Verbal vomit

It's no surprise that I've been struggling off and on the past few weeks. There are many things on my mind, but it's hard to wade through all of the bullshit my brain puts in the way. It's very disappointing because I've been doing so well lately. I've been upbeat, positive, optimistic, motivated, and strong. I can't help but feel that this is a set back.

One particular struggle I'm having is the constant fear and terror I feel just being home. I've set such firm boundaries with the abusers I still have contact with, that I'm anxiously anticipating their retaliation. I shouldn't have to live that way, but the fear is very strong and I immediately go into survival mode: walking around my car checking for people or damage, driving around the block before pulling into the parking lot, checking out the window before going outside, locking my car the minute I sit down. If I see any of the same model of car they have I feel the panic surge through my body. Every time my phone rings, an alert comes through for my email or there's a knock at the door or I can hear a car in the parking lot...I panic.

Another issue is tutor. I think I disgusted him as much as I disgust myself. Long story short, I confessed that I have clammy hands when I'm nervous when he tried to hold my hand. That date ended awkwardly (and the was also the day my dad showed up at my apartment uninvited at 10 pm). Then I was busy when he tried to contact me, then my phone died, then I contacted him explaining and no word from him. Several days later I reached out to see how he was doing. He tried to flirt with me via text message and I made an awkward joke about my clammy hands again (just teasing myself) and no response. I reached out one last time and he responded very curtly and did not continue the conversation. I'm disappointed. I'm confused as well. I don't know if this is my crazy train or what. it feels like he's completely lost interest. Yes we are both busy. Yes he's been very bad at communicating via technology. Last week he admitted he was stressed and exhausted (which lead to the flirting text message and my subsequent bad joke and no response) but the whole vibe is different. I feel like the crazy stalker girl who keeps texting despite the obvious disinterest and short responses. I have been honest and upfront without crossing my own boundaries or giving too much information. I have respected my own comfort and feelings and responded accordingly. I guess it is what it is. I'm not going to keep trying. "He's just not that into you." ...but this leads to crazy train of self-disgust, anger and hopelessness. No need to get into excruciating detail about how mean I've been to myself.

Next is the latest flashback/trauma memory issue. I remembered some new details about my survival tactics. The abuse memories are the same. However, I have been reacting to them more intensely. I have felt the pain again, the feelings of intense fear and confusion, and the sensations on my body parts....and felt the urge to clean myself...disinfect. That has only happened a handful of times. But I suppose it's cause for concern-rubbing alcohol is not supposed to be used for feminine hygiene, but that was all I could think of to do to clean myself when it happened. That's what I did whenever I was injured, though. But this could never be spoken of...ever! I can't stand those sensations. When it's the first thing I experience when I wake up in the morning, I'm in a weakened state to respond appropriately. The trouble is, however, that the disgust, shame, and self-deprecation linger. I internalize them. Then they pinball off of the other stresses I've described and others that I will not. They intensify and get out of control. Now please refer to my "Kryptonite" and "Next stop crazy town" posts, because that's what happens next. It becomes a vacuum and I get trapped within the cyclone.

All of this happens randomly, with or without my awareness, and the next thing I know hours have gone by. One last thing on the change to the "cycle"...It's very hard to explain, but I feel sideways? Like my body is one direction and my brain is another. For example I was sitting on the couch last night just enjoying the crazy train ride and it felt like my head was to my right, next to me. I felt a bit dizzy and really "out of it". That's how I've described it to my friends. Today my mind is slow (no I didn't have my usual coffee so that could be it...) but it's just odd. Different. I'm still trying to pay attention to my body, what my mind is doing, and trying to differentiate crazy train from reality. I have tried reaching out when I need to and taking care of myself when all other options were exhausted or failed. Hopefully I've processed through this enough and I can get a sound sleep, without nightmares tonight. Last night's dream was sick...too vulgar to post. All I'll say is my mom was watching something happen. Just gross... and that's where things begin. The dream, wake up with that feeling, shudder...then it lingers and everything follows.Then it bounces back and forth with every other issue I'm struggling with abuse related or otherwise, financial issues, job stress, friend stress, fear...

Sorry for the length of this post. I just needed to vent. Thanks for reading if you made it through.

