A few weeks ago my dad sent me a bunch of photos of a book I "wrote" and illustrated at school in first grade. I think it was in Fall, so I'd just turned 6.

It's the type of book where the teacher gave us typed prompts to fill in and illustrate (ex: "there are _____ people in my family" with a drawing of my family, "My favorite thing to do is ______" with a drawing of the activity I wrote in, etc.). All of my answers are very typical and childish. I write about my pets, that I like going on swings, stuff like that. A lot of my answers are misspelled and I have some letters backwards because I was still learning.

It's making me feel sick because it's forcing me to be aware of how fucked up everything I went through was. The idea that I got raped, that I had nobody safe to go to so I had to cope all by myself, that I got in so much trouble and got yelled at so much when I was vigilantly trying my hardest to make my mom happy, that I never knew when I was going to get abused, that I felt like a genuinely bad unlovable person at that age, that my grandfather had been using me for sex for years at that point, but I was also so young that I didn't know how to write a full sentence and my favorite hobby was playing on swings... it's too much. I don't get it. The universe doesn't make sense to me.

I remember my mom got upset about how I drew her picture in the book. I made her look scary. I don't think that was my intent (she has a smiley face which = "good"). But I think I was subconsciously drawing what I felt about her to a certain extent. She's way bigger than my dad, her eyes are angry, and her hands are giant. That seems on brand with how she treated me— she alternated between being scary and kind. She was my "main parent". She read me books, talked to me, and I really loved her. But she was also scary, unpredictable, and overbearing. And idk, that's a lot to grow up with even without the sexual abuse that was happening at the same time.

There's one page with the prompt "Sometimes I get scared when" and my answer was "my mom turns off the light." And that one makes me feel especially sad and weird. From the pieces I remember I've gotten the impression that my grandfather was sometimes touching me at night but it doesn't make total sense to me for logistical reasons.

And it's like... was it normal little kid "afraid of the dark" stuff? Was I scared because I was anticipating getting raped? Was I just having anxiety at night because of everything that was happening to me and around me? I don't know if I'll ever know.

Either way it's sad though because this was when my lifelong (at least so far) insomnia started  And it's like... god, I've been dealing with this for a WHILE and I guess it actually did probably affect me a lot growing up. I wonder what 23 years of inconsistent sleep has done to my brain.

IDK.

I feel a sense of loss that seems too big to fully take in.

I've been going back and forth between complete denial and overwhelming disgust. Thinking about what my grandfather did to me makes me feel physically sick.

I was diagnosed with bipolar this week. My brain is twisting this in ugly ways. Like, "Maybe the bipolar gene never would have been activated if the CSA didn't happen. Maybe you shouldn't have let him do those things to you. Maybe you shouldn't have been born at all if this is how it's going to be."

I'm starting to acknowledge that my relationship with my mom probably qualified as covert incest and that is making it worse. But my brain won't stop with the "okay but other people had it worse and I bet it barely counts why don't you appreciate the good things she did" bullshit.

Even when I think about my grandfather literally having sex with me, that voice is in the back of my mind minimizing and denying it.

I feel like the trauma of being sexualized for my entire childhood is clamping down on me with a set of iron jaws and stabbing me through the stomach while my brain is floating off in the distance telling me it's all in my mind, I'm too sensitive, and I'm making it up.

I've been having a mixed mood episode (basically hypomania and depression at the same time). It's getting intense and the suicidal thoughts are escalating (I have a good relationship with my therapist and will share this with her). I'm afraid I'm going to get hospitalized. I also feel that I will be sexually abused, harrassed, or assaulted in some way if I go to the hospital because I'm hyper-aware of how vulnerable to harm psych patients are. TBH most of the time I feel convinced that I'm going to be raped if I go there so it feels terrifying. I feel desperate to stay away and also like maybe I should let them rape me because I deserve it and I'm used to it.

This has always been my pattern and it's becoming worse as I get older. Human connection is scary. It is so, so fucking scary. Because it is unpredictable. And I perceive it as uncontrollable because I'm afraid of doing the basic things required to maintain a healthy friendship (ex: communicating what I need or want).  I've had a lot of unhealthy, abusive, and unfulfilling friendships. I feel burnt out and I cannot imagine a future in which I feel differently.

Another part of it is a fear of being known. When people know you, they see you, they watch the things you do. That feels terrifying to me.

