Are you a victim too?

I have never been to a school reunion in my home town of Rotorua. Why would I want to go and “have a good time” reminiscing about a period of my life that was sheer hell because of relentless bullying? I have been to school reunions of Andrew’s, at one such reunion a classmate was shocked and dumbfounded when he asked Andrew why a facebook friend request had been denied. “Why would I be friends with someone who bullied me?” His bully was only capable of recalling his good times, the things that he had done leaving deep emotional scars in Andrew were of no consequence to him. His conscience was clean.

 

Despite all the media attention given to bullying now, not one of my bullies has ever reached out to say sorry. They too must have blanked out that part of their slates and have gone on to enjoy life, along with reminiscing with friends at school reunions and even just around the bbq as they still live in the same town.  I continue to struggle with friendship or even trust of my peers.

 

Just as the bullies have wiped their slate clean and feel confused if that part of their life is brought up, I too feel confused and uncertain when a peer is friendly or respects my opinion. Ready to defend my corner I have my shields up and phaser set to “keep back!” The prickly pear that is me confuses my peers, uncertain how to be a helpful and friendly to me given my ingrained responses.

 

I talked about helping my inner child to feel safe among my peers in my previous post “The Road to Recovery”. So I can be calmer, less prickly. But somehow that wasn’t enough. I was still carrying the heavy burden of my memories.

 

Along with the media attention to bullying have been stories of students suing their schools for failing to keep them safe. There is the current Royal Commission of Inquiry into Abuse in State Care. Victims of many prior wrong doings are seeking redress. The courts will award sums of money to victims of crimes. Where is my compensation? Does anyone even care?

 

Depressing questions. Uncertain or even unavailable answers. What if I did sue the Ministries of Health & Education? How many million would be enough? I have come to understand that no amount of money can lift the weight of my memories off my shoulders. No amount of money will make me any less of a prickly pear. If it comes down to it, there are so many victims that the Reserve Bank would have to print extra money for decades. And we, the many that are victims, would still be weighed down.

 

So no apologies, no compensation, no lottery win in recognition of what has gone before. There is only one person that can take the weight off my back and set it aside, and that person is me. Great, lets do it!

 

More confusion, what, how do I do this? Therein is the hard part, looking back on my life, even the current things and people that surround me. I am still “playing the victim” and searching for my “rescuer” whilst defending myself against “the perpetrator”. For those who don’t understand the significance of the last sentence, it is the roles people play in the Drama Triangle. (Google it.)

 

And I was trapped within its three walls, forever racing about certain of my role but confused as to why other people did not know what was expected of them. I had to learn how to step outside of the triangle. This was made more difficult because I had chosen a partner who was also trapped in the Drama Triangle. (Two drama queens, shock, horror!) So we have both had to learn how to step outside of the walls of this triangle. Though I really should have said: are still learning how to step outside of its walls.

 

It isn’t an easy task. But each step takes a brick or a needle off the pile on my back and the load is lightened. The baggage of my past is beginning to retreat, into my past, and stop dominating my present.

The Road to Recovery

My road to recovery has taken a surprising turn. Today is 30 days sober, the longest time I have been without alcohol in over ten years. Without alcohol I have better symptom control, reduced side-effects from my medications and most importantly a sense of optimism for my future. Two posts ago I talked about my inner child and it is the greater awareness of, and therefore better management of, the needs of my inner child that have allowed my detox to be successful.

A medical detox was first proposed back in January, my inner child fended off this dracula-like proposal and firmly shelved it (picture if you will my hissing and spitting whilst making the sign of the cross). Fortunately after the move to TomorataI needed to find a new yoga class, which I did. The class is held in a small studio on the property of a yoga teacher in Matakana, and I attend the Friday morning class. How does yoga relate to a detox? What tangent have I traversed so quickly? It all relates to my time as a school child.

A time in which I was heavily bullied and the only escape from this was by being "the teacher's pet" and getting extra privileges that kept me safe from the bullies (some of the time). My progress in the new form of yoga taught by my teacher in Matakana quickly saw me believe I was the teacher's pet, with plenty of praise and the teacher instructing others to simply follow my lead. Then came the corrections to my form and I fell from my self constructed pedestal. My inner child had an utter tantrum.

