropriate action. No matter what I said, you’d never think for one second that I had not done this to you.
 
Now imagine you are a very young child. Throughout your growing up, you were punched and kicked and throttled and called names regularly. Imagine also you were never hugged or told you were loved.
 
Yet, within hours of being abused you were told you imagined it. It didn’t happen. Not just one person told you this. The whole family did. (The other children behaving in ways their abuse taught them OR their lack of abuse and doing nothing about the one being abused.)
 
You dreamed it. You are wicked. That bruise was from when you fell.
 
Starved of love and affection, other adults were able to see that and if they too were abusers, used your need for love and affection to abuse you. Thus you don’t see it as abuse and even if you see it as something you shouldn’t do, you blame yourself because you were not forced. When the time came and you were forced, well, it was no more than you deserved.
 
So the first 17 years of life, you are told what did happen didn’t. That black was white and white was black.
 
Then you are taken away to a safe place. A hospital full of kind Doctors and nurses. At least that is what you grew up believeing. Instead, you found some nurses were abusive. The Doctors told you that your memories of growing up were symptoms of mental illness. They filled you with drugs when you resisted their truth.
 
After a while, you resign yourself to the fact that indeed you were crazy. That you had come from a loving caring home but you had a mental illness that made you believe differently. So if I was ill, why was I treated as if I was bad?
 
Deep inside the real me still existed and knew the real truth. He just didn’t know how to live with that all alone. Daeth was the only way to end the nightmare. The result was a coma and proof I was nuts.
 
After about a year, I was finally the patient of a new dr who let me go, and suggested I never went home again and went and made a life for myself.
 
That I did. It has been very difficult. Even today I struggle with my perceptions. It is why I am useless at choosing friends. It is why I keep myself back and don’t let myself feel loved. I had got past that, I thought, until my wedding in 2012 and now knowing that more than a few were not my loving friends at all. I had humiliated myself again. I truly believed they cared for me.
 
Hanging on to truth is hard. It’s tiring. The constant ‘am i good, am I bad’ argument in my head all back again. Fear moved back.

March 31, 2016

SCIENCE SHOWS THAT CHILDHOOD ABUSE CAUSES PERMANENT BRAIN DAMAGE

Filed under: Uncategorized — Knitman @ 9:33 am

This is not popular. There are grades of abuse. However, when I listen to people, if they know mine, they often say ‘but compared to yours it was nothing’ and I tell them that pain is pain. It hurts. Abuse causes damage.I have often wondered how people manage to work. Whether it be on a checkout till or as a professor or a doctor or a nurse. I managed my O levels with nine A, 1 B and 1 C. and that was me done. by the time they were finished the damage and the state that I was in could no longer be hidden.

It is known that constant moving home and schools is detrimental to a child’s health especially to their self-esteem. When we bought this house I was 40 years old and it was my 34th home. Most of those homes happened before the age of 17.

It is known that living in a violent household is detrimental to a child’s well-being as an adult.

It is known that the sexual abuse of children particularly long-term is detrimental to a child’s health.

I know all of the above and on days like yesterday and today I have to remind myself that I am where I am because of all that. However I am also where I am because of what I have managed to do to make your life regardless.

I regret never having had a career or even a job something that I enjoyed doing. I am well aware that there are many people who have jobs that they do not like but they have to do them and I’m glad I’m not in that situation.

I am aware also that people see me as being kept by a wealthy man. It could not be further from the truth. If he were wealthy we would not live where we live although we love living where we live. We have excellent neighbours and it is a quiet town and we get no trouble here at all. There was a brief period of homophobic abuse by children but I nipped it in the bud because I happen to know who the children were and I knew that my neighbour new the parents of some of them. I asked her kindly is she would tell the parents what their children were doing. That not only was it hurtful and unkind but illegal. I never heard it again.

Even when I was showing dogs I know that that was the rumour that I had a wealthy husband. I reacted to that the way it deserves to be reacting to with laughter and saying how silly these people were and how much we went without in order to be able to show my dogs. Now that I don’t show my dogs I know exactly what we went without. Now we didn’t starve and I’ve always been aware that if I compare we’ve always been in a good situation. It was not so before I met John. I don’t want to talk about that. It was a dreadful time.

