Tag: abuse

trauma comes when you least expect it

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression

Trauma comes up when you least expect it

WARNING talk about sexual abuse, childhood sexual abuse

I was minding my business today. I was in my room killing time before going out when intrusive memories of my mother abusing me came through my mind. It was a vivid memory with sensory memories too. I remember how she touched me and then put her finger inside of me. I had just finished taking a shower when I was 13 or 14 years old. She noticed that my labia was long and she wanted to exam me. There was nothing wrong with me but in my mother’s warped mind there was. She looked and felt my genitals to her satisfaction and yet still brought me to the doctor. I feel so disgusted about this. I have no idea why I didn’t say no. You don’t think your own mother would harm you. But she did. She had me lay on my bed on my back with my knees up. I shiver when I think about it. She had no right touching me. She had no right looking at me the way she did. She had no right doing what she did. It hurts so much. And this is just one of the times she hurt me.

Don’t call me daughter 6

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, gender dysphoria, grief, mental disorders, mood disorders, transgender

Don’t call me daughter 6

Yesterday I was in the kitchen with my mother and I was in a mood. I wasn’t feeling so great and just wanted to do what I needed to and go back to my room. My mother was there and asked what was wrong. She wanted me to talk to her. Fuck that. She lost that right when she refused to call me son. From now on I will correct her when she is misgendering me. But I am not going to talk to her for any reason other than what goes on in the house. I am not going to talk to her like I did before about my ailments and doctor appointments. She is getting to be the egg donor and if that is what it takes to cut off feelings from her then so be it.

I’ve been having a hard time with the cramps. I don’t know if they are uterine or bladder related but as an experiment, I cathed and felt relief at first only to have severe pain afterwards.  I don’t know what to make of it and I have cathed since. Taking a double dose of Miralax was a bad idea. I had colon blow and woke up with crap in my pants. Luckily, I didn’t get any on the bed. I had to shower and what is worse my mother had to use the bathroom so I was so embarrassed. I need to time taking it right. Thing is it is so unpredictable when it works. It could be a few hours or could be a day. There is no time table to expect when to go.

I am still have cramps and being really down about it. I called my gyn to make an appointment for the exam. It is in May. I see the uro NP this week so I am going to tell her and ask for a urine culture to be done just to be sure I don’t have an infection that could be causing this. I really am not looking forward to surgery again but there is little choice I have. Once the offending organ is gone is should be apparent what is causing what. I doubled my bladder spasms pill yesterday to see if it would help and it did a little bit. Maybe this is bladder related. I won’t know until the uterus is gone. I got my bladder on a schedule again. I didn’t want to do it but I have gone past the six hours I am supposed to go. I can’t keep holding on to my urine for so long. It could be why I have spasms as well.

I wonder if my mother is ashamed of me and that is why she doesn’t want to call me son. It would make sense. I don’t get the sense she is proud of me. I just don’t understand why she can’t accept her child. This bothers me so much. When you bring it up to her, she is dismissive. Then I think about all the abuse she put me through and it just makes me so sad and angry. She used her trust as a mother to do her evil bidding of abusing and touching me when she had no right to touch or look. I get mad at my pediatrician who documented all these things and didn’t do a damn thing about it.

the hubbub

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders

The hubbub

*****WARNING COULD BE TRIGGERING*******

Not sure if anyone of you remember the TV show (US) ER. The actor that played Dr. Green, Anthony Edwards is one of my favorite actors. When he left the show, I kind of stopped watching it because the story lines stunk. Anyways, today he wrote an article on Medium.com about his sexual abuse by a pedophile. He wasn’t the only boy affected by this. His best friend was raped by the guy. He wrote about how pedophiles prey on their victims and often use the word “love” as a way of controlling the victims and their emotions.
It hit a deep nerve, something I have never talked about on here before. I was molested by a family member. Other family members knew this one did this. They warned me about them but they seemed like a nice person so I didn’t heed the warning. Even after they were jailed, I was blamed for the abuse because I was warned and that I should have known better. I was 12 when it started and didn’t end till I was 14, when the advances were more advanced (for lack of a better word). They were 12 years older than me. One day we were on their couch, and somehow we ended up on the floor. They pinned me down and I couldn’t break free. Their genitals were over mine. The only way for me to be free was by saying I loved this person and had to kiss them multiple times and to say it over again. I was really scared because they were at least 250 or more pounds and I was a mere 125. When I was free, we just sat on the couch but they sat close to me and they put their arm around me so it would touch my breast. I kept moving their hand but it didn’t matter.

