Indigo Survivors: Pt 2

Indigo Survivors are indigenous to the Blue Island of Emotional Misfits. The Abused. The Broken. The Mishandled. The churned up and spat out products of systemic failure.

We are Social Unreliables through no fault of our own.

Our birth message: “You are not good enough the way you are. So change.”

We live our entire lives in survival mode. Some learn to become Laudable Liars, Master Manipulators or Perfect People Pleasers. Some learn to become Coldhearted Calculators, Insensitive Inhumans or Heartless Haters.

Some become all.

And all are incomplete.

Imperfect. Emotionally Fragile. Human Beings.

But all are worthy of Love.

Just sayin…

Hi. My name is Trish.

And I am an Indigo Survivor.

This is another small piece of my story…


Not so long ago someone close to me used to accuse me of “being afraid of confrontation”. And because their opinion of me mattered, it irked because it implied cowardice. As if I was somehow less because I didn’t like Fighting. Arguing. Demanding. Yelling. Screaming. And I avoided it completely, whenever possible.

That irk eventually settled into the space between my own personal cause and effect. And lately I’ve been asking myself “Why”. Why am I afraid of confrontation? And why do I feel so anxious and panicked whenever I know I am about to deal with one? So I’ve started digging into my triggers.

Funny word Trigger: A thing that serves as a stimulus and initiates a reaction.

I had never heard the word trigger unrelated to a weapon prior to coming out and falling in love with a woman who also happened to be an Indigo Survivor. Go figure. Two peas in an over emotionally stuffed pod. Ya. That was a tough one. We stimulus-ed the hell out of each other and triggered right to the end. Since then, I’ve noticed that trigger has become an easy part of our social vernacular. The new rationale underpinning the human villainy in child abuse, domestic violence and intentional killing. And ya, the breaking of hearts.

We all have triggers.

I don’t really see how we couldn’t have them!

I know I certainly have them. And some of them are pretty fucking big.

Confrontation is definitely one of them.

Way too early in this Life I learned to make peace with Abuse. When I was 2, I learned from my Mother, that Love usually meant physical pain. Later, at 4, I learned the caregivers I was entrusted to were mostly vile and cruel. At 5, I learned that I needed to protect myself and my little brother from the horrors of the Children’s Aid Society and the villains residing within. I learned that any display of disappointment, emotional upset, crying, or rebellion was met with angry confrontation. And was usually followed up with some form of harsh discipline, deliberate pain, ultimate rejection, verbal and mental abuse, or cruel abandonment.

(Not much of that has changed in adulthood…)

I learned to play nice. Not create waves. And made myself invisible.

(Sigh. Same…)

But most importantly, I learned to read people.

Body Language. Facial Cues.

Dead giveaways.

So I learned how to hide my own.

With these tools I learned when to stay and when to go. When to run and when to hide. When to shoulder blame in order to protect and falsely admit my guilt. Or when to tell the truth. When not to trust. Anyone. And when to lie. To everyone.

These were skills that sometimes saved me from harm.

But not always.

I watched the faces of both trusting Mother, and pig Masquerader, morph from protector to predator. The images scar me deep. I learned the only thing I could trust was my correct observation of not what was being said, but what lay hidden and lying in wait.

I learned that people wore masks of politeness.

And that they can be really, really mean.

I watched as eyes shifted from warm acceptance to cold disapproval. As they blackened with hatred because I had become a burden; or because of the color of my skin; or because of my forced presence in their family. I watched as mouths tightened. Skin flushed. Nostrils flared. Backs stiffened. Breath quickened. Fists clenched.

I learned that some masks were harder to see through. So I watched and listened to see if the words spoken matched the faces in view. I learned to read the tells that warned me of danger. Of violence. Of terror. Of shit I shouldn’t have understood so young.

I became Smart. Clever. Wise.

And old.

Knowledge benefited.

And ensured I survived

So, ya. Guilty.

I still fear the Anger and Abuse attached to

The fucking Confrontation.

It’s a thing.

But I’m not a fucking coward.

And now, thanks to irreparable damage from those lovely childhood confrontations, I now suffer from PTSD. Short-lived therapy sessions determined this for me. I didn’t need it to be blotted down in ink, in a file, in a drawer, that will remain hidden until the unlikely (or likely?) event that I just fucking snap one day. But, if I ever need proof in defense of my kinda crazy, it’s nice to have some of my shit validated.

