Anxiety

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Out of desperation, I hit on a trick I that I’ve used many times since to deal with my stage fright. I make believe that I’m someone else going up on stage. I have been, at different times, Tom Wolfe, Hillary Clinton, and, once, the Holy Ghost. I decide that I won’t go up there and that this more capable being will go in my body, and he or she will do the talking. That night, I decided since the audience wanted Anaïs Nin, I would let Anaïs go on stage in my body. I assumed her graceful, erect posture as I climbed the fearsome steps to the podium. I set down my paper, paused and smiled as she would have, endowing love and understanding to the audience. I was grateful for the glaring lights that made the crowd a black empty space. “I apologize that unlike Jamie Herlihy, I cannot entertain you. I’m here because Anaïs is in the hospital, and she asked me at the last minute to read an essay I wrote about Diary II.” There was dull silence. I looked down at the papers in my shaking hands. Was the light bright enough to read? Barely. “I really do apologize that this literary criticism will be boring to many of you,” I said with Anaïs’s little laugh. “But this is what she asked of us, so please bear with me.” I spoke a little about the importance of Anaïs’s Diary and what she’d shared with me about her editing process, that each volume had been edited for its central theme. Dead silence. I explained that the topic of my paper was the theme of Diary II, Anaïs’s theory of subjective time as equivalent to relativity. I thought I heard a few groans. I knew the topic was as abstract, as intangible as the black nothingness out there, but all I could do was go forward. I began to read, concentrating on what I was saying. Looking out into the void, I used my dramatic training to emphasize what little conflict there was in my paper: Anaïs’s arguments with Henry Miller, her belief in the value of the diary’s immediacy versus his belief in the distillation of memory required for literature. As I read, I heard Anaïs’s voice coming through me, not her accent, but her rising and falling cadence, and since I quoted from her Diary extensively, her words mixed with mine. I poured all my love for her into reading her words. At one point, when reading a passage of hers about the power of the present moment, I paused for emphasis and held the pause. The present moment. The only sound was the rhythmic breathing in the darkened auditorium, in and out, the beating wings of a great seabird, carrying us together to Anaïs’s hospital bed.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  The aroused state that will not go away, the ongoing sense of danger, the ceaseless search for that danger, the inability to find it, dissociation, a feeling of helplessnes s— together, these elements form traumatic anxiety. When we fail to move through the immobility response, the resulting biological message is: “Your life is hanging in the balance.” This sense of impending death is intensified by the feelings of rage, terror, panic, and helplessness. All of these factors combine to produce a phenomenon known as traumatic anxiety. The word “fear” comes from the Old English term for danger, while “anxious” is derived rom the Greek root word meaning to “press tight” or strangle. The experience of traumatic anxiety is profound. It goes far beyond the experience we usually equate with anxiety. The elevated state of arousal, the symptoms, the fear of exiting or fully entering the immobility state, as well as a nagging awareness that something is very wrong, produce an almost-constant state of extreme anxiety. This anxiousness serves as the backdrop for all experience in the severely traumatized person’s life. Just as we are more aware of the water than the fish that swims in it, so may anxiety be more apparent to those around traumatized people than it is to them. Traumatic anxiety displays itself as nervousness, fretting and worrying, and in appearing to be “high-strung.” The sufferer frequently experiences panic, dread, and highly over-dramatized reactions to trivial events. These maladies are not permanent fixtures of the personality, but are indicative of a nervous system temporarily, though perpetually, overwhelmed. Psychosomatic Symptoms Traumatic symptoms not only affect our emotional and mental states, but our physical health as well. When no other cause for a physical malady can be found, stress and trauma are likely candidates. Trauma can make a person blind, mute, or deaf; it can cause paralysis in legs, arms, or both; it can bring about chronic neck and back pain, chronic fatigue syndrome, bronchitis, asthma, gastrointestinal problems, severe PMS, migraines, and a whole host of so-called psychosomatic conditions. Any physical system capable of binding the undischarged arousal caused by trauma is fair game. The trapped energy will use any aspect of our physiology available to it. Denial Many trauma sufferers live in a state of resignation regarding their symptoms, without ever attempting to find a way back to a more normal, healthy life. Denial and amnesia play an important role in reinforcing this resigned state. Though we may be tempted to judge or criticize people who deny that they have been traumatized (claiming that nothing really happened), it is important to remember that this (in itself) is a symptom. Denial and amnesia are not volitional choices that the person makes; they do not indicate weakness of character, personality dysfunction, or deliberate dishonesty. This dysfunctional pathway becomes patterned in our physiology. At the time of a traumatic event, denial helps preserve the ability to function and survive. However, when chronic, denial becomes a maladaptive symptom of trauma.