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I had to fly recently, which I hate but it wasn't until I was on the plane when I realized the main problem. I would have a layover in a state that I had never been to but my abuser lived in. I knew that it wouldn't happen, but even the .0001% chance was too much for me. I wanted to leave as soon as we could and never come back to this place.
Being close was too much, it feels ridiculous that just being in the same state as him again was enough to send me spiraling but it was. I was a wreck, and I couldn't tell anyone.
I was traveling with a group, a group who doesn't know my story other than that I was passionate about domestic violence and sexual assault laws, they never knew why.
Later in the trip, there was a party we attended, it was crowded loud and out of control. I stuck to the edges and stayed out of the action.
I am not claustrophobic just scared of being too close to someone.
I didn't use to be this way, I used to love to be near people, to be in a close circle with people. But that idea is too much most days. Some days I have a good day and I am in the right place to be close, but more often than not I am not.
I feel broken, brushing people off and getting angry when they don't understand. I know its not their fault.
It's not theirs, or mine
Or at least that's what they keep saying.
Everyone always tries to reassure me by telling me it isn't my fault but that isn't the problem, the problem is I still feel scared and unsafe to the point I push people away.
Everything feels too close, too close.
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I have a job, that's good. I'm grateful but I feel restless and like I'm "supposed" to be achieving so much more than I am. I feel like my anxiety has vastly improved. I feel like I'm a different person than I was a year ago but then there are the moments where the anxiety overtakes me and the negative self-talk overwhelms me and I feel like I'm back to where I started: feeling utterly and completely hopeless and useless.
I'm back in CA, where I belong, I suppose. I've always felt like I feel more at home here than any other place I've been. Maybe it's just that there are so many familiar people.
My life is about to change a lot soon. If I can manage to push pass the intense anxiety at even the idea of applying for community college, I'll be starting school in Spring. If I'm able to get any financial aid. And that depends on if my ex gets our divorce finalized next month the way he's supposed to so that I can use my parent's tax information because I'm a dependent. I hardly make any money and couldn't possibly make it living on my own let alone pay for college. I can't even pay my bills.
I feel like I have things much more together than I used to but some parts of life are still a mess. I'm still engaging in some sort of weird non-relationship with J. He calls me his best friend but it's more than that. Right? Best friends don't typically sleep together and kiss and hold hands and tell each other they're in love. Despite the fact that I haven't seen my ex or really spoken to him in...wow...a long time...J insists he can't be with me until my divorce is finalized. Which I totally understand, I just wish it hadn't taken so long for me to get it taken care of. Thank my anxiety for that, always putting uncomfortable things off until the last minute because it stresses me out to even think about them. But I have the suspicion that even after the papers go through and I'm officially single it won't make a difference. Part of me is convinced that we won't ever be together. That maybe we don't belong together. He seems so great but then I really start to think about things and I wonder if this is healthy. If he's right for me. I finally feel like I deserve quite a bit in the romance category, I'm not as self-conscious as before and have a much better sense of my worth. There are a lot of things I could type out here about his temper and his lack of communication skills and how terribly frustrating it is for me to feel like he doesn't tell me anything (despite the fact that he repeatedly tells me that he feels such a strong connection with me and wants to tell me everything and I'm his best friend). One of the biggest things I think about is when I was living with him last year, before the break up, I got a UTI. The worst UTI I've ever gotten in my entire life, I was in so much pain I couldn't even stand up straight and walk and I had a horrible fever. I told him I needed to go to an urgent care because I couldn't take the pain, it was terrible. I wasn't crying or anything, I can buck up quite a bit in the face of physical pain (usually). I wasn't working at the time and he was getting ready to leave for work. I half expected him to offer to drive me to the clinic but he didn't. He didn't even really come over and comfort me or say much....at all. I ended up telling him I was going to take a Lyft to the clinic so I could get some medication to clear it up and he still didn't offer to take me...I was too embarrassed to ask him to come at that point even though I was anxious as hell to go to urgent care and I hate doctors and had never felt this sort of intense pain before so I was just all around scared in general and could have used him there for support. But I said nothing and he didn't seem very worried at all. So I grabbed a water bottle and waited for my car to pick me up and he gave me a kiss and told me to let him know what happened. That's it. I had to ride in a Lyft to Urgent Care in intense pain, alone. And wait to be seen by a nurse for about an hour and a half, alone. Still in pain and still terrified and anxious. Later, he called me and gave me a half-hearted apology: "I should have taken you."
I'm still hurt by this, isn't that strange? There's nothing like being in pain and your boyfriend let's you take a car service to the clinic without comforting you for you to feel like he doesn't give a crap about your pain or you. Yet, I still go see him. Still consider him my best friend. Still miss him and love him and hope he means it when he says he feels the same. I wish I could read minds sometimes.
This post was just a rant about my "relationship" (friends with benefits sounds so....blegh). But this is what this blog is for. For me to spill my guts out since I have nowhere else to turn to and no real friends to speak of. Besides J. But it would be a little strange for me to rant about him to him, wouldn't it.
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About two months ago, I remembered what happened to me...what happened, happened 11+ years ago. I was sexually assaulted by a close friend. Now I am just trying to learn how to cope with it, and get better. At first, I had nightmares 3 to 4 times a week. There was a time when I was afraid to go to sleep because I didn't want to relive what happened to me. The nights when I have a nightmare, I wouldn't sleep well. I was anxious and depressed all day. I had to hold back the tears at work, it was draining pretending like nothing was going on. I sleep a lot because I get so tired from doing the simplest things. It's so frustrating, I hate being so tired all the time. I am still dealing with a great deal of anxiety, it's just not as bad. My therapist thinks it's because I spend so much of my day anxious, and a just crash at the end of the day. Now I only have a nightmare every couple of weeks. I haven't had one in about two weeks. I hope it stays that way...even though I have my doubts...
Usually, I am REALLY careful about what I watch, so I am not triggered. My husband even does what he can to read up on shows and movies, or even watch them before I do with him, to make sure I am not going to be triggered and tells me about it. He even fast-forwards through scenes that he knows will trigger me. I am SO thankful that he does that.
