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Showing results for tags 'possible triggers'.
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I was able to trust someone today. Actually a few people. Recently I had a somewhat serious injury from a sport, nothing too bad, but it has left me with the inability to lift or seriously use my right shoulder. When I admitted to someone I was hurt they didn't laugh, or use it against me instead they hugged me and asked how I was. This genuine feeling of concern is new to me. Most of my life has been keeping quiet about problems because when I didn't it was used against me. The world is scary but maybe there truly are enough good people in this world to help it through. I have finally started to find those people, its been a good day. I just hope the days following can be just as good.
Today I feel numb, I feel nothing. I don't feel regret I don't feel happy I just feel numb. Maybe because my emotions have been fairly wild for the past week. I have to turn in my application this week, the application for the scholarship where I will have to publicly admit my abuse and attempt to inspire and help others. I know that I should be happy and excited to do so, but all I can think is what if someone doubts me. What if someone knows who I am talking about because they know me. What if? I don't know... I never know. I can't anticipate who will hear me and who will listen, who will know and who question. I will once I try, but it's scary. To try to speak out and see the way people view me change. I don't tell people, people know the men I have dated but not what the do behind the doors, what they made me do. My speech won't do so either, but it will toy with the idea of my abuse and what happened. I just can't bring myself to write it out. I can't even do it on here. Because what if? What if I am overacting?
It hits me when I least expect it. When I would never in a million years think for it to happen, and recently it's hit me hard. I'll be at a bar with friends or having a BBQ on the beach, I'll be cycling down a canal path or pushing my niece on a swing.....then it comes out of nowhere. First it's just his name. Dave. I try to shake it off every time but it never works. It gets worse after that. I see the pub sign...a grey horse...that's where it happened. The grey horse. I see green tiles. A phone on the floor. His black shoes and my trainers. I see a blue/grey shirt and a smirking face that riles me with anger. First I am sad. I'm sad for what happened within that pub, within the toilet cubicle as music blared loudly throughout the bar. Then I am angry. Angry at him for doing such things to a 17 year old girl who was so naive. Then I'm angry at myself. I let it happen. I didn't punch or kick him, I didn't scream or cry. I tried to hold my belt, I wriggled about within his grasp, I tried to step away from the door I was pushed up against....but I never tried hard enough. I was scared. I remember him kicking my feet apart as he pulled my belt from my grasp. That moment alone makes me want to cry. But God....I can't accept it was rape. I didn't want what happened to happen....but 17 year old me was too afraid to say that. Instead I struggled and made it difficult, instead I tried to make my ringtone play to pretend my parents were calling...instead I stood on my tiptoes as he tried to enter me. He grabbed my shoulders tightly and forced me down. I froze after that moment. Things a blurry for a while...I say blurry, I mean blank. Like, I can't remember much. I think I continued to make it difficult because eventually he got frustrated. I remember his hands on my head and neck as he sat on the toilet. I remember him inside my mouth. I remember squeezing my eyes shut as he moved my head up and down with force, causing me to gag over and over. I don't remember how it ended. The next 20 minutes are blank, some time within the cubicle is blank. But I had been drinking. A whopping four pints! I'd never got that drunk on four pints before but I guess it was a night of firsts. Now...I hate myself for being so affected by it. I hate that it can just blindside me at any moment and make me want to crawl into bed and cry. I just wish I could forget it. So many people suffer so much worse. I just...I wish it would stop.
So I was spending time with my in-laws this evening... dinner (delicious), and company. I'm not sure what was said to make me feel this way... but I feel the need to rant a little... vent a little.. in a safe environment so that I won't hurt the ones I love. When someone hasn't been through a traumatic event - abusive parents, volatile divorce perhaps, sexual assault... something that changes how you interact with the world. Makes you inherently -dysfunctional... you are constantly having to ignore the inner voice, and even if you feel like you've buried it, worked through it, FINALLY are done with it... it sometimes pops up and is just as horrible as the first time. Yes.. these instances become fewer and farther between.. and don't last as long. But they still gut punch you. You still feel the rug pulled out from under you - the freefall. You still feel reverted back to that emotional age. Even typing it, trying to put it into words... my stomach drops.. my throat gets all tingly, like I could cry... well... my man.. my lovie.. HE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND THAT. He has never lived through that. I mean... yes, he has had difficulties. He has his own issues - everyone does. But he never had his parent abandon him, destroy his entire family... his world... at such a tender age. He never had his parent leave, move away, lie, seemingly give zero fucks about what his children wanted. We weren't stupid, we knew how to articulate our feelings to him, and we DID. Even when it was terrifying... right (or wrong) my mom made us kids tell him if we didn't want to see him. And we all went to therapy through the divorce, and me for years afterwards... But my husband has both his biological parents, still together, in his life. They both love him, support him, and have ALWAYS been right in his life/by his side... my mom was there... what we went through bonded her and us kids... So I guess what I'm getting at is... I get really frustrated because he really doesn't understand when I talk about what I went through... or when I say things like, "I'm broken", or "I will always be hurt on the inside... even if it heals a little... it will never go away" he tells me that isn't true, he doesn't believe me. So he isn't trying to be mean.. he knows I am damaged, am hurt, and has enthusiastically encouraged me to get counseling now... he has been, as best he can, supportive and understanding of what I'm currently going through... But he doesn't get it. HE DOESN'T. And he can't qualify it, explain it away, make it vanish, or "cure" it. I can't either... it's like I got my foot cut off... Yes I have a pretty good prosthetic foot.. and I can walk and function normally... but I have a stump. (Sorry if I offended anyone with a prosthetic foot!!) I will never have two whole feet. I will never be whole. My husband operates in the world from a place of love, trust, acceptance, and overall tolerance - again, he does have his own demons/issues... but overall he had a supportive loving childhood. I operate from a place of mistrust, constant anticipation and anxiety, fucked up sexuality and self-image and fixation on men... I can, and do, function very well. But I got married too young, I think... and I got married to someone better than me, someone who wasn't broken inside. I don't know... I'm just frustrated. Maybe I'm just irritable because of the humidity... maybe I'm just irritable because summer vacation is almost here and I've been super stressed all year... It just got to me, or it's getting to me... Anyway, I know I'm lucky to have him. He is my best friend. He knows me, has seen me in my weakest moments. He challenges me to be better. He stands up to me when I need to be told to think rationally. He loves me through my crazy shit... he is himself, and he's still with me. Remember that K-dog... remember that. Better yet. Go fucking tell him yourself how much you appreciate him.