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  “I see.” I could feel my forehead furrow and consciously tried to smooth it. If I wrote her biography I would be entirely identified with Anaïs for the next three years at least, probably my whole life. I already grated at being seen as just an extension of her. Often my association with her was the only thing people found interesting about me. Her shadow was so large, and the contours of mine were so similar, that I feared my identity would always be subsumed under hers. But how could I say no to Anaïs when she had created the teaching job that was supporting me, had fulfilled her role as my mentor in countless ways, had reached out to rescue me from despair in Indiana and tucked me under her downy wing? I knew how indebted I was to her and that it was my turn to repay her for my apprenticeship. If I was anything, I was a good soldier. The loyal one. The one who goes down with the ship. How could I say no to Anaïs? “Why don’t you think about it and let me know.” She smiled. The following week she phoned early, before I’d had my coffee. Tensing my shoulders as though expecting a guillotine’s blade, I waited for her to ask my decision about writing her biography. Her request was more urgent, though. In a strange, hoarse whisper she said she’d been flying back from a speaking engagement in northern California, when her abdominal pain became excruciating. “I have to go back in the hospital today, and I was supposed to appear Saturday at Royce Hall for that UCLA Fine Arts Speakers event.” “They can reschedule it,” I said. “No, it’s sold out. They say it’s too late to cancel. I want you to go in my place.” “I couldn’t,” I gasped. How could I do that with a few days’ notice? How could I take her place in any case? “People just want you.” “You won’t have to do it alone. I asked Jamie Herlihy, too, and he said yes immediately.” I heard the implied reprimand. She urged, “You can just read the paper you wrote about Diary II.” The idea of standing at a podium and reading a long paper of literary criticism to 2,000 Anaïs Nin fans who’d come for her feted charisma truly seemed like a bad idea. “Your audience will walk out. They’ll demand their money back.” “Jamie will just talk informally, so it won’t all be your reading,” Anaïs implored. Unlike me, Jamie Herlihy was a literary star in his own right. He had written All Fall Down and Midnight Cowboy. His wit and Irish theatricality could hold an audience, while for me, a nobody, to read a long academic paper, when people had paid their money to see Anaïs … They would be outraged.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  But what if Rupert later told Anaïs that I had made a pass at him? I knew that she’d believe him. She’d cut me out of her life again. It wasn’t worth that risk. So somehow I had to warn her that Rupert would be calling. At least then she could make sure Hugo didn’t answer the phone. I checked the clock on my dashboard. It was 9:50 p.m., well after midnight in New York, too late to phone Anaïs. Rupert pulled into the apartment driveway, staggered to the street, and leaned on the driver’s side of my double-parked car. I rolled down the window. “You’ll be waking up strangers if you call that number tonight. Wait until morning,” I said. “Just go to sleep.” Watching him stumble towards his door, clutching the wrought iron railing, I thought he would. It was eleven by the time I got home and dialed Renate’s number. It rang a long time, and then a man answered. I guessed it was Renate’s husband. He said she’d just fallen asleep and that he’d give her the message and he hung up. I phoned back to say it was an emergency. “Renate is not accepting any calls. Don’t call again!” He hung up. I wasn’t going to be able to talk to Renate, so I had to figure this out on my own. I’d had no idea that being Anaïs’s apprentice would be this hard. I located the phone number Anaïs had given me for her New York apartment, set it by my alarm clock, and tried to get a few hours of sleep, though that was futile. At 4 a.m. exactly, I dialed her number. Hugo sounded grumpy when he answered. “It’s 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning.” “I’m sorry, Hugo. Anaïs got a call here from someone at Warner Brothers, and I thought she would want to know.” He growled, “What’s the message?” I should have figured that out. “Just have her call me as soon as she can,” I managed before hanging up, my guts whirling like a garbage disposal. I had just made a mistake. While I was waiting for Anaïs to phone me back, Rupert could phone there and Hugo would answer! I had to call again but needed a better strategy. I didn’t have a better strategy. In my nervousness, I dialed the wrong number and got a pissed-off guy with a Brooklyn accent. When I did reach Hugo again, I said, “Actually, I remembered Anaïs said that I should tell her right away if this executive from Warner Brothers called, even if I had to wake her.” “Hold on.” I waited, my anxiety mounting as I realized this long distance call was costing me more by the minute than my mother earned in an hour cleaning houses. When Anaïs came on the line, she sounded unnaturally cheerful. “Ahllo?”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The other ladies, having hearkened to Pampinea, not only commended her counsel, but, eager to follow it, had already begun to devise more particularly among themselves of the manner, as if, arising from their session there, they were to set off out of hand. But Filomena, who was exceeding discreet, said, "Ladies, albeit that which Pampinea allegeth is excellently well said, yet is there no occasion for running, as meseemeth you would do. Remember that we are all women and none of us is child enough not to know how [little] reasonable women are among themselves and how [ill], without some man's guidance, they know how to order themselves. We are fickle, wilful, suspicious, faint-hearted and timorous, for which reasons I misdoubt me sore, an we take not some other guidance than our own, that our company will be far too soon dissolved and with less honour to ourselves than were seemly; wherefore we should do well to provide ourselves, ere we begin." "Verily," answered Elisa, "men are the head of women, and without their ordinance seldom cometh any emprise of ours to good end; but how may we come by these men? There is none of us but knoweth that of her kinsmen the most part are dead and those who abide alive are all gone fleeing that which we seek to flee, in divers companies, some here and some there, without our knowing where, and to invite strangers would not be seemly, seeing that, if we would endeavour after our welfare, it behoveth us find a means of so ordering ourselves that, wherever we go for diversion and repose, scandal nor annoy may ensue thereof." Whilst such discourse was toward between the ladies, behold, there entered the church three young men,--yet not so young that the age of the youngest of them was less than five-and-twenty years,--in whom neither the perversity of the time nor loss of friends and kinsfolk, no, nor fear for themselves had availed to cool, much less to quench, the fire of love. Of these one was called Pamfilo,[19] another Filostrato[20] and the third Dioneo,[21] all very agreeable and well-bred, and they went seeking, for their supreme solace, in such a perturbation of things, to see their mistresses, who, as it chanced, were all three among the seven aforesaid; whilst certain of the other ladies were near kinswomen of one or other of the young men. [Footnote 19: See ante, p. 8, note.]

