This is a question I've heard many times throughout my life. From my mom, my counselor, from friends in joking tone, and from a new dear friend that I met a a retreat I got to go to.
"How did you end up like this?"
When asked by my mom, she was asking in relation to supporting those who find themselves on the outskirts of friend groups. Being someone that would sit with the loner, until the person became comfortable enough to make friends and I would take their place sitting alone.
When asked by friends, they were wondering about my "prudish" nature, my quirks, and my "strange" belief systems.
When asked by my counselor, it was in the tone used when Leigh Anne (Sandra Bullock) asked Michael Oher (Quinton Aaron) how he ended up being so gentle and not even wanting to hurt anyone in a tackle when playing football.
When asked by this new dear friend, I'll call him P.J., it was a tone of maybe amazement? One of wanting to know more. I had just shared with him that I feel a bond with bike gang members and truckers, in the same sentence that I love Veggie Tales and babies and didn't want to kiss a boy until my wedding day.
My answer to the question, every time it is asked, is "I don't have any idea."
Watching the movie Courageous before work today, and I was blown away by the statistics they use for the incidences of children from fatherless homes being several times more likely to end up addicted to drugs, pregnant in teen years or a father of a baby in their teens, more likely to land in jail, and have multiple other legal problems. It's crazy!
I don't come from a fatherless house, but my dad was not always present. He was in the garage, or at work, or otherwise occupied.
Both of my parents came from households where they were beaten. My mom's mom beat and abused her. My dad's dad beat and abused him. They came from broken homes, so they tried to keep us from growing up in a broken home. Unfortunately, this is difficult to do without seeing it modeled. Instead of getting hit, my brother and I got silent treatments, isolation, and parents who would isolate from us to prevent anger from over spilling. Oftentimes we also received raised voices and watched as many holes were punched into walls in anger. I'm so grateful that I never had to watch my mom or brother get hit or hurt. They say, and I believe it, that more trauma damage is sustained when survivors not only receive the trauma, but have to watch a loved one go through it. I believe that to the core of me to be true.
Even hearing the yelling matches and fights as I drifted off to sleep when I was a child was difficult, and I was too young to know what they were fighting about!
I don't think I ever put two and two together until today. Somehow, watching Courageous has got me processing why/how I ended up the way I did. I can easily point out how it made me more prone to trauma in my college years. I can point out the ways that it has given me unhealthy coping mechanisms. But that's not what P.J. and my counselor are asking. They are asking about how I turned out okay, maybe even "good". It would be acceptable to be angry, hateful, resentful, depressed, and unforgiving. For awhile, I was. There are still parts that I battle with. However, the bounce-back from my trauma has been interesting.
I don't know why I am the way that I am. It'll be a question for the Good L-rd someday.
Showing posts with label PTSD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PTSD. Show all posts
Monday, March 4, 2019
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Chicago
I recently got the opportunity to go with Big Red (a very petite little redhead) and Beauty to Chicago. They are friends from nursing school that have now moved away from College Town and we decided to go be adventurous.
For those that may/may not know, I love the Divergent series and the Hunger Games series. These movies had just released their first movies when I was newly going through the after effects of my first sexual assault from exboyfriend and the problems following Country Boy's suicide.
At first, I could not handle these movies. They are intense. Divergent has a scene where Tris is attacked by 3 guys who attempt to throw her into this cavern to her death. Tris also experiences the aftermath of a friend committing suicide.
After a couple of tries of watching the movies (yes, it took me multiple times of watching a few minutes at a time before I could get through the movies. However, once I got through them, I began to watch them over and over. I felt comforted by them, but could not peg why such dark movies meant so much to me and were able to comfort me so well.
After months and months of thinking about it, I came to this conclusion: I felt like Tris and Katniss.
They were experiencing constant war; I was fighting an epic battle of my own. They were outcasts with something to fight for; I too felt like an outcast with things to do in my life and something to fight for. They experienced much heartache, trauma, and flashbacks; sound familiar to anything I have written about? These young women survived, against all odds, terrible circumstances. I survived a friend's suicide, multiple sexual assaults/rapes, self harm, suicide attempts, domestic violence, loss of friends, college (against all odds, and nursing school was difficult without the addition of my PTSD), and yet I continued on.
When Big Red first suggested taking a trip, I didn't want to go. I didn't want to spend the money and go be triggered for a solid 4 days with no relief (as I knew would happen). I didn't want to do anything. It was proposed in one of my seasons of depression and exhaustion. Working two jobs, navigating the ups and downs associated with getting into counseling again, and struggling with friendships that had had their ups and downs that I still haven't fully healed from.
Eventually I agreed to go. One night I got this sudden wander lust and one of my bucket list destinations just so happened to be Chicago. Big Red had suggested 2 places and I immediately jumped on the "Chicago train". As we proceeded to plan, buy tickets, and get things in order, I realized (slowly) that Chicago is where the Divergent stories took place!
We started picking places we wanted to go and I chose the John Hancock Building (360 Chicago now) and the Navy Pier. The Pier is where Tris dominated capture the flag by climbing up the ferris wheel and Tris ziplines with the Dauntless Born initiates from the top of the John Hancock building (I think, don't quote me on that). Whatever, the John Hancock building had AMAZING views of the Pier and the rest of Chicago, especially at night, which is when we went.
My mom had often described her college experience as a very "romantic" time in her life. She came from a family that did not go to college, where she grew up without food most days. When she went to college, she was so excited and in unbelief that she had made it that far.
I never understood that feeling, until I got to Chicago. It felt like coming home. Not because I'm from there, or because I had ever been there, but it seemed like a place that had provided a backdrop to a story that got me through so many rough times. Basically, I'm secretly super sentimental and I was processing how far I had come from the time I first started attempting to watch Divergent and the Hunger Games Series to get to the point where I am now.
I did not share this reason for wanting to go to the Navy Pier, or Chicago for that matter, until my last night there with my friends. There was a time that I relied on them too much for support in my immediate post-trauma period, and I ended up overwhelming Beauty. When I had originally told Big Red what had happened to me, she cried in the middle of the mall as strangers strolled by and stared at us. Big Red does not cry, and I made her cry. Because of these experiences, I felt like I needed to avoid telling people my story. I didn't want to burden anyone with this overwhelming, crushing pain. It broke my heart to feel like I had hurt others because I shared my story with them. Looking back, I told Beauty far too much and "word vomited" my pain onto her. As far as Big Red goes, she was simply hurt because I had been hurt so horrifically and she was joining with me to feel that pain. She was mourning the injustices forced upon me. I didn't break her, she was validating how unfair it was for anyone, let alone her friend, to have to go through that. Especially from my first ever boyfriends.
I am now learning to be vulnerable and to share, without over-sharing. By sharing my reasoning for wanting to go to Chicago and see the Navy Pier after they had already agreed to go, they were able to share in my gratefulness and growth. They joined in my gladness because they had walked the most raw parts of my journey with me.
I can see G-d moving in my life friends. It's been awhile since I had been able to see it, but He's showing up so clearly I'm often dumbfounded.
For those that may/may not know, I love the Divergent series and the Hunger Games series. These movies had just released their first movies when I was newly going through the after effects of my first sexual assault from exboyfriend and the problems following Country Boy's suicide.
At first, I could not handle these movies. They are intense. Divergent has a scene where Tris is attacked by 3 guys who attempt to throw her into this cavern to her death. Tris also experiences the aftermath of a friend committing suicide.
After a couple of tries of watching the movies (yes, it took me multiple times of watching a few minutes at a time before I could get through the movies. However, once I got through them, I began to watch them over and over. I felt comforted by them, but could not peg why such dark movies meant so much to me and were able to comfort me so well.
After months and months of thinking about it, I came to this conclusion: I felt like Tris and Katniss.
They were experiencing constant war; I was fighting an epic battle of my own. They were outcasts with something to fight for; I too felt like an outcast with things to do in my life and something to fight for. They experienced much heartache, trauma, and flashbacks; sound familiar to anything I have written about? These young women survived, against all odds, terrible circumstances. I survived a friend's suicide, multiple sexual assaults/rapes, self harm, suicide attempts, domestic violence, loss of friends, college (against all odds, and nursing school was difficult without the addition of my PTSD), and yet I continued on.
When Big Red first suggested taking a trip, I didn't want to go. I didn't want to spend the money and go be triggered for a solid 4 days with no relief (as I knew would happen). I didn't want to do anything. It was proposed in one of my seasons of depression and exhaustion. Working two jobs, navigating the ups and downs associated with getting into counseling again, and struggling with friendships that had had their ups and downs that I still haven't fully healed from.
Eventually I agreed to go. One night I got this sudden wander lust and one of my bucket list destinations just so happened to be Chicago. Big Red had suggested 2 places and I immediately jumped on the "Chicago train". As we proceeded to plan, buy tickets, and get things in order, I realized (slowly) that Chicago is where the Divergent stories took place!
We started picking places we wanted to go and I chose the John Hancock Building (360 Chicago now) and the Navy Pier. The Pier is where Tris dominated capture the flag by climbing up the ferris wheel and Tris ziplines with the Dauntless Born initiates from the top of the John Hancock building (I think, don't quote me on that). Whatever, the John Hancock building had AMAZING views of the Pier and the rest of Chicago, especially at night, which is when we went.
My mom had often described her college experience as a very "romantic" time in her life. She came from a family that did not go to college, where she grew up without food most days. When she went to college, she was so excited and in unbelief that she had made it that far.
I never understood that feeling, until I got to Chicago. It felt like coming home. Not because I'm from there, or because I had ever been there, but it seemed like a place that had provided a backdrop to a story that got me through so many rough times. Basically, I'm secretly super sentimental and I was processing how far I had come from the time I first started attempting to watch Divergent and the Hunger Games Series to get to the point where I am now.
I did not share this reason for wanting to go to the Navy Pier, or Chicago for that matter, until my last night there with my friends. There was a time that I relied on them too much for support in my immediate post-trauma period, and I ended up overwhelming Beauty. When I had originally told Big Red what had happened to me, she cried in the middle of the mall as strangers strolled by and stared at us. Big Red does not cry, and I made her cry. Because of these experiences, I felt like I needed to avoid telling people my story. I didn't want to burden anyone with this overwhelming, crushing pain. It broke my heart to feel like I had hurt others because I shared my story with them. Looking back, I told Beauty far too much and "word vomited" my pain onto her. As far as Big Red goes, she was simply hurt because I had been hurt so horrifically and she was joining with me to feel that pain. She was mourning the injustices forced upon me. I didn't break her, she was validating how unfair it was for anyone, let alone her friend, to have to go through that. Especially from my first ever boyfriends.
I am now learning to be vulnerable and to share, without over-sharing. By sharing my reasoning for wanting to go to Chicago and see the Navy Pier after they had already agreed to go, they were able to share in my gratefulness and growth. They joined in my gladness because they had walked the most raw parts of my journey with me.
I can see G-d moving in my life friends. It's been awhile since I had been able to see it, but He's showing up so clearly I'm often dumbfounded.
Friday, November 11, 2016
Hunger Games and Divergent
The Hunger Games and Divergent series came out during my traumas. For a long time, I couldn't figure out why I was so drawn to these movies, even though they would trigger flashbacks and a series of very difficult days/nights for myself.
Then, as I was watching both sets of movies at home the other day, it occurred to me. In Divergent, she deals with a guy who has a crush on her, then stabbing her in the back. When that doesn't work, he kills himself. She also has to kill one of her friends because he's hunting her and her mom, while in a Sim. I had a few little tie-ins there from my personal life... forget that the movie had names from my personal life built right in.
Throw on top of everything else that this girl struggles with losing friends, fighting against what is considered acceptable and normal, and also then dealing with nightmares/flashbacks/memories/and loss. I see myself in her.
Now, let's look at the Hunger Games. Not as many similarities to my personal life, but the nightmares/flashbacks/memories definitely ring a bell. Move on to the second and third movies and I'm thinking I'm needing ways to fix our government and find freedom from the bullshit that is presently overtaking the country...
These two series of movies have a main thing in common: a girl, about my age, has to deal with the shit in the world around them, largely on their own. They are faced with death, oppression, difficulties, and then the aftermath of shit going horribly wrong. This results in them both developing severe PTSD, but having to fight through it by themselves.
My story is not as intense, but I definitely feel as though I'm somewhere along similar lines.
For now, I draw courage and encouragement from these movies. I know they are largely fiction, but people around the world are fighting similar fights as these girls, and I, everyday. Some of us surrender to the memories and desires to end them ourselves. Some are hurt and possibly killed at the hands of others, either family members, "lovers", or strangers. Still others continue on to wander through each day, not certain what or where we are going. You know what? I haven't been killed, but I've been through situations where he tried to kill me. I have not died, but I have been through situations where I actively tried to die. So, I am left wandering, by very little choice of my own. Truthfully, there is no shame in any of those paths. Sometimes, life sucks so much that I still wish I were dead. Other time, mostly when holding another woman's baby, I am glad to be earth-side, for just that instant.
Plus, Tris' hair in Insurgent is something I aspire to be able to do. I have wanted to cut it as an act of defiance since I broke up with EXfiance. He convinced me to keep my hair long because he liked it long. I almost cut it the very next day after breaking up with him, but my mom convinced me to keep it long for my graduation, then again for my new hospital pictures. Now I am on my own, in a new life, starting over, and I want short hair!!! If I don't do it now, I might never do it. I have had a bob in the past, but I'm wanting a cut similar to Tris and the cut that Jennifer Lawrence got in real life during the Hunger Game's trilogy or just after they had been completed. Y'all know what I'm talking about, right?
I so wish I could drive up to Home State, schedule a hair appointment with mom, and come back to Small Town very different. Maybe even stop by and visit a few college friends while there. Despite wanting to do this, I have a puppy who doesn't make the day-long drive so well, and she sure and hell won't make it twice. Especially seeing as I have to damn near giver her a whole adult dose of benadryl, and wait until about 6 hours into the drive, for the poor girl to finally sleep in the damn car. She won't fall for that trick many more times, she's already skeptical of Nut Rolls and bread now.
So, I'll wait until Mom comes down for Thanksgiving and shake up my style then. Screw Exfiance and Exboyfriend and any other guy that thinks I need to keep my hair long and styled just for them. No. I do what I want, when I want, because I am my own person. I have survived awful things, and I am finally living on my own. I do as I please (within reason).
I'm gonna follow in the footsteps of these lovely ladies and I'm thinking I want a tattoo and several more piercings to go along with the new hair.
Sunday, July 24, 2016
Looming Deadlines...
It's nearly 11 p.m. here and I'm supposed to be getting up at 5 a.m. for work tomorrow...
I can't sleep because I've been trying to take NCLEX practice tests and start studying because I'm scheduled to take my NCLEX on Friday.
It occurred to me today, while at my "cousin's" kid's 1st birthday party, that I'm taking the NCLEX this week. Then I started thinking about how little I've studied because of work, moving, exhaustion, depression flare-ups, and general PTSD bullshit coming back. C'est la vie, non?
Anyway, I also started considering pushing it back another week or two to give myself some legit time to study. I don't know what to do. Do I just get it over with and hope that the 54% average on practice tests gets me on the passing side of the NCLEX scale? Or, do I try to attempt another shot at studying more?
They say that by passing nursing school, you should have most/all of the info needed to pass this damn test, but being on this end of taking the silly thing, I'm not sure how much I believe that. 54% is a pretty abysmal score to get on anything, let alone a $200 test. I guess I'll see how the rest of the week goes and if I need to, I'll change the date by Wednesday so that I don't lose said $200...
Goodnight y'all
I can't sleep because I've been trying to take NCLEX practice tests and start studying because I'm scheduled to take my NCLEX on Friday.
It occurred to me today, while at my "cousin's" kid's 1st birthday party, that I'm taking the NCLEX this week. Then I started thinking about how little I've studied because of work, moving, exhaustion, depression flare-ups, and general PTSD bullshit coming back. C'est la vie, non?
Anyway, I also started considering pushing it back another week or two to give myself some legit time to study. I don't know what to do. Do I just get it over with and hope that the 54% average on practice tests gets me on the passing side of the NCLEX scale? Or, do I try to attempt another shot at studying more?
They say that by passing nursing school, you should have most/all of the info needed to pass this damn test, but being on this end of taking the silly thing, I'm not sure how much I believe that. 54% is a pretty abysmal score to get on anything, let alone a $200 test. I guess I'll see how the rest of the week goes and if I need to, I'll change the date by Wednesday so that I don't lose said $200...
Goodnight y'all
Friday, June 24, 2016
Legit Panic Attack
I was taking a shower today, after running around my house getting everything in it's place, when I started being bombarded with memories. Bad memories.
I started asking G-d, "Why me? What did I do? How is this my lot in life? Why do I have to deal with this? Why did you not just let me die?" etc., etc.
About two questions in, I could feel my heart pounding, breath getting shallow and quick, eyes went into tunnel vision. I felt like I was going to pass out, but I couldn't calm the anger and the hurt. The next 30 minutes consisted of me yelling, praying, sobbing, shaking, hyperventilating, and shaving my legs... all at the same time. How do I manage to be such a great multi-tasker? I have no idea.
I keep thinking about what I want to say, in case my reports ever go to trial. I want to say so much, but I know I will freeze on the stand and my brain will freeze if I begin to draft my victim impact statements now but boy, can I scream everything I need to say when I'm in the shower!
Exboyfriend's town called a couple days ago telling me they had gotten a report from College Town that I had been sexually assaulted (raped) in their town. College town had no jurisdiction in Exboyfriend's town and so it had to be transferred.
I've been dealing with that for a week. At first I was nervous about how this would effect him, then I remembered how much his actions have effected me and my whole life. He forever changed the course of my life with his poor choices that weekend. Oh, I wish I would have kicked him, fought him, and called the cops right then. Unfortunately, I was completely in shock. I was paralyzed and in a daze that whole weekend.
Because of Exboyfriend, I met Exfiance. He didn't introduce me, but I was going out a lot, looking for a good time to get away from the terrors living and replaying themselves in my head constantly.
