I turn 24 in approximately 10 days.
You guys know, I don't like birthdays. I'm not a huge fan of the extra attention, looking back on yet another year that has come and gone, nor remembering how much I had planned to do before getting to this point.
When I was younger, I had hoped to at least be married by now. But, I'm solidly single. I've been single for several years now, and no prospects of that changing any time in the near future.
I had hoped to be in Small Town; learning more, training new staff, and working up the career ladder there.
I had hoped to be accepted into graduate school and working towards furthering my education.
Naively, I had also hoped to have started having kids by now. I want to be a young mom, but I watch those years go and go and go.
I know, I'll only be 24. Someday I will look back and remember how foolish I was for wanting to pile on all of the adult responsibilities at the same time, but I'm feeling impatient. I'm thinking of the ways that a marriage would benefit me for housing, companionship, and general support in the simplicities of life.
Then again, I begin thinking of how difficult relationships are... You have to share in a marriage. Share a kitchen, a bathroom, a house, a bed, and your life with another person. This other person was raised differently than you. Sure, you may love them, but everything that they have come from is different than what you came from. Different family dynamics, different expectations, different bedtime routines, different views on life, different food/cooking preferences, and different ideas of how marriage is supposed to work.
As if that weren't enough, you have to share your day with them. Share thoughts, feelings, and emotions and try to continue to connect with them... every day.
And, if that all doesn't have your feathers ruffled, you're supposed to share your body with them as well?
I know, I know. Here's yet ANOTHER stinking post about how stupid trauma has effected my life and how I am sad about what it's done. I should be able to just get over it eventually, right? Didn't that time that I should have been over it come and go? Shouldn't I be moving on? Finding joy? Starting life over and hoping for the best?
Well, kind of. I guess I'm still mourning. I'm mourning the loss of what was stolen from me. I'm mourning for the dreams that I killed and buried all those years ago. I'm mourning the years of life stolen from me, as I have been climbing my way out of a deep, deep pit I was forced into. I'm mourning the life that cannot be, the goals that cannot be fulfilled, and the plans that I had.
G-d has different plans, better plans than I could ever imagine. He's got plans that will hopefully make a beautiful tapestry out of the tangled ends that I have come to. He's got plans that are so far beyond my comprehension, that I will never understand them.
However, I'm allowing myself to mourn this anniversary of life.
3 years ago, I came to this season with excitement, but low expectations, for my 21st birthday. I decided to celebrate my birthday that year and tell some people. I decided to allow people to make a big deal about me. 3 weeks later, my life came to a screeching halt. I had innocence forcefully torn from me. I was held down and my pleading was ignored. Unthinkable things were done to me and it put my life on pause. For 3 years, I have been stuck in survival mode. I am beginning to break free and start to live again. However, I have lost 3 years of my life, completely. Sure, I graduated, worked, and G-d brought me through. But I didn't live.
In 7 days marks the 4th anniversary of Country Boy's death by suicide. It, in itself, was highly traumatizing for me. Upon that loss, the trauma has continued to pile on. That loss started the Complex in the Complex PTSD. He was 19. Didn't even make it until he was 20. He didn't wait until he was 21. He carried a lot of grief and pain with him. It crushed him. I still remember the pain in his eyes. The hope he had that someone else understood his grief when we started talking about death on that little date at the Starbucks in Target. I made up some crap story, but deep inside, I wanted to tell him of my struggles with suicidal thoughts too. It never occurred to me that other people struggled with it too! I didn't want to bring him down on our mini date! I didn't want to burden him with more grief and worry than he already had.
You see, I shouldn't be older than 19, in my head. I "functioned" from 19 to 21, but L-rd knows I wasn't living. My life slowed down with the death of Country Boy. At the moment of my first assault with exboyfriend, my life came to a standstill. Time with exfiance was spent fighting to breath another day, and continued to stand still.
So now, I get to my 24th birthday feeling like a failure. Where has my life gone?
Showing posts with label complex PTSD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label complex PTSD. Show all posts
Friday, March 23, 2018
Thursday, August 24, 2017
Hauntingly Familiar
As you might well know, from my many posts, I have moved back to the city I lived in during college (a.k.a. College Town, as named for my blog).
This also just so happens to be the city in which I lived through the worst year of my life, 2015.
2015 was a terrible year, filled with 2 relationships that were exceedingly toxic and abusive. I was sexually assaulted/raped, mentally imprisoned, physically abused, and otherwise harmed in most ways possible. Through these occurrences, I developed terrible depression, complex PTSD (which was made worse by my friend's suicide the year prior), and I participated in smoking and self-harm as ways of attempting to cope.