I grew up feeling monitored. It's a feeling I don't fully understand yet, but it's definitely a response to the environment I was raised in (critical, chaotic, etc). I remember worrying that I was being watched by my mom on hidden cameras when I was around 9 or 10. I didn't think it was really happening but I was anxious about it, to the point where I looked around at the walls to see if there were any that I hadn't noticed when I did something that I felt I could get in trouble or be judged for.

When I got older and started leaving the house by myself the feeling of being watched was underlined by of the area we lived in. It was geographically isolated and the community was somewhat small. If I went out and someone who knew my parents saw me, my parents would usually hear about it. And even though I was a well behaved teenager, my mom would question me about why I was doing things in a judgmental way that implied I was doing something weird, unacceptable, or bad. She feared being judged for my actions and losing control of me, but she behaved as if her feelings were reasonable. Like they were based on my behavior rather than her anxiety. I didn't feel fully free to exist in the world outside of the house without worrying because it felt like at any moment I could be seen and reported on by one of the hundreds of invisible eyes floating around.

It makes sense that I feel monitored and judged as an adult. And that I feel knowing more people would increase these feelings. But I don't know how to be another way. I want to have complete control over when I am seen and recognized. At the same time, I want to be able to maintain basic relationships with other humans. These two things are incompatible and I do not know how to let go of either one. I fantasize a lot about how much peace I would have if I didn't feel any desire for human contact, if the social part of my brain could be scooped out. But I do have it. I just also fear it. The idea of being able to let go feels impossible and distant.

Online, I worry a lot about wording myself incorrectly or being attacked. Because it happens- it's the internet, people show uglier parts of themselves sometimes when they're interacting with other people who don't feel "real". It's inevitable that some people will attack you online because they are responding to their own issues or misinterpreting what you're saying. I do not know how to stop caring.

The internet has been my most consistent, reliable source for human connection for most of my life. It taught me how to take care of myself. It gave me access to a world outside of my small isolated area, introducing me to ideas and information that I couldn't have accessed otherwise. It is a place where I see people help each other every single day for no real reason other than a desire to help.

But it's also the internet. Which means it's also at times poisonous, chaotic, and cruel (even if not towards me). It is a microcosm of humanity. Wonderful and horrible. I love it sometimes and hate it at others.

I'm usually more able to let go of my anxiety and interact more online, but I don't know. Once I start feeling like part of an online community my anxiety increases and I sometimes feel like I need to back off to avoid getting overwhelmed. I can't always take in the kind things people say to me and respond to them in a timely way, and by the time I find the words it no longer feels socially acceptable to respond. And when people are unkind I remove myself completely most of the time. It doesn't feel like it should be a big deal because I understand that these are strangers and that their opinions have no inherent relevance— people say stupid things all the time. But I feel what I feel.

Being fragile sucks.

To most people I come across as very modest and sex averse. I'm afraid of wearing anything that shows skin because I'm insecure about my body and don't want people to pay attention to it. I have the body language of someone who is ashamed to exist. It's rare for me to talk about sex.

But privately, I'm obsessed with sex.  Or at least obsessed with performing sexual behaviors to control the feelings I have from being raped.

I've been compulsively masturbating 3-4 times per day. Sometimes more. I don't really want to. It's to the point where I'm causing myself physical pain and interfering with the actual sex I have with my boyfriend. But it feels like I HAVE TO keep doing it, because if I don't then I feel like my skeleton is going to leap out of my body.

It feels like a mix of disgust, punishment, and arousal. Which is basically how being raped as a child felt for me. I usually masturbate to some kind of forced sex, whether it's staged porn or literally my own description of being raped.

It's confusing and horrible.

And I've been like this for as long as I can remember. Like, I didn't start compulsively masturbating until I was an adult, but I've always been more aroused by the concept of rape than by sex. I drew rape porn when I was like 11. 

My brain wants rape to be normal.

If I like being raped, then it hurts less. I don't need to think about how my body was used as a dumpster. No trauma. All in my control.

I want to have sex with the man who raped me as a kid, and it feels disgusting because he's related to me and also long dead. 

It feels like I have been trained to be sexual and there is nothing else I am worth. Like, I'm good at a lot of non-sexual things, but in the back of my mind I truly do feel that my greatest value is in being a body that someone else can use and throw away. I don't know how to process that I really didn't want or deserve it.