And there’s a name for that.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is an anxiety disorder that can develop after experiencing or witnessing a traumatic event such as exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence. PTSD is diagnosed after a person experiences symptoms for at least one month following a traumatic event. The disorder is characterized by three main types of symptoms: Re-experiencing the trauma through intrusive distressing recollections of the event, flashbacks, and nightmares.

When I first read this definition, the dark-humored part of me thought, “Seriously? Is there anyone who isn’t suffering from some from of PTSD?” 😉

I still suffer from horrific nightmares of my death, of loved ones deaths, of demons and demonic possessions, of being terrorized, being tortured, being shot multiple times, being raped and beaten. I’ve been burned, stabbed, mutilated, dismembered and set on fire. Ya, you name it, I’ve dreamed it.

And I’ve been fearful of sleep for nearly 50 years.

I still have terrifying dreams of my Mother. Alive and well and able to kill me.

And she died over 15 years ago.

Some shit just never goes away.

So, ya. I’m struggling and trying to process all the friggin trauma in my life. I am affected. Profoundly. I try to live in the light, but there is still so much darkness inside of me. This Life has not been kind. And there was simply no time to feel any of the emotions attached to so many of the big events. Life kinda happened to me and whoosh! Survival mode kicked in. Forced to go through doors I had no choice but to open. Forced from one toxic situation to another. Too young. Too innocent. Too vulnerable. With no say in what happened to ME or my personage.

Don’t get me wrong. I am truly grateful for having survived all of the crazy. But lately, for a multitude of reasons I can’t fully express, I’ve been wondering where, inside of me, all those feelings are hiding.

And if I should try and find them.

Maybe, they can help  me understand why I tick the way I tick.

Maybe, I can love me better.

Maybe, I can love you better.

I recognize this is a problem. And I’d like it resolved before I die.

Cuz I really don’t want to have to live this Life all over again! 😉

I don’t feel like my story is necessarily ‘new’, nor, for that matter, do I feel it’s ‘cliche’. It is simply my story. And I’m feeling the need to walk back through some of the doors that lead me here.

Slowly this time.

In control. In sync. In Appreciation.

With eyes wide open.

Cuz my Life and my Self

Are kinda worth re-discovering.

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9 responses to “Indigo Survivors: Pt 2

  1. I don’t believe it is possible to completely divorce our memories. We are the sum of all our memories, conscious and subconscious, true memories, imagined memories…
    I do believe that going back through those doors is brave, and necessary to understanding ourselves – and others – because we are more alike than different.

    I highly doubt you are a coward.

  2. Here is what I see when I think of you, Trish. You are a beautiful soul who has had to be stronger than most people ever imagine in order to survive, but you have survived and in some ways have thrived and are thriving. Just your being here today to write your touching and moving posts is a triumph of spirit and a testament to your strength. You’ve been through a war, my sweet Trish. It is no surprise that you suffer from PTSD. You won that war but still suffer from the aftershocks and stress of it. The only truth you need to know is that you are one incredibly strong and amazing person.

    On another note, have you considered cord cutting for your relationship with your mother, since she still haunts you and keeps you from sleeping? And possibly for others who keep you from being peaceful? I did this with my mother and it has really helped a lot. I still love her, but a lot of the emotion and trauma has been released.

    Thanks for this beautiful post.

    (((((HUGGGGSSSSS)))))
    Shawn

    • Words fail at the moment but I am deeply deeply touched by this response Shawn. You’ve become such a friend and mentor to me during this journey and your love is felt from a million miles away. I have thought about cord cutting…my daughter introduced the idea to me about 2 years ago…but I never followed thru. Perhaps I should. Thinking over here…🤔 Thank you. Lol I guess words didn’t completely fail. ❤️

      • It’s my honor to share the road with you my dear. I relate to a lot of your struggles and truly do see your beautiful spirit come through with your writing. I just want you to see how beautiful and special you are too. It’s really coming from my heart to your heart and think of it as a message from the Divine. We all need a little reminder sometimes of how precious we are.

        I would definitely consider the cord cutting since your mom is keeping you from sleeping and getting your rest. It’s very easy to do and you can do it yourself. I’m sure you have the skills since you’re a Reiki master. Ask your Guides to show you how and just do it. Release her energy that has attached to you with love and let it float away. Imagine her in a bubble floating with a tethered cord connecting you to her. Fill the bubble with love and white light, thank her for the lessons she taught you and literally imagine cutting the cord. Even use your fingers to cut the virtual cord and see her float away and wish her well. Really spend a little time meditating on her before you release her and allow yourself to feel some of the emotions. Put those emotions in the bubble too so when you release her they go away too. Afterwards, you might not feel anything, but after some time I think you’ll feel better and lighter.

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