A few days ago, I had my first flashback...my husband and I were watching a TV show, and a rape scene came up (that he didn't know was coming, he can only do so much). I broke down crying, it felt like I was reliving my assault. I knew I was safe, I knew I wasn't being assaulted again. That didn't stop the emotions from coming in full force, it felt like I was 17 again. LIke I was there, being assaulted again. Ever since then, I have been even more tired than usual. I haven't been able to pull myself out of this funk...I hate it...I hate feeling so broken...
It feels like I am taking two steps forward one step back...like I am never going to get better...I hate feeling so broken...
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I know that I have been somewhat absent for a little while. My prescence here has declined greatly over the last couple of weeks and for a little while, I was only really responding to PMs and giving posts a quick-read, just to try and keep up. I sincerely hope that while I've been scarce, that everyone's doing as well as they can be doing. While I've been thinking of my friends here while keeping busy offline, the reason for my decreased activity is indeed a good one.
There is now a high school graduate in the house! That colicky, fusspot of a little boy that I rocked to sleep every single night for the first several months of his life, has now officially completed the twelfth grade. I do admit to stealing the title of this entry from a shot-glass at the Christmas Tree Shop. But I believe it, completely! It amazes me how much WORK was involved getting him to this point, to get him across this particular milestone. How many times he'd gotten frustrated, how many times he's expressed his hatred toward school. There have been countless projects, book reports, science fairs, visits to the school nurse on the days he'd faked sick because he wanted to go home, (the elementary school nurse and I were on a first-name basis) parent-teacher conferences, two previous graduations (from elementary and junior high) trips, and HOMEWORK. The homework, is of course, in caps simply because I have six more years of homework woes to endure as the Daughter will be entering 7th grade at the end of the summer and through her, it will all continue...she and her brother are SO different, in personality, in movie, music and food tastes, but when it comes to homework, they're the same. BOTH of my children dread it and do the bare minimum - it's the only complaint I've gotten from both of their teachers whenever the time comes for me to visit their schools for parent night. "Your son/daughter is an absolute delight to have in class (I'd make sure at this point they were talking about the right kid) however, he/she is missing x amount of homeworks..." Then the wasband and I would have to remove any and all electronics for x amount of time - one day per homework missed was ideal...this way, while they MADE UP the missed assignment, there would be absolutely no distractions.
But for my son, it paid off. My only hope is that he feels the same way - and that as he embarks upon a new journey (college), he sees that all of the hard work he's done up until the present time has been worth it.
The big day was Thursday. On the way to the ceremony, I looked at him while stopped at a red light. He was dressed in his shirt and tie, had on his cap and gown, he looked so damn handsome!
"Hey," I nudged him, "I want you to know that I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks, Ma." I could tell he was trying not to show his nervousness. He fiddled with his tie, scratched underneath the cap, (those things are itchy) and chewed on his nails.
"I also want to apologize in advance for the ugly cry you're probably going to see when you walk across that stage."
Then there was that grin I love so much, followed by a light chuckle, "That's okay, Ma!"
Surprisingly, the ugly cry happened AFTER the ceremony and tossing of the graduation caps (as well as the frantic relocation of aforementioned cap with attached tassel) when he descended the stairs leading from the school building...carrying in one hand his diploma and using the other to unzip the deep purple gown so he could free himself from the confines of the graduation robe he'd had to wear for the last three hours in a sweltering gymnasium. Twelve years of school (fourteen, if you count pre-school and Kindergarten) finished in the blink of an eye! That brought on the tears and I couldn't hide my emotions long enough. I got a look of horror from the Daughter, who I'm sure, pretended she didn't know me for a full sixty seconds, the usual narrow-eyed wince from Constipa-Face (I expected no less from someone who has not a single sensitive bone in his body) and the "there she goes!" from someone else, possibly Mrs. Constipa-Face.
The Son, though, gave me a hug. I kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, "wait til your next and final graduation...if you think I'm bad now, I'll be a hot mess, THEN!!"
Lucky for us all, I have another four years. Now I've got to get around the fact that he'll graduate college before his sister even finishes High School...
And then, to the Daughter, I said, "You just wait, too...when YOU graduate, I'll be crying even HARDER, and I'll make sure there are honking noises when I blow my nose...JUST for you, my darling...and even better, still - you're the spitting image of your Mama, so you won't be able to hide..."
She groaned. Serves her right for making fun of her mother, doesn't it?
I'm sure I'll be ugly-crying AGAIN when his senior picture proofs arrive. He took them two days before graduation and I'm expecting those to arrive in about two to three weeks.
Then, two days after the graduation, I had forty people show up to my house (would have been at least six to seven more people, but I had a few last-minute cancellations) and although I had Oompa staying here for a few days to help out, I certainly got in my exercise...just within my own home. I lost count of how many times I went up and down the stairs, how many trips I made from the kitchen sliders/upper deck to the newly-set concrete slab one story below. By the time the night was over on Saturday, I was ready to collapse in exhaustion; my feet were KILLING me and I had some unpleasant chafing in an even more uncomfortable place.
This morning, I felt a ton better, both physically and mentally - Oompa left early this morning (but not before expressing any and everything that disappointed her at one point or another...while Constipa-Face is good for nothing less than a daily dose of disapproval, my mother takes first place in every single woe-is-me contest that there ever was - even the imaginary ones) and will be gone until the Daughter's birthday, which is in two weeks. I spent the day with my father, who leaves tomorrow morning and will return for the next party, which is going to be held at the wasband's house. And since the wasband has effectively demonstrated that it's NORMAL to show up an hour after the party has started, I may demonstrate my own learning abilities by doing the same thing. (I say 'MAY' only because my Daughter will likely suffer the consequences of my being purposely tardy; and that's not fair to her at ALL.) Who am I kidding? I'll be there on time if not a little bit early - at least my kids will know I'm reliable while their father is not.
I will be spending the next two weeks attempting to get back that feeling of normalcy and calm - the amount of stress that I've had on my plate was at an all-time high and the lowering of my blood pressure is a vital, necessary thing.
I'll be posting another update shortly - for now, another good nights' sleep is in order as the recuperation process has begun.
Sending lots of hugs and love to you all - I've missed everyone!!!
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I'm at the top of a hill, taking a break. Breathless. Exhausted. I've only been riding a few days. And it has become both the best and worst part of my life.
The hill is long and steep and, and the intersecting road that lies at the end is incredibly busy. Cars whirling by, horns blaring at one another, drivers shouting harsh words, and children sitting clueless in the back seats. All of these things slowly become a complete blur.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I push the bike forward and lift my feet from the peddles.
