Category Archives: Free Writing

Complex PTSD Free Writing My Story

Free Writing – I’ve Made Contact- Integrating the Me’s

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In the attempts at soothing myself I have done fucked it up(this is a good thing, keep reading). I made a doll to represent my child self. I wrote as the “points of view” and I’m remembering more of myself now, not just the parts. I have contacted some of the parts of myself that I had previously not allowed to be in the forefront of my mind. I feel guilty about that now and accepting I was doing what I thought best to survive. I feel strong enough to move forward in integrating myself more and living more as a whole me. Those parts that were held back aren’t happy about it. I get it.

I didn’t remember what happened to me until I was 10 years old. I locked away the memories of abuse so that I could go on. Parts of me did go on. Parts of me died. Parts of me became hidden. There are many parts of me. I’m remembering more of my life now. Modes, perspectives, that joke I always made about me and my 13 personalities, people sitting in a room discussing how to proceed and what to say. Mixed feelings, opinions, simultaneous feelings that contradict each other. Almost constant conversations in my head but not all with words, with pictures, mini movie reels, emotions, body language. Sometimes, it’s quiet and there is just pain. Sometimes there is just nothing. I call this the nothing.

I’m really in a lot of confusion and no fucking wonder I need so much rest with all that going on! It’s not that I can’t multitask, it’s that I am ALREADY multitasking. That’s why I can’t focus. I’m dealing with so much plus I’m really freaked out about things I’m remembering. Writing in a journal as my different parts. The handwriting changes. Que the ANXIETY! Write, delete, write, delete. Stop that! UGH! I do this with twitter tweets a lot. Sometimes, I almost share the conversation in my head, especially if it made me laugh.

What am I afraid will happen if I accept this about myself. Mental institution? Irrationally yes, realistically no. I’m more afraid of myself and getting in touch with more pain. I’m afraid of the parts of myself that I locked away because of what they carry. I’m afraid of who I might be if I let myself be more fully myself and not very carefully moderated, held back. You know what though, fuck it. It hasn’t killed me yet. I just have to go slow and honor/protect/love those other parts of myself. I relate to DID (Dissociative identity disorder) a lot but I don’t think that is what I have. I don’t have 2+ distinct personalities as in people in my head. They are all me. ALL THE ME’s! Talking about it in this way helps me to make sense of it.

I’m afraid of who I am when I take antidepressants. I stop feeling empathy. That part of me shuts down. Mostly for other people but coldly for myself as I’m more willing to sacrifice myself. Not for my animals and family but everyone and everything else goes to the guillotine to cut the ties, the threads, the connections that link from my heart. Off with their heads! I lost time. I wrote notes about having to destroy myself and tear myself down that I don’t remember writing. I do things that are not in my best interest but in the interest of revenge. I started trying to figure out how to get away with murdering people that had hurt me. That was no happy pill. There are over 120 antidepressant medications and a doctor would have me keep trying them all until I shut up or die. The reality is worse. The reality is that I could hurt other people. there’s a good reason I locked that part of me away. I’m in touch with that part now but I still chose my actions. With the medication, I couldn’t do that.

I’m afraid really all the damn time. I live in the brain chemicals of CPTSD. It is painful but I’m working on it. I’m integrating. I’ll make it through this too. I’m scared but I’m doing the damn thing anyway because fuck it, the alternative is death.

 

 

Complex PTSD Effects of Child Abuse Effects of Emotional Abuse Free Writing My Story Overcoming Sexual Abuse ptsd

I Have a Lot to Live For

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I could tell you about my suicide attempts, the thoughts of wanting it to end, and the events that led me to want to die. I have a lot to live for though and that is more exciting. Yes, I suffer, but whatever, I’m a human. I’ve been through a lot of terrible things but I am still here. For much of my life I didn’t want to live. I did it anyway. I carried on. Four years ago I crashed hard. I made it through. Changes were made. I moved twice and I’m moving on again to another career field. I am making my life livable again and it’s exciting! I still fight every single day.

