Today I realized, with surprising pain, that it's been 4 years.
4 years since he kissed me. 4 years since my battle with boys started and the abuse ensued at hands not of my family. 4 years since I realized that G-d wouldn't save me from everything the way I thought He would.
Today, of all days, it hit me with the force that it had when it first happened. It hit me like a head-on collision with a train. Like one thousand anvils crushing me from all directions. Like the weight of the world is sitting on my rib cage, keeping me from taking any more breaths, yet I am forced to keep going. Forced to keep breathing, and living, and surviving. Forced to continue on in this world when nobody cares. Nobody gives a flying f#ck if I were to wake up each day.
Still, I wake up. Day after day I show up to younglife, to work, to bible study, and to my other obligations. I show up for people who don't care. People who wouldn't notice if I were never to show up again. I show up for people who have hundreds of other people that they could lean on, should lean on, because it's an inconvenience for them to meet with me. I'm a hassle, an inconvenience, and a thorn.
4 years ago, my world was shattered. It began a path of my delusions being stripped away, my hope in a better life being crushed, and my desire for a husband and a family began to fade. Slowly, these hopes and dreams became painful wounds, scars to be reopened hundreds of times since. I discovered that I don't matter. My boundaries, my voice, my wants, and my "no" doesn't matter. I realized that my feeble support system was incapable of seeing me through the realness of life.
It came to my attention that life isn't a love story, it's not some great romance. Life, maybe not yours but mine, is not some fairy tale. My life is simply something to be survived. There is no knight in shining armor. G-d won't protect me from the evil in this world. I can't find happiness, despite trying everything everyone and my counselor has suggested. My life isn't supposed to be one of the top 5, I'm not supposed to be important, and my deepest desires to know people and to be known, won't be realized.
Happy endings are for other people. Love is for other people. Miracles that show them day after day that G-d saves them, is for other people. My life is about the realization that tragedies lie around every corner. That loneliness won't kill you with any type of speed, and that major depression is a lifelong fight that nobody will show up to help you defeat. My life is about showing grace and forgiveness to others, but being constantly beat down. My life is about learning to deal with disappointments so much that you stop hoping. I'm a top student in the university of being there for others who have no qualms with pushing me aside. I am a master at being invisible, learning to deal with lives crushing blows alone, and surviving years alone.
Showing posts with label domestic violence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label domestic violence. Show all posts
Thursday, February 14, 2019
Tuesday, January 2, 2018
"Why did you stay?"
This is a question I've been asked many, many times when people hear even a smidge of my stories.
With exboyfriend, the police, detective, and my first counselor asked why I stayed the weekend after his first assault.
With exfiance, I've been much more secretive about my time with him, because I've already lost so many people because of him. I've learned to be alone and find contentment in being single, independent, and doing things solely by myself.
Last week, my counselor noted that I've been dissociated for the past few weeks, even in counseling. So, she asked me to talk about exfiance. My mind went blank (dissociation). I asked her what I should talk about and she began asking me basic questions. How did we meet? What was he like? How did it all start? Why did I let him hurt me so many times? Why did I not leave after his first assault like I did with exboyfriend? etc. etc. etc.
I was overcome with anger at being challenged, especially by someone who I had come to know synonymously with comfort and support. Tears were freely flowing at this point, though I had gotten through most of the questions with not an ounce of emotion while recalling our history and how it all started. However, the tears were spilling out like a fire hydrant when we got to the point of asking me why I stayed and let him to continue hurting me. In full defensiveness, I told her what I figured she already knew, "it's not that easy to just walk away, he wouldn't let me go".
It's true. Thus the restraining order attempt. He monopolized all my time from day 1, called and texted constantly, built me up for a few weeks, maybe a couple months, then he started the cycle of breaking me down and guilting me into staying. He brainwashed me, manipulated me to the umpteenth degree, tried to convince me I was nothing (and succeeded, for a little while). When I tried to leave, he told me he would go drive his truck into a tree because he couldn't imagine life without me. He played on all of my past traumas, to fully cement in my head that I was stuck.
Stuck with him. Stuck in an engagement, and eventual marriage, that was all a sham and started as pacification after the first assault. Stuck in abuse, convinced that that was simply my lot in life.
With this, I was introduced to the idea that I have no friends through this abuse because I was a terrible friend in the midst of it. For the 2 friends I trusted, I unloaded far too much information because I had nobody else to talk to. Then, when they stopped talking to me, it made no sense to me. But, after putting two and two together, I realized that it had been a pattern leading up to college that people simply came into my life for a time and promptly left. So, I thought nothing of it when this happened again amidst the trauma. I decided, purposely, to learn how to live without friends. Learn how to be alone. To go out and do fun things, alone. To finish nursing school, alone. I decided to stop getting hurt.
Unfortunately, this left me alone with exfiance.
The way my brain works is truly troubling. It shuts down and I can't communicate. You can ask me questions and if the answers cannot be a simple "yes" or "no", then it will be "I don't know". In truth I do know, but I need time to process. Time to write it out. Time to work my way through the dissociation to a point of being able to communicate and think again.
I went home and cried. Uncontrollable sobbing until I fell asleep early in the afternoon. I woke up a few hours later, my mind reeling. Rinse and repeat all week. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out why I'm such a terrible friend. Why I am such a target. What did I do that I deserve such terrible treatment? What did I do that I was being punished with mountains of abuse? Is my life a manifestation of punishment for a family sin? Maybe generations of family sins? What was so bad about me and so fundamentally wrong with who I am that relationships end in hurt every time? Am I really so unloveable that nobody wants me at all? No dating relationships no friendships?
I began to think back on my life. Did I not follow the rules? Did I not forgive 70 x 7 times and then continue to forgive after that? Did I not turn my cheek, try to forget wrongdoings against me, and attempt to continue on? Did I not love those who hurt me and try to show them G-d's love, just as we continually do things that are a slap in His face and He continues to take us back? Did I not strive to be a friend to those who had nobody, usually until they were accepted by the masses to simply leave me on the sidelines? Of course I saw the patterns, but everything in my past showed me I was just living the church girl life. I was doing all that I had been taught to do. Where did I go wrong?
All around me, I saw relationships falter, divorces run rampant, and those that weren't divorced were usually the ones stuck in relationships that made my relationship with exfiance look like a honeymoon. Yet, these women (primarily, and a couple of guys) found ways to be happy in the suffering. They learned to pacify the people they were with, and found ways out of the house to be able to have friends and fun with their kids without the terrible spouse.
I've noticed the patterns of families for years. Some families are large with lots of people always in your space. They love having tons of family members, cousins, aunt, uncles, etc that are all "close" with them and keeping up on their life happenings. Some families seem to have many kind people that have many terrible people that marry into the family. Others have families where nobody sees each other and the separate members of the family find pseudo families to belong to. There are other patterns, of course, but too many to rehash in this post.
Well, I figured that the pattern of nice people having terrible people marry into the family was my lot in life. With the exception of my uncle who is the spitting image of my terrible grandmother [who married into my grandfather's wonderful family]. That @$$h*!3 married my aunt and she is amazing and I love her and we claimed her in the divorce while completely ignoring my biological uncle for decades.
So, how was I supposed to know that my relationship with exfiance was not what it was supposed to be? All of my support systems left me high and dry. All of the relationships in my life pointed to nothing but finding happiness in the midst of a shitty relationship. Church taught me to forgive and turn the other cheek and try to love everyone and work to be Jesus to the nations. How was I supposed to know that following all of the fucking rules would lead to nothing but PTSD, deep depression, a loathing for my body and brain that is unparalleled to anything I have ever understood, and aloneness for the last 3 years of my life?
I read marriage/relationship books about how to be a better girlfriend and figure out how to have a happy relationship. I asked those that I could, studied blogs and everything I could find about relationships. I put in my hours trying to figure out why the only relationships I found myself in were ones that caused me mass amounts of pain. I even took a sexual assault nursing course (for all of 3 weeks until the flashbacks got too intense and I became thoroughly traumatized from the stories we had to read). I tried to figure out how to fix it, then I had to figure out how to leave, ALL BY MYSELF. I had to figure out red flags and final straws and escape plans, ALL BY MYSELF. I had to figure out how to survive so many terrible things ALL BY MYSELF.
That's why I couldn't leave. That's why I stayed for so long. I was in the Word, I was praying, I was going to church, I was reaching out for help and being met with silence at every turn. That's why I stayed. I was fighting to breathe and struggling to break free, and so no, I couldn't just walk out after the first assault. It took all I had to not find a way to die. I was even praying that G-d would just take me, any way He wanted, because I didn't even have the strength to do it myself. I was even helping Him by suggesting plans of how to take me!
Why did I stay? Because I couldn't leave.
With exboyfriend, the police, detective, and my first counselor asked why I stayed the weekend after his first assault.
With exfiance, I've been much more secretive about my time with him, because I've already lost so many people because of him. I've learned to be alone and find contentment in being single, independent, and doing things solely by myself.
Last week, my counselor noted that I've been dissociated for the past few weeks, even in counseling. So, she asked me to talk about exfiance. My mind went blank (dissociation). I asked her what I should talk about and she began asking me basic questions. How did we meet? What was he like? How did it all start? Why did I let him hurt me so many times? Why did I not leave after his first assault like I did with exboyfriend? etc. etc. etc.