I'm on auto pilot.
The bike starts plowing forward. The chain clicks as I shift gears, lowering the resistance. I lift my hands off the handle bars; but they still hover just above. I can feel the wind flowing through my hair and cooling my burning face. I'm smiling the most genuine smile to grace my face in years as if joy itself were a demon and for the first time decided to possess my pathetic body.
I can hear the traffic getting closer. I can feel the hill coming to an end. I'm don't want to slow down. I want to slam into traffic. I want cars to smother me. I want the damage to be so bad my funeral has to be a closed casket. And I want my bike to only be recognize by a few small, hardly distinguishable pieces-- noticed only by a few remaining pieces of the purple glimmer from the frame and black, glossy metal that captures the handle bars.
For the first time in almost 7 years, nothing is troubling me. I don't feel stressed or exhausted. I don't feel anxious and alone. I feel free. I feel at peace.
It made me realize just how badly I want this all to end-- even if it is in the "worst" way possible. Even if I have to leave everyone in the dust.
I want it. I want it more than anything else.
I've always known that I wanted this to end. I've always known I didn't want to have to live with this for 70 years. I didn't want to live a "full" life. Because that entailed living with this for an entire lifetime.
The faster the bike gets the better I feel.
More excited. More free.
I felt like I was taking my first breaths after being suffocated for years. Or like I was walking free for the first time after years of being anchored by heavy chains. It felt incredible.
Suddenly, my hands slam down onto the handle bars and desperately grab at the brakes. The tires squeal against the pavement and the back tire jumps up a bit.
I open my eyes-- only inches away from the fast moving traffic. Now, all of the horns and angry voices are directed towards me and clueless, confused child's eyes land directly on me.
I looks down, trying to avoid the harsh gazes of those I've inconvenienced. I'm ashamed. I slowly put my feet back to the peddles, and grudgingly make my way home.
I should have done it. I should have completely let go and let the beautiful moment of liberty be my last.
I don't exactly know what came over me.
But I do know that I will ride again tomorrow.
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Today has been a long rough day all together I feel like if it wasn’t one thing it’s another!!! I had counseling today and I decided I was gonna write a letter to my abuser and send it off... I hate the unknown of not knowing if he’s gonna open it or the unknown is what drives me even crazier. I’m the type that constantly has to be in control and when I’m not I get anxious and stressed out and depressed and I don’t know how to handle it!! I hate feeling this way!!! Now I’m stuck have stupid Father’s Day dinner with all the in laws and every time we have dinner I end up at the end by myself on my phone (like now) playing games or just keeping myself occupied... it makes me feel so alone and unwanted but this is what I married into I love him to much to let this mess up our marriage. Dot get me wrong he try’s to talk to me a little bit but I get so depressed I just don’t want to talk to anyone!!! I hate it I hate today I hate everything I just feel like cutting crying and sleeping!!
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Everyone calls me a survivor which pisses me off; i survived the horrific abuse, yayy me, now i am trying to survive the flashbacks, body memories, and not sleeping. Trying to survive being a whole wife, a wife who can be intimate with her husband without her fathers ghost voice in her ear, whispering i will always be his good girl, that i am going to be a great wife to someone some day and how lucky he has such a loving daughter. I know in the past i survived the rapes, the photo sessions, grandpa, but now i need to survive bathing myself without images of him masturbating while looking at me, survive trying on bathing suits that remind of him in the dressing room with me. leering at me as i try on suits, when i survive through a night without a thought being done, a thought i need to punish myself for not being who i can be, a better wife, mother, friend, then you can call me survivor, teleah
Im sitting up the night before my first therapy appt. (again), can't sleep so I'm reading articles from the day. I come across this https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/2018/06/13/sarah-mcbride-gay-survivors-helped-launch-me-too-but-rates-lgbt-abuse-largely-overlooked/692094002/ and i felt it touched home for me. now i know i shouldn't be reading this stuff, which i didn't in a way. it was more the headline spoke to me of my situation. it wasn't long after i came out in college that my r*** happened. the people in my circle knew and were cool with it, though i will say this sorority i thought about joining was homophobic so i passed. nevertheless, for the most part i was accepted. the guy who did what he did asked me that night if it was true that i was gay then proceed to i guess prove if it was true or not. even as my previous therapist told me that is what probably happened, i still couldn't believe it, nor accept it. but seeing this headline set off a light bulb in my head. sometimes things need to be heard from more than one source before the mind can accept the truth.
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The secretary of the clinic spoke to me very curtly and I felt very hurt. It's happened like this many times and it's an important aspect to address.
My T and my mentor both would never speak that way to me. My T explained that it's because of our relationship. Other people will not know or be considerate with what hurts me.
I used tools like that she doesn't know me in a personal way so she isn't sensitive to it. Or that she was having a hard day or that she is just an insensitive human being. Also, she didn't say it with the intention of hurting me.
I could go to her and tell her what she said hurt me. but I won't. Why? cuz that makes me vulnerable, that I need her to say sorry in order for me to feel better, and what if she refuses to.
I acknowledge it hurt but At the same time that shouldn't stop me from living. I have other things I like. I refuse the option of stopping those things because some dimwit hurt me. I will however dislike her and keep a distance.
Shaking. The kind that you can feel start from the inside. From your bones to your veins to your muscles. Skin tingling. The trigger. Someone sat next to me.
I havent given my new co-workers the talk about my personal space. Last week one kept touching me. I silently prayed then. Today the prayer didnt work. I kept saying to myself, it will be fine. Sge will move soon. She didnt and the feeling kept building. I could no longer focus. The trembling became visible. Someone else saw and I got up.
I need to breath. I need to remain centered. Focused. Present. Count it out. Deep breath in. Slow release. It is not a good thing to flip out on them. You have to tell tthem soon.
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I have a lot of new beginnings this year, including starting college for the first time. So far I love it. I will be starting the Sign Language Interpreting program this fall, and was advised to join a group to help in learning ASL (American Sign Language) and to meet people in the deaf community. The group meets once a week at various restaurants. I've met a lot of people and am making new friends. The first time I went I was very nervous. I only had just met a few of the college students that are in the program and didn't know any of the deaf people. It took a lot of courage to enter that room! But I was glad I did and have been going ever since. I am getting better at signing and understanding sign and often find myself at a table with only deaf people.