With the recent celebrity suicides in the news I realized that I WANT TO LIVE! I am not feeling suicidal or scared that I will hurt myself lately. I feel like I am on my own side and will get through whatever CPTSD throws at me while I’m healing. It’s all healing, even the shitty things like memories of abuse, nightmares, flashbacks, disassociation all part of processing trauma. I know I will get a but choked up with emotion and gratitude but here it goes…

What have to live for(in no particular order):

Pets – Have you seen my good rescue Doggos? Lily and Buster are amazing and help me so much by just loving me. They were also abused in their pasts but we all have a good life now. The good doggo life with lots of love, cuddles, hugs, play, FOOD, and peace.

Family- They love me unconditionally. I feel the same. It’s a fierce love that doesn’t seek to control but support and allow me to be me, whoever that is or what I’m going through. I know hurting myself would also hurt them and fuck that. I am the joking silly one. I want to make them laugh as much as possible with my silliness and love themselves as much as I love them.

Books to read- Since many were held back by bullshit discrimination, I’m excited to read new authors that are not the traditionally published. Dumbass humans that can’t figure out that other humans come in different colors, shapes, sizes and genders, sexuality, preferences, and it takes all kinds of people for the world to work. Anyway, there are blogs and books from people I would have never been able to learn from before producing content that I am excited to pure into my brain!

Books to write- I have a story. It will be healing to tell it. Maybe my life can help someone else.

Positive contributions to make like- Yes, I have an agenda if I am going to stay. My aspirations in life have to do with helping others to heal, sharing info, teaching healthy coping methods. I have a lot to learn still but that’s also another exciting part of life for me.

Art to create- I’m a sculptor at heart and I am making my ceramics studio happening. I’m also painting more and enjoying the chaos of watercolor. I have notebooks of sketches and ideas.

ME! – I am still figuring out who I am underneath all the dissociation, coping, and other CPTSD symptoms. Who I am is nothing like the abusive people told me I was. I don’t need anyone to tell me who I am anyway. Now that I love myself a little I want to go shout it to the damn rooftops! I LOVE ME! I’m already a loving person but I feel like my heart had grown even larger. That also means I’m more protective of myself and my own well being.

Future- Who knows what opportunities will arise? I plan to be here for it.

People(YES,REALLY? I KNOW,WTF!?) Yes, people. There are amazing people out there. We focus on the jerks but there are also people that are just well, flat out fucking amazing human beings. They inspire me to learn, grow and love. They inspire me to live. Some of those people are reading this post right this very moment! Thank you to everyone that comments and shares my posts as well as their own experience.

There is more but that’s the short version. This could be a book all in itself.

Abuse Survivors Complex PTSD Free Writing My Story Overcoming Sexual Abuse ptsd

Free Writing May 26, 2018

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I miss touch. I don’t trust touch, but I miss it. I’m afraid of kindness and nice touches. I’m tensed up for the worst, the pain, the coldness and the searing pain. I am armored against it. I am afraid of touch. My sense of safe touch is not accurate. Like language, abusers used soft touch to lure trust and cultivate the want for safe loving touch only to take advantage of that trust. That is grooming. How can I tell who is grooming me? I realize my solution was to go extremely slow in connecting with someone and allowing closeness. I’m doing that, but I don’t think it is intentional, I’m realizing I’m doing it. Anyone frustrated with my pace can go find someone who is more compatible with what they want/need.  This left me confused. Abusers gaslighted me further. Society reinforced it. Society gaslights me. All the mixed messages and bullshit and excuses for abuse.

My feelings about being a human: (This is disassociating.)

I don’t like it. I don’t feel good in this form, in this shape, with these horrible thoughts.  I feel like an imposter human that must fake it, but I can’t fake it any longer. There is all the pressure to be this or that or achieve, change, grow, heal when I can barely remember my life some days.

All this pressure, all these expectations, how can one keep track. So many conflicting messages and demands and judgments that conform or die mentality. Make it stop. I can’t make the thoughts stop. The run in my mind like rabid angry squirrels fighting for territory. They shriek, and they scratch. I scream inside but no one can hear me but me.

I’m cut off from remembering much of my life. I can’t remember names of common things, not names, and…what was I talking about. Some shit anyway.

I realized lately, AGAIN, that I seem to lose connection. Like lose connection with people I care about. Like it is just gone sometimes, or fuzzy if my brain is trying to determine if they are dangerous. It is awful. I must rebuild connections a lot to keep them. It embarrasses me. I feel like people won’t understand. Some people seem to act so familiar to me and that freaks me out too. Like already assuming friendship and closeness before much discussion. Fuck that, people that try to decide how close I am to them get cut out. Cut. Connection lost. At least there is a reason there. This happens to myself. I lose connection with loving myself.