I don't understand how I have managed to survive for this long. I don't mean that in a bad way, the amount of trauma I've had is just hitting me hard. A lot of the time I feel numb to how bad things really were.

It doesn't feel real. That kid getting yelled at, watching holes get punched in walls, getting raped... I know her, but she doesn't feel like me.

I don't know how to process how violated and dehumanized I feel.

I feel like trash. Worthless. I want to cry, but I don't feel real enough to make it happen. I feel repulsive. Disgusting. I want to throw my body into a meat grinder. I feel like a bloody pile of shredded inflamed skin and crushed bones.

It hurts so much. Like a punch to the gut that never ends.

Winter is always challenging. It feels dark, cold, and bleak. Some of my normal coping skills, like hiking, aren't accessible. Every year I fall apart more than usual when the daylight decreases.

But things have been worse than usual, because my PTSD symptoms feel out of control.

Sleeping, moving, eating, drinking, showering... it all feels so fucking challenging. It is painful to exist. I'm doing my best to go through the motions but I'm not really sleeping.

My partner's sleep apnea is making it so much worse, I'm afraid to even try to sleep in bed with him because he's so loud. It's taking a toll on me.

I'm breaking down. I feel worn down.

It feels like I'm being raped over and over.

I'm tired of flashbacks. Of anger. Of shame. I don't know how to take it any more. Honestly, I don't know if I CAN take it anymore.

I've reached out for help so many times. It feels like I have been screaming for years and nobody who can truly help me actually will.

I know it isn't personal, but come the fuck on.

I shouldn't have to make 60+ phone calls to find a therapist. If I call about joining a support group, someone should call me back. The fact I have reached out so many times and have not received help is unacceptable. It makes me extremely angry. Because for the millionth time I am suffering unnecessarily due to things I cannot control. I'm so tired of not having control.

Why is our mental health system like this? Why is the onus on the person suffering to "be persistent"? Why do we run psych wards so similarly to prisons? Why are we shocked by suicide rates when we offer so little to people who are unable to help themselves? How is it this fucking crappy? I know it's better than it used to be, but I don't really care right now because I'm so fucking frustrated. Our healthcare system in general is broken and people die because of it. All the time. I'm afraid that I will be one of them.

The sun is coming up. I'm crying.

I'm supposed to work today. We will see how that goes.

This weekend I couldn't even pull it together enough to go to the grocery store so I'm skeptical of my ability to work. I need time off that I feel unable to actually take.

I think there's a very good chance that I'll be hospitalized again.

And I'm sure that like the other times, it will not help. That it will instead make me feel even more dehumanized than I already do. i don't have telepathy so WHO KNOWS but I have zero optimism based on my prior experiences. Also because depression makes me a miserable inflexible brittle thinker.

I want to beat my head against the wall because I don't know what else to do. I feel completely broken and hopeless.

I only have one friend and I can't even pull it together enough to text her back. Oof.

I really need a good night of sleep.

I'm familiar with reality. I know the facts— that I am not unusual, these things happen to a lot of people, it was not caused by anything I did,.etc. 

But I don't truly feel any of that.

In my heart, what I feel is that I'm a stupid w**re. That I deserved everything that has happened to me. My bones feel full of dirt and coated in mud. I have done a lot of disgusting, dehumanizing things that I didn't want to do. I have sought out partners who treated me like dog shit, then desperately clung to them because I was afraid of what would happen if I let them go. I feel like my job is to let people use my body for anything they want because this stuff has been happening to me for so long.

I KNOW I'm feeling all of this because I'm hurting, not because it's true. But it's still hard.

I've been having flashbacks all day of being sexually abused as a child. And I really wasn't treated like a normal human. So I guess it makes sense that I don't feel like one either.

He treated me like an object. A tissue he could cum into and then throw away. No regard for my well being. He didn't even try to pretend that he loved me. 

Even though he was sadistic sometimes, part of me still thinks "it wasn't that bad". As if I'm silly for being upset that at 3 an adult used his power to force me to lick his lukewarm, gelatinous semen off the the floor.

If anyone told me that had happened to them I would have empathy. I recognize that it's disturbing.

But when the child is me, suddenly I decide it's no big deal and I should get over it.

Fuck.