The insights of myself, aided by my exercise physiologist and my psychotherapist, saw me understand and provide comfort to my inner child. I had a new mantra to repeat to myself during my yoga class: "I am here, not perfect, and safe amongst my peers." I started to use this mantra with increasing success. So how does this relate to the detox? I had realised that I was doing damage to my teeth and that fixing this damage would require me to face more pain. There would be simply no point in doing this if I was unable to abstain from alcohol.

And entering a detox centre would require me to feel safe, not perfect, amongst my peers. There were protracted discussions amongst those involved in my care before it was agreed that I should go to the "Zen detox retreat" in Kumeu. I visited one Sunday, returned on the Tuesday for an admission assessment following which they began planning for my admission and detox. Mid October I received the call to come in on the Monday following. The detox side of the admission went surprisingly quickly and well with minimal additional medication required.

The psychosocial part of my detox was a bit of a roller coaster, but at each trough with the aid of the Zen staff I was able to see my part in the unfolding drama. My growth across multiple aspects of my personality was pleasing to me and the staff. They normally plan for a 4 week detox and felt the suggested two week plan (from my psychotherapist and psychiatrist) would not be sufficient. However, on the 9th day I was presented with my exit planning booklet. An omen of good portents. (A tautology of tremendous things :)

So here I am, at day 30 sober, and planning a return to work programme. There is much to be negotiated with the local medical practice, the medical council, and the college of GPs. Whatever shape my programme takes it will require small, slow and careful steps for this to be successful. Watch this space.

Tomorata here we come!

At the end of my last post I mentioned the challenge of the decision to consider moving north out of Auckland. I mentioned in passing that Auckland was unending noise stress. I have this bizarre syndrome going on where noise, even pleasing music if loud enough or long enough, becomes pain. It starts in my feet and intensifies travelling up my body.

And silence was the key thing that sealed the deal on our buying the property in Tomorata. It will give me a reason to get up each day, with useful tasks to do. It will be a challenge in the early stages not to overdo it and exhaust myself. Unfortunately the house has been a weekend home for the family for the last two years and thus the gardens and other areas have been neglected. There will be a lot to do.

I will need to break up that work into the right sized parcels and then rest before attacking the next parcel. The long term goal is to have productive gardens in the raised garden beds, in the shade house, in the glass house and the orchard. Harvesting crops that we either eat or trade with friends so that the majority of our vegetable and fruit intake is locally produced. We also have a sizeable chicken run which should see us with a surplus of eggs we can trade.

As I slowly make my way through the list of tasks, when I have achieved all the above we will then add livestock to the property. A small number of cattle in the lower paddocks. And a small number of sheep in the upper paddocks. This will enable us to have home kill meats along with making a small profit from selling the fattened bobby calves and lambs. Speaking of home kill meat, we may convert the duck run to a small chicken run with a rooster to ensure a supply of beautiful free range chickens to slaughter - aren't I vicious?

Oh, and then there is the air-rifle I have recently purchased to shoot rabbits and possums. I gave Andrew a game cookbook for his birthday so that he can get ideas for how to cook the rabbits. I don't care for eating possums though so they go into the "tank" to decompose and use the runoff liquids as fertiliser.

If I can achieve all this it will be an excellent stepping stone on my road to recovery

My Inner Child

Greetings all. For those who are new to my blog it makes best sense to read the posts in chronological order - that is start at the bottom and work your way up.

In my last blog entry I had a diagram of the different parts of me. Slowly through therapy I have worked out there are only three parts to me.

The Frontman - calm, considerate, polite. Appears in times of stress when the relationship with those around me is valued. I can be seething with anger, or have a massive adrenaline rush in stress, but the people around me cannot see this.

The real me, the state I am in most of the time.

My Inner Child - raging in pain and in anger. My Inner Child appears when I do not place any value in the relationships of those around me. After my inner child has finished my memory of the event is sanitised. I think I have been calm and reasonable in stating my needs but word has reached me on a few occasions that there are people who are terrified of me.

