Triggered
May 21, 09- (by Eli Hornby)
- 7 responses
- Sober Salon
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Saturday night, when it happened, the shame was crippling, and I couldn’t breathe or think. Everything was a muted wash of gray.
Until the waves of rage and nausea, and the fantasies – beating holes in the wall with a microphone stand, slicing my wrists open, shrieking obscenities into the night. Then the addict, slamming me with euphoric recall. Escape this body, plunge into ecstasy, get what you deserve, Eli. I’m a strong swimmer – I’ve trained in these waters for years – so why the fuck was I drowning again? I was fighting for breath, but my cognitive and recovery tools were failing me.
I got through the night and slept (eventually), but at 5:00 Sunday morning I was begging Linsey for help. I’m so depressed I can’t get out of bed, I told her. I can’t do this today. Somehow I found myself leading a worship rehearsal three hours later, and I did fine, because when I’m behind a piano I know what I’m doing. I cried in between lyrics, and thanked my God for this moment of competence and peace. For deliverance.
But all of life is not a song. I went home and curled into the fetal position under my covers, and hated my body for convincing me again to approach her with my guard down. One of the ways I cope when I’m triggered is I step back, out of the moment, and imagine retelling the events at some later time. This way I get some distance and perspective. It usually helps, but not this time. Because it sounded so stupid when it came out like this:
“Saturday night everything was right for sex. We’d flirted and hinted, the kids were in bed, the chores were done. I allowed myself to feel desire. I thought I could handle the risk of being vulnerable. I came up behind her at the table and loved on her with a back rub and gentle kisses. She closed her eyes and sighed. Then she jumped up and started turning off lights and putting things away, and disappeared into the bathroom. I tried to hold on to the moment, but I went numb. We never recovered.”
I told our therapist Heidi what happened, that I was emotionally broken and unsalvageable. You shouldn’t descend into despair when your wife has to go to the bathroom. But with work, we isolated this part of the story: I had asked Linsey, “Don’t worry about the lights, just come to the bedroom with me. I’m coming back out here later and I’ll close up.” But she can’t do this. The abused and frightened little girl inside my wife still freaks out when an excited man starts touching her, so she looks for ways to stop the flow of intimacy, and to regain control.
And then I’m triggered.
And I tell myself, she’s just turning off the lights, just kissing the kids goodnight, just making a quick phone call, just washing her face, but it’s a lie, because these silly little games echo all the way back to our honeymoon. And someday, I’ll be strong enough to say “IT’S NOT MY FAULT” instead of “what the hell is wrong with you, Eli?”
Someday I’ll say It’s not my fault.
It’s not my fault.
[Photo by whisperwolf under C.C.License]
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Eli, I revel in your honesty each time and am so thankful that you continue to process, continue seeking transformation. It gives me a lot of hope. Even 5 years later, I understand that drowning feeling. Usually it is followed with growth. Now it happens much less but I think I was a real mess my first 2-3 years of recovery–almost worse than when using!!!
When you describe your wife, I can’t help but feel a bit of me in her. Especially lately.
Even though I flip a switch with my partner, I’m less inclined to turn it back on if I see they are hurt by my distance. It kills me to know that my emotional processing is hurting someone else. But no matter how turned on I feel, emotionally I can’t be with my (ex) partner and thus–no sex. (right now I’m going through processing sexual abuse.)
Eli I read this yesterday and wanted it to sink in before I commented, but I am still somewhat at a loss for words here…
Just know I hear you and I hope that your honesty in writing it out has given you some healing. Hold onto hope.
Cat, thanks for reading. I wouldn’t really know how to respond either.
There are differences between our situations, but I think I understand how you feel, Eli. It’s very difficult to be married to a sexual-abuse survivor. On the one hand, you feel a deep empathy and you don’t want to do anything that reminds your loved one of the abuse. But on the other hand, you feel incredibly rejected and wonder if you’ll ever get some of your most basic needs met. Not to mention that we as partners often have our own deep-seated issues. You and your wife are in my thoughts and prayers.
Eli, my heart goes out to you and your wife. I know your triggers oh so well, and I know hers too. It makes my heart hurt to think of the pain that is carried from one day to the next, seemingly with nowhere to go, but deeper into the soul. It is not your fault. It’s not my husband’s fault. My heart breaks knowing how in my own pain I make him pay for the past pain. And it hurts just as badly that he can’t share his own pain with me. This is hard, stuff, my friend. My thoughts and prayers are with you and with all of us.
Thank you for sharing this, Eli. When you get right down to the core of our feelings, the addict and the co-dependent aren’t very different from one another.
I really like the part that you have shared about the piano because I bet that you are totally connected to God and your spirit when you are in that place. It’s the place that holds balance within us. It’s good that you got out of bed and had that moment - it’s a reminder of where “home” is.
[...] wasn’t some misunderstanding, or some crazy over-reactive trigger, like last time. It was: I know I said things were good and I wanted you, but now I don’t, so leave me [...]