Traumaversary Season
Traumaversaries suck.
Also, I’m pissed because I was already a whole page into this blog when my computer crashed and now I have to start all over. I don’t even remember everything I had written in the last one. Something about feeling the urge to write today and taking advantage of that because I’ve been so unmotivated and uninspired. That’s the cliff notes version of what was previously written here.
I do remember what I talked about and I also remember that there was a disclaimer that this post is likely to be a word-vomit post. My brain is so jumbled up right now that I don’t think I’ll have any concise way to lay it all out.
I’m mad at K. For those that don’t know, K is my therapist. I LOVE my T. I speak very highly of her on a regular basis because I really do think she’s wonderful. She’s the best T I’ve ever had. But even as great as she is, she upset me this weekend. I know she likely didn’t mean for it to come across the way it did, but I can’t shake what I’m feeling about it. I feel so unbelievably worthless.
Saturday was a traumaversary for me. I did talk to her about this and she knew this was going to be a hard day for me. Although it was a Saturday, I thought she might still send a text message to check in on me. She never did. But, that’s not why I’m upset. Not solely.
I got a message from her on Sunday morning and I was happy because I thought she was checking in on me since she didn’t do it the day before. That’s not what she was doing. She was just asking for money.
I was honestly just kind of angry. I thought she really cared about me and now it feels like I am nothing but a dollar sign to her. Last week, she told someone in her office that she would claim me as her daughter, and now she wants nothing but money from me. She’s the first T I’ve had that I thought genuinely cared about me and now I feel like she doesn’t. I’m nothing special. Just another client.
Speaking of traumavaersaies though… this has been a tough week for me. Every time I tell myself that I made it past the fifth, I’m reminded that anniversary number two is on the horizon and I’m not out of the woods yet. I’m having all of these negative thoughts and feelings and I don’t know if it’s because of the anniversaries or not. I’m just so on edge and so fragile right now. I cry at the drop of a hat, I’m cranky, I want to do nothing but sleep, I don’t feel like eating, and I have no motivation for anything at all. I just want to isolate in my apartment and see no one.
But I know that’s not healthy. I know better than to pull away from everyone. It just feels like no one cares anyway so why should I?
I’ve been told that this is always my thinking. That I always think no one cares about me so I use it as an excuse to behave recklessly and act out. I act out to get people’s attention. I guess there’s some truth to that. But I’m not doing that now. I think just having this anniversary right now has got me wanting to put my life in jeopardy because I don’t really see the point in living when I feel this way. My life feels worthless.
He treated me like I was worthless and had no value. He took advantage of me. He hurt me. And I guess this time of year, all of those feelings just resurface and make me feel like the way he treated me was how I really am. If that makes sense. Like, he treated me as if I was worthless, so I feel like I AM worthless. If I’m worthless, then what’s the point in living? I’m just taking up space. A waste of life.
I hate that these men made me feel this way. It wasn’t even until writing this out that I realized where all of my self-hate and self-esteem issues stemmed from. At least, I think that’s where it comes from. I mean, I’ve ALWAYS had issues with my self-image. For as long as I can remember. But I was also abused as a child so… that could be why.
The thing about trauma… I don’t feel like I can talk to just anyone about it. There are very few people that I trust with this part of my life. It’s just a personal preference, but I keep it to myself for the most part. In keeping it to myself, I’ve got my brain swimming with thoughts and feelings that I don’t know HOW to express. I thought I would get them out here, but I just don’t know how.
K asks me all the time what I’m feeling. If I’m quiet or crying, she asks what I’m feeling. I NEVER know what feelings I have. I’m terrible at identifying feelings. But, I’m going to try.
I feel: sad, lonely, hurt, angry, confused (I don’t know if that’s actually a feeling?), desperate, hopeless, tired (again, not sure if that counts.), and now I’m wishing I had my feelings list from outpatient.
I guess this is a start – identifying what I’m feeling.
I’m sad because I feel like something was taken from me when I was raped. I’m sad because it still sometimes feels like it was my fault. I’m sad because I feel empty and numb and full all at once. I’m sad because this WASN’T my fault and I can’t fix it. I can’t fix ME.