I don’t know what I am getting at here. I know many people would think I was really lucky because I can do as I please. If they thought about it my disability stops me from doing as I please which is why I have no social life. I have very dear friends who visit me when they can and I always enjoy them and they always leave me feeling better.

I spend my days watching drama via Netflix or Amazon on or DVDs that we have bought and I knit socks while I am doing it. I also read. I read for entertainment but I also read for knowledge especially about science. I read the science surrounding the work that they have been doing on the effects of child abuse on the brain. It is fascinating. It is also quite freeing. Because it shows that stuff that one has felt guilty about has been beyond one’s control. It also shows that the things I have considered old about myself are easily explained which is quite a relief.

When soldiers come back from war and many of them are badly affected we all see that and understand that and they are often diagnosed with PTSD which we also understand. And we raise money for them so that they can receive the treatment that they need. Indeed I support such charities.

Yet when it comes to understanding that children have equally survived a war and are badly damaged by it, very few are interested. Be that people who survived the battle I survived or the battles of war such as is going on in the Middle East. raising money for charities that help people like me is very difficult. I do not know why this is so. I have had people say to me that they cannot deal with that but I don’t see why it should stop them giving money to help people who can deal with that.

As usual when I started to write I did know what I was going to write about but now that it is in print I don’t know what is was going to write about;-)

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March 13, 2016

THERE WERE GOOD TIMES

Filed under: Uncategorized — Knitman @ 12:30 pm

I was talking yesterday to John about the way that I think about my past. It came about because I learned that  human beings tend to remember the bad things more clearly than they do the good things.

I also felt that in some way I was betraying the abused me by talking about or even remembering the good times also.

Before I was six or seven I lived in a small English village for a couple of years having previously lived in Germany but with very little memory of that. I love that little village. The lady neighbours were always very kind to me and I had a best friend called Alex and another one called Hiroshima and another one whose name I cannot remember who was often sick and I used to take him round big chocolate bars. Those are good memories.

It is also where I saw Hiroshima murdered in front of my eyes. This is why I know that one can have repressed memories because all I remember is the newspaper headline:   The Boy Who Died of Hate.   according to what I was told we were together and there had been some confusion over who had been killed me or him. I ignored really what I have been told but I do vividly remember being shown the newspaper headline because it was on the front page with a picture of him and I was asked who he was and I said me. I do not remember Hiroshima at al Tto Singapore. It was a very exciting place for a child. And even though I was only 8 9 10 11  I was given free rein.  it was considered a very safe place.  I remember being taken into the houses of Indian people who celebrated the Diwali festival and fed food. There was this also pink coloured drink which was disgusting and I drank it very fast which was a silly thing to do because the sooner my glass was empty the sooner they folded up again. But I was a child and naive and it didn’t occur to me to not bolt the drink down!  There were lots of wonderful sites in Singapore. The food was fantastic.

At tame time as I was experiencing all these wonderful things I was being violently abused on a regular basis by my sperm donor and I had also been attacked and sexually assaulted and may be raped by a total stranger in the jungle. The trauma was made worse because the man made me swear that I would not tell otherwise he would slit my throat but when something similar happened to a neighbours girl I spoke up about what had happened to me which when I think about it from my adult point of view I think it was a very brave thing to do. My mother didn’t see it that way. She slapped me and told me I was disgusting and how could I have let that happen and why didn’t I say anything and blamed me for what happened to the girl next door.

I don’t wish to go on with this any more but I have illustrated I think quite clearly that along with the terror there were also these good sunny exciting times. It still feels like a betrayal though to talk about those things, the good things.  I can see another maze saying ‘what about me?’ Well I think I gave him plenty of attention and I can’t look back over my life and only see the dark period Looking back over my life I have only ever seen a big dark cloud but there have been breaks in those clouds  and they formed good memories for me and that me also deserves to be heard.

 

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March 10, 2016

A DREAM IN TWO PARTS

Filed under: Uncategorized — Knitman @ 12:37 pm

I decided I need to talk to someone as I don’t seem able to see past this brick wall. I have made two appointments with two different people and am waiting upon a third to contact me.

I felt better upon waking.

