Today was a two Imitrex day. That in itself means it'll be a bad day. Woke up with a migraine, took an Imitrex and downed a Coke Zero, hoping that it'd sort itself out before I went to work. It dissipated some, and I rode my bike to work.
When I got there, however, I remembered that I had to talk about rape. Again. This time it was different though. Less crying, more discussion. It was better, but still not good. It'll never be good.
The woman from this post, the one that used drugs as a coping method had a hard time. Which is understandable, but still hard. Being in my groups has brought up all the things she worked so hard to push down. They are all coming at once and she doesn't know how to sort them. There's guilt, anger, disbelief, confusion, and a feeling of loss. All at once, all the time. I suggested she journal, write down what she's feeling, and that maybe that way she'll be able to sort through the feelings. I gave her a notebook, and told her to write whatever comes out. I told her she could draw pictures or make collages, anything, but to get it out. I told her she could keep it private, she could ask me to read it, whatever she wanted to do. But just to get it out. Try it for a week I said. She agreed. I hope it helps.
After group my headache was back in full force. My last Imitrex found its way into my system. Sometime after lunch it was finally gone. Which was good, because I still had the night group to contend with.
The night group was better. A different topic, a different dynamic. They're getting used to me, laughing at my jokes. We're progressing on the journey of trusting each other. Their topic was recovery. I always start that one at the beginning: What are we recovering from? There's always silence. For some reason, maybe shame, maybe fear, they don't say it. They don't say “abuse”. I have to answer the question for them.
We talked about them making a safe place in their homes, or anywhere really. A place where they feel comfortable, serene, calm. They look at me like I’m crazy, not understanding what I’m trying to get at. My example is when kids make blanket forts. Kids feel safe under the covers; nothing can get you you're under your comforter. That usually hits home. Some of them already have one, a chair on the porch, a tree in the park. I explain to them that it doesn't necessarily have to be a place, that it can be a thing, a memory, a picture, a scent. I tell them mine. Mine is my dog, she makes me feel safe and loved (my other is the smell of my girlfriend's laundry detergent, but I don't tell them that one, that one's just for me).
We build on that place. That's the place where they remember the things that they liked to do. Where they remember who they were before they were in an abusive relationship. It is the place where they find new things that they like to do, things that they want to try. It is the place where they grow. We talk about making time for themselves. Even 5 minutes a day, as long as they don't forget themselves. I suggest they start small; try a new restaurant, a new grocery store, volunteer somewhere, something that's new.
Recovery isn't easy, but we have to start somewhere, and baby steps is the easiest way to start.