Often, in my experiences as a nurse, and general experiences as a human, I have been slapped in the face with comments, made by unknowing people.
Usually these include jokes about suicide or self-harm. Other times they are people lying about sexual assault and rape in order to remain out of trouble or to get attention. And still, there are instances that fall in and out of that range.
Recently, my ability to cope was tested as someone mentioned to me that "they don't believe most rape victims have actually been raped. Most of the time these girls didn't say 'no' strongly enough or contributed to the drinking and merely had sex that they regretted in the morning."
*deep breath*
For those of you who don't know my full story, just know that these are two very triggering statements for me 1) that the 'no' was not forceful enough and 2) that because the girl was drunk, it is automatically her fault because she was drinking.
Let me preface this by saying that sometimes people lie. Maybe someone is lying about having sex and regretting it in the morning and they feel that claiming it as "rape" is going to lessen their guilt or somehow get them sympathy. Let me also say that I have a tendency to believe people if they claim they have been assaulted, because if it's false then it'll eat away at them as they meet true victims. If it doesn't, then hey, not my problem. I would rather believe people and treat them with extra gentleness, than to assume that everyone is lying.
With that being said, the details of my story often keep me up at night. I have worked for years at grounding techniques and trying to remember all of the events that I unfortunately survived over the course of living through the hell I experienced in 2015.
My attackers were boyfriends. With 1, I question whether my "no" was strong enough, because I froze. I told him "no" about 50 times, maybe more. However, my body was frozen apart from moving his hands away and trying to keep myself safe. There are about 15-20 minutes that I cannot account for because my brain shut off and I had a sort of "flashback" but I didn't go into the past, I just went somewhere else in my brain. I remember my thoughts through that unaccounted time, but I cannot remember reality.
I struggle with knowing I could have done something, but I couldn't, all at the same time. Especially after taking self-defense, I know that my desires to kick him in the face and run, were absolutely acceptable and encouraged behaviors because of what he was doing. But I didn't do it, because I couldn't grasp the gravity of the situation in that particular moment.
My second boyfriend (of about 2.5 months at the time) knowingly got me drunk and likely drugged me. We had been planning to go out dancing and drinking. Like a fool, I told him my limit was 3 drinks, and asked him to hold my drink when I went out to dance. It was a night where we were given 2 free shots of various whiskey to encourage people to buy these brands. This, along with him getting me refill after refill (without my knowledge) and then encouraging me to chug, ended up causing me to drink too much. He knew I trusted him, and he knew I wasn't able to keep track of him being gone when I was dancing with my friends. He had been charming and fun for the few months we were together, until that night. The next memory I have was waking up next to him, naked, in a hotel room. I didn't know where I was, what had happened, or how to get home.
This is a struggle for me because I was counting my own drinks. I know to not drink too much. I know when to cut myself off. I trusted him. He claimed he wanted to help me after having been hurt by my first boyfriend. He claimed to have "over-the-moon" feelings for me. He claimed to want to marry me... after only a couple months of dating. We had had our fights, but he typically ended up working out a decent deal to "compromise" with me. After that night, he fought with me on religion, virginity, giving my body to him (he even claimed scripture for this, even though he is not a believer), and he fought me on everything.
With the two comments made about rape/sexual assault victims in relation to lying, saying "no", and drinking, I am at a war. I war within myself nearly every day whether I was truly abused the way I have had to convince myself I was, or if I'm making these things up and merely regret having sex with guys I hadn't even planned to kiss. Which, is a form of assault in it's own right, technically. But those are stories for another day.
And so, I lost hours of precious sleep, that I already don't get enough of, battling in my own head over words spoken out of unknowing. In the conversation, in which those comments were made, the person I spoke with prefaced the conversation saying they "had not had anyone in their family raped" and that these were just their findings in their limited control group of people who had claimed to have been assaulted/raped (a group of maybe 2 people). So, at least they acknowledged that. But it still stings.
It stings to not even believe my own memory, because of somebody's opinion about something that has never personally effected them or someone they love and know dearly. It stings to have to battle in my own head and lose sleep over such small comments. It stings to not be able to easily discern reality from nightmares, because your life is worse than your worst nightmare.
Grounding is exhausting in these situations and for someone who has been working 6 days a week, between 2 new jobs and learning all of the "new", it is especially difficult to bring myself back to the facts. To prove to myself that the labels of "rape" and "abuse" given by my counselor truly fit the relationships I had. Then, for days, my brain is recounting and dredging up all of the examples it can muster, and even some I had forgotten, in order to prove to me that I am not "crazy" for believing in my traumatic past.