I am becoming good friends with two of the women that come - "K" is deaf and "L" is hearing. Sometimes we go to another place afterwards to have a more private chat. During one of those times I shared some of my background and admitted my difficulty in trusting men. There are a lot of men in the group, some married, some single. The ages vary too, from early 20's to in their 70's. So far I've handled being around them ok for the most part. It has been good for me to have this chance to interact with men socially in a safe environment. But there are times when I struggle. There are three different encounters that I'm going to focus on in this post. All three involved men with names starting with the letter "J", so I'll use numbers to help identify who I am writing about. All three are deaf and single.
The first encounter was with "J-1". I had seen him in the group a few times, but never had to interact with him. This time he was sitting right next to me. I was a bit uneasy. My deaf friend "K" didn't like him and had some issues with him the week before. I'm not sure why he behaves the way he does. It could just be that he functions at a lower level and is just behaving immaturely. Either that, or he is just strange. It doesn't help that he is a BIG man, taller than me and very large. I could just be reacting to his sheer size as I had a past encounter with a huge guy that literally had me cornered. Thankfully a guy friend of mine saw what was happening and came to my rescue, but it left me a bit shaken. So back to "J-1". It could be that he is just socially awkward, but I think for now I will try to avoid sitting near him again. When I talked with my counselor about it, she encouraged me to listen to my gut feelings.
The second encounter was with "J-2". "K" had introduced him to "L" and I the week before. She had known him from early childhood as they grew up together, going to the same school, etc. until they went to different colleges. "J-2" is around my age. Anyway I wound up sitting at a table with "J-2" and one other young man. I was a bit nervous as I didn't really know either one that well and it was just the three of us at our table. It didn't help that neither guy was ordering any food, they were just there to socialize. I had ordered something, but it felt really awkward to be eating in front of them. "J-2" was really talkative (in sign). Thankfully I understood maybe 80-90% of what he was saying and was able to carry on a conversation with him. He seemed to focus more on me, as the other guy is just learning sign and doesn't know very much yet. Despite being nervous, I enjoyed getting to know "J-2" better. At one point he asked me if I was nervous. I thought he was referring to me starting the Interpreting Program. After going home, I started thinking about the evening and then wondered if "J-2" was asking if I was nervous with him. The truth was yes, but then I'm nervous conversing with any guy that I don't know that well. For the next day or so I couldn't stop thinking about him, wondering what he thought of me, what all his motives were, etc. I was frustrated with myself. Why can't I just enjoy being around guys without constantly questioning everything.
The third encounter was last week. When I arrived at the restaurant, "K" was already there and had her purse in the seat across from her. She was saving it for "L" who was going to be arriving later. There was an empty seat next to that one and I sat there. Once again I was sitting with mainly deaf people. I was pleased at my progress with signing and being able to understand them. We were having a very enjoyable time. There was a guy sitting at the table right behind me. He was "J-3". I'd seen him a few times, but again, didn't really know him. Others refer to him as the "Joker" as he likes to tease and joke around. Well, this night, he was giving "K" a hard time about saving the seat for "L". At one point he acted like he was going to pick up the purse. So I casually draped my arm over the back of the chair and rested my hand on the purse, "guarding" it. At one point "J-3" asked me what time it was and grabbed my arm as I had a watch on. Thankfully I didn't panic, but took it in stride. Later, as I was conversing with someone at my table, I felt my arm being grabbed. It was "J-3" checking the time again. That time startled me a bit, but again I didn't go into panic mode. I should say that I am very sensitive to men touching me in any way and often had panic attacks in the past, though never showed it on the outside. The evening went on and "L" still had not showed up. "J-3" started giving "K" a really hard time about it. The next thing I knew, he was trying to lift my arm off of the chair. Instead of panicking I got a bit competitive and refused to let him. He then started to try to pry my fingers off of the purse. I've had years of experience of nieces and nephew trying to pry my fingers off of things, plus I am a pianist and have a lot of strength in my hands. I was ignoring him, acting like nothing was going on, all while there was this power struggle happening. He caught me off guard when he gave up trying to pry off my fingers and started to tickle me instead. It was just one of those things that snowballed a bit. I didn't panic, but struggled a bit with it afterwards. It was all done in fun and we were right there in a group. The next day or so I was a bit obsessed with thinking about it and wondering if I should have done something different, or my thoughts would go to question his motives, etc. I definitely talked it over with my counselor the next time I saw her. She encouraged me to try to keep it in the context that it happened in.
So I find myself facing different situations as I brave this new world of socializing in a mixed group. A lot of growth is happening and that is a good thing. It's just hard sometimes to know if what I am feeling is truly something I need to be cautious about, or if it is just an overreaction because of my past. In the meantime I plan to continue to make new friends and to learn to enjoy hanging out with these people.
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So... Friday night, my boyfriend and I went to the movie theater for the 9pm showing of Deadpool 2. The theater is in our town, which made it a convenient location.
We went in to our theater, and as we were looking for the seats, I saw my former best friend's brother. M. He was also a former best friend...
As we walked by their aisle and towards the back, I gripped the back of my boyfriend's shirt. We got into an aisle and took our seats, and my boyfriend turned around and looked at me.
"What's the matter?"
I could only stare at the back of his head. I just felt overwhelmingly hurt and angry.
I finally told him who it was that I was staring at.
"That friend... who's boyfriend assaulted me... that's her brother right there. He was also a best friend."
My boyfriend comforted me and asked if I wanted to leave. I said 'No.'
I enjoyed the movie and eventually ignored his existence. As the movie let out, I stayed in my seat until he left the theater.
When we walked outside, I had my boyfriend walk me to my car. Luckily, he was parked on the other side of the lot.
I drove off, seeing him talking to a girl, next to his vehicle.
I texted a mutual friend, who used to be best friends with all of us. His name is K.
I told him who I saw, and he asked if M said anything to me. I replied no.
I remember how M, K and I would go out to bars together, drink and talk and have a great time... those were the good ol' days... until I became best friend's with M's sister.
Now that whole family deserted me and chose my attacker's side.
June is upon us, and then July.
July is the month I find out if I go to trial or not.