Until next time,
SS

Another trip around the sun

It seems that it's everyday now, that I put another piece of the puzzle into place. New memories emerge and connections are being made more often. Now the image of my pink bike with white and purple polka-dot banana seat makes sense. I couldn't sit down on it and had to ride home standing up after being sexually abused  by my neighbor while playing hide-and-seek-in-the-dark in his basement. Now I know why falling and splitting the beam in gymnastics practices hurt me so much more than the other gymnasts. I insisted on an icepack ...and would sit on it in a dark room on the couch icing myself...and would eventually fall asleep. That was my escape every time to fall asleep. My coaches and teammates thought I was such a baby...they would get so irritated with me. I had no idea how to communicate to anyone though...I lived my life believing I was "silly" "sensitive" a "cry-baby"...until I shut down...
Anyway, I've been working really hard in counseling the past few months too. It's amazing how quickly things start moving once I'm in the right place and I allow everything to flow from those dark places. I still resist a lot...and censor at times. There are somethings that I don't think I will ever be able to say out loud. But that's okay for now....I have made a lot of progress. Haha! I said it!

The real reason for this post is....tomorrow is my birthday. I've been working toward my own "Growth" in 2012 as a goal I've set for myself in place of a Resolution. In this upcoming odd-numbered year of my twenties, I think I want to focus on something else as well. I'm not really sure what. I have made so many wishes on my birthday each year. I think I've stopped making them, because...well, hoping for my future didn't seem to be worth it. But now, I'm willing to try again....



This song makes me cry every time I hear it. Not in sadness, though. There is so much hope within the words; so much love. Those are two things that I rarely experience. I think that's what I'll wish for...Hope and love in my life this year, and for all of my years to come.

Happy Birthday to me :)

~SS

Mirror, mirror...

Disgust: to cause loathing or nausea in. 

Synonyms: 1.  sicken, nauseate. 2.  repel, revolt. 4.  abhorrence

When I look at myself that is what I feel. When I put on my makeup in the morning or do my hair, brush my teeth...anything that requires a mirror, I do not "look" at me. I look at what I'm doing. My eyelid, my tooth, the section of hair I'm working with...but not the whole thing; not me. I use a small round mirror to make that easier. I only look at what I need. The full length mirror I have is on the floor, not mounted so I can never see the entire thing. There will always be a disconnect from my body....I never have to look at the face that is attached to the body that reflects back. Every now and then I'll be sitting at my desk/computer and I'll catch a glimpse of my entire face in the mirror where I do put on my makeup. I will literally turn away with disgust and push the mirror back or shift the angle so that I cannot see my own reflection. 

One of her favorite things to say to me was, "Mirror, mirror on the wall...I've turned into my mother after all." 

I look like her; everybody says it but that's exactly what I'm afraid of.

Love

“Abused children receive confusing messages about sex and love, trust and betrayal. The abuser often says, “I’m doing this because I love you,” and then proceeds to hurt the child. The child learns she can’t trust the people she loves, and that she doesn’t have a choice about being close to someone else; people take what they want, regardless. Love becomes a dangerous force, wrought with confusion, pain, and violation.” Allies in Healing by Laura Davis

These are some random compilations of a "journal" entry I made just about a year ago...some of the feelings are the same, some have changed and improved.

Is it really that hard to believe that I am alive right now? I am not fully alive. I feel dead. I feel so fragmented. I feel empty...but not all the time. I've said it before, though, that the "sometimes feeling okay" is worse. It's a tease. "I know why the caged bird sings"..."Just as a bird that flies about and beats itself against the cage, finding at last no passage out it sits and sings and so overcomes its rage." ....I touch no one and no one touches me. I am a rock. I am an island. A rock feels no pain, and an island never cries....In order for me to be "normal" I would have to do things to people that I don't want to do and it's all just a vicious cycle. Because it's "normal" and "healthy" and that's what makes me a waste. Because I chose not to be promiscuous...I was told I was a waste of a vagina... as if that was my only use, my only purpose was for other people's use. Kindness and gentleness is an illusion. Fairytale love is a lie. Love is dirty. Love is painful. Love is shame. Love makes you cry. Love makes you feel worthless. Love makes you feel scared and confused. Love is forced. Love is meaningless. Love makes you want to hide. Love makes you want to be alone. Love makes you feel sick. Nobody will ever "love" me again....

Nobody has shown me what love really means.

Poems

"Incested.

She learned real young in life, in order to get by she must do what is expected and never question why...
It didn't seem to matter how she felt- or why she cried... Each time she was Incested more child-likeness died...
Too young to understand why she deserved the thing-she buried her emotions and the torture it would bring.
He said that she must never tell another living soul- too small to know the reason, yet...she knew...she wasn't whole.
She felt it was imprinted for all the world to see- I am dirty, I am ugly, please.. Don't look at me.
She'd never heard of incest yet she knew its symptoms well... The harder that she tried, it seemed, the harder then she fell...
She knew she was responsible for everybody's pain- so she tried hard to fix it over... And over...again."