I was overcome with anger at being challenged, especially by someone who I had come to know synonymously with comfort and support. Tears were freely flowing at this point, though I had gotten through most of the questions with not an ounce of emotion while recalling our history and how it all started. However, the tears were spilling out like a fire hydrant when we got to the point of asking me why I stayed and let him to continue hurting me. In full defensiveness, I told her what I figured she already knew, "it's not that easy to just walk away, he wouldn't let me go".
It's true. Thus the restraining order attempt. He monopolized all my time from day 1, called and texted constantly, built me up for a few weeks, maybe a couple months, then he started the cycle of breaking me down and guilting me into staying. He brainwashed me, manipulated me to the umpteenth degree, tried to convince me I was nothing (and succeeded, for a little while). When I tried to leave, he told me he would go drive his truck into a tree because he couldn't imagine life without me. He played on all of my past traumas, to fully cement in my head that I was stuck.
Stuck with him. Stuck in an engagement, and eventual marriage, that was all a sham and started as pacification after the first assault. Stuck in abuse, convinced that that was simply my lot in life.
With this, I was introduced to the idea that I have no friends through this abuse because I was a terrible friend in the midst of it. For the 2 friends I trusted, I unloaded far too much information because I had nobody else to talk to. Then, when they stopped talking to me, it made no sense to me. But, after putting two and two together, I realized that it had been a pattern leading up to college that people simply came into my life for a time and promptly left. So, I thought nothing of it when this happened again amidst the trauma. I decided, purposely, to learn how to live without friends. Learn how to be alone. To go out and do fun things, alone. To finish nursing school, alone. I decided to stop getting hurt.
Unfortunately, this left me alone with exfiance.
The way my brain works is truly troubling. It shuts down and I can't communicate. You can ask me questions and if the answers cannot be a simple "yes" or "no", then it will be "I don't know". In truth I do know, but I need time to process. Time to write it out. Time to work my way through the dissociation to a point of being able to communicate and think again.
I went home and cried. Uncontrollable sobbing until I fell asleep early in the afternoon. I woke up a few hours later, my mind reeling. Rinse and repeat all week. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out why I'm such a terrible friend. Why I am such a target. What did I do that I deserve such terrible treatment? What did I do that I was being punished with mountains of abuse? Is my life a manifestation of punishment for a family sin? Maybe generations of family sins? What was so bad about me and so fundamentally wrong with who I am that relationships end in hurt every time? Am I really so unloveable that nobody wants me at all? No dating relationships no friendships?
I began to think back on my life. Did I not follow the rules? Did I not forgive 70 x 7 times and then continue to forgive after that? Did I not turn my cheek, try to forget wrongdoings against me, and attempt to continue on? Did I not love those who hurt me and try to show them G-d's love, just as we continually do things that are a slap in His face and He continues to take us back? Did I not strive to be a friend to those who had nobody, usually until they were accepted by the masses to simply leave me on the sidelines? Of course I saw the patterns, but everything in my past showed me I was just living the church girl life. I was doing all that I had been taught to do. Where did I go wrong?
All around me, I saw relationships falter, divorces run rampant, and those that weren't divorced were usually the ones stuck in relationships that made my relationship with exfiance look like a honeymoon. Yet, these women (primarily, and a couple of guys) found ways to be happy in the suffering. They learned to pacify the people they were with, and found ways out of the house to be able to have friends and fun with their kids without the terrible spouse.
I've noticed the patterns of families for years. Some families are large with lots of people always in your space. They love having tons of family members, cousins, aunt, uncles, etc that are all "close" with them and keeping up on their life happenings. Some families seem to have many kind people that have many terrible people that marry into the family. Others have families where nobody sees each other and the separate members of the family find pseudo families to belong to. There are other patterns, of course, but too many to rehash in this post.
Well, I figured that the pattern of nice people having terrible people marry into the family was my lot in life. With the exception of my uncle who is the spitting image of my terrible grandmother [who married into my grandfather's wonderful family]. That @$$h*!3 married my aunt and she is amazing and I love her and we claimed her in the divorce while completely ignoring my biological uncle for decades.
So, how was I supposed to know that my relationship with exfiance was not what it was supposed to be? All of my support systems left me high and dry. All of the relationships in my life pointed to nothing but finding happiness in the midst of a shitty relationship. Church taught me to forgive and turn the other cheek and try to love everyone and work to be Jesus to the nations. How was I supposed to know that following all of the fucking rules would lead to nothing but PTSD, deep depression, a loathing for my body and brain that is unparalleled to anything I have ever understood, and aloneness for the last 3 years of my life?
I read marriage/relationship books about how to be a better girlfriend and figure out how to have a happy relationship. I asked those that I could, studied blogs and everything I could find about relationships. I put in my hours trying to figure out why the only relationships I found myself in were ones that caused me mass amounts of pain. I even took a sexual assault nursing course (for all of 3 weeks until the flashbacks got too intense and I became thoroughly traumatized from the stories we had to read). I tried to figure out how to fix it, then I had to figure out how to leave, ALL BY MYSELF. I had to figure out red flags and final straws and escape plans, ALL BY MYSELF. I had to figure out how to survive so many terrible things ALL BY MYSELF.
That's why I couldn't leave. That's why I stayed for so long. I was in the Word, I was praying, I was going to church, I was reaching out for help and being met with silence at every turn. That's why I stayed. I was fighting to breathe and struggling to break free, and so no, I couldn't just walk out after the first assault. It took all I had to not find a way to die. I was even praying that G-d would just take me, any way He wanted, because I didn't even have the strength to do it myself. I was even helping Him by suggesting plans of how to take me!
Why did I stay? Because I couldn't leave.
Monday, October 24, 2016
Domestic Violence Awareness Month
October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month and a time that I now get to soberly celebrate my freedom from the insanity that was my life less than a year ago.
It's a time that I get to remember how far I've come in the few short months since completely breaking ties and completing counseling for my abuses and C-PTSD.
While this is a time of important remembrance for me, it is also a time of angst in knowing that there are others still going through hell and still others who will follow us on the rough path of being targeted by people who think it's okay to hurt others.
Though his attempts to get in touch with me have not ceased, I am somewhere I hope is safe. It is wonderful to be able to say I am not under his reign, and I can breathe again. My life is starting anew and I hope, as the years pass and more time comes between me and that season in my life, that I will continue to put back the pieces of my life and even continue to grow.
My heart goes out to those experiencing abuse, those that have survived, and those loving the victims/survivors. It takes us all to be able to make it through the craziness our abusers cause, but keep strong and continue to fight on.
It's a time that I get to remember how far I've come in the few short months since completely breaking ties and completing counseling for my abuses and C-PTSD.
While this is a time of important remembrance for me, it is also a time of angst in knowing that there are others still going through hell and still others who will follow us on the rough path of being targeted by people who think it's okay to hurt others.
Though his attempts to get in touch with me have not ceased, I am somewhere I hope is safe. It is wonderful to be able to say I am not under his reign, and I can breathe again. My life is starting anew and I hope, as the years pass and more time comes between me and that season in my life, that I will continue to put back the pieces of my life and even continue to grow.
My heart goes out to those experiencing abuse, those that have survived, and those loving the victims/survivors. It takes us all to be able to make it through the craziness our abusers cause, but keep strong and continue to fight on.
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.
Monday, August 8, 2016
Pure Rage
Let's start this post out nicely... I don't want any comments. I love you all, but no comments on this post. Mostly, I probably shouldn't be posting this but 1) I need to vent, 2) I'm trying to be straight with y'all about the struggles of life in case somebody out there in the virtual space of the world feels the same way, I don't want them thinking they are alone, and 3) there is too much rage, moving through my mind too quickly, for me to be able to hand-write the shit I'm feeling in a paper journal so that I can burn it later. Thus, my online outlet which you can choose to read, or not. Completely your choice. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF CURSE WORDS USED THROUGHOUT!!! Are they necessary? Not usually, but every once in awhile it is absolutely required. Right now, just know that this post will be long, and it could be about half the length if I didn't use so much profanity.
No. I should be screaming these things from entirety of my being, into a canyon somewhere, where nobody can hear me, where I later collapse into a ball of a shell of a girl who's merely trying to hang on in a world where she doesn't belong living a life she does not understand at all.
*****PROCEED WITH CAUTION*****ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK*****
No. I should be screaming these things from entirety of my being, into a canyon somewhere, where nobody can hear me, where I later collapse into a ball of a shell of a girl who's merely trying to hang on in a world where she doesn't belong living a life she does not understand at all.
Let's also preface this by saying that for the past several days, I'm in one of my moods. Yes, I have several moods that rotate throughout my days. None of them are really actually good. Some have "good" moments, I suppose, but I cannot find the good in my life. Present mood: contemplating the purpose of existence and how my life fits in with the plan of creation. I've been feeling dissociated and in a haze for the last week and a half also. I felt that necessary to point out as well.
Another nursing school buddy got married, I think today. Which, btw, is an odd day to have a legit wedding, seeing as it's Monday. But I digress and continue on with my ridiculously long post about things I've said in the past but am still mulling over in my obviously not healed mind...
