Category: sexual abuse

Begin brain dump…

Begin brain dump…

5/29/19 4:46 pm – today was pretty rough. i’d been through the ringer trying to get medicare to answer a simple question and then i spun out of control from there. the following is a brain dump (i frequently fire up email and just type away as the thoughts flow freely and so as not to lose the natural train of thought.)

begin brain dump 3:24 pm

…the entry back into the medical system hasn’t been easy mostly because our healthcare systems haven’t fully caught up with medically complex people who already have a built in fear of people. in order to make it through that process, you’d have to be really comfortable with being repeatedly asked to recount your family history for each medical professional along your journey and therein lies the trigger…

given my history of sustained childhood trauma – sexual, psychological, physical and emotional from my earliest memories at the age of 2 – and continuing all the way through to the age of 14 when i first became a runaway living on the streets. it’s no wonder i have trust and abandonment issues to this day.

i’ve never stopped running and i’ve never really ever caught my breath tbh. i’ve been in an emotional dingy flailing through the sea of life for as long as i can remember. singularly. alone. afraid. let down. brief moments of defiance followed by longer moments of overshadowing self doubt…

i lack confidence. i lack trust. i lack resilience. i lack built-in healthy social cues and skills necessary to keep people in my life. i don’t lack insight or awareness however and for that i’m very grateful.

insight has allowed me to process a lot of brutal changes in my life in a very short three year period of time, all without stopping to fully process those feelings because i simply didn’t have that luxury. attempting to recover from emotional whip-lash isn’t an easy process but at least it’s familiar…unfortunately.

the loss of a mother who died alone in a hospital from pnuemonia. i was sent a usps box a little larger than a shoe box that represented her life. i tucked it on the top shelf of my closet and barricaded it with other storage boxes like a ticking time bomb…awaiting when my courage to break the seal overcomes me and i peer inside…see faces i’ve been fighting against in my dreams and flashbacks for decades. it’s torture untangling the good memories of her – with her – but it’ll come when the time is right. for now it’s simply too dangerous…

picking myself up after being knocked down by my father’s side of the family hasn’t been easy. the last interaction with them was before the holidays yet the feelings and emotions are still fresh and raw. having to deal with verbal abuse all while being keenly aware that his current physical and mental decline might be my own future playing our right before my eyes yet no one cared. a grim future confirmed by the same fate that ended my grandfathers life when he could no longer get himself out of his wheelchair on his own. thats my father today at 79, my grandfather gave up at the age of 82.

in short – complete lack of mobility, decreased strength resulting in a wheelchair, ultimately dementia and then the final lack of will to simply continue living. i’ve had a lot of family members give up on life. they reached a place in their lives where they just gave up eating and let go of their timeline…

the word timeline is this linear way i view life. we all have one. in an ever expanding universe my vision of it is that of a bright light blue beam, disappearing into infinity behind and ahead of you. perhaps you’re one with your fist firmly grasped around your timeline, riding it for all it’s worth. connected. plugged in. you understand it and you’d be right there with the majority of other humans who are healthy and well adjusted. that see a future even if it’s “unknown”.

then there’s people like me. left hand lightly resting on it’s electrical hum, tangible yet ethereal, i flirt with just how far can i loosen my grip…can i let go completely and grab it again in time or is it finite once i let go…i wrap more fingers around it while looking all around me at the infinite other timelines near and far. left, right, up, down, is there anyone near me that’s on the same path or same speed? will i be alone when i let go of my timeline?

will there be other strangers sharing the same wink and nod that we’re ready at the same time yet not alone? a comfort for all of the other ‘party-of-one’s’ in the world as we let go in unison…

i’m not connected right now and that’s okay. i’ve lived my entire life touching the timeline of life just enough not to get entirely lost, but loosely enough so as not to feel everything it throws at me along the way. not always but that’s the goal. soften the bumps and be less afraid when change rears it’s head and adjusts the speed to uncomfortable and terrifying levels.

pity about a timeline that i never asked for no longer serves a purpose for me. it robs you of today’s time…the time you need to right the sails and see your way into a safe harbor. i’m the master of this ship. i choose where i set my sights.

even after getting to a place of “okay, here are your insurance options based on location, returning to boston isn’t possible and that’s just where you are.”  the larger question is still “just how far am i willing to go in order to avoid my physical medical needs because the mental anguish will just be too much?”

the pcp side of the process, at least as far i’ve experienced up to today, hasn’t fully caught up with supporting the mental health side of your limitations. don’t let the slick ads and misleading websites fool you, they really haven’t caught up and disclosure, imho, is still very risky.

i don’t have the energy to lament the misleading, outdated and biased use of ANY “Find A Doctor” search feature currently in existence. google it, they act as funnels and not in a good way. out of date info and even if you do weed out the bad info nine times out of ten you’ll call and something makes it not possible. “They’re only in the office Tuesday afternoons and Saturday’s from 7:00 am to 10:00 am.” really? how is that a PCP???