And so the past haunts the present. It lurks in the corner of every new adventure. It tests out every new friendship, and holds it to standards that are unbeknownst to me. All I get are the results of the test: don't trust anyone and keep it to myself.
I don't talk about my past anymore. The more new people I meet, and the more I go on with life, the fewer people I tell. I told nobody in Small Town, and I don't plan on telling anyone here. The only people that will know, already know, and those were even probably not great choices. Thing is, it's not fair to keep it to yourself and it's not healthy. Counselors can't be the only people to ever know things like this, but I can't go around telling every random person I befriend about my traumatic past either.
The "discussions" started, the fights I wage, and the debate about what constitutes rape and abuse are conversations I simply try to avoid. Changing the subject or nodding along and zoning out seem to work the best for me. However, it seems that's all I do anymore...
And so it goes. I bandage those hurt feelings and move on. I don't blame the lips that spill the words. I don't abandon the people who think that way to begin with. All I can do is hope to recover from my many returns to the deep pits, and keep on pushing along.
Maybe one day things will get better.
This also just so happens to be the city in which I lived through the worst year of my life, 2015.
2015 was a terrible year, filled with 2 relationships that were exceedingly toxic and abusive. I was sexually assaulted/raped, mentally imprisoned, physically abused, and otherwise harmed in most ways possible. Through these occurrences, I developed terrible depression, complex PTSD (which was made worse by my friend's suicide the year prior), and I participated in smoking and self-harm as ways of attempting to cope.
Often, in my experiences as a nurse, and general experiences as a human, I have been slapped in the face with comments, made by unknowing people.
Usually these include jokes about suicide or self-harm. Other times they are people lying about sexual assault and rape in order to remain out of trouble or to get attention. And still, there are instances that fall in and out of that range.
Recently, my ability to cope was tested as someone mentioned to me that "they don't believe most rape victims have actually been raped. Most of the time these girls didn't say 'no' strongly enough or contributed to the drinking and merely had sex that they regretted in the morning."
*deep breath*
For those of you who don't know my full story, just know that these are two very triggering statements for me 1) that the 'no' was not forceful enough and 2) that because the girl was drunk, it is automatically her fault because she was drinking.
Let me preface this by saying that sometimes people lie. Maybe someone is lying about having sex and regretting it in the morning and they feel that claiming it as "rape" is going to lessen their guilt or somehow get them sympathy. Let me also say that I have a tendency to believe people if they claim they have been assaulted, because if it's false then it'll eat away at them as they meet true victims. If it doesn't, then hey, not my problem. I would rather believe people and treat them with extra gentleness, than to assume that everyone is lying.
With that being said, the details of my story often keep me up at night. I have worked for years at grounding techniques and trying to remember all of the events that I unfortunately survived over the course of living through the hell I experienced in 2015.
My attackers were boyfriends. With 1, I question whether my "no" was strong enough, because I froze. I told him "no" about 50 times, maybe more. However, my body was frozen apart from moving his hands away and trying to keep myself safe. There are about 15-20 minutes that I cannot account for because my brain shut off and I had a sort of "flashback" but I didn't go into the past, I just went somewhere else in my brain. I remember my thoughts through that unaccounted time, but I cannot remember reality.
I struggle with knowing I could have done something, but I couldn't, all at the same time. Especially after taking self-defense, I know that my desires to kick him in the face and run, were absolutely acceptable and encouraged behaviors because of what he was doing. But I didn't do it, because I couldn't grasp the gravity of the situation in that particular moment.
My second boyfriend (of about 2.5 months at the time) knowingly got me drunk and likely drugged me. We had been planning to go out dancing and drinking. Like a fool, I told him my limit was 3 drinks, and asked him to hold my drink when I went out to dance. It was a night where we were given 2 free shots of various whiskey to encourage people to buy these brands. This, along with him getting me refill after refill (without my knowledge) and then encouraging me to chug, ended up causing me to drink too much. He knew I trusted him, and he knew I wasn't able to keep track of him being gone when I was dancing with my friends. He had been charming and fun for the few months we were together, until that night. The next memory I have was waking up next to him, naked, in a hotel room. I didn't know where I was, what had happened, or how to get home.
This is a struggle for me because I was counting my own drinks. I know to not drink too much. I know when to cut myself off. I trusted him. He claimed he wanted to help me after having been hurt by my first boyfriend. He claimed to have "over-the-moon" feelings for me. He claimed to want to marry me... after only a couple months of dating. We had had our fights, but he typically ended up working out a decent deal to "compromise" with me. After that night, he fought with me on religion, virginity, giving my body to him (he even claimed scripture for this, even though he is not a believer), and he fought me on everything.
