My last T session. At least with my current T. And I'm properly going to miss her. She was amazing.
Today, today was sort of funny in a way. Really really sad, loads of serious stuff, but also funny. We were talking about my mum and the abuse, the violence, the lack of care, and also the love she showed - the Jekyll and Hyde character and she asked what it was I'd want to say to her if she were sat there now (she's long passed away). My answer was quite simple, it was just 'Why?'.
The darkness left for so long that I almost forgot it held a permanent residence in my body.
The time I spent floating on clouds and singing songs was so tangible in my fingertips that I let myself believe the eviction took place and sunshine filled the corners you loved most. Holding hands and conversations so close to my heart while completely oblivious to your return date left me weightless and almost hopeful that normality could become familiar to me for the first time. Tossing bits and
I have been in a funk of sorts for years now. It's the type of funk that you know you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Tomorrow you hope for a better day. But it seems every side of the bed is the wrong side. There are days when I can manage the funk very well. I function at work and participate with family. Then there are the days that I cant really get past it. I cannot say that there is one thing or one emtion. I am just sad and depressed. I have tried pinpointing what it is but I
Last week was a really positive week in therapy. We talked about how the university group are going to put a post out following me contacting them, and for the first time in my life I actually felt genuinely happy. There were proper tears or happiness, which I didn't even know were a real thing. And it totally amazes me that that happiness could come out of such tragedy.
This week, we ended up spending most of the session talking about my sister who is really low at the moment and I've n
Basically 3 big things have happened while I've been not documenting this journey over the past few months.
1) Apparently I did tell my maternal aunt that my brother was abusing me when I was around 11 or 12. She knew the whole time and didn't bring it up with anyone. I didn't remember telling her all this time. LAME.
2) I confronted my parents. They said they didn't remember me telling them about my bro when I was younger. My mom made some excuses for my brother like "boys do
Today at T we first spoke reflected on last week and I said that I do still feel shame, but that I yoyo somewhat when it comes to feeling like I'm to blame. Then I told her that I had contacted a group at the university I'm attending that education people (students) around the issues or sexual health and consent. So I have emailed them to say that I'd like to make people aware in one of their campaigns that an orgasm is not consent. It is just a reaction to stimuli. She asked me how I felt a
Every since I realized that I was having a medical issue, I have had a greater fear of not waking up one day. The diagnosis and treatment were suppose to alleviate this fear. Medical tests showing that my heart is healing and me taking my medications daily should help alleviate that fear. But none of that does many nights over the last 5 months. I have tried to wave that fear off. There is no reason that I should have it currently. Ironically, if you had picked any other day from as far as I cou
At T today we started by talking about Uni. My head was/is really only focussed on that because I start next week, and a number of things have thrown it somewhat in to disarray. One of the things is that it seems that most of my lectures are at the hospital, not the university itself. And I require transport supplied by DSA (the government) which a needs assessor has to do a quote for and apply for. So I needed to knoow well in advance that I was going to be at the hospital, not the universit
So at T today we talked about a few things. We revisited the bullies from the pub and how I'm dealing with that scenario. Which is basically to sit with other people. We then talked about a flashback I'd had this week. I'd been having a memory of the oral rape, and of gagging and not being able to breathe. We talked about my feelings during that moment, fear, disgust. Then the conversation turned to my feelings around touch and where the anxiety comes from. I identified that I think it st
Feel really deflated today. Don't know if that's T or if that's because my sister has said she may be moving back up North. I think it's a bad idea, but I don't think I'm going to talk her out of it. She has it set in her head that this friend of theirs is the miracle answer to their prayers when it comes to her daughters mental health problems, or at least she will help considerably. And I just don't think that's the case. I think they's both clutching on to 'the grass is greener on the ot
Today's T was really hard. I somehow managed to pluck up the courage to speak to her about my thoughts when I masterbate - that the things that arouse me are all violent / assaults. It made me want to throw up just talking about it. But she didn't judge me which was nice. She pointed out that almost all of my sexual experience has been from abusive situations - so this is my point of reference. This made me want to cry. I guess I've never really heard someone tell me that actually I've bee
I’ve done it again.
