De A à C, passez par-dessus B

28 novembre 2007

so I went to my meeting this morning. I had a meeting with a nice woman from an organization that helps victims of crimes and I thought I was taking way too much of her time, it lasted two hours. I took the day off to go there and have the day to myself so I could go through my emotions alone if I needed to. But we didn’t really go into details…yeah even in two hours. I got phone numbers, documents, references for places to go to and meet people about this. It’s good, I wanted that.

I guess that’s why I need help. I just circle the subject, don’t really say the words, hint at things, I have trouble really talking about what I lived through. There is just sooo much ! I just can’t get it out and I’m alone with it so I do what I always do when I’m really stressed. I forget. It’s unconscious but my body just finds a way for me to forget or skip over stuff, block out emotions. I can’t talk about it with anyone around me so I have to find ways to cope by myself. Therapy is useful but I’m there once a week and sometimes I should be there every day !

You see, I talked about one of the firsts sexual attacks I had and since then I ate at restaurants more than three times a week, started eating chocolate again, slept more than ten hours once and feel like sleeping more every morning. That’s the way my body and mind works when all my post-trauma wakes up. I eat and sleep. Yoga is good for relaxing but it doesn’t help me spend my energy so I’ll have to go to toning again so I can just grunt the pain away.

I also bought a bra today. Impulse buying. Very big when stressed out. But I really needed a new bra. I keep pushing this aside because shopping for underwear is like going to the dentist. I hate it. So I finally bought a new bra and the lady says I’m a C cup. I can’t beee !!!! Last time I was a C was when I weighed 160. So I have to check what I eat and drink and exercise cause there is no way I’m going back up to 160. NO f*** WAY. (Au moment où je vous copie ça de mon ancien blog, j’ai dépassé le 160 parce que je vais au gym plusieurs fois par semaine alors je suis moins ronde qu’avant). No wonder that guy said I had a nice rack last time…I still thought I was an A. I also wear 38 instead of 34 and 36. Am I blowing up or something ? is it all that unspent sexual energy that goes to my boobs to attract males and populate the planet ? Am I going to look like a pidgeon soon ? I should test if I can put a glass between my breasts or a plate on them as if it was a shelf.

You’re wondering why I’m freaking out at having bigger boobs. AH. Have you tried girl’s clothes lately ? It’s like trying on kiddy clothes. Everything is made for twigs. You can’t have a butt, breasts, round arms or thighs. You can’t be a woman. You have to be anorexic or twelve to fit in what is in stores. OH GOOOD will I have to go shopping in Plus sizes now that my boobs are ten times the size I thought they were ?!

Pfft. It’s good to have some drama in non-existential places of my life. It gets things in perspective. Let’s forget about death threats, police arrests, rapes, harassment, my supposed future and my budget and let’s focus on my weight and boobs size !

I don’t have to complain. Last time I measured, in the last two weeks, I still was pretty okay. But phew…C cup.

Harcèlement sexuel, fini !

19 janvier 2005

I have gone through my meeting with Flying Colors ! It is finally over.

M. really considers all this as a joke. As a game. I can’t control or change his thoughts and perceptions. I had the support and that is worth something.

I am very proud of myself ! Thank you me !

M. had been sexually harassing me for 2 years and a half before I couldn’t take it anymore. After reliving other abuses I had lived because of it, fearing for my life (irrational thought but it was still very much printed in my body) and hearing « Let’s keep this a secret » I cracked. I stopped loving my job and I decided I had had ENOUGH.
For him, everything was a joke. The fact that he had said he would never hurt me and then had done the exact opposite had gained me points in the boardroom while I had to tell everything I could remember. I did a lot of memory searching. Once again, my memory played games with me, hiding things. I never was easy for me to stand up having been raised to shut up and deal with whatever came my way.
I decided to go against everything I had ever done. Even if I had talked to him, reacted violently, shouted, nothing had worked. I decided to seak council from an organization dealing with sexual harassment in the workplace. I really had tried but my patterns were there telling me to bend my head, don’t talk.
I felt finally free ! I had talked and written everything, I had cried.
I didn’t have the support of my family or the support of my boyfriend but I discovered I had better learn to do things for me, on my own.
He went on leave for a couple of months and I tried recovering but I had a burnout. When he came back without my bosses telling me about it even if they had promised to, I left for a month and then moved on to another job.
Then, I took an self-defense class. No one is ever going to make me go through this again.