I want to journal the tough stuff in a safe place, a safe manner. My life has been manipulated, pushed, pulled ... fried in so many ways...because of their beliefs. Oh my, and Dear God ... help me, Lord
When I first came here, it seemed so dark and painful...truth it still does...and I long to help at least one victim here recover....but I don't know how to do that myself.
Today, I worked on negative thoughts for myself to change and not let the vile bitterness of unworthy friends...eat me alive. I have to. I have one thing to ask. Just Joy in the Lord...for what it's worth and a kind smile that says what I"ve done today meant something to someone.
My work takes me a long way from home...I'm not even sure I don't pay to do the work...it's minimum wage and a lot of gas...but I"ve never been happier with the clients I work for. They are sufferers in need...and the greatest need is love. My friend often tells me get a better paying job...that suits me. This suits me...I NEED this. My fear is the financial bottom dropping out before my ship comes in. What ship? I laugh a little at that...the pinta... whew long wait for that one.
God says it's coming and to trust in Him...so I will keep the faith and sing, "Jesus take the wheel" as often as I need. I will make this a positive journey for me...in due time, I will. In due time...
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Hi Alice, I want you to know that you are not alone. I am writing this response to tell you that you have successfully shared your secret, and to share with you my feelings of sorrow that such a horrific experience happened to you, and to hope that you will be comforted in knowing that this is the natural and gut reaction of any sensitive person who learns of your story.
I would further like to say to you and ask you to consider yourself supported by many, many people out there. So many people would reach out to support you, if they only knew.
Consider the public mental health awareness events and lectures that communities hold, presenting different approaches, stories, and advice. This means the community is concerned for you.
So please feel in a very real way, that you are, in fact, supported. We would all like to provide emotional nourishment to all those who have suffered through such terrible, torturous hurt. Please understand that you really walk shoulder to shoulder, every day, with people that are beaming, if silently, their concern for their fellow human beings who have suffered and are still suffering the lingering effects of past trauma. Open yourself, open your heart, to receive these feelings.Feel the words and rays and waves of comfort, of emotional understanding, of shared understanding, that we send out constantly to those who are in pain. Read these words over and over, play them again and again in your mind, and allow yourself this healing feeling of absolute and unconditional support, warmth, and love!
Most of all, please remember: you are not alone! We, your supportive community, are in this together!
All the best,
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I've been feeling pretty despondent the past day or so, which usually means I'm trying to dissociate. It's a feeling of, I'm tired of feeling this way, so I'll just not be in my body. Sometimes being in my body is one of the unsafest feelings ever. Ever read The Host? Some type of alien takes over a body and lives inside. I remember the author describing sliding into their body, feeling each finger and toe as the alien grows these long tentacle-like neuron things and grows to feel familiar. That's exactly what coming back from dissociation feels like. You slide into your body like a glove, and it either fits perfectly or feels like it's going to strangle you.
I dissociated for about 5 months this past year. From about October to March. I was getting these panic attacks every month or so, and I couldn't figure out what was triggering it. But every time I had one, it felt like I was back for a day. Then a day goes by of me crying my eyes out non-stop, and it's like it never happened. The worst one happened at the beginning of March. I decided to call my Mom this time instead of my boyfriend (who I usually reach out to) and she talked me through it. And most importantly, I finally opened up to her about my sexual assault. She went home from work immediately, picked up my Dad, and drove 9 hours to come see me. I was overwhelmed with love. And when they showed up, for the first time in years, I felt safe. I felt loved. I felt secure. In hindsight, I wish I had said something sooner, but I know I wasn't ready yet.
I kept reaching out to this boyfriend of mine. This man who I was in love with. Who said the most wonderful things to me to build me up. At least for a while. When I came back into my body that day my parents drove out to make sure I was okay, I had this sinking feeling in my gut that my boyfriend was triggering me. That I couldn't trust him. And I could never explain why. It was just a feeling that I acted on. Always trust what your body is saying, if you can bear to listen to it (because sometimes it's your pelvis just aching for days at a time).
I was thinking about the first time I had a panic attack and events that went on around the time it happened. One I put together about a month ago, when I finally decided to call it quits with my boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend. He lied to me one night, just after I had moved to be in the same city as him (we had been in a long-distance relationship for about 10 months, and known each other for about a year on top of that). He made plans to come over and hang out, but when he didn't show, I called him. And he ignored my call. And I texted him. And he misspelled some obvious things. And he said he was at work. But I knew he never misspells stuff, and I called him out for drinking. My sober (he was in a Christian AA group) boyfriend was out drinking and lying about it to me.
He called me later that night and the next day apologizing profusely, but I already knew in my head (and in the journal I keep) that I was going to break up with him as soon as I could move into my own place (see, I was staying at his aunt's vacant house until I moved into my current, new apartment).
But that day didn't come for another 5 months. Looking back, how could I forget to do something I so desperately wanted to get out of back then?
One way my ex liked to "play" was to tickle me. Or give wet willies. Or other childish things that never really resulted in anything romantic or cute, like cuddling up closer together or making out. No, this was not foreplay. I think this was some sort of twisted type of control. When my ex would tickle me, I would laugh and tell him to stop. When my ex would tickle me, he would laugh and pin me down so I couldn't move and continue tickling me. When my ex would tickle me, I would scream and kick and yell at him to stop. When my ex tickled me, he wouldn't stop. Until I screamed bloody murder. I couldn't breathe. I'd start crying. My head felt full and my ears would pound and my throat tightened up. And we'd stare at each other, me trying to catch my breath but beginning to sob, and him looking scared.
"I don't like that," I'd whimper out, voice trembling.
"I was only playing, it's just a joke. We need to toughen you up," he'd reply.
No apologies. No checking in with me and my intense emotional response to "playing." Just on to whatever was next in the day, and me in my head wondering if I really did need to toughen up.
In one sentence, he had me doubting my own strength, having me believe that I was weak, and that I needed to learn how to play and flirt like him.
Looking back, I just see a sick pig who can't be wrong and has no regard for anyone's boundaries, and hindered my healing process by making me not feel safe in my own body from that moment on.
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To whom it may concern,
I sort of have this secret that no one knows about me but it's something that really bothers me and that is honestly a huge part of my depression. Seven years ago, when I was raped, I got pregnant. I was a 13 year old who was pregnant. Here's the kicker. I didn't know I was pregnant until a week later when I got really bad pain in my stomach and went to the bathroom and found blood and stuff. It scared me but I was smart enough to know not to go to my parents. They are very religious and would have disowned me...