With the two comments made about rape/sexual assault victims in relation to lying, saying "no", and drinking, I am at a war. I war within myself nearly every day whether I was truly abused the way I have had to convince myself I was, or if I'm making these things up and merely regret having sex with guys I hadn't even planned to kiss. Which, is a form of assault in it's own right, technically. But those are stories for another day.
And so, I lost hours of precious sleep, that I already don't get enough of, battling in my own head over words spoken out of unknowing. In the conversation, in which those comments were made, the person I spoke with prefaced the conversation saying they "had not had anyone in their family raped" and that these were just their findings in their limited control group of people who had claimed to have been assaulted/raped (a group of maybe 2 people). So, at least they acknowledged that. But it still stings.
It stings to not even believe my own memory, because of somebody's opinion about something that has never personally effected them or someone they love and know dearly. It stings to have to battle in my own head and lose sleep over such small comments. It stings to not be able to easily discern reality from nightmares, because your life is worse than your worst nightmare.
Grounding is exhausting in these situations and for someone who has been working 6 days a week, between 2 new jobs and learning all of the "new", it is especially difficult to bring myself back to the facts. To prove to myself that the labels of "rape" and "abuse" given by my counselor truly fit the relationships I had. Then, for days, my brain is recounting and dredging up all of the examples it can muster, and even some I had forgotten, in order to prove to me that I am not "crazy" for believing in my traumatic past.
And so the past haunts the present. It lurks in the corner of every new adventure. It tests out every new friendship, and holds it to standards that are unbeknownst to me. All I get are the results of the test: don't trust anyone and keep it to myself.
I don't talk about my past anymore. The more new people I meet, and the more I go on with life, the fewer people I tell. I told nobody in Small Town, and I don't plan on telling anyone here. The only people that will know, already know, and those were even probably not great choices. Thing is, it's not fair to keep it to yourself and it's not healthy. Counselors can't be the only people to ever know things like this, but I can't go around telling every random person I befriend about my traumatic past either.
The "discussions" started, the fights I wage, and the debate about what constitutes rape and abuse are conversations I simply try to avoid. Changing the subject or nodding along and zoning out seem to work the best for me. However, it seems that's all I do anymore...
And so it goes. I bandage those hurt feelings and move on. I don't blame the lips that spill the words. I don't abandon the people who think that way to begin with. All I can do is hope to recover from my many returns to the deep pits, and keep on pushing along.
Maybe one day things will get better.
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.
Thursday, October 20, 2016
Comedic Relief?
I got a friend request on Facebook the other day from someone I didn't recognize. Looking through the little bit that was shown on their profile without us being friends, left me still confused as to who this person was.
I looked at the birthday and it matched Exfiance's birthday day, but it showed a different year... I looked at the name and the first name was his, but the last had been changed... There was only a profile picture taken through a windshield looking out onto fields of wild grass, and a cover photo of a motorcycle. I did not recognize the vehicle in the profile picture, nor did I recognize the motor cycle.
Something about the friend request struck me as odd, from the very beginning. As I did my short little search, more and more pointed to this being an obviously fake account, likely set up by A**hole Exfiance.
I never imagined his search for me would ever cease. I'm sure he's curious about what I'm doing, where I am, and how I'm doing without him.
You know what? I'm doing just fine right now, besides the stress of the fucking flu shot and minor stresses that plague every newly graduated college student (bills, chores, student loans, new job, etc). I have bouts of memories, but the L-rd brings me peace. I have struggles with insecurities, still, but I am also more confident than I think I've been in my whole life.
G-d is restoring me from the shell of a person I was a mere year ago, or even 4 months ago. He is filling in the cracks with gold and showing the bits of value I always had.
Praise the L-rd I'm smarter than I look. I can't believe he thought I would be so stupid that I would accept a friend request from 1) someone I didn't know, 2) that someone has his same first name and birthday and 3) pictures that do not show who the account is for... for real dumbass? You think I'm that dumb? After I went to the police, around your back, filed the report, called you on a recorded line, and broke up with you 4 times... while learning how to block you on every communication line you thought you could use. After all of that you think I'm going to be dumb enough to accept your dumbass, non-creative, completely unhidden friend request just because it has a different last name and different birth year?
Good heavens.
I looked at the birthday and it matched Exfiance's birthday day, but it showed a different year... I looked at the name and the first name was his, but the last had been changed... There was only a profile picture taken through a windshield looking out onto fields of wild grass, and a cover photo of a motorcycle. I did not recognize the vehicle in the profile picture, nor did I recognize the motor cycle.
