Tussila's Book I

TUSSILA’S BOOK

I

Tussila Spring

Copyright © 2013 by Tussila Spring

Smashwords Edition

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Warning

A child’s prayer

About this book

For whom is this book suited?

Chapter 1, 2001 THE END

Chapter 2, 2002 SHELTER A

Chapter 3, 2002 THE VILLAGE SHELTER

Acknowledgements

About the author

About the language in this book

About the images in this book

To you, dear survivor

To you, dear health worker and support person

To all of us

Reflective notes from the author

About TUSSILA’S BOOK II

Contact information

WARNING

Dear fellow survivor, I must advise you not to read this book unless it is under close supervision by your therapist. When I myself was at my worse, I was not capable to read any book at all and definitely not a book like this. Actually, my only need for a very long period would be to sit on a sturdy and reassuring granny’s lap. In addition, I must admit that still today, I’m reluctant to learn about other patients’ stories. I’m afraid I’ll get even more confused because I still have some large gaps in my memory. Please also bear in mind this book contains paintings, which also can activate unexpected and unwanted stress reactions. If you choose to open this book, please promise me that you’ll close it and put it away if you feel the slightest distress viewing my paintings or reading my text. I do not want to cause you any more pain!

PLEASE NOTE:

I am not a doctor, therapist, or a member of healthcare. This is my own story and as the reader, you choose to read this and to make your own opinion about whether this might help you.

A CHILD’S PRAYER

How can a child tell what is wrong when everything is wrong?

How can anybody help when you have to hide your inner whispering scream?

If only I had the words when I was little, this would be my prayer:

Don’t touch me, but hold me

Don’t hear me, but listen to me

Don’t look at me, but see me

Don’t even try to uncover me, but understand me

Above all this, whatever you do

Please, will you please, never ever give up on me?

Tussila Spring 2013

About this book

We are all individual human beings. This fact also counts whether we have a diagnosis or not. It would be a mistake to say that all patients involved in, for instance, a traffic accident, require exactly the same medical treatment. There probably will be a need for individual medical attention and treatment, depending on the injuries and the patient’s ability to cope with the trauma. However, some of the treatments sustained will probably also be similar for many of the patients. This is also true for us suffering from other traumas like incest or bullying. We also are all individual human beings.

Therefore, I am, by no means, trying to look at my story as a universal guide of what complex posttraumatic stress disorder concerns. I don’t even believe it is possible to write such a book because of the wide range in individual histories and personalities.

However, as in the traffic accident, there will also be some similarities concerning the victims involved in childhood traumas. As I have learned, during years in therapy, there will also be similarities concerning the symptoms and aftereffects in survivors suffering from such traumas.

Those similarities have made me conclude that it would be wrong of me to assume that my story and symptoms differ too much from others to be of any interest. In other words, what if my experiences actually can make a difference, wouldn’t it be egoistic of me not to share them?

When it comes to my own understanding of my psychiatric diagnoses, it’s not as if I suddenly saw the light and then it all came clear to me. My road to understanding, and thereby to get a better life, has been, and will be, as in life itself, long, and slow moving and with many curves and hills on the way. The understanding has not appeared in one single flash of light either; it has consisted of all sorts of lights or all sorts of enlightening moments. I have had small lights, large glints, hardly visible shimmers, flashing lights; I have sensed the whole range of lights, especially in the last twelve years. These lights, small or large, have appeared mostly due to therapy. Looking back, let’s say one decade, I really am baffled when I realize how little I understood of myself back then.

I’ve been told from many holds that my challenges in life are not that far from what the others face, except for the prevalence and extremity of some of the symptoms. Based on those assumptions, it might be fair to suggest that the following statement isn’t very wrong, at least I hope, because that implicates also, I’m not that apart from other human beings as I used to believe:

Though I’m quite sure that nobody will recognize everything I’m describing in this book, I’m equally quite sure that everybody, diagnosed or not diagnosed, will recognize some of it.

I hope that by publishing this book I can offer one or two of the previously mentioned lights, or enlightening, mentioned above, to help bring other survivors closer to their way to a better life.

For whom is this book suited?

During my many years as a psychiatric patient, I have experienced, repeatedly, some substantial challenges.

It has been just about impossible to express the whole picture to any therapist. One of the obvious reasons is that I was convinced I had to cover all my symptoms up in order to survive. A second reason is that it would be impossible, due to the time limits in the therapy sessions. A third reason is that many people, including some of the health care workers, have a tendency to jump to conclusions, meaning that if I started with a carefully chosen sentence, meaning to reveal something important, I could risk immediately being met with generalizations or even worse, with belittling.

