If you could read my mind, what a tale my thoughts would tell…

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I’m not particularly attached to my family. They let me down a long time ago. They saw it fit to ignore what was going. Which…at this point is fine, I mean I can’t spend my whole life dwelling on these things or I would never have a life myself. 12aa6f40adc30ae12eb6a2ab09fa02c5

Today I found the film Sleepers. I’m not sure if this is the exact film I want to discuss but it was something very close to it in storyline.

I was visiting family in Ohio. Their basement was a big social room with a big TV, etc. They were watching a film similar to this, one that was mainly about boys who were raped (I find it interesting that in a film about boys, they use the term “rape” yet in countless films about girls “molested” or “assaulted” are used more). I was about 11 or 12. I walked downstairs to see what they were all doing and my Uncle raged..flipped out, yelling, “GET OUT OF HERE! YOU CANNOT WATCH THIS! IT ISN’T FOR YOU! THIS IS FOR MEN!” and I distinctly remember saying, “But I understand this.” and he said, “GET OUT! GO!” I felt so sick. I felt hurt. I felt dejected. Because I did understand and if he knew (which for the most part, he knew much of it) he would (I hoped) be mortified, upset and want to help me. But no…no I can’t see a film about child rape to boys. It’s for men. What did that even mean?

He hurt me and didn’t even know it. By that age, I knew child rape very well and I was offended that someone should think I didn’t! Yet I couldn’t yell out, “I GET IT! I HAVE TO DO THAT TOO!” But yet, somehow, on some level, he knew that and chose to watch this film and humiliate me in front of family when I came downstairs.

My family have used my abuse to humiliate me a lot. My insecurities are real. Sure I’ve pushed forward and made sure I had a life worth living but sometimes…those insecurities win. I’m lucky to know a few people who care about those times. My family sure doesn’t or never did give a fuck.

 

Some Days I’m Built of Metal, I Can’t Be Broken

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Celtic Wolf representing Inner Strength

Warning: violence, abuse, rape, guns, torture, animal torture, chid rape

Usually my dreams are fucked up and really abstract. I think that is pretty fitting considering how my brain works and most times I laugh at my dreams because they are just so freaking weird. I love it. I do have bad dreams but not really all that often.

First of all, I am not one of those people who is into interpreting dreams. I think dreams are just your brain doing brain stuff and not some otherworldly way of looking into your future or anything of the sort. I do think that we can get ideas or realizations from them, just like we would watching TV or a movie or whatever. So usually when I have one of my PTSD influenced bad dreams it’s just straight up the monster appearing in some way. Last night he appeared though as a woman. Somehow I knew it was him even though it was a woman. Frequently he has a gun in my dreams but never fires it. (I assume this is because he always threatened me but never shot me?) In last night’s dream he finally pulled the trigger.  He pulled the trigger and I woke up as soon as the buckshot hit the center of my chest and I kind of sat up with a start. I didn’t feel it, but I did feel like I was tapped on the chest (which I will assume is not what it feels like to be hit with buckshot.) It was awful. I mean sick in the stomach, couldn’t go back to sleep, full panic awful.

Having PTSD means a lot of things to different people. For me it is usually just feelings or my brain playing this sort of tape recording of him telling me things. Rarely does it come in the form of nightmares. When it does though the guns make appearances and also him torturing the cat. I might actually get more upset when I have to relive that. I remember when we got this cat, the monster was all about “Hey look we got you a kitten!” This is how monsters are though…you know? Look what I did for you, what will you do for me, kinda thing. So I loved this cat and over the years the cat just became as much of a mess as I was from all of the screaming and yelling and throwing and abuse that went on in that house. I may have said something before but one time when the monster got angry at me (which was usually for some silly reason just because he hated me, you know, the way 8 year olds can make you hate them??) he knew I loved that cat. So many times, the cat was used to upset me. One time he kicked the cat down the basement steps. But this one particular time that I frequently see in my mind that I will never forget he hung the cat up in a fishing net thrown over an engine hoist in the drive way, (We had boats and cars and he worked on them so…hence, engine hoist) and he spun it around, cat screaming and started hitting it with a stick. I’m a little kid. I love that cat. I think these memories are more upsetting to me than anything he ever did to me. This is a man who used to shoot at mice in the front yard with buckshot. In other words, blew holes in the front yard. You could barely see remnants of mice after that, if you know anything about buckshot…and mice.