CRS…can’t remember shit. More disassociation. I just kind of freaked out about what I wrote. I write and can see how someone could take it wrong, misinterpret, see some malicious intent in my words but there really isn’t. It’s difficult to be close to me, even for myself.

How can I feel bad about what I wrote when I’m basically leaving everyone alone and not hurting anyone just trying to live a peaceful quiet life? Let me count the ways. Wait, those words in my head about how I can feel bad aren’t even my words. I’m not even saying them. It’s an echo from another time. Who said it? Who cares, it’s fucked, and I will not accept that negative talk as the truth. This is a symptom of my CPTSD. What is real? What is a symptom and what is just part of what everyone else feels that doesn’t have cptsd? Do I really need to parse that out? Nahhhh.

I think I am fractured. I feel many ways, not just the binary 2 extremes, but all sorts of ways. The different perspectives talk in my head and discuss things. They interrupt each other too. They are good at problem solving. Many times, I get overwhelmed and confused. Then I disassociate more and feel like I am the nothing. My mind spins and the thought and emotions are spinning too fast for me to keep up. This paragraph was scary to write. Post it anyway! Fuck it!

Just tried to go back and fix what I wrote so it wouldn’t piss anyone off to make some shitpost troll comment or discouragement. I’m vulnerable. I can’t tell criticism from people being assholes. I added more to the 1st paragraph but I didn’t go read what triggered the bad feeling about myself. This is honest and my feelings right now. I don’t have to edit them for anyone. If someone hates me now well then good, that means I’m still alive to piss someone off by being myself. Spits venom that I just figuratively coughed up instead of chewing on it.

May 28,2018- I hesitated about posting this but fuck it, I’m just going to share. It is mine. It is what it is. I don’t feel like the writing above today but there are a lot of days that I do feel like that. Writing it down helps to get it out of my head and can sometimes quiet it down a little. Like a release of the pent up whatever that shit is. I don’t like it, I don’t even like writing about it but it’s part of how I’m healing myself. I write a lot and don’t share much of it. Reading what I wrote on the days I’m suffering more helps me to be more compassionate. I can step aside and see myself as a person suffering. It is still very difficult for me to be compassionate in the moment but I am working on it.

 

Abuse Survivors Complex PTSD Effects of Child Abuse Effects of Emotional Abuse Free Writing Insomnia My Story Overcoming Sexual Abuse

My Best Effort is Good Enough

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I am very strict and hard on myself. I usually feel like I am not doing enough even if I am doing the best I can at the time. Yesterday, I felt worthless and that I wasn’t doing enough for myself to make a living WHILE putting in hours of work and getting a lot done. This goes back to my self-worth and my low opinion of myself. Through research I learned that this attitude towards oneself is common with survivors of abuse and very common with survivors of childhood sexual abuse.

To combat these feeling I write down what I accomplished. I measure my results. This is one way I can quickly document and prove to myself that I am, in fact, making progress. It’s a fact that I am a very capable person that is able to make shit happen. My strict non-compassionate self view conveniently forgets that I am battling Complex PTSD. This crappy self view is part of my Complex PTSD.

What I accomplished:

Put groceries away

Paid bills

Food, water, bathroom stuff for the doggos

Uploaded many gigs of video content

Edited 3 videos and rendered each in 2 different formats

Wrote a blog post

Created 2 animations for modulated class

Reread some marketing information/did some research

Schedule updates for 8 days with descriptions and keywords on 1 passive income stream website

Completed my Top 50 Project

Somehow fixed my wireless mouse

Took a bath and washed my hair

 

My takeaways from writing this list is that I am getting a lot done. That negative attitude towards myself is not based on my current reality. I can, with work, change my perception of myself by reminding myself that I am doing the best I can in my current circumstances. I am not lazy nor worthless when it comes to handling business to make a living despite all the challenges my mental health throws at me. I’m still surviving every month. My symptoms of Complex PTSD worsening temps me to be cruel to myself and berate myself for backsliding. The truth is that there really is no backsliding. There is no back. There is now. Waking up every day and doing the best I can is good enough.