En attente

20 mai 2006

Veuillez rester en ligne…un préposé sera avec vous sous peu…votre appel est important pour nous…

Il paraît qu’il n’y a pas de hasards. Que chaque fois qu’une porte se ferme, une fenêtre s’ouvre. Paulo Coelho nous fait comprendre dans ses livres qu’il faut saisir les indices quand ils se présentent à nous, saisir les opportunités. Alors voilà. Je ne peux pas toujours repousser les gens. Je le fais mais il faut que j’arrête. Et si je prends l’opportunité de me laisser approcher ou d’approcher quelqu’un, bien, je devrais le faire de la bonne façon, hein. En maintenant mes limites et en respectant celles des autres.

Je viens d’arriver chez moi, il est 18h, j’ai passé la journée ailleurs. J’ai déjeuné à la Binerie avec le Troll, j’ai été à mon cours de yoga puis j’ai été à la bibliothèque et j’ai été lire et manger dans un restau. Je n’ai aucun message sur mon répondeur. Je ne suis pas surprise mais, je suis désenchantée. C’est ce qui arrive quand depuis près de deux ans, je m’isole et je rejette les peu de propositions de sorties de mes amis ou que j’essaie de modifier ma vie. C’est ce qui arrive quand tout le monde autour de moi change : nouveaux couples, emménagements, bébés…

Pour ma part, ma thérapie fait en sorte que j’ai encore plus le goût d’être seule. J’ai encore moins le goût de parler, je ne sais pas quoi dire ou comment le dire. Ou je ne veux pas en parler. Pas facile non plus quand tu ne peux en parler à personne. Pas de la thérapie, juste de…tout.

J’ai tellement de trucs dans ma tête, il me semble. Avant, je parlais tout le temps. Maintenant, il me semble que je n’ai plus rien à dire. Je suis vide. Est-ce que ça se peut ? En fait, le fait que ma vie n’a aucun sens, que je ne sache pas où je vais, que mon enfance fait de moi une adulte qui fait exprès de tout saboter pourrait expliquer au moins mon vide. Si tu savais la violence qu’il y a eu dans ma vie. Je n’ai jamais réussi à expliquer ça à personne sauf à mon ex, J-F. Pauvre lui, il a pété sa coche. J’ai encore plus appris à fermer ma gueule de peur…de faire peur. De peur d’être jugée, mal comprise, d’être encore plus abandonnée et rejetée. Puis, de le faire à mon tour, en réaction.

J’ai des nouvelles portes dans mon appartement. Bientôt, je vais avoir des nouvelles fenêtres. Je me sens plus en sécurité. J’ai moins peur la nuit. Mon histoire avec la police s’est soldée par un échec. La bataille était perdue d’avance. Il aurait fallu que j’ai des bleus, des os cassés, pour que la policière me prenne au sérieux. Mais, le fait d’y repenser en détail, de l’écrire, de me fâcher, de pleurer, d’en parler, enfin après tout ce temps m’a fait beaucoup de bien. Cette histoire me hantait encore avec mes chums suivants. Ça me rendait folle. Des fois, j’ai encore des visions. En fait, j’en ai de plus en plus. Il paraît que c’est parce que je recommence à habiter mon corps, à vivre mes émotions. Je trouve ça dur. Hyperventilation, palpitations, visions, panique, rêves. Plein de choses qui se superposent. Ça aide pas à aimer le sexe ou le sexe opposé.

Mes cours de yoga et d’aquaforme sont amusants et m’aident à relaxer. Et la semaine passée, j’ai fait un super ménage dans mon appart. J’ai pas fini, je veux réorganiser mes épices, nettoyer mes armoires. Depuis deux ans, je suis folle de ménage on dirait. Il y a des périodes où je nettoie comme une dingue. J’achète plein de gadgets au Dollarama et je frotte, ça libère l’esprit. Je donne des affaires que je ne veux plus avoir aussi, je vends mes livres, mes CD. J’ai vendu presque tous mes DVD. PAS mes DVD de Anne la Maiosn aux Pignons Verts, jamais ! Je les ai regardés plusieurs fois cette année. Je n’ai pas regardé la télé de novembre à avril. J’ai regardé des DVD. Je faisais une cure de télé après avoir été quatre mois avec Monsieur qui passait sa vie devant la télé. J’en pouvais pus.