So I have this dream where he finally pulls the trigger and what it really does is trigger all of these feelings and memories of him hurting animals, not me. I have spent the entire day, and still now, feeling as if I want to throw up. My stomach hurts. I could cry in a heartbeat. In my mind though it isn’t me being upset about me, it’s about the animals. So this dream did upset me but all of the feelings pertain to the animals and not me. I don’t even know if I know what I’m saying. I might be trying to interpret it even though I don’t think about interpreting dreams. Maybe I’m just trying to understand my brain and why it won’t shut off right now. I have no idea but I can say that this fucking bad dream has thrown my entire day off.

In the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep I ended up texting a friend in another part of the world. I think I was just frantic and he probably thought I’d finally lost my mind. But, the thing is…he said, and he says this a lot to me, that I am so strong and I don’t even see it. Yeah…I want to think that and sometimes I actually do. People have said that to me a few times but he says it more than most and maybe he believes it or maybe he is telling me so I’ll finally shut up. (I know I wish I could just shut up sometimes…most times) But it made me feel better to think that I could wake up in the middle of the night, upset, panic stricken, from a bad dream and after a bunch of texts someone says that…and I start to finally calm down because I start to realize I’m in my room, I’m safe, I’m okay. It was just a dream.

Sometimes You Have to Ask For Help

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I hate asking for help, especially now when I figured by my age I’d have it together and know what I’m doing and not feel so helpless. But…aside from my pride of surviving the monster who hurt me, there is another part of me that is in constant denial that I am BiPolar. I’ve spent years trying to dodge that diagnosis. I always went for help because I am depressed but then every two years I’d break down because I wasn’t treating all of me, only part. So what do I have together at my age is my past and what I went through and i can talk proudly about all I’ve done since then and how I’ve made it through. But when it comes to my mental illness, I still struggle to be up front about it and just tell everyone, “I have depression”. But I am bipolar. And not allowing myself to be taken care of as a bipolar person is just keeping me from feeling like I have anything together because it just helps to dig the hole I’m in and make it bigger and my depression go deeper. So finally I’m at a point where one of my episodes is making it so that I am barely capable of working and paying for my therapy. I have an appointment to see my psych to work on my meds but I’m not sure I will be able to pay for that appt so I’m trying to put money away whenever I can.

Here is my latest attempt:

Bravelets

It’s a website where they sell jewelry that says “be brave” on it, when someone buys through my page, I get 10% of each sale. I’ve tried other ways to raise money but I never seem to have much to offer people. I mean, I don’t do anything special. I guess I could give them a picture of me crying because they helped…haha. But yeah…maybe this will help, I don’t know. Or not. I’ve nothing to lose really..and the jewelry is really nice. If I didn’t need money I’d definitely buy from here for someone else’s story.

So yeah…I hate asking for help but yet I’ve been asking for help for my own abuse and depression my whole life. Since I was 13. But money is different. I hate feeling like i can’t take care of myself but I’m at the end of my rope with it. I honestly don’t want to fall behind on rent, medical bills or student loans because I can’t work much right now. It scares me because I’ve worked so hard to find a job or to get to a job that was a job beyond the part time jobs I always had. And now I am terrified of losing it because of my stupid brain.

The Chains Are Locked and Tied Across the Door

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My dad left when I was three months old. He wanted a boy. Guess having a girl didn’t make him man enough. My dad was in Vietnam, proudly. Never complained about issues at all. I heard that now he is having delayed PTSD…flashbacks and all of that. I don’t think much of it because I don’t think much of my dad.

