Chapter One – I begin to write

June 16, 2018

A wonderful day

… and I’m slowly realizing I just have to do something about myself. I need to start writing again. Proper writings! Not just shallowy bla-bla.

Reading Alice Miller forces me to realize this. It’s now or never – and I don’t like the sound of “never”.


 

June 18, 2018

Suddenly…

… I felt very hesitant.

I knew I wanted to write. Otherwise I wouldn’t have started this

I knew I wanted to write about personal growth, somehow. But exactly – about what?  About me?
I gathered that issue would come out just fine, just as long as I had started. But still something stopped me. For days it stopped me. For weeks.

Then… should I write in my native language or i English? Well, now I have decided that, as you can see. At least something that is cleared. Even though it is a little bit harder to write in English, it also means that I can feel more anonymous, and to write more freely. At least I hope so. No one that knows me in real life, will know this is me.

So? Could I let my inhibitions go now and just open my heart, be free to write from within?

Oh my God! Why is it so difficult to let go!

But at least this is better than nothing. It’s been nothing for so long, and I really need to find out what’s bothering me in the depth of my unconscious self.

You see! I’ve been living with anxiety and with pain and stiffness in my muscles for many many years. I’ve been trying many solutions, but there is something still there. Something that won’t go away. Physiotherapy helps somewhat, but not enough. The stiffness won’t disappear.

I’ve tested for food allergies, and excluded a lot of food. All kind of dairies, milk, cheese, icecream et cetera. Cereals like wheat, rye and oats. And I can no longer eat anything from the coconut. The latest I’ve given up is meat. All kind of meat! I think I can eat small amounts occasionally, I’m not totally allergic, but if I eat “normally” I feel like I’ve eaten concrete. Still eat eggs, though, but I’ve lessen the amount.

And the stomach still growls at me. Luckily not as much now after I’ve stopped eating meat, but it’s not quite alright yet. Maybe it just need some more time to re-boot.

What more?
Often tired. Muscle-tired and sleepy-tired. Don’t sleep well at night because of the stiffness and the pain. Sometimes I feel the old anxiety, which I thought had left me finally, and lately I just sometimes feel weird. Can’t explain. Start crying suddenly, to my own surprise.

I can’t have this any longer!

I don’t think “pills” from the doctor is appropriate. On the contrary! I have been using painkillers periodically, but that’s all. Have been offered stronger stuff several times, but I don’t want that. It doesn’t heal anything! At best it takes away the pain – for a while – but then it hurts the body instead.

I have been listening to and been saying affirmations, been falling asleep to meditation videos and those videos with solfeggio frequencies. I believe, that what you think becomes true, I have a lot of proof of that and I’m learning how to live that way. But still! There is something stuck inside of me! Despite all those you tube-videos with all the right frequencies and healing-promises.

But at least I fall asleep with them…

I believe, that as long as there is some kind of “poison” inside you, either there is something hidden and stuck, or if you keep giving yourself more “poison”, it doesn’t help what you try to do to feel better.

If you, for example, actually are allergic to milk protein, adding lactate or vitamins and minerals doesn’t make you feel better. Neither some kind of cleansing methods. You have to stop drinking milk and eating cheese!

And if there are some psychological matter deep inside, you have to find that pain and its origin, and release it before you can let go of anxiety, rheumatism, headaches or whatever you suffer from.

What made me realize this, was just a couple of days ago when I read Alice Millers book “Breaking down the wall of silence”, about the connection of child abuse and the later grown up life.

The pain from being abused, whether it is physically or  psychologically, is pushed away and hidden deep inside the child and (seemingly) forgotten, and as a grown up this hidden pain tries to reappear. But instead of remembering the actual pain and its causes, “who did it”, it appears as for example pain, illness, anxiety or something else. The conscious mind is trying to keep those feelings of sadness, pain and terror down, to all costs.

For the moment I can’t write more about this. maybe later. But this book reminded me of something that I had some conscious memories about – my mother used Silence towards me as punishment. She  shut me out, could even say that she “froze” me out! I don’t even know why I was punished! Was I too loud? Did I get angry and acted out? Did I badger or was whining about something?