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  For instance, if the lights go off while I am anxiously trying to make sense of the papers on my desk, I am not able to take this unexpected event in stride. I jump, as an irrational thought that someone may be trying to break into my house flashes through my mind. I realize this is probably not true, but my startled movements have knocked a pile of once neatly stacked and vital papers to the floor. Flooded by a sudden surge of irrational anger, I waste energy by pounding the desk in frustrated rage. Unhelpful thoughts barrage me: Is the back door locked? Who was supposed to pay the electric bill? Is Pouncer (my dog) in or out? I find matches and light one, dimly illuminating the messy desk. Where is the electric bill? My attention lapses; I forget that the match is lit and drop it just as it burns my fingers. My papers catch on fire. I feel a sense of terror move through me and I feel paralyzed, unable do anything about the fire. Seconds later, I regain some ability to move but immobility has impaired my motor coordination. I am awkward and ineffective as I flail at the flames. Sensing the danger in my lack of coordination, I become more frantic and realize too late that in my desperation to handle the situation, I have been using the only finished draft of my book to put out the flames. The flames die out on their own. My attempt to make sense of the messy desk begins again. What are all these papers? Did I put this here? Where is the electric bill? I am unable to take in the implications of what I find, and although I have often been offered advice and suggestions by friends and others on how I might get better organized, I continue doing what I have always done. What else can I do? In this state, I am not able to learn, not able to acquire new behaviors, not able to break out of the debilitating patterns which will eventually dominate my life. Without the ability to learn new behaviors, make plans, or synthesize new information, I am deprived of the options available to help me reduce the disarray that threatens to take over my life. Chronic Helplessness Chronic helplessness occurs as the freezing, orienting, and defending responses become so fixated and weakened that they move primarily along predetermined and dysfunctional pathways. Chronic helplessness joins hypervigilance and the inability to learn new behaviors as yet another common feature of the traumatized person’s reality. As helplessness becomes an inextricable part of their lives, they will have a difficult time behaving in any way that is not helpless.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  I’d prevaricated because, even after months of internal debate, I was still unable to decide whether to accept the offer. On the one hand, it would mean I’d have to leave everything I loved in my life: Anaïs and Renate, living with Philip at the beach house, my sisterhood of women friends. On the other hand, I knew I should grab a three-year, guaranteed tenure-track job at a major university in a market where suddenly there were no jobs to be had. Those of us on the cusp of the Boomer bubble had run like lemmings when told there was a need for more college professors, but no one had figured out that by the time we’d gotten our PhDs, the bubble would have burst. My fellow grad students were hissing at my rare good fortune to have any offers, even if they all had been in less than desirable locations. After the filming, when my friends gathered around Anaïs, I slipped out alone to the backyard. Standing by the hedge where the hillside dropped, I could see house lights begin to twinkle on the slopes below. They spread like the Milky Way down to the lake’s shimmering surface. I felt Anaïs approach and slip her arm around my waist. “What’s wrong, Tristine?” I told her about my inability to decide whether to take the Indiana job. “Oh, I thought you had already decided to turn it down.” “No; I don’t want to leave you and I don’t want to leave Philip, but Indiana is letting me create my own Women’s Lit classes, and if I turn it down I’ll be selling out the Women’s Movement, and all the women before me who fought for my opportunity, and my students who see me as an example. So I changed my mind. Then I changed it again. Over and over. It’s making me crazy. Either way I choose, it feels like I’m cleaving off half of myself.” “Why doesn’t Philip come with you?” she asked. “I knew that would be your suggestion. I knew you’d say, ‘Find a creative solution,’ so I begged him to come with me, but he said there was no market for mod men’s fashion in Indiana.” In fact, Philip’s response had shocked me. Sweet, passive Philip had said, unequivocally, “No.” He wouldn’t move to Indiana; he wouldn’t leave his work. I knew we would not survive long-distance. And even if after three years I were lucky enough to find a job back in California (which had been Renate’s recommendation), I didn’t believe Philip would wait. I’d begged him, “Tell me not to go. Just tell me to stay with you.” “I can’t do that,” he’d said gently. He sat on the waterbed that rocked under his weight. He dropped his head, and his hands disappeared into his blond shag. “Why not?” I sniffled. “Because later you would blame me.” I probably would.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Bruno and Buffalmacco and Nello were like to burst with laughter, hearing Calandrino's words; however, they contained themselves, but Doctor Simple-Simon[427] laughed so immoderately that you might have drawn every tooth in his head. Finally, Calandrino commending himself to the physician and praying him give him aid and counsel in this his strait, the latter said to him, 'Calandrino, I will not have thee lose heart; for, praised be God, we have taken the case so betimes that, in a few days and with a little trouble, I will deliver thee thereof; but it will cost thee some little expense.' 'Alack, doctor mine,' cried Calandrino, 'ay, for the love of God, do it! I have here two hundred crowns, wherewith I was minded to buy me an estate; take them all, if need be, so I be not brought to bed; for I know not how I should do, seeing I hear women make such a terrible outcry, whereas they are about to bear child, for all they have ample commodity therefor, that methinketh, if I had that pain to suffer, I should die ere I came to the bringing forth.' Quoth the doctor, 'Have no fear of that; I will let make thee a certain ptisan of distilled waters, very good and pleasant to drink, which will in three mornings' time carry off everything and leave thee sounder than a fish; but look thou be more discreet for the future and suffer not thyself fall again into these follies. Now for this water it behoveth us have three pairs of fine fat capons, and for other things that are required thereanent, do thou give one of these (thy comrades) five silver crowns, so he may buy them, and let carry everything to my shop; and to-morrow, in God's name, I will send thee the distilled water aforesaid, whereof thou shalt proceed to drink a good beakerful at a time.' 'Doctor mine,' replied Calandrino, 'I put myself in your hands'; and giving Bruno five crowns and money for three pairs of capons, he besought him to oblige him by taking the pains to buy these things. [Footnote 427: _Scimmione_ (lit. ape), a contemptuous distortion of _Simone_.]