I do however understand that it is somewhat of a challenge, to uncover the whole picture, when the patient is verbally strong and seems to be in good control of herself.

This fact contributes to another major issue, the diagnostic system. I, for instance, have had a whole range of different diagnoses before I finally ended up with the correct one. In addition, of course, all the different opinions from different experts make it even more problematic to get the right sort of help. The result is that normally the process of getting properly diagnosed takes years, and unfortunately even decades, to obtain.

The last years though, there have been huge developments in the understanding of complex posttraumatic stress disorder.

I hope my book can contribute to even more openness and that it can help to shed more light to the often obscure and complex aftereffects of childhood traumas.

This book is therefore probably most suited for mental health care staff and for support persons and volunteers, especially interested in these topics. It might also be of interest for other professionals who are dealing with people in crisis, like medical staff and police officers.

I will also repeat my warning: I do believe that other patients themselves should be discouraged from reading this book, unless it is under close supervision of their therapist.

Chapter 1, 2001

THE END

Sunday November 18

Now it is over between Zack and me. Since it was I who brought it up, I thought I was in control of my feelings. I wasn’t. I cried and trembled pretty much from the time we woke up this morning until tonight. It hurts, though I know the decision was right. Zack gave me a calming pill before I drove home. I called Zelda when I got home and she came to see me. It was ok. I took a beer and a couple of sedative pills tonight. Now I am exhausted.

Monday November 19

This morning, he sent me an sms: Now I’m out driving my car, I’m thinking about you! I: Don’t worry about me! He: Of course I’m thinking about you I: Think ahead! He: It’s not so easy! I didn’t answer.
 I had to walk to work because one of my car tires was flat. I continued weeping at the workshop. Wilson helped me to put on the spare tire. Everybody is so kind. I made some pottery. I tried to sleep after work, but no. I watched television. Zack sent a new message. He was passing my house considering dropping in. He mentioned that he wanted to buy one of my paintings and I replied it was ok. I was nervous about this visit, but it turned out ok. I had taken a sedative in advance. We talked about all sorts of things but also about our relationship and the breakup. For my part, I had said all I needed to say. That it would be a struggle for me following him, all the time that he did not know what I was going through. I needed him to see and respect my handicap for me to feel safe.

What tore me to pieces yesterday for the most part was that my hope of just being myself and being safe with a man was shattered. I thought I had finally found a man I could trust. It would be a most needed experience for me. I gave him one of my paintings for free and he bought another for a good price. At the same time, he ordered some more pottery from me. He asked me if I wanted him to stay and to hold me. I said he was welcome to stay, even sleep in my bed, but then I would sleep on the couch, because at this time, I need most of all that my wounds will start healing. He was visiting from nine thirty pm to half past twelve. Now I am dead tired.

Tuesday November 20

I barely managed to get myself to bed yesterday. I took two calming pills and drank one box of beer and it hit me in the head like a sledgehammer. I had to lay down several times on the bathroom floor because I was about to faint. I have only eaten one slice of bread since two pm on Sunday. This is the first day since we broke up without any contact with Zack. At this moment, it seems a bit distant, though I admit that my self-medication is blurring my world a bit. I worked from ten to four; that is, weeping and working. No siesta when I came home. I was weeping, watching TV, working out, and weeping, talking with Zelda on the telephone, and weeping. This is tough. I can feel myself resigning. I wish I could slowly fade away.

Wednesday November 21

I worked from ten to four. I switch between deep despair and resignation. Wilson bought me a yogurt; I just ate two tiny spoonfuls of it. Wilson is incredibly nice; his workshop is the best place for me to be now. My mom sent me an sms; I replied that I am ok. Zack also sent me a message, first he thanked me for the paintings, and then he asked if I had been at work. I replied in a neutral and straightforward way that I was doing just fine. Then we exchanged a few words about our cars. I felt nothing. I have done my workouts tonight.

Thursday November 22

This is bad. I am trying to pull myself together at work. The remaining time, for the most part, I weep. I managed to purchase new tires for my car this morning. I worked from eleven thirty am to four. Wilson touches me, he helps me find a suitable pearlescent glaze for my angels and besides, he is just there for me. I’m so tired when I get home, but I can’t sleep. I’m shifting between being apathetic, sobbing loudly and whimpering silently.

I’m missing my Granny and I miss the feeling of my cheeks rubbing against a warm and soft horse muzzle.
 I’ve had no contact with anybody tonight. Zelda sent me a message this morning; I replied, pretending that all goes well. After all, that’s what they all want to hear. There’s no need to drag my friends or family into this with me.