It's crazy to think that one person can make you hate yourself. They can make you hate your body, your memory, your life, and hate the fact that you wake up each morning to fight another losing battle of a day. They can make you hate yourself enough that you stop feeding your body, you start taking pills, smoking, cutting, or otherwise abusing the very vessel that holds the essence of who you are. One person's choices can make you fight to not pick up the bottle, not down the pills, not pull the trigger, and not crash into a ditch.
So now, I am here. A shell of who I used to be. I can never me back. I can never have the same ability to see the best in people. I can never have the same easy smile and no assumptions that people are only out to hurt me. I can never feel pure, whole, and complete. I can never erase the memories. Who knows if I have some disease that I won't be able to get rid of in addition to the rest of it.
It makes me wonder why we, as a collective people, fight so hard to keep people from suicide. Not saying I would do it, but I understand what it is like for me to not want to wake up another day. Why do we insist on saving those who so clearly see no point in being here on this earth? Why do we call the police if someone is talking about suicide at home/work or place patients on a 72-hour hold at hospitals if they come to us saying they want to die? Why do we put people on antidepressants? Which can potentially make the suicidal ideations worse and help give the people enough energy to go through with the suicide. If people are so miserable with the hand they were dealt or produced for themselves, why are we holding them earth side?
This doesn't mean that I don't support getting professional help and trying to reach out to those having a hard time, but why make people live if they have no quality of life and are sick of being here? There is not a day that goes by that I don't wish that I could have helped Country Boy, but if there was a chance for him to have been able to reach out for help, he didn't extend that plea to me. He had a plan and he carried it out. For him, there was no use in living in a world without his dad. He had too much pain to bear on his own and he couldn't figure out how to share it. Meanwhile, I have a lot of pain (in my own opinion) and even with sharing it, I feel I am constantly drowning. Today, with my panic attack, it showed that my head is no longer staying above the water. The stress of reporting, painful memories, moving, not being able to work, having bills that I cannot pay, and stress I can't even describe is overwhelming me.
It's so hard to surrender your anxieties to the L-rd when your life is stripped from your grasp. It's so hard to ask for help when nobody can hear you from the depths of your chasm. I know I have no control over my life, but I feel like I'm in a car with a sleeping, drunk driver and the car is swerving on it's own. However, the ride sucks so badly I hope it crashes soon so that the drive will come to an end, I don't even care about making it to wherever I thought we were headed.
I started asking G-d, "Why me? What did I do? How is this my lot in life? Why do I have to deal with this? Why did you not just let me die?" etc., etc.
About two questions in, I could feel my heart pounding, breath getting shallow and quick, eyes went into tunnel vision. I felt like I was going to pass out, but I couldn't calm the anger and the hurt. The next 30 minutes consisted of me yelling, praying, sobbing, shaking, hyperventilating, and shaving my legs... all at the same time. How do I manage to be such a great multi-tasker? I have no idea.
I keep thinking about what I want to say, in case my reports ever go to trial. I want to say so much, but I know I will freeze on the stand and my brain will freeze if I begin to draft my victim impact statements now but boy, can I scream everything I need to say when I'm in the shower!
Exboyfriend's town called a couple days ago telling me they had gotten a report from College Town that I had been sexually assaulted (raped) in their town. College town had no jurisdiction in Exboyfriend's town and so it had to be transferred.
I've been dealing with that for a week. At first I was nervous about how this would effect him, then I remembered how much his actions have effected me and my whole life. He forever changed the course of my life with his poor choices that weekend. Oh, I wish I would have kicked him, fought him, and called the cops right then. Unfortunately, I was completely in shock. I was paralyzed and in a daze that whole weekend.
Because of Exboyfriend, I met Exfiance. He didn't introduce me, but I was going out a lot, looking for a good time to get away from the terrors living and replaying themselves in my head constantly.
It's crazy to think that one person can make you hate yourself. They can make you hate your body, your memory, your life, and hate the fact that you wake up each morning to fight another losing battle of a day. They can make you hate yourself enough that you stop feeding your body, you start taking pills, smoking, cutting, or otherwise abusing the very vessel that holds the essence of who you are. One person's choices can make you fight to not pick up the bottle, not down the pills, not pull the trigger, and not crash into a ditch.
So now, I am here. A shell of who I used to be. I can never me back. I can never have the same ability to see the best in people. I can never have the same easy smile and no assumptions that people are only out to hurt me. I can never feel pure, whole, and complete. I can never erase the memories. Who knows if I have some disease that I won't be able to get rid of in addition to the rest of it.
It makes me wonder why we, as a collective people, fight so hard to keep people from suicide. Not saying I would do it, but I understand what it is like for me to not want to wake up another day. Why do we insist on saving those who so clearly see no point in being here on this earth? Why do we call the police if someone is talking about suicide at home/work or place patients on a 72-hour hold at hospitals if they come to us saying they want to die? Why do we put people on antidepressants? Which can potentially make the suicidal ideations worse and help give the people enough energy to go through with the suicide. If people are so miserable with the hand they were dealt or produced for themselves, why are we holding them earth side?
This doesn't mean that I don't support getting professional help and trying to reach out to those having a hard time, but why make people live if they have no quality of life and are sick of being here? There is not a day that goes by that I don't wish that I could have helped Country Boy, but if there was a chance for him to have been able to reach out for help, he didn't extend that plea to me. He had a plan and he carried it out. For him, there was no use in living in a world without his dad. He had too much pain to bear on his own and he couldn't figure out how to share it. Meanwhile, I have a lot of pain (in my own opinion) and even with sharing it, I feel I am constantly drowning. Today, with my panic attack, it showed that my head is no longer staying above the water. The stress of reporting, painful memories, moving, not being able to work, having bills that I cannot pay, and stress I can't even describe is overwhelming me.
It's so hard to surrender your anxieties to the L-rd when your life is stripped from your grasp. It's so hard to ask for help when nobody can hear you from the depths of your chasm. I know I have no control over my life, but I feel like I'm in a car with a sleeping, drunk driver and the car is swerving on it's own. However, the ride sucks so badly I hope it crashes soon so that the drive will come to an end, I don't even care about making it to wherever I thought we were headed.
Monday, June 20, 2016
Odd Feeling
I've been feeling strange for quite some time now. It's hard to explain, but it's one of those things that you can just sense you, yourself, are "off".
Looking through Facebook tonight, because I have very little to do in Small Town without a current graduate nurse permit... anywho, it occured to me that I have had to train myself to live in the present moment for the last several months. Actually, about a year and a half now. Don't get me wrong, I'm excellent at "tuning out" and dissociating. However, my dreams of the future have been dampened dramatically to trying to focus on the "here and now" so that I can get myself through each new hour that I am left breathing here on this planet.
There are still days I wake up startled from nightmares.
I still have several panic attacks a week/month (on a good month).
My eating and self-care is not nearly where it needs to be.
Flashbacks still occur several times every hour.
I don't like people at the door, it freaks me out.
Even in a different state, the sight of trucks freak me the fuck out. Doesn't matter if they're red, green, purple, neon orange, any color of the damn rainbow; they freak me out... again...
Ragardless, these things have become my new normal. Flashbacks and nightmares and trucks still frighten me to my core, but I am not as notably shaken to everyone else because I've been battling this shit for over a year now.
For a year I haven't been able to dream for my future. I can't think about a time when I'll be completely free of these burdens because that day will never come, until the day I die. The suicidal thoughts have subsided a bit. I've been able to cut down on my self-harm and the way I used to take mass amounts of Benadryl, Tylenol, and Ibuprofen to self-sedate my brain into sleep for a few days. Most days, I am able to get myself something to eat and I'm drinking more water than wine, again.
Still, my hopes for a future are essentially nonexistent at this point. On one level, it's a little nice to not keep getting my hopes up, just to have them crushed year after year. On a deeper level, of me as a 22-year-old young "lady" (quotes because let's be honest, I'm a complete tomboy besides these past few months of ridiculous whiny posts) still wants to be able to dream about G-d providing a husband for me, a white gown and walking down the aisle. Someday having children, continuing on with my nursing education, teaching my children how to live with lots of animals and teaching them about the various things in life. This, teaching them about life, is usually where I shift into reverse and convince myself a future needs to not happen.
Getting to the point in my imagination that there is a husband and there are children is a long, long process. It used to be something to look forward to, ponder, and pray about. Now, it feels like pulling teeth and I find myself begging the Good L-rd to have someone who is patient and kind enough to be able to handle my crap baggage. Then it slows even more because I get to thinking about how being with me would not be fair to a single soul. That's about the time that all past roommates and all the negative comments about how badly I suck start playing through my mind...
Anyway, in the off chance I get to the point where I think about the things to teach my imaginary children, I come to a complete stop when I think about them being any older than an infant. How can I handle them going to a sleep over where I'm not there? What if the friend has older siblings? Are those older siblings supervised? What happens when we have to have the "sex talk"? Do I tell them about what happened to me? Will that cause trauma? Will that make them over-paranoid? When they are in high school/college, will they be able to stay safe from the horrors inflicted upon me? Will I have days where I stay in bed and call my mom or mother-in-law to deal with the kids because I simply can't? How do I explain to them the days when I'm weepy, dissociated, sad, numb, or completely unable to function? How is this fair to kids? How would this be fair to a husband?
How the hell is any of this shit fair to me? I didn't ask for any of these assaults.
A year and a half ago, I was going about life, excited to be a nurse and to see what my future had in store. One absolute shitty year changed it all for me.
I'm still taking my life hour-by-hour, sometimes I work myself up to a day-by-day mentality. Those days, where I'm not living hour-by-hour, are surprisingly my "good" days.
Maybe someday I'll get to a point where I can dream about a future. Maybe, someday, I'll have a future.
June 12 was supposed to be my "wedding day". Haha, that was the date I picked for the wedding of exfiance and I. That day came and went and it was one of the best, most freeing days I've had in a long time. It was a day where I woke up knowing that I dodged a bomb. No, he was not bullet to dodge, he was a fucking bomb!!! I'm by no means completely safe, and I have a long way to go before I am healed, but I am free. Praise the L-rd for that.
Looking through Facebook tonight, because I have very little to do in Small Town without a current graduate nurse permit... anywho, it occured to me that I have had to train myself to live in the present moment for the last several months. Actually, about a year and a half now. Don't get me wrong, I'm excellent at "tuning out" and dissociating. However, my dreams of the future have been dampened dramatically to trying to focus on the "here and now" so that I can get myself through each new hour that I am left breathing here on this planet.
There are still days I wake up startled from nightmares.
I still have several panic attacks a week/month (on a good month).
My eating and self-care is not nearly where it needs to be.
Flashbacks still occur several times every hour.
I don't like people at the door, it freaks me out.
Even in a different state, the sight of trucks freak me the fuck out. Doesn't matter if they're red, green, purple, neon orange, any color of the damn rainbow; they freak me out... again...
Ragardless, these things have become my new normal. Flashbacks and nightmares and trucks still frighten me to my core, but I am not as notably shaken to everyone else because I've been battling this shit for over a year now.
For a year I haven't been able to dream for my future. I can't think about a time when I'll be completely free of these burdens because that day will never come, until the day I die. The suicidal thoughts have subsided a bit. I've been able to cut down on my self-harm and the way I used to take mass amounts of Benadryl, Tylenol, and Ibuprofen to self-sedate my brain into sleep for a few days. Most days, I am able to get myself something to eat and I'm drinking more water than wine, again.
Still, my hopes for a future are essentially nonexistent at this point. On one level, it's a little nice to not keep getting my hopes up, just to have them crushed year after year. On a deeper level, of me as a 22-year-old young "lady" (quotes because let's be honest, I'm a complete tomboy besides these past few months of ridiculous whiny posts) still wants to be able to dream about G-d providing a husband for me, a white gown and walking down the aisle. Someday having children, continuing on with my nursing education, teaching my children how to live with lots of animals and teaching them about the various things in life. This, teaching them about life, is usually where I shift into reverse and convince myself a future needs to not happen.
Getting to the point in my imagination that there is a husband and there are children is a long, long process. It used to be something to look forward to, ponder, and pray about. Now, it feels like pulling teeth and I find myself begging the Good L-rd to have someone who is patient and kind enough to be able to handle my crap baggage. Then it slows even more because I get to thinking about how being with me would not be fair to a single soul. That's about the time that all past roommates and all the negative comments about how badly I suck start playing through my mind...
Anyway, in the off chance I get to the point where I think about the things to teach my imaginary children, I come to a complete stop when I think about them being any older than an infant. How can I handle them going to a sleep over where I'm not there? What if the friend has older siblings? Are those older siblings supervised? What happens when we have to have the "sex talk"? Do I tell them about what happened to me? Will that cause trauma? Will that make them over-paranoid? When they are in high school/college, will they be able to stay safe from the horrors inflicted upon me? Will I have days where I stay in bed and call my mom or mother-in-law to deal with the kids because I simply can't? How do I explain to them the days when I'm weepy, dissociated, sad, numb, or completely unable to function? How is this fair to kids? How would this be fair to a husband?
How the hell is any of this shit fair to me? I didn't ask for any of these assaults.
A year and a half ago, I was going about life, excited to be a nurse and to see what my future had in store. One absolute shitty year changed it all for me.
I'm still taking my life hour-by-hour, sometimes I work myself up to a day-by-day mentality. Those days, where I'm not living hour-by-hour, are surprisingly my "good" days.
Maybe someday I'll get to a point where I can dream about a future. Maybe, someday, I'll have a future.
June 12 was supposed to be my "wedding day". Haha, that was the date I picked for the wedding of exfiance and I. That day came and went and it was one of the best, most freeing days I've had in a long time. It was a day where I woke up knowing that I dodged a bomb. No, he was not bullet to dodge, he was a fucking bomb!!! I'm by no means completely safe, and I have a long way to go before I am healed, but I am free. Praise the L-rd for that.
Thursday, June 16, 2016
Doorbells
You may or may not know about my phobia of doorbells and people knocking when I am not expecting them.
I thought this would dissipate when I left Home State, but maybe not.
Somebody just rang my doorbell and I kinda freaked out. I'm hiding in my room, had a mild panic attack when I heard it, and I tip-toed to the front room and waited for them to leave. I probably stood there for a solid 20 minutes before having the guts to peak through the blinds for a window hidden behind some rose bushes. Oh yeah, I have rose bushes at my new place!!!
Anyway, my heart is still racing and I don't know who it was that came over, maybe just some people trying to "spread the Good News" but I don't care. I'm losing my sh!t over someone ringing the damn doorbell because I'm scared it might be him.
It terrifies me to death to think that he would follow me all the way to Small Town because if he was that committed to finding me he's probably committed enough to hating me that he would kill me. Like literally murder me.
Oh I hope he never finds out where I live.
Mom said she was going to get me a surprise house warming gift... I was having a bad day so she decided to tell me what it was! Guess what it is? It's a doorbell that takes a picture of whoever is at your front door, whether they ring the bell or not, and the picture gets sent straight to your phone. That way, I don't have to worry about who is there and if I should answer the door or not. It also allows you to talk to them through a speaker and I can tell the doorbell to not sound, for when I'm sleeping during the day in order to be able to work night shift. I think it's exciting! Very ridiculous, but sometimes recovering from PTSD requires some silly interventions just to make life survivable. I think for most people, a picture-taking-doorbell is unecessary, but for a single woman living by herself in a brand-new town, it is okay. If said woman is also in fear of her life from some psycho who is the incarnation of pure evil... then it's even more okay.
I pray that someday he can change, but some people just can't. Some people are legit evil, all the way through to their toes. They are hell-bent on doing harm in the world and fucking up other people for their own selfish pleasure. What pleasure comes from this, I have not a clue, but it's their motivation for getting up in the morning.
I thought this would dissipate when I left Home State, but maybe not.
Somebody just rang my doorbell and I kinda freaked out. I'm hiding in my room, had a mild panic attack when I heard it, and I tip-toed to the front room and waited for them to leave. I probably stood there for a solid 20 minutes before having the guts to peak through the blinds for a window hidden behind some rose bushes. Oh yeah, I have rose bushes at my new place!!!
Anyway, my heart is still racing and I don't know who it was that came over, maybe just some people trying to "spread the Good News" but I don't care. I'm losing my sh!t over someone ringing the damn doorbell because I'm scared it might be him.
It terrifies me to death to think that he would follow me all the way to Small Town because if he was that committed to finding me he's probably committed enough to hating me that he would kill me. Like literally murder me.
Oh I hope he never finds out where I live.
Mom said she was going to get me a surprise house warming gift... I was having a bad day so she decided to tell me what it was! Guess what it is? It's a doorbell that takes a picture of whoever is at your front door, whether they ring the bell or not, and the picture gets sent straight to your phone. That way, I don't have to worry about who is there and if I should answer the door or not. It also allows you to talk to them through a speaker and I can tell the doorbell to not sound, for when I'm sleeping during the day in order to be able to work night shift. I think it's exciting! Very ridiculous, but sometimes recovering from PTSD requires some silly interventions just to make life survivable. I think for most people, a picture-taking-doorbell is unecessary, but for a single woman living by herself in a brand-new town, it is okay. If said woman is also in fear of her life from some psycho who is the incarnation of pure evil... then it's even more okay.
I pray that someday he can change, but some people just can't. Some people are legit evil, all the way through to their toes. They are hell-bent on doing harm in the world and fucking up other people for their own selfish pleasure. What pleasure comes from this, I have not a clue, but it's their motivation for getting up in the morning.
Bad Dreams
I know that when I am stressed, my depression is exacerbated and nightmares are expected. This is fairly common among all people because dreaming is a way for your brain to process various life circumstances.
That leads us to last night's nightmare...