Another girl got married. Now, I am happy for her, I truly am. She was a great girl, she's super smart, and she's been with this guy for a long time. She wasn't pressuring him to get married or engaged, and she seems relatively grounded.
I'm upset at the death of my future. I'm upset that my dreams of a future, and what I wanted for dating and marriage didn't even have a fucking shot at happening because two assholes decided that my wishes are not worth honoring. I'm fucking pissed that I didn't get a say. I'm enraged that nobody is fighting for me and that nothing will come of the pain I've been forced to survive. Can G-d handle it? Absolutely. Is He not the one who is in charge of revenge and setting wrongs right? He absolutely is! That's not what I'm saying. I don't even know what I'm saying any more but I know I'm upset.
The hand of tragedy and trauma is dealt randomly, I think. I don't know, maybe it's not. Maybe we are predestined to be forced to live through shitty circumstances that make us want to die on a daily basis, but somehow we're supposed to see how long we last before saying that we've had enough and throwing in the towel. Maybe, somehow, we're paying for the sins we've committed, or the sins that some person in our family tree committed a hundred years in the past. Maybe our suffering is somehow part of some atonement process that doesn't actually atone for anything because our suffering can pay for no sin or mistakes, but we still have to go through that. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW! I do know, however, that even though I sin, I don't know what mistakes justify a person having to live through fucking trauma, rape, incest, domestic abuse, emotional abuse, gas lighting, constant ragging, the death of innocent people who have done nothing wrong, or any other trauma. Most trauma makes no fucking sense. Most of it has no noticeable purpose, no rhyme, no reason, nothing! Nothing! NOTHING!
Why, then, are we still having to live through such things. More importantly, why do some people go through life without ever experiencing trauma, or major life troubles, while others get clobbered around every FUCKING CORNER???!!!!!??? I'm not saying I'm necessarily one of them, but 3 people resulting in more traumas than I can count in a year and a half is a little fucking excessive to me.
I don't know, maybe that's just me. Eventually, I'll get over it. Except not. No. This shit never goes away until the day my heart stops and I get to be done. Perhaps then I will be free from these hellish memories and the pains that stab me in the chest. Hopefully, someday, I will be cut loose of the chains that bring me back to my pits of despair when I think of the beautiful wedding night I wanted, the dreams of being STD/STI free with no doubts in my mind about my status in that area, and I will put to rest my living nightmares that play over and over in my head, constantly. Did I have a choice of having a beautiful wedding night? No. Can I know for certain right now that I am presently STD/STI free? I have no fucking clue and I get panic attacks daily thinking that I may have one and not knowing. Yes, I can go get tested, but I'm still just not ready to drag myself to my death sentence just yet. Will I ever be free from these nightmare memories that run on loops in my brain? Not until the day I die or the day somebody develops an amnesia treatment that only lets you erase certain memories. Honestly, I'm not holding my breath for that treatment, but the end of my days is rapidly approaching, I'm sure.
You know what's hilarious to me, though? (Now, keep with me because that was solid fucking sarcasm). I have watched over 5 stand-up comedians over the past couple of hours that are on Netflix and all of them make jokes about rape and molestation within the first 5-10 minutes.
Back to being serious, there is absolutely nothing funny about rape, molestation, incest, sexual assault, domestic abuse, beating your wife/husband/girlfriend/boyfriend/child/parent/etc. There is nothing funny about abuse, at all! There's nothing funny about PTSD, war, slavery, or any other things like that. What bugs me the most, is that people who have never fucking lived in my damn shoes is going to make jokes about my life being ruined because the act that cause my life to be ruined is apparently funny to them. It's hilarious to them! The whole crown erupts with laughter when these people make these jokes! It makes my blood boil, it sends me into immediate flashbacks every time, and then I look at how our society deals with such troubling topics and the lack of sentencing and punishments make sense. My life makes less and less sense, but it makes sense that the fucking statistics grows for the events of rape that occur each day because it's all just a joke.
My suffering is a joke. It's something I have to keep hush hush, because it bums people out. Nobody wants to hear my woes. I'm just regretful of allowing the guys to enter my body, because I let them do it. I must have wanted them to do it. My response to that: NOBODY WANT TO BE FUCKING RAPED!!! NOBODY WANTS THEIR LIFE TO BE RUINED AT THE HANDS OF SOME ASSHOLE WITH A FUCKING PENIS BECAUSE THEY FEEL THEY HAVE A RIGHT TO ENTER MY BODY. NOBODY WANTS CONSTANT WORRIES ABOUT THEIR STD/STI STATUS WHEN THEY HAD WANTED TO REMAIN VIRGIN, OR EVEN IF THEY WERE WILLING TO HAVE SEX AT SOME POINT, THE ONE TIME THAT THEY SAY NO AND THE GUY DOES NOT RESPECT THAT, THERE IS TRAUMA. SOMETHING, IN THAT PICTURE, IS NOT RIGHT.
What's so hard to understand about that? Apparently, it about as difficult as rocket science to understand... for many people who have never experienced rape, sexual assault, abuse, or any of the other many listed things already mentioned, or one of the hundreds of things I never even mentioned because there is too much!!! There's too much.
What has rape cost me? It's cost me: friends, family, sanity, sleep, good dreams, peace, any hope of love, joy, gladness in my adult life, excitement for post-graduation happenings, hope of having children, and my future, among other things.
I'm angry that some people live such beautiful, wonderful, sweet, amazing lives while I'm stuck in this. I'm overwhelmed at the constant waves of shit washing over me. I hate that just when I start to feel like I'm doing better, I get bombarded again with my hellish reality. I hate that I don't feel worthy of a happy life, and I feel guilty even, for what has happened, even though I can rationalize the events as me not being at fault for the actions that took place.
While most girls my age are dreaming of their futures, I'm sitting here wondering what I have done to deserve such shit. I wonder why it is that I'm here, what purpose my life plays in the Grand Scheme of things. Mostly, I'm left feeling overwhelmed at the magnitude of evil rising up around me on every side. I am suffocated by the fears of what a health check would bring. My past haunts me and chases my happiness away. The simple joys of life are completely lost on me, and I'm simply treading water in the middle of the biggest, stormiest ocean in the universe. I find myself praying that 1) I am free of disease and health complications and 2) that my life ends soon and that somehow, somebody remembers me with fondness.
I've been thinking about all the people I've lost in my life. They didn't die, most of them haven't, but they've left me or I've left them for various reasons. If my former friends heard I died, or came across my obituary, would they say I got what I had coming? Would they be glad I was gone because they didn't like me? Would they be sad at how things ended? Would they mourn the loss or get over it quickly by saying "Oh, that's sad. Was it suicide?" Would they come to a funeral, if there was one, or would they visit my grave and visit/yell at me the way I do with Country Boy? Would they remember me for being sweet, kind, and dreaming of a bright future? Or will they recall my bipolar, my grouchiness, and the way in which I made them upset by enforcing boundaries and refusing to take their shit. Would they ask how I died, prying for if my death were self-inflicted? Or would they hope that suddenly, my troubles were gone and I no longer lived with the shame and pain and scars this life has given to me. What would my obituary say? Who would even read it? How could my family even invite anyone to my funeral? Nobody would come except family, and then friends supporting my family. I would have no friends there because there is nobody left.
Does my life even make a difference? For anyone? (All rhetorical questions, you don't need to comment.)?
So what is the point of my sufferings? What is the point of anyone's sufferings? I know I'm not the only in pain over the hand this life has dealt. Of the numerous times I was supposed to die over the course of my life, from the time I was conceived until now, why was I not allowed to just fucking die??? I could have died free of pain. I could have died pure. I could have died and not even experienced the fight of life. Instead, I was kept alive. I keep having to be kept alive. I keep having to fight another day and suffer through.
I know the Good L-rd provides. He provides for my needs, my happiness, my joy, and everything good in this universe and beyond. He gives every good things. I know He gets me through the trauma, He gets me through the night, and He keeps me alive for another day. What I don't know, and what I don't understand, is why the hell I cannot just go ahead and cease breathing so I can be put out of my misery? Why can my heart not just take a permanent break and allow me to slip away? What is the purpose of allowing me to continue to suffer with the after-math of the consequences of sin. Not even just my sin! I'm suffering from the consequences of other people's sins too!!! Shit like this happens every day. Not so good people suffer no issues, while others suffer for personal sins as well as for the sins of the not so good people.
I keep feeling compelled to start working on forgiveness so I can try to move on. I think it's from the L-rd. I want to be ready to do that. I want to be ready to shoulder the pain and move on, but right now, the baggage is too heavy to be able to move away from anger and head towards full forgiveness. I don't know what I'm supposed to do.
I deal with being scared of what problems I have with health and my mental well-being on a daily basis. I fear the future because I see little chance of my story ending well any time soon. I know I'm not supposed to worry about the future, because what will I change by worrying about the future? Nothing. However, a happy, good future will take a billion and five miracles and I feel that's just too excessive for one person to be given in a lifetime. It doesn't matter what I feel I deserve or don't, it's ultimately up to G-d. I have no say. I'm just saying that statistically, the odds are not in my favor and I long for release from my pains and struggles bestowed upon me in this life.
I'm tired. I'm going to bed.