Friday November 23

All of a sudden, I got the urge to write, because right at this moment, I’m feeling just fine. I have found for myself a blissful peace that takes away all the pain. The television is on, the chair is comfortable, and the blanket is warm and cozy. I even think nice thoughts. I can’t wait to wrap Christmas gifts, write postcards, and cheering up the ones I love. I am glad, never before have I experienced a peace like this because now at least I know, deep in my heart, that I have tried.

Wherever I have been and whatever I have done, I’ve had to put in all my efforts and struggle with all my energy to try to appear like one of the others. I also have experienced all the misery each time I’ve had to capitulate again. However, after each one of my lost battles, I have succeeded to find new courage, driven by an indomitable but desperate desire to gain happiness and to dare to be alive. Despite all this pain, I have all my life managed to maintain hope. Hope that someone will see me as who I am. Even more challenging, but for me the most important aspiration, that someday someone will even love me as who I am.
Now I have settled down with this knowledge; I wished for the impossible. I have resigned and it feels good. From now on, I will just be myself, live out all my emotions, and live life to the fullest in the time I am left with.
 I will gradually disappear as I experience more and more of the peace I’m feeling in this moment. I will seek comfort in the fact that no more agony will find me anymore and I can finally be true to myself. Slowly, slowly I will fade away. I will remember Grandma's reassuring closeness and the horses’ soft, warm muzzles. I will let myself sink slowly down and rest in this comfort.
 Some people would probably have preferred a different ending to my life, but please remember this, life has worn me out and frankly, I am exhausted. 
It is time to let go! "
 Earlier today I was in such a good mood; sitting in my chair, warm, comfortable, and peaceful. Now I can’t stop weeping again. I miss Zack; he knows what I need and usually when I need it. I thought I was done with the pain. Well, I will deal with whatever comes next. In between the moaning, everything is just fine again.

Today I worked from ten am to four. I finished the stoneware piece Zack had ordered and I even made some more ceramics. Bravo! I have done my workout tonight, and have had a chat with Zelda. Zack sent me an sms this morning: How are you? Think positive. I replied, Trying. He wrote, I wish you all the best! I didn’t answer, didn’t even read the message until I got home. I replied by saying that his stoneware was finished today. Great, he said. I can fetch it December 11. I wonder if I’ll still be alive. I have to be.

I’ll finish all the Christmas gifts next week. Gradually, my strength will certainly decrease. Earlier today, I felt a little more robust. I took the opportunity and called my mum on the phone. I managed to keep calm and optimistic, and steered the conversation into innocuous topics. Now they can relax.

Saturday November 24

How long do I have left? Tonight I felt a desperate urge to paint. I painted myself as a bluish and transparent shape in different interactions with others. I made three paintings in one hour! Besides, I worked from eleven thirty to three pm. I also visited Zelda and I exchanged messages with Zack.

This morning I opened, wondering how he's doing. It seems as if he seeks refuge in work. His Friday night had been miserable, his kids are not enough to make him happy. Tonight he went for a pub-crawl. I encouraged him to go.

All the mood changes of mine are making me crazy, it’s bad almost all the time, I moan, then I'm apathetic, and after some beers, it’s quite okay for a while. Most of the time, the tears have subsided. At this moment, I’m just feeling empty and heavy.

Sunday November25

Another day has gone by. I slept until half past eleven am and worked from one until five. The plumber was around today as well. He’s installing fire sprinklers in the workshop building. It’s okay not to be all alone at the workshop, though we're not talking but he is working in silence.

Tonight I did the usual TV watching with beer and I painted a picture, but it was hard to get started. Zack had sent me a message when he got home last night, wondering if I’d had a good night’s sleep. I certainly did - after three cans of beer and two downers. He’d had a nice time at the pub last night. I answered something vague about what a good idea it is for him to go out and see some people. He sent me a new sms this evening saying he had fixed the heater in his car. I congratulated him and told him that I had started to paint again. You will surely become famous one day, he said. I don’t have the time, I thought. I don’t think so, I said.

I have no plan to present these imagines. They represent what I feel and have always felt: I don’t fit in as a human being at all. I, who may need love more than most people, can’t have it, because a fog of anxiety is shrouding me. I live below the surface in a cold damp of murkiness. This has become my world, because I got the wrong kind of love when I was little. Now I’m unable to escape the fog of mine, even if I should dare to.