I was being chased by exfiance and he found out the new place that I live. I managed to stay hidden from him, but he kept coming by my new house, ringing the doorbell, and knocking on all the windows. He followed me in exboyfriend's truck, actually. Why the cross between both assholes? I have no idea. Also, in my dream we were not actually at my new house but I was dreaming that I was living at one of my Uncle's houses in the country... Anyway, I was leaving my house trying to drive away, but that's when he actually saw me. He tracked me down and eventually I was running on foot. I called the cops and they wouldn't answer. I tried to get friends to keep him there so that I could call the cops, but every time I dialed 9-1-1 I pressed the wrong buttons or extra buttons or whatever. I couldn't call the police! He found out I was calling them and so he drove away, but not before he tried to take me with him. My new friends stepped in and saved me, he got frustrated and drove off without me.
Eventually he came back. He kept following me. He told me that I missed him and that he didn't understand why I would try to call the police because I love him. I yelled at him and told him he was pure evil and the only person that I have ever hated in my life. I flipped him off a couple times but he just laughed. He grabbed me in a hug and tried to kiss me.
The dream continued, but I can't remember the rest of it. Then my dad called (in real life) and woke me up so the dream ended.
Ugh, I left Home State in hopes that I would feel safer here. I did up until a couple days ago when I saw a truck awfully similar to his. It wasn't his truck and on second glance didn't even really look like his, but it still freaked me out. I had to do a double take but I was driving and that's not safe.
So, for those of you dealing with trauma, I'm sorry. I pray that you don't have days like this, though I know you probably do. I pray for justice for us, thought justice will never right the wrong that has been done. Most of all, I pray for peace.
In the days after the shooting at the night club in Orlando, I can't help but be sad with an understanding heart of how difficult PTSD is. My heart breaks for those that were killed, but my heart also breaks for those that witnessed it and the families that now how to figure out how to go about living after the evil committed that night. It sucks for those that were killed, but for those of us that are left living after a tragedy like this, it is harder. When you die, I'm not certain you know you are dead. I'm fairly certain you don't feel pain in the same capacity, hopefully not even at all. I don't know, I haven't died yet... Regardless, I know the pain of being one of the ones left to survive. Of course, I only know the pain I've felt and for the families and victims still living, their pain will be different and arguably worse in many respects.
For anyone who has suffered traumatic events or loss: I am sorry for your losses. Losses of loved ones, loss of life, loss of the sense of safety, loss of mental wellness (hopefully only temporary), loss of self (hopefully only temporary).
There was a hostage situation somewhere in Texas and the guy ended up getting shot and killed, as far as I know.
People need to chill out. Stop causing harm to others! Stop killing others! Stop attacking, assaulting, and otherwise fucking up other people's lives! Calm the fuck down. Everyone.
Until later... I pray I'll have good news next time I post.
That leads us to last night's nightmare...
I was being chased by exfiance and he found out the new place that I live. I managed to stay hidden from him, but he kept coming by my new house, ringing the doorbell, and knocking on all the windows. He followed me in exboyfriend's truck, actually. Why the cross between both assholes? I have no idea. Also, in my dream we were not actually at my new house but I was dreaming that I was living at one of my Uncle's houses in the country... Anyway, I was leaving my house trying to drive away, but that's when he actually saw me. He tracked me down and eventually I was running on foot. I called the cops and they wouldn't answer. I tried to get friends to keep him there so that I could call the cops, but every time I dialed 9-1-1 I pressed the wrong buttons or extra buttons or whatever. I couldn't call the police! He found out I was calling them and so he drove away, but not before he tried to take me with him. My new friends stepped in and saved me, he got frustrated and drove off without me.
Eventually he came back. He kept following me. He told me that I missed him and that he didn't understand why I would try to call the police because I love him. I yelled at him and told him he was pure evil and the only person that I have ever hated in my life. I flipped him off a couple times but he just laughed. He grabbed me in a hug and tried to kiss me.
The dream continued, but I can't remember the rest of it. Then my dad called (in real life) and woke me up so the dream ended.
Ugh, I left Home State in hopes that I would feel safer here. I did up until a couple days ago when I saw a truck awfully similar to his. It wasn't his truck and on second glance didn't even really look like his, but it still freaked me out. I had to do a double take but I was driving and that's not safe.
So, for those of you dealing with trauma, I'm sorry. I pray that you don't have days like this, though I know you probably do. I pray for justice for us, thought justice will never right the wrong that has been done. Most of all, I pray for peace.
In the days after the shooting at the night club in Orlando, I can't help but be sad with an understanding heart of how difficult PTSD is. My heart breaks for those that were killed, but my heart also breaks for those that witnessed it and the families that now how to figure out how to go about living after the evil committed that night. It sucks for those that were killed, but for those of us that are left living after a tragedy like this, it is harder. When you die, I'm not certain you know you are dead. I'm fairly certain you don't feel pain in the same capacity, hopefully not even at all. I don't know, I haven't died yet... Regardless, I know the pain of being one of the ones left to survive. Of course, I only know the pain I've felt and for the families and victims still living, their pain will be different and arguably worse in many respects.
For anyone who has suffered traumatic events or loss: I am sorry for your losses. Losses of loved ones, loss of life, loss of the sense of safety, loss of mental wellness (hopefully only temporary), loss of self (hopefully only temporary).
There was a hostage situation somewhere in Texas and the guy ended up getting shot and killed, as far as I know.
People need to chill out. Stop causing harm to others! Stop killing others! Stop attacking, assaulting, and otherwise fucking up other people's lives! Calm the fuck down. Everyone.
Until later... I pray I'll have good news next time I post.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
Life Goes On
I survived both/all three? first year anniversaries from my assaults. I write both, because it was over two days. I put three, because there were three assaults.
Anywho, I survived them. Yesterday was hard, but I made myself eat (dinner...), I used my essential oils, I had a glass of wine, Roomie and I made a list of 10 reasons why I am better off without exboyfriend, I bought myself flowers, and I skipped the class I could (peds) and did the things I absolutely had to do (world religions). Then, after all that, I woke up this morning. I may have struggled yesterday, and today, but now my two days of anniversaries are done and life will go on for awhile longer... unfortunately.
Today in counseling, we discussed how I probably don't need to be going in very much anymore. I'm cutting down to once a week next week. I know that counseling is only supposed to be temporary, to get you able to survive in life alone again, but I'm sad that this season is coming to a close. Counselor asked what else I felt like I needed to work on and I couldn't think of anything. I mentioned self-esteem, but we determined I am way better in that department than I was ever before in my life... I brought up rational thought and confidence, and we determined I was growing well in those areas as well... I'm becoming more assertive, setting boundaries, and I'm learning how to cope with my traumatic past. She told me she thinks I'm graduated from PTSD to post-traumatic growth. Look it up, I guess it's a real thing.
I saw it mentioned on some documentary that I woke up to, because I sleep with my television on. The psychiatrist on the documentary was saying that post-traumatic growth is being able to be better than baseline after your healing begins after a trauma.
So, imagine your life at baseline. You have a traumatic event and it plummets you past the deepest valley you could ever imagine for yourself. You are suspected to be in post-traumatic growth when you slowly work back up to your baseline (before your trauma) but then somehow surpass that level.
I was reading somewhere online that mentioned that post-traumatic growth can be suspected (that sounds negative, but it's actually a really good thing) when: you find joy in the smaller things in life, stressful things don't phase you as much, you can reflect on your traumatic experiences and they don't completely floor you, you are happy again or happier than you were before (because you understand the value of life), and there were others but I cannot find the article nor can I fully remember. But, whatever the points were, I met them all!
Yes, each day is still full of triggers and many days are a huge struggle, but I get through them and don't stay in bed all day! I am beginning to look forward for my future again, and I am beginning to forgive myself and understand that I could have done nothing to make the situation better. It wasn't my fault. This understanding is still very much a struggle most days, but I'm believing it more days than not.
I have a hope. I have a future. I have a life to live and people to prove wrong. I have guys to give the biggest middle finger to of living a life they told me I could never live.
Counselor and I discussed how I feel guilty but also relieved to say that I hate these guys. I hate what they did to me. I hate that they ruined my life. I hate that they have no traumatic aftermath and I have no permanent healing ever, for the rest of my life!
These fuckers destroyed my life, fucked up my brain, invaded my body in the most brutal of ways, and my life will never be the same. I'll never be innocent again. I will never get back what they stole. There is a good chance I will never get justice.
So, living my life the way they told me I never could is my best payback. L-rd, give me a loving, kind, gracious, wonderful husband that shows me the way ladies and people are supposed to be loved! L-rd, provide me with the sweetest, most beautiful, kind, smart, wonderful, blessed children! L-rd, bless me in my nursing career and pave the way for me wherever I may go! Open doors that I never dreamed were possible, even when I was completely "pure" and not polluted by the pure evil these assholes forced upon me. L-rd, show Satan that he does not win by blessing my life and allowing me to live ridiculously joyfully and happy for the rest of my life! L-rd, redeem me and give me justice! Most of all, L-rd, do not turn your back on me. Do not leave me or forget me. Remember the things I've had to survive and give me years of peach, joy, happiness, excitement (only good excitement), love, contentment, and absolute bliss.
Baruch HaShem! Bless you L-rd for all you've done for me so far and heal my heart, my body, and my mind oh L-rd.
Anywho, I survived them. Yesterday was hard, but I made myself eat (dinner...), I used my essential oils, I had a glass of wine, Roomie and I made a list of 10 reasons why I am better off without exboyfriend, I bought myself flowers, and I skipped the class I could (peds) and did the things I absolutely had to do (world religions). Then, after all that, I woke up this morning. I may have struggled yesterday, and today, but now my two days of anniversaries are done and life will go on for awhile longer... unfortunately.
Today in counseling, we discussed how I probably don't need to be going in very much anymore. I'm cutting down to once a week next week. I know that counseling is only supposed to be temporary, to get you able to survive in life alone again, but I'm sad that this season is coming to a close. Counselor asked what else I felt like I needed to work on and I couldn't think of anything. I mentioned self-esteem, but we determined I am way better in that department than I was ever before in my life... I brought up rational thought and confidence, and we determined I was growing well in those areas as well... I'm becoming more assertive, setting boundaries, and I'm learning how to cope with my traumatic past. She told me she thinks I'm graduated from PTSD to post-traumatic growth. Look it up, I guess it's a real thing.
I saw it mentioned on some documentary that I woke up to, because I sleep with my television on. The psychiatrist on the documentary was saying that post-traumatic growth is being able to be better than baseline after your healing begins after a trauma.
So, imagine your life at baseline. You have a traumatic event and it plummets you past the deepest valley you could ever imagine for yourself. You are suspected to be in post-traumatic growth when you slowly work back up to your baseline (before your trauma) but then somehow surpass that level.
I was reading somewhere online that mentioned that post-traumatic growth can be suspected (that sounds negative, but it's actually a really good thing) when: you find joy in the smaller things in life, stressful things don't phase you as much, you can reflect on your traumatic experiences and they don't completely floor you, you are happy again or happier than you were before (because you understand the value of life), and there were others but I cannot find the article nor can I fully remember. But, whatever the points were, I met them all!
Yes, each day is still full of triggers and many days are a huge struggle, but I get through them and don't stay in bed all day! I am beginning to look forward for my future again, and I am beginning to forgive myself and understand that I could have done nothing to make the situation better. It wasn't my fault. This understanding is still very much a struggle most days, but I'm believing it more days than not.
I have a hope. I have a future. I have a life to live and people to prove wrong. I have guys to give the biggest middle finger to of living a life they told me I could never live.
Counselor and I discussed how I feel guilty but also relieved to say that I hate these guys. I hate what they did to me. I hate that they ruined my life. I hate that they have no traumatic aftermath and I have no permanent healing ever, for the rest of my life!
These fuckers destroyed my life, fucked up my brain, invaded my body in the most brutal of ways, and my life will never be the same. I'll never be innocent again. I will never get back what they stole. There is a good chance I will never get justice.
So, living my life the way they told me I never could is my best payback. L-rd, give me a loving, kind, gracious, wonderful husband that shows me the way ladies and people are supposed to be loved! L-rd, provide me with the sweetest, most beautiful, kind, smart, wonderful, blessed children! L-rd, bless me in my nursing career and pave the way for me wherever I may go! Open doors that I never dreamed were possible, even when I was completely "pure" and not polluted by the pure evil these assholes forced upon me. L-rd, show Satan that he does not win by blessing my life and allowing me to live ridiculously joyfully and happy for the rest of my life! L-rd, redeem me and give me justice! Most of all, L-rd, do not turn your back on me. Do not leave me or forget me. Remember the things I've had to survive and give me years of peach, joy, happiness, excitement (only good excitement), love, contentment, and absolute bliss.
Baruch HaShem! Bless you L-rd for all you've done for me so far and heal my heart, my body, and my mind oh L-rd.
Friday, April 1, 2016
Another Damn Birthday
My birthday is tomorrow. I'll turn 22.
In the past, I have avoided people knowing my birthday because I didn't want anyone making a big deal about it. From that stemmed my own little personal game of my friends not knowing what day my birthday is and avoiding working the day before/day of/and day after my birthday. These have just been traditions I have kept for years.
Last year, I was very open about my birthday because I turned 21 and wanted people to come out and celebrate with me! In the U.S., for those of you outside, 21 is the legal drinking age. As you can imagine, this warrants a bit of celebrating.
Well, fast forward to this year and my birthday is now a day of mourning. I think about last year and how excited I was. I had lots of friends coming out to celebrate with me, I had a boyfriend who was still treating me well, I was getting through school and I had just survived Country Boy's first anniversary. His first anniversary went much better than this year's, though. I had a drink for him that night, but mostly I was just young and excited. I thought my life was turning more exciting and could only get better.
I was so terribly wrong.
Come back to the present with me, and let's mull over why my birthday is now a day of mourning...
I miss her. People say I can get her back, but those people have also never been through what I've been through. She was kind, excited about life, and always willing to help. Her, I can get back. She had also never experienced more trauma than a friend's suicide. She had memories, but not intense flashbacks. She was mourning, but it was reasonable and normal, especially for the trauma associated with surviving a friend's suicide.
Go back to the year I turned 19, and I miss her even more. No suicide. Best Friend liked me and we hung out all the time. I was in the dorms and was around friends as much as I wanted to be, all I had to do was walk down the hall. I thought it was a great victory going the entire day with nobody knowing it was my birthday, especially living in such a short proximity to my friends. Then, at about 10 p.m., while hanging out with Best Friend talking, I spilled the beans. He gave me a hug and got a little bit upset that I hadn't told him sooner. I was so excited for everything! I was about to get into nursing school, I was looking at apartments and making life plans. I was confident and excited that a guy liked me and spent so much time with me. I had just gotten away from the most toxic roommates I have ever met and I was living by myself. School was going well and the world was still a bright and shiny place ready for my stamp on it and the adventures that were sure to come my way.
Come back to the present and I don't want to see the future. I'm convinced nothing good can make me be able to heal fully from my past. I don't want to meet a guy and start dating because then I have to tell him I'm not pure and I'm not what he wants. He'd have to deal with my PTSD, my whole shitty season of every year from March until the end of July, and if we ever had kids I've got so many risk factors for being a terrible mom that it's not even worth attempting to survive pregnancy and a birth because that poor kid would have no fighting chance at a good life.
Of course, it is impossible to explain this to friends They don't understand and I pray they never understand this pain. I pray they have all the happiness in the world. Mine was stolen, but may they know nothing but happiness. May they keep the sparkle in their eyes and their love of life. I hope this for all of you as well.
For those of you that have been through trauma, I am so sorry. I am sorry for all of your losses. While losses include the deaths and the loss of people, remember that it also means the loss of your sense of identity, body integrity, and anything else that you have lost that hits you hard. Yes, it is okay to mourn the loss of who you once were if that was taken, hurt, and otherwise damaged. I am sorry for your loss, as I am sorry for mine. Though I don't know exactly how you feel, because we all perceive and feel things differently and circumstances are always a little bit different, know that I understand it is painful beyond words.
So, tomorrow is my birthday. It is a solemn occasion and a day of mourning. I survived Country Boy's 2nd anniversary and everything that could have gone wrong going wrong with that. Here's to hoping I survive tomorrow, if I must.
In the past, I have avoided people knowing my birthday because I didn't want anyone making a big deal about it. From that stemmed my own little personal game of my friends not knowing what day my birthday is and avoiding working the day before/day of/and day after my birthday. These have just been traditions I have kept for years.
Last year, I was very open about my birthday because I turned 21 and wanted people to come out and celebrate with me! In the U.S., for those of you outside, 21 is the legal drinking age. As you can imagine, this warrants a bit of celebrating.
Well, fast forward to this year and my birthday is now a day of mourning. I think about last year and how excited I was. I had lots of friends coming out to celebrate with me, I had a boyfriend who was still treating me well, I was getting through school and I had just survived Country Boy's first anniversary. His first anniversary went much better than this year's, though. I had a drink for him that night, but mostly I was just young and excited. I thought my life was turning more exciting and could only get better.
I was so terribly wrong.
Come back to the present with me, and let's mull over why my birthday is now a day of mourning...
- My body has been assaulted in the most intimate ways, by two separate asshole guys, more times than I can count.
- Country Boy is still gone and his death anniversary is right before my birthday so I am still recovering from that grief again.
- My friends are all busy so I could stay in bed, but the couple of friends that are not busy and that know my birthday is tomorrow are not letting me stay in my bed.
- I'll never be the girl I was a year ago. For that, I mourn the most.
I miss her. People say I can get her back, but those people have also never been through what I've been through. She was kind, excited about life, and always willing to help. Her, I can get back. She had also never experienced more trauma than a friend's suicide. She had memories, but not intense flashbacks. She was mourning, but it was reasonable and normal, especially for the trauma associated with surviving a friend's suicide.