While most girls my age are dreaming of their futures, I'm sitting here wondering what I have done to deserve such shit. I wonder why it is that I'm here, what purpose my life plays in the Grand Scheme of things. Mostly, I'm left feeling overwhelmed at the magnitude of evil rising up around me on every side. I am suffocated by the fears of what a health check would bring. My past haunts me and chases my happiness away. The simple joys of life are completely lost on me, and I'm simply treading water in the middle of the biggest, stormiest ocean in the universe. I find myself praying that 1) I am free of disease and health complications and 2) that my life ends soon and that somehow, somebody remembers me with fondness.
I've been thinking about all the people I've lost in my life. They didn't die, most of them haven't, but they've left me or I've left them for various reasons. If my former friends heard I died, or came across my obituary, would they say I got what I had coming? Would they be glad I was gone because they didn't like me? Would they be sad at how things ended? Would they mourn the loss or get over it quickly by saying "Oh, that's sad. Was it suicide?" Would they come to a funeral, if there was one, or would they visit my grave and visit/yell at me the way I do with Country Boy? Would they remember me for being sweet, kind, and dreaming of a bright future? Or will they recall my bipolar, my grouchiness, and the way in which I made them upset by enforcing boundaries and refusing to take their shit. Would they ask how I died, prying for if my death were self-inflicted? Or would they hope that suddenly, my troubles were gone and I no longer lived with the shame and pain and scars this life has given to me. What would my obituary say? Who would even read it? How could my family even invite anyone to my funeral? Nobody would come except family, and then friends supporting my family. I would have no friends there because there is nobody left.
Does my life even make a difference? For anyone? (All rhetorical questions, you don't need to comment.)?
So what is the point of my sufferings? What is the point of anyone's sufferings? I know I'm not the only in pain over the hand this life has dealt. Of the numerous times I was supposed to die over the course of my life, from the time I was conceived until now, why was I not allowed to just fucking die??? I could have died free of pain. I could have died pure. I could have died and not even experienced the fight of life. Instead, I was kept alive. I keep having to be kept alive. I keep having to fight another day and suffer through.
I know the Good L-rd provides. He provides for my needs, my happiness, my joy, and everything good in this universe and beyond. He gives every good things. I know He gets me through the trauma, He gets me through the night, and He keeps me alive for another day. What I don't know, and what I don't understand, is why the hell I cannot just go ahead and cease breathing so I can be put out of my misery? Why can my heart not just take a permanent break and allow me to slip away? What is the purpose of allowing me to continue to suffer with the after-math of the consequences of sin. Not even just my sin! I'm suffering from the consequences of other people's sins too!!! Shit like this happens every day. Not so good people suffer no issues, while others suffer for personal sins as well as for the sins of the not so good people.
I keep feeling compelled to start working on forgiveness so I can try to move on. I think it's from the L-rd. I want to be ready to do that. I want to be ready to shoulder the pain and move on, but right now, the baggage is too heavy to be able to move away from anger and head towards full forgiveness. I don't know what I'm supposed to do.
I deal with being scared of what problems I have with health and my mental well-being on a daily basis. I fear the future because I see little chance of my story ending well any time soon. I know I'm not supposed to worry about the future, because what will I change by worrying about the future? Nothing. However, a happy, good future will take a billion and five miracles and I feel that's just too excessive for one person to be given in a lifetime. It doesn't matter what I feel I deserve or don't, it's ultimately up to G-d. I have no say. I'm just saying that statistically, the odds are not in my favor and I long for release from my pains and struggles bestowed upon me in this life.
I'm tired. I'm going to bed.
Saturday, July 16, 2016
Best Buddy
Do any of y'all recall hearing about my Best Friend? I met him freshman year of college and we've been through quite a bit.
At the beginning of this blog, I used to write about how I thought he had a crush on me and we would hang out a lot. Fast forward about a year to sophomore year, and he and I "tried" dating. It lasted three weeks before I broke it off. We didn't talk much for awhile, but he contacted me again sometime between the end of Junior year and the beginning of Senior year. Weird thing about certain friendships, you can pick up right where you left off, as if nothing ever changed.
I shared with him what exboyfriend and exfiance did to me and he was crushed. It was the first time I've seen him get misty and the normal smile was not in his eyes. Regardless, he has stuck with me through my rants and raves, my days of self pity, and various legal situations where my counselor told me I needed a friend. Best Friend was that friend. He even offered to buy me a milk shake after a 5 hour wait at the police station with me. He just sat in the lobby, by himself, as I talked with an officer in the back. He didn't complain or seem irritated in the least. At the end, he gave me a hug, told me he was soooo proud of me, and listened as I rehashed the amazing work the police officer did to help me.
It doesn't matter what parts of the story I tell him or refuse to share with him, he is nothing but kind, supportive, and so very sweet. He knows when to be quiet and listen. He knows when to shut me off because I'm going down a bad thought process road. He knows when to give me time to process, or when I need to be around somebody. He asks before he hugs me. Most of all, he is working to rebuild my sense of self.
We were texting the other night, as we often times do, when he started asking questions. Questions about our short relationship (thought he has a girlfriend right now, he says he was just curious), some about what happened with the other guys, and some light-hearted questions to break up the seriousness of the conversation.
At one point, he asked, "Why, if you are so stubborn, did you not just leave these guys when you say you wanted to?" This question, in all honesty, made me get a bit defensive. I sent about 9 text pages about how I know I seem weak, staying with a guy even though I tried to break up over 4 times with him. I know it makes no sense to stay with someone who continually hurt me so badly. I know that the relationships are terrible and it makes no sense that I would have two boyfriends abuse me in terrible ways when I could have been with someone sweet. It makes absolutely no sense, even to me. However, I continued and told him that I was fighting. All those times he forced himself on me, I was fighting. All those times that I would break up with him, he would promise to be nicer and better, then I would take him back and he would be even worse because I "broke his heart," I was fighting.
I was fighting to stay alive. I was fighting to stay sane. I was fighting to make sense to myself and to do the best I could in the terrible prison I was in.
I don't know if he was shocked or sorry for asking that question in such a way, or maybe he knew that I was absolutely not bullshitting him at that point, but he replied saying: "I completely believe you. Of 4 women in my life that I actually believe 100%, you are one of them. I didn't mean to make it seem like you were foolish for not leaving. I can't imagine what it was like to be in your shoes. I'm so happy you stayed strong and came back into my life, it's such a blessing. I know you are so much stronger now. I want to thank you for fighting through, just in case no one else has thanked you for that. I can't imagine what it would have been like if anything worse (I know it can't get much worse, so you know what worse is [murder or suicide]) had happened to you."
At that point I cried. I cried. I ugly cried. I'm crying right now just reading it again.
He thanked me for surviving. He thanked me for sticking around and not letting life kill me, not letting these assholes cause me enough pain that I end my own life. Not letting exfiance hurt me enough to kill me.
He thanked me for fighting.
Friends, if you have survived abusive relationships, sexual assault, rape, depression, suicide attempts, self-harm, traumas, or any other life-threatening struggles, thank you for fighting. It a struggle, day in and day out, but you are here. Know that, even your friends and family who don't know what you've been through, are grateful that you are still alive and fighting. They may have no clue you're even struggling, but someone somewhere (me included) is glad you're sticking around.
Thank you for still being here.
At the beginning of this blog, I used to write about how I thought he had a crush on me and we would hang out a lot. Fast forward about a year to sophomore year, and he and I "tried" dating. It lasted three weeks before I broke it off. We didn't talk much for awhile, but he contacted me again sometime between the end of Junior year and the beginning of Senior year. Weird thing about certain friendships, you can pick up right where you left off, as if nothing ever changed.
I shared with him what exboyfriend and exfiance did to me and he was crushed. It was the first time I've seen him get misty and the normal smile was not in his eyes. Regardless, he has stuck with me through my rants and raves, my days of self pity, and various legal situations where my counselor told me I needed a friend. Best Friend was that friend. He even offered to buy me a milk shake after a 5 hour wait at the police station with me. He just sat in the lobby, by himself, as I talked with an officer in the back. He didn't complain or seem irritated in the least. At the end, he gave me a hug, told me he was soooo proud of me, and listened as I rehashed the amazing work the police officer did to help me.
It doesn't matter what parts of the story I tell him or refuse to share with him, he is nothing but kind, supportive, and so very sweet. He knows when to be quiet and listen. He knows when to shut me off because I'm going down a bad thought process road. He knows when to give me time to process, or when I need to be around somebody. He asks before he hugs me. Most of all, he is working to rebuild my sense of self.
We were texting the other night, as we often times do, when he started asking questions. Questions about our short relationship (thought he has a girlfriend right now, he says he was just curious), some about what happened with the other guys, and some light-hearted questions to break up the seriousness of the conversation.
At one point, he asked, "Why, if you are so stubborn, did you not just leave these guys when you say you wanted to?" This question, in all honesty, made me get a bit defensive. I sent about 9 text pages about how I know I seem weak, staying with a guy even though I tried to break up over 4 times with him. I know it makes no sense to stay with someone who continually hurt me so badly. I know that the relationships are terrible and it makes no sense that I would have two boyfriends abuse me in terrible ways when I could have been with someone sweet. It makes absolutely no sense, even to me. However, I continued and told him that I was fighting. All those times he forced himself on me, I was fighting. All those times that I would break up with him, he would promise to be nicer and better, then I would take him back and he would be even worse because I "broke his heart," I was fighting.