Là, je suis avec le Troll et vraiment, j’essaie de le faire ralentir. En fait, c’est bizarre. Il travaille 50 heures par semaine, j’ai l’impression d’être en attente depuis qu’il est revenu de vacances. On a commencé ensemble, une semaine après il partait trois semaines, puis pas longtemps après sa cousine s’en venait pour trois mois. Elle est encore ici et elle reste chez lui. Elle travaille aussi à la boutique. Bravo l’intimité. Dès la première semaine, il voulait que ça soit exclusif…pas le temps de se connaître, ni de voir si quelqu’un d’autre fittait mieux, il est intense. Quand un autre gars me regarde, il met sa main sur moi. Ou il m’embrasse à pleine bouche d’une façon vraiment dégueu. La semaine passée, il a cassé parce que je lui demandais de me respecter en me demandant si ça me dérangeait qu’il mette de la musique quand j’écoutais déjà la télé. Sa vision des choses ? Il devrait pouvoir faire ce qu’il veut chez moi. Il ne devrait pas devoir me montrer de considération ni de politesse puisque je suis sa blonde. Tant pis si ça me choque qu’il pète, rote ou mâche la bouche ouverte. Je n’ai jamais manqué d’affection. D’écoute, de temps, oui. D’affection, non. Il ne veut pas d’enfants, mais il m’en ferait un quand même. Il voudrait prendre des années avant d’habiter avec moi mais il m’a proposé ça à matin quand même. Et il ne croit pas au mariage mais il m’a demandé de le marier il y a deux semaines.

Ah, et après sa cousine, une amie vient habiter chez lui trois semaines. Je vais pouvoir faire du vélo avec lui et me baigner avec lui, à la fin du mois d’août (on est en juin et c’est maintenant, l’été). Mais, au mois d’août, la boutique ferme à minuit. Pas pire. Il a quand même changé ses horaires pour qu’on puisse se voir tous les dimanches et un samedi sur deux. Mais, il passe quand même à la boutique ces jours-là. Pourtant, dès la première soirée j’avais dit que ça ne marcherait pas si j’étais avec quelqu’un qui travaillait autant. Mais, il a fait cet effort-là. Et il appelle. Même s’il ne répond pas aux emails. À moins, que je lui dise que je veux une réponse. Je te dis, je suis en attente. J’attends qu’il grandisse, qu’il m’écoute, qu’il ait du temps.

Je ne suis pas mieux. Quand je suis frustrée, je m’éloigne. Alors, j’ai décidé de prendre du recul en général. L’avantage est qu’on sort pour déjeuner ensemble assis à la même table pour au moins une demi-heure (c’est au moins ça), on est allé au cinéma pour la première fois, on va parler d’autre chose que sa job ou de sexe. L’autre avantage c’est que je vais voir si ce gars-là est vraiment pour moi. Tsé, il a cassé la semaine passée. Mais, il a continué de faire comme si rien n’était arrivé quand je suis allé lui porter ses affaires le lendemain. Il n’a rien dit de la semaine. Il me prend pour acquis. Je lui ai dit qu’on n’était plus ensemble, il n’avait pas dit qu’on reprenait. Ça a l’air qu’il fait ça au travail aussi.

C’est platte. Mes murs s’étaient baissés au début. Là, je les sens bien remontés. Je peux voir les drapeaux rouges.


AH ! Eh ben, il a rencontré une fille pendant ses vacances et toutes les conneries qu’il faisait c’est pour que je casse avec !! Il continuait de lui écrire. Il se sentait mal. Ben oui, il me rendait folle avec ses conneries, il me blâmait parce que je ne faisais pas assez d’efforts alors que je lui donnais des chances depuis le début et pendant ce temps, Le Troll, se faisait aller le grand charme avec une greluche française ! Ah ! Il est chanceux que je ne lui envoie pas une pluie de poissons d’argent, la lèpre, une brique…

Premier rendez-vous à la Maison de l'ostéoptahie

16 mai 2009

Today I had my first visit to the Maison de l’ostéopathie. I was refered there by my former osteopath because N.T. does cranial osteopathy. That is done when something is not going away like my neck and shoulder pain. It always comes back so N. treated my abdominal region and my head. It didn’t feel like with the other osteopath. She talked and asked questions and she explained what she was doing and weirdly, she gave me hope.