Something about the friend request struck me as odd, from the very beginning. As I did my short little search, more and more pointed to this being an obviously fake account, likely set up by A**hole Exfiance.
I never imagined his search for me would ever cease. I'm sure he's curious about what I'm doing, where I am, and how I'm doing without him.
You know what? I'm doing just fine right now, besides the stress of the fucking flu shot and minor stresses that plague every newly graduated college student (bills, chores, student loans, new job, etc). I have bouts of memories, but the L-rd brings me peace. I have struggles with insecurities, still, but I am also more confident than I think I've been in my whole life.
G-d is restoring me from the shell of a person I was a mere year ago, or even 4 months ago. He is filling in the cracks with gold and showing the bits of value I always had.
Praise the L-rd I'm smarter than I look. I can't believe he thought I would be so stupid that I would accept a friend request from 1) someone I didn't know, 2) that someone has his same first name and birthday and 3) pictures that do not show who the account is for... for real dumbass? You think I'm that dumb? After I went to the police, around your back, filed the report, called you on a recorded line, and broke up with you 4 times... while learning how to block you on every communication line you thought you could use. After all of that you think I'm going to be dumb enough to accept your dumbass, non-creative, completely unhidden friend request just because it has a different last name and different birth year?
Good heavens.
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
Don't Let the Stories Die
I recently found myself making lists of things I wanted to do. I was making lists because I was terribly bored and attempting to find fun things to do in town. Also, the lists get my mind to focus on something other than Netflix for a couple hours every once in a while.
During this list-making obsession, I decided I needed to read some "fun" books again. Oh how I love to read!... for fun. Give me a textbook about med/surg nursing and I will either fall asleep the moment it is opened or decide that my house, my mom's house, my brother's frat house, and every single vehicle in my line of vision needs to be cleaned spotless. I'm not normally a tidy or clean person, so you can see how "Pulling a Monica" (I know it's used incorrectly from how Friends uses it, but you know what I mean... she's the clean freak!) would be quite worrisome for my friends and family.
So, after my unit meeting today, I went off and signed myself up at the library. We have a surprising number of libraries in town (5-6) considering how small this town is. Even College Town didn't have this many and it was a bigger city! Anywho, I picked up some books after not finding the ones I was after. While wondering through the many isles of unopened adventures and make-believe lands, my eye caught on a book by Sally Hepworth called The Secrets of Midwives. Naturally, this sounds like a book I need to read! Does it not?
I began the book when I woke from a nap at midnight and I'm already halfway done with it at 0500. This author is an incredible writer and the story really has me engaged. I can imagine myself in each of the lives it depicts, and as being the midwife in these situations. By the way, the book is about a grandmother, mom, and granddaughter; three generations of women who are all midwives and how their various life circumstances intertwine.
What I was not expecting, however, is an underlying story plot of domestic violence. Which, of course, brought me crashing back to earth, to reality, to my story.
When I read, or journal, or blog for that matter, I often find myself wishing I were better at writing so that I could write books. I want desperately to somehow have my story mean something. For the things I lived through to make a greater impact on the world than people hearing I am recovering from rape, domestic violence, and the complex PTSD that followed. I want people to be able to somehow find hope and perhaps be able to avoid situations like mine, by reading or hearing about my story.
I don't want my circumstances and memories to simply fade away and die with me. I figure, if someone has to survive shit like this, those stories need to be remembered and used as warnings for others before it's too late. Before they say yes to a date that they should be wary of. Before they get in to deep with a person who is digging in their evil tentacles from the very moment they meet. Before a person even begins dating, way back in middle school, so they are taught what is absolutely not okay so that the next generations of children have some sort of hope of having higher standards for what dating and love is actually supposed to be, not the sick and twisted version I and so many other have to suffer through.
Today my desire to continue on to be a Nurse Midwife is stronger than ever, as is my desire to potentially find a way to tell my story in a fictional way. Maybe, BedpanAlley could be a published writer of both midwifery, neonatal care, and fictional books someday... Y'all, it'll take a miracle, but how many other miracles have occurred already for me? I'm not even supposed to be here today.