Monday, November 26

Food is equal to Life. Life is equal to Pain. I've figured it all out now. Hope means Pain. Death means Relaxation. Giving up means Salvation.
 Only then, going through all the stages of dying, I can achieve full existence. I will not push myself anymore. I woke up half past seven this morning, one hour before the alarm clock rang! I wept. I booked an appointment at the beauty salon. I explained to the skin therapist that I was in the middle of a crisis and that we’d better talk about nothing but winds and weathers.

Two of Wilson's friends dropped in at lunch today. They are planning a Christmas party next weekend and they invited me too! They said that I could bring Zack along, if I wanted to, but Wilson almost snapped at them saying that I undoubtedly would come by myself. Thanks, Wilson, you understand more than what shows on the surface. Actually, it really doesn’t matter too much. I've become so numb. I’m walking around almost in a trance and I have, in a way, wrapped up my soul; it sits like a tearful hard lump somewhere inside me. I somehow don’t connect with it at all these days.

After work I managed to get my legs waxed, I do not want anyone to find me looking like this! Maybe I’ll have a haircut too. I want to look okay whatever happens next. I’ve paid all my bills today. I’ve done my workout and I’ve made two more paintings. I call them Romances and Couple in the forest.

The bluish figure shows me and then I came up with the idea to mask out the actual me as a white line drawing inside the blue figure. This white line drawing tells what I wish to do while the blue shape is telling what I'm trying to be. My behavior doesn’t seem to differ much from the others but actually, I’m not present at all. My bubble consists of ice-cold fear and I’m lost somewhere in here. Zelda sent me a text message tonight, I feel that she craves a lot and I understand little. We decided to meet tomorrow.

Tuesday November 27

Amazing what a difference some beer makes! This morning started as usual in tears, I can’t remember why. Then I worked from ten to four. It is getting increasingly more difficult to be present.

Though I try to cling onto the mechanical procedures of work, I still had to go to the bathroom a few times to cry. I was feeling poorly when I got home, I felt afraid, my heartbeats acted so odd. It made me wonder if I ought to ask somebody for help, though I know I’m beyond help. Instead, I started to paint and I sipped two more of these blessed beers during the evening. I made a new version of Couple in forest and called it The Road. Then I made Friends and Schoolyard.

Tomorrow I'll paint my last image. It doesn’t need a title. It will speak for itself. In this painting, I invite my brother, my aunt, uncle, and grandmother to join me. I want this last image to make me feel secure; it’s not supposed to be sad.
 I sent a text message to Zelda, and she called me. She is annoyed because she yet doesn’t know if I'm going to make decorations for her partner's 50th birthday New Year’s Eve. I answered that I actually don’t know yet. She said she would ask someone else to help her. I agreed.
 I sent an sms to Zack, asking how his car was doing, he then tried to call me twice, but I just couldn’t manage to respond, so we ended up sending messages for a while about this and that. I assured him, as best I could, that I'm okay. Tomorrow I think I'll need to take some tranquilizers before going to work; I hope it helps.

Wednesday November 28

Today Wilson’s girlfriend also showed up at the workshop. She kept fussing about us having soup and cake for lunch. I don’t want food; I do not dare to eat! I’ve hardly wept at all today; I’m emotionless. I have bought myself a crossword magazine to ease this waiting period. It feels essential to keep my brain busy. I’ve sent messages to both Zelda and Adele saying I'm okay.

In a way, I am aware that I am seriously disturbed but on the other hand, I see it all so clearly; I cannot live anymore knowing that I can’t get the only thing I really need, and have needed all my life - the one person who knows me inside out and who loves me anyway, the one person who can hold me and make all misery disappears.

I mistakenly believed that Zack could be such a person for me. Otherwise, I am quite satisfied at this moment or actually highly satisfied. I’ve made the last painting. I’m proud and pleased with the result. My four chosen relatives are coming down to pick me up. Granny is holding me. I will not paint anymore. Now I've told my story in my own personal way, showing my blue and blurred personality, actually in desperate search for love and protection, but at the same time ironically lost in a trancelike world because I must protect my terrified and ashamed self so that no one sees it.

Thursday November 29

I tried to work today, but I couldn’t. Wilson said he would order glaze for my angels today. Maybe I can manage to do the glazing on Monday. Then I started to cry because I don’t think I'll be able to work at all next week. I’m not sure I’ll manage to complete either Christmas gifts nor angels, and it tears me apart.

This morning I got a new occupation proposition but of course, I had to let it go. I left work in the middle of the day. On the way back home, I bought myself lots of beer