So instead I told my mom I felt weird, I was throwing up and wanted to go to the hospital cause it was night time and all the clinics were closed and I just needed the pain to go away right now. She dropped me at the door and told me to call her when I was done. I knew she wouldn't come with me. I went to the nurse, who I knew because I was in the hospital quite a lot (heart problems) and told her I needed her help as soon as possible. It was an emergency and I couldn't tell my parents. She was a friend and promised she wouldn't say anything. I may have lied to her about how I got pregnant but the point is she knew what my parents would do if they found out.
She thought it was strange a relatively healthy young girl would have a miscarriage so she ordered a full pelvic exam, which I hated of course, blood work, the works. I was told a few days later that I not only had a low egg count...which made it next to impossible to get pregnant in the first place, but my uterus was malformed. It would never form. It's this weird defect. In a span of a few weeks, I was raped, I lost my first child, and I was told I could never be a mother.
To this day it makes me feel so empty inside. I feel broken. The primal reason for my existence is to pop out babies. It's what women are made for. I can't even do that. To this day, I morn my unborn child.
I imagine sometimes it would have been a baby girl. Blond hair, blue eyes, named Alora. I always loved that name. She would have the cutest laugh and a smile that would brighten the whole world. I imagine teaching her piano and painting with her and dancing with her in the middle of Wal-Mart like a crazy person haha.
But then I start to imagine how her life really would have been like...
Not the fantasy I want but the reality of the world. A disowned 13 year old with no home or money, trying to raise a little baby that depends solely on me. And let's say I did that. I managed to find a job, an apartment, maybe my brother took me in for a few months...what about when she gets older. What happens when she asks me who her father is. What happens if I were to look at her and see him. Dark hair and green eyes and a smirk that sends shivers down my spine....I would love her unconditionally but a small part of me would be scared of who she would become, how she would feel, how she would react if she knew how she came to be my daughter.
A part of me is glad that child would never get to live that life. Knowing your father raped your mother and that's why your here. The pain it could have brought her...hurts me even now to think about it.
Anyways, there it is folks, my darkest secret. The time I almost had a beautiful baby and instead found out I would never have one.
Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance
Start in the beginning, the end or the middle.
Circle back. Circle back again.
Grief never ends. It never even begins somehow. Somewhere, our soul just cracks apart and then eventually you feel the groan, you feel the empty ache, the split widening.
It never really fills, and somedays seem smaller. But in reality, the crack never heals, those steps are never finished.
And you can wallow in each, choose to live phasing in and out.
You can choose simply to live inside them. Engulfed in them until you are not longer separate.
And frankly, everyone does.
And then someday in the darkness, a new crack begins. A crack that starts small and eventually with work gets bigger, this crack lets in the light.
This crack lets in the glow.
Now both cracks exist, both split your soul.
Now life shifts back and forth.
Each day, reach light. Each day, reach dark.
Each day, each chance. Grieving the loss of light. Grieving the loss of dark.
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I hate PMDD. Throwing PTSD and PMDD together is such hell. The curse of being female. Not safe anywhere, even our own bodies fight against us.
Almost the weekend. I have barely slept for a week. I feel disassociated from myself. My hormone levels are at the point where being inside this body is unbearable physically and emotionally. I feel like everything is falling apart. My brain tells me my marriage is falling apart. I don't know. I am not in a mental state where I can see anything clearly. Everything is masked by smokes and mirrors. What is real and what is imagined?
Got an appt with a GI specialist but not until June. My therapist wants me to focus on fixing my hormones and anxiety. Since I can't take meds... She has suggested estrogen cream and she and my husband wants me to try Cbd oil. I guess I could try. I just hate spending money on myself. I don't know whether to go see my obgyn again or just wait and see what the gi Dr says.
2 or 3 weeks left of school. I can't wait to be done, but I can't focus right now. I need to concentrate to teach the kids. So, we've not done much this week. They'll do much better going to school next year.
I feel so useless right now. This isn't me. I wanna rip whatever parts of me make me feel like this out.
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I haven't been on this site in about a month. Way too long I would say. I have had a few very dark days and just white knuckled it, as alcoholics say. Crushing sadness and panic are the main ideas. I have been having trouble getting over the fact that my exhusband truly loved me and I now have someone who isn't really sure how to love because he never has loved anyone, not even himself. He is freaking out about being a father, the closer my due date gets, the stranger he acts. It is difficult to be with someone a lot like you in a lot of ways when it's the bad points that are similar. There's no balance. I always end up being the rock, the one dependable spot in the storm. Where is my rock? On who do I lean when I am too weak to stand? As usual in my life I have no one but me. No one could carry the burdens i do I guess, considering I have practice carrying not only my own but many other people's at once. I wonder if I am a masochist at heart. I thought he was strong, it was one reason I agreed to open my heart again in the first place. I am discovering that most of the things that attracted me to him were lies or exaggerations to accomplish his end of being with me. While I understand not believing that anyone can accept the true self at the beginning, I feel bamboozled, tricked, misled. Mutual respect and understanding builds trust and communication. We have none of that. I am debating leaving or staying to work harder on a relationship than i ever have, all while not knowing if i want to. Do i love someone who doesnt exist? More later... Need to process...
I need to put a sex offender in prison to right the OCD/brain chemistry in my brain. I don't know what is wrong with my brain. I have been fighting it now for over 26 years. The doctors won't give me a diagnosis. I've had OCD for as long as I can remember, its horrible. For the past 19 years I have been trying to get someone who sexually abused me put in prison so that my brain will right again and I can fight off the anxiety and depression and all manner of symptoms in my head. It's really frustrating as no one seems to believe me that it is true. The worst part is that it was the Police that 'arranged' for me to be sexually abused in the first place .
I don't know what was wrong with my brain from birth. It might be autism, or learning disabilities? I don't really know. I really struggled with school. Everyone else around me seemed to find school easy.
I had a notion that I was going to join the RAF when I left school but I think that seed might have been planted in my head by my abusive sister. I never knew what I wanted to do when I left school. I didn't really have an interest apart from finding a cure for my brain so that I could be a Pilot, even that though seemed to be someone else's idea.