As for delayed PTSD, that has become a thing for me. For years and years I went with having a flashback here or a flashback there and I rode them out and got on with my life. Lately though, they are controlling my thoughts, keeping me from leaving the house much, looking at myself, taking compliments and even thinking I can do anything. I have this daily recording on a loop in my brain, “You’re ugly.” “You’re fat” “You’re stupid.” “No one will ever love you.” “You’ll never get anywhere because you’re too stupid.” And it is triggered all day long. I’ve never had this issue where it has become a daily thing and it is making me feel crazy. I don’t know what to do when I have panic attacks from just about anything. I cry every day trying to tell myself of all of the things I have done in my life that have proved it all wrong. For many years I did everything I wanted to do. I was fearless. I wanted to do something I just did it. I knew I could be whatever I wanted to be. Suddenly I want to curl up in my bed and die. Not literally, so don’t go calling 911, I’m not about to commit suicide. But I mean smells, words, songs, colours, people…anything can set it off.

I do think that a lot of it got triggered a few years back when I was working in the music industry and spend months with a man who called me names and told me that I would be “useless if I didn’t have a vagina”. I mean I can take cruel people but because it was so constant and I felt stuck I had to tolerate it until I could get out. Then I leave that industry and get myself on my feet only to have “fans” of these people ruin me and my name. They called me so many things, they brought up my abuse and used it against me. So part of me is sure that this was sort of the beginning of my flashbacks coming back. Because after all of this I kind of lost my spirit and feelings of self worth.

Right  now, I mean at this exact moment as I write this I am assuming that what I am writing is stupid and no one is going to read it. I am also assuming that anyone who is reading this is laughing at it. People who don’t have PTSD do not get it. It is debilitating. Today I was looking up what it takes to go on disability because I was sure I wasn’t capable of working any job anymore. That upset me because I am capable I just have this thing or things…like nails embedded into me, into my brain, that control my moods, my reactions, everything. Right now I have so much self hatred that I just want to quit everything, give up and do what, I don’t know. I just know I feel like I am worthless and useless and no one could possibly find me to be helpful. And this isn’t just today, this has been for the past few years…building up.

I don’t even know what to do. I want morphine. I want to lay there and know nothing. I want to be asleep or in a coma or something that will make me unaware of anything. I want to go away and hide.

Call It Intuition, Call It a Creeping Suspicion

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There are people who know me for 25 years…and people who know me for much less. No matter how long they’ve known me I have noticed one thing. Now I might be paranoid or just making assumptions here but when I ask a question, give an opinion, etc. 9 times out of 10 I get no answers. I see people having huge conversations and yet mine just sit there. Now either everyone on my FB or Twitter are cowards or they are just under the assumption that “Oh it’s just her again”. Her and her whining. Her and her exaggerating, her and her overly passionate obsessions, her and her dreaming she is something she isn’t, her and her complaints about this thing and that, her and her political opinions and hippie logic.

Well fuck anyone who actually thinks these things. Everyone is just so much better at this fucked up political bullshit we’re dealing with than me apparently and that’s fine. If that is how you want to feel. Go ahead. But most of all, I’m tired of people looking at me like I’m the “sensitive” one…the “delicate” one…the damaged one who needs people to just, well they just don’t know what to say? What to say? How about having a conversation with me like a fucking human being. I’m not a child. I’m not crazy. I’m not from another planet. There are a few reasons I see this happening (and this is me thinking of a certain number of people, obviously I don’t think everyone I know is a coward or being a jerk) 1) You’re scared. You’re afraid of what I’ll say or the things I’ve said. You’re afraid of how open I am about me. 2) You clearly do think that because I take care of my own mental health that you are somehow far superior than I am because you don’t even acknowledge yours. You also discredit things I say to “Well she is depressed and has bad anxiety”. 3) You’ve known my past of protesting, fighting the fascists in this country and trying to secure rights for everyone…including you and you see it as me being ‘radical’. You think radical is crazy. 4) You think I talk too much. Guess what? I do. I say what is on my mind, I like conversation and I love to tell stories you know why? I’ve done so much with my life that I have a lot of stories to tell and I like to hear other people’s stories too. Maybe you don’t have any stories. Which brings me to 5) You’re fucking mad because I have done so much more with my life than you ever have because of the choices you made that you find fault in just about everything I do because you think I’m childish or immature. Well I don’t believe in growing up but I can tell you that I have matured. I’ve matured because of the choices I’ve made with my life and I have no regrets. I feel sorry for you that you do.