I had the weirdest dream. Weird in that it was literally Part 1 and Part 2. I had dreamed I was with friends, no names, and I spilled a staining drink on his expensive green cords. I said I would take them home and clean them. i did this and the stain came out really well. I then awoke because of Lydia letting me know the neighbours were up. She is so thoughtful like that. Anyway, I went for a pee, got back to bed and part 2 of the dream: I handed him the cords and he examined them. To my shame there was a fold in the cords and the stain was hidden in that. I then awoke properly and got up. This as about 2 hours after Lydia had alerted me to the neighbours. Weird. I don’t think I have ever dreamed in two parts like that before. Not sure what the dreams were about. Was abut not looking more carefully? About agreeing to do something I am incapable of?

I finished the final series of Perception. It was not a satisfactory ending for me.

When I read a really good book or watch a really involving series, I often find myself what the lives of the characters are like now. I know they don’t exist but for a few seconds I wonder about their present lives. Either that shows I am bordering on being really nuts, the writer is excellent, or the writer and actors are excellent.

I also talk to the characters on the screen. The equivalent of shouting ‘he’s behind you’ at the cinema. I call them names., tell them off, tell them not to trust so and so, she id it or he did it, he or she is a twat, and I can get quite riled.

There are shows I cannot watch anymore: Holocaust, slavery, graphic history like The Tudors, burnings, tortures etc I can watch die hard type films cos the violence is fantasy same with the comic hero films. Films about abuse although I do intend watching the new film about the court case fought in the States by victims of RC church.

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February 14, 2016

MORBID PIECE TODAY

Filed under: Uncategorized — Knitman @ 2:46 pm

John got up twice because our neighbours get up about 5am and leave their car running to warm it up and then they leave. Not complaining about that. I did that even earlier for dog shows. However it makes Lydia bark. John got up the first time to shut her up and the second time for the same when my neighbours returned at 8:30. I told him to cage the 3 who sleep in the kitchen. This worked and Lydia didn’t make another peep.

However, I then fell into a deep sleep and awoke at 12 and all was quiet. I called out to John several times and got upset and panicky when he didn’t answer. He didn’t have his hearing aids in. I knew this but it is moments like this that I feel the terror of being alone, without my John. Which is why I reject it when people tell me how courageous I am. I haven’t ever said the above before. I fear my own demise too. The one trip we all must take alone.

Anyway, I thought that maybe a different sound would alert him so I banged his show heel on the floor. He answered straight away. He came up. He didn’t need to ask what I wanted. He didn’t say anything. He just held me and soothed my back.

A morbid piece today.

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August 11, 2015

A SADNESS THAT CAN NEVER BE CONSOLED

Filed under: Uncategorized — Knitman @ 4:44 pm

I feel sad. I also feel humiliated. Most of the people who attended our wedding no longer have anything to do with us. I chose those 24 people because I thought they were special and I wanted them to share our special day. As it turns out I was wrong.

My personality has not changed. My disabilities have got worse. My life started with me being abandoned and it certainly is looking like it is going to end that way too. I have two long-term close friends and it is very unlikely that I will see either of them again though of course we talk on the phone. I have one lovely friend where we live. One really special person in 16 years. But we are very close in age.

Yes I fear being alone being surrounded when my time comes by those who are paid to be there.

Two of the people that hurt me deeply because I never in 1 million years would have thought they would have deserted me at my time of most need. They did. One of them when I asked why she hadn’t been round at least was upfront and said I have enough negativity in my life without dealing with yours. Now this was somebody who on a regular basis and come to my house to unburden herself, have a cry and a cuddle and a coffee. I supported her through some truly dreadful things that happened but I never once turned her away no matter how much pain or fatigued I was. this was over 16 years and the first time I needed her that was it. The other friend didn’t have the courage to tell me why she had distanced herself from me but eventually she did and it was because of my disease.

The others have given no explanation at all. They have just gone.

I have heard other people who have debilitating diseases that slowly get worse and never better, lose the majority of their so-called friends.

You may indeed wonder why I am making such a big deal about this. It is because it feeds into my deepest fear which is to find myself powerless and institutionalised again. No matter how well people think a particular home is run there will always be abuse and neglect. I will not allow myself to become powerless like that again.