Go back to the year I turned 19, and I miss her even more. No suicide. Best Friend liked me and we hung out all the time. I was in the dorms and was around friends as much as I wanted to be, all I had to do was walk down the hall. I thought it was a great victory going the entire day with nobody knowing it was my birthday, especially living in such a short proximity to my friends. Then, at about 10 p.m., while hanging out with Best Friend talking, I spilled the beans. He gave me a hug and got a little bit upset that I hadn't told him sooner. I was so excited for everything! I was about to get into nursing school, I was looking at apartments and making life plans. I was confident and excited that a guy liked me and spent so much time with me. I had just gotten away from the most toxic roommates I have ever met and I was living by myself. School was going well and the world was still a bright and shiny place ready for my stamp on it and the adventures that were sure to come my way.
Come back to the present and I don't want to see the future. I'm convinced nothing good can make me be able to heal fully from my past. I don't want to meet a guy and start dating because then I have to tell him I'm not pure and I'm not what he wants. He'd have to deal with my PTSD, my whole shitty season of every year from March until the end of July, and if we ever had kids I've got so many risk factors for being a terrible mom that it's not even worth attempting to survive pregnancy and a birth because that poor kid would have no fighting chance at a good life.
Of course, it is impossible to explain this to friends They don't understand and I pray they never understand this pain. I pray they have all the happiness in the world. Mine was stolen, but may they know nothing but happiness. May they keep the sparkle in their eyes and their love of life. I hope this for all of you as well.
For those of you that have been through trauma, I am so sorry. I am sorry for all of your losses. While losses include the deaths and the loss of people, remember that it also means the loss of your sense of identity, body integrity, and anything else that you have lost that hits you hard. Yes, it is okay to mourn the loss of who you once were if that was taken, hurt, and otherwise damaged. I am sorry for your loss, as I am sorry for mine. Though I don't know exactly how you feel, because we all perceive and feel things differently and circumstances are always a little bit different, know that I understand it is painful beyond words.
So, tomorrow is my birthday. It is a solemn occasion and a day of mourning. I survived Country Boy's 2nd anniversary and everything that could have gone wrong going wrong with that. Here's to hoping I survive tomorrow, if I must.
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
It'll Never End
As mentioned in my last post, my day began at about 3 this morning. Not pleasant.
I made it through the sim lab and my group did really well. The instructors were surprised and kept saying they didn't think we would do so well because my group wasn't very interactive on Monday during the skills lab... I think it was supposed to be a compliment but it came off terribly. Whatever, we rocked it and now I'm done with that.
All day, Country Boy has been on my mind. All week, in fact. This morning, before hopping in my shower, I went back and looked at some pictures of him. A few tears fell, but I'm still too overwhelmed in my life to be able to cry much. I went through sim lab and my brain was not working. People kept talking to me and I couldn't even focus. I saw their lips moving, but I couldn't hear anything.
Last night exfiance called me 3 times... They didn't ring through, because I blocked him. However, I woke up at 1:30 a.m. wondering why my phone was lit up, but I decided to ignore it. At 3, when I woke up for sure, I saw the little symbol for voice mail. I was confused, wondering why anyone needed to leave me a voice mail so early in the morning and I panicked wondering if it was family or a friend who needed me. Nope. It was exfiance. I didn't listen to his message because I was scared he would have called me and left a voice mail while he was pretending to die or while he committed suicide just because he knew how badly Country Boy's death affected me. Sick thought process, I know, but he's done terrible things to me and he messes with my head. If you go through something like that (and I pray you never do and never have), you begin to wonder what kind of bullshit they are going to unleash on you this time.
I waited until my roommate woke up, and then I told her about it. She offered to listen to the message to screen it for me. Essentially, it said everything his 9 text messages from Easter said to me. Again, those too were blocked and I didn't get them until a day or two after Easter Sunday.
I didn't listen to the voice mail until my lunch break between simulations today. I went out to my car and listened to all 3 fucking minutes of the bullshit message. The messages (voice mail and texts) went to the effect that he has been attending the church I go to for the last month. He says he wants me to go see him at church and sit with him... He says he's changed and that I'm amazing and all this bullshit. Seriously, he told me I brought him back to the L-rd. What the fuck?!?
Honestly, I hope he did find the L-rd but I don't believe him at all. I don't believe a fucking word he uttered the entire time I've ever known him. I don't believe any of the nice things, I don't believe any of the crazy stories, I don't believe the apologies, or anything else he ever said. I don't. So, you can go pound sand fucker. Leave me the hell alone. STOP TRYING TO TALK TO ME!!!
So sick of it.
After sim was done and I was driving home, I was barely keeping the tears from falling. I was handling myself until I saw his truck. Not Country Boy's, not exfiance's... the other one. I saw exboyfriend's truck passing me on my way home. Fuckin' A. Of course, this is going to happen on one of my shittiest days. He works on the exact opposite side of town. Why the fuck is he on my way home?!?
I lost it. The tears started, my panic attack began in earnest, and my brain shut down with that last straw. It was the last straw to break my mind from how it had been dealing with all of the overwhelming nonsense I had been dealing with all day. Seeing exbf's truck is what did me in.
I got home and Roomie asked how I was doing. My chin and voice began quivering as I told her the extremely shortened and condensed version of the shit I survived today. She stood there quietly and told me she was sorry. She suggested I go climb into bed and watch a movie or take a nap. My beautifully happy and cheery roommate didn't know what to do. She doesn't know what to do when I don't even know how to handle my life circumstances. I don't blame her.
She left a few minutes later for work and her dog followed me into my room. I collapsed on my bed crying because I was finally done with the shit show that was my day. Oh my goodness, the dog flipped out! She jumped on my bed, started licking my face and acting all frantic. She licked me and tried to climb in my lap (she's 50 lbs) for a solid 10 minutes, as the tears streamed down my face. She kept making me pet her and push her from my face because she was taking away my tears. She jumped down, ran out of my room, but returned about 30 seconds later and began barking at me! She put her front two paws on my bed and started barking and whining at me in her scared bark. I pulled myself together, stopped crying and then the dog left my room. I don't know what else happened, but my eyes opened about an hour and a half later, and I didn't know where I was or what time it was. I woke up another hour and a half after that in the same condition, but laid in bed answering my 9 text messages that had accumulated, as I stared at my ceiling for an hour.
I don't know how to explain times like this, but when I have a bad enough day, I can stay in bed and stare at the wall or ceiling for hours with no thoughts going through my head. I snap out of it a couple hours later, but it only felt like 5 minutes at the most. No thoughts, no emotion, no ability to move my body. I legitimately shut down all the way and can do absolutely nothing.
Days like this, I don't even need alcohol. I know that on a day like today, drinking would simply get me stuck in the sad, terrible existence of my brain when my brain is literally refusing to think about it. My brain is overwhelmed and refusing to think about the stressors because it's unable to handle it anymore. Why would I drink and remember if I can just disappear into nothingness?
Today, everything that I needed to not happen, all happened... Today, was one of the hardest days to survive. Today, but not just today, I wished Country Boy would have taken me with him. I get mad at him for leaving me here.
I just don't want to be here anymore.
This is bullshit.
I made it through the sim lab and my group did really well. The instructors were surprised and kept saying they didn't think we would do so well because my group wasn't very interactive on Monday during the skills lab... I think it was supposed to be a compliment but it came off terribly. Whatever, we rocked it and now I'm done with that.
All day, Country Boy has been on my mind. All week, in fact. This morning, before hopping in my shower, I went back and looked at some pictures of him. A few tears fell, but I'm still too overwhelmed in my life to be able to cry much. I went through sim lab and my brain was not working. People kept talking to me and I couldn't even focus. I saw their lips moving, but I couldn't hear anything.
Last night exfiance called me 3 times... They didn't ring through, because I blocked him. However, I woke up at 1:30 a.m. wondering why my phone was lit up, but I decided to ignore it. At 3, when I woke up for sure, I saw the little symbol for voice mail. I was confused, wondering why anyone needed to leave me a voice mail so early in the morning and I panicked wondering if it was family or a friend who needed me. Nope. It was exfiance. I didn't listen to his message because I was scared he would have called me and left a voice mail while he was pretending to die or while he committed suicide just because he knew how badly Country Boy's death affected me. Sick thought process, I know, but he's done terrible things to me and he messes with my head. If you go through something like that (and I pray you never do and never have), you begin to wonder what kind of bullshit they are going to unleash on you this time.
I waited until my roommate woke up, and then I told her about it. She offered to listen to the message to screen it for me. Essentially, it said everything his 9 text messages from Easter said to me. Again, those too were blocked and I didn't get them until a day or two after Easter Sunday.
I didn't listen to the voice mail until my lunch break between simulations today. I went out to my car and listened to all 3 fucking minutes of the bullshit message. The messages (voice mail and texts) went to the effect that he has been attending the church I go to for the last month. He says he wants me to go see him at church and sit with him... He says he's changed and that I'm amazing and all this bullshit. Seriously, he told me I brought him back to the L-rd. What the fuck?!?
Honestly, I hope he did find the L-rd but I don't believe him at all. I don't believe a fucking word he uttered the entire time I've ever known him. I don't believe any of the nice things, I don't believe any of the crazy stories, I don't believe the apologies, or anything else he ever said. I don't. So, you can go pound sand fucker. Leave me the hell alone. STOP TRYING TO TALK TO ME!!!
So sick of it.
After sim was done and I was driving home, I was barely keeping the tears from falling. I was handling myself until I saw his truck. Not Country Boy's, not exfiance's... the other one. I saw exboyfriend's truck passing me on my way home. Fuckin' A. Of course, this is going to happen on one of my shittiest days. He works on the exact opposite side of town. Why the fuck is he on my way home?!?
I lost it. The tears started, my panic attack began in earnest, and my brain shut down with that last straw. It was the last straw to break my mind from how it had been dealing with all of the overwhelming nonsense I had been dealing with all day. Seeing exbf's truck is what did me in.
I got home and Roomie asked how I was doing. My chin and voice began quivering as I told her the extremely shortened and condensed version of the shit I survived today. She stood there quietly and told me she was sorry. She suggested I go climb into bed and watch a movie or take a nap. My beautifully happy and cheery roommate didn't know what to do. She doesn't know what to do when I don't even know how to handle my life circumstances. I don't blame her.
She left a few minutes later for work and her dog followed me into my room. I collapsed on my bed crying because I was finally done with the shit show that was my day. Oh my goodness, the dog flipped out! She jumped on my bed, started licking my face and acting all frantic. She licked me and tried to climb in my lap (she's 50 lbs) for a solid 10 minutes, as the tears streamed down my face. She kept making me pet her and push her from my face because she was taking away my tears. She jumped down, ran out of my room, but returned about 30 seconds later and began barking at me! She put her front two paws on my bed and started barking and whining at me in her scared bark. I pulled myself together, stopped crying and then the dog left my room. I don't know what else happened, but my eyes opened about an hour and a half later, and I didn't know where I was or what time it was. I woke up another hour and a half after that in the same condition, but laid in bed answering my 9 text messages that had accumulated, as I stared at my ceiling for an hour.
I don't know how to explain times like this, but when I have a bad enough day, I can stay in bed and stare at the wall or ceiling for hours with no thoughts going through my head. I snap out of it a couple hours later, but it only felt like 5 minutes at the most. No thoughts, no emotion, no ability to move my body. I legitimately shut down all the way and can do absolutely nothing.
Days like this, I don't even need alcohol. I know that on a day like today, drinking would simply get me stuck in the sad, terrible existence of my brain when my brain is literally refusing to think about it. My brain is overwhelmed and refusing to think about the stressors because it's unable to handle it anymore. Why would I drink and remember if I can just disappear into nothingness?
Today, everything that I needed to not happen, all happened... Today, was one of the hardest days to survive. Today, but not just today, I wished Country Boy would have taken me with him. I get mad at him for leaving me here.
I just don't want to be here anymore.
This is bullshit.
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Daily Challenge
I crashed out last night after coming home from clinicals. I was exhausted!
So, I was unable to talk about yesterday's bunch of stuff and tell you my funny story.
Counseling was good. I talked about Jersey and my "difficult" professor. They took up about 10-15 minutes of the session, but I guess it was worth it because I realized some things by discussing it with someone who isn't a friend with Jersey and isn't in class with the professor. Yay! New perspectives!
Counselor says I'm doing well. We're going to start working on rationalizations. She told me that I'm doing really well and working really hard. She likes my college bucket list, Roomie's Thanksgiving List challenge, how I am doing with "friend" struggles, my dealings with the professor, and she told me it's okay to be flip-flopping all the time.
Apparently I go from having rational thoughts to survival mode frequently, and that is because my brain is confused with the PTSD. Survival mode is in the back, in the occipital lobe (from what I remember from anatomy and phys) while logical thought (where I used to live most of the time because I like it) is in the frontal lobe. So, my brain is trying to be normal, but then it decides it doesn't like how I used to be because it's too hard, so then it switches back to survival mode in the back. Meanwhile, I am left with my head spinning, whiplash, and major confusion and frustration at my lack of ability to be who I remember I used to be. C'est la vie, for the time being.
Normally, after counseling, I go to sit at Country Boy's grave. It was so cold yesterday that I stood there for 5 minutes, in my clinical whites because I have clinicals after, and started shivering so I left way early. I told Counselor that I felt it was weird and morbid. She told me it was actually really good because cemeteries are quiet, outside, peaceful, and there are plenty of ways to ground myself with nature, should I feel like I need to. Plus, I get vitamin D with being in the sun. Maybe next week it'll be warm enough to actually be able to sit with him again.
I ended up showing up to the hospital over an hour early. This was a great accident, because one of the other girls from my group was already there. We have a test tomorrow and so we were able to start studying and I learned a lot!!! Maybe I will do okay on this test. I hope so anyway. I just need to be able to stay in my frontal lobe and stop switching back to the occipital lobe for a couple more days so that I can study solidly and remember the information for this class that I need to know for the test and my future career.
Clinicals went well. When we first go there, I asked if I could go change into greens, just so I would be ready if I ended up being able to go to a c-section or something. My instructor said that was okay, so I went with the other girls who were on L&D with me and we went to change. You should know, that I am tall, and I have wide hips. Wide hips are from genetics, and also from a little "extra padding," a.k.a. fat. Plus, I'm 5'8" and mostly legs, with a short (proportionally speaking) torso. When we went in to go get scrubs, the only sizes that were left were extra-small tops and small bottoms along with the 2x and 3x tops and bottoms. Good grief. I spent 10 minutes looking through every pair of bottoms to find a pair that was medium or large. No such findings came about. So, I tried on the 2x and my friends told me no. I tried on the small pants and they were bursting at the seems around my ass and thighs. They also came up about halfway up my calves, WHEN STANDING!
I walked into the pre-conference room with my whole clinical group and I fake-whined to my instructor: "Instructor, I need new pants!!!" They all burst into uncontrollable laughter. Granted, it was hilarious, but regardless of how thick my skin is, some things still hurt. So, when they calmed down a little and my instructor gave me her badge so I could go get scrubs that fit, they burst into laughter as I was walking out. That stung a little bit because I'm self-concious about my butt and thighs. I fit into an x-small top, but my butt needs a medium and my long legs need a large. To have people crack up as I walk out and they can see my butt makes my high anxiety and ability to be easily embarrassed get sent into over-drive. I play a good sport, but that doesn't mean that someone laughing along doesn't get hurt in the end.
So, just the thing I needed on an already difficult day... people laughing. It was funny, I'll give you that. It just made me over-think it for the rest of the day and even still, a day later. Just breathe.
10 Thanksgivings (from yesterday):
So, I was unable to talk about yesterday's bunch of stuff and tell you my funny story.
Counseling was good. I talked about Jersey and my "difficult" professor. They took up about 10-15 minutes of the session, but I guess it was worth it because I realized some things by discussing it with someone who isn't a friend with Jersey and isn't in class with the professor. Yay! New perspectives!
Counselor says I'm doing well. We're going to start working on rationalizations. She told me that I'm doing really well and working really hard. She likes my college bucket list, Roomie's Thanksgiving List challenge, how I am doing with "friend" struggles, my dealings with the professor, and she told me it's okay to be flip-flopping all the time.
Apparently I go from having rational thoughts to survival mode frequently, and that is because my brain is confused with the PTSD. Survival mode is in the back, in the occipital lobe (from what I remember from anatomy and phys) while logical thought (where I used to live most of the time because I like it) is in the frontal lobe. So, my brain is trying to be normal, but then it decides it doesn't like how I used to be because it's too hard, so then it switches back to survival mode in the back. Meanwhile, I am left with my head spinning, whiplash, and major confusion and frustration at my lack of ability to be who I remember I used to be. C'est la vie, for the time being.
Normally, after counseling, I go to sit at Country Boy's grave. It was so cold yesterday that I stood there for 5 minutes, in my clinical whites because I have clinicals after, and started shivering so I left way early. I told Counselor that I felt it was weird and morbid. She told me it was actually really good because cemeteries are quiet, outside, peaceful, and there are plenty of ways to ground myself with nature, should I feel like I need to. Plus, I get vitamin D with being in the sun. Maybe next week it'll be warm enough to actually be able to sit with him again.
I ended up showing up to the hospital over an hour early. This was a great accident, because one of the other girls from my group was already there. We have a test tomorrow and so we were able to start studying and I learned a lot!!! Maybe I will do okay on this test. I hope so anyway. I just need to be able to stay in my frontal lobe and stop switching back to the occipital lobe for a couple more days so that I can study solidly and remember the information for this class that I need to know for the test and my future career.
Clinicals went well. When we first go there, I asked if I could go change into greens, just so I would be ready if I ended up being able to go to a c-section or something. My instructor said that was okay, so I went with the other girls who were on L&D with me and we went to change. You should know, that I am tall, and I have wide hips. Wide hips are from genetics, and also from a little "extra padding," a.k.a. fat. Plus, I'm 5'8" and mostly legs, with a short (proportionally speaking) torso. When we went in to go get scrubs, the only sizes that were left were extra-small tops and small bottoms along with the 2x and 3x tops and bottoms. Good grief. I spent 10 minutes looking through every pair of bottoms to find a pair that was medium or large. No such findings came about. So, I tried on the 2x and my friends told me no. I tried on the small pants and they were bursting at the seems around my ass and thighs. They also came up about halfway up my calves, WHEN STANDING!
