Jump to content

PurpleSun

Member
  • Content count

    23
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Female

Previous Fields

  • MembershipType
    Survivor

Recent Profile Visitors

550 profile views
  1. Thank you for this! And thanks for reminding me my photo was linked to the email I use to sign up here. EEEEKK! Not that I mind people knowing who I am, I've spoken out before, but this is not the forum for it. You are an amazing person. I can feel your warmth radiating through and through. Don't let your mother tear you down, you do you. Thank you again. I guess I am learning to accept that my mother is who she is, and I am who I am. That's it. Life's a journey and all that.
  2. Thank you for this! I am unsure if people reply to blogs here either, because I am not a regular poster here-- I just come when I feel the need to, like I did when I wrote this. I am so glad you got away from your toxic family. I am sure that helps a lot. Thanks for the proverbs as well. Definitely applicable here. You're right- I need to get to a point where the only values, wants, and needs I care about are my own. I know on an intellectual level that that's true. We'll both get there, I'm sure of it.
  3. I've never been good enough for my mother. Ever. First, I was fat. Always, save the eating disorder I developed in middle/high school, when I starved myself down to a "normal" weight range. She bullied me about my weight for as long as I can remember. She put me in dance with first my sister Ashley, who is 5 years younger, then my sister Sommer, who is 14 years younger than I am, joined as well when she was old enough. I hated it. I was no good at it. They laughed at the tape of my first recital, when I was 10. You get the picture. The things I was interested in, such as band, just weren't that important to them, ever. They never came to any events. My father never even came to so much as one band concert. They even made me skip solo and ensemble for band to go their stupid out of town dance competitions. Nothing that was important to me was ever important to them. I even had to spend my birthday weekend there one year, at a competition, on my birthday, and I got no cake, no card, no present, nothing. When my mother found out about the sexual abuse I suffered for 7 years at the hands of my father's (really stepfather's, story for another time) daughter from his first marriage's hands, she blamed me. I was 5 when it started, 12 when it ended. I got into drugs in college round one, eventually dropping out. That lasted through my 20's, even as I galavanted around the nation doing some really good things. She never realized that the abuse was what triggered the self-medication, or maybe she didn't want to, because then she'd realize that she had failed as a mother to protect her child in her own home. After a complete and utter breakdown in which I landed in a psych ward in New York, I came back home, went back to school, and graduated college with a computer science degree. I totally turned my life around, and now I have a great job, money in the bank, and I even do nice things for my parents even though they don't really deserve it after all they put me through. And, the thing is, nothing has changed. I was reminded of that on Friday. My sister and her fiancee own a food truck, and there's this event every third Friday of every month during the summer here called Food Truck Fridays downtown. Their truck is a part of it, and we all went this past Friday. It was really crowded, and when we were at one of the outdoor tables, a couple came and sat by us. When they started chatting it up, my mother immediately launched into how proud she was of my sister and her business, then, without being prompted, launched into her being assistant director of the dance studio, her job selling legal software, her getting her MBA, and the array of other things that make her so proud. That's when I realized that no matter what I do, how much money I make, I'll never be good enough for her. I never was. She'll never be proud of me as I am. She'll never brag to strangers about me. I'm the fat one, the gay one, the one with no romantic future she will ever brag about, the one with the job she considers "controversial" (I'm a liberal political writer, and I'm working on my first book). None of my successes matter to her at all. They never have, and they never will. She has never and will never beam with pride about me like that. Ever. I really have to work on not seeking or needing approval from these people. I'll never get it. I have to, on some deep level, realize that. I'll always be a fat embarrassment to them. Always. I wish I could disappear, but I'm doing the next best thing- planning to move hundreds, maybe thousands, of miles away, without warning them as to what my plans are. I really just wish I could disappear, but I suppose that's the next best thing.
  4. Just More Rambling...

    I haven't been here in awhile. I've been feeling so lost, though, that I felt I needed to come, even if just to read, to remind myself that I am not alone. I sure do feel alone, almost all the time now. The funny thing about that is, though, that I dread going out. Anywhere. I am ashamed of my body, I feel like people are staring. So, I stay inside. I live alone, so it's easy to isolate. I order what I need online, even though it is a bit more expensive than going to a regular store. I wonder what is happening to me. I wonder why I crave affection and interaction with others, but at the same time I am terrified of reaching out. Maybe I am destined to remain alone. Maybe that is who I am, who I am supposed to be. A freak no one wants around. I don't even love myself. How would anyone else ever love me? Maybe this is how it is supposed to be. I wish I knew. I wish I had the answers. Until I find them, I just exist, going through the motions, with my deep, dark pain and depression as my only companions.
  5. First Entry...random Thought Dump *possible Triggers*

    I actually write all the time. I'm a professional web writer, and I write for pleasure as well. I know it doesn't seem like it with this entry, but writing is my one true passion, and I can actually be quite good at it. So, yes, I journal. I am just having a hard time verbalizing where my feelings of fear, depression,etc are coming from and why I am having them. Thanks for understanding, and responding. I hope you're right- that people just see me, and not my painful past.
  6. I'm a complete hermit. I am almost afraid to leave my apartment. I dread it. I work from home, so I don't have to go anywhere if I don't want, except to the grocery store and to pay my rent. I hate it. I want to have friends, see other people. But I am so afraid they see right through me. I hate being me so much. I am in such a dark place right now, and I don't know how to get out. I cannot afford a therapist, so I signed up here. There are so many things I am struggling with, I don't even know where to start, so I won't right now. I guess I just needed to say how much I am hurting.
  7. Hi, I'm New Here

    Thank you so much! I love emoticons.
  8. Hi, I'm New Here

    Hi and welcome to AS. People here are so supportive and friendly and have been helpful to me and many other survivors. I am happy to be part of this site and I hope you find it welcoming and supportive as well. When I first joined, I posted a little bit in the Sexual Assault: Different Types section. You are welcome to share your story there before you can access the Share Your Story section. Many people do. If you're looking for support, The Gathering Place is a great section to post. These are just some ideas for you. I hope they are helpful. Thank you! These ideas are definitely helpful. Just looking around right now. Seems like a really nice place.
  9. Hi, I'm New Here

    Hi everyone, I've never reached out to other survivors before, so bear with me. I didn't even know a place like this existed, but I am glad it does. I see the "Share Your Story" section is passworded, but I am unsure where I should post my story. I hope someone can tell me where to share, because sharing might be the first step to healing.
×