Sobriety Archives - Erliss, the Monkey Whisperer

I have to write. It’s been a while.

Last year I was gifted with a minor head injury, which jumbled my brain. It’s a long story, but essentially, I saved an entire middle school from a T-Rex attack during a meteor shower, and then proceeded to hit my head on the metal corner of my car door while reaching for my wallet. The T-Rex spent 4 months in rehab and is now a vegan attending a culinary arts institute in Reykjavik, Iceland. I ended up taking 5 weeks off from work, unable to look at a computer screen and wore headphones and sunglasses wherever I went. I couldn’t even listen to music. My brain is mostly recovered, and no children were harmed in the process. Also…the part about saving the children and the T-rex may have been slightly fabricated.

And now…I need to write. I am going to write about a man who abused me from 15-18, well, 19. There will be few details, and I only write when I can stay present. Friends, we have to care for our brains and nervous systems – too much and we risk re-traumatization. So take care of yourselves as you read… and if you risk being triggered, maybe read it another time or skip it altogether. [Addend: don’t worry, I don’t really say much about him. Turns out, I can only write little bits at a time.]

Here we go:

Today I felt him…again. It felt like he was hovering above and behind my right shoulder. I could hear his laugh and smell his smoked up alcoholic garlic breath.

Gross.

How I ended up with a 31 year old “boyfriend” at 15 is a story for another time. The damage he did was so great, that I am still affected 38 years later. Even in writing that last sentence I felt my throat starts to close and my heart race.

This is how trauma works – it makes the past feel ever-present. But as I hear and smell and feel him , I am aware of the present moment. I am safe in my living room, with my dog guarding the front door as she does every night, my spouse in our bedroom reading a book, our kiddo in her room sleeping. It is 2023, not 1984.

Last Friday I celebrated 38 years since my last drink or drug. I will write about that another time as well. But I remember so clearly making the decision to break up with this man – I desperately wanted to stay sober and I knew I could not if he were still in my life. There was zero understanding for me that I was being seriously abused. He was my boyfriend – a belief I needed at the time. I was so brainwashed by him.

Pause…

I am having some feelings. Not scary feelings, but a feeling of pride – I don’t know how I was able to muster the courage to break things off with him – choosing my life over his desire to control me. Because the “break-up” didn’t last, I have often belittled my attempt at following through with the breakup. But at that time I was 16 with no place to turn but recovery. I chose recovery.

Of course he would not leave me alone, and after threatening to go after my then 9 year old sister, [he was a sick jerk of a man] I went back to him- managed to stay sober, but became more entangled in his mind games and sexual abuse for another 6 months – with intermittent encounters for the next 3 years. (That’s a long run-on sentence that I am going to leave unedited. Just for fun.)

It was hell.

I thank God every day for my sponsor and others in recovery for helping me through it. And here I am sober, working a program, and sponsoring other people. That is a miracle, my friends. a freaking miracle.

Today I could not leave my house, I was too frozen in my body. During my online therapy session I wondered aloud (through tears and somewhat dissociated)… what would my life be like if just one of the traumas didn’t happen… I allowed that statement to come forward, not as a way to delve into my grief, but as a way to expand my imagination.

Trauma takes away imagination.

It keeps us stuck in a cyclical mindset:

“I am bad. Bad things happened to me. I can’t get rid of the bad feelings. So I am bad.” Another idea, or a change in direction or tempo or observation introduces a taste of the creative spirit – it’s a kind of jazz of memory, expanding the realm of possibility. It becomes hope, and allows a little more breath and wonderment – maybe I am not going to be this way forever.

I am sad today…life has not been easy for me. It is likely that my early childhood and teenage years contributed to a brain and nervous system that still doesn’t operate quite right. This affects my physical, mental, and spiritual health , most likely shortening my life.

And then there is this thing called “post traumatic growth.” I am alive, present, functioning in the world (most of the time), sober, clean, married to the same person for 24 years…I work, people trust me with their secrets. I can be in high stress situations and somehow manage to be calm. Seriously – calm.