So next time I ask a question and you decide to blow me off or just scroll past me because…well…”it’s just her”…keep in mind that this “just her” is a goddamned, amazing, creative, loving, caring, passionate, compassionate, considerate, open minded, accepting, giving and fun woman. (Despite all that I’ve been through, and that is more than I can say for those of you have decided to hang onto your pasts and pity yourselves.) Get over yourselves and take care of yourselves instead of sitting around and waiting for the rest of the world to take care of you. Look in a goddamned mirror.

‘Cus It Feels So Empty Without Me

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I have no idea where to even start with what I want to say. Writing it makes me feel better and knowing it might make someone else feel better is an even better feeling.5d9115fa6e885f8a36b4f57a284d5248I’ve said this before, many times, that I don’t like to blame what happened to me for the things I do now, but there is no denying that it affected me and affected me for life. I don’t get to turn it off. And to some people that makes me damaged and they don’t understand or they lash out at me for being upset or touchy or too sensitive. I get it…I really do, but at the same time if I’m that much of a burden on someone’s life, please, by all means, leave. The last thing I ever want to do is be a burden to someone. But the fact that I am this burden to someone should not be seen as my fault. I have spent most of my life fighting the residual effects of these horrible events. I have been beyond proactive in caring for myself.

And I am not a failure. What happened to me made me  so determined to not be a failure that I pushed harder than I think I ever would have to be who I am. I’ve done some of the most amazing things in my life (and I don’t intend to stop) because I believe if you want to do something do it. Find a way…and face the fear…do it. And there were a really good few years there where I felt invincible. My depression was not quite as bad as it can be, my anxiety level was down and I took chances that got me places that some folks dream about. And knowing I was doing things was an even bigger boost at the time. I know I’m not a failure.

BUT…of course there is a but, the times that I do fuck up, or fail (and not all of the times, but the times when I’m just not having a good day or week or whatever) that ptsd kicks in and there’s that voice…my stepfather “You’re ugly.” “You’re stupid and no one can ever love you.” “You’re useless and should have your throat slit and be thrown to the side of the road. No one would miss you.” there are plenty more but these are the ones I hear most. These aren’t random voices, they are like a recording from a part of my mind that as a child, gets imbedded and honestly never leaves. So when I do have a bad day or week or I do manage to make a big mistake…I become exactly what he said I was. I question myself.

This past week I fucked up in a bigger way than I ever have. Usually I handle my mistakes fairly well but this was big to me and not something I can see an easy way out of. While it isn’t the worst thing in the world, it is a humiliating thing, mostly because I was usually pretty proud of myself for being where I am at, surviving and making it work. But this just triggered a flood of self loathing. I get overly sensitive, people get angry because I get overly sensitive.

So yeah…past abuse or rape or whatever it is someone went through, trauma, doesn’t go away. And when that trauma just doubles the depression and anxiety you already have, it can be unbearable. That kind of unbearable that has you thinking you’d be better off dead. And that is tough to fight. I think the hardest part of my recent issues is that I found out that I can’t afford to see my therapist, at least not for a long time. I rely on that, I have for many years. Talking helps me a lot especially to someone not so tied to me, someone outside of my life. That hurts. I mean that only made this whole situation harder. And I’m doing my best to keep it together but every day is a struggle ten times worse than what my usual struggle is.

I love the people who do allow me to have my moments. They are rare, but…this is exhausting.