telemedicine may be the buzz word du jour but reality couldn’t be farther than the truth. looks good on a branded website or a mission statement but good luck with that…

so… today i once again tried to get a simple answer from medicare and once again it was like speaking martian… “If I call my Dr. because my elbow, wrists and joints are hurting so bad I can’t drive is that covered?” <enter circular conversation head explosion in 3-2-1…> “As long as it’s medically necessary and the Dr. deems the appt. necessary.”

blink…blink…blink

“so you’re telling me that when i’m experiencing pain, that is getting worse, and you know I’m on SSDI (disability). You can’t tell me whether a routine office visit for pain of a key joint such as my elbow is covered or not and that i won’t get hit with a bill that i can’t afford afterwards?” “As long as it’s medically necessary…” CLICK

earlier i tweeted something to the effect of no wonder suicide is on the rise. people are terrified to see a dr. because there are zero guarantees you won’t end up one bill over the line…that one bill that breaks your financial back and sends you into credit, financial and medical free fall.

that’s the anxiety. that’s the key issue. that’s my barrier.

today i was told by a very nice woman that in today’s system “you really need to be your own advocate.” and not in a bad way. she let me know she ‘got it’ and that was based on her experience, not from a judgemental way. problem is back at the start of this post. the lack of self confidence and resilience. i just don’t have those skills.

i know i’m precariously close to giving up my pursuit of medical care and by the same token i also know i needed to reach out for help today. the woman at the agency i contacted was super empathetic and understood my situation. she was super patient and sensitive. she could tell i’d done a lot of work in therapy so we were able to use familiar terms which made the conversation easier.

i made sure to fully disclose my trauma and how that manifests today in the form of complex ptsd in the form of anxiety, panic attacks and general fear of being in public…today. i haven’t always been this way of course and hopefully i’ll find my way back soon.

i’ve reconnected with a friend from high school. a friend who’s family gave me a place to live during those turbulent times. it’s taken me a few years to sort things out. i pushed a lot of people away during this life altering transition and i’m still coming to terms as to why while finding ways to make amends. when you’re in that dark place and you’re only connection is social media or other electronic means, other people’s happy lives hurt even though it has nothing to do with them but everything to do with you.

when you’re parents and family should have been wiring your brain for a life of confidence and self esteem but instead instilled nothing but fear, worthlessness, not capable and defective on a daily basis…well…that’s a whooole lot of re-wiring that needs to be done.

while i wait for a call back the best i can do for today is the serenity prayer.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things i cannot change; courage to change the things i can; and the wisdom to know the difference.

Another closed door…

Another closed door…

contacted my old therapist in Boston. got the same reply i’ve been getting for months from All healthcare professionals. “Oh I don’t know anything about Medicare, that’s not my thing.”

Really? Than why and how is it you’re a Medicare “P R O V I D E R” yet you know nada??? Yeah…okay.

all i can say is that i truly am in a no mans land when it comes to medical care or mental health care. of the hospitals or medical centers that within driving distance of me the locals won’t even go to for specialist care.

if i’m lucky enough to bump into a neighbor long enough to strike up a casual convo, they all say the same thing. “I’d never go to that hospital, we always go to Boston, it’s waaay safer.”

so wtf am i supposed to do. i can’t drive that far on a regular basis. so far no one in either the medical side of things or mental health side of things seems to know what the fuck a Social Worker is or how to get one.

how, how the fuck is it that you can be disabled, yes i have my social security letter, be on Medicare AND have a Blue Cross Blue Shield Bronze supplemental plan but i don’t qualify for any type of outside help coordinating all of this??? zero? zip? nada? Hello???

i fantasize about just selling my house and taking whatever cash is left over and then try to get lost in another country somewhere. i mean why not just get a passport/visa and whatever else it takes and just leave the US all together?

i don’t have family any longer. i’m done chasing after friends who inevitably never call you back or make the effort to reach out themselves, so if i’m truly a ‘party of one’ as i call it, no one will miss me anyway.

if all else fails there are always the more immediate solutions.

when you’re an adult male of early childhood sexual abuse by a female family member, your world and perception of people is forever changed. you ‘may’ find a way back to normalcy and i’m thrilled for you if you have.

that’s just not in my story unfortunately. mine is shaping up to be one of solitude and permanent loneliness because i’ve been kicked to the curb so many times i’ve just given up trying. maybe i was never meant to understand how to navigate friendships or how to build an extended family of strangers.

i dunno. so many maybes…still so much left unanswered…

with whatever energy i have left in this timeline maybe i should really un-tether myself and just go off into wherever the wind might take me. it’d certainly be better than struggling with a healthcare system that has zero interest in helping someone like me.

life’s not so kind to single white me of a certain age, we’re always the first one’s to be cast offs of our society…

i should have known better…

i should have known better…

kicked to the curb on xmas eve by my father, aunt and step mother. why ask me for help turning my world upside down only to disavow all of the hard legal work you had me do in the first place?

after doing everything in my power to get legal documents completed from 3k miles away both last year and this year i’m told “we’re all set…” “we don’t need or want your help any longer…” “oh, you can see you father if you want but only on my terms.”

all of this via text on christmas eve…

really? you all couldn’t have the maturity to treat me with enough respect to pick up the phone and call me? or better yet. why not just wait until After the holidays have passed like normal people?