I really wanted my brain fixed so that I could fight back. Or at least fight on an even footing. Life always seemed to be unfair. My abusive older sister treated me like ****. I really hated her. The best time of my life was when I was 18 and my sister had left home and I got to go walking on the local national park with my parents.
I still wonder if science will come up with a cure for autism in my life time.
Aged 14 I was set up by my school to be repeatedly raped by the diseased turd in the back room of a grotty pub....
I was made to leave the Air Training Corps aged 15 for smelling of body odour... of all things. Bloody broke my heart, I had my sights set on a career in the RAF. I just gave up.
I used to come home from school at lunch times and get drunk and go back and it in classes not knowing what to do. I was so paranoid that I smelt bad.
I was set up by my abusive father and sister to copy the diseased turds crappy drawings in return for a chance to 'suck it off'... I was made to go to art college even though I had no idea how to draw or even any talent. I wasn't even a homosexual and even if I was no one on god's earth would willingly go near the diseased turd! I didn't have any interest in art college and I still don't. I was set up by my abusive sister and her sickening scheming mind of hers. She's had my life planned out for me since the day I was born, I've never had free will, I just get told what to do by my abusive sister and father. My sister can only think in terms of consequences.
I was 15 years old. Most of the other people I knew at school had girlfriends. I was forced against my will to get into bed with the diseased turd in the back room of a grotty pub. I could have been in bed with a girlfriend or at least safe at home doing my homework. For the life of me I can't fathom how responsible adults and teachers at my school and social workers and Policemen decided that I should be raped by the diseased turd. It doesn't make any sense....
Aged 16 I was drugged with too much Cannabis Resin, LSD and Pain Killers so that was my health out the window. I had to leave art college as I was too ill to do any of the work. That was in 1992. I am now 42 and I have never done a proper days work in my life.
I failed my GCSE's aged 16. Some bright spark decided that I should be made to 'hang out' against my will with someone who is mentally ill. So that was my education and future out of the window.
The depression and anxiety from failing my GCSE's got worse over the 5 years of high school. When I was 15 the mentally ill person made to pay for its cigarette addiction, so I become hocked on nicotine. That was my physical health out the window.
A few months latter at a house in a nearby town I was introduced to cannabis resin, so that was the end of me...
When I was 16 I was made by my abusive sister to the Tourette rapists grotty smelly flat to be used as a fag powered vibrator so that my mentally ill and delusional sister wouldn't have to worry about squeezing out 'retards'.. as she puts it. Up until the age of 16 I never actually had a sex life and now thanks to Claire G** I never will. Melanie G***** and Claire G** and her friends thought that dancing around in front of me with their tits out whilst ethnically cleansing was a barrel of laughs. I was ill in bed. Asleep.
I need to put Melanie G****** and Claire G** behind bars...
When I was 10 I thought I was going to grow up to be a professional boxer...
When I was 11 I thought I was going to grow up to be a fisher man...
When I was 13 I thought I was going to grow up to be a fighter pilot...
I didn't actually get to do anything apart from be ill... because that is how Melanie G***** planned my life out for me...
I used to enjoy playing football. Then when I was 10, Amanda W*** asked me for a tounge job in the play ground in front of the whole school. I haven't play football since...
When I was 10, I was told that someone said that I had nice hair. So my mentally ill psychopath of a sister made me wear too much hair gel to school to rot my hair out of my head until I was 17 when she had me raped in my bedroom by the diseased turd and then I was forced against my will to loiter around public toilets with filthy old grotty homosexuals in stench ridden shit holes after being ill all day at college. They called it 'comedy clubbing'. Then on the morning of 10th January 1994 to add salt to the wound I was made to go to a careers meeting at the college so that Stephen B**** could laugh at me in a public toilet so that I would rip all my hair out of my head... now I am 42 and I don't have any hair on my head all because of a comment made to be sister when I was 10...
They actually used me as a public toilet loiterer aged 17 after my fathers had me raped in my bedroom... foul shit ridden diseased public toilets... so that my sister could have a bit of a laugh with Claire G** so that Claire G** wouldn't have to worry herself...
The foul shit ridden dirty old man in the public toilet on the morning of January 10th 1994 was set up in bed next to mine in April 1997 to be given the chance to masturbate in my face and then shake my hand so that my sister could have a bit of a giggle to herself... The NHS actually wasted money and doctors even gave it some thought before hand... they even gave it a name 'mike'!
Mike! returned by some surprise in September 2002 to let me know that I could pay for a t-shirt in the petrol station on the way back from a Beth Orton concert in Bristol so that my father could have me illegally detained against my will so that my sister wouldn't 'feel' bad about showing off her new son after spending years in New Zealand...
I am told that the doctors wanted to lock my sister up... by my fathers said no, not my precious daughter you can lock my son up instead and stab his arse with a needle and fill him up with needless pills and torture him for 3 months in a mental home for fun, whilst my precious daughters gets married. joy oh joy!... I just wanted to learn how to play the guitar, I thought why not. My fathers convinced the doctors that I was about to go out a kill people... it was my fathers and sister that are killing people...
December 16th 1998, the day of my 23rd birthday. The day after we moved into a new home. Claire G** insisted that we move out of Brixham because she didn't want to feel like a embarrassed Tourette rapist. I was set up in Selina M***** car so that Claire Guy could accuse me of trying to perform oral sex on her after she had been raping me for 8 months... I can't imagine wanted to perform oral sex on Claire G**. I wouldn't p*** on Claire G** if she was on fire... Now Claire G** has been stuck in my front temple lobe for 19 years because of my untreatable OCD and the only way to get her out is to put her in prison for sexual abuse...
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THIS IS NOT MY CONTENT
although I have done various covers of this song. this is a song by a band called happy days. I don't want to post the song title. since it would probably disturb a lot of people. here are the lyrics. I highly suggest not finding this song or the other songs by this band. if you are feeling down in any way. although I listen to this music when I'm down since it makes me feel like people understand
The broken home on this street Haunts me,
It always hurts to see, For this is where I began to bleed,
Never did I understand Why it happens, The Horrid nights,
The infinite cries, With no end in sight,
The heavy touch,
The rose stained floors,
Never have I felt, Such emotional pain,
That brought along physical torture,
Asking myself why,
Without Reason, Without feeling,
A foul scent,
That permeates the air,
Revisiting a familiar scene,
To shame a life,
Removing their only seed,
Never been fed, Disposed by loved ones
, Left for dead...