When I am triggered in my PTSD I sink into my Inner Child, into the pit of terror and fear. I have been working with my therapists on better ways to support my Inner Child so that the time I spend triggered is shorter. And with practice I am managing this better and better. We have tried different ways of relating to my inner child and it was only last week that I realised the best "person" to make my Inner Child feel safe, supported, acknowledged is "Dr Roy".

Yes, the skills I learnt as a doctor that enabled me to calm and gain the trust of traumatised children are the skills I need to bring to the fore when my Inner Child needs attention. This new way of relating to my Inner Child has brought me to a calmer place. The world feels less threatening now.

However, during this time I have also been monitoring my pulse and blood pressure as it has become clear that my BP is not fully controlled by my current meds. This has lead me to discover that I am running on adrenaline near to 100% of the time that I am awake and functioning. So while I feel calmer inside my threat systems are still on DEFCON 1. 

This may also explain my expansive memory. Memories are "laid down" better when there is excess adrenaline in the system. So I have been running high on adrenaline for most of my life.  

Besides the different parts of me are also the "scripts" I was taught as a child. So for any medical related appointment I am well groomed, well attired, well behaved and on time. This has led to most of my therapists perceiving me as higher functioning than I truly am. So I have begun to experiment with going off script. This caused my inner critic to get quite upset, angry, harsh. The first attempt went well. I was even unintentionally late, I parked and without self criticism I did not run or walk fast but went at a measured pace with my anxiety rising as I got closer.

That psychotherapy session and the next few after were spent exploring ways of going off script with my psychiatrists, my inner critic was quite clear that there was no way I could do that. In the end I did manage to go completely off script, with less anxiety each time.

And now Andrew along with one of my psychiatrists have thrown me a conundrum. Stay in Auckland, or move up Matakana way. We already have two properties we will be viewing at the end of this week. Whilst I have been house sitting in Matakana, both Andrew and my psychiatrist have noticed how calmer and more relaxed and even happy I am. Auckland is a never ending supply of noise stress but I am unsure about the possibility of moving.

The Power of the narrative

The Power of the Narrative

(For those new to my blog it makes best sense if you scroll down and read "The Journey" first, "The Narrative" second, and then this post)

Through luck and my good friend Joy I found Pete Walker and his book “Complex PTSD From surviving to thriving”. I had skim read it once, when in a moment of boredom I decided to open it and start part way through at a place that felt relevant to me. I was quickly upon his chapter “The power of narrative”.

It was pleasing to read in what I have blogged so far shows I am on the road to recovery, but it was frightening to read some of what I have yet to deal with. Indeed most of his book documents areas of my life, my emotions, my relationships that are in need of further work.

Frustratingly, in some ways, the book is written for survivors of parental abuse – as the writer himself is a survivor of such abuse. Whereas I was fortunate to have good parents, not perfect parents by all means. Most of my abuse was at the hands of the medical system.

So why did I become a doctor? Somewhere along the line I learnt that when “The Doctor” said – “No. Stop!” – that command was to be obeyed. There it is, plain and simple, I became a doctor to get control back over my own body. And in the last several years I have experimented with that control by having further surgeries. Having gone through those procedures and felt better for it is probably what led to the door opening on Pandora’s box.

I now had control over my body, and my mind was screaming out for healing. At this point (as in near enough to now in real terms, not the point at which my mind was losing the plot) my insurer asked for a second psychiatrist to review me.

The encounter was an intense and challenging one, though for the larger part of me the psychological defences I developed as a child were strongly to the fore. Meaning that the present self was divorced from the real me, I went somewhere else pleasant and devoid of pain. ”I have become comfortably numb.” A line from Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” album.

Fortunately Chris (the second psychiatrist) allowed me times to be fully present and give me some of his insight. From this stemmed more foraging into Pete Walker’s book and a second book by Suzette Boon about dissociation in the face of trauma. I am learning more and more about myself and have developed the following pictogram.

"Who am I?"

Les Miserables

The Frontman

A pleasant friendly fellow who will largely be cooperative, with a tinge of hypervigilance and the defender on hand.

The frontman appears on first meeting someone, before establishing trust, and more importantly takes over in times of STRESS.

Assisting the frontman and switched on AT ALL TIMES is

HYPERVIGILANCE, monitoring always for the preprogrammed triggers that are signs of imminent PAIN.