I hate that my brain likes to play games with me as if I were a child desperate for a game of Hide and Seek. The way my mind melts with my emotions the way a lit candle rids itself of wax that runs everywhere creating a mess contained only by the surface the candle is placed on. Sometimes my brain tells me things and I believe it because I have always been so naïve that even the whisper of ‘I love you’ is enough to take over my body and give the power to someone undeserv
As I get older to understand who I am, I find that I am way more complicated than I originally thought. OK, maybe not complicated but definitely more disfunctional than people give me credit for. Today's topic...expressing what I need.
I can't say that I have ever been told verballly that what I need is not that important. It is more that I have been made to feel that way. It wasn't said in words explicitly but in actions. When I didn't want to do something or see specific people, I was to
(My new experience and findings on trigger alarm. Inspired by "Carolyn Spring podcast #16 Trauma needs a solution")
To feel safe again within oneself, the solution is not to switch off the smoke alarm, but to synchronise the heart and mind, and update the whole alarm system, to the present moment. What I really mean here is to update the alarm system which was built during childhood, bring it to present, now as an adult. What should we do now, to ensure our safety and well being?
The
I put it in a glass with some water and I forgot about it. When I was about to throw it into my compost, this little thing surprises me. Wow! I said: look at the roots coming out, so beautiful! 😍 Left me wonders about life, vitality in nature.
Living a little more today, when my dead heart decided, to explore life. I starts to breathe again.
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It comes, as a frightening truth, about my mom. Truth that I denied but know since the beginning. She doesn't love me. I am just a trophy for her to put into show case. She isn't listening to me, she isn't care for me, she isn't going to do anything for me, not merely to take hold of me and say sorry for what I have been through. I gave up, and full stop. I'm done, pleading for
I hated rose, until I find myself to be a rose. Velvety red rose.
It was June this year that I decided to confront with my dad, about love and fear, about the abuse that none of us mentioned, that I endured and kept to myself for so long. I thought of death, if I'm going to die, then I wish to say what I wanted to say. I asked to meet him, but ends up writing email and sending recordings to him. It was a very very hard decision to make, but when it comes, it's like "I need to get this done
I know I am good at writing about my feelings. That’s always been the case with me. Talking about them – not so much, but writing about them always enables me to explore them further in depth. Lately, I’ve had a lot on my mind and plate. It shows at home the most, where I am constantly snapping - my daughter and I have been like snapping turtles lately, but we have gotten better at communicating as politely as possible whenever one of us is getting on the other's nerves. It shows at work - I
Today we talked about loads. First of all I asked her about her question last week re whether in my heart of hearts I really thought it wasn't concentual, because I was confused about why she'd asked the question and what her thoughts about the events were. But she said that she'd felt I was very much allowing other people's judgements to affect my views last week, and she just wanted me to get back to what I knew to be true. She did ask me why it was important that she believes me, and I cou
Today was incredibly hard, so much so I'm not even sure I want to type it out. But maybe it'll help me to do so. So we started off talking a bit about a dream I'd had about feelings relating to being bullied when I was young. Then we started talking about the police and the r*pe and how they had said they weren't taking it forward because though there were signs of rape, there were also signs of consenual sex (I believe they were refering to when I organismed and I pushed his head). But then
Today was kind of a slow session, but strangely it made me really tired, so I was really glad I only had 45 minutes to work this afternoon. We talked about a few things, about the guy who assaulted me on the tube when I was 16, that my mum basically didn't want to know when I tried telling her about it. We talked about my mum quite a lot actually, how she treated me and my sister differently, and whether she ever felt guilty for leaving us in the care of the uncle who abused us (though I don't
Hmm, today's the anniversary of the London bombings. Random thought that just popped into my head. At T today we talked about the shame I felt. This goes round and round in my head and I can't seem to shift it. I guess as my T said there's little point to it - it won't change anything, I can't go over and undo any of it. And it's not like he feels shame. So I feel shame because, well first I want to be clear that I had told him that I didn't want to have sex with him, and this was followed
Specified Memory: First memory of being sexually abused
Distress level: 8
Memory makes me feel like no one cares about me. Worst part was looking at brother for help. No one helped me. No one cares about me.
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Bilateral Eye Movement 1:
Brother putting a blanket over me and taking off my pants.
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Bilate
