abuse finally told

Abuse finally told

****trigger warning****

Wednesday, my mother set off my PTSD. I had such anxiety most of the day that it was driving me crazy along with the intrusive memories and feelings of shame and humiliation. I couldn’t sleep the whole night. I was up because of pain so around 0430 before I went to finally rest, I sent a text to my therapist asking if I could still see her today despite canceling the appointment. She responded like an hour or so later saying yes, I could come in.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to go about this. I had so much on my mind. I needed to ask her input on how to set boundaries with my mother and she said that it is not going to be easy as this is going to be coming from left field with her (my mother). I knew it would be I was just hoping something I could say could diffuse the situation. Really didn’t come up with anything so I started talking about the stuff she did to me. She said if this had happened today, child’s services would have been involved. I still feel sick about all of it. When I told her what she wanted the doctor to do and then I couldn’t tell her what went on at home, with her holding me down to do what she wanted to do. I pretty much told her everything that she ever did to me. She (therapist) thinks my mother is psychotic. She is not trying to take away from what she did to me. My therapist told me what she did was abuse and I was both relieved and scared about this. I always got that what she did was of “motherly concern” so therefore was not abuse. And because when I confronted my mother at 16 she denied it as well as I was told how could I say such things about my mother, it just made me shut down. I denied it because I had to. Now I cannot because it is causing too much turmoil.

The abuse happened when I was a toddler up until I was fourteen. It made the gender dysphoria so much more present and also messed with me in other ways. I feel dirty and I don’t think I will ever be clean. This is all I can write at this time. I wish I could write more but it is hurting too much and stirring up too many emotions.

Terrible Dream

Terrible Dream

I had a dream that I was a sniper and my mission was to kill my father. It was the freakiest dream I ever had. As he was coming into range, I was placing a bullet in the chamber of the rifle. Then I woke up. I was drenched in sweat. The whole dream was about guns and loading them. Talk about weird things.

I don’t know what to make of the dream. Maybe my therapist and I can sort it out when I talk to her next week. I hope I never have another dream like that again. It felt so real, yet it also felt like I was on a show as I could hear the audience oooing and ahhing as I was placing the bullet. Just fucking weird.

Now it’s almost 0200 and I can’t go back to sleep because I feel like a murderer even though I didn’t do anything. It was just a dream. I know before falling asleep last night I was thinking of my father’s rifle and how he is never going to be able to get it back. It will forever be in a police lock up place. Yes, my father owns a gun. He has had this rifle since I was a kid. He never showed us how to use it or anything of the sort but we knew he would use it for hunting wild game. He liked to shoot pheasants, rabbits, and other game. He never shot big animals like deer, least not that I know of. This was the same gun that he used to almost kill someone in my family more than 20 years ago. The gun was never fired or pointed, but it was loaded. I saw that it was. I remember it as clear as day.

It’s never good to remember this stuff at this hour. I am overwhelmed with the feelings of that night. Almost like I had a flashback or intrusive memory coming at me. I went through this all last month. Now it seems that I am going to go through it tonight. Think I will take some Ativan and see if that helps stop the terror. It’s always amazes me that something that happened more than 20 years ago still affects me today. The thoughts and feeling of that night coming back to haunt me. I guess no matter what, you will always remember traumatizing nights. I just wish it would have happened at an hour that I could call my therapist to talk to her. I also feel like taking a trilafon so that I can be numbed out. It will kill the voices though and I am not sure I want that. But the drug will scramble my thoughts and make them less scary. I’ll see of the Ativan takes care of things first and then if I need to, I will take the trilafon.

25 years of mental illness: the beginning

25 years of Mental Illness

Twenty-five years ago, I started the world into therapy and madness. It was my aunt’s birthday. I stayed home because I didn’t want to go to the party. My father called me a liar and I lost it. I needed an escape so I started scraping myself with a pair of scissors, hoping to dig into a vein to end my life. The deeper the scrape was, the more it hurt. I barely exposed the adipose tissue but had scraped away most of the dermis. If I had continued, I probably would have reached the fatty layer. I didn’t plan ahead so I didn’t have a bandage to cover up my wound. It was burning as air hit it so I just covered it with my long sleeves. The next day, I went to school and carefully kept the wound concealed. I have no idea how I kept things together and just went on as if nothing had happened. The next night, my cousin had come over the house. He wasn’t supposed to be there. My father had banned talking to him because he lied to him, too. It was scary because I knew there was going to be a fight when my father came home for dinner.

