Category Archives: My Story

My story is getting a category instead of just a page. I’m not ok with sharing everything yet. Sometimes I don’t remember certain things. trauma is funny that way and messes with your memory. I was also 1st abused at 3 years old so I don’t always remember with words. This category is for the pieces that I am comfortable to tell.

Abuse Survivors Adult Survivors of Child Abuse Child Abuse Stories Child Abuse Survivors Complex PTSD My Story Sexual Child Abuse

Traumas I Can Remember

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Trigger warning on this. My entire blog is difficult and can trigger survivors of abuse. If you feel triggered, please do not continue to listen. Press stop, exit out of my blog and practice some good self care techniques.

Every time I say it out loud I feel stronger and more confident that I no longer have to hide what happened to me. It’s empowering for me. I’m still getting new memories but this is most of what I know so far.

My Story Overcoming Sexual Abuse

Gorilla In The Cage

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The Gorilla in the Cage I wrote about previously here and I have much more the share now. I can see the gorilla more clearly now. It’s a manifestation of my childhood rage. I didn’t know how to express. At 3 years old you are just fucking mad, right? Now imagine a 3 years old was severely abused and almost killed but had to repress that rage and keep it there for years. Over 3 decades. Blinding anger that can lash out. That’s why I locked up this part of myself because I was afraid of it. I was afraid that anger would hurt the people that mattered to me. Since I have this annoying respect and love for all people that meant locking up this rage from everyone else as well. I unfairly thought I was a bad thing and needed to be locked away. I felt if I ever let it out that I would not be able to put it back in the cage. It would then run a muck, smash all the things, kill all the bad guys, and I’d be in jail or dead as well. I’m still living a very watered down and restrained form of myself.

While blanking out this morning(yep, lost the whole fucking morning since 7am) I had the epiphany that it was not a big scary thing I had locked up but a very sad part of myself that just doesn’t know how to not just be so angry. I get angry now and I vent but not like this. This is the part no one sees but me. It’s interwoven in the fabric of my being now and I can no longer deny it. I have to make friends with it! I can visually do a lot of things in my mind that will help me. Like now, I’m imagining taking off all the restraints and apologizing to the gorilla. It can tear me apart. I trust it won’t. If it does, I will rebuild.

Turns out the Gorilla just wants to be heard and only looks so angry because of the great burden of sadness it has been locked inside the cage with for 35 years. Did I mention that anger is sad’s bodyguard? I opened the cage and took off the shackles expecting to find a rage that would consume me. Instead I found a wealth of sadness. Soul crushing sadness that shakes the walls and feels like the ground will fall away under my feet. My brain was right, I wasn’t ready for this part yet. Not until now.

I’m not going to lock up this part of myself anymore. I’m going to live and walk with it. I need this gorilla. I’m going to put it where it belongs, integrated into myself one step at a time. I am not a bad thing and neither is this gorilla. Boops it’s nose! I no longer hide for the comfort of abusers.

My Story Overcoming Sexual Abuse Uncategorized

Broken No More

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Sometimes, I feel broken. I have used that description before to describe a feeling but that does not describe me as a person. I am not broken. Today, I can see myself clearly. I can see that I was always whole. Parts may have been hidden but I am a whole person. I am not broken but strong. I survived. I lived. I’m still here. I am a whole person that is fighting to accept myself. I fought for change but I’m ok just like I am. I like myself. Sure, there are improvements to my life that I want to make but as I sit, in this moment, I am enough.

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.