-unknown

"A Choice"

She had no choice when she was little,
She thought she must obey
She wanted it all to stop
But she did not see a way

Like a lamb to the slaughter
Over and over again
She felt so very helpless--
When would it ever end?

Was life supposed to hurt so much?
What had she done wrong--
To deserve to be used like this?
She thought on it hard and long

If she could only figure out
The reason she was so "bad"
Maybe she could make it all stop
It was the only hope she had

But no matter how good she was,
No matter how hard she tried,
The nightmare went on and on--
And something in her died

"There is no hope for me," she thought
"I guess I'm just too bad"--
And so day followed weary day
For a child who was always sad

Eventually it did all end,
This killing of her soul--
But by then it hardly mattered
She would never be whole

She blocked it all from her mind
But it shaped her whole life
She grew up not understanding
This pain that cut like a knife

Then one day it all came flooding back
It was almost too much to take--
After trying to deny it, she had to admit,
There was no way it could be fake

But, accepting it and dealing with it
Are two very different things
And it would be years before she started
The journey that healing brings

This is, of course, MY story,
That little girl was me--
I was the one who had no choice,
Only the longing to be free

Now I struggle on day by day,
I have a worthy goal--
To overcome the abuse of my past
To someday, somehow, be whole

There are many obstacles to deal with
And the way grows very long,
But as I face each new step
I find I have grown strong

Hope wells up within me--
I believe this can be done
Standing tall, I take a deep breath
And turn my face in to the sun

No longer a child, now I have a choice
And no one can take that away--
I am no longer helplessly obedient
To healing, I am finding a way.

- Author Unknown...but I love it.

Little girl

Little girl with long blond hair
hides in her room again tonight.
Another long day has come to an end,
maybe this time she'll get it right.
Her desperate prayers have got to be wrong.
His answers shouldn't take this long.
She dials His number and recites the words,
...nobody ever seems to be home.
She looks out the window and checks the sky
...the lights are on but nobody answers the phone.
So she fixes her nightgown and crawls back into bed,
she straightens her blankets and lays down her head.
This little girl with long blond hair
will wait another night for someone to care.

Blond haired girl with eyes of gray
wakes up alone, just another day.
She goes through the motions like the day before
never thinking there might be something more.
This life of hers is as good as it gets
she "should be grateful and have no regrets."
But the pain inside just grows and grows
This poor girl hurts and nobody knows...

...it won't stop hurting. I can't make it go away. I can't stop crying on this miserable day. I keep on praying, but it doesn't help at all. I can't last much longer. Who will notice my fall? I'm screaming inside, but no one can hear. I'm dying inside, all I feel is fear. I'm so tired of always feeling cold. I'm sick of not having a hand to hold. I'm sick and tired of coming in second place. I hate closing my eyes and seeing your face. Everyone seems too busy to care. It's not like I expect them to notice or share, but why can't they look? Why don't they see that I am not who I am pretending to be. So many tears still roll down my face, leaving behind only but a trace, of many painful memories that can never be erased...

She writes these words in a desperate plea, hoping to God that someone might see.

Another tearful night but she doesn't muffle her cries
praying the Lord will take her soul when she dies.
The blond haired girl is little no more.
Looking back makes her sick, sick to her core.

...Sometimes the hurting subsides, but it never goes away. It only perpetuates the cycle that I believe will always stay. I'm so afraid to cry, to believe, admit, or even ask why. So I just doubt, second guess, and justify all of the confusion I feel inside...

In case you haven't noticed, if you don't see,
this poem is a story all about me.

...I have a secret that nobody knows
shhhh! Should I tell? This is how it goes:
Everything I am is a happy cliche--big smiles, endless laughter
but that's only today. What happens behind closed doors? When the world gets in the way?
There's no point in screaming...nobody hears you anyway.

Raindrops on my windshield are the tears I cannot cry.
Loneliness surrounds me while life passes by.
Dreaming comes so easily because it's all that I've known.
Truth is a fairytale. I'm scared and I'm alone.
My darkest days are behind me, still nothing seems quite right,
as I sort my lost emotions on this long and sleepless night.
I know it's not just me who feels horrible inside.
I'm exhausted from always trying to expose these things I hide.
Yet, it's all just temporary--these things I do and say.
Maybe soon I will be able to heal.
Starting today...

