This is a poem I wrote
** disclaimer, may be triggering for some.
How could you let this transpire? Could you not have known?Did you not see the man who robbed me of my innocence?Did you turn a blind eye and look the other way?
Where is your warm embrace? I yearned to snuggle against your warm bosom longing for the closeness we once shared. But never again will I feel that special bond.
How could you let me fall victim to this torment?Innocence gone. Purity lost forever to be stowed away in a world all alone.
look in the mirror and what do I see? Tearless, void and haunting eyes. A stone facade veiling a transparent face. And I wonder, what had I done to merit the brutality?
I wish I could tell you my symptoms were gone, but I can’t. What I can say is that a good support team makes all the difference in the world! I’m still experiencing non stop flashbacks but with the help of my psychiatric team, I’m learning new tools to help lessen the severity. And I didn’t land in the mental hospital which is saying alot about how much growth and change I’ve gone through this passed year and a half. I’ve learned not to freak out and act impulsively, which is my usual go to. Instead I assess the situation and seek necessary help if I can’t handle it myself, which is what I did. I went to the emergency room and explained my situation and was given a medical and psych evaluation. They prescribed me a pill to help me calm down and relax and set me up with an appointment to talk to someone the following morning. Felt a little better after speaking with that therapist who in turn referred me to the psychiatrist for a possible med adjustment and I now have an appointment set up with my therapist tomorrow morning. I’m so proud that I have learned new and better ways to handle intense and horrible situations and that I had the where- with-all to stay calm and not panic. That’s GROWTH!! Patting myself on the back 🙂
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
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!