I feel I have to be truthful towards the people who treat me. So I respond thruthfully even if I have to force myself to do it. So I talked about my family, about the multiple agressions I had lived. Without detail. While she was treating me…I don’t know…what she was saying made a lot of sense. I know it’s not really precise but anyway.

She told me that what she was doing could help me with the work I do with A. What I feel when I hear certain sounds wouldn’t go away but would be dulled. And she prepared my body for the work she will do next time to soften certain parts of my brain that have become rigid to forget and protect me. At the moment, my reptilian brain (responsible for the flight or fight reactions) is working well, reacting to sounds, smells, sensations. She is going to awaken the other parts of my brain and when I am really ready, when I have all the tools I need, I may be able to remember.

She was exactly what I was looking for and I didn’t know I was looking for someone like her. She made feel better about being so sad about the end of my therapy, about my goals to make the psychogenealogical transmission of pain stop, about myself. I feel I’m really doing everything I can to go on, to discover what’s going on. And I felt less lonely.

Louis Vuitton sous les yeux

Juin 2009

Complain, complain, complain…It seems it’s the only thing I blog about lately.

But I’m so tired. I was thinking about it and I have been tired for almost a year. Ever since those « events » of last year where this weird little man went bonkers, I just can’t « get it up » anymore. My energy.

Some days I can’t even go to the gym and I have trouble staying at work my 7 hours. I go to bed at 9:30 every night so even if I wake up at 5:30 I still have enough sleep. Right ? Nope.

If I’m still this tired after my vacation I am going to go to another doctor to get a second opinion because it’s not premenopause, it’s not thyroid, not diabetes. Hungh. It could be chronic fatigue syndrom…fybromyalgia or I’m just getting old really fast.

Soon, I’ll be wrinkly, my boobs will sag, I’ll be arthritic and at least two inches shorter. HA.

Tout partout


I’ve been decluttering my place, washing clothes, eating, checking out recipes, petting the cat, vacuuming, dusting all at the same time for the last 2 hours. Result ? I am sitting down writing a blog about me walking around looking like the cat-lady (yoga pants, white camisole, green polar vest under a black wool robe), dishevelled, with post-its stuck under my slippers, licorice drooping from my lips. I look frightening. A bit mad, really.

I guess that if neighbors look my way they can also see me dancing while doing all this because I’m trying to select songs for my Happi happi playlist.

Typical Saturday night at my place. Singleton’s night in being entertaining for the neighbors. Typical night for someone who isn’t dating or playing around with someone. Oh shit. I AM Bridget.

At least I’m not downing vodka and singing holding my hairbrush like a microphone…yet. I don’t have the vodka, but I have the hairbrush and the inclination to do so.

I’m trying to think of other things than what I had to talk about in therapy this week. And what I will talk about next week. I’m meeting with someone from an agency dealing with victims of criminal actions. Post-traumatic stress is my middle name and I’m tired of it. It makes it impossible to be intimate, to have real relationships even with friends. It makes it impossible to trust. Knowing what people are capable of and how they can be wimps makes it hard to trust someone to be there.

So I try not to read about it which is really hard. I went to borrow novels again hoping I will be distracted enough. I’m making a happy playlist to boost me up. And going to the gym again tomorrow. I will try Pilates and it will give me something to cross off my to do list. I’ve tried yoga also. Unchartered territory. Who knew that entering a pilates or a yoga class where there are strangers, an unknown instructor, would be so challenging ?

If I could just start cooking, now. But I can’t seem to start. It’s difficult to concentrate on one thing to do so I’m all over the place.


And it’s Saturday…it’s the weekend. I have stopped myself from calling him. It’s best I leave him alone. He doesn’t need me to confuse him and make him sad. I’m so conflicted.

AH. Well, who knew I had the Great Litany on my itune ?? Not making my Happi happi list…going now…maybe I’m going to procrastinate more before doing something…

Refoulement et inondation

23 novembre 2007

When I was 15 turning on 16, I started my first job. It was okay, it paid school expenses and it kept my parents off my back. I worked with one of my best friends, the place belonged to her parents.

I wasn’t the most brilliant and efficient worker. I was a bit slow, kept to myself. I liked working mornings because it was not busy, I could do my things and read or write.