~SS
written September 2010

Pain

All I can think of is I’m glad I didn’t do it. I was so close but just couldn’t go through with it. After that I thought I was weak; too scared to take my life. But still no one even noticed that I had a problem. Everyone simply looked the other way. I was just passed by. It’s strange how I felt- I was so good at faking it, that everyone thought I was fine! I was just a happy-go-lucky and optimistic girl. It’s surprising how powerful you can feel when you are able to manipulate. I also felt crushed that nobody cared. Was I that good of an actress, I could just paint on a smile and everyone was convinced?  I was hurting so badly, and the only way I knew to make it go away I was too pathetic to do. I had the perfect plan, nothing would go wrong. It would have been done.  All I had to do was pull the trigger, sweaty in my nervous, fourteen year-old hand. There I was, in the basement, at my father's desk, in an empty house. But something made me put that gun down. I still don’t know what. I cried for days. I was ashamed and embarrassed of my helplessness. Still, nobody knew how close I was. Life just went on like nothing happened. Going back to school the next day...everything as it was the day before, but I was forever changed. Will I ever get to that point again? Could I ever actually do it? Can I promise myself that I will never feel that way again?

Awakening

I was laying in bed thinking, as I usually do, and I had a profound moment. I have been through a lot. I mean I have made it past a great number of experiences. A little over a year ago I was so broke that I applied for food stamps. When I was denied, I had to live on a grocery budget of $25 per month. I sold gold jewelry that my Grandmother gave me to pay my bills. I did my laundry at a friend's apartment...or blend in with the students and break into the laundry rooms at the local university. I refused to go back "home" to ask for money or to use their things. I refused to be guilt tripped and controlled, again, by those who abused me my entire life. I had finally broken free from their grasp. I didn't care how hard it was going to be. I was working 4 jobs (two of them were for no monetary compensation) and going to graduate school. ...It all just kind of hit me. I do value life, my own life...when for so long I was convinced that I didn't have any worth. If that's true than how in hell have I made it this far? Sometimes in those quiet solitary moments, just before you're greeted with sleep, you have a great awakening. A beautiful experience of strength and resilience. I am strong. Maybe I am a survivor...

Ghost

First of all, there is about to be a lot more self-disclosure here. I'm not exactly comfortable with it, but hopefully I can maintain some level of anonymity. I have been wanting to share this for a while so I'm just going to do it.

This is a charcoal "projective" technique I did in an art therapy class a few years ago. Our directions were to draw a scribble with our eyes closed and then complete the drawing...whatever it is and come up with a story about the image. We were then asked to title our drawings and hang them up around the room. Then the class was given the opportunity to discuss them and process them (if we wanted to). Projective techniques are supposed to tap into our unconscious selves. Those who wanted to share, did. Those who didn't want to, didn't-including me. Then everyone was asked if they have any they wanted to know more about-they all pointed to mine. I refused to share. Others' in the class were unrecognizable scribbles still. Others were turned into hearts and such. One woman's was titled "Woman of life and love" and resembled a woman sitting and hugging herself.

This is what came out of me. I am not an artist. I can't draw to save my life, at least not normally. I was shocked by this. I am actually a bit proud of it. My story was that this little girl was/is me as a ghost-sitting and staring at my own grave. I know that's terribly morbid, but in my story I was also born dead... so strange. But this is literally what popped in my head. I had to go with it and be honest. That's why I didn't want to share.

One of the diagnostic criteria for PTSD is a sense of a foreshortened future...meaning you don't believe you will live a long and fulfilling life. I had always believed I would never live past 18. All of my friends would punch me, but I truly did not see myself living into adulthood. I did this drawing in class just a few short months before my little triggering incident that sent me spiraling into my past and history of all sorts of abuse. But it was definitely a warning sign of what was to come.

I guess our subconscious really is much stronger than we think...and sometimes it will literally shout out to us in order to finally be heard.

Well...now that I am capable of receiving the messages, I'm finally listening.

~SS

Burdens

I don't know why I do this, well I don't know why I do a lot of things but that's not the point. I don't know why I look at this as something I'll "get over" or something that will go away eventually like a cold or the flu. I find myself wondering when I can go on with life, not have to deal with ____ or think about ____ or experience this or that. I'm waiting for some magical day when I wake up and it's all over, it's all gone and is only a piece of my history. How silly of me to hope and dream that I can live a normal life free of worries, haunting dreams, shaking, and doubts. How foolish of me to forget that this doesn't go away. I have to live with this forever.
"The familiar sting wells in my eyes and my heart sinks deep in my chest. Darkness takes over and I imagine my good-byes. Nothing can stop it; tonight there will be no rest. Images flash, too gruesome to share...such a heavy burden to bear." -Me