I walked into the pre-conference room with my whole clinical group and I fake-whined to my instructor: "Instructor, I need new pants!!!" They all burst into uncontrollable laughter. Granted, it was hilarious, but regardless of how thick my skin is, some things still hurt. So, when they calmed down a little and my instructor gave me her badge so I could go get scrubs that fit, they burst into laughter as I was walking out. That stung a little bit because I'm self-concious about my butt and thighs. I fit into an x-small top, but my butt needs a medium and my long legs need a large. To have people crack up as I walk out and they can see my butt makes my high anxiety and ability to be easily embarrassed get sent into over-drive. I play a good sport, but that doesn't mean that someone laughing along doesn't get hurt in the end.
So, just the thing I needed on an already difficult day... people laughing. It was funny, I'll give you that. It just made me over-think it for the rest of the day and even still, a day later. Just breathe.
10 Thanksgivings (from yesterday):
- First test of the week is done and I was able to take it with really smart people (it was a group test).
- I had great night shift nurses and got to see an ultrasound/fetal echo.
- Counseling went well.
- I was able to go to Country Boy's grave site, even if just for a few minutes.
- I'm finding friends in unlikely situations and places.
- I started studying and did really well in our version of jeopardy (for the studying).
- Roomie is helping me on my road to recovery and we are setting goals before they are even assigned for counseling homework!
- Fake friends are dropping off while solid friends are coming to the surface because the fake friends are wearing them out too.
- My clinical instructor is absolutely wonderful.
- I am nearly done with one set of clinicals for the semester and my very last set of clinicals starts in about a week or two.
Sunday, February 14, 2016
I Ignored the Call
He called me tonight. Exfiance called me. He left texts asking me to call him back but I ignored them all and called my brother and then my mom. It's Valentine's Day for goodness sake! Why can he not just leave me alone?!?
Main point is: I ignored the call.
It was hard. Believe it or not, it was probably one of the hardest things I've had to do so far.
My brother didn't answer right away when I called him, but my mom did. She told me to text exfiance and tell him to stop contacting me. During that conversation, Brother called me and I told Brother everything was fine but that exfiance had tried to call me. He offered to come spend the night at my house to protect me, but that he wouldn't be here for a few hours because he needed to go to the gym before he came over. Well, okay, we'll see. I'm fine right now, but I may end up calling him to have him come over.
The cops are on speed dial and only a click away right now though, just in case exfiance tries to come over tonight. He answered my "don't text me anymore because I'll get a restraining order" text with saying that he "couldn't believe I was being like this and he just wanted to tell me something."
Well, then just fucking say it! Tell me over fucking text without me having to ask a billion and five questions! Leave a fucking voicemail and let me know what this "important" information you have for me is! Besides that, leave me the fuck alone!!! Just STOP!!!!! Let me have a little bit of peace.
He doesn't know I'm going to the cops soon. He doesn't know that my story will be a part of a case and his name will be all over it. He doesn't know that maybe, just maybe, this will be the final straw that finally puts him in prison where he cannot get out for awhile. L-rd, let me get into contact with the other girls so that maybe we an have a solid case against him! Please, oh L-rd, let this prayer be heard and answered with miracles.
I was already struggling today. I spent about an hour on the phone with my mom recalling that this is about the time that exboyfriend started controlling me and talked me into kissing him after about a month of trying to guilt me into it. He had recently told me that he had been talking to me and exroommate's cousin about dating both of us but he liked me better so cut ties with her unexpectedly. Sure, that left him with no major problems, but it filled my life with drama because I had become friends with the cousin and it was my roommate's family that he messed up. He ruined so many relationships for me because of talking to both of us, and leading us both on at the same time. Between him and exroommate's mom, they ruined my life. I had no idea the events that transpired about this time last year would lead to the hardest point in my life.
Who knew I would regret waking up each morning because I met him? Because I met her? Who knew I would wish to have amnesia just so I wouldn't be haunted by the ever-present memory of his actions that night and the next day? Who knew I would wish to have been taken from this world years ago so that I could have been able to die pure instead of so messed up that I'm not even hamburger meat anymore?
Who knew it could even get worse? That it could get so much worse that I start to remember the terrible first relationship as something I would rather be in (with exboyfriend), instead of ever living through the second (with exfiance)?
It makes no sense as to why this is my life. I don't understand why these are my burdens to bear and why I am forced to suffer in this death sentence. Let's be real, none of us are getting out alive. But why is this my path in life? What did I do to deserve this? Would it not be more kind to just put me out of my misery and let me die? Why make me continue on and fight this impossible, never-ending fight for life?
He called tonight. I panicked. Despite the panic, I did not answer. However, my mind will not be quieted tonight. Every sound, every creak, everything I hear will be met with my startle response.
This is part of my burden.
This is a part of my pain.
It will not end.
This is my life from now on.
Main point is: I ignored the call.
It was hard. Believe it or not, it was probably one of the hardest things I've had to do so far.
My brother didn't answer right away when I called him, but my mom did. She told me to text exfiance and tell him to stop contacting me. During that conversation, Brother called me and I told Brother everything was fine but that exfiance had tried to call me. He offered to come spend the night at my house to protect me, but that he wouldn't be here for a few hours because he needed to go to the gym before he came over. Well, okay, we'll see. I'm fine right now, but I may end up calling him to have him come over.
The cops are on speed dial and only a click away right now though, just in case exfiance tries to come over tonight. He answered my "don't text me anymore because I'll get a restraining order" text with saying that he "couldn't believe I was being like this and he just wanted to tell me something."
Well, then just fucking say it! Tell me over fucking text without me having to ask a billion and five questions! Leave a fucking voicemail and let me know what this "important" information you have for me is! Besides that, leave me the fuck alone!!! Just STOP!!!!! Let me have a little bit of peace.
He doesn't know I'm going to the cops soon. He doesn't know that my story will be a part of a case and his name will be all over it. He doesn't know that maybe, just maybe, this will be the final straw that finally puts him in prison where he cannot get out for awhile. L-rd, let me get into contact with the other girls so that maybe we an have a solid case against him! Please, oh L-rd, let this prayer be heard and answered with miracles.
I was already struggling today. I spent about an hour on the phone with my mom recalling that this is about the time that exboyfriend started controlling me and talked me into kissing him after about a month of trying to guilt me into it. He had recently told me that he had been talking to me and exroommate's cousin about dating both of us but he liked me better so cut ties with her unexpectedly. Sure, that left him with no major problems, but it filled my life with drama because I had become friends with the cousin and it was my roommate's family that he messed up. He ruined so many relationships for me because of talking to both of us, and leading us both on at the same time. Between him and exroommate's mom, they ruined my life. I had no idea the events that transpired about this time last year would lead to the hardest point in my life.
Who knew I would regret waking up each morning because I met him? Because I met her? Who knew I would wish to have amnesia just so I wouldn't be haunted by the ever-present memory of his actions that night and the next day? Who knew I would wish to have been taken from this world years ago so that I could have been able to die pure instead of so messed up that I'm not even hamburger meat anymore?
Who knew it could even get worse? That it could get so much worse that I start to remember the terrible first relationship as something I would rather be in (with exboyfriend), instead of ever living through the second (with exfiance)?
It makes no sense as to why this is my life. I don't understand why these are my burdens to bear and why I am forced to suffer in this death sentence. Let's be real, none of us are getting out alive. But why is this my path in life? What did I do to deserve this? Would it not be more kind to just put me out of my misery and let me die? Why make me continue on and fight this impossible, never-ending fight for life?
He called tonight. I panicked. Despite the panic, I did not answer. However, my mind will not be quieted tonight. Every sound, every creak, everything I hear will be met with my startle response.
This is part of my burden.
This is a part of my pain.
It will not end.
This is my life from now on.
Monday, February 8, 2016
Brother to My Rescue
I talked with Mom today about reporting the guys. She couldn't really talk and express her thoughts because Dad was home and he still doesn't know what happened. In fact, he's still mad at me about exfiance.
It breaks my heart that I cannot go to my dad for support with this stuff because he would have a heart attack or stroke, probably both. He would call his brothers, and all of them and all of the buddies he calls would end up in jail with either murder charges or charges for severely beating exboyfriend's and exfiance's asses.
While I understand and appreciate the sentiment, all I want is for him to hug me and tell me he's sorry that it happened to me. I want him to tell me he is there for me and wants to support me. I want to know that he still sees me as his little girl even though I've been dragged through the mud and the muck and am defiled in the worst ways possible. I want him to tell me he believes me and that we will get this whole mess sorted out legally and nobody but the guys that can't keep their dicks to themselves will be ending up in jail and probably, eventually, prison.
That's what I want. But that's not how life works.
So, I told my Mom that I have been seriously considering reporting these guys today. That took a lot of guts on my end and I was hoping she would be supportive. She couldn't even say what was on her mind but she told me it is a bad idea because it will get back around to the uncles, their families, Mema, and then Dad. Therefore, she said, it is better for me to not report it so that Dad and the family don't find out and don't have backlash.
Excuse me for believing that reporting these assholes was going to better the world somehow. Forgive me for finally being able to see beyond not wanting to hurt them in their lives even though my life is completely ruined, I have worse psych problems than before, and I'm hanging on by a fucking thread! Apparently trying to lock these fuckers away so that they don't do this to any other girls is the wrong thing to do an I should deal with this bullshit on my own for the rest of my life, because I'm going to die alone caring for everyone else but me. Pardon me, it was my bad. Social justice cannot be served in the way that would prevent this from happening to others. Legal justice cannot be served to prosecute them at all.
Maybe my life should just fade away so that my family and friends won't have to suffer through the psychological problems of having people doubt my PTSD symptoms, my stories, the bruises he gave me that I used to hide, the cuts that have turned to scars that I continue to hide, and the fact that I don't want to wake up anymore. No, I won't kill myself, but maybe if I moved to another state and changed my name, then nobody there would have to know. I wouldn't be traceable. Then, maybe for the people I leave in this state, their life will be easier and they'll be none the wiser. I'll be a runaway but nobody will bat an eye because life will be about a billion times easier.
With my mind reeling from the phone call with Mom, I called Brother. She mentioned that I should because we had a football game on today (the Super Bowl...) and she suggested that he come over to my place to watch it since he's having problems with his roommate. Heading her advice for this, I called him up, but I figured he was probably at work. Turns out he was. We exchanged the customary small talk but I brought up reporting the guys. He asked if I had been thinking about it, and I told him I have been for a few months now. Really, I've been thinking about reporting them since the them was only a him after the first one. But I've been more seriously considering it in the last few months. He told me I should do it and that he'll support me if that's what I feel like I need to do, or he said he'd continue to support me if I feel like it's okay that they don't get reported.
I broke down and started telling him about the conversation with Mom. For the most part, I try really hard to not cry around him because he doesn't need that kind of stress.
I am an ugly crier. Like uglier that ugly. There is snot, blubbering, and eye leakage EVERYWHERE! Even on the phone, the listening party gets snot and tears on their shirts. I don't know how, but it's a gift I have.
In the process of me telling him that she told me not to report the guys because of dad and the family, he told me that he understands that. I do too. We have spent most of our lives sharing the good with Dad and avoiding the bad because he doesn't take it well. However, he suggested calling Mom, telling her to act like she doesn't know anything, and then me sitting both parents down and telling them together. I feel bad lying, but it seems like the best way. I told him I'm scared Dad is going to blow up the way he did when I wrecked my car and how he blew up when exfiance went up to ask for Dad's blessing. Brother told me that if Dad says anything negative or hurtful or how what happened to me is ruining his life (as he usually argues everything that I do ruins his life) then I just leave. I get in my car and I head to Brother's house. However, that way Dad would be finding out when Mom is finding out (supposedly) and so maybe he will take it better. I still think he's going to have a CVA and an MI (CVA-cardiovascular accident, aka stroke; and MI-myocardial infarction, aka heart attack). He may also call up his brothers and go through the previously mentioned story that lands him and a bunch of guys in jail before the guys that actually hurt me can end up in jail or prison.
I love my dad. Truly I do. I am a daddy's girl to the bone and love spending time with him. I absolutely love my Dad. He has a laundry list of mental illnesses and that makes life difficult. And, for selfish reasons, I absolutely hate that I cannot tell him the things that are going on in my life. I want so desperately to tell him everything. I want to explain why I call exboyfriend and exfiance dicks when I tell stories about them. Dad defends them every time, saying that he "likes the kid" and it's like a fucking knife to the heart. He doesn't know what he doesn't know, but if your daughter calls someone a dick and she does not do that on a regular basis and she is typically very happy and forgiving, maybe there is a problem there.
I hate that I cannot do what I need to do because I have to worry about dad reacting poorly. Oftentimes, his reaction is worse than whatever situation I am going through. For instance, my wrecking my car. I was shaken up, but I survived with no injuries. I was stressed majorly, but able to compose myself to do what I needed to do and call a tow truck, my mom, and get my car fixed. When he answered the phone for my mom, my heart sank. When I got home from my mom picking me up, he yelled at me for a solid 20 minutes because I was ruining his plans and his life. I was being an inconvenience and he made it sound like I got in a wreck on purpose just to fuck with his life. I guarantee you, I did no such thing. It's an accident. Accidents happen. I'm almost certain he's been in a few wrecks himself. I backsassed him and told him to not worry about it because I was going to fix it. I didn't get in the wreck to be an inconvenience and I am an adult and can fix my own mistakes.
He proceeded to ignore me for a few days until I brought up a conversation with him.
When exfiance went up to ask for his blessing, he told exfiance yes. Then called me and told me it was a huge mistake. He yelled at me, over the phone, for a solid 45 minutes on the day of the big date I had planned for exfiance and didn't let me talk at all. He kept talking about how I wasn't mature enough and that he regretted his first marriage from when he was 25 to some crazy lady in town. Whatever, that's not my fault. I wanted to yell back at him but there is no reasoning with him. He told me the same things over and over and over again until he had to go back to work. The essence of which was: I am not mature, I'm an idiot, I'm too young, he hates his life, he regrets his first marriage, he regrets his second marriage, and he regrets having kids.
I ended up saying yes when exfiance asked at the restaurant and I had the ring on my hand for a couple days. I ended up going home a day or two after the date and he refused to look or talk to me because he heard through my mom that I had said yes. I broke up with exfiance a couple days after that and Dad still didn't talk to me for weeks until I started talking to him.
Do you see the pattern? Do you understand why we don't tell him anything? Yes, we should tell him stuff, but we can't because he loses his shit every fucking time. It makes our situation 20x more miserable than if we just suffer through it alone. Then he wonders why we don't tell him anything...
Brother asked if telling them together and leaving if there was a problem sounded do-able. I told him I think it was a better idea than just flat out telling Dad, but I told Brother I don't think I can do it. Planning for it and actually carrying out the plan are two completely different things. I'm having panic attacks just thinking about telling Dad and they get worse as time goes on. However, I get so much more nervous when I am about to do it. I almost crapped my pants just asking my dad if I could go to prom. Telling him I've been ruined? I think I'd pass out from shame and nervousness. Brother ended the conversation by saying that he would go with me to take care of Dad and be my support. He told me before he offered to come with, to ignore Dad and let him (Brother) take care of Dad if he flew off the handle, like he normally does. Brother is the one who got Dad to start talking to me after exfiance asked for Dad's blessing. Brother told him to stop taking it out on me and to trust in the way Dad and Mom raised me. After that, and several weeks of reflection, Dad told me that that helped him "forgive me". *Just remember, everything that happens is my indirect way of making sure that I completely fuck up his life (that was complete and total sarcasm).* So, Brother is going with me, if I ever get the balls to go up and talk to them about everything.
And, where he comes from, domestic violence and rape are not called by those names. The country is old-school and they believe football players can do whatever they want as long at they take their team to state. Husbands can hit their wives because their wife must have done something to piss him off. Children can be physically punished to the point of bruises, broken bones, and other serious problems because they must have fucked up badly enough that they needed that kind of punishment.
Granted, not every person that lives in the country believes this way, but I've heard the mean things they say about a high school girl that reported her boyfriend for raping her a few years ago. They say that she was just mad that he broke up with her. She's just trying to get attention. He didn't do anything wrong, she made up stories to get him put away. And others. There are so many others.
When you hear about domestic violence, child abuse, and rape stories, how many of these occur in the country or in the woods? A lot. It's because not a whole lot of people are around, it's easier to do your own thing without anyone ever figuring anything out. Plus, their mindset is usually very different.
That makes me feel a bit crazy. Am I being over dramatic and making stuff up? How will this effect my uncles, aunts, and cousins? Will I be able to ever go back there? What if I run into a family member or friend of one of the guys? How much worse can my name be drug through the mud? THIS IS NOT A CHALLENGE TO ACTUALLY SEE HOW MUCH WORSE IT CAN GET!!! These are just the wonderings in my brain. This stuff keeps me up at night. I wake up in cold sweats.
I keep waffling between knowing that they need to get locked up to wondering if people will believe me to being terrified of what will happen with my Dad and extended family.
I talk to my counselor about all of this on Tuesday. I can make it until then, I think.
It breaks my heart that I cannot go to my dad for support with this stuff because he would have a heart attack or stroke, probably both. He would call his brothers, and all of them and all of the buddies he calls would end up in jail with either murder charges or charges for severely beating exboyfriend's and exfiance's asses.
While I understand and appreciate the sentiment, all I want is for him to hug me and tell me he's sorry that it happened to me. I want him to tell me he is there for me and wants to support me. I want to know that he still sees me as his little girl even though I've been dragged through the mud and the muck and am defiled in the worst ways possible. I want him to tell me he believes me and that we will get this whole mess sorted out legally and nobody but the guys that can't keep their dicks to themselves will be ending up in jail and probably, eventually, prison.
That's what I want. But that's not how life works.