Running Away

I don’t think I’ve ever been a functioning adult. I want to blame my past but it isn’t just that. Everything that happened to me only exacerbated what depression, anxiety and suicidality is already there. The constant reminder that I’m no good and worthless and no one would want me around just screams in the back of my head. I cannot function. I’m useless. I want so badly to be okay and on my own and capable, but the truth is, I’m not.

A few months ago I got really depressed and went on a spending spree with credit cards. Not only did it put me so far into debt that I can’t afford to pay it, but it really only made my depression worse. Now I’m at a point where I can’t afford to pay my bills, I can’t afford to buy groceries, I can’t afford to see my therapist or psych and I’ll be surprised if I can afford my meds. Right now, this second, I am in a panic, crying, barely able to breathe or calm down because if I’ve ever felt so useless it is right now.

So I’m going away. I’m not going to talk to anyone. I’m going to hide. I can’t bare to deal with this, it is humiliating and honestly just makes me feel worse to talk to anyone. I want to blame the abuse, but this part is all my fault for not coping well with my depression. I’m an adult, but obviously not a very smart one.

Why Are You So Far From Saving Me?

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Folly is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline drives it far from him.

 Proverbs 22:15 (ESV)
Warning: This contains mentions of sexual abuse, rape and religion. Proceed with caution.
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Because I want to look at this every week.

