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Indyrex

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    Female
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  • MembershipType
    Survivor
  1. Haunted

    I transformed this summer. I attended a 200-hour yoga teacher training, and I found a new love of myself, a new strength in myself, a new willingness to be vulnerable and authentic, to speak my voice. It was incredible. Going to sleep each night after the training, I'd lay there and listen to my breath and just notice -- woah, I feel different. It's confidence. It's courage. Genuinely. No more mask. I am slowly healing, and that is something wonderful I need to remember as I have these days when I become triggered again and feel the setback. Know that I am far enough in my journey that I can control my emotional reactions. I was brave and shared my survivor story with one of my brothers, something I've been wanting to do for a long time. I felt strong. I felt relief at speaking my truth, at making my voice heard. It was an empowering feeling. Maybe I let my guard down too much. There's one person who still has the ability to make me feel like a helpless child again -- my father. We were getting along fine. I mean, I'm aware of my emotions and how I tend to slowly shut down around him. He has always had a habit of telling me things he knows about myself that aren't true of myself. Like he could know me better than me. Maybe that's true to a certain extent, or at least one perspective of many, but he says things in a way to make me feel like the way I see myself is wrong. There is nothing wrong with me. He treats every conversation as a debate/argument that he has to win. I treat it as constantly having to defend myself, and that is exhausting. So usually, at a certain point, I go silent. Just let it go. I know who I am and I'm beyond seeking external validation at this point. If people don't like me, awesome. I don't have room for negativity in this life anymore. Two days later, my Dad's mood shifts a little. He's not easygoing. I wanted to drive, he doesn't let me (he's too old to be driving sometimes okay he's pushing 80). We get to a bakery and my mom and I start looking at all the stuff. I walk around a case, and he grabs my arm hard to pull me out of the way of a man: "Watch it, you're in his way." "Don't touch me," I spit back. There's confusion in the queue. "Go ahead," he says loudly to the group of women standing in line behind us, "they (my mom and I) don't know what they want yet." Belittling. Condescending. Embarrassing. Triggering. I sit in the back seat, staring out the window and the tears set in. Dad is oblivious. Looking around, making comments about the town as he drives. It felt familiar, staring out the window. Oh yeah, this was always me growing up. Treated like a child always. Like a nuisance. Like I'm wrong. But this time I can't let it go and I let go and start crying. Something I never would have done as a kid since he would have called me a cry baby and asked me what's wrong, like really wrong. I was a burden to him. An annoyance. A hindrance. Something to be dealt with. But I let it out and my mom hands me a tissue. I head straight upstairs to my childhood bedroom upon getting back. Sitting on the bed looking around the room, remembering this feeling all too well. What did I do back then when I didn't have the emotional toolkit I do now to calm down? I bottled emotions. I made them go away. I made myself dissociate so I wouldn't have to feel this pain of being unwanted to my father, unloved. My mom tries to comfort me, but she doesn't have the emotional toolkit yet either, since she's been suffering the same emotional abuse for years, too. But she tries, and that matters. I don't like being around him. I don't like feeling unsafe. I don't like feeling like I can't be myself. I don't like feeling like I'm not free. Because I'm not. I have to be on guard around him always. Because his mood changes so drastically, and he has no empathy, he will cut me to pieces with his words if he is not feeling happy. I hate that someone can still make me react in this way. He knows I have PTSD. He knows I was raped. He knows, and yet still watched Law & Order: SVU around me. I live 8 hours away from that house I grew up in. The one with all the ghosts and demons. The dark secrets. I'm home, safe in my own apartment. I can't go back there. It's haunted.
  2. New Girl

    It is very chaotic @Ian37. Have you or @elisand watched Westworld? I relate so much to that because it's like I found my consciousness, but I've been driven to madness at the same time. I'll have these intense moments of clarity, sometimes I'll get lost in memories trying to piece the two halves of my life together, form an identity again. It's hard. But it's getting easier. And I have decided to go back to therapy and have put off calling 2 days now 🙊I had a great counselor when I had my revelation and remembered my trauma in the first place. I had a different counselor to help when the panic attacks started but she was so unempathetic and unsupportive I had to leave. So here I am, building up the courage to try again.
  3. New Girl

    @Ian37 Yes that's the tricky part. I feel like right now where I am in life, it does define me. I can't control the emotions very well and have had to leave work because I panic and can't stop crying. Like for hours I can't stop. It feels like a damn being broken up with all this pent-up pain I never dealt with (I didn't remember for 6 years) so I'm trying to let it out without the pain consuming me. Thank you for the reminder about unity. None of us are alone in this and as we step through our own journeys we can help each other along the way too 💛
  4. New Girl

    @elisand That is a great way of thinking about it - I am a survivor, not a victim. I get into ruts of feeling helpless, so helpless that I can't even call for help while just crying. I will remember to look at myself in the mirror for one of my talks and tell this to me. And it's my yoga mantra: I am safe, I am strong, I am in control. Hugs to you. You are so supportive, thank you 💛 Sending healing to you too
  5. Dissociation

    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? Dissociation. *T* 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.
  6. New Girl

    Thank you @Capulet & @Oneinamillion I'm starting to feel it more and more in myself, but I think other survivors are some of the strongest and powerful humans I know
  7. New Girl

    Thank you all It's kind of overwhelming (in a good way) finally finding a place where people can relate to what I'm going through.
  8. Acceptance

    It sucks when you meet someone you can open up to but then they don't actually internalize the weight of what you've told them. Actually 'sucks' isn't the right word -- it's worse. But I feel empowered by your ability to put yourself first and honor your boundaries and self-worth/self-acceptance. I am working on that as well and know how hard it is, but we will get there one day
  9. New Girl

    Thank you for your kind words @fallenstar I appreciate you
  10. New Girl

    Hey all, Indy Rex here. I just joined the site and am not really sure where to begin. I've been struggling with PTSD for about a year now. And honestly maybe struggling the most with accepting the fact that I am a survivor. That it's a huge part of who I am, and has been controlling my behavior and emotions for so long. But I don't want it to. I want to be in control. I want to have a safe space where I can be open about what I've been through and feel accepted. Which is what I hope to find here -- others who feel what I feel. Others who understand me.
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