Remember when I said that I am very strict with myself and I framed it as a bad thing. Here’s where I can turn this strictness into a good thing. I can be strict with how I’m allowed to talk to myself. I’ll show myself the proof that I am enough over and over again. Catching myself doing it is the key to changing that behavior. I have to stop the abusive cycle in my head. The “not good enough” feelings also have to do with anxiety and safety. It’s complicated and there are a lot of layers to everything. Life is all kinds of bastard that way.

 

 

 

 

Abuse Survivors Adult Survivors of Child Abuse Complex PTSD Effects of Child Abuse Effects of Emotional Abuse Free Writing My Story Overcoming Sexual Abuse ptsd

PTSD Episode

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My anxiety and insomnia are back again. I’m in another PTSD Episode. This happens and will happen again and again as I move through my life. The duration of the episodes get shorter and recovery time from the episodes grow shorter. I am becoming more resilient by practicing self care and self compassion like my life depends on it. Because it does. I feel more prepared to take care of myself now. Knowing what is happening and having a plan to take care of myself helps me so much during times like these. I’ve got this and I’m cranky about it all the same. I’m surviving on meditation, love, coffee, and a Spoonie/Goonies Never Say Die attitude.

I hope you are having a better day, dear reader, than I am. If you are having a crappy day too, know that I stand there with you in solidarity. Deep breathing and mindfulness meditation have been the most helpful for me. Art and writing in my journal when I need to express myself more. The insomnia has been creeping back as my anxiety worsened. I’m going to have to focus on sleep more this month. People talk about healing as some wonderful spiritual positive experience but the reality is that it hurts.

This month’s mantra is “Keep it Moving” and I plan to do just that. I am being more active and focused on myself. I refuse to let Complex PTSD kill me. Like I said before, I live.

Abuse Survivors Adult Survivors of Child Abuse Child Abuse Survivors Complex PTSD Effects of Child Abuse Free Writing Insomnia My Story Overcoming Sexual Abuse ptsd Sexual Child Abuse

Completely Healed Complex PTSD?

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healing from complex ptsd

I used to think being healed from complex PTSD and child sexual abuse meant that I didn’t have any lasting effects and my symptoms would be completely gone. I was told by many uneducated people to just get over it, move on, let it go, ect. Here’s the thing though: I’m not choosing to hang onto anything. Complex PTSD is not a choice. I can choose to recover but healing from trauma is a long messy process. If I could just choose to be healed, I SO WOULD! You have no idea how much I want it to be as simple as choosing wellness but the reality is that takes more time than anyone has the patience for. Relearning how to human and to learn(possible for the 1st time) healthy coping techniques takes time.

When would I consider myself healed? I wouldn’t. I know that may sound harsh but stay with me. If I could acknowledge the trigger or memory without it ruining my day or take longer than a few minutes to get back to life before the trigger. To be able to set it down as soon as it jumps on my back with love for myself and not the seemingly automatic reaction of anxiety, fear, and negative self speak. I don’t think that healing means that I forget. It will always be there. Being healed is handling the triggers and feelings in a way that is not detrimental to myself is the goal. Healing from child sexual abuse along with the other traumas that make up my complex PTSD is a lifelong process. It’s a journey and not a destination.

My focus now is to be compassionate with myself through all of this. It’s what I have denied myself thinking if I wasn’t hard on myself, I wouldn’t do it. I had and still have a whole myriad of untrue reasoning about myself that I’m working on. Basing goal posts according to someone else’s standards or their timeline is counterproductive. They aren’t me so they don’t get to judge or dictate what healing looks like for me. I get to do that. I have to do the work, ME, not them. It’s so easy to sit and judge someone’s behavior or doing the recovery work rather than fixing your own crap, right? Other people can be supportive and compassionate or shove off. There is no need for tough love, criticism of how I live, recover, suffer, live, or achieve my goals.

I am happy to report that I have been doing a LOT better when it comes to putting myself 1st and sleep. According to my tracker technology, I have been getting an average of 9 hours a night for over a month now. I still wake up a lot but the amount and quality has increased. My life and mental well being have greatly improved. In fact, according to my tracker technology I am averaging 9 hours a night. This is a huge change from the rest of my life. I’ve had chronic insomnia for decades. This is proof to me that things can get better. It just takes work and dedication. I can do that. I’m doing it! More sleep has reduced a lot of my complex PTSD symptoms including anxiety and anxiety attacks. I have a self care sleep routine that is working.