I really do not know why these feelings have come up today. Hazel and Anna came to clean and they are lovely and we have a good laugh. Thy paid me a really nice compliment. I was one of the few clients who treated them as equals and used their names.

Something must have triggered it off but I do not know what. Sometimes when John is not here I feel the feeling so dark I just cannot put into words. At least I know he is home on Thursday but what if he was never coming home? I felt this feeling first when I was stranded in Stockholm. I was in agony and I was frightened. This was in 2004 before I had been diagnosed. I wanted and missed John so badly it terrified me and I thought then that I might one day feel this but very much worse.

However, getting back to my original subject. I really am a lousy chooser of friends. I do feel angry and I feel bitter. One thing though that I have learned is that when a female becomes friends with me very quickly and is almost coyish, says I am like the brother they never had, and consistently tells me how lovely I am I know now that this will end badly. They will withdraw, sometimes turn very nasty, and leave me feeling hurt and bewildered.

Most of all, I feel humiliated. How could I have chosen such cruel friends? Why did I not see it?

The one person other than John their lives here and sees me regularly I know is not like any of the people I have been describing. She is genuine and would not think of hurting me. I have never met a person like her.

You know PTSD, survivor guilt, the parts of us that will always be stuck at a very young, toddler age, 5-6, puberty etc. It really depends on when the abuse takes place. With me it was daily all through my life. I am forever a child in a man’s body. I am forever vulnerable to those who see it and take advantage of it.

On the positive side there are those who see me as a damaged child and they treat me with such love care it is astonishing. It took me a while to see thay were and then longer to accept it. But they are there. You wouldn’t believe how much the people at Tesco feed my soul, nurture me. Even on holiday people will come up to me just to be nice. Sometimes generous with other than their time.

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August 6, 2015

IT’S OKAY TO HONOUR ONE’S SELF

Filed under: Uncategorized — Knitman @ 1:08 pm

Well I don’t think I shall ask for your help to go to sleep again!

I woke up at 1:15 PM! But I did sleep soundly and it was only six hours.

John’s home today and I can’t wait. I love my time on my own because I can do as I please without having to think about him. This entails watching what I want on the DVD player or on Amazon prime and I can also have the music volume as high as I like. I have not lost the taste for my music to be allowed since I was a teenager. We are not talking heavy metal here. No. We are talking female folk singers and male folk singers and things like tangerine dream and Mike Oldfield. I just think they’ll sound better loud.

This last few days have got me thinking about the theme which many of you have shared with me: that I should honour myself. Now for a British person this is really difficult because you on other people you hold them in high esteem usually because they have done something great.

Honouring myself seems not quite right. These last three days which are now over and done with have maybe shown me something different.

I am not at all sure about the honouring part that I certainly see that I really need to give myself credit for all that I have done to get to where I am now. I deserve to recognise that feat that I have accomplished regardless of what others might think. I only truly know what I went through and how the recovery process has been excruciating. Yet I am here and spiritually intact and my personality was not crushed. I do deserve credit for this and I deserve my own credit. I have been so hard on myself and was never able to accept compliments or the idea that I have done something remarkable. But I have done something remarkable and I did not have a whole team of experts behind me. I have the loving support of my husband and some friends who are no longer in my life and I’m beginning to see that that is meant to be.

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July 22, 2015

RESPONSE TO SOMEONE WHO ASSUMED MY MUM WAS FRAID OF MY DAD

Filed under: Uncategorized — Knitman @ 2:40 pm

My mum was not afraid of him. Once when he his hands were so tight around my throat, I was going blue, she stopped him and he raised his hand to her and she responded with a knife to his chest and said ‘you ever touch me and it will be the last thing you do’. I believed then I must be really evil because they didn’t love me and I was completely on my own. I now know it was them and not me. However eventually I did break and it has taken much of my life to put myself together as best I can. The neurological problems, most of what is wrong with my body, is the result of years of my fight or flight mechanism being set off with me unable to do anything but freeze and disassociate. All the cortisol did me no good at all. Thus inflammation is now a major problem, including my heart. However, I won the battle to be myself and that is what counts.

I know that many people upon hearing my story assume my mum was a powerless victim. She wasn’t.

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