So, I told my Mom that I have been seriously considering reporting these guys today. That took a lot of guts on my end and I was hoping she would be supportive. She couldn't even say what was on her mind but she told me it is a bad idea because it will get back around to the uncles, their families, Mema, and then Dad. Therefore, she said, it is better for me to not report it so that Dad and the family don't find out and don't have backlash.
Excuse me for believing that reporting these assholes was going to better the world somehow. Forgive me for finally being able to see beyond not wanting to hurt them in their lives even though my life is completely ruined, I have worse psych problems than before, and I'm hanging on by a fucking thread! Apparently trying to lock these fuckers away so that they don't do this to any other girls is the wrong thing to do an I should deal with this bullshit on my own for the rest of my life, because I'm going to die alone caring for everyone else but me. Pardon me, it was my bad. Social justice cannot be served in the way that would prevent this from happening to others. Legal justice cannot be served to prosecute them at all.
Maybe my life should just fade away so that my family and friends won't have to suffer through the psychological problems of having people doubt my PTSD symptoms, my stories, the bruises he gave me that I used to hide, the cuts that have turned to scars that I continue to hide, and the fact that I don't want to wake up anymore. No, I won't kill myself, but maybe if I moved to another state and changed my name, then nobody there would have to know. I wouldn't be traceable. Then, maybe for the people I leave in this state, their life will be easier and they'll be none the wiser. I'll be a runaway but nobody will bat an eye because life will be about a billion times easier.
With my mind reeling from the phone call with Mom, I called Brother. She mentioned that I should because we had a football game on today (the Super Bowl...) and she suggested that he come over to my place to watch it since he's having problems with his roommate. Heading her advice for this, I called him up, but I figured he was probably at work. Turns out he was. We exchanged the customary small talk but I brought up reporting the guys. He asked if I had been thinking about it, and I told him I have been for a few months now. Really, I've been thinking about reporting them since the them was only a him after the first one. But I've been more seriously considering it in the last few months. He told me I should do it and that he'll support me if that's what I feel like I need to do, or he said he'd continue to support me if I feel like it's okay that they don't get reported.
I broke down and started telling him about the conversation with Mom. For the most part, I try really hard to not cry around him because he doesn't need that kind of stress.
I am an ugly crier. Like uglier that ugly. There is snot, blubbering, and eye leakage EVERYWHERE! Even on the phone, the listening party gets snot and tears on their shirts. I don't know how, but it's a gift I have.
In the process of me telling him that she told me not to report the guys because of dad and the family, he told me that he understands that. I do too. We have spent most of our lives sharing the good with Dad and avoiding the bad because he doesn't take it well. However, he suggested calling Mom, telling her to act like she doesn't know anything, and then me sitting both parents down and telling them together. I feel bad lying, but it seems like the best way. I told him I'm scared Dad is going to blow up the way he did when I wrecked my car and how he blew up when exfiance went up to ask for Dad's blessing. Brother told me that if Dad says anything negative or hurtful or how what happened to me is ruining his life (as he usually argues everything that I do ruins his life) then I just leave. I get in my car and I head to Brother's house. However, that way Dad would be finding out when Mom is finding out (supposedly) and so maybe he will take it better. I still think he's going to have a CVA and an MI (CVA-cardiovascular accident, aka stroke; and MI-myocardial infarction, aka heart attack). He may also call up his brothers and go through the previously mentioned story that lands him and a bunch of guys in jail before the guys that actually hurt me can end up in jail or prison.
I love my dad. Truly I do. I am a daddy's girl to the bone and love spending time with him. I absolutely love my Dad. He has a laundry list of mental illnesses and that makes life difficult. And, for selfish reasons, I absolutely hate that I cannot tell him the things that are going on in my life. I want so desperately to tell him everything. I want to explain why I call exboyfriend and exfiance dicks when I tell stories about them. Dad defends them every time, saying that he "likes the kid" and it's like a fucking knife to the heart. He doesn't know what he doesn't know, but if your daughter calls someone a dick and she does not do that on a regular basis and she is typically very happy and forgiving, maybe there is a problem there.
I hate that I cannot do what I need to do because I have to worry about dad reacting poorly. Oftentimes, his reaction is worse than whatever situation I am going through. For instance, my wrecking my car. I was shaken up, but I survived with no injuries. I was stressed majorly, but able to compose myself to do what I needed to do and call a tow truck, my mom, and get my car fixed. When he answered the phone for my mom, my heart sank. When I got home from my mom picking me up, he yelled at me for a solid 20 minutes because I was ruining his plans and his life. I was being an inconvenience and he made it sound like I got in a wreck on purpose just to fuck with his life. I guarantee you, I did no such thing. It's an accident. Accidents happen. I'm almost certain he's been in a few wrecks himself. I backsassed him and told him to not worry about it because I was going to fix it. I didn't get in the wreck to be an inconvenience and I am an adult and can fix my own mistakes.
He proceeded to ignore me for a few days until I brought up a conversation with him.
When exfiance went up to ask for his blessing, he told exfiance yes. Then called me and told me it was a huge mistake. He yelled at me, over the phone, for a solid 45 minutes on the day of the big date I had planned for exfiance and didn't let me talk at all. He kept talking about how I wasn't mature enough and that he regretted his first marriage from when he was 25 to some crazy lady in town. Whatever, that's not my fault. I wanted to yell back at him but there is no reasoning with him. He told me the same things over and over and over again until he had to go back to work. The essence of which was: I am not mature, I'm an idiot, I'm too young, he hates his life, he regrets his first marriage, he regrets his second marriage, and he regrets having kids.
I ended up saying yes when exfiance asked at the restaurant and I had the ring on my hand for a couple days. I ended up going home a day or two after the date and he refused to look or talk to me because he heard through my mom that I had said yes. I broke up with exfiance a couple days after that and Dad still didn't talk to me for weeks until I started talking to him.
Do you see the pattern? Do you understand why we don't tell him anything? Yes, we should tell him stuff, but we can't because he loses his shit every fucking time. It makes our situation 20x more miserable than if we just suffer through it alone. Then he wonders why we don't tell him anything...
Brother asked if telling them together and leaving if there was a problem sounded do-able. I told him I think it was a better idea than just flat out telling Dad, but I told Brother I don't think I can do it. Planning for it and actually carrying out the plan are two completely different things. I'm having panic attacks just thinking about telling Dad and they get worse as time goes on. However, I get so much more nervous when I am about to do it. I almost crapped my pants just asking my dad if I could go to prom. Telling him I've been ruined? I think I'd pass out from shame and nervousness. Brother ended the conversation by saying that he would go with me to take care of Dad and be my support. He told me before he offered to come with, to ignore Dad and let him (Brother) take care of Dad if he flew off the handle, like he normally does. Brother is the one who got Dad to start talking to me after exfiance asked for Dad's blessing. Brother told him to stop taking it out on me and to trust in the way Dad and Mom raised me. After that, and several weeks of reflection, Dad told me that that helped him "forgive me". *Just remember, everything that happens is my indirect way of making sure that I completely fuck up his life (that was complete and total sarcasm).* So, Brother is going with me, if I ever get the balls to go up and talk to them about everything.
And, where he comes from, domestic violence and rape are not called by those names. The country is old-school and they believe football players can do whatever they want as long at they take their team to state. Husbands can hit their wives because their wife must have done something to piss him off. Children can be physically punished to the point of bruises, broken bones, and other serious problems because they must have fucked up badly enough that they needed that kind of punishment.
Granted, not every person that lives in the country believes this way, but I've heard the mean things they say about a high school girl that reported her boyfriend for raping her a few years ago. They say that she was just mad that he broke up with her. She's just trying to get attention. He didn't do anything wrong, she made up stories to get him put away. And others. There are so many others.
When you hear about domestic violence, child abuse, and rape stories, how many of these occur in the country or in the woods? A lot. It's because not a whole lot of people are around, it's easier to do your own thing without anyone ever figuring anything out. Plus, their mindset is usually very different.
That makes me feel a bit crazy. Am I being over dramatic and making stuff up? How will this effect my uncles, aunts, and cousins? Will I be able to ever go back there? What if I run into a family member or friend of one of the guys? How much worse can my name be drug through the mud? THIS IS NOT A CHALLENGE TO ACTUALLY SEE HOW MUCH WORSE IT CAN GET!!! These are just the wonderings in my brain. This stuff keeps me up at night. I wake up in cold sweats.
I keep waffling between knowing that they need to get locked up to wondering if people will believe me to being terrified of what will happen with my Dad and extended family.
I talk to my counselor about all of this on Tuesday. I can make it until then, I think.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Selfish by Choice
School started last week but these first two weeks are all sorts of janky. My typical schedule for classes and life will not begin until next Monday but I'm totally okay with that.
I had counseling again yesterday. She told me I'm not strong enough to go over the really hard stuff yet, so we started working on coping strategies... That's solid. I kept losing my mind between last week's session and yesterday but it turns out that the coping techniques I was accidentally using through the week are actually legit coping techniques that are taught in counseling. Walking/sitting outside, warm/cold water, etc. I begin coloring at my next session.
I told my counselor how hard my first OB class was with the birthing videos. I had also nearly started crying during my skills lab for OB because we had to do vaginal exams to check dilation and that is apparently a HUGE trigger for me, along with damn near everything else. With this in mind, I was advised to take a semester off. I told her that is not an option because I want to be done with nursing school and I want to graduate with my friends. Once she realized that I am not going to budge on this, we made a plan for me to start going twice a weeks (in a couple weeks because she is crazy busy with her life too!). Then, we'll spend a lot of time working on coping methods so that I can get through OB and then begin to work on my tough stuff before I graduate and move and she graduates.
I guess we'll see where that gets us.
Exfiance texts me after my sessions asking what we talked about in my session. I normally keep it pretty under wraps when I was with my last counselor and then also with my new one. Yesterday, I was just not having his bullshit at all. He asked what we talked about and I told him I didn't want to talk about it. He told me he hates when I keep stuff from him. Well, Fucker, you lost that privalage when you decided to lie to me all the time, disregard my refusal for you to use my body however the hell you felt like using it, and I took it away when I broke up with you. Alright? So no, you do not get to make me feel guilty if you think I might be keeping stuff from you. I am because we are no longer together and you kept everything from me! Don't give me this shit.
So, after not talking with him yesterday, he texted me today to ask if I would "finally tell him why I was mad yesterday." I wasn't mad yesterday, I just didn't want to talk about it with him because it's not of his fucking business. It never should have been because I have trauma that is only my business that he doesn't need to know about. He can support me working through it without forcing me to tell him every damn detail. I told him something along those lines and reminded him of all the lies and information he kept from me and all of the double standards he kept for what I was supposed to do/tell him as opposed to what he did/told me. He didn't like that but I'm learning to stand up for myself. It's starting with him and my family then I will work on my friends. I'm sick of taking shit and I'm so over worrying about everyone else when NOBODY concerns themselves with what I may need/want/etc.
Therefore, I'm working on being intentionally selfish for a season.
I had counseling again yesterday. She told me I'm not strong enough to go over the really hard stuff yet, so we started working on coping strategies... That's solid. I kept losing my mind between last week's session and yesterday but it turns out that the coping techniques I was accidentally using through the week are actually legit coping techniques that are taught in counseling. Walking/sitting outside, warm/cold water, etc. I begin coloring at my next session.
I told my counselor how hard my first OB class was with the birthing videos. I had also nearly started crying during my skills lab for OB because we had to do vaginal exams to check dilation and that is apparently a HUGE trigger for me, along with damn near everything else. With this in mind, I was advised to take a semester off. I told her that is not an option because I want to be done with nursing school and I want to graduate with my friends. Once she realized that I am not going to budge on this, we made a plan for me to start going twice a weeks (in a couple weeks because she is crazy busy with her life too!). Then, we'll spend a lot of time working on coping methods so that I can get through OB and then begin to work on my tough stuff before I graduate and move and she graduates.
I guess we'll see where that gets us.
Exfiance texts me after my sessions asking what we talked about in my session. I normally keep it pretty under wraps when I was with my last counselor and then also with my new one. Yesterday, I was just not having his bullshit at all. He asked what we talked about and I told him I didn't want to talk about it. He told me he hates when I keep stuff from him. Well, Fucker, you lost that privalage when you decided to lie to me all the time, disregard my refusal for you to use my body however the hell you felt like using it, and I took it away when I broke up with you. Alright? So no, you do not get to make me feel guilty if you think I might be keeping stuff from you. I am because we are no longer together and you kept everything from me! Don't give me this shit.
So, after not talking with him yesterday, he texted me today to ask if I would "finally tell him why I was mad yesterday." I wasn't mad yesterday, I just didn't want to talk about it with him because it's not of his fucking business. It never should have been because I have trauma that is only my business that he doesn't need to know about. He can support me working through it without forcing me to tell him every damn detail. I told him something along those lines and reminded him of all the lies and information he kept from me and all of the double standards he kept for what I was supposed to do/tell him as opposed to what he did/told me. He didn't like that but I'm learning to stand up for myself. It's starting with him and my family then I will work on my friends. I'm sick of taking shit and I'm so over worrying about everyone else when NOBODY concerns themselves with what I may need/want/etc.
Therefore, I'm working on being intentionally selfish for a season.
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Acceptance
Turns out Country Boy was cremated, but then buried. So, when I went right after his death in 2014, I could have visited him. However, they told me he had just gotten cremated and that they were sorry. Whatever, not a huge deal. Exfiance called again because I told him he didn't have a grave. Turns out he does. His ashes were buried near his dad's and the rest of his family that had passed away already.
When I called to see where he was, the lady told me to come into the office when I arrived and she would give me a map. So I went in and got the map. I wondered around in the area he was supposed to be for nearly 20 minutes and couldn't find him. So, I sat at an unmarked plot wondering if he had a headstone because they hadn't gotten one for his dad for about a year after he died because the wife just couldn't handle making it that official. After sitting for another 15 minutes and feeling stupid because my mind was wondering and wondering how they buried couples... I decided I should leave. As I was walking back to my car, I looked down and finally found his headstone.
It wasn't where I was told to go, the map kinda lied. As soon as I saw it my stomach dropped and tears flooded my eyes. I sat at his grave for over an hour thinking about him, his dad, his mom and sister who were now left with no guys from their family. I yelled at him for leaving me and not taking me with him. I told him we could have gone together if he would have taken me for a car ride. I apologized to him for being mean and I apologized because I believe I may have said the last thing that caused him to go over the edge and finally go through with it.
I was supposed to have hung out with him a couple days before he died but I cancelled because my other friends cancelled on me and I was "going out" with Best Friend at the time but didn't want to tell Country Boy. So, when CB asked if I wanted to hang out since I was cancelled on, I said "no thanks". That was it. That was the last time I talked to him and he died a few days later. I know he was struggling with his dad being gone and he seemed to have severe depression. He had moved out of his mom's house because of too many memories of his dad. He moved out to where my uncle and Exboyfriend live (also where exfiance lives, coincidentally enough) with his aunt and uncle because he loved the country. Well, that was it.
I had wanted to text him those few days and I had urges to, but I never did because he usually ignored my texts when I texted first. I don't know if he didn't want to talk to me, he was trying to make it seem like he was busy, or if he really was busy. I spent so many months waiting for him to text me. He would contact me, talk with me for a couple days, then go completely radio silent for several weeks. That was hard for me to live with. I was sick of getting my hopes up and checking my phone every 5 seconds because I was waiting for him to talk to me again. However, I should have texted him those days. I was waiting for his birthday. I found out a week after my 20th birthday and a few days before his that he died. Nobody told me, I just found his obituary online.
I told exfiance (Jacob) that he was not allowed to tell me that being sad that CB died was selfish. I'm allowed to be angry and sad and cry because I am grieving still. It's been almost two years and I still think about him almost every day. I still see him in the faces of a lot of actors and people I run into on a daily basis. I see his truck occasionally and I remember him when I do some of the stuff he used to like to do. Jacob finally told me okay that I'm allowed to cry and I guess he didn't realize I blamed myself (I didn't need his permission but he needs to not tell people how to feel!). I talked with him last night and told him the story at the beginning of this post. I thought I had told him all this but he said he didn't know before that I blamed myself. After that he understood why I'm angry and sad and cry so much. He said I should be understanding about why the kid killed himself, but I told him that I'm going to feel how I feel. I understand he was going through rough stuff and had depression before but it was getting worse now that his dad had died unexpectedly, but I'm sure there was much more going on. I'm not apologizing for that anymore and I'm not pushing it away so that I can be strong for other people. Now it's my time to sort out my head because there is too much all mixed up in there right now.
The hour I spent at CB's grave was good. It was healing. I felt stuff that I haven't felt in a long time and I was able to cry. I don't know why, but I've been needing to very for a long time but the tears won't come. I feel so numb and just there but not present. It's weird to me to want to cry and also weird that I cannot. Yesterday I did. I yelled and apologized and just sat in remembrance. I also said sorry for not coming sooner. Someone left a cigarette on his grave. It was unlit so I know it was on purpose. I know he wouldn't want flowers so a cigarette made a lot of sense. He wasn't even 20 yet. I have a feeling I'll probably go there a lot in the next few months when I need a place to think. I used to drive up into the woods and think of him often, but it somehow feels better to imagine him being there and able to hear me.
I had this thought about a song I haven't heard since I was a child. Since I was so little, I knew it was a sad song but I never understood it. At the grave I just had "Whiskey Lullaby" playing over and over in my head. Why is it helping me feel better? I have no clue. I have played it nearly a hundred times since the visit and it helps me more and more each time.
I don't know why I keep getting songs popping up in my head. I don't know if the L-rd is putting them there or if my brain is making connections or spazzing out or what. But these songs are helping me little by little.
When I called to see where he was, the lady told me to come into the office when I arrived and she would give me a map. So I went in and got the map. I wondered around in the area he was supposed to be for nearly 20 minutes and couldn't find him. So, I sat at an unmarked plot wondering if he had a headstone because they hadn't gotten one for his dad for about a year after he died because the wife just couldn't handle making it that official. After sitting for another 15 minutes and feeling stupid because my mind was wondering and wondering how they buried couples... I decided I should leave. As I was walking back to my car, I looked down and finally found his headstone.