There are a ton of other things I do which I mentions in another blog talking about my Complex PTSD toolbox pt1 and  Complex PTSD toolbox pt2. Check those out for more info. All the things at once are overwhelming for sure but focusing on thing at a time works for me. I focus on 1 thing and then build on that. I know I’m going to have up and down times now but I have a plan and several plans depending on what is going on.

Knowing what is happening so I can help myself has been life changing. Before I practiced mindfulness and check-ins with myself I was living in a reactionary state that was extremely difficult. I really didn’t know what was happening or what to do. I would just suffer and wait for it to pass. Taking action to help myself through whatever symptoms arise has lessened the amount of time it takes to be functioning again. There are still times when it seems like nothing helps but in those times I can practice compassion with myself.

 

 

 

Complex PTSD Effects of Child Abuse Effects of Emotional Abuse Emotional Child Abuse Free Writing My Story Overcoming Sexual Abuse Uncategorized

Rewriting My Nightmares

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Last night I had fitful sleep filled with nightmares. My brain is working on healing 24-7. Lack of restful sleep makes my daytime symptoms with complex PTSD flare up and become more difficult to deal with. One method of working through what I’m experiencing in my healing process is to talk about my experience. Share it, write about it, make a video or audio and talk. The other is visualization with “rewriting” what happened in the nightmare. While pacing around my house trying to cope with the energy that anxiety dishes out I decided to rewrite my nightmare. I said what happened but then I talked myself through visualizing a different set of actions that I took and a different outcome than the dream. It’s also MY visualization so I can control the whole thing start to finish.

In this new version of the now fading memory of the nightmare I was brave and stood up for myself. I did not cower behind the door and look frightfully out the window. In my rewritten version of the nightmare I opened the door, walked outside and faced the scary person in the dream. Already it went from a nightmare to a dream. I’m the hero in my dream and I tell this (no longer scary) person that I snatched their identity to make them basically faceless to piss off. I take the gun from them and they leave. I went over and over the story until I was able to tell the story out loud without getting upset. I pushed past upset and went through the dream until the end. This helped me feel more empowered and strong. The original nightmare doesn’t matter now because I rewrote it.

Visualization is very powerful and I use it a lot to help me cope but also see different perspectives of the same issue. This is my way of problem solving. This was not easy for me at first but like everything, practice creates new pathways in the brain making it a little easier each time. I think my nightmares are a way for my brain to process multiple traumas and stitch the details together into something confusing and terrifying. Even if the nightmare is something that 100% happened I can still visualize and talk myself through. The more I do this, the more confident I am with my ability to help myself. It can take what would be possibly days of being upset to a few hours. This doesn’t always work but when it does I feel like a super hero. As I said before SPOILER ALERT, I don’t die due to my CPTSD, I recover and live well.

Abuse Survivors Adult Survivors of Child Abuse Child Abuse Survivors Effects of Child Abuse Effects of Emotional Abuse Emotional Child Abuse Free Writing Overcoming Sexual Abuse ptsd

Behind the Smiling Mask

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For years my brain locked away years of memories of abuse and rape. At 10 some of these memories came back to me. Luckily, my brain waited until I was older to tell me the rest of the story. I have suffered ever since. Nightmares, flashbacks, anxiety, fear, pain, living with a broken heart of a child. Reality crashed down upon me the thousand bricks and now I crawl out from underneath each brick each day.

The greatest mystery of life is who we truly are. Now as I can remember the repeated rapes I also remember the resilient little girl behind the smiling mask. I was a chameleon who knew the world would not understand my pain. The burden of child abuse and survival is not something that anyone should suffer alone. I kept their secrets and did what was expected of me to survive the world that treats survivors as perpetrators. I was a chameleon to survive and to live again. I hid my PTSD, the abuse I suffered from countless people and from the world  behind my smile. I smiled to say that I’m okay, that I’m one of you, but I’m not. I no longer hope for acceptance nor do I want to be accepted by people who would minimize or excuse rape and abuse. I do not want to be counted among those who are ignorant or ignore it.