Holding on to what hurts

It's like everyone is given a crystal figurine when they're born. A symbol or shape that only has meaning to them. It is uniquely theirs. As infants, when we are protected, it is sheltered for us as we are cradled, rocked, and cared for. As we grow we're told to be mindful and take great care of our special gift. If anything might happen to it, though, at least we have people who can try to help manage the burden of keeping it safe. Helping if it gets scratched, teaching us how to care for it, and keeping it clean and protected. As we get older it is put in our possession and we become completely responsible for its protection. We're told we only get one and we'd better be careful. With courage and confidence, we take what we have learned and carefully venture out into the world to practice all that we have been taught. Filled with wonder and hope, we trust that we have the tools to keep ourselves safe, while knowing that we will always have love and support behind us when needed. But that's how it should be...unfortunately for me, my crystal was scratched, dropped, damaged and left unprotected-yet I was given all of the same messages of caution to protect my one and only gift. So fearfully, I picked up every broken piece and shard I could find in hopes of just keeping them all together. It might not have been whole anymore but at least I had all of the pieces. I was too young to even know that they could be broken, let alone what to do with the pieces. I just clung to them, no matter how sharp, because I knew it was my responsibility, it was my fault I was broken. I should have been more careful. I tried to mend it so many times but I would just cut myself. As time went by I would drop some of the pieces that I couldn't hold onto any longer. There were other things to focus on; to hold. Temporary relief. Distractions. But they would only cause me to lose track of what I had left. Once I realized there were very few pieces remaining, I tried to go back and find them. Some little ones were recovered but mostly the pieces were too damaged or too hard to find, so I just left them. Every now and then I would examine what was left. Embarrassingly, all I had were unrecognizable shards stained with blood, sweat, and tears that I used to hold so tightly to them. Now I am desperately clinging to what shattered pieces I have left because it's all that I have. Fragments of what used to be, miniature reminders of what should have been whole, what should have been complete and beautiful. I was responsible for protecting my gift and this is all I have left. I can never let go of the only pieces that remain -even though it hurts and I am badly scarred from them, I simply cannot let go...

 "The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen." -Elizabeth Kubler Ross

Push and pull

I "know" that it's "normal" to feel conflicted. But let's be honest, it doesn't make daily life any easier. In fact, each day is a struggle. I work so hard at keeping a straight face most of the time...I can still feel the pain when I remember. Sometimes I think people can see right through me when I'm faking my way through the day. Maybe I just wish people could see it. As it turns out, I'm pretty damn good at painting on that face that tells everyone, "I'm fine! Nothing to see here."

I suppose that's why I'm just a secret survivor. I'm trying to go through this privately. My closest friends know bits and pieces of my struggle, but not even I know everything that I've been through. You know what really screws with me is this constant push and pull of "healing" and doubting. That's what I suffer from most... doubt. I doubt myself, my memories, my experiences, my abilities, my education, my thoughts, my every moment. It is a constant battle. Oh, I'm not the type of person who is going all "Woe is me" and "nobody understands" all of the time. I have some wonderful days and amazing experiences! The Debbie Downer in me just keeps reminding me that "it never lasts and it probably never will." This is an internal battle. I sabotage and punish myself. I "know" that's not good. But I can't control it. Sometimes I don't want to control it. I just let it take over me and just wait until it's done. hmmm....pretty pathetic, right? Well, it's just another day. Today was a pretty good day, all things considered. But I can't help but wonder if I will ever be at a point when I won't be exhausted from fighting an impossible battle with myself, when I trust my instincts, when I believe with 100% confidence in myself, or when I feel strong enough to allow myself to fully heal.

...these things take time.

My first steps

When we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard or welcomed.
But when we are silent, we are still afraid.
So it is better to speak.
~ Audre Lorde ~ 

Well, I suppose I should introduce myself to start. I would like to remain somewhat anonymous here, but I will say that I am in my mid-twenties, I have a European background, and I grew up in the mid-west. I am educated and work in the social services industry. More importantly, I am an abuse survivor, and this is my first time admitting that "publicly". I must admit, this is terrifying...

And that is where my blogging experience begins.
My goals for this blog are simple. Although some of them are selfish in nature, I mostly hope to offer some sort of support, provide information, or perhaps just another way to pass some time. There is a good chance that I will be only one reading these posts.  In the off chance that another survivor does stumble across this, I hope you find strength and healing each day.

“Don't wish me happiness-I don't expect to be happy it's gotten beyond that, somehow. Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor-I will need them all.” 

~SS