I was not raised in a particularly religious household. At least not up until my mother met my stepfather, then suddenly we were going to a Byzantine church. The few times my mother did take me to church as a child it was a Methodist church, so relatively mild. I don’t remember ever believing in God so it didn’t really impress me. I am not a believer in the indoctrination of children. I’m not telling anyone what to do, but that is merely my opinion. Two things really helped me in my realization that I don’t believe in God: 1 – Religion 2 – Church. Even before the abusive Byzantine lifestyle I was forced into, I didn’t believe in God and this is as a young child. I distinctly remember thinking “What are they even talking about?” and I thought Jesus was just some historical figure (which is all he really is as far as I know). I loved (still do) Jesus Christ Superstar as a child. That was as close to love the “Lord” as I got. He had a great set of pipes on him. He could’ve led a half decent career in a metal band.
My stepfather and his mother were ridiculously religious. His mother was religious in that “Carrie’s mom” kinda way. She forced me to say the Lord’s Prayer and do these Hail Marys and told me constantly that I was a sinner. She reminded me that I had no father and that she thought my mother didn’t discipline me. (My mother did not hit me.) My stepfather, of course, agreed with her treatment. He hid behind religion because in that church, the men are what matter. Women simply have kids and cater to men. So because my mother was divorced and I was the child of divorced parents, that church saw us as “unclean”. We couldn’t participate in certain things or sit in certain parts of the church. Often if I didn’t cross myself or sing or speak during the English portions of the service, my stepfather or his mother would pinch me.
This church was scary. So incredibly ritualistic and as far as I could tell, not much different than witchcraft, which they seem to think is so bad. One god, yeah…but saints galore. Saints and angels and heaven and hell and constant repentance and being punished and being told you are this horrible person. I mean during Easter they put an effigy of Jesus in the tomb at the front of the altar and you have to crawl up to it and kiss it. I cried. It scared the fuck out of me. Most of the service was in Czech so I never knew what they were on about. Then the sermon was in English. Most of the service was sung. The Apostle’s Creed was done in both Czech and English and sung.
No one shoved religion down my throat. No one force fed me bible verses and made me prove my love of God to them in any way until my stepfather came around (and his mother) Suddenly everything was about religion, sinning, God, obeying, praying, worshipping, pretending to be human and not being responsible for your own shit.
I equate religion with fear, evil, abuse, torture, horror, terror, nightmares, pain, lies, twisted fucked up imagery and ideas. I have yet to see religion do anything good and only good. I associate church with being punished. I mean you were supposed to go there and tell someone, “Hey, so I had sex this week.” and that person was supposed to tell you, “Ooooh you are a sinner. Go say these prayers.” You get to pray as punishment. Honestly, how can anyone believe in a religion that uses religion to punish you? To me that would be like my mother getting mad at me and forcing me to read Dr. Seuss books.
My stepfather hid behind his religion and his religion allowed it by constantly reminding me that he saved my mother and me because we were unclean because my mother was divorced and I was without a father. He was saving me because I needed a father figure. He is a child rapist. For over 30 years he raped children, including myself and I was supposed to idolize him for being a “good man” and “saving” us. His mother didn’t help. He abused her verbally constantly and she just took it because he was male and he got to do that. It was okay. But she was just as evil. She always hated me so she would find ways to accuse me of things. One time she told my mother I stole jewelry from her jewelry box. I didn’t steal anything but she saw me coming out of a bedroom and decided that was what I was doing. Stealing jewelry because when I was 8 I had so many street hook ups to go hawk jewelry for drug money. You know how bad ass I was at 8. Fucking bad…ass. Her jewelry was worthless anyway, street value about -40 dollars. I’d probably have to give them 40 dollars to take it. She also called me all kinds of names. I got this cute pair of heels when I was bout 12. They weren’t high heels, just a square heel that lifted a little bit. Sandals. She said I looked like a slut. If my skirt was too short according to her, I was a slut. She used to force me to go pray because I was such a slut.
If these are the kinds of people religion turns out, I’ll have none of that. People can’t handle religion. They invent it to make themselves feel better, then bend all of it to suit their needs. Need to kill someone? Here is a religious reason why it’s okay. Need to abuse someone? Well here is what we should say to make that okay. There is an answer for everything if you want there to be. That is how it works. Because it is an invention by humans to explain things to them they cannot understand. To justify things that honestly, when looked at logically should not be justified. War, hate, murder, rape, torture, etc. Any religion that justifies these things in anyway or similar things…is pure evil. I assume Evil is exactly why religion was created. It justifies evil. Before that, we just had weird bad stuff that happened and we didn’t know what to call it. Bring religion around and now we can call it ‘evil’. But what happens when good things happen? We’ll call that “God”. From then on it just got worse and worse.
So just to clarify, if someone is religious that is their business. I don’t care. I have friends who go to church. If someone finds it comforting to have an explanation for the things they can’t understand, if they find comfort in their beliefs, that is just lovely. Just don’t shove it down anyone else’s throat. Don’t spew it at people and name call…and kill people because you think they are wrong and you are right. Don’t expect children to tolerate abuse because “God”. Don’t force children into believing something they might not believe. That will only cause them to not believe.
Just like all abuse, and I know this from experience, if you tell someone something long enough and beat it into them (or whatever your way of enforcing it might be) they will believe it. I see religion as abuse. It was used as a tool in my abuse. It was used to try to justify my abuse. They don’t make stories like Carrie for nothing. People like that woman exist. I’ve seen them. I’ve met them.
My birthday is the same day as Mother Theresa’s birthday. We’re both Virgos and according to astrology.com :
Virgo is the sixth sign of the zodiac, to be exact, and that’s the way Virgos like it: exacting. Those born under this sign are forever the butt of jokes for being so picky and critical (and they can be), but their ‘attention to detail’ is for a reason: to help others. Virgos, more than any other sign, were born to serve, and it gives them great joy. They are also tailor-made for the job, since they are industrious, methodical and efficient. The sense of duty borne by these folks is considerable, and it ensures that they will always work for the greater good.
I’m no saint and I’m definitely not perfect. And neither was Mother Theresa. You might want to look into her background a little more deeply. She wasn’t doing anything she was doing to help the poor. She was doing it for Christ and the church. (She said that, not me) She believed that suffering was a gift from God. She believed the sick must suffer like Christ on the cross. Her clinics took in millions and millions of dollars yet those clinics barely had what they needed to really take care of people.
I don’t know…I’m still waiting on someone to show me a religion that only does good (which is subjective as far as I can tell).
*Title from Bon Iver’s GOD
— Bible verses from the Bible (!)
— Virgo description from astrology.com
— Mother Theresa info from The Missionary Position: Mother Theresa in Theory and Practice by Christopher Hutchins and also various articles I found around the Web.
— Everything else came from my life experience, deal with it.