My mind is slowly revealing to me who I truly am. I am a survivor of child sexual abuse and partner rape. I will no longer remain silent or hide behind the mask of a smile for anyone’s comfort. I am a survivor and I was a resilient child that grew up to still love deeply and be kind. They could not take that from me and they cannot have it now. Each memory is like suffering all over again my body is racked with pain but I still live.

I no longer hide, I no longer wish to be accepted or to act accordingly. I no longer care to fit in. I know the world is cruel and I will live anyway. Now I take off the mask and reveal my true self, not just a survivor but a warrior, still alive, scars and all. My story does not end here but my true life and purpose begins here.

 

See my PTSD Video Diaries: https://www.youtube.com/user/sarahblakeinc

Abuse Survivors Adult Survivors of Child Abuse Art Therapy Child Abuse Survivors Free Writing Overcoming Sexual Abuse ptsd

My PTSD is Trying to Kill Me Again

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“I will take your sleep which in turn robs you of your patience, your energy, and your ability to heal your physical body.

I will take your peace of mind and replace it with daily terror and fear. I will fuck with your memory, some days you will be not be able to put 2 sentences together, or remember to take care of yourself. You will question everyone around you and wonder if you can trust them but I won’t stop there. I will slowly grind away at your ability to trust yourself.

I will erode away at your self-confidence that you could be out in the world and survive. I will make you question your ability to survive by wrecking you with panic attacks, emotional flashbacks, and linking things in your normal life to your past so that it’s always right there in your face.

I will steal your peace away with flashbacks, hallucinations, and intrusive thoughts. I will make you feel crazy. I will pull you into a pit of despair as you struggle to smile and climb out.

Finally, I will steal your will to live. As you struggle to take it one day to time, hour to hour, and minute to minute, I will steal days, months, and years from you as you wait it out, wait to feel better, and wait for me to stop but I won’t. You will watch your life go by and everyone around you while you are at the state of paralyzing anxiety and stuck with me. My claws dig deep into your physiological flesh. I try to rip it.

I am such a mind fuck that I will not kill you myself but I will convince you to do it yourself or to be destructive enough in your urges that someone else might. I will convince you that it’s your only option and the only path to peace.

Death is the only peace-“

I SAY-FUCK THAT!

**This is the part where the superhero me, “self-care and love”  me comes in and kicks PTSD’s ass!

She ties up PTSD, and throws the fucker in the trunk.

“Enjoy the ride, ASSBUTT, you don’t need to be the front seat anymore!”

Superhero gets into the passenger seat and smiles at the driver which is me. In the backseat are my other selves the 3 year old child me, the twenty-something me, the teenager me, the villain me, the big angry guerrilla me, and all the others that occupy space in my mind that are all parts of me.

We listen to some music on the radio that we all like we jam out as we drive down the road to a happier life with PTSD securely in the trunk.

That’s how I see it in my head anyway. 28 people diagnosed with PTSD take their life every day. That is more than 1 per hour. Today, I am not one of them. This illness is trying to kill me and I will not let it. Not only with I live through this, just surviving, I will thrive and to my best to help lift other people up that are also suffering.

I’d really like to create videos of these scenarios as art therapy.  Hopefully, I can some day. I’m working on getting some special effects skills under my belt.

Abuse Survivors Effects of Emotional Abuse Free Writing

You Are a Bad Person- The Burden of Survivors

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“You are a bad person.” “What’s wrong with you?” “Its your fault.” “You brought this on yourself.”

This was the general theme that seems to surround victims of sexual abuse. Society blames them, abusers blame them, and they tend to also blame themselves. Abuse is not the fault of the victim but we seem to coddle the abusers and look to the abused for their flaws, their issues, their defect that caused this problem they are unfortunately having to know about. How inconvenient our pain is to the world. Someone did unwanted sexual things and to blame them is to distract from who is actually at fault, the abuser themselves, and no one else.

No one wants to believe that people treat each other horribly. No one wants to believe in the Jekyll and Hyde personalities. My ex was/is very loved by his family and friends. What a facade he would put on and then when we were home he would also show that happy, nice person every once in awhile, giving me a glimpse of why I stuck around, trying to make things work. I thought I signed up for that “kind person” I thought he was. Everyone told me I was lucky and he was such a nice guy, ect, ect, bullshit, bullshit. The person I know as my ex husband is not the person that others saw. I didn’t want to believe it either but the truth is that the person I fell in love with doesn’t exist. It was his mask.