It wasn't where I was told to go, the map kinda lied. As soon as I saw it my stomach dropped and tears flooded my eyes. I sat at his grave for over an hour thinking about him, his dad, his mom and sister who were now left with no guys from their family. I yelled at him for leaving me and not taking me with him. I told him we could have gone together if he would have taken me for a car ride. I apologized to him for being mean and I apologized because I believe I may have said the last thing that caused him to go over the edge and finally go through with it.
I was supposed to have hung out with him a couple days before he died but I cancelled because my other friends cancelled on me and I was "going out" with Best Friend at the time but didn't want to tell Country Boy. So, when CB asked if I wanted to hang out since I was cancelled on, I said "no thanks". That was it. That was the last time I talked to him and he died a few days later. I know he was struggling with his dad being gone and he seemed to have severe depression. He had moved out of his mom's house because of too many memories of his dad. He moved out to where my uncle and Exboyfriend live (also where exfiance lives, coincidentally enough) with his aunt and uncle because he loved the country. Well, that was it.
I had wanted to text him those few days and I had urges to, but I never did because he usually ignored my texts when I texted first. I don't know if he didn't want to talk to me, he was trying to make it seem like he was busy, or if he really was busy. I spent so many months waiting for him to text me. He would contact me, talk with me for a couple days, then go completely radio silent for several weeks. That was hard for me to live with. I was sick of getting my hopes up and checking my phone every 5 seconds because I was waiting for him to talk to me again. However, I should have texted him those days. I was waiting for his birthday. I found out a week after my 20th birthday and a few days before his that he died. Nobody told me, I just found his obituary online.
I told exfiance (Jacob) that he was not allowed to tell me that being sad that CB died was selfish. I'm allowed to be angry and sad and cry because I am grieving still. It's been almost two years and I still think about him almost every day. I still see him in the faces of a lot of actors and people I run into on a daily basis. I see his truck occasionally and I remember him when I do some of the stuff he used to like to do. Jacob finally told me okay that I'm allowed to cry and I guess he didn't realize I blamed myself (I didn't need his permission but he needs to not tell people how to feel!). I talked with him last night and told him the story at the beginning of this post. I thought I had told him all this but he said he didn't know before that I blamed myself. After that he understood why I'm angry and sad and cry so much. He said I should be understanding about why the kid killed himself, but I told him that I'm going to feel how I feel. I understand he was going through rough stuff and had depression before but it was getting worse now that his dad had died unexpectedly, but I'm sure there was much more going on. I'm not apologizing for that anymore and I'm not pushing it away so that I can be strong for other people. Now it's my time to sort out my head because there is too much all mixed up in there right now.
The hour I spent at CB's grave was good. It was healing. I felt stuff that I haven't felt in a long time and I was able to cry. I don't know why, but I've been needing to very for a long time but the tears won't come. I feel so numb and just there but not present. It's weird to me to want to cry and also weird that I cannot. Yesterday I did. I yelled and apologized and just sat in remembrance. I also said sorry for not coming sooner. Someone left a cigarette on his grave. It was unlit so I know it was on purpose. I know he wouldn't want flowers so a cigarette made a lot of sense. He wasn't even 20 yet. I have a feeling I'll probably go there a lot in the next few months when I need a place to think. I used to drive up into the woods and think of him often, but it somehow feels better to imagine him being there and able to hear me.
I had this thought about a song I haven't heard since I was a child. Since I was so little, I knew it was a sad song but I never understood it. At the grave I just had "Whiskey Lullaby" playing over and over in my head. Why is it helping me feel better? I have no clue. I have played it nearly a hundred times since the visit and it helps me more and more each time.
"Whiskey Lullaby"
She put him out like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette
She broke his heart he spent his whole life tryin' to forget
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind
Until the night
[1st Chorus]
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees
We found him with his face down in the pillow
With a note that said I'll love her till I die
And when we buried him beneath the willow
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby
(Sing lullaby)
The rumors flew but nobody knew how much she blamed herself
For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind
Until the night
[2nd Chorus]
She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees
We found her with her face down in the pillow
Clinging to his picture for dear life
We laid her next to him beneath the willow
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby
She broke his heart he spent his whole life tryin' to forget
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind
Until the night
[1st Chorus]
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees
We found him with his face down in the pillow
With a note that said I'll love her till I die
And when we buried him beneath the willow
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby
(Sing lullaby)
The rumors flew but nobody knew how much she blamed herself
For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind
Until the night
[2nd Chorus]
She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees
We found her with her face down in the pillow
Clinging to his picture for dear life
We laid her next to him beneath the willow
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby
I don't know why I keep getting songs popping up in my head. I don't know if the L-rd is putting them there or if my brain is making connections or spazzing out or what. But these songs are helping me little by little.
Friday, January 22, 2016
Rebound
As you guys know, exfiance and I still talk. Since that's kind of a long name, let's call him Jacob (no, that's not his actual name). Yesterday, he went to counseling because we had a bet, he lost it, and his forfeit was to go to counseling. I believe he needed to go when he was a child but he just never did. He had trauma growing up, similar to what happened to me but also vastly different. Regardless, trauma needs counseling most of the time and he certainly does.
I guess he and his counselor talked about me and why the two of us broke up. Jacob ended up calling me last night and telling me that he believes I was never really "in love" with him because he was just a rebound and distraction from my first rape. It has occurred to me that he may have been a rebound, but I had feelings for him. However, when he continually lied to me, that's when the love dwindled away because I had been loving him for the lies, not for him actually showing me his past scars. I think he may have started as a rebound, but I developed true love for him. Having him tell me he didn't think I ever loved him hurt. It hurt a lot.
While we were going out, there were times that he would compare me to his dead wife. He would say she was pretty, but I think you're prettier. Or he would tell me what she did to calm him down or what she did that he liked. Little things they developed like a counting game with squeezing each other's hands just to let the other one know they were there and thinking about them regardless of whether they were driving, fighting, whatever. At one point, he told me he loved me probably more than his wife. I didn't think much of it and I highly doubted it, but it stuck in my mind. Last night, he told me he didn't love me nearly as much as he had loved his wife. He covered it up by saying they grew up together, knew each other for way longer, and went through much more together than he and I had. Okay, this makes sense, I guess but it hurt to hear it. I mean, who says that? I would suspect he would love her more, but you don't say that to someone! Especially someone who is barely surviving and doesn't feel loved by anyone right now, especially friends or guys.
We keep talking and venting about our counseling sessions. I don't know why, but we do. In fact, we're having deeper conversations than we did when we were dating. It's really frustrating, actually. Anywho, he asked how I have been doing. I told him the following story:
Yesterday, I started my OB class and I have been excited about this class since I started college! I absolutely love watching births and seeing pregnant women and babies and everything that has to do with moms and babies. We started watching a birth in class (a video) and my eyes started tearing up. These weren't happy tears at a baby being born, these were tears of pain because the woman had her feet in stirrups and it reminded me of my SANE exam.
The next birth video was in a birthing center and my eyes teared up again and they almost spilled over. The video ended and I watched the wall for most of it because I was on the verge of sobbing. I couldn't catch my breath, I was hyperventilating, my heart was pounding, I was sad that I don't believe I will ever have babies, and I'm disappointed I was having so many troubles in a class that I have so been looking forward to forever! I want to be a midwife for goodness sake!!!
Whew, so that video ended and I kinda kept my composure. Lecture continued and we watched a third video towards the end. This was a water birth at home. About a minute into the video, my eye were filled with tears, I was having all the symptoms that I had in the second video and the tears started spilling. I jumped from my seat (which was in the back right next to the door, thank the L-rd) and I nearly ran to the bathroom. I got in there and there were other people. I washed my hands to make it seem like I was okay, but I absolutely wasn't. Then, all of a sudden, Beauty comes walking out of a stall. I dried my hands, looked up and said "hey! it's you!" The concern on her face was evident, she asked if I was okay. I said I was fine, booked it out of that bathroom and speed walked to the bathroom in the back of the building. Oh my goodness, I lost it! I was in a stall, sitting on the toilet, trying to keep my sobs as silent as possible and cried for about 5 minutes. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't stop shaking, I was losing my mind and it was terrifying! I waited for the other girls to leave, emmerged from my sanctuary and washed my hands, splashed cold water on my face a few times, and composed myself enough to go back to class. I zoned out for the rest of class just so that my body could sit there to keep my friends from wondering if I was okay.
On the phone with Jacob (exfiance) later that night, I explained all of this to him. He was kinda sweet about it and the most important thing is he listens to my rambling about my lack of coping with life right now. He asked me a few questions and we got to a point where I was explaining that I haven't been sleeping more than a couple hours each night because I can't fall asleep and I keep having flashbacks about him, exboyfriend and Country Boy. We discussed Country Boy's suicide and Jacob told me that I shouldn't be sad about him committing suicide. He said that me being sad and crying about it is selfish. I know it's selfish, but at the same time I need to be able to cope with what happened because it affected me terribly. You don't tell people not to cry or be sad if something happened in their life or they had a friend/family member die! You just don't do that!!! I ended up getting really mad, but Jacob just kept talking and I kept crying.
He ended by reverting to saying that I never loved him. He said he's not mad because he knows I have been in "survival mode" (according to my counselor because of the severe PTSD). He says he's proud of me for getting good grades and continuing with school even though my brain isn't functioning properly and barely surviving right now. He told me he thinks I'm a "badass bitch" because I keep on going even though most people would be staying in bed all the time and they would have given up a long time ago. He's proud of me for not killing myself and for not cutting in a few weeks. He says he's proud of me for getting help and for dealing with all of the troubles in my life without telling people about them.
I think that's one of the hardest things to do. If you have a broken leg or some reason to get surgery, people understand you taking time to recover and build yourself back up. They usually respect your privacy and the fact you need space. They are also more likely to want to help you with food, cleaning, groceries, etc because they know you may need help. The thing with rape is, you can't tell everyone. Well, you could, but it's likely to cause you more problems than it is to help you at all. I have chosen to tell a couple friends for support, but the vast majority of the people in my life (most of my friends, bosses, professors/instructors, patients, extended family, and even my dad) have no idea what's wrong with me. They see that I'm changing, withdrawing, sad, grumpy, and all around not being myself, but they don't know why. So, they tell me to suck it up and then get angry when they are not top priority on my list. But what am I supposed to do? I was burned out with all of the needy people in my life before any of this bad stuff happened. What am I supposed to do now that it is all I can do to wake up in the morning and consider getting out of bed?
We went on to talk about one of Jacob's friends from back in the day passing away this week. He tarted talking about a bunch of other friends that had died through his life, including his "father figure" who he really looked up to. Turns out, the father figure guy had a nephew that had committed suicide about the same time Country Boy did. They both also had the same name. We realized this all for the first time last night. Jacob had helped his father figure get the kid down from his noose once he was found. So Jacob asked for a picture of Country Boy to see if it was the same kid. He was freaking out last night saying it was so creepy and weirding him out that my friend that died might have been the same guy that he helped get down after the other kid's suicide. After I sent him the picture today, he said they weren't the same kid. It's a little bit of a relief.
Jacob also found out that Country Boy ended up being buried. About a month after he had died, I went to the place where his funeral was held (after clinical that day and I was in my whites), but they told me he had been cremated. Well, turns out Jacob called the funeral home and he was told Country Boy had been buried there. Okay, looks like I'm going there to see his grave tomorrow.
Jacob and I closed the conversation with him saying he'd pray that I would be able to sleep at a decent time last night. He called back like 2 minutes later saying: "Hey, I know this is going to sound weird, these aren't my words and I don't know what I'm saying, but do you remember the guy that you told me about? You know, the one that Satan made a bet with G-d that the guy wouldn't stay good, so G-d allowed him to be tested by Satan just to see if he would stay good?"
Me: "Job?"
Him: "Yeah! Well, while I was praying, I got this feeling that you are that guy. You are being tested. Now, this is going to sound really weird and I don't understand the words, but you are supposed to stand fast with your religion. Don't give up and keep doing what you're doing"
Me: "Okay, I'll try to keep my faith."
That was it. He doesn't talk like that ever. He's been reading a devotional book he got from me based off of the Love Dare book, but it's the year-long one. It still has challenges each week, but it also has a lesson and verse for each day. I'm surprised he's still doing it. I'm even more surprised he's gone to counseling and says he's going to keep going. We'll see. I don't foresee us getting back together, ever. I feel like the L-rd told me that he will change, but I won't see the fruits of this (my) labor but the story ends well for him. I hope it ends well for me too, but I guess we'll see.
Well, y'all keep on keepin' on. Stick with the faith and know that the L-rd is working, even if you feel like your whole life is going up in smoke. G-d is working on a billion things for every one thing He lets you have a glimpse of. I believe that's true for me too. Blessings guys.
P.S.
His prayer, along with mine, actually worked. Maybe it was psychological, but I think the L-rd helped me a lot. I fell asleep within about 10 minutes of hanging up from the second phone call.
I guess he and his counselor talked about me and why the two of us broke up. Jacob ended up calling me last night and telling me that he believes I was never really "in love" with him because he was just a rebound and distraction from my first rape. It has occurred to me that he may have been a rebound, but I had feelings for him. However, when he continually lied to me, that's when the love dwindled away because I had been loving him for the lies, not for him actually showing me his past scars. I think he may have started as a rebound, but I developed true love for him. Having him tell me he didn't think I ever loved him hurt. It hurt a lot.
While we were going out, there were times that he would compare me to his dead wife. He would say she was pretty, but I think you're prettier. Or he would tell me what she did to calm him down or what she did that he liked. Little things they developed like a counting game with squeezing each other's hands just to let the other one know they were there and thinking about them regardless of whether they were driving, fighting, whatever. At one point, he told me he loved me probably more than his wife. I didn't think much of it and I highly doubted it, but it stuck in my mind. Last night, he told me he didn't love me nearly as much as he had loved his wife. He covered it up by saying they grew up together, knew each other for way longer, and went through much more together than he and I had. Okay, this makes sense, I guess but it hurt to hear it. I mean, who says that? I would suspect he would love her more, but you don't say that to someone! Especially someone who is barely surviving and doesn't feel loved by anyone right now, especially friends or guys.
We keep talking and venting about our counseling sessions. I don't know why, but we do. In fact, we're having deeper conversations than we did when we were dating. It's really frustrating, actually. Anywho, he asked how I have been doing. I told him the following story:
Yesterday, I started my OB class and I have been excited about this class since I started college! I absolutely love watching births and seeing pregnant women and babies and everything that has to do with moms and babies. We started watching a birth in class (a video) and my eyes started tearing up. These weren't happy tears at a baby being born, these were tears of pain because the woman had her feet in stirrups and it reminded me of my SANE exam.
The next birth video was in a birthing center and my eyes teared up again and they almost spilled over. The video ended and I watched the wall for most of it because I was on the verge of sobbing. I couldn't catch my breath, I was hyperventilating, my heart was pounding, I was sad that I don't believe I will ever have babies, and I'm disappointed I was having so many troubles in a class that I have so been looking forward to forever! I want to be a midwife for goodness sake!!!
Whew, so that video ended and I kinda kept my composure. Lecture continued and we watched a third video towards the end. This was a water birth at home. About a minute into the video, my eye were filled with tears, I was having all the symptoms that I had in the second video and the tears started spilling. I jumped from my seat (which was in the back right next to the door, thank the L-rd) and I nearly ran to the bathroom. I got in there and there were other people. I washed my hands to make it seem like I was okay, but I absolutely wasn't. Then, all of a sudden, Beauty comes walking out of a stall. I dried my hands, looked up and said "hey! it's you!" The concern on her face was evident, she asked if I was okay. I said I was fine, booked it out of that bathroom and speed walked to the bathroom in the back of the building. Oh my goodness, I lost it! I was in a stall, sitting on the toilet, trying to keep my sobs as silent as possible and cried for about 5 minutes. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't stop shaking, I was losing my mind and it was terrifying! I waited for the other girls to leave, emmerged from my sanctuary and washed my hands, splashed cold water on my face a few times, and composed myself enough to go back to class. I zoned out for the rest of class just so that my body could sit there to keep my friends from wondering if I was okay.
On the phone with Jacob (exfiance) later that night, I explained all of this to him. He was kinda sweet about it and the most important thing is he listens to my rambling about my lack of coping with life right now. He asked me a few questions and we got to a point where I was explaining that I haven't been sleeping more than a couple hours each night because I can't fall asleep and I keep having flashbacks about him, exboyfriend and Country Boy. We discussed Country Boy's suicide and Jacob told me that I shouldn't be sad about him committing suicide. He said that me being sad and crying about it is selfish. I know it's selfish, but at the same time I need to be able to cope with what happened because it affected me terribly. You don't tell people not to cry or be sad if something happened in their life or they had a friend/family member die! You just don't do that!!! I ended up getting really mad, but Jacob just kept talking and I kept crying.
He ended by reverting to saying that I never loved him. He said he's not mad because he knows I have been in "survival mode" (according to my counselor because of the severe PTSD). He says he's proud of me for getting good grades and continuing with school even though my brain isn't functioning properly and barely surviving right now. He told me he thinks I'm a "badass bitch" because I keep on going even though most people would be staying in bed all the time and they would have given up a long time ago. He's proud of me for not killing myself and for not cutting in a few weeks. He says he's proud of me for getting help and for dealing with all of the troubles in my life without telling people about them.
I think that's one of the hardest things to do. If you have a broken leg or some reason to get surgery, people understand you taking time to recover and build yourself back up. They usually respect your privacy and the fact you need space. They are also more likely to want to help you with food, cleaning, groceries, etc because they know you may need help. The thing with rape is, you can't tell everyone. Well, you could, but it's likely to cause you more problems than it is to help you at all. I have chosen to tell a couple friends for support, but the vast majority of the people in my life (most of my friends, bosses, professors/instructors, patients, extended family, and even my dad) have no idea what's wrong with me. They see that I'm changing, withdrawing, sad, grumpy, and all around not being myself, but they don't know why. So, they tell me to suck it up and then get angry when they are not top priority on my list. But what am I supposed to do? I was burned out with all of the needy people in my life before any of this bad stuff happened. What am I supposed to do now that it is all I can do to wake up in the morning and consider getting out of bed?
