The Remnants of a Parental Suicide,

It was 1975, He had just turned 25 on new years day, and was freshly diagnosed with Manic Depression.  And was known to self medicate with whatever drugs he could get his hands on. He had finally gotten a steady job as a bus driver. He was a father to a 13 month old little girl,and he was married to a devoted wife.  

Though she would account of many incidents of battery and emotional abuse. I do recall hearing my mother being slammed up against the wall. And as an infant I would shut down in fear (the deer in front of an oncoming truck) I would develop this coping mechanism as I grew and encountered other abusive situations (apparently typical of survivors of suicide-murder) I encounter bouts of guilt as I was not a healthy baby. - I  was born with a lack of oxygen, and later we discovered my thyroid non function - I was in and out of hospital in my first few weeks of life.  I am sure my father used that against my mother when I wasn't there. 

One night he decided to mix a few drinks and probably dropped some acid as well as taking his medication. It was a deadly decision that almost cost the life of not only himself but his wife and daughter(me). After the drinks he went home and became physically abusive to my mother, and threatened to burn down the house with us in it. I would hear all this in my crib in the neighbouring room

My mother was smarter(and sober) and grabbed me from my crib and ran to the neighbours, the first set of neighbours were not home, so she ran to the next, in which she was confronted by him shouting and blaming his low self esteem on her, and wielded a sawed off gun pointing at himself. She had gotten me to safety with the neighbours taking me in. My mother was in the depths of the drama, the fear, and the fighting. She hadn't known I was propped up in a window by the curious kids. 

He turned the gun on himself and shot himself in the stomach that night. Everyone was shocked. Not only had I witnessed the violent suicide of my own father, but  I was dropped and abandoned for a time while everyone was running in different direction like decapitated chickens in shock.  

My mother needed to be drugged up with valium due to witnessing such a violent act. We Somehow did make it to Vancouver so he could be cared for in the larger hospital, and my grandparents could care for me while my mom would be spending time by his bedside praying, talking to him, and when he finally died due to the gangrene infection, my mother needed to be medicated yet again. I needed her but she didn't have the strength then to acknowledge my presence. I remember having a rest with her in the big bed in the guest room of my grandparents,  I woke calling to her, climbing up on her and not getting a response.  I didn't understand what was going on, I was just an infant who lost her daddy, and scared she was losing her mommy too.  

My grandfather stepped up to the role of father for me. And doted on me when I came to visit or if they came to visit us.

But to lose a father to a violent suicide disrupted my sense of value- I wasn't a good enough person or he would have wanted to live,  I didn't understand these highs and intense lows until later in my life where I became diagnosed as having borderline personality disorder.  In my therapies I discovered my sensitivity to sudden loud abrupt noises that would find me cowered under tables not feeling sure what time frame I was in. There are self help groups for the parents or spouses left behind. Although 7,000-12,000 children( Hopkins Chilterns Center) lose their parents to suicide.   There are approximately 20,000 homicides in the United States annually. In 2002, 8.6% of

victims were killed by their spouse, 5.5% were children killed by a parent, 7.4% were killed by a family member, other than their spouse or parent, and 7.3% were killed by their boyfriend or girlfriend. The vast majority of these deaths are related to domestic violence.Fathers who kill children and then themselves often meet the criteria

for domestic abuse of their partners, including contact with the police. Even many suicides

by women are thought to be associated with battering.( survivors resources) 

There are no groups for the children left behind- it is either not acknowledged that people who take their lives could possibly even be parents.  I see groups for those who were the spouse,partner, or parent of the suicide victim.  But never a group for the child (adult survivor). Or is it just too hard to talk about.  Is it that group could never be acknowledged because if we acknowledged that it occurred we have to acknowledge that we let a group that have been left unattended to.

 Yes as children we are narcissistic in our reactions to the suicide - we take on a level of blame- if only.    I am also guilty of those as I got older.   I was also having nightmares, had fears of rooms that were long and dark.  But I couldn't put words to everything.    This issue seemed to fall through the cracks, people didn't want to admit to the possibility that i was a witness to this horrible event. They just wanted to concentrate on my development due to my rare genetic disorder.  Because they didn't detect it soon enough - it was suspected i may have mental retardation- i had a physical challenge. But i was more than intelligent enough.  And this may have made me more of a fighter in my life. I knew there was something out there that wanted me and my mother to live.  And I have had to be persistent in my story until finally as I came to the end of my teenager years a psychologist finally believed me as she noticed some of my other fears and anxieties came out.  It was clear I had a complicated history, and that I would feel isolated when people would learn how my father died but that through a change in hormones from a pregnancy I developed a mental illness. People are scared to hear of this possibility that we could possibly inherit a mental illness. But we had already battled most of our lives with post trauma anyways. (What is one or two more to top it off)  i tried joining a group where they had child survivors and I was reprimanded for being honest.  Again a way for me to feel isolated and strange for my situation.  I stand out, I try to move forward but a part of me is stuck and cannot move forward because this infant is unable to cry- she is that deer suddenly trapped in the middle of the road with oncoming traffic of bright lights and screeching brakes.   She must be quiet as the situation was life threatening. And the advocating mother in me says - I will not keep this topic a taboo. 