Folks, regardless of where you are in your journey, or whether we walk similar paths or not, I think some of our hardest sufferings, along with our greatest triumphs, deserve to be remembered. Think about maybe keeping a journal to chronicle such events. Perhaps I'm overly sentimental, or odd, or whatever, but I don't think such things should die with us. I enjoy listening or reading about the things my grandparents got to experience, and I often listen with a heavy heart as they explain the pains hey endured. However, it brings a sense of understanding and greater closeness between us. It also helps the new generations not forget the happenings of the past. We lose so much by not looking back. Look at midwifery and obstetrical care: many providers have lost the ability to deliver breech presenting babies. We've lost the basic knowledge of how to build fires and keep them banked for the night so that we don't freeze in our sleep... Many of us have lost the ability to hunt, or if we do hunt we don't do it without a gun or pre-made, specialized bow. Moral of the story: you have stories, don't let them die with you. Tell them to someone who will pass them on or write them in a journal. We don't necessarily need to pass on our Facebook and Instagram accounts, but pass on the deep, meaningful and very real occurrences, both happy and sad, that occur in your life.
During this list-making obsession, I decided I needed to read some "fun" books again. Oh how I love to read!... for fun. Give me a textbook about med/surg nursing and I will either fall asleep the moment it is opened or decide that my house, my mom's house, my brother's frat house, and every single vehicle in my line of vision needs to be cleaned spotless. I'm not normally a tidy or clean person, so you can see how "Pulling a Monica" (I know it's used incorrectly from how Friends uses it, but you know what I mean... she's the clean freak!) would be quite worrisome for my friends and family.
So, after my unit meeting today, I went off and signed myself up at the library. We have a surprising number of libraries in town (5-6) considering how small this town is. Even College Town didn't have this many and it was a bigger city! Anywho, I picked up some books after not finding the ones I was after. While wondering through the many isles of unopened adventures and make-believe lands, my eye caught on a book by Sally Hepworth called The Secrets of Midwives. Naturally, this sounds like a book I need to read! Does it not?
I began the book when I woke from a nap at midnight and I'm already halfway done with it at 0500. This author is an incredible writer and the story really has me engaged. I can imagine myself in each of the lives it depicts, and as being the midwife in these situations. By the way, the book is about a grandmother, mom, and granddaughter; three generations of women who are all midwives and how their various life circumstances intertwine.
What I was not expecting, however, is an underlying story plot of domestic violence. Which, of course, brought me crashing back to earth, to reality, to my story.
When I read, or journal, or blog for that matter, I often find myself wishing I were better at writing so that I could write books. I want desperately to somehow have my story mean something. For the things I lived through to make a greater impact on the world than people hearing I am recovering from rape, domestic violence, and the complex PTSD that followed. I want people to be able to somehow find hope and perhaps be able to avoid situations like mine, by reading or hearing about my story.
I don't want my circumstances and memories to simply fade away and die with me. I figure, if someone has to survive shit like this, those stories need to be remembered and used as warnings for others before it's too late. Before they say yes to a date that they should be wary of. Before they get in to deep with a person who is digging in their evil tentacles from the very moment they meet. Before a person even begins dating, way back in middle school, so they are taught what is absolutely not okay so that the next generations of children have some sort of hope of having higher standards for what dating and love is actually supposed to be, not the sick and twisted version I and so many other have to suffer through.
Today my desire to continue on to be a Nurse Midwife is stronger than ever, as is my desire to potentially find a way to tell my story in a fictional way. Maybe, BedpanAlley could be a published writer of both midwifery, neonatal care, and fictional books someday... Y'all, it'll take a miracle, but how many other miracles have occurred already for me? I'm not even supposed to be here today.
Folks, regardless of where you are in your journey, or whether we walk similar paths or not, I think some of our hardest sufferings, along with our greatest triumphs, deserve to be remembered. Think about maybe keeping a journal to chronicle such events. Perhaps I'm overly sentimental, or odd, or whatever, but I don't think such things should die with us. I enjoy listening or reading about the things my grandparents got to experience, and I often listen with a heavy heart as they explain the pains hey endured. However, it brings a sense of understanding and greater closeness between us. It also helps the new generations not forget the happenings of the past. We lose so much by not looking back. Look at midwifery and obstetrical care: many providers have lost the ability to deliver breech presenting babies. We've lost the basic knowledge of how to build fires and keep them banked for the night so that we don't freeze in our sleep... Many of us have lost the ability to hunt, or if we do hunt we don't do it without a gun or pre-made, specialized bow. Moral of the story: you have stories, don't let them die with you. Tell them to someone who will pass them on or write them in a journal. We don't necessarily need to pass on our Facebook and Instagram accounts, but pass on the deep, meaningful and very real occurrences, both happy and sad, that occur in your life.
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.
Thursday, June 16, 2016
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.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
***Probably Don't Want to Read This One***
*****This post is going to be all anger and some really bad language. Just don't read it if you don't want, it's going to be bad.*****
I hate sex. I hate it, I HATE IT, I HATE IT!!!