I’m lonely because I feel like no one understands what happened to me. I’m lonely because I feel like I don’t have people I can talk to about what happened. I’m lonely because I’ve been isolating myself while I try to heal and it’s really not working. I’m lonely because my mom didn’t believe me when I told her. I need my mom.
I’m hurt for obvious reasons. I was raped. I was taken advantage of. I was raped. Yes, I know I said that twice, but I avoid that word and I’m finally get used to using it. It feels new for my fingers to type and the language is foreign on my tongue. That doesn’t change things. I. Was. Raped. And wow… that hurts.
I’m angry because he KNEW what he was doing. Since it happened, I’ve tried to convince myself that he didn’t realize that it was rape. That maybe he didn’t know he was taking advantage of me. I thought it would hurt me less if it was unintentional. But, A.) that didn’t work and B.) it’s a lie. He knew. He knew. He knew.
I feel confused because I don’t understand how someone could do that to another person. I don’t know what I did to make him rape me. Was it my body language? Was it my clothes? Was I just an easy target? I really don’t understand. I was innocent. I don’t know what I did to deserve being raped.
I feel desperate because I feel like I’m crying out for help and no one can hear me. It’s like I’m screaming underwater and I’m desperate for someone to save me, but no one is there. And the thing is, no one CAN save me from this pain. No one, no matter how hard they try, can take back what this disgusting man did to me. I feel like I have to fight this battle alone and it’s not fair.
The feeling of hopelessness ties into the desperation, I think. Because, again, this is something I have no control over and no one can help me. I feel hopeless because I feel like I will never get past this. I will always struggle with this time of year, this month, these days. He didn’t just take away my pride and my dignity, he stole my joy about summer. He stole the things that made me happy. He took away my smile and replaced it with shame. I feel hopeless because I don’t want him to have this power over me and he still does.
Lastly, I’m tired. Exhausted. I’m tired because I’ve been laying awake at night clinging to anything that will bring me comfort so I can sleep peacefully. I want to feel safe in my own home. I want to close my eyes and not see his face. I don’t want to remember the house. I don’t want to think about how he looked – the smile on his face as he raped me. I’m tired because fear keeps me awake at night.
Why did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?
My brain just feels flooded with all of these thoughts and emotions. I can’t run away, I can’t escape them. This year’s traumaversary feels even harder than last year and I don’t know why. I need help, but I don’t know how to ask for it. I don’t even know what anyone could do to help, I just know that I don’t want to be alone and I don’t want to feel this way anymore.
My heart and body feel so broken. Everything hurts. I feel like a dumpster kitten.
I know that doesn’t make sense to you. Let me explain.
I was reading a book yesterday and the author told a story about a kitten that was found in the dumpster. For imagery purposes, the kitten was black and fit in the palm of her then 12-year-old daughter. A poor, tiny, defenseless kitten. I know, my heart broke, too.
Anyway, they decided to take in this kitten and raise it. She wrote about how they all loved this kitten they had named Lucy. They gave her food and warmth and kisses. She was a well loved and taken care of cat.
One day, Lucy stopped coming around. She would go outside and anytime this family, that had only ever been loving to her, came around, she would back away or run off. She wanted nothing to do with them. She was afraid, hurt, broken.
The author talked about how this kitten was retreating back to her dumpster kitten mentality, even though she was no longer damaged that way.
I related to this kitten so much, as I imagine a lot of us can. When I was raped, I was hurt, broken, dirty, searching for someone to take care of me. Now, I’ve had that! People that I told did love on me and tried to help, but lately I have found myself back in the dumpster kitten mentality and I feel hurt and broken and scared all over again. I’m pulling away from the people that have shown me love and I don’t even understand why I’m doing it.
I want someone to be there and I don’t want to be alone and I want someone to care and love on me, but I’m pulling myself away and isolating. How does that make sense?
Anyway…
I think I’ve said about all I can say for now. I’m tired and I feel like I’m repeating myself over and over.
There’s a song by Demi Lovato called Anyone and THAT is exactly how I feel right now. I just need SOMEONE to hear my cry for help. Anyone. Please. I don’t know what to do.
Find someone you love and hold them tight. It matters.
That’s all I’ve got.
Until next time,
Poppy
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