I was fighting to stay alive. I was fighting to stay sane. I was fighting to make sense to myself and to do the best I could in the terrible prison I was in.
I don't know if he was shocked or sorry for asking that question in such a way, or maybe he knew that I was absolutely not bullshitting him at that point, but he replied saying: "I completely believe you. Of 4 women in my life that I actually believe 100%, you are one of them. I didn't mean to make it seem like you were foolish for not leaving. I can't imagine what it was like to be in your shoes. I'm so happy you stayed strong and came back into my life, it's such a blessing. I know you are so much stronger now. I want to thank you for fighting through, just in case no one else has thanked you for that. I can't imagine what it would have been like if anything worse (I know it can't get much worse, so you know what worse is [murder or suicide]) had happened to you."
At that point I cried. I cried. I ugly cried. I'm crying right now just reading it again.
He thanked me for surviving. He thanked me for sticking around and not letting life kill me, not letting these assholes cause me enough pain that I end my own life. Not letting exfiance hurt me enough to kill me.
He thanked me for fighting.
Friends, if you have survived abusive relationships, sexual assault, rape, depression, suicide attempts, self-harm, traumas, or any other life-threatening struggles, thank you for fighting. It a struggle, day in and day out, but you are here. Know that, even your friends and family who don't know what you've been through, are grateful that you are still alive and fighting. They may have no clue you're even struggling, but someone somewhere (me included) is glad you're sticking around.
Thank you for still being here.
Saturday, March 12, 2016
Oh the Legal System
My Thursday was spent at the courthouse this week. I went in and was there at probably 7:45 a.m. It took me about an hour and a half to fill out all of the pages for a restraining order. Then, I filed it and sat in a courtroom with 20-30 other people waiting to have their cases read by the judge to see if each of us would have our individual petition awarded or denied.
I wasn't the last one to file, but I was the absolute last one that was called to be talked to. I don't know if it is because the judge wanted to think about it more or because there was some other reason. It doesn't matter. I was last.
It was denied.
Normally, when she denied a protection order for the others, she would thank them for their time and that would be the end of it. When she denied mine, she told me she was going to deny it, but she told me it was okay for me to disagree and that there were other avenues I could take to get it accepted. She said I could get a lawyer and try to go farther. Again, she said this to nobody else the entire day. The courtroom was nearly empty. Maybe she saved me for last so she could tell me this? I think she wanted to grant it to me, but she got hung up on the immediacy of his threat to me. He hasn't texted me in a couple weeks so she said she hoped that would be the last time he would try to contact me.
I was followed into the hall by a domestic violence advocate. This sweet lady had helped me fill out all of the paperwork and had gotten me ready for court. She is the contact my counselor has been trying to get me in to see for a few weeks now and I am so glad she did.
When the advocate (now her new name for this blog) followed me into the hall she told me she was sorry and that my case really should have been approved. She seemed disappointed, but I don't know why. I figured she told everyone this because after many of the cases were denied, a different advocate would follow them into the hall and hand them a business card. So, I blew it off and figured she was just trying to get me to feel better. I wasn't shocked by the denial, though I had really hoped for it to be approved. Advocate told me she would talk to a lawyer, if it was okay with me, and also my Counselor to let her know what happened. I told her that was totally okay. Then I left.
I got onto the elevator and walked the two blocks back to the parking garage where my car was parked. It's all a haze now. I've grown accustomed to living life in a haze when things become difficult for me. By the time I got to my car, I had already called my mom 2-3 times. She didn't answer so I figured she was with a client. I called Brother when I was in my car but he didn't pick up. That's when the sobbing began. It was uncontrollable. The kind of sob I haven't had since a few days after Country Boy died and there is a gut wrenching noise that escapes my lips but comes from deep within. The kind that increases the pain and that people experience when they've lost someone they love dearly after a trauma. This is the kind of sob that will rip you in two if you truly allow yourself to be taken over by the pain.
15 minutes of this, I pulled myself together and knew I needed to go home to get my backpack for school. I hadn't expected to stay at the courthouse all day so I didn't think I needed it when I left that morning.
I cried the whole way home. There was a constant flow of tears, but not the sobbing. I was okay to drive, though the road was blurry.
When I got home, I collapsed onto my bed and the sobbing began in earnest again. I can't remember if I called my mom, or if she called me, but we talked on the phone. The conversation went a bit like this:
me: Mom! She said no
Mom: Oh honey, I'm so sorry!
me: I can't do this anymore (barely understandable because crying began)
Mom: It's just a roadblock, it must have needed to happen this way for a reason
me: But I'm so sick of this life! I don't want to be here anymore! (I don't even know how she knew what I was saying because my hyperventilation methods had kicked in really hard and I don't even know what words were supposed to be coming forth from my mouth. I sure as hell couldn't figure out what someone were saying if they were talking like that. I mean, it took me like 5 minutes to spit out those few words!)
Mom: Honey, I need you here. I know this is hard, but just stay here with me. Start thinking of fun stuff, put in a kids movie. What makes you happy?
me: Nothing!!! Nothing makes me happy! I don't want to do this anymore *sobs, ineffective breathing patterns, hyperventilations, periods of hardcore apnea*
Mom: Sweety, what else do you have today?
me: Just meeting *sobs* with my group *sobs* for a *sobs* group project *sobs* and then *sobs* class. But *sobs* I'm not *sobs* staying *sobs* for claaaasss! *apnea*
Mom: Okay, well just focus on breathing. Go meet with your group really quick, play happy music in your car, and then I'm coming down.
me: No, Mom. You don't have to come down today.
Mom: Okay, I'm coming down tomorrow after work. Just think about happy stuff. Funny animal videos, what about your barn with all the rescue cows that you like on Facebook? Go watch Veggie Tales. Don't think about court, just focus on happy things. Then come home and you can sleep and watch good, happy movies.
me: O-o-o-o-k-a-a-a-a-a-y *sobs, apnea, sobs, apnea*
Mom: I love you. Stay with me, I need you okay? I love you so much.
me: I love you too Mom.
We hung up.
My group was so supportive. I showed up 30 minutes late and looked like crap. My eyes were red, splotchy, swollen, and glassy. I apologized for being late and they said no problem, are you okay? I replied that I was okay and that I was just having one of the worst days. They were so sweet and just told me that they made me the dad in our little skit. I said, "I am so sorry! Are you sure I can't help anymore? I feel really bad I'm so late!" They told me it was okay. I said I was going to go ahead and go home, I wasn't staying for class. I said I had been at the courthouse all morning dealing with legal stuff and I was just stressed beyond belief. They told me to go home and get some rest. They asked if it all got sorted out but didn't press me for details because they saw I didn't want to talk about it.
How can my group, with a couple of the nosiest and most gossipy girls I have ever met in my life, be able to accept that I didn't want to talk about it? Yet, Jersey expects me to share all details of my life and then she wants to go share it with everyone she passes on the street and ever single person in our class? I don't get it!
So, I was there for a solid 5 minutes before leaving.
I headed home, but stopped by Brother's work on my way there. I told him what had happened and the tears started before the story. He came around the counter and hugged me for a solid 10 minutes while I just stood there grasping onto him for dear life, as if I were drowning, and sobbing into his shirt. My sleeves were soaked with the tears I had been wiping since I left for the group project and that was after changing sweatshirts because my other sweatshirt's sleeves were beyond soaked. So many tears!
He told me to go home, take a nap, and not worry about anything else that I needed to do that day. Then, text him when I woke up and let him know I was okay. I asked if mom had called him and he said she had. "Was she worried about me" I asked. "Yeah, she's super concerned but didn't really tell me why."
My poor family, having to deal with this crap from me. I know they love me, but I feel like such a burden because this will never end. In fact, this is all about to get significantly harder.
Next day, (Friday) was counseling. I hadn't gone on Tuesday for my session because my clinical schedule was changed without much warning. So, I only had one session this last week. That's not good. I'm on a two session a week schedule because I just can't handle my head for more than a couple days at a time on my own.
Counselor told me, first thing, that Advocate had talked with me. She asked if I wanted to talk about it. I said sure and went on for a couple minutes. I told her what the Advocate and Judge told me. She looked concerned. Then I asked if Advocate says what she told me to everyone. I asked if Advocate usually says that it can be taken farther and that a Lawyer should be consulted to get my case heard and the restraining order put in place. Counselor said that she has never seen Advocate try so hard to fight for a case. That is encouraging. I figured it was just the norm, but I guess she sees the danger that I'm sensing here. I told Counselor that I thought the Judge did too and that I thought she actually wanted to give it to me, but was hesitant because of the exact wording of the law. Counselor told me to believe that thought.
So, I went from feeling absolutely insane because I was denied a protection order, because I thought that meant the judge didn't believe me, to now believing that these women actually see the danger and the scariness of the situation but we have to work around the laws.
Guys, I'm telling you, this back and forth is making my head hurt. However, it's encouraging to have so many women who have seen other cases who all want to fight for me because they believe me when I tell them what has happened.
I don't know where I'm going from here or what will happen, but that's for the L-rd to know and orchestrate.