Yes, it is supposed to be some beautiful thing that brings about closeness in a relationship with your spouse and it results in babies occasionally.
You know what else it does? It ruins lives when forced upon someone.
Now, something that I was so excited to share with my husband and only my husband has been used to completely ruin my life and desecrate my body. It fucked up my brain and has utterly ruined my life.
I will never be okay.
Have I had sex? I don't know because I didn't choose to allow that to be done to my body!!!
Am I a virgin? I have no fucking clue because a penis has been in my vagina, but I DID NOT want it there!!!
I don't even know what I am. I don't know what I can be classified as. I don't know how to proceed to answer these seemingly simple questions because how to you answer when these things have been forced upon you?
Guys don't like the answer of "I don't know" to the question of if I've had sex or if I'm a virgin. Honestly, what the fuck am I supposed to say? How do I be honest and yet keep the pain from my past concealed for awhile longer?
I hate sex.
When i find a nice guy to simply talk to, it seems futile because they want sex because they've gotten it from other girls.
I hate sex.
I hate sex because it left my parents with me. Because of sex and some damn sperm finding my mom's egg, I'm here and they had to get married. Messed up life plans, stuck them together, and fucked it all up.
I hate sex.
I can't watch most movies, read many books, even drive down the street without flashbacks.
I hate sex.
I have nightmares and crying spells, even on my best days, because of some guys fucking penis being shoved into me.
I hate sex.
I HATE SEX!
I HATE SEX!!!
I hate sex. I hate it, I HATE IT, I HATE IT!!!
Yes, it is supposed to be some beautiful thing that brings about closeness in a relationship with your spouse and it results in babies occasionally.
You know what else it does? It ruins lives when forced upon someone.
Now, something that I was so excited to share with my husband and only my husband has been used to completely ruin my life and desecrate my body. It fucked up my brain and has utterly ruined my life.
I will never be okay.
Have I had sex? I don't know because I didn't choose to allow that to be done to my body!!!
Am I a virgin? I have no fucking clue because a penis has been in my vagina, but I DID NOT want it there!!!
I don't even know what I am. I don't know what I can be classified as. I don't know how to proceed to answer these seemingly simple questions because how to you answer when these things have been forced upon you?
Guys don't like the answer of "I don't know" to the question of if I've had sex or if I'm a virgin. Honestly, what the fuck am I supposed to say? How do I be honest and yet keep the pain from my past concealed for awhile longer?
I hate sex.
When i find a nice guy to simply talk to, it seems futile because they want sex because they've gotten it from other girls.
I hate sex.
I hate sex because it left my parents with me. Because of sex and some damn sperm finding my mom's egg, I'm here and they had to get married. Messed up life plans, stuck them together, and fucked it all up.
I hate sex.
I can't watch most movies, read many books, even drive down the street without flashbacks.
I hate sex.
I have nightmares and crying spells, even on my best days, because of some guys fucking penis being shoved into me.
I hate sex.
I HATE SEX!
I HATE SEX!!!
Monday, March 14, 2016
Daylight Savings, Again
Stupid Daylight Savings Day was trying to throw me off. Too bad for it, I'm exhausted from my battles with insomnia, flashbacks, and anger. Ha! You can go try to mess with someone else Daylight Savings.
Next week is spring break. This week was not supposed to have much going on for school.
Roomie's boyfriend is coming into town for a week... tonight. She should be back any moment from the airport with him. I don't handle strangers well. I handle strangers in my place of residence even more poorly. I'll probably go up to visit my parents for a couple days this week. I guess we'll see because Dad is upset with me again.
I "ditched" class today because we had a guest speaker and my brain is in no way prepared to be able to learn anything because my sleeping is getting worse, my nightmares and flashbacks are getting worse, and my attention span is shorter than it's ever been. I have no mental faculties. I was getting better but last weeks fiascoes set me back about 2 months of progress and put me back even farther than I was when I had not even begun counseling yet.
I was told that a friend admires my ability to blow life stressors off. Well, y'all know the truth about my thoughts, I just don't keep harping on things when around her so as to not stress her out or bore her to death. It's also probably not healthy that I blow everything off. My counselor tells me I'm really good at dissociation which is a fancy way of saying that I get into auto pilot when I become stressed because I no longer have any ability to deal with stress. I've been maxed out for my little brain's threshold of bad things happening so any type of stress shuts ME off and I don't know where I go, but I'm not in my right mind.