Time and life may continue,
But I will always remember...
For this round scar, Still burns...
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Feeling accepted is one of the most important pieces to overall well-being, in my opinion. For the longest time, I was convinced that no one could ever accept me, not if they really knew me...I thought that I was broken, that I had some internal, innate part of me that was unloveable and unworthy of compassion or acceptance. I've slowly been changing that, layer by layer, and while there is definitely still a small core part of me that is always there to whisper those terrible thoughts to me, I've come a lot closer to believing that I am just as worthy of love and acceptance as any other human being. I don't hate myself anymore, and some days I like, and even LOVE myself. I feel like I have things to offer the world, and the more I put myself out there, the more I find that people respond positively to me. I decided a little while back that since people are going to judge you no matter what, and no one is universally liked/loved/accepted, they might as well judge the real me, and not whatever version of myself I thought they would be most likely to appreciate.
It has been a long road to make it even this far, and I know I have more work ahead of me. I just started trying to date in a way that is more than 1-2 dates and then getting scared and never speaking to the person again. I had been dating this guy, Dan, for about 2 months, and I am leaving town for a temporary job, so I knew we weren't going to be seeing much more of each other. That said, Dan was very forthright in his feelings for me - he told me all these lovely things, complimented me and went on and on about how I wasn't like anybody he'd met before, he'd never felt this way, blah blah blah...I usually responded with a very eloquent "Oh...kay" to all of that. As things progressed, I started sharing more of my story with Dan, mostly because I felt bad that he was getting so serious and I was holding him at arm's length (not to mention the awkward sex part), but also because I felt like here was a great, respectful guy who really liked me, and if I want to have a real relationship, I should be able to be honest, right? So, I told him things, and he was always understanding.
Then last night, we met up for a drink, and we started talking and I realized he was telling me many of the same stories he'd told before. I have a weirdly detailed memory for things people tell me, so I didn't let it get to me. He didn't remember things I'd told him, like about my high school or my thoughts on a certain religion or whatever else...again, small details, whatever, it's hard to keep track of things. But then he started asking me about my family, and my brother, and did I have any nieces or nephews? And all of these questions, and in my mind I was thinking WTF??? I had told him about how my brother hasn't spoken to me in years and how hard that was and how I felt so guilty for leaving him with my dad when I left. I told him things I don't tell many people, and I had felt vulnerable and weird about it but I did it and it felt like such a positive step. And then he just...forgot??? Friends have come up with theories that he's a secret alcoholic or has a brain tumor or is dating so many girls he can't keep the background info straight, but personally, I think it is just that he had a certain idea of a girl he wanted, and I fit enough of the boxes that he decided I was 'amazing' and 'not like anybody else he'd met' and whatever other nonsense he said, but all of that was just a projection...he wasn't really interested in ME, he didn't really care about my story or what made me who I am or what's important in my life. He just wanted somebody, and ignored anything that didn't fit with his own fantasy. And that really hurts. That small part of me that still believes every person who looks at me is thinking how gross I am, that silly part that I've all but silenced, that part keeps trying to wiggle it's way in to my brain and convince me that "well of course he didn't remember, of course he wasn't genuinely interested in your story - who would be? I knew it was too good to be true. No one would think you were amazing if they really knew you."
So far, I've been able to tell that part of my brain "ok, thanks for your opinion - but fuck off, that's not true." It is totally his problem that he can't remember a major detail of someone's life (someone he supposedly is all a-twitter about, even) and a definite red flag and a great reason to not get all melancholy about leaving. It sucks that the first guy I confided in about that stuff, the first guy I dated for any real length of time, dealt with things this way, but I still believe it was a really positive step and a good experience. And hopefully next time, the person I tell will take it with the weight and with the intention that I think is reasonable to expect. Regardless of that dummy, I accept myself more than I ever thought would be possible, and I love who I am and I am proud of my story and what I have accomplished.
I'm too trusting. I started seeing this really cute guy and this morning I went over to watch movies. At first that's all it was. We cuddled and watched a scary movie but then he started kissing me. A little too rough but every time I told him to slow down and be gentle he ignored me. I let him keep kissing me but then he took my clothes off with out my permission. Only my shirt and bra because I hit him when he kept trying to take my pants off. Unfortunately he had picked me up so when I asked to go home he said no. For two hours that was how it was id let him do whatever but when I didn't want to I said no let me get dressed, take me him. Every time he said no and kept going until he was tired of keeping me held down. My friends told me to be careful around him and I ignored them and got hurt.
Who Am I
Love me…Love me for me…I am damaged…I am silly…I am quirky…I am different…I am me…
All that happened to me isn’t me…It wasn’t my fault…I didn’t know…I was a baby…I couldn’t know…
All those thing…those horrible things…they tore out my heart…they made me feel dirty…they changed who I would be…
I am a product of hurt…God used my pain…He used my past…He knew before I was formed…It made me, me…
I am gentle…I am caring…I love with my whole heart…Without my past I would’t be me…God knew who I would be…
And loved me anyway…
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Today I had to call my insurance company to sort out some claims they denied. They denied them because they didn't have the information about my last insurance policy to verify that it ended. There's some paperwork going out to get them that info, and then the claims should be approved.
It was OK as phone calls go - mostly just answering questions as asked. But I've always struggled with phone calls, and by the time I hung up I was ice cold, shaking, nauseated, and breaking out in cold sweats. I couldn't sit still for hours after.
Maybe next week this'll be sorted out and I can call and make an appointment with a psychiatrist. The nightmares have been getting worse. The flashbacks were really intense and near constant there for a bit; they've eased up a little now but I'm still getting them daily. And spending the rest of my time deathly tired and with my brain off in space.
I hope they'll do something to help. I've never really had a doctor believe me before.
Today was the first day in weeks that I had any energy at all, and that was because of how badly this phone call set off my anxiety. One day last week I was laying in my kitchen floor with all the lights off when my dad got home from work, because cooking 2 steaks and some rice took all my energy but I wanted to be close enough to know if anything boiled over or whatever, while I was waiting on him. Even getting out of bed to go downstairs and watch TV is a big deal lately.
I can't keep living like this, unable to do anything for myself. Something has to give soon.
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