I heard from someone who I recently met, that ex-fiance is well known for beating girls and for being a sex addict... Yikes. This makes me so sad that I ever had to meet him. I hate that my story has gone from a happy, kind girl, to a story of so much pain that I don't even want children or a boyfriend/husband anymore.
I wasn't the last one to file, but I was the absolute last one that was called to be talked to. I don't know if it is because the judge wanted to think about it more or because there was some other reason. It doesn't matter. I was last.
It was denied.
Normally, when she denied a protection order for the others, she would thank them for their time and that would be the end of it. When she denied mine, she told me she was going to deny it, but she told me it was okay for me to disagree and that there were other avenues I could take to get it accepted. She said I could get a lawyer and try to go farther. Again, she said this to nobody else the entire day. The courtroom was nearly empty. Maybe she saved me for last so she could tell me this? I think she wanted to grant it to me, but she got hung up on the immediacy of his threat to me. He hasn't texted me in a couple weeks so she said she hoped that would be the last time he would try to contact me.
I was followed into the hall by a domestic violence advocate. This sweet lady had helped me fill out all of the paperwork and had gotten me ready for court. She is the contact my counselor has been trying to get me in to see for a few weeks now and I am so glad she did.
When the advocate (now her new name for this blog) followed me into the hall she told me she was sorry and that my case really should have been approved. She seemed disappointed, but I don't know why. I figured she told everyone this because after many of the cases were denied, a different advocate would follow them into the hall and hand them a business card. So, I blew it off and figured she was just trying to get me to feel better. I wasn't shocked by the denial, though I had really hoped for it to be approved. Advocate told me she would talk to a lawyer, if it was okay with me, and also my Counselor to let her know what happened. I told her that was totally okay. Then I left.
I got onto the elevator and walked the two blocks back to the parking garage where my car was parked. It's all a haze now. I've grown accustomed to living life in a haze when things become difficult for me. By the time I got to my car, I had already called my mom 2-3 times. She didn't answer so I figured she was with a client. I called Brother when I was in my car but he didn't pick up. That's when the sobbing began. It was uncontrollable. The kind of sob I haven't had since a few days after Country Boy died and there is a gut wrenching noise that escapes my lips but comes from deep within. The kind that increases the pain and that people experience when they've lost someone they love dearly after a trauma. This is the kind of sob that will rip you in two if you truly allow yourself to be taken over by the pain.
15 minutes of this, I pulled myself together and knew I needed to go home to get my backpack for school. I hadn't expected to stay at the courthouse all day so I didn't think I needed it when I left that morning.
I cried the whole way home. There was a constant flow of tears, but not the sobbing. I was okay to drive, though the road was blurry.
When I got home, I collapsed onto my bed and the sobbing began in earnest again. I can't remember if I called my mom, or if she called me, but we talked on the phone. The conversation went a bit like this:
me: Mom! She said no
Mom: Oh honey, I'm so sorry!
me: I can't do this anymore (barely understandable because crying began)
Mom: It's just a roadblock, it must have needed to happen this way for a reason
me: But I'm so sick of this life! I don't want to be here anymore! (I don't even know how she knew what I was saying because my hyperventilation methods had kicked in really hard and I don't even know what words were supposed to be coming forth from my mouth. I sure as hell couldn't figure out what someone were saying if they were talking like that. I mean, it took me like 5 minutes to spit out those few words!)
Mom: Honey, I need you here. I know this is hard, but just stay here with me. Start thinking of fun stuff, put in a kids movie. What makes you happy?
me: Nothing!!! Nothing makes me happy! I don't want to do this anymore *sobs, ineffective breathing patterns, hyperventilations, periods of hardcore apnea*
Mom: Sweety, what else do you have today?
me: Just meeting *sobs* with my group *sobs* for a *sobs* group project *sobs* and then *sobs* class. But *sobs* I'm not *sobs* staying *sobs* for claaaasss! *apnea*
Mom: Okay, well just focus on breathing. Go meet with your group really quick, play happy music in your car, and then I'm coming down.
me: No, Mom. You don't have to come down today.
Mom: Okay, I'm coming down tomorrow after work. Just think about happy stuff. Funny animal videos, what about your barn with all the rescue cows that you like on Facebook? Go watch Veggie Tales. Don't think about court, just focus on happy things. Then come home and you can sleep and watch good, happy movies.
me: O-o-o-o-k-a-a-a-a-a-y *sobs, apnea, sobs, apnea*
Mom: I love you. Stay with me, I need you okay? I love you so much.
me: I love you too Mom.
We hung up.
My group was so supportive. I showed up 30 minutes late and looked like crap. My eyes were red, splotchy, swollen, and glassy. I apologized for being late and they said no problem, are you okay? I replied that I was okay and that I was just having one of the worst days. They were so sweet and just told me that they made me the dad in our little skit. I said, "I am so sorry! Are you sure I can't help anymore? I feel really bad I'm so late!" They told me it was okay. I said I was going to go ahead and go home, I wasn't staying for class. I said I had been at the courthouse all morning dealing with legal stuff and I was just stressed beyond belief. They told me to go home and get some rest. They asked if it all got sorted out but didn't press me for details because they saw I didn't want to talk about it.
How can my group, with a couple of the nosiest and most gossipy girls I have ever met in my life, be able to accept that I didn't want to talk about it? Yet, Jersey expects me to share all details of my life and then she wants to go share it with everyone she passes on the street and ever single person in our class? I don't get it!
So, I was there for a solid 5 minutes before leaving.
I headed home, but stopped by Brother's work on my way there. I told him what had happened and the tears started before the story. He came around the counter and hugged me for a solid 10 minutes while I just stood there grasping onto him for dear life, as if I were drowning, and sobbing into his shirt. My sleeves were soaked with the tears I had been wiping since I left for the group project and that was after changing sweatshirts because my other sweatshirt's sleeves were beyond soaked. So many tears!
He told me to go home, take a nap, and not worry about anything else that I needed to do that day. Then, text him when I woke up and let him know I was okay. I asked if mom had called him and he said she had. "Was she worried about me" I asked. "Yeah, she's super concerned but didn't really tell me why."
My poor family, having to deal with this crap from me. I know they love me, but I feel like such a burden because this will never end. In fact, this is all about to get significantly harder.
Next day, (Friday) was counseling. I hadn't gone on Tuesday for my session because my clinical schedule was changed without much warning. So, I only had one session this last week. That's not good. I'm on a two session a week schedule because I just can't handle my head for more than a couple days at a time on my own.
Counselor told me, first thing, that Advocate had talked with me. She asked if I wanted to talk about it. I said sure and went on for a couple minutes. I told her what the Advocate and Judge told me. She looked concerned. Then I asked if Advocate says what she told me to everyone. I asked if Advocate usually says that it can be taken farther and that a Lawyer should be consulted to get my case heard and the restraining order put in place. Counselor said that she has never seen Advocate try so hard to fight for a case. That is encouraging. I figured it was just the norm, but I guess she sees the danger that I'm sensing here. I told Counselor that I thought the Judge did too and that I thought she actually wanted to give it to me, but was hesitant because of the exact wording of the law. Counselor told me to believe that thought.
So, I went from feeling absolutely insane because I was denied a protection order, because I thought that meant the judge didn't believe me, to now believing that these women actually see the danger and the scariness of the situation but we have to work around the laws.
Guys, I'm telling you, this back and forth is making my head hurt. However, it's encouraging to have so many women who have seen other cases who all want to fight for me because they believe me when I tell them what has happened.
I don't know where I'm going from here or what will happen, but that's for the L-rd to know and orchestrate.
I heard from someone who I recently met, that ex-fiance is well known for beating girls and for being a sex addict... Yikes. This makes me so sad that I ever had to meet him. I hate that my story has gone from a happy, kind girl, to a story of so much pain that I don't even want children or a boyfriend/husband anymore.
I'm Still Here
Hey guys,
I know I've been radio silent for awhile. It's been a crazy couple of weeks. I don't know where I left off and I don't know how many posts I'll write today, but there's a lot to tell y'all about.
1) I tried to get restraining order on exfiance. Judge denied it because there was no "imminent" threat that she had proof of. I know she can't predict what he'll do, but if I report him he's going to go crazy!
2) Jersey confronted me in the hall during a class break this last week. She yelled at me for probably 10 minutes. She would ask me a question and then start talking over me a few words into my reply. By the end of the conversation, I was just saying "okay" when she would accuse me of something. This made her more angry. But at the beginning I had told her I think we should talk about everything over coffee instead of in the hall. She said that would be good but continued to yell and berate me for several minutes. There's no use in trying to speak because she just gets mad and won't listen to me. So, we're going to get coffee. We were supposed to get coffee this Friday, but I was in court trying to get the damn restraining order ALL day.
I've decided I am going to "break up" with her. I am going to tell her she is toxic and that the relationship we have is not healthy. She's going to flip, start crying, and begin yelling at me. She will then tell everyone in our class. I don't even care. My friends always come back to me after she tells them something and I tell them my side. Beauty is sick of her shit, but refuses to tell Jersey off. Not my problem. If Beauty wants to be Jersey's buddy, great. Jersey could use a buddy because she has no one else in the class. Why? Because she treats everyone like shit.