I asked my friend what she meant by saying that blowing things off was a good thing. She said she wished she could do it because she feels like she becomes too emotional. Well, I don't have emotions anymore. Honestly, it's a good day if I can start crying when I become overwhelmed instead of going about life numb. She doesn't understand but I decided to take it as a compliment and know in my brain how dangerous her comment was. She meant it as a good thing, but I know that it is because I'm sick and my brain is messed up. That'll be our secret. Yes, this friend knows about what happened with the guys and she knows I'm seeing a counselor. However, those who do not live this life do not have any way of understanding the struggles and dangers I'm facing.
Counseling is tomorrow. I'm going back numb. Counselor is going to say that it's normal to go back in steps. She's going to tell me it's okay and that I'm getting out of the numbness and other steps faster than I have before. I'm still frustrated that I had to go back. I am frustrated that I'll never be okay, I'll never be fixed.
Lately I keep noticing couples around me. I know that I'm not ready for a relationship. I know that the last two ended horribly and I'm now messed up for the rest of my life because of them. However, I'm getting discouraged because all I wanted was a prospect of a future with a possible husband and potential children. Lately my future looks bleak. I know these are negative self-thoughts and I'm supposed to work away from these. I've gotten tools to try to help me fight these bad thoughts. However, they seem totally rational and understandable to me. I know they are negative, but they feel so real. Who is anyone to tell me that my life will have a happy ending? Who's to say that there will be some guy, someday, that will treat me with respect and forgive me for my checkered past? I'm pretty certain I wouldn't believe it if an angel of the Almighty were to come to me and show me a vision of a happy future for my life with a great guy and children. I just don't believe it and it's okay. I don't want to be told otherwise. My brain will cycle through and eventually have hope for a short amount of time, but for right now my brain is angry and hurt and overwhelmed with negativity.
Next week is spring break. This week was not supposed to have much going on for school.
Roomie's boyfriend is coming into town for a week... tonight. She should be back any moment from the airport with him. I don't handle strangers well. I handle strangers in my place of residence even more poorly. I'll probably go up to visit my parents for a couple days this week. I guess we'll see because Dad is upset with me again.
I "ditched" class today because we had a guest speaker and my brain is in no way prepared to be able to learn anything because my sleeping is getting worse, my nightmares and flashbacks are getting worse, and my attention span is shorter than it's ever been. I have no mental faculties. I was getting better but last weeks fiascoes set me back about 2 months of progress and put me back even farther than I was when I had not even begun counseling yet.
I was told that a friend admires my ability to blow life stressors off. Well, y'all know the truth about my thoughts, I just don't keep harping on things when around her so as to not stress her out or bore her to death. It's also probably not healthy that I blow everything off. My counselor tells me I'm really good at dissociation which is a fancy way of saying that I get into auto pilot when I become stressed because I no longer have any ability to deal with stress. I've been maxed out for my little brain's threshold of bad things happening so any type of stress shuts ME off and I don't know where I go, but I'm not in my right mind.
I asked my friend what she meant by saying that blowing things off was a good thing. She said she wished she could do it because she feels like she becomes too emotional. Well, I don't have emotions anymore. Honestly, it's a good day if I can start crying when I become overwhelmed instead of going about life numb. She doesn't understand but I decided to take it as a compliment and know in my brain how dangerous her comment was. She meant it as a good thing, but I know that it is because I'm sick and my brain is messed up. That'll be our secret. Yes, this friend knows about what happened with the guys and she knows I'm seeing a counselor. However, those who do not live this life do not have any way of understanding the struggles and dangers I'm facing.
Counseling is tomorrow. I'm going back numb. Counselor is going to say that it's normal to go back in steps. She's going to tell me it's okay and that I'm getting out of the numbness and other steps faster than I have before. I'm still frustrated that I had to go back. I am frustrated that I'll never be okay, I'll never be fixed.
Lately I keep noticing couples around me. I know that I'm not ready for a relationship. I know that the last two ended horribly and I'm now messed up for the rest of my life because of them. However, I'm getting discouraged because all I wanted was a prospect of a future with a possible husband and potential children. Lately my future looks bleak. I know these are negative self-thoughts and I'm supposed to work away from these. I've gotten tools to try to help me fight these bad thoughts. However, they seem totally rational and understandable to me. I know they are negative, but they feel so real. Who is anyone to tell me that my life will have a happy ending? Who's to say that there will be some guy, someday, that will treat me with respect and forgive me for my checkered past? I'm pretty certain I wouldn't believe it if an angel of the Almighty were to come to me and show me a vision of a happy future for my life with a great guy and children. I just don't believe it and it's okay. I don't want to be told otherwise. My brain will cycle through and eventually have hope for a short amount of time, but for right now my brain is angry and hurt and overwhelmed with negativity.
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.
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.
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