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  My work leads me to believe that many of these people have traumatic histories which at least contribute to their symptoms. Depression and anxiety often have traumatic antecedents, as does mental illness. A study conducted by Bessel van der Kolk [4] , a respected researcher in the field of trauma, has shown that patients at a large mental institution frequently had symptoms indicative of trauma. Many of these symptoms were overlooked at the time because no one recognized their significance. Today, most people are aware of the fact that sexual, physical, and emotional abuse, as well as exposure to violence or danger, can profoundly alter a person’s life. What most people don’t know is that many seemingly benign situations can be traumatic. The consequences of trauma can be widespread and hidden. Over the course of my career I have found an extraordinary range of symptom s — behavioral and psychosomatic problems, lack of vitality, etc . — related not only to the traumatic events mentioned above, but also to quite ordinary events. Common occurrences can produce traumatic after effects that are just as debilitating as those experienced by veterans of combat or survivors of childhood abuse. Traumatic effects are not always apparent immediately following the incidents that caused them. Symptoms can remain dormant, accumulating over years or even decades. Then, during a stressful period, or as the result of another incident, they can show up without warning. There may also be no indication of the original cause. Thus, a seemingly minor event can give rise to a sudden breakdown, similar to one that might be caused by a single catastrophic event. What We Don’t Know Can Hurt Us When it comes to trauma, what we don’t know can hurt us. Not knowing we are traumatized doesn’t prevent us from having problems that are caused by it. However, with the incredible maze of misinformation and myth that exists about trauma and its treatment, the denial is understandable. It is difficult enough to deal solely with the symptoms of trauma without the added anxiety of not knowing why we are experiencing them or whether they will ever cease. Anxiety can crop up for a variety of reasons, including a deep pain that comes when your spouse, friends, and relatives unite in the conviction that its time for you to get on with your life. They want you to act normally because they believe you should have learned to live with your symptoms by now.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Yet with all she’d revealed to me, I was still more confused about the timing of her divorce than ever. It appeared that she and Rupert had kept up their affair for sixteen years and then she’d finally divorced Hugo and married Rupert. Or could she and Hugo have already been divorced when I met them in 1962? Renate had said that Anaïs and Hugo pretended not to be married when he was Ian Hugo; could Anaïs have just been pretending to be married still to Hugo Guiler when I met her? [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Writing the pretend invitation letter for Anaïs was torture: typing and re-typing it, checking spellings in the dictionary, laboring the grammar. Knowing it would be read by English department chairs, any error could give it away as a fake—and it would be my fault. Anaïs and I met as arranged a week later outside the old Beaux Arts central library by the mosaics of sphinxes and snakes. I felt very continental when we rushed to greet each other on the elevated landing, exchanging pecks on both cheeks. We claimed a cement bench, and I presented to her the perfectly typed letter. She read through it quickly. Afterwards she was pensive. What had I done wrong? “What are these two dots?” she finally said, pointing to the greeting, Dear Anaïs Nin: “You mean the umlaut over the i in your name? I found a typewriter that had that key in the library.” “No, after my name.” She pointed with a French-tipped nail. “The colon?” “Oui,” she said impatiently. “It’s a business letter. Isn’t it?” She waved her hand. “I just use a comma.” It was my first inkling of the deficits in her education due to dropping out of high school and receiving no training other than in flamenco dancing. I was troubled by her ignorance of proper punctuation and alarmed when she pronounced, “Renate is right. The letter should actually be for a series of lectures.” “What does Renate have to do with it?” “The letter is partly her idea. She thinks it would be better if you invited me for a series of lectures covering two years.” Ugh. I would have to re-type the whole thing. Anaïs could read my face, even though I wasn’t aware anything showed on it. “What’s wrong, Tristine?” “I may not have enough stationery to get the typing correct again.” “Oh, we don’t have time for that anyway.” She took a black and gold Montblanc fountain pen from her large leather purse, uncapped it, and handed it to me. “You haven’t signed your name.” I noticed the very fine point on her fountain pen. “I might damage your pen,” I said. “I have my own.” “Yes, that would be better.”