Another time, we were in their pool and the pool’s ladder had injured their genitals but being a pre-pubescent kid, I didn’t know that. I just knew their groin hurt. After the pool, it was the same deal. They would lock their front door as we “watched” TV, careful to put the chain lock on so there wouldn’t be any interruptions. This time, I was messaging the area. I don’t know how they got me to do it but I did. Turns out after a little while I was messaging their privates while they were in their underwear. My hand was not on the underwear part. I refused to see what I was doing as it felt wrong. When I stopped the message, they continued and when I looked over at them, their privates were out in plain view. This asshole then asked me if I wanted that kind of message on me. I said no but had a few breast strokes and kisses, not intimate. I felt sick once I realized what I had done.

Years later when I accused this person of abuse, they denied it and even their partner denied it because they would have seen the “signs”. Yea, right. It all boiled down that the perpetrator loved me and that was why they did what they did, out of love. I was so sick by this. My mother blamed me because I went to the pedophile’s house a lot of the time. I couldn’t help it. It was better than my home life where I had an abusive father, though I would much rather have my father’s abuse over the pedophile’s. I am glad my father was never told what this pedophile did or they might not be alive today or worse, my father might have said that I deserved it in his narcissistic mind because the pedophile wronged him by “destroying his family”. My father would always blame someone else for his wrongdoings. But that is another issue for another day.

With all the sexual abuse accusations coming at high standing men, whether in politics or Hollywood, it has me triggered into remembering my abuse by the various people that abused me. It wasn’t only the pedophile. I don’t feel free to say who the other family member was, I probably will in therapy but not on this media. I was also raped and abused by an ex-girlfriend. Since then, I have not had a relationship, mostly because of my nerve injury but also because I am afraid of flashbacks.

Lots to talk to my therapist on Monday. I know a lot of women and men are coming out with their story of abuse, which they should. It’s important because it gives others the chance to come forward as well. I am not saying it is easy because when I told one of my therapists about an abuser, that abuser slapped me when I was near them as it was a “false” accusation. I have kept quiet about this for a long time and it’s being stirred up. Abusers don’t like confrontation or being exposed. They will deny it to their dying breath. There is no remorse with them. My ex was kind of remorseful when I talked to her about it but she also played it off. We never became friends as it was impossible. I was hurt too much, though she did reach out a few times. She had more problems than I ever had. But Karma will get these bastards, one way or another. I firmly believe that.

Rearview Mirror and other things

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, depression, mood disorders

Rearview Mirror and other thoughts

I have been trying to write all evening. I wanted to write the “ending” to the trauma of this week that happened 25 years ago but there is no ending. I live with it every day. I am haunted by the memories, though they aren’t intrusive as they once were. The song rearview mirror by Pearl Jam really sings to me. It’s about abuse and how you survived it.

I have a narcissistic parent, there is no doubt about it. He might not be diagnosed by anyone but he fits all the characteristics of the disorder. “supposed to endure, what I could not forgive” that was a common theme in my house. “it wasn’t my surface most defiled”. My father, though violent at times, didn’t hit us after the third grade when someone told the teachers he had been doing so. But that didn’t stop the verbal abuse. Still to this day, he abuses my sisters and I. He thinks he is the king and should be respected above all else. “I guess the beatings made me wise”.

I never call him a dad to other people. He is my father or sperm donor when I refer to him. I call him dad when talking to him but it doesn’t mean anything. See, when I was learning Italian, the word for father was “papa”. I guess I used the word a little too much because I got a few backhands to stop me from using it. So it was dad from now on though I loathe the word.

I wish I could put him in my rearview mirror. Just forget he ever existed. But I have to deal with him to get him to his medical appointments and such. There is no emancipation from him until he is six feet under. And the bastard wants to live until eternity.

Meanwhile, my patience for the guy has hit rock bottom. I don’t care about his demands. I just want to die. The depression has peaked and I can’t tolerate myself anymore. My psych got back to me but we are unable to meet at an agreeable time because of the bastard. I am sure we will find another time.