I’m in the midst of a crisis right now. I’m hoping talking about it might alleviate some of my symptoms. I’m not to sure starting a blog was the best thing for me to do, yet anyways. It has stirred up alot of raw emotions and wounds that haven’t healed yet. All day today I have been plagued with horrendous memories and flashbacks. The visual won’t stop. It’s a movie that won’t stop playing in my head. It’s like it’s really happening. I see it, I hear it and I am even recalling any smells that went along with it. I’ve tried all the skills I’ve learned so far being in therapy to make it stop and nothing is working. It’s so bad, it feels like my brain is going to shatter into millions of pieces. I can’t continue much longer like this. I’ve made the decision to go to the emergency room so they can help me. I really don’t want to be hospitalized again but I can’t live like this either
It’s 1:45 in the morning. Another night of waking up in pure terror. I’m dripping with sweat. My heart is pounding. My face is streaked with tears. I’m terrified! How much longer will I have to endure reliving the past? I feel like I should be past this by now. I have accepted what happened to me. I know it can’t hurt me anymore. I can’t change it and I know this. What more do I need to do to move on? Will I ever be able to move on? I think that is what scares me the most. I don’t want to live in the past. I want to forget. I want to wake up, just once, feeling completely rested and not tortured by memories. So I push forward. I face another day. Another day of wearing a mask so I look and sound okay on the outside. Hiding the terror and pain. I’m trying to heal and recover and I’ve made tremendous progress which I’m grateful for. I was a complete disaster a year ago. Barely functioning. A lost soul walking among the living. I had been using drugs the last 35 years to forget, to keep the trauma buried deep inside. I got clean November 21, 2017. I had no idea that the memories would come crashing over me like a Tsunami. I thought I was going crazy. I wasn’t sure I could survive the trauma again. But I did. It hasn’t been easy, in fact dealing with it has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I know deep down every day I get one step closer to freedom and recovery. All I know is I have to keep trying. Keep telling myself this to shall pass
Today is the first time in months I had suicidal ideations. I used to suffer from them daily. So I was a bit surprised when it smacked me in the forehead. Things have been a little rocky for me emotionally this past week. I’m going through some unwanted changes. I’m having to switch therapists, which I am finding myself struggling with. It left me feeling betrayed, angry and vulnerable. But I believe that’s my fault, I shouldn’t have put so much faith and trust into one person. I got to attached. I think because I told her everything about my childhood. I gave her the weight that was on my shoulders that I had been carrying for so long. Change for me is tough. I have major trust issues, so when I let someone in to see the real me and let my guard down, I feel betrayed when said person has to move on and leaves me there stranded. On the plus side, I have a new therapist whom I feel may be a good fit for me. The walls may take stone time before they crumble completely but I see it happening at least. I’m not going to dwell on the suicidal thoughts because they will pass and I’m glad I’m able to recognize where it is stemming from today. Each day brings me just that much closer to a healthier me.
I’m a survivor of childhood trauma. I was continually tortured and abused from the ages of 2-14. I don’t want to go into specific detail, as it is still hard for me to open up and talk about, but I am working on it.
When the abuse first started, I didn’t realize that this wasn’t normal. It started at such a young age that I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know yet that there were things such as right and wrong. I thought this happened to all little girls. I first realized something was wrong when it no longer was just my primary care-taker doing it, but his friends too. I have vivid memories of being passed around a large room. When they didn’t want to be bothered with me I would be put in a crate, no bigger than a footlocker, for hours and sometimes even over night.
I was ritualistically abused, gang abused, animals were forced on me. There didn’t seem to be an end to the sick and twisted things they came up with. I was horrified daily by the games that they would come up with to amuse themselves and to degrade me even more.
Before my 6th birthday I had already attempted suicide. I didn’t want to continue living if this is what life was supposed to look like. I dreaded waking up each morning. The thought of what I had to endure that day would make me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t cry anymore and it didn’t help anyways. I basically shut down. I somehow removed myself from the situation. I lived in my head where it was safe. Where I couldn’t be harmed and where no one could hurt me. The more I withdrew into myself the worse the abuse got. They liked seeing me in pain and miserable. When they didn’t get a reaction out of me they would get mad and the abuse escalated.
I resigned myself over to whatever they were going to do. I would look forward to being put in the crate. It was my escape. I learned to act up and be mean, the worse I acted the longer I would be placed in the crate, or so I thought. I turned into a mean and evil little child. Unloved and unwanted. But that’s all I knew. My idea of love was when I was touched gently instead of roughly. Happiness was isolation. I was so miserable.
I was introduced to drugs around 7 or 8. It quickly turned into my escape. I loved being high, whether it be speed, weed, cocaine. It didn’t matter. It was the one and only thing that took my pain and misery away. Anybody could do anything they wanted to me so long as I was high. That was the start of a 35 year drug addiction. It got me through those miserable years.
As I write this I am being overwhelmed with emotions . Sadness and grief for this poor lost little girl, Anger and rage towards the people that allowed it to happen. Bittereness at God for putting me in this world. But, I survived. I SURVIVED!