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Remaining calm, she said, “Hugo broke his leg, and I’m caring for him.” She promised to call Rupert back. He hung up in a huff. She made up a story for Hugo that the caller was a crazy stalker who showed up at her book signings. She said that Dr. Bogner had told her not to contradict the stalker’s fantasies or he could become dangerous. Three days later, she found out that Rupert would be arriving in New York the following morning to be with her. Her mind went into overdrive. Her first instinct was to keep her husbands as far from each other in the city as possible. God forbid that they run into each other. Then she realized that unless she introduced them, neither husband could recognize the other, and that, actually, it would be easier for her to have them only blocks apart. That way, in an emergency, she could get from one to the other in minutes. So she booked Rupert a room at the Washington Square Hotel, directly across the park from her apartment with Hugo. Washington Square Arch in the middle of the park would be the demarcation between Hugo’s kingdom and Rupert’s domain. As soon as she had intercepted Rupert and enticed him to the hotel, she told him she had to leave for her Cue editing job. Taking a taxi, she arrived within minutes at the elevator to her fourteenth-floor apartment. When she didn’t find Hugo in his hospital bed, she was rattled, until she saw him hobbling around on crutches with Millie’s help. “Oh, Millie, I am so glad you are back.” Anaïs threw her arms around the Haitian woman’s neck while Millie kept her grip on Hugo. Anaïs stepped in front of Hugo, so he didn’t have to twist to see her. “Darling, I have big news!” Both Hugo and Millie looked at her expectantly. “Cue has given me an assignment to oversee a new French edition! The only thing is, I’ll have to work day and night until we go to print.” Hugo pulled away from Millie’s support and stepped with his crutches toward the bed. “That’s enough, Millie. Let me have a word with my wife, if you would,” he said, using the paternalistic tone that got on Anaïs’s nerves. She anticipated his speech on how he was the breadwinner in the family, and she was his precious helper, and presently he needed her help. Instead he asked, “Have you talked to them about salary?” After reprimanding her for not using his help in the negotiations, he urged her to take the job. Surprised, she asked him why. “Nothing, just things are just a little slow with my investments right now.”

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  “No, not after you’ve come all this way.” She sighed. “I didn’t want you to see me looking like this.” She touched spindly fingers to her pink turban. “You are as beautiful to me now as the day you were my bride,” he said. I interrupted, “I’ll guard the door so you two can have some privacy.” I hoped Anaïs would understand that I’d be on the lookout for Rupert. She said, “Hugo, you remember Tristine.” I tried to sound welcoming—“It’s nice to see you”—but added, amazed at the ease of my invention, “The doctor said that Anaïs is not to have long visits.” “Right,” he said distractedly, clearly eager for me to leave. As he watched me back out the door, behind him Anaïs mouthed, Stop Rupert! [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] I sat on a chair just outside Anaïs’s door trying to quiet the blasting alarms in my head. Anaïs had kept Hugo and Rupert apart for thirty years, and any minute now they were going to converge when she was too weak to deal with it. The only hope was to get Hugo to leave before Rupert arrived. As if I could delay Rupert by imagining it, I saw him sitting in gridlock on Sunset Boulevard and driving in circles, unable to find a parking place. When I checked my watch for the tenth time, Hugo had been in the room with Anaïs for over fifteen minutes. I decided I should go in to interrupt them, but just then I heard fast footsteps approaching. I looked up to see Rupert sprinting down the industrial green corridor! He looked flushed. I ran up to him. “You’re early.” “We just drank champagne at the meeting. We don’t have to look for donors because Joan Palevsky is writing a check for the whole $250,000 for Anaïs’s diaries!” He pushed past me. “I have to tell Anaïs.” I stepped in front of him. “You have to wait. She’s getting a procedure.” “I’m going in!” Stubborn as always. As he pushed past, he issued an order: “You can leave now.” “But she asked me to say goodbye before—” “I’m telling you to leave!” I was so upset at his rudeness that I fled down the hospital corridor. CHAPTER 32 Silver Lake, California, 1976–77 TRISTINE AS I DROVE TO VISIT Anaïs, now home after two weeks in the hospital, I dreaded learning what had happened when Rupert discovered Hugo at her bedside. Just when she and I had come so close! I’d run like a rabbit, frightened by Rupert’s bark instead of helping her. She’d been relying on me to save the day and in the end I’d failed her. She answered the door in an empress muumuu with a smock tied over it, looking much better, her color back. She apologized that she had to sort through some files while we visited. “I’m organizing my papers for UCLA.” I fetched a chair from the kitchen and set it outside her office door.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  Like hyperarousal and constriction, helplessness is an overt reflection of the physiological processes happening in the body. When our nervous systems shift into an aroused state in response to danger, and we cannot defend ourselves or flee, the next strategy the nervous system employs is immobilization. Nearly every creature that lives has this primitive response wired into its repertoire of defensive strategies. We will return again and again to this intriguing response in the chapters that follow. It plays a leading role in both the development and transformation of trauma. And Then There Was Trauma Hyperarousal, constriction, helplessness, and dissociation are all normal responses to threat. As such, they do not always end up as traumatic symptoms. Only when they are habitual and chronic do symptoms develop. As these stress reactions remain in place, they form the groundwork and fuel for the development of subsequent symptoms. Within months, these symptoms at the core of the traumatic reaction will begin to incorporate mental and psychological characteristics into their dynamics until eventually they reach into every corner of the trauma sufferer’s life. In short, with trauma, the stakes are high. Ideally, the exercises in