I spent years dealing with various psychiatrists (partially due to my being born with a rare thyroid condition) and when I was old enough to tell my perspective even small segments I  was accused of lying, of telling something I may have heard in gossip. I was only 13 months old when it happened.  How could I have remembered that event.?  The question is how could I I was at an age where I didn't have a vocabulary so my coping mechanism to shut down physically and emotionally.  I learned at the age of 38 that I dissociated in 7 forms to cope with the trauma.

The last straw was when my husband had hit me while I had my son in my arms because I slammed the door and locked it to protect myself and get my son to stop his screaming.  I was triggered to relive these events in new detail that i would never thought possible. 

This brought me to two clinics where I would spend a total of 15 months trying to get back on my feet again. Yes I felt suicidal many times but I stopped myself and asked for help- I did not need to repeat history and leave my children short of a parent.  

I started the bizarre behaviours marking my post traumatic stress disorder - these 7 forms of dissociation found me unsure of my time span( usually triggered by a sudden loud bang), days where my left side behaves as though I have had a stroke, or times where a tornado basically rips through a room breaking things and me in a corner debating on whether or not i should injure myself so I could come back to reality. 

It has taken a team to help me learn to trust, and to understand why 38 years my body behaves this way and that I should be nice to myself at this time of year. And yes 39 years later my body still knows what happened but now I have someone to help me through the rough days I had a wonderful group of nurses, doctors and therapists that do believe me and helped me tolerate my environment better. And I thank them wholeheartedly. 

Gemma Luescher-Verseckas  

Here's to the beginning of February

So i want to message a friend - my corrector button doesn't work nor did half the letters on the top row of my keyboard geesh - couldn't get a word in edgewise.  S it has been an interesting evening in an interesting time of the year where i question how things would have gone if vcertain events had a different turnout. 

So i am referring to of course my dad's death, and now my divorce, my voice, my strength and what exactly does healing mean to me.  And do i want to be healed. But i am told much of the damage has been done and it is pretty much irreversible, but my physical self is not the only part of me- i have a spiritual self. This is a part of me that looks for hope even when my pysical self is at limits, as is my emotional self.  That spiritual self seeks the light that streams through windows in the darkes of cellars and the darkest of nights.  

But what helped me with the question i battle with is the difference between healing and being rescued.  I don't need to be rescued by god, i need to be loved by god in how i am and all the challenges he puts before me.  I hear a song on my computer  called "Moses"  by Sally Barker,   It is about asking moses to be near me and to lend me a hand( it doesn't ask him to take away what my challenges are but rather just be near me and help me find that energy and strength to go further. That love that one feels while in the company of another who understands my plight.  I listen to this song and it does lend me that strength some days, as it reminds me that i am not alone in my journey. That i have a purpose.  And i am reminded this evening that i am not alone. That i am noticed in my journey.  And that i will be able to help others. 

So hopefully through my written word and gentle art i can help others, just as moses led his people through the desert and he parted the seas, it was his simpler action of just being there. His voice for those who couldn't. His voice to give strength for those who felt alone in their daily fight to feel like a human.

To Be "Saved"

You can pray all your might but my mental illness will not go away. I don't need to believe in God more than I already do. And it will not take away the events of my past, it will not make people take responsibility for their actions causing injury( physical and Psychological).  My belief helped me navigate my illness that i can cope with it better, it helped me take responsibility for my illness and my ability to ask for the help that I need to help cope from day to day, from Week to week. My belief in a holy spirit opened up my creative side that sat lingering for years in my heart, and it allowed me to voice the words in the written form again that I could publish a collection of Poetry, and write a childrens story to give a voice to children who may not have the voice to sing in hopes of people understanding their parents and helping end stigmas even within families. That same holy spirit gave me a signal through my body that my life needed some major changes and I Iistened.  But i am not going to tell you that you need to be saved because you may not even Christian! You may be Hindi, Punjab, Buddhist, or Muslim. You and your family may approach this Illness differently than mine, your grandparents generation may have different expectations of how you deal with your illness than ours.  But I can tell you mental illness can be inherited(or at least the tendancy towards certain illnesses); at least I know part of mine was, and some illness are environmental- PTSD alone could be triggered by a single event or a multitude of events.  You don't need to pray to "Save" me, you just need to accept me for my package, i have the right to be own relation to God should Should I choose to have that relationship.  Besides if God were to have ""saved" me I would have guessed he did it years ago- because I am here writing this 

One little word

So a group of friends started a theme for a year based on one word for a year.  This is way better than a resolution. It can be symbolic of what is happening that year! But it can be similar to that of a resolution. 

My word is Challenge. I can set a challenge each month for myself.  It means i can try something new each month push myself that bit more on a subject for a month.   One month may be to do more typography or more mixed media for a month, try more portraiture, work with oils for a month,  and so forth.   So for january i took an artclass that taught me some techniques in mixed media - layering and just new techniques. I challenged myself last year with working on a large project with plaster, and working on getting the point of convergence. ( that absorbed itself in a few paintings)  the year before I challenged myself to improve enough to handle a P!Nk concert I was invited to. Which proves that if i really wanted to I could gain control of my symptoms rather than my symptoms overtaking me.   