We went on to talk about one of Jacob's friends from back in the day passing away this week. He tarted talking about a bunch of other friends that had died through his life, including his "father figure" who he really looked up to. Turns out, the father figure guy had a nephew that had committed suicide about the same time Country Boy did. They both also had the same name. We realized this all for the first time last night. Jacob had helped his father figure get the kid down from his noose once he was found. So Jacob asked for a picture of Country Boy to see if it was the same kid. He was freaking out last night saying it was so creepy and weirding him out that my friend that died might have been the same guy that he helped get down after the other kid's suicide. After I sent him the picture today, he said they weren't the same kid. It's a little bit of a relief.
Jacob also found out that Country Boy ended up being buried. About a month after he had died, I went to the place where his funeral was held (after clinical that day and I was in my whites), but they told me he had been cremated. Well, turns out Jacob called the funeral home and he was told Country Boy had been buried there. Okay, looks like I'm going there to see his grave tomorrow.
Jacob and I closed the conversation with him saying he'd pray that I would be able to sleep at a decent time last night. He called back like 2 minutes later saying: "Hey, I know this is going to sound weird, these aren't my words and I don't know what I'm saying, but do you remember the guy that you told me about? You know, the one that Satan made a bet with G-d that the guy wouldn't stay good, so G-d allowed him to be tested by Satan just to see if he would stay good?"
Me: "Job?"
Him: "Yeah! Well, while I was praying, I got this feeling that you are that guy. You are being tested. Now, this is going to sound really weird and I don't understand the words, but you are supposed to stand fast with your religion. Don't give up and keep doing what you're doing"
Me: "Okay, I'll try to keep my faith."
That was it. He doesn't talk like that ever. He's been reading a devotional book he got from me based off of the Love Dare book, but it's the year-long one. It still has challenges each week, but it also has a lesson and verse for each day. I'm surprised he's still doing it. I'm even more surprised he's gone to counseling and says he's going to keep going. We'll see. I don't foresee us getting back together, ever. I feel like the L-rd told me that he will change, but I won't see the fruits of this (my) labor but the story ends well for him. I hope it ends well for me too, but I guess we'll see.
Well, y'all keep on keepin' on. Stick with the faith and know that the L-rd is working, even if you feel like your whole life is going up in smoke. G-d is working on a billion things for every one thing He lets you have a glimpse of. I believe that's true for me too. Blessings guys.
P.S.
His prayer, along with mine, actually worked. Maybe it was psychological, but I think the L-rd helped me a lot. I fell asleep within about 10 minutes of hanging up from the second phone call.
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
All Complaints
Guys, it feels like I just complain on here a lot. I'm terribly sorry. I can't imagine how frustrating it would be to even think about reading all of my posts that talk about pretty much the same thing each time.
With that said, I need to vent terribly.
Today, I got "yelled" at by a friend because she feels she is neglected. I went to the mall with Beauty after counseling yesterday because I needed to be around someone who knew my whole story. Well, some of it. This friend, we'll call her Jersey, heard about it and became extremely jealous. She started making snide comments to me after class, in a very passive aggressive turning straight up aggressive manner after class today.
Jersey knows the part of the story where I broke up with Exboyfriend because he raped me. She doesn't understand how bad it was, but I spilled it to her one day when I had been drinking at her house. In fact, Exfiance was there. Haha, that's kinda funny in a twisted way that doesn't make sense if I think about it in any kid of a logical sense.
Anyway, she is angry at Beauty and I because she feels like she plans everything and when Beauty or I plan anything she thinks she's not invited. Thing is, I don't do much. I go to Jersey's parties or get togethers when I can because I want to support her. Beauty and I don't plan things, we just spontaneously get together if one of us is having a bad day, we're bored, or we need help. That's it.
Jersey yelled at me after class for about 10 minutes. I tried to explain myself and she wasn't having any of it. Then she continued to yell at me over about 8 texts. I kept wanting to write pages and pages worth of stuff to explain myself to her, but I decided sweet responses would be better. No. Nothing will be better for her. I said sorry, even though it's not my fault and I invite her to whatever happens to occur in my life. She yelled at me for not being able to go to her birthday and then again for not going to the second attempt at her birthday. I don't know what I did or had going on, but maybe I'm just a flake. I don't know! I don't even know when the hell her birthday is!
I can tell you I'm sick of taking shit from others. You're mad that friends aren't hanging out with you all the time? Okay, then go fucking fix it! Go find new friends! Ask your friends out! Do something about it! I am not taking this bullshit anymore. It takes everything within me to wake up and get out of bed, especially to go to class or eat; I'm not super concerned with ensuring that all of my friends have a fulfilled social life. That's not my fucking job.
She doesn't give a shit that other people have things going on in their life. She doesn't care that my main goal right now is just to survive and not take the bottle of pills that tempts me each night, or take the razor to my skin to calm my mind down for 5 second. She doesn't understand what it's like to not sleep for weeks because of the insomnia and nightmares. She doesn't get what it's like to avoid over half of the city that I live in and take extra long routes to get places, just so that I can prevent panic attacks and severe flashbacks. SHE DOESN'T FUCKING GET IT! NOR DOES SHE CARE. Why is this? It's because she's mad she doesn't get to hang out with us all of the time.
Before class started, she invited me to her house to watch football (American football) this weekend. I told her I would think about it but why the hell would I go after she just went off on me for shit that's not my fault? Honestly, what was she thinking? I invite her to things when I do them. I understand feeling burnt out because you feel like you're the one doing all the planning. Hell, I felt like that when we first met. I made all sorts of plans the first two and a half years of nursing school. She even flaked on a lot of them by backing out last minute. Now, for the past year, she feels like she's the only one making plans. She's the only one with a house, but it's a 30 minute drive for anyone to be able to get there. There's always drama and still I go whenever I can to support her. Do the plans I made get brought up? Does she understand I'm one of 2-3 people that actually goes to her stuff? Does she consider that other people have their lives imploding in around them? No. No to all of these points.
I'm over it. I swear, if she tries to start yelling at me again I will have it out with her. She needs to understand I don't have time to be dealing with crap from anyone else, but I seem to be the one everyone chooses to dump on. I'm sick of taking shit from Brother, Dad, Mom, exroommate and her mother, exboyfriend, exfiance, and the billion other people that seem to see the "kick me" sign on my ass that I am apparently blind to. You fuck with me? You're gonna get the horns because I am absolutely tired of everyone assuming they can treat me this way. She may be the first one I go off on but you better believe this is just the beginning. I'm so over it.
With that said, I need to vent terribly.
Today, I got "yelled" at by a friend because she feels she is neglected. I went to the mall with Beauty after counseling yesterday because I needed to be around someone who knew my whole story. Well, some of it. This friend, we'll call her Jersey, heard about it and became extremely jealous. She started making snide comments to me after class, in a very passive aggressive turning straight up aggressive manner after class today.
Jersey knows the part of the story where I broke up with Exboyfriend because he raped me. She doesn't understand how bad it was, but I spilled it to her one day when I had been drinking at her house. In fact, Exfiance was there. Haha, that's kinda funny in a twisted way that doesn't make sense if I think about it in any kid of a logical sense.
Anyway, she is angry at Beauty and I because she feels like she plans everything and when Beauty or I plan anything she thinks she's not invited. Thing is, I don't do much. I go to Jersey's parties or get togethers when I can because I want to support her. Beauty and I don't plan things, we just spontaneously get together if one of us is having a bad day, we're bored, or we need help. That's it.
Jersey yelled at me after class for about 10 minutes. I tried to explain myself and she wasn't having any of it. Then she continued to yell at me over about 8 texts. I kept wanting to write pages and pages worth of stuff to explain myself to her, but I decided sweet responses would be better. No. Nothing will be better for her. I said sorry, even though it's not my fault and I invite her to whatever happens to occur in my life. She yelled at me for not being able to go to her birthday and then again for not going to the second attempt at her birthday. I don't know what I did or had going on, but maybe I'm just a flake. I don't know! I don't even know when the hell her birthday is!
I can tell you I'm sick of taking shit from others. You're mad that friends aren't hanging out with you all the time? Okay, then go fucking fix it! Go find new friends! Ask your friends out! Do something about it! I am not taking this bullshit anymore. It takes everything within me to wake up and get out of bed, especially to go to class or eat; I'm not super concerned with ensuring that all of my friends have a fulfilled social life. That's not my fucking job.
She doesn't give a shit that other people have things going on in their life. She doesn't care that my main goal right now is just to survive and not take the bottle of pills that tempts me each night, or take the razor to my skin to calm my mind down for 5 second. She doesn't understand what it's like to not sleep for weeks because of the insomnia and nightmares. She doesn't get what it's like to avoid over half of the city that I live in and take extra long routes to get places, just so that I can prevent panic attacks and severe flashbacks. SHE DOESN'T FUCKING GET IT! NOR DOES SHE CARE. Why is this? It's because she's mad she doesn't get to hang out with us all of the time.
Before class started, she invited me to her house to watch football (American football) this weekend. I told her I would think about it but why the hell would I go after she just went off on me for shit that's not my fault? Honestly, what was she thinking? I invite her to things when I do them. I understand feeling burnt out because you feel like you're the one doing all the planning. Hell, I felt like that when we first met. I made all sorts of plans the first two and a half years of nursing school. She even flaked on a lot of them by backing out last minute. Now, for the past year, she feels like she's the only one making plans. She's the only one with a house, but it's a 30 minute drive for anyone to be able to get there. There's always drama and still I go whenever I can to support her. Do the plans I made get brought up? Does she understand I'm one of 2-3 people that actually goes to her stuff? Does she consider that other people have their lives imploding in around them? No. No to all of these points.
I'm over it. I swear, if she tries to start yelling at me again I will have it out with her. She needs to understand I don't have time to be dealing with crap from anyone else, but I seem to be the one everyone chooses to dump on. I'm sick of taking shit from Brother, Dad, Mom, exroommate and her mother, exboyfriend, exfiance, and the billion other people that seem to see the "kick me" sign on my ass that I am apparently blind to. You fuck with me? You're gonna get the horns because I am absolutely tired of everyone assuming they can treat me this way. She may be the first one I go off on but you better believe this is just the beginning. I'm so over it.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Hopeful Beginnings
Counseling began today. I went in for paperwork and we went right into a session. Praise the L-rd! It was killing me that three session and a screening interview at the other place got me no where. I even told my new counselor that I was frustrated with the other lady for not really getting anywhere. I get the need to build rapport and ease some people in but I am ready to get down and dirty and get help. This kind of a thing doesn't need slow progress into it. I needs a quick acting, intense help to get people past their trauma into a functioning mindset again.
Well, I was officially diagnosed with severe PTSD today. It makes me sad, but it also makes me feel less crazy because nobody believed me when it was self-diagnosed. Now it's believable because my counselor gave me the title? Maybe if she finally diagnoses me with my anxiety disorders, depression and/or bipolar II, then people will believe me about those ones too. Goodness, I have the book psychiatrists, counselors, etc. use to diagnose stuff. I'm not making shit up.
Anyway, counseling went well. After she glanced (and I mean glanced) at my paperwork, she asked straight away: "So, what's your story?" I went through it all and she started connecting dots nobody else really ever has. I am so blessed to have been able to be assigned to her. Thank you L-rd! I talked about Country Boy, EXboyfriend, EXfiance, and all of my fears that I put in my post "Forgiveness?" She noticed that spring is likely to be a tough time for me; Country boy died, I broke up with Exboyfriend and met Exfiance all in the spring months, just a year apart. She warned me that this spring would likely be rough because I'll probably start remembering dates or the rapes, and deaths, and everything else that went to hell in a hand-basket within a couple month's time. I had already suspected that because this past March was tough a whole week before and after the anniversary of his death and then also the week before and after his birthday. These all coincide so from mid-March to mid-April I'm a complete mess. Now that will extend from mid-March to mid-May and it will all come back again in July. Great.
She basically told me I've been living in survival mode since the first rape (over 9 months). My only homework was to make sure I was eating, and eating things that actually count and provide fuel for my body so that I could start to work on the mental healing.
So, I really like her. I spent most of the hour crying and she finished saying: "You seem like such a sweet girl. Someone who tries to see the best in everyone and also someone who takes everyone else's baggage. That's a heavy load. You also seem to blame yourself for a lot of things that aren't in your control and they aren't your fault." Between her saying these things and her asking for my story, I felt so comforted and understood after this session. I didn't feel this way after talking with the first psychologist/psychiatrist person I saw. I'm so grateful to be able to be with this new lady.
Thank you L-rd for providing this woman, right when I needed her, right in the nick of time.
Exfiance knew I was going to counseling and he called right when it was over. We started talking about if he was excited or nervous for his session in a few days. He said he'd probably tell the therapist to "fuck off" and then leave. I told him it's dumb to even go if he wasn't going to put any effort forth. He said he was only going to "fix us".
OH MY GOSH!!!
How many times do I have to tell him I'm not getting back together with him? I told him I didn't want to get back together with him. He questioned if I was doing the right thing. I said yes. He said he was trying to do the right thing for us. I told him that he was trying to do the right thing for him and that him trying to get me back was not in my best interest but his. Haha, that pissed him off and he told me he was going to hang up. I said okay! Bye! Hahaha, I don't want to say I win but I definitely did. I'm so over his shit and he thinks I'm dumb enough to go back with him! Sorry, but no. You need to leave me alone you fucker.
Again, I'm sorry for the bad language right after praising the L-rd for His provisions. I'm working out anger... and a lot of other stuff.
Regardless, the pervasive song that keeps popping into my head is "Held" by Natalie Grant. I haven't heard it in years but it keeps popping into my head at random times. Praise the L-rd for this too!
Two months is too little.
They let him go.
They had no sudden healing.
To think that providence would
Take a child from his mother while she prays
Is appalling.
Who told us we'd be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We're asking why this happens
To us who have died to live?
It's unfair.
Chorus:
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.
This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.
The wise hands opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow.
[Chorus:]
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.
Bridge:
If hope is born of suffering.
If this is only the beginning.
Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?
[Chorus:]
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know, that the promise was when everything fell, we'd be held
This is what it means to be held.
Well, I was officially diagnosed with severe PTSD today. It makes me sad, but it also makes me feel less crazy because nobody believed me when it was self-diagnosed. Now it's believable because my counselor gave me the title? Maybe if she finally diagnoses me with my anxiety disorders, depression and/or bipolar II, then people will believe me about those ones too. Goodness, I have the book psychiatrists, counselors, etc. use to diagnose stuff. I'm not making shit up.
Anyway, counseling went well. After she glanced (and I mean glanced) at my paperwork, she asked straight away: "So, what's your story?" I went through it all and she started connecting dots nobody else really ever has. I am so blessed to have been able to be assigned to her. Thank you L-rd! I talked about Country Boy, EXboyfriend, EXfiance, and all of my fears that I put in my post "Forgiveness?" She noticed that spring is likely to be a tough time for me; Country boy died, I broke up with Exboyfriend and met Exfiance all in the spring months, just a year apart. She warned me that this spring would likely be rough because I'll probably start remembering dates or the rapes, and deaths, and everything else that went to hell in a hand-basket within a couple month's time. I had already suspected that because this past March was tough a whole week before and after the anniversary of his death and then also the week before and after his birthday. These all coincide so from mid-March to mid-April I'm a complete mess. Now that will extend from mid-March to mid-May and it will all come back again in July. Great.
She basically told me I've been living in survival mode since the first rape (over 9 months). My only homework was to make sure I was eating, and eating things that actually count and provide fuel for my body so that I could start to work on the mental healing.
So, I really like her. I spent most of the hour crying and she finished saying: "You seem like such a sweet girl. Someone who tries to see the best in everyone and also someone who takes everyone else's baggage. That's a heavy load. You also seem to blame yourself for a lot of things that aren't in your control and they aren't your fault." Between her saying these things and her asking for my story, I felt so comforted and understood after this session. I didn't feel this way after talking with the first psychologist/psychiatrist person I saw. I'm so grateful to be able to be with this new lady.
Thank you L-rd for providing this woman, right when I needed her, right in the nick of time.
Exfiance knew I was going to counseling and he called right when it was over. We started talking about if he was excited or nervous for his session in a few days. He said he'd probably tell the therapist to "fuck off" and then leave. I told him it's dumb to even go if he wasn't going to put any effort forth. He said he was only going to "fix us".
OH MY GOSH!!!
How many times do I have to tell him I'm not getting back together with him? I told him I didn't want to get back together with him. He questioned if I was doing the right thing. I said yes. He said he was trying to do the right thing for us. I told him that he was trying to do the right thing for him and that him trying to get me back was not in my best interest but his. Haha, that pissed him off and he told me he was going to hang up. I said okay! Bye! Hahaha, I don't want to say I win but I definitely did. I'm so over his shit and he thinks I'm dumb enough to go back with him! Sorry, but no. You need to leave me alone you fucker.
Again, I'm sorry for the bad language right after praising the L-rd for His provisions. I'm working out anger... and a lot of other stuff.
Regardless, the pervasive song that keeps popping into my head is "Held" by Natalie Grant. I haven't heard it in years but it keeps popping into my head at random times. Praise the L-rd for this too!
They let him go.
They had no sudden healing.
To think that providence would
Take a child from his mother while she prays
Is appalling.
Who told us we'd be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We're asking why this happens
To us who have died to live?
It's unfair.
Chorus:
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.
This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.
The wise hands opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow.
[Chorus:]
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.
Bridge:
If hope is born of suffering.
If this is only the beginning.
Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?
[Chorus:]
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know, that the promise was when everything fell, we'd be held
This is what it means to be held.
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