this chapter combined with other experiences you have had will help you identify how these reactions feel. As they become chronic, hyperarousal, constriction, helplessness, and dissociation together produce an anxiety so intense it can become unbearable. Eventually, the symptoms can coalesce into traumatic anxiety, a state that pervades the trauma sufferer’s every waking (and sleeping) moment. The symptoms that comprise the core of the traumatic reaction are the surest way to know that trauma has occurre d- if you can recognize how they feel. As the constellation of symptoms grows increasingly complex, some combination of these four components of the core of the traumatic reaction will always be present. When you can recognize them, these components will help you distinguish between symptoms that are due to trauma and those that are not. 11. Symptoms of Trauma When our nervous systems prepare us to meet danger, they shift into highly energized states. If we can discharge this energy while actively and effectively defending against threat (or shortly after the threatening event), the nervous system will move back toward a normal level of functioning. Our felt sense will feel complete, self-satisfied, and heroic. If the threat has not been dealt with successfully, the energy stays in our bodies. We have now created a self-perpetuating dilemma. On a physiological level, our bodies and minds work in tandem as one integrated system. We know that we are in danger when we perceive an external threat and our nervous system becomes highly aroused.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Anaïs placed a folded hand under her delicate chin. “I’m thinking of telling Hugo that the ranch owner was so annoyed at people calling to leave messages for guests that she had the phone disconnected, and that the phone company assigned the number to the men who answered.” “Excellent plan,” Renate said. “And with Tristine and the lecture series, you are now covered for the next two years.” So that was why Anaïs had made me change the invitation letter to a series of lectures! She could no longer tell Hugo that she was writing at the California rest ranch, but she could say repeatedly that she was coming to give the pre-arranged lectures at USC and staying with me. As this last piece fell into place, the chill I’d felt was encompassed by blackness, as if I were inside the freezer and someone had closed the door. Did they expect me to lie to Hugo for the next two years? I would have to memorize every detail of what Anaïs had told him. Renate had been able to pull off their ruse for seven years, but eventually even she had screwed up. Anaïs asked me, concerned, “Do you think you can do this?” “Yes,” I said with a conviction I didn’t feel. I didn’t have sufficient experience with lying. I was unqualified for this assignment, but now it was too late to tell Anaïs. “So, everything is settled.” Renate rose, indicating it was time for us to leave. But when Anaïs and I stood, Renate commanded, “We must make an oath with Tristine.” Alarmed, I looked to Anaïs. She simply shrugged and nodded with a resigned smile that I should humor Renate. “Put your hand over mine,” Renate instructed me. She extended her elevated right hand. I placed mine over hers. Anaïs placed her right hand over mine. Her hand was soft and cold. Renate stacked her left hand over Anaïs’s, and we followed suit until our six hands were piled like pancakes. Renate began, “Tristine swears not to repeat what she has learned or may learn about Anaïs’s life. She may discuss it only with Anaïs or Renate.” I felt a frisson of excitement. “Say ‘I swear,’” Renate urged, and I did. Renate continued, “We vow to keep Anaïs’s secrets, revealed now or in the future, under pain of personal disaster. The person who betrays this oath, unless released by Anaïs, shall be visited with betrayals increased in magnitude to the tenth degree. Repeat after me: ‘This I swear in the name of Archangel Raphael to the East, Uriel to the North, Gabriel to the West and Michael to the South. So be it. Amen.’” We repeated Renate’s words, but Anaïs’s voice was so faint, I heard only my own. The hocus pocus reminded me of the silly solemnity of my ADPi sorority initiation, and I was tempted to giggle—but the chill from Anaïs’s hand penetrated mine, and I could tell that Renate was completely serious. CHAPTER 15

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Los Angeles, California, 1964 TRISTINE HUGO PHONED ME THREE DAYS later. “Hello, Tristine.” I wasn’t ready! I went into actress mode. I told myself this was improvisation. The givens were that I was a sophisticated young woman who was friends with Anaïs Nin, such good friends that she stayed in my apartment when she was in LA. Ready, set, go. Perhaps with too much gusto, I responded, “Hugo! It’s been a long time. It’s great to hear from you.” “Thank you, Tristine. And thank you for helping Anaïs when she’s there.” “Oh, no problem. Do you have a message for her?” “No, is she staying there now?” “She’s not here at the moment, but I can get her a message.” “Well, no. I’ll tell you why I’m calling. I hope you won’t mind if I ask you some personal questions.” Uh-oh. I couldn’t figure out whether to say yes, he could, or no, he couldn’t. He must have gotten tired of waiting for me to reply because he went on. “Anaïs told me that you’ve moved universities. She gave me your new address at USC.” Moved universities? I hadn’t moved. I wasn’t sure how to respond. “Yes.” “Hmm. I’ve heard that USC has a good football team.” “That’s what everyone says. I don’t—” “Actually, that’s not what I wanted to ask you about.” Oh god, I’m not going to be able to do this! “I have a friend whose son was going to enroll there,” Hugo continued. “My friend says that the surrounding neighborhood is quite dangerous. A lot like Harlem before the riots this summer.” “But the campus is safe.” “How many blocks would you say your apartment is from campus?” “Oh, it’s only a few blocks from campus,” I fudged. Twelve blocks could still be a few. “And my building is safe.” I wished. “I never worried when Anaïs was staying at your apartment near UCLA. Westwood is a good neighborhood. But that rich-kids school you’re at now is in the ghetto. Go figure.” I was trying to figure. Hugo thought Anaïs had stayed with me before when I was at UCLA? But I’d never gone to UCLA or lived in Westwood. I just held my tongue while Hugo continued to admonish me to be careful on my “new” campus. Finally, given my silence, he stopped and asked, “So what are you majoring in?” “English lit.” “Well, why would an undergraduate transfer across town for that?” I hadn’t transferred, but he certainly thought I had. Okay, I prompted myself, go with what the other actor gives you. Preserve the illusion of reality: Why would an undergraduate transfer colleges? For a great professor! But USC didn’t have any. Well, there was one great art history professor who was gay, but they’d fired him. Think! Think! Got it! “I’m applying to UCLA for grad school, and they prefer to take undergraduates from colleges other than UCLA. So I had to leave to be able to come back.”