And these are the types of nursing students about to be let run free in the hospitals all across the country... We have several "Jersey's" in our class. I have witnessed them be rude and talk down to patients regularly. If I had any number of these types of student nurses or real nurses, I'd fire them without a second thought in my brain. Yes, that's terrible, but they don't treat people well! I'm over-empathetic and tend to believe all sob stories patients tell me. I'm starting to know when they are lying or being dramatic, but I'm getting better at setting boundaries, being able to have other staff members sit and talk with them, and also be able to let them know I can only do so much because I have other things that are more pressing than answering their 50 million requests.
3) Roomie put me on a Messianic dating site and also on Tinder. She said it would help with my self-esteem. 25-30 guys messaged me saying I was cute, then they would try to talk with me. It's great having that many guys that I think are cute also think I'm cute. It was exhausting to talk to so many and keep everyone's story straight. I shut it off after a couple days.
I only gave my number out to two guys. One guy was particularly kind and we seemed to get along on most subjects and issues that I've had with other guys in the past (both exes). Last night he asked me on a date. I said I would go if I could bring Roomie and her boyfriend along. He flipped out! He yelled at me for several text messages. I told him it wasn't to make him feel bad, it was just for safety since I'd never met him before. That made him even more angry! He told me I'm the type of girl that has caused guys to not want to be nice to girls anymore. I'm the reason chivalry is dea. and I'm the reason he doesn't want to try to be nice to girls anymore. Well fucker, you've been showing me red flags to remind me of exfiance all along. Unfortunately for you, your guilt trip methods and abusive ways will not work on me. Don't mess with me buddy. So, unfortunately for me, my radar was right. He was telling me everything I wanted to hear but his true colors showed awfully fast.
I'm just excited I stood up for myself and stayed my ground! He is blocked on my phone. He ended up texting me because I blocked him off of Facebook and text at the same time, but he yelled at me for taking him off Facebook. Hahaha, I think it may have actually been exfiance because the Tinder guy knew an awful lot about exfiance and I didn't start that conversation... He knew one of EF's (exfiance) exgirlfriends, talked similarly about Mormonism and life, had larger than life stories, and knew a lot about EF's past jobs and where he lives. If it was him, then wow. If it wasn't him then oh my gosh! So many crazies find me! I think they have a club...
4) Roomie's birthday was a couple days ago. We ended up going out dancing. Exfiance was there! I saw him as soon as I came in the door. My friends say he stared at me the whole night. I don't care, I had a grand ole time! I danced with all the girls and guys in my friend group while he stood on the sidelines and looked more and more angry. He danced with one girl and I wanted to go tell her that he is bad news, but maybe if I get legal things started, she'll be spared.
Hopefully she is smarter than I am and she doesn't get caught in his web of lies and abuse. I'll pray for her but I can't do much else.
5) My mom came down last night and we went to dinner. We got to talk about counseling and all of our life's happenings. So much to talk about with that! We ended up going to Target and started picking things out for my graduation trip! Oh my gosh, I'm so excited!!!
I'll fill in more for some of these events, but I'm working on a bottle of wine. Yes, it's 2:30 ish on a Saturday afternoon. No, I don't normally drink wine. It'll be okay guys, I'm just trying to relax. This week has been absolutely awful and I just need to escape for a little bit.
I know I've been radio silent for awhile. It's been a crazy couple of weeks. I don't know where I left off and I don't know how many posts I'll write today, but there's a lot to tell y'all about.
1) I tried to get restraining order on exfiance. Judge denied it because there was no "imminent" threat that she had proof of. I know she can't predict what he'll do, but if I report him he's going to go crazy!
2) Jersey confronted me in the hall during a class break this last week. She yelled at me for probably 10 minutes. She would ask me a question and then start talking over me a few words into my reply. By the end of the conversation, I was just saying "okay" when she would accuse me of something. This made her more angry. But at the beginning I had told her I think we should talk about everything over coffee instead of in the hall. She said that would be good but continued to yell and berate me for several minutes. There's no use in trying to speak because she just gets mad and won't listen to me. So, we're going to get coffee. We were supposed to get coffee this Friday, but I was in court trying to get the damn restraining order ALL day.
I've decided I am going to "break up" with her. I am going to tell her she is toxic and that the relationship we have is not healthy. She's going to flip, start crying, and begin yelling at me. She will then tell everyone in our class. I don't even care. My friends always come back to me after she tells them something and I tell them my side. Beauty is sick of her shit, but refuses to tell Jersey off. Not my problem. If Beauty wants to be Jersey's buddy, great. Jersey could use a buddy because she has no one else in the class. Why? Because she treats everyone like shit.
And these are the types of nursing students about to be let run free in the hospitals all across the country... We have several "Jersey's" in our class. I have witnessed them be rude and talk down to patients regularly. If I had any number of these types of student nurses or real nurses, I'd fire them without a second thought in my brain. Yes, that's terrible, but they don't treat people well! I'm over-empathetic and tend to believe all sob stories patients tell me. I'm starting to know when they are lying or being dramatic, but I'm getting better at setting boundaries, being able to have other staff members sit and talk with them, and also be able to let them know I can only do so much because I have other things that are more pressing than answering their 50 million requests.
3) Roomie put me on a Messianic dating site and also on Tinder. She said it would help with my self-esteem. 25-30 guys messaged me saying I was cute, then they would try to talk with me. It's great having that many guys that I think are cute also think I'm cute. It was exhausting to talk to so many and keep everyone's story straight. I shut it off after a couple days.
I only gave my number out to two guys. One guy was particularly kind and we seemed to get along on most subjects and issues that I've had with other guys in the past (both exes). Last night he asked me on a date. I said I would go if I could bring Roomie and her boyfriend along. He flipped out! He yelled at me for several text messages. I told him it wasn't to make him feel bad, it was just for safety since I'd never met him before. That made him even more angry! He told me I'm the type of girl that has caused guys to not want to be nice to girls anymore. I'm the reason chivalry is dea. and I'm the reason he doesn't want to try to be nice to girls anymore. Well fucker, you've been showing me red flags to remind me of exfiance all along. Unfortunately for you, your guilt trip methods and abusive ways will not work on me. Don't mess with me buddy. So, unfortunately for me, my radar was right. He was telling me everything I wanted to hear but his true colors showed awfully fast.
I'm just excited I stood up for myself and stayed my ground! He is blocked on my phone. He ended up texting me because I blocked him off of Facebook and text at the same time, but he yelled at me for taking him off Facebook. Hahaha, I think it may have actually been exfiance because the Tinder guy knew an awful lot about exfiance and I didn't start that conversation... He knew one of EF's (exfiance) exgirlfriends, talked similarly about Mormonism and life, had larger than life stories, and knew a lot about EF's past jobs and where he lives. If it was him, then wow. If it wasn't him then oh my gosh! So many crazies find me! I think they have a club...
4) Roomie's birthday was a couple days ago. We ended up going out dancing. Exfiance was there! I saw him as soon as I came in the door. My friends say he stared at me the whole night. I don't care, I had a grand ole time! I danced with all the girls and guys in my friend group while he stood on the sidelines and looked more and more angry. He danced with one girl and I wanted to go tell her that he is bad news, but maybe if I get legal things started, she'll be spared.
Hopefully she is smarter than I am and she doesn't get caught in his web of lies and abuse. I'll pray for her but I can't do much else.
5) My mom came down last night and we went to dinner. We got to talk about counseling and all of our life's happenings. So much to talk about with that! We ended up going to Target and started picking things out for my graduation trip! Oh my gosh, I'm so excited!!!
I'll fill in more for some of these events, but I'm working on a bottle of wine. Yes, it's 2:30 ish on a Saturday afternoon. No, I don't normally drink wine. It'll be okay guys, I'm just trying to relax. This week has been absolutely awful and I just need to escape for a little bit.
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.
Thursday, February 4, 2016
Let's be real for a second...
Something I found horrifying when I started nursing school, was that many nurses end up having substance abuse problems. As a new nursing student they teach you all the harm smoking, drinking, and other drugs can cause to a body. Good heavens, it seems like smoking is a risk factor for damn near every cancer, disease, and ailment known to man. Likewise, alcohol and street drugs (including marijuana, though that is debatably "street" depending on which state you're in...) are also risk factors for so many ailments that the three things cannot even be a test question because the answer would be "all of the above" or you'd have to select all options on a "select all that apply" question.
Learning these, and then hearing that nurses become dependent and/or abuse alcohol, tobacco, and other drugs (street and prescription) was absolutely shaking to my foundation. Keep in mind that I was under the legal drinking age and had not ever been drunk or had a drink for the first year and a half of nursing school and the whole year I spent on prereqs. That's about 2.5 years of college without drinking while those around me drank whether of age or underage.
I was also in a glorious little bubble where the hymns at church speaking of suffering meant that I suffered at the hands of friends ignoring me for a couple of days because they didn't like what I was wearing, or they happened to be PMS-ing that day and had it in them to focus all of their evil menstrual rage in my direction. This happens for males and females alike, don't worry.