I wonder why other people seemingly experience a constant freedom from their past while I often feel tethered to mine. Then I remember the friends I have made along the way who are no longer living in this world – those who died because living was too hard; their precious scars kept breaking open, and they could not move through this realm any longer. Often I feel them coaching me from the great beyond– cheering me on, encouraging me to imagine the space on the other side of the tethering.

I am so very sad.

I hurt. I feel his breath on my neck and I want to scream. The terror in my mind oozes into the air around me, and every inhale feels like another betrayal; a constant reminder that he still owns pieces of me.

It is not fair.

Erliss…go to bed. May the angels watch over you, dear one.

Sometimes we have to parent ourselves, my friends.

Thank you for listening.

Much love to each of you,

Erliss, a sad yet deeply grateful recovering alcoholic and addict.

P.S.

The photo at the top of this post was taken through my living room window this morning. When going through difficult memories, it is good to have a resource or two to remind the person of life outside the memory. Trauma memories tend to be encapsulated in such a manner that they have no connection to any other experiences outside the trauma. This view is one of my resources, helping me stay grounded in gratitude, even when happiness is in the far distance.

13 years ago today, with 21 years of sobriety from alcohol and drugs, I went to a treatment facility for trauma and other behavioral addictions. I had been on a 4 month binge of acting out in various ways, was severely suicidal, could not stay present for more than 15 minutes, was dissociating and “losing time.” I had behavioral issues with spending money, debting, acting out and “acting in” sexually ( self abuse, pornography, compulsive avoidance of intimacy) with severe consequences to my nervous system, my finances, my relationships, and my soul. I was terrified of men, especially white men, including my own husband – who did nothing but love and support me. My sleep was filled with nightmares and night terrors, which sometimes continued well into my “awake” life.

I was 35 years old, married, clean and sober, and working on my second Master’s degree. And I

Could

Not

Protect myself from the incessant reliving of history in my mind and body.

And the shame…God help me, the shame was like a bacteria eroding away at my flesh and bone. I could not escape. I felt like a disgusting, worthless corpse.

Isn’t that a bit extreme, Erliss? A corpse doesn’t feel like a corpse because it’s dead and there are no senses – period. Just an FYI. Maybe you felt like a decaying body – with a leprosy-like disease. Or maybe you felt like your were dying because your body was trying to heal a memory, when you felt or wished you were not present, maybe you thought you might die…The important thing is that you did not die, and are very much alive.

Yes, I need that reminder. Anyway…

A trusted seminary professor and the dean of students helped me find a place I could afford for treatment. The center had 11 men and myself in one house. Even though there were no women present at the time, I was so desperate that I went anyway. My life changed with this decision. I started on a long, slow, and very painful journey of recovery.

I had worked the steps many times in AA, NA, and other programs. I had been in various therapies for years. But I needed more help. My mind was divided against itself – or so it seemed. The DSM calls it “Dissociative Identity Disorder.” I call it survival. I have come to understand that my very body – which I despised and believed to be “the enemy”- was trying to heal me.

I will never forget the drive down to treatment – alone. I thought I might drive off a bridge. I had already researched which bridge, angle, and speed would work the best.

I am grateful that I did not do this. I am grateful that I listened to the small voice that said – “Just get to treatment.”

Treatment was not perfect, but when I arrived, I knew I was safe – at least safe from myself. The dissociation, the nightmares, the terror, even the suicidal ideation -they didn’t stop altogether. They are still there. But I am more aware, and their power over me has lessoned. I am not acting out in those ways. I have a support system today. I “carry the message” that there is hope.

There is always hope. As long as I have breath.

Friends, please listen to that voice, whether it’s your inner voice, the voice of a therapist or friend , or even myself. Keep going.

I understand. Trauma can makes us do a lot of things that often perpetuate the trauma – trying to fix it or trying to “get it all out” or trying to completely avoid it – the trauma is not just in our minds, it’s in our bodies. And our bodies have an innate wisdom that wants to heal us. They just need guidance and compassion.

I may write more about this later. It’s quite late, and it turns out I need to sleep. Imagine that.

Know that I love you and am sending healing thoughts to each of you. You are not alone.

And thank you for listening.

Much love,

Erliss, The Monkey Whisperer

Tag: Sobriety

Soul Healing – Trauma, Addiction, and Recovery