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So, I've had ptsd for a while now. Since the accident 9 years ago.
I was moving when I got hit from behind. Like all my stuff was packed I. The back of my truck. And then my whole life just exploded.
For a long time I thought my brain was broken. Like wtf was wrong with me that I could survive so much. So much neglect, abuse, just all the shit. All the very personal, directed at me shit. But a random asshole from outta nowhere hits me and my brain starts to crumble? Like it was so impe
Emotions are a tornado of unpredictable twists and gusts aren't they, and they're frightening when we've never allowed ourselves to be near them before. As these whirlwinds gather strength, they collect debris that swirls around us and occasionally whacks us round the head as we strive to keep our balance and avoid harm. Then the tornado passes leaving a flattened landscape, and we rebuild, add new, stronger reinforcements to the fresh structures that help us feel safe and wait for the next one.
So I have been trying to write this for a few days now. I dont know if it is fully shame or shame and embarrassment but I dont get to far. It starts off as a rambling mess of excuses and apologies to anyone who may read it. And here I am again going down that path. Maybe I should just start somewhere.
I have struggled a long time regarding consent and non-consent in my past. While I understand the very young me couldnt provide either the older me could. The problem is I didnt. I have never
Once this happened, I felt like a huge part of me was lost. A piece of me changed. I still feel like me but a piece of my happiness has been stolen. I've read other blogs saying I didn't deserve this, I deserve justice. I want so much for this feeling to go away, and does it take me reporting to do that? I have read articles of people saying it was the best thing they ever did. I never thought I'd need to report the awful thing that lingers in my thoughts day after day night after night.
I hate the night.
Sometimes I find myself lost in the dark. The daylight keeps me present, and the night takes me back. I start feeling tears stream down my face and I can't quite tell what they are from. Then I begin to feel like I am being sucked into a time loop. I am back at our old dirty apartment, sneaking past him as he sleeps...terrified he might wake up. My heart is racing, body tense then his eyes open. I flash forward to a new room. All of a sudden I am laying on a cot next to a
I don't know why I decided to wait this long to write this (and never send it to you) but here we are. I realize you had a lot going on that year personally, I really do, but you need to know that the way you treated me was not ok. I was the child, you were the adult. Now that I am the same age you were back then, I cannot imagine behaving the way you did towards any child.
I had no one that year--no one. You knew that, and you put YOURSELF in a position to become my
What he said to me has been repeating in my brain a lot recently, apparently writing it out can help so here go’s:
”Can we have sex, one last time?”
*shakes head? Says no? Definitely a negatory response.
*grabs wrists/pushes S back / applies handcuffs
(A moment of panic, one wrist free, what would happen if I tried to fight him off? mind floods with possible outcomes: freedom....beaten then raped.....running naked onto a busy street....the anger
Rocky... Rollercoaster... Recovery... so many words beginning with 'R', and some are easier to face and say out loud than others.
On the phone this morning, while leaking from my knackered eyeballs like a burst water pipe, I just said a word beginning with 'R' to my GP. I can't believe I actually said it.
He's been our family doctor since I was 10 and has watched me grow, shrink, struggle, adapt, cope, fall apart, mend, break again, come back stronger and then melt into puddles of ne
...you realize that you ARE Raymond from that TV show, "Everybody Loves Raymond."
In short, the show's about an average guy. Married, a few kids, a nice house. And a mother who's a pushy, nosy, meddling, annoying pain-in-the-ass busybody. Said character was perfectly played by the late Doris Roberts. We all knew Marie Barone. And we all LOVED Marie Barone because - well - let's admit it. She made us laugh. She was that mother we were all glad we didn't have. Some of us might have wa
your mental illness is welcome here
you that feels alienated, neglected and left behind is welcome here
you that feels completely invisible and pushed aside, unsure even of whether you exist or not, is welcome here
one day, i don't want to have to lie anymore
one day, i want to be able to say to others what i'm thinking
i don't want to have to modify my thoughts and words to please them anymore
i want to actually say what it is i'm thinking
without fear of how it will be perceived, or negative consequences
i want to say what i feel and what i'm thinking
without having to fear the consequences
it saddens me incredibly that you prefer and only acknowledge the existence of your fantasy of me instead of the human person that i am
it's like i'm not a human being in your eyes
just what's convenient for you
"If you cut your long hair you'll lose your strength like Samson in the Bible did!" A nutty leader within the church I was dragged to through my childhood and teens.
"The thing I love most about you is your long hair." A very nutty boyfriend.
"If you cut your hair short I'll leave you." A boyfriend who turned out to be nuttier than a bucket of muesli.
Waking up to find that 'bucket of muesli boyfriend' had plaited my hair to the ironwork of the headboard again made me crave a shor
So...shit's been rough here. I started a post about it, but that's still a work in progress.
It's like 10:30 at night and I just had some news about some pretty big schedule changes this whole week and I'm shaking. Nothing bad (the changes, that is), but I'm just legit that stressed out that something that'd normally not phase me is making me consider taking an anxiety med.
So... Before that...today I was working on a couple of paintings. I kind of got lost in them. I'll post them belo
I love writing. I love how words fit together like jigsaw pieces; allowing us to express ideas, share poetry, update readers with news, give and receive support, enjoy stories, discover inspirations, write letters, educate ourselves and others... the list goes on and on.
I like journaling. I find it therapeutic when clogged up thoughts spill out onto a page, freeing my brain and leaving space for new ideas and more peaceful moments. Clarity can be found on that page when all the words are
I'm on a roll, it seems, with these blogs. I simply have too much time to think these days. It seems it's all I do. When something baffles me - this is my drawing board. I'm reminded of the evidence room whiteboard with scribbled notes and pictures and the strings connecting one to the other....that is an accurate assessment of my brain right now. There's all this information, all these images. I know there's more to it, and so I'm constantly and obsessively going over it. Over, and over