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  THIRD STORY Melchizedek 1 the Jew, with a story about three rings, avoids a most dangerous trap laid for him by Saladin. 2 Neifile’s story was well received by all the company, and when she fell silent, Filomena began at the queen’s behest to address them as follows: The story told by Neifile reminds me of the parlous state in which a Jew once found himself. Now that we have heard such fine things said concerning God and the truth of our religion, it will not seem inappropriate to descend at this juncture to the deeds and adventures of men. So I shall tell you a story which, when you have heard it, will possibly make you more cautious in answering questions addressed to you. It is a fact, my sweet companions, that just as folly often destroys men’s happiness and casts them into deepest misery, so prudence extricates the wise from dreadful perils and guides them firmly to safety. So clearly may we perceive that folly leads men from contentment to misery, that we shall not even bother for the present to consider the matter further, since countless examples spring readily to mind. But that prudence may bring its reward, I shall, as I have promised, prove to you briefly by means of the following little tale: Saladin, whose worth was so great that it raised him from humble beginnings to the sultanate of Egypt and brought him many victories over Saracen and Christian kings, had expended the whole of his treasure in various wars and extraordinary acts of munificence, when a certain situation arose for which he required a vast sum of money. Not being able to see any way of obtaining what he needed at such short notice, he happened to recall a rich Jew, Melchizedek by name, who ran a money-lending business in Alexandria, and would certainly, he thought, have enough for his purposes, if only he could be persuaded to part with it. But this Melchizedek was such a miserly fellow that he would never hand it over of his own free will, and the Sultan was not prepared to take it away from him by force. However, as his need became more pressing, having racked his brains to discover some way of compelling the Jew to assist him, he resolved to use force in the guise of reason. So he sent for the Jew, gave him a cordial reception, invited him to sit down beside him, and said: ‘O man of excellent worth, many men have told me of your great wisdom and your superior knowledge of the ways of God.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  She had told herself that she was doing this fling as much for her marriage as for herself. If she did not allow Sabina these excursions, she would not be able to stay in her marriage with Hugo. She’d told herself to keep this affair light. As long as she did not let herself fall in love with Rupert, she would be all right. Her marriage would be all right. But she had fallen in love with Rupert. Driving through the last stretch of fragrant orange groves on the way to Los Angeles, Rupert broke a long silence by asking, “Before you and your husband decided on divorce, did you want to have children?” Her stomach somersaulted. “In the beginning we both thought we would have children,” she answered, “but our life was so busy, it didn’t seem like a good idea.” “I want children,” Rupert announced. She thought she had worried about everything, but she hadn’t anticipated this. “I thought you wanted a life of adventure and freedom. That’s why you are choosing forestry.” “I do, but I’m conflicted because I also want a home and a family. I want life to be in harmony like music, and you can’t have music without a stable foundation.” She was in turmoil. At forty-four she might still bear him a child but could she take care of one? No, she could not imagine herself in that role now. They fell into silence again, inhaling the sweet scent of blossoming orange trees. CHAPTER 7 Malibu, California, 1964 TRISTINE THE RING OF THE PHONE in Renate’s living room brought Anaïs out of her narrative. She lunged for the receiver but changed her mind. “Hurry, Tristine, we have to leave. We don’t want Ronnie or Peter to find us here.” I didn’t understand why but quickly gathered my stuff, and we exited through the carport door. In front of our side-by-side cars, both with badly dented fenders, Anaïs gave me a kiss on each cheek. Then she wrapped her arms around me in a hug that held the warmth I’d longed for. “Do you think I could follow you back to where the highway inclines to Sunset?” she asked. “I have a terrible sense of direction and I’m afraid of missing the exit.” Another similarity between Anaïs and me, I noted. I got lost easily, too, though I chose not to tell her because I could manage the Pacific Coast Highway to Sunset and I wanted her to trust in me.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  Like hyperarousal and constriction, helplessness is an overt reflection of the physiological processes happening in the body. When our nervous systems shift into an aroused state in response to danger, and we cannot defend ourselves or flee, the next strategy the nervous system employs is immobilization. Nearly every creature that lives has this primitive response wired into its repertoire of defensive strategies. We will return again and again to this intriguing response in the chapters that follow. It plays a leading role in both the development and transformation of trauma. And Then There Was Trauma Hyperarousal, constriction, helplessness, and dissociation are all normal responses to threat. As such, they do not always end up as traumatic symptoms. Only when they are habitual and chronic do symptoms develop. As these stress reactions remain in place, they form the groundwork and fuel for the development of subsequent symptoms. Within months, these symptoms at the core of the traumatic reaction will begin to incorporate mental and psychological characteristics into their dynamics until eventually they reach into every corner of the trauma