I remember it was winter because I was cold, winter coats were hung in the back store and there was snow piled around work. My boss had hired this man to shuffle snow. He was around 60, slim, white hair. He would hang around the store, looking outside, asking me questions. I did feel uneasy but didn’t want to be impolite. I couldn’t wait for him to go, I just wanted to go back to my reading and I didn’t like letting him alone inside while I answered customers. But he was hired by my boss, he was older than me and I had never learned how to ask someone to leave without sounding really not nice. Plus, he must be okay, right, if my boss had hired him ? So I endured. And boy did he talk. I didn’t even know his name but I knew he had kids.

I don’t remember what he was talking about because I was the kind of person to space out once in a while. But when he asked me what was back there, I went near the door to the back store and told him what was there. Then, he came behind me, put his arms around me, lift me up. He then put me down but put his hands on my breasts and told me I had nice breasts.

All this while, I was paralyzed with fear. Nothing had EVER prepared me for this. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t say a word, I was feeling blind and deaf. It was like big heavy white sound had entered me and had taken everything conscious with it except that when he put me down I had landed on one of his feet and I was sorry.

It was all my fault. I shouldn’t have, I should, if I had…

He just moved away and got out of the store while my eyes welled up, I was choking up and it is really the right word, choking. I shouldn’t have, what had I done to make this happen, if I hadn’t, if I had…

A customer arrived and I did what I had to do even if my eyes were full of tears. That customer probably saved me from worse. I hadn’t realized it then but it resurfaced this year, a car had arrived when all of this was happening. If he hadn’t heard the bell signaling a car was waiting, he would’ve raped me. We were right in front of the back store, the door was open, the light was off.

I felt small. Vulnerable. Empty, used. Numb.

This numbness would take a very long time to go away. No having bruises doesn’t matter when someone tramples you. He had taken my space, my body.

It was the first time this happened to me, it was the first thing of many that made me the person I am. Untrusting, afraid of being in a relationship, afraid of meeting people, and it took me until not so long ago to be able to talk at all.

I did tell what happened to my boss after telling my friend. She asked me if it was an accident. NO it was not, how could she ask me that ? If it was I wouldn’t have told her what happened. I felt angry, even more dirty and vulnerable. I wasn’t believed by an adult. When I told another friend she told me it meant I had nice breasts. It was like being beaten with an open hand, again and again. No one was reacting like they were supposed to. Hadn’t I always heard that you are supposed to tell ? And I wasn’t taken seriously, I wasn’t believed.

I didn’t tell my parents and they didn’t think anything was wrong.

I stopped telling what was happening to me after I was raped when I was 19 and my boyfriend didn’t believe me. I stopped telling. What was the point ? I never had any bruises, nothing showed. No one believed that these things happened to me. But they did and I still have nightmares every spring when it’s time to let doors and windows opened because I was threatened by someone. Nightmares, words, silent threats and fear don’t make proofs that things happened. The police don’t believe me.

So I developed a neat way to cope with all the violence. I would forget, numb my mind and body until I exploded. I wouldn’t cry, I wouldn’t tell, I wouldn’t think about it and if thoughts of it sneaked up on me, I shut them out. I kept having boyfriends and to have sex. I had all kinds of problems and I couldn’t figure why.

Now I’m in therapy and I remember. And thinking of a smell makes me almost faint. So I cried. because I have no hope, really. I don’t see the end of feeling untrusting, being afraid. I can’t have sex without feeling claustrophobic and panicked if I see the person. When things are over I cry. Sometimes it hurts. I only have sex when I can’t see the guy and I feel so helpless about everything. Some touches make me nauseous, being tickled makes me hyperventilate, pain takes me out of my body.

But the fear…I fear everything all the time. I want to be invisible. I am envied by a lot of girls around me. Long neck, long shiny hair, nice face, thin, nice looking. Makes me grind my teeth, envy. It’s like getting blasted and getting blame dumped on me again. All I’ve wanted for years is to be invisible so men would look away and not at me. I don’t want them to notice me, to follow me, to get ideas when I’m nice, to love me.

And I do feel unlovable. Why would someone want me ? I’m rotten.

So, yesterday, thinking about the smell of this workplace, I saw it, and I felt the heaviness, the fear, the despair, and I cried.

Will things ever be different now that I remember all of it ?