Also assisting the frontman and switched on at all times is

THE DEFENDER, a prickly acerbic character that will start with a "back off" warning and growing from there if needed.

Someone, as yet unknown, is carrying the PAIN.

I have found my "Incredible Hulk" though I do not know him well, when he appears I dissociate and believe that I have been pleasant and direct in stating my needs.

I have now had my first glimpses of the small boy in pain and angry that no-one is listening to him.

Lastly and without doubt not the least is the REAL ME.

I am:

Friendly

Fun

Cheeky (Monkey)

Interested

Connected

Caring

Empathetic

Knowledgeable

Perfectionist

HARSH 

Inner & Outer voice

Vulnerable

Suffice it to say I continue to make progress. The journey is ongoing, my thanks to those who walk alongside me and hold my hand.

A brief suggestion

After a delightful afternoon tea with my friends Roger and Kathy Hay I thought I should add this brief post.

If you are new to this blog it will make more sense to scroll down and read “The Journey” before reading “The Narrative”.

And as an aside Isaac Newton is quoted as saying that most people only ever use about ten percent of their brain, I think I may have been using quite a bit more.

The Narrative

I have realised that some information is missing or incomplete in my post: “The Journey”. I have travelled a long way to get here and have a team of extraordinary people helping me. So much of what I have learnt about myself through working with these people leads me to assume and not always convey enough information for others to understand my journey. Here, in “The Narrative” I will try to add a bit more of an explanation.

Additionally, in consultation with my psychiatrist, my nortriptyline is to be increased from 75mg to 100mg as there remain indicators that my pain levels are still too high.

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I was born on the 5^th of August 1968. As stated in “The Journey” I was the third son born to my parents with a cleft lip and palate. Cleft palates come in just a few varieties – mine fell into the worst category being called a bilateral cleft lip and palate. (The photo is not of me, but is an example.)

As you will have already seen in my last post my initial surgery was delayed, I cried and split my stitches and an irritated and rushed surgeon did a poor redo. This resulted in my having a total of five corrective surgeries by age six. At that time the only pain relief options were aspirin (orally) or morphine by injection. Unfortunately I also markedly suffer from one of the side effects of morphine, nausea and vomiting, thus necessitating further injections of anti-emetics.

Place yourself in a child’s mind for a moment. Are you in pain? “Yes”, rewards you with pain in the form of an injection, often multiple injections. The pain relief comes later. A child takes little time to learn that saying “no” is a more preferable option – particularly if you have learnt to suppress the pain with your brain.

The downside to my having learnt to control (or deny) the pain is that my brain was (and still is) working hard to suppress any pain inputs and thus never received the signal that the pain in my face had stopped. So for nearly fifty years my brain has been tasked with stopping the pain, being hypervigilant of signs that more pain is coming, learning my lessons at school, becoming a doctor, working and developing my skills along with managing a team of staff with their individual needs.

My brain said – “Enough, I cannot do all this”. So I have stopped and am taking time to address the things my brain no longer needs to do. I am addressing the pain. I am addressing the hypervigilance. But this will take time.

Along the way I also needed grommets inserted. A complication occurred that meant I lost 80% of the hearing in my right ear along with disrupting the canals that convey information on which way your head is currently tilted. Fortunately you have a second one on the other ear. If such a complication occurs to an adult they usually end up suffering disabling attacks of dizziness at unpredictable times, often resulting in their loss of employment.

Yet again, as a child I learned to compensate and control the good versus bad inputs my brain was responding to. So along with controlling the pain my brain learnt how to compensate for the loss of balance signals from one side of my head along with suppressing attacks of dizziness. I do remember most nights of my falling asleep at this time were accompanied with a sense that I was spinning backwards continuously.

There is much else that has happened to me, I am uncertain what to tell you all and I don’t wish to wallow in the muck. There was the bullying at school. Coming out as a gay man. Having senior lecturers in medical school pull me aside in stairwells and other out of the way places to tell me to go back in the closet or I will have no career.

I have fought against so much to survive. But I am a survivor and I can find my way out of this current hell hole. The thoughts and wishes shared by my friends, many of whom are my ex-patients, are helping bolster me up at this time and I thank you all.