As I went through more and more college, and became old enough to be "legal," it became acceptable for me to responsibly consume ethanol (drinking alcohol). You learn pretty quick that it calms down your mind, dancing is more fun (or actually possible with someone as uptight as I am), and life slows down and relaxes for a moment. Is this healthy? I think it is okay in moderation. The danger zone comes into effect when it is your daily routine, you have to drink in order to "wake up" in the morning, or you begin to use alcohol to get through anything you may be going through in life. These are excessive. Quite frankly, there is a very fine line between okay and absolutely not okay. It is even easier to cross over said line and take it to an unhealthy level.
It is frowned upon for anyone to smoke, let alone doctors/nurses/other healthcare professionals. However, if you talk to those who smoke, nicotine provides and instant period of relaxation. They can be having a mental breakdown or they could have experienced a hugely traumatic event and smoke a cigarette and then they can breathe and calm down for awhile. Do cigarettes have carcinogens, increase you risk of having a stroke, and cause powerful addiction talons to dig themselves into your life and drain the money and life right out of you? Yes, they probably do. However, keep in mind why people begin smoking in the first place. You don't know what life struggles they face and what kind of things have happened in their life collectively to bring them to the place they are now. This is difficult to remember when the 30 year smoker is demanding another nicotine patch after an hour of putting on the first one while they are also asking you (the nurse or health professional) for a cigarette.
Prescription drugs and "street drugs" can be seen similarly. They can provide a high and an escape from reality.
The thing with all of these substances is that they are very dangerous and problematic for those that use the substance. It doesn't matter if it is alcohol, tobacco, prescription drugs, street drugs, or any other type of mind altering substance. These things can be very dangerous and addicting. However, before you judge someone for smoking, drinking, or using, remember you don't know their story.
I have at least a triple threat of alcoholism and substance abuse because: 1) I am the daughter of an alcoholic and have a long, extensive family history of alcoholism, 2) I am going into nursing which is a terribly difficult career and lifestyle choice, and 3) I have been raped, sexually assaulted, and severely abused (mental, physical, sexual, and psychological [pretty much all of them]) for a year with boys and longer with others in my life that I will left unmentioned. I am also the daughter of a smoker with a long, extensive family history of smoking and other substance abuse.
I have the deck stacked against me. My mind never shuts off. Maybe some of you know what this is like, but I pray none of you do know this pain and the daily struggle of fighting through the constant noise in your head to just get out of bed and possibly get food or water each day. Don't even go into needing to be a sister, solid daughter that helps, a student, and the other various roles I've had to fill. I will admit to having the occasional margarita with friends after class, during happy hour. We are stressed, we are looking for opportunities to hang out and decrease some of our tension. This is enough to want to take some time and quiet our brains. Add in anything else (being a parent, having family/friend drama, trauma, abuse, and anything else) and you have exponentially increased the desire to have a drink and calm down.
It can be easy for anyone on this earth to feel stressed enough, at one point or another, to desire a way of release. Each person has a way they find that tension relief. All I ask is that you don't judge when people are under your care that have smoked, have a history of alcohol use, or a problem with using. Yes, these things are self-inflicted and they cause so many of the problems we see in hospitals. It is easy to blame a behavior instead of understanding the reasoning behind a person's behavior. Having been through what I've lived through, I have had my mind opened to being so much more understanding to those who use or have a history of using substances. Hell, some nights, the only thing that will shut my brain up for a solid 5 minutes is having a drink and appetizers with friends that I trust.
Don't get me wrong. I do not condone drinking and driving, smoking, using drugs, or getting prescriptions to fulfill a person's desire for prescription drugs. I am not supporting abusing substances in any way. I'm just saying, you don't know why someone started using. Chances are, they understand how bad their substance is for them, but you don't know what is going on in their life or what is happening in their head. My head is a constant "war zone" of sorts. I can't explain exactly what happens, but I have constant flashbacks of the guys that have hurt me, my friend committing suicide, the voice telling me I am unwanted/unlovable/worthy of death or lifelong solitude, and a myriad of other terrible experiences. In the world, you can use music or physically move to change your surroundings. When the bad things that happened to you are constantly replaying in your mind and dreams, you have no way of controlling the thoughts that bombard you whether you are awake or asleep.
You don't know the abuses, the pain, or the circumstances anyone has had to live you. You don't know. There is no way to actually be able to completely convey what a person has lived through.
My point: Please, just don't judge anyone.
Learning these, and then hearing that nurses become dependent and/or abuse alcohol, tobacco, and other drugs (street and prescription) was absolutely shaking to my foundation. Keep in mind that I was under the legal drinking age and had not ever been drunk or had a drink for the first year and a half of nursing school and the whole year I spent on prereqs. That's about 2.5 years of college without drinking while those around me drank whether of age or underage.
I was also in a glorious little bubble where the hymns at church speaking of suffering meant that I suffered at the hands of friends ignoring me for a couple of days because they didn't like what I was wearing, or they happened to be PMS-ing that day and had it in them to focus all of their evil menstrual rage in my direction. This happens for males and females alike, don't worry.
As I went through more and more college, and became old enough to be "legal," it became acceptable for me to responsibly consume ethanol (drinking alcohol). You learn pretty quick that it calms down your mind, dancing is more fun (or actually possible with someone as uptight as I am), and life slows down and relaxes for a moment. Is this healthy? I think it is okay in moderation. The danger zone comes into effect when it is your daily routine, you have to drink in order to "wake up" in the morning, or you begin to use alcohol to get through anything you may be going through in life. These are excessive. Quite frankly, there is a very fine line between okay and absolutely not okay. It is even easier to cross over said line and take it to an unhealthy level.
It is frowned upon for anyone to smoke, let alone doctors/nurses/other healthcare professionals. However, if you talk to those who smoke, nicotine provides and instant period of relaxation. They can be having a mental breakdown or they could have experienced a hugely traumatic event and smoke a cigarette and then they can breathe and calm down for awhile. Do cigarettes have carcinogens, increase you risk of having a stroke, and cause powerful addiction talons to dig themselves into your life and drain the money and life right out of you? Yes, they probably do. However, keep in mind why people begin smoking in the first place. You don't know what life struggles they face and what kind of things have happened in their life collectively to bring them to the place they are now. This is difficult to remember when the 30 year smoker is demanding another nicotine patch after an hour of putting on the first one while they are also asking you (the nurse or health professional) for a cigarette.
Prescription drugs and "street drugs" can be seen similarly. They can provide a high and an escape from reality.
The thing with all of these substances is that they are very dangerous and problematic for those that use the substance. It doesn't matter if it is alcohol, tobacco, prescription drugs, street drugs, or any other type of mind altering substance. These things can be very dangerous and addicting. However, before you judge someone for smoking, drinking, or using, remember you don't know their story.
I have at least a triple threat of alcoholism and substance abuse because: 1) I am the daughter of an alcoholic and have a long, extensive family history of alcoholism, 2) I am going into nursing which is a terribly difficult career and lifestyle choice, and 3) I have been raped, sexually assaulted, and severely abused (mental, physical, sexual, and psychological [pretty much all of them]) for a year with boys and longer with others in my life that I will left unmentioned. I am also the daughter of a smoker with a long, extensive family history of smoking and other substance abuse.
I have the deck stacked against me. My mind never shuts off. Maybe some of you know what this is like, but I pray none of you do know this pain and the daily struggle of fighting through the constant noise in your head to just get out of bed and possibly get food or water each day. Don't even go into needing to be a sister, solid daughter that helps, a student, and the other various roles I've had to fill. I will admit to having the occasional margarita with friends after class, during happy hour. We are stressed, we are looking for opportunities to hang out and decrease some of our tension. This is enough to want to take some time and quiet our brains. Add in anything else (being a parent, having family/friend drama, trauma, abuse, and anything else) and you have exponentially increased the desire to have a drink and calm down.
It can be easy for anyone on this earth to feel stressed enough, at one point or another, to desire a way of release. Each person has a way they find that tension relief. All I ask is that you don't judge when people are under your care that have smoked, have a history of alcohol use, or a problem with using. Yes, these things are self-inflicted and they cause so many of the problems we see in hospitals. It is easy to blame a behavior instead of understanding the reasoning behind a person's behavior. Having been through what I've lived through, I have had my mind opened to being so much more understanding to those who use or have a history of using substances. Hell, some nights, the only thing that will shut my brain up for a solid 5 minutes is having a drink and appetizers with friends that I trust.
Don't get me wrong. I do not condone drinking and driving, smoking, using drugs, or getting prescriptions to fulfill a person's desire for prescription drugs. I am not supporting abusing substances in any way. I'm just saying, you don't know why someone started using. Chances are, they understand how bad their substance is for them, but you don't know what is going on in their life or what is happening in their head. My head is a constant "war zone" of sorts. I can't explain exactly what happens, but I have constant flashbacks of the guys that have hurt me, my friend committing suicide, the voice telling me I am unwanted/unlovable/worthy of death or lifelong solitude, and a myriad of other terrible experiences. In the world, you can use music or physically move to change your surroundings. When the bad things that happened to you are constantly replaying in your mind and dreams, you have no way of controlling the thoughts that bombard you whether you are awake or asleep.
You don't know the abuses, the pain, or the circumstances anyone has had to live you. You don't know. There is no way to actually be able to completely convey what a person has lived through.
My point: Please, just don't judge anyone.
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