Berlin

 Dean, a resident at the pointe, put on a presentation there today about the fall of the Berlin Wall.  He gave history of it and how it was built.  I knew it was there, but I never had a grasp on how big and intimidating it was.  He told us of the checkpoints and the things done to make sure people didn't just leave East Berlin. 

When the wall fell, Dean and his family were there and broke off pieces of the wall.  He brought these with for the presentation.  It was quite fascinating and hearing history from someone that was there is always more than just reading it in a book.  Dean told a funny story about his son renting out some of his tools to people tearing down the wall.  That's a little entrepreneur right there. 

Afterwards I told him that I thought he did a great job.  He was nervous and felt like he could have done better.  He was just perfect for the audience, and no one minds a hmm and haw if it is needed from someone who is not a professional speaker.  

Thanks, Dean, for the effort you put into it.  It really was informational and interesting.

Trauma Comes in Many Forms

 I think every single person has trauma responses.  I don't think one can go through life and not experience trauma.  Some people have no problem pinpointing the experiences that shaped them.  Some people like me can only pinpoint later traumas.  I have very few memories of time before I was ten years old.  And some of those I wish I didn't remember. Maybe.  At least when you remember you know.  

So as a young child I had to have two surgeries about a year apart or so.  That in itself is another story, but this is about the second surgery.  I don't remember much.  I have a vague recollection of crawling out of the bed (a big crib like bed) and going down to the nurse's station to call my mom.  I wanted to go home.  That memory is fine.  

At some point after the surgery my dad returned home from a trip.  He was a long-haul truck driver.  While he was away, he must have stopped at an Indian Reservation.  He brought two Indian dolls with him. One for me, and one for the girl who was also in my room.  One doll was so much prettier than the other, at least to me. My parents decided that the other girl could choose which one she wanted and naturally she chose the one I would have chosen.  My heart was completely broken.  Now my parents explained it to me that they let her pick because her parents couldn't be there.  

As an adult I maybe, kind of understand that.  As a five-year-old child who had just gone through the trauma of surgery (and it was trauma), not so much.  I think it added to the trauma I had already endured.  I did not feel like the priority in a situation that I should have felt like a priority.  Some girl that we didn't know was higher on the list than me.  

I learned not to cry at some point earlier than this incident and it took me a long time to be able to shed tears about it.  Like four years later.  And of course it was the wrong thing.  I was told it was something that had happened so long ago that I no longer should have feelings about it.  I think that just cemented what I had already learned about crying and feeling things too much even four years later.  

I keep reading that too much self-independence comes from the trauma of having to take care of your own needs at a young age.  It's why I don't ask for help.  I'm slowly learning where it came from and hopefully healing from it.