Nothing Changes on New Year’s Day

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New Year’s Eve. Again. My least favourite holiday of the year. Over the past few years I’ve started spending NYE alone. And I like it that way.

For me NYE just brings up this flood of feelings from my whole life, what I’ve done, what I’ve been through, where I’ve been and it becomes overwhelming because I want the incoming year to be a better year (doesn’t everyone?) but nostalgia and I do not get along. I’m going to be painfully honest here, blunt and definitely to the point. Every NYE is when I wonder if I will finally kill myself in the coming year. Dark, I know, but it’s how my brain works. And even though I try hard to think of the good things, for some reason, NYE doesn’t cooperate.

An influx of memories for me is like a form of torture. Constantly remembering and reliving a horror story. A few horror stories really. So on NYE my mind likes to remind me of the bad things I’ve seen. Through years of rape, torture, psychological torment to moving forward, finding some good people and pushing myself through school to prove I wasn’t as stupid as he brainwashed me to think I was. To moving on to grad school and being happy because it meant I was the only one in my family with an education and we grew up pretty poor. How I got through school is a blur and not because I spent it partying but because my PTSD was at it’s full height. I had a seriously confidence boost some where along the way. After grad school I had a HUGE influx of self esteem and confidence. My motto became “Face Your Fear and Do It Anyway”. Even if I shook, I faced my fears. And because of that attitude I managed to get to do work that a lot of others would kill to do. I got to travel and meet people and hang out with famous people and best of all I got to work with teens and young adults and THAT is my favourite thing in the world. Then came more abuse and mistreatment. Which sent my self esteem and confidence plummeting as thoughts of “I was never meant to be happy.” “I deserve to be treated this way.” “I am not like everyone else, I don’t get to be happy.” Everything and anything that could make me realize that this happiness was bound to fail came to mind.  Because of it my self esteem fell, my confidence shattered and people dragged me through the mud and worst of all, I lost a lot of the teens and young adults I was working with. Some of them stuck by me but due to the nature of what I was doing and who I was working for, many of them stayed on that side of things. I had pretty much everything I loved torn apart. I hid for a while. It isn’t hard to think you don’t deserve anything good because you were basically raised being told “You’re fat, ugly and no one will ever love you.” “You’re stupid and worthless.” These things play over and over in my head when I’m having a particularly bad day and usually that means NYE. You cannot turn this off. If you’ve been through something similar, you know, you cannot predict when this playback will hit your mind and you cannot just turn it off. It is a lengthy process of trying to find the right way to cope with it when it does happen.

I am pretty sure there is some PTSD from that time I thought I had found my happiness. I know there is because my self esteem and confidence are still at an all time low and it fucking sucks. I went from having no self esteem to feeling like I could do anything to dropping down to absolutely no self confidence and a constant state of self deprecation, self hate. It’s been hard to get out of that and after 8 years of trying, I know I’m doing a little better but every day is still a struggle to get up and function knowing I’m not happy at all with my life anymore. One thing I do try to do that is becoming increasingly harder for me financially is that I try to plan to travel a few times during each year so on NYE I like to think about where I want to go. I am a traveller and travelling is my heart. It keeps me sane. So of course that is slowly dwindling because, as his voice likes to repeat in my head, “You don’t deserve to be happy.”

So on NYE all of this comes back and makes me question if the next year will be better or if it will get worse. And before anyone says it, thinking about the good things in my life is hard for me on NYE which is why I like to spend it alone. I just fucking hate nostalgia and looking back because most of the memories my friends have or people who know me have are nothing like the memories and feelings I have to look back on even though maybe we spent a lot of that time together. I love my friends because I know I’d have killed myself a long time ago if not for them. They are my family. Maybe one day I can spend NYE with them but for now it’s me, myself and I as usual.

For those of you who get it, I am sorry that you have to go through this too. For those of you who have never experienced these things, I envy you. Hopefully everyone can have a good New Year though because we ALL deserve it.