Or had she already, already when I was only a tiny little baby, shut me out if I showed some temper? I have got diagnosed ADHD, and through out my entire life I have never felt anger. Not until very recently after I realized the awkwardness about that phenomena. And also remembered a specific time when I was “frozen” out and due to that started to put some thoughts together.

And now the faith/my inner self/God saw to I got this book by Alice Miller, a chance to find out what poison I have inside me, and help me heal my wounds.

No wonder I cry when I see romantic movies. I so much long for the love I didn’t get from mom when I was a child.
But at least I had daddy, so it could have been much worse.


June 21, 2018

The Wall of Silence

Abused as a child?
Me?

The very thought is hard to embrace. I was never hit. Never experienced any sexual abuse of any kind… never…

(gasp)   … except once when it could have been… something… perhaps…

He was a friend of my dads. Well… friend or friend… I don’t know now, and didn’t know then, the extent of that relationship. They might have met at work, and my dad always liked to talk to other people. Help with something if he could. He talked to the black-dressed missionaries who was biking around in the neighborhood, talked to people he met at the library, in shops et cetera. He was always kind and always showed interest to their stories.

This man came from Estonia. As a four or five year old I had no idea whether he was a refugee, or had moved to our country for some other reason. He had lived here for many years though, but I never saw any wife or any children. I guess she might have been dead for some time, and the children were grownups with children of their own.

Or I might be totally wrong.

To me, however, he was a very old man, older than my dad. With wrinkles in his face and grey hair. Slim, almost skinny, not particularly tall and with a somewhat crooked figure. And a mysterious accent when he spoke.
He taught me to count to twelve in finnish. Yksi, kaksi, kolme…

At least once I followed my dad to his house. Big old house. Big flourishing garden. Fruit trees and berry bushes. Raspberries, strawberries, gooseberries. Black and red currant shrubs. Apples and plums. Ripe cherries in my hand.

What impressed and amazed me the most, was a swing I had never seen before. Like two wooden sofas built together facing each other. Very odd. And there we sat. Me and my dad in one sofa, the man in the other. They were talking. We swung slowly while the shadows in the garden deepened, until it was time for dad and me to return home.

The man used to visit us once in a while. Sometimes he gave us something from the garden. Jam, or pickled something. Once he gave us a bottle of home brewed wine. Since my parents never touched anything with alcohol, they just smiled, said thank you and pretended like nothing. Afterwards they laughed a bit, but kindly. He meant well, they said. He didn’t know.

And I don’t know what they did with the bottle.

One afternoon the man had visited us and was on his way home. I stood above a stone-stair just around the corner of our house when he saw me and approached.

“Can I have a little kiss”, he asked and pointed at his left cheek. I giggled a little and then hastily pecked him on his cheek with closed lips.

Then he turned his face to me and opened his mouth wildly, closing in on my mouth.
Oh gosh what a big mouth he had!
Quick as a squirrel I turned around and skipped away to the back of the house, loudly singing  some la la la la laa laa…

I don’t remember him grabbing me, maybe he tried to. Maybe he started to reach out for me. Did he manage to put his hand on my arm?
I don’t even remember being frightened. Maybe I was, at least a little. Yeah! I think so. A little. But since I got away so quickly…
… I kind of won.


Was that a sexual abuse? Did it hurt me? What were my feelings? Really!

It never happened again, I’m sure of that, and I never told anyone either.
What would have happened if I had?
That, I will never know.

Well! This episode occurred, I remember, and I must have recognized it as something grown ups don’t do! The wide opened mouths I had seen so far, was when someone had laughed out loud and such, not while closing in on my face. It was totally unknown to me.

No, he didn’t hurt me physically, I don’t remember he even managed to lay the tip of a finger on me. Didn’t I easily slip away? Yes I did!

But psychically?
Honestly! At this moment – I don’t know.

But there were other things going on in my childhood, that I wasn’t consciously aware of at that time.


Continue to: Chapter 2 – Memory Lane