Forget talking about the pain that was caused or talking out problems. Bringing anything up like a healthy adult was out of the question. My pain of being raped was something I wasn’t allowed to bring up. You would think this would be a big red flag but at the time, I was just in more pain…and silent. He was aware of it and bringing it up was punishment in his eyes and would always result in verbal abuse towards me… sometimes to the point of my laying on the floor crying with him standing over me until I couldn’t take it anymore. A retaliation for even daring to talk about my own feelings. In that relationship, I didn’t have rights to my feelings. Being upset, angry, sad, depressed, hurt…not allowed without further consequences. Either verbal abuse and blaming me or long periods of time days up to a week of not even knowing where he was. No phone call, just gone for a few days. I had nothing but dealing with my pain and confusion on my own while he left to go do whatever. It was one of the most painful times in my life.

I loved him wanted and wanted to believe him…that he would never do it again, that I could trust him. I fought with myself constantly and little by little I started to become myself again. I had committed myself to this relationship, this marriage and that meant so much to me. In doing so I had not respected my own boundaries and thinking back, I really just wanted to be loved and cared for. My love, openness, and honesty was used against me.

He constantly asked me what was wrong with me, why I couldn’t just get over it, and so many interrogative questions that demanded answers until I blew my stack. I didn’t do anything wrong. He did. He hurt me. I tried to love someone who hurt me, knew it hurt, didn’t care that it hurt me, knew I didn’t want it, and took advantage of me like a coward. Once I started to blow up and speak the truth over his lies I came to realize how scared he was. He asked if I was punishing him and a spark of myself came back. The part that was so hurt that he was accusing me of being a bully after me telling him that I was still in a lot of mental pain over him hurting me like he did. I decided in that moment to unleash what it would be like if I did bully him. I warned him before I began. My upper lip curled in disgust as I rained down belittling insults that cut him to the core because I knew him front to back and inside out. Looking back, I was just telling the truth in a nasty tone with a few curse words thrown in. He curled up into a little ball and cried. That’s what it would be like if I was punishing him, if I didn’t hold back my anger, if I acted like him. It felt like shit too, like an nasty sticky greasy type of feeling. I didn’t like bullying him but part of me enjoyed giving him some of his own bullshit and to see him scared instead of me.

In that moment, he was so vulnerable and in pain himself. I stopped. I had no interest in pursuing this onslaught of verbal thrashing, I didn’t like how it felt. There seems to be moments in my life or have a chance to get vengeance or revenge on certain people who have hurt me. I have that moment and it’s right there in front of me. That’s when I stop. Its enough. Its enough to know I could have really hurt them back. Something tells me that this is just going to make things worse and not better. Being someone who knowingly hurts someone else without their consent is not who I am. It’s times like this that I look back on as proof that I am not a bad person despite when any rapist or rape apologists will say.

I think that being blamed for what happened to you is one of the most confusing and painful things about the whole experience. I was already hurt by someone who was supposed to take care of me, supposed to love me, supposed to care about my well-being. That is confusing enough and then on top of that is supposed to be my fault? This rings of bullshit more than anything that I can imagine. Another shitty thing is that you usually know the person that hurt you and sometimes you love them. I loved him, even though the part that I loved isn’t real. Real love doesn’t hurt you, blame you, expect you to not respect your own limits for their pleasure and satisfaction. Real love doesn’t want to cause you damage. He didn’t love me.

That is the stigma of the survivor of sexual abuse. System seems to be set up by rapist and abusers to cover their own asses by blaming the very people that they hurt. Society jumps on the bandwagon and makes things ultimately more difficult for survivors. Fuck society and fuck the opinions of cowards that don’t want to deal with the fact that this did happen and it does hurt. It’s okay no matter what feelings I’m having about it and it doesn’t make me a bad person because I’m not smiling 24 seven. It’s okay to be a human being with emotions, in fact, many emotions throughout the day. I don’t want to give up all my emotions. I now allow myself to feel and express whatever emotional things that I’m going through. Despite societies push to become an automated smile robot that consumes everything, I’m walking away. I’m not confused anymore.Society doesn’t scare me anymore wither.