And he came home. All was calm at first. Both men were civil towards one another and then my father’s explosive temper exploded. He wanted my cousin to leave. He refused. My father got really angry, threatening him. All I could think was that this is bad. Then my brilliant father thought of shooting my cousin with his rifle. I dissociated and was hearing bullets being fired. I felt like I was in a war zone but no gun had gone off. My father kept threatening my cousin and my cousin became indignant, refusing to leave. So my father got his gun. He loaded it and then threatened my cousin one last time. I snapped. I got between my father’s aim and my cousin and told my cousin to just fucking leave. I was so terrified that something bad was going to happen that night. My cousin threw me in my room so forcefully that I have a mark on my nose where I hit my heavy bureau and moved with it. He closed my bedroom door so forcefully, that I couldn’t open it. My mother then, I think, told my cousin to leave. He left. My father was still ape shit. Never had I seen him so mad before. My mother was in her bedroom and I think she may have had a hypoglycemic attack, I am not sure. I was in my room. I was fighting the voices who were going ape shit at me. They wanted me to talk to them, to ally with them. I couldn’t think straight. The voices wanted me to kill myself. The leader of the voices ordered me to kill myself. So I got out the pair of scissors from the night before and started over again until I felt no pain.

My father had taken the phone off the hook. My idiot cousin kept calling to see how we were doing. Asshole. He started the whole fiasco. How do you think it was doing?? I was so terrified that his brothers and my uncle were going to come to the house to kill my father it wasn’t funny. I barely slept that night. I was in pain, both physically from what I did to my wrist and mentally. I wanted to die so bad that night and prayed for death that never came. The voices were hounding me left and right. But I kept my mouth shut. Something told me that if I escaped to their world, I was never going to leave it. I had to stay in my century as bad it was. I lost faith in my father that night. He tried to kill a man for no reason except because he was defying him. He made no physical attack toward my father and my father didn’t do it either. But the damage was done that night. I had started cutting to save my life and I liked it. I was hearing voices on a continual basis, telling me what to do and no one knew this at all.

The next morning, it was just like the previous morning. Everything went on as if nothing happened. I got dressed for school, wore long sleeved sweatshirt, and left the house like I normally did. I got to the corner of the end of the street and lost it. I started crying. The events of the night before came flooding back. The voices were still trying to get me to talk. I was a bubbling idiot. The more I tried to control my tears, the more I cried. I don’t know how, but I finally got some composure and went for breakfast. Kids always copied my homework because I was the smart one in school. I gave it up and didn’t care if I got it back. I barely said two words for fear of crying again. I made it through my first period ok. But during homeroom, I lost it again. Someone asked me something and when I bubbled an answer, I lost control of the tears I was fighting back. My best friend noticed and asked what was wrong. I said nothing. My wrist was throbbing with pain. Thankfully because I wasn’t alone, the voices were just hiding out, just waiting to attack me when I was alone. I went to my second period and there my best friend told my teacher something was wrong with me. I wasn’t upset with her. I must have looked a mess from crying and keeping my emotions together. The teacher pulled me aside once she started a movie for the class. I thought I would be able to sleep with the movie going but she wanted to talk to me. I told her I was fine. Nothing was wrong. Then she rolled up my sleeves and I was caught. She said to wait for her after class. I felt like I was in trouble and I was never in trouble with a teacher before. I was always the nice one, the goody two shoes.

She took me to the nurse and they talked for a bit and then it was my turn. I think I told her I tried to kill myself last night, that I wanted to die. My father had a big fight. I didn’t tell them about the gun or my father trying to kill someone. I didn’t want the police involved. My father would kill me. My mother knew I had problems. When I was ten I told her I was going to kill myself but she didn’t believe me. Now, five years later, it took the word of the school nurse to believe me. We went to the county mental health center where I was evaluated. I was tired of going over my story again and again. I didn’t tell them about the voices and they didn’t ask. They just wanted to know if I was suicidal and I lied. Told them I was fine.

I kept in contact with the school nurse for the weeks following this traumatic night. Eventually, the nurse convinced me that I needed to see a school counselor and so I agreed to talk to her. I told her about my abuse, all of it. The sexual abuse at the hands of my cousin (same one that instigated my father) and my mother, the physical and emotional abuse of my father, and the neglect of my mother as well.