sufferer’s life. In short, with trauma, the stakes are high. Ideally, the exercises in this chapter combined with other experiences you have had will help you identify how these reactions feel. As they become chronic, hyperarousal, constriction, helplessness, and dissociation together produce an anxiety so intense it can become unbearable. Eventually, the symptoms can coalesce into traumatic anxiety, a state that pervades the trauma sufferer’s every waking (and sleeping) moment. The symptoms that comprise the core of the traumatic reaction are the surest way to know that trauma has occurre d- if you can recognize how they feel. As the constellation of symptoms grows increasingly complex, some combination of these four components of the core of the traumatic reaction will always be present. When you can recognize them, these components will help you distinguish between symptoms that are due to trauma and those that are not. 11. Symptoms of Trauma When our nervous systems prepare us to meet danger, they shift into highly energized states. If we can discharge this energy while actively and effectively defending against threat (or shortly after the threatening event), the nervous system will move back toward a normal level of functioning. Our felt sense will feel complete, self-satisfied, and heroic. If the threat has not been dealt with successfully, the energy stays in our bodies. We have now created a self-perpetuating dilemma. On a physiological level, our bodies and minds work in tandem as one integrated system. We know that we are in danger when we perceive an external threat and our nervous system becomes highly aroused.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  “I see.” I could feel my forehead furrow and consciously tried to smooth it. If I wrote her biography I would be entirely identified with Anaïs for the next three years at least, probably my whole life. I already grated at being seen as just an extension of her. Often my association with her was the only thing people found interesting about me. Her shadow was so large, and the contours of mine were so similar, that I feared my identity would always be subsumed under hers. But how could I say no to Anaïs when she had created the teaching job that was supporting me, had fulfilled her role as my mentor in countless ways, had reached out to rescue me from despair in Indiana and tucked me under her downy wing? I knew how indebted I was to her and that it was my turn to repay her for my apprenticeship. If I was anything, I was a good soldier. The loyal one. The one who goes down with the ship. How could I say no to Anaïs? “Why don’t you think about it and let me know.” She smiled. The following week she phoned early, before I’d had my coffee. Tensing my shoulders as though expecting a guillotine’s blade, I waited for her to ask my decision about writing her biography. Her request was more urgent, though. In a strange, hoarse whisper she said she’d been flying back from a speaking engagement in northern California, when her abdominal pain became excruciating. “I have to go back in the hospital today, and I was supposed to appear Saturday at Royce Hall for that UCLA Fine Arts Speakers event.” “They can reschedule it,” I said. “No, it’s sold out. They say it’s too late to cancel. I want you to go in my place.” “I couldn’t,” I gasped. How could I do that with a few days’ notice? How could I take her place in any case? “People just want you.” “You won’t have to do it alone. I asked Jamie Herlihy, too, and he said yes immediately.” I heard the implied reprimand. She urged, “You can just read the paper you wrote about Diary II.” The idea of standing at a podium and reading a long paper of literary criticism to 2,000 Anaïs Nin fans who’d come for her feted charisma truly seemed like a bad idea. “Your audience will walk out. They’ll demand their money back.” “Jamie will just talk informally, so it won’t all be your reading,” Anaïs implored. Unlike me, Jamie Herlihy was a literary star in his own right. He had written All Fall Down and Midnight Cowboy. His wit and Irish theatricality could hold an audience, while for me, a nobody, to read a long academic paper, when people had paid their money to see Anaïs … They would be outraged.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  If you feel overwhelmed or deeply disturbed during any part of this exercise, please stop. The exercise may be too activating for some people. If this is true for you, I suggest you seek qualified professional help. For this exercise you will need a pencil, paper, and a clock or watch with a second hand or a digital display. (If you don’t have such a timepiece, you can do the exercise without it.) With pencil in hand and the clock or watch where you can see it, find a comfortable position and contact your felt sense. Tune into your arms and legs, and feel the sensation of your body being supported by whatever you are sitting on; now add to your awareness any other sensations that are presen t the feeling of your clothes on your skin, the weight of the book in your lap, etc. You will need this awareness to do the exercise. Once you have a sense of how your body feels on the level of sensation, continue when you are comfortable. Proceed step by step through the exercise. For the best results do the entire exercise in one sitting. Read through it before you do it. As you read and experience it, get in touch with your feelings and thoughts through the felt sense. Part One: Sit comfortably and pretend you are in an airplane flying at 30,000 feet across the country. There has been some turbulence, but nothing out of the ordinary. Keep your awareness engaged as fully as possible and tune into your felt sense. Imagine that you suddenly hear a loud explosio n- BOO M- followed by complete silence. The plane’s engines have stopped. How does your body respond? Notice the response in your breathin g In your heartbea t The temperature in different parts of your bod y — In vibrations and involuntary twitching and the intensity of movement s — In your overall postur e In your eye s In your nec k In your sight and hearin g In your muscle s In your abdome n In your leg s For each item, make a short note of your responses. Make a note of the current time in minutes and seconds. Take a deep breath and relax. Let your body return to the level of comfort you experienced before you started the exercise. Focus on the felt sense of that comfort and when you feel that you are ready to move on to the next part of the exercise. Make a note of the time in minutes and seconds.