But I know that i need a certain amount of support.  I needed support of a friend who understood my challenges and be able to plan an escape route if there is a sensory overload and I panic. 

Just like going on the plane for a long flight. I am dreading the flight back but i am planning that i have my meds closer to me( not up in the overhead but below the seat.) and say to the stewardess that i do need assistance when I get to Heathrow airport because it is so tight between flights. I can't walk fast enough for the size of terminal that it is, In addition get through all the checkpoints.  So having a bit of a plan will allieviate some of the stress.  ( i didn't forsee feeling claustrophobic on the flight coming out- really- i thought that since i am a seasoned flyer, and I have a window seat  and the movies to watch, I would be fine.  All it took was a lady to move her seat back, and I started to hyperventilate. I am too considerate of others- i didn't want to wake the girls next to me and since i was in panic i didn't think logically to move my seat back, all i realised was that my skills and my meds were up above in my backpack and i couldn't seem to get help from a stewardess.   And when i finally got her i was in tears- not a full sob but she saw my fear in my eyes. Helped me get out that I could get out, get my meds and catch my breath again. - it was embarrassing but they were understanding that it was part of an illness.  That i wasn't trying to get attention.

It is still a challenge to explain to people about the dynamics of this illness, and people who have lived through some challenges with mental illness understand where i am coming from. But i still come across people who think i should buckle up. That I lie, that I am selfish.   But too bad for them. They won't be ever open to such challenges. 

But there will be new challenges throughout the year- as new opportunities present themselves. I have been considering doing a calendar  to sell- i think it is plausible in my village. And with Töpferhaus shows.  In addition my cousins are asking that I do a series of art cards. That is more in her budget than my paintings. I would love to combine my poetry with my art to create the cards. I would love to do a calendar of flowers.  Or angels,  or skies and landscapes. To show all the different mediums that I would work with for one topic. 

One more challenge is to blog more.  Maybe two big blogs per month.  I know there are people blog everyday but I am blogging when big themes in my life come up that deal with the Borderline Issue. Not everything shows its ugly head with regards to having BPD  or its sub symptoms and adversities.  And I think in regards to themes that show themselves. That might come up more in my Twitter chat. But that in itself may present a theme worth blogging.   Next week definitely presents itself with the subject of dissociation- that will definitely be worth blogging about. That itself will be a challenge on how to present an understandable way how dissociation presents itself with me. ( be prepared for colored charts. And freestyle diagrams. )  

Mistrust and sensory overload

It is as simple as being in a grocery store on a busy day- a store i am not used to - the way people move where to be wh's coming who's going and where i am in this whole mess of it.  I just don't trust my awkward sense of space and my own awkwardness that comes with having CP and how I process the world around me.

This also explains part of why skiing and biking really don't do anything for me.let alone driving- i am way more relaxed being on a train. ( i still need my skills even going on the tram in the morning)  

It really seemed prominent this morning shopping with my mom.  I don't come to this store that much ( maybe once every few years.  And having ten people going one way and same with the other direction and so many conversations.  But i think it is more than just my CP , there is my hearing, and my overall sensory tolerance with my anxiety levels.  It sets me in an almost frozen stance or making stupid moves everyone else takes for granted that you just don't do. Fight or flight?  That "can't do anything right so don't do anything at all" mentality, or there is just too many signals going and i will choose the wrong signal- I was awful as a kid crossing the street- looking then suddenly sprinting because i misread a signal. My mom kindly reminded me that i battled with this issue for years - nothing new but with her seeing just me now, she was reminded how I get - is this also a form of a learning disability. The inability to handle too much information at once - otherwise known as sensory overload and being unable to make an appropriate decision. Or is just the complete awkwardness of not trusting how my own body will work. - stairs freaked me out for years - still does- and then the thought of a crowd racing behind me on stairs and me not having anything to grasp - in highschool we had to run the bleachers most of which had no rails threw me into levels of fear and nightmares. The teachers would never understand though they knew i battled with CP, seems ironic now really- teachers knowing that you face these physical limitations but putting you in a postion that is really quite dangerous. They knew i could walk almost as good as most kids.  But there were limitations. Begging not to do it would have been pointless. Getting a note from my Doctor or principal was equally fruitless. ( maybe it would have been something- no i needed to slip on the stairs and twist my ankle for them to realise exactly how unstable i was on the stairs.   But yes crowds going just make me terrified it is like the movies where everything is speeding and you are stopped and in observance, and you are unsure what move to make.  Every move feels like it will cause an accident. Then you decide to throw caution to the wind,  and just go regardless what mistake you are going to make because odds are that you will make a mistake anyways.

New promo film for book enjoy!

http://youtu.be/F8rgYgLhKtg

Interview for Book with Fiona McVie

Hi thats our interview live and here is the link to share and thanks

http://wp.me/p3uv2y-1Qa