In my mind, I had killed my parents when I was 12 and had been an orphan since I was 10 when they died. It was the only way I could survive. I was tossed around between family members and no one wanted me because I was unloveable. Eventually, I started talking to the voices again. They didn’t want me to and were still telling me that I had to kill myself so that I could live with them, to start a new life. I never believed them. I must have had at least a half dozen voices in my head and most of the time they were all talking together, among themselves, about what to do with me. They knew I had to die. I knew I had to die. And so my path to the world of psych began and still continues to this day.

nerve pain is a bitch

I should be sleeping but instead my left foot is driving me up the fucking wall with it’s constant buzzing. My toes are even vibrating though if you touch them they will feel normal. I am very tired and all I want to do is sleep but this annoying foot keeps me awake. If I could chop it off I would.. now I am getting bone pain. My toes are cringing though they have nothing to cringe at except my wrath.
It hasn’t been this way for a couple of weeks. I actually had some reprieve for almost three weeks when I got a cold and was drinking cold medicine like it was going out of style. But now the pain has returned and I do not like it. There is nothing I can do about it till I pass out which might take a while. Right now it’s 02:45 in the morning. I tell time by military as I think it’s cool and more precise.
I got my book that I lost and had to reorder today. I forgot how dry the material is and down. I read up to chapter 1 because I didn’t want to overload myself with suicidal thoughts right now. I should probably take some pain medicine but I want to see if it will go away on its own first. That is part of my problem. I wait until I am in unbearable pain before I take my meds. What usually would be a 6 or 7 for someone would be a 10+ for me. I have a high pain tolerance. It really needs to be a 10+ in order for me to take medication. Otherwise I think I am wasting it. I know that is probably not right to do, to wait till the pain gets really bad, but like I said, sometimes it is just a passing phase and other times it is with me for days. I hate this type of pain. The pain meds just usually knock me out so I can get some sleep and calm down some of the pain. It can take days before I am pain free agin. I just wish My middle toe would stop doing what its doing. It’s like wiggling saying “hi I’m here” like some little kid that wants to play. Well I don’t want to play, I want to sleep damn it!! It also feels like someone with a vise is clamping down on the toe, making sure it doesn’t go anywhere. I hate this type of nerve pain. And it’s the result of Cauda Equina Syndrome. My bundle of nerve got crushed and now I am left with nerve pain that decides to come and play every night. It can’t come out during the day like normal pain, NOOOOOO, why would it do that? Then we might have simpler lives. We might be able to work and play with our kids. This damage costs us everything and there is nothing anyone can do to make it better once it happens. It’s all a joke until we kill ourselves from the pain. Everyone one of us has at one point or other thought about killing ourselves because the pain gets too much or we just can’t see ourselves living this hell anymore. Doctors are useless. They just like to spin us on merry-go-rounds having us go from this doctor to that doctor and so on. It took 9 doctors and two physical therapist to figure out that I was not walking correctly because all my scans and tests came back normal, they thought I was a head case or something. I was in pain 24/7 and nothing was helping me sleep except a little pain medication. It took months between this appt and that appt to figure it all out. Then I got out of work because I couldn’t walk around the lab anymore. My department of 14 yrs says sorry your restrictions are too strict and out the door I went on forced medical leave. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to kill myself right then and there if I had a chance. At 36 yrs old I was declared disabled after fighting this condition for eleven years. It was fun being out of work for a while. But then it got lonesome. I missed my coworkers. I missed going out. I became a hermit. I had nothing to do 24/7. I played my games and that was about all. But the pain didn’t stop, even with me resting it. If I went out and stood too long or walked too far, I paid the price. Like I am doing now. I must have walked too long though I hardly left my house at all except to go to my sister’s house around the corner. Now my foot is on fire and there is no extinguisher to put it out. Simple things I just can’t do anymore. I don’t shower because it hurts to stand too long. I don’t brush my teeth for the same reason. People take these things for granted. I can only take a 10 minute shower and in those ten minutes I wash and then if I remember I brush my teeth. I dry off quickly and hope I don’t fall while I put on my clothes because sometimes my balance is off.
I still can’t believe the difference between my left and right foot. It’s so weird. I have full feeling on my right but diminished feeling on my left. Sometimes but not often I have burning on my right foot. It’s the left over nerve damage from my initial injury 12 years ago. My anniversary is coming up in a few weeks. Maybe that is why I am thinking about it now. These memories don’t fade away like normal ones. My therapist calls it a trauma. I guess when you have emergency surgery, it is a trauma.