because none of you are normal people and i’m done being made out to be the bad guy.

i was an idiot to believe my father and family understood that in all of the legal paperwork i had sent that the one most critical for me today was a medical directive. it didn’t have to be to ‘direct’ his care but it would have allowed me to talk to and work with his dr’s directly. when you’re talking about the kind of genetics we have, that was all i had hoped for. a possible shot at and a small glimmer of hope that by accepting him for who he is today i’d at least have some hope as to what my own future might hold medically.

today all of that was thrown out the window without a care for me…as is always the case.

i’m sure i’ll be made the bad guy again. i’ll never get a thank you or a simple “I know what you’re going through, let’s find another way to help you.” kinda stupid to expect simple things like that right?

i’m not bitter. i’m tired. i’m tired of always being the one left holding the bag. i’m tired of always being the one mentally and emotionally battered and bruised without so much as a passing thought.

i’m tired and yes i’m truly done… goodbye dad, goodbye family and goodbye to my past. i won’t remember you fondly. i won’t spend a single thought trying to piece together gauzy idealistic dreams of what my childhood should have been like. there aren’t enough positive things that can overcome the negative now, it’s all become one black sludgey slimey memory i never ever want to recall again.

my holidays will be only mine from now on. no more nervous expectations there ‘might’ be a xmas card (and there never is). no more waiting for birthday cards or any celebrations. you’ve forfeited the right to be part of my memories.

i’ll go back to erasing all of them from my memory and feelings. there’s no space for them going forward and today i’m truly a party of one on this planet. i’m hurt and lonely. sad yet relieved as well.

relieved because i can now go back to cordoning off my holidays without the intrusion of an overly ‘entitled’ family who never gives a second thought to how it may upend mine.

it’s a little before 3pm and i’ve only just received the text 6 hours ago. my body feels crummy and yet it’s depressing but i’ll battle back before the evening sets in.

light snowflakes fall outside and i need to restock the firewood for an evening watching old movies. i have a spiral ham i’m going to make along with twice baked sweet potato’s and baby peas.

someday i hope to cook for more than one, just as i always do, but tonight and tomorrow will be as they always are. spent in solitude and safety while i safely shut out the world.

Voicemail, Novemeber 14th 9:12:16 AM

Voicemail, Novemeber 14th 9:12:16 AM

i’ll have to find a way to link the voice file but not tonight, Friday November 16th 10:14PM…

it’s exhausting passing time by measure of when the other shoe hits the floor, and it always does. this year was supposed to be a good year for the holidays. i had finally told my father how i felt about him after being kicked to the curb my entire life which was an unburdening. even his disgusting response didn’t hurt me. i was finally free and told him to stop calling me after having blocked his number from another vicious attack by him a year earlier.

i’ve known he was sick for awhile and although i initially was willing to help him with a power of attorney. he soon ruined that by a 4am phone call with accusations and other behavior a father just shouldn’t do to a son. i left him one voicemail later in the day after i had time to wake up and have some coffee and go “what the fuck just happened?”

“dad, i’m not sure why you did what you did at 4am but please be a man and pick up the phone so we can talk about this.” he never did and i blocked his number and then systematically i mentally prepared to forget him… i’d done it before, many many times before.

i was finally feeling good about gaining the upper hand on how to be a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. not by my father but by one of my maternal aunts. it was my father that was responsible for the psychological, emotional and physical abuse.

it was nice for awhile there…happy actually. i’d planned ahead for firewood for winter. i’d been working through the joint pains and using yard work as a mindfulness tool. something to distract me while i calmly sorted through the memories of my father. this time was different however. this time i wanted to forget, forget him. forget everything and rather than expend effort rationalizing and minimizing them into neat and tidy memories to be tucked away, i decided to just get rid of them entirely. to finally just move on and face all of the health issues i knew where on the horizon clear eyed, single and with some hope it just might be okay.

that i just might finally have a holiday without pain. i’d learned to live without them all these years so why not finally let myself be free of them and use the mental energy on myself instead of them. and it did work for a bit, right up until tonight.

the last time i spoke with my father he acted as those that 4am phone call never happened, as though he had nothing to apologize for. once i realized he was trying to manipulate me into just letting it go by i finally stood my ground. the words he used were those of a very ignorant and hateful human being i thought, how sad for him that must be. when his son finally tells him to never call him again because he no longer matters to him, those words were like a pathetic grasp for control, control he no longer had.

here i am in the fight of my life just trying to get through dr’s appointments i’ve waited two years to get and all i wanted was clear sailing for the holidays. newp. life had other plans. another shoe to drop.

i don’t know who or how many people will read this but i do have an honest question.

how do you respond to such a person who leaves a voicemail asking you to take care of all his affairs because he knows he’s not going to survive this ‘parkinson’s thing’? he couldn’t have cared less if i lived or died while i was living on the streets of hollywood in the late 70’s.

forced to be a male street hustler for a roof over his head and maybe a hamburger and a coke on a good day. santa monica boulevard and a bus bench near fairfax was good. it was near a carl’s jr. and it was easy to keep busy if cops were around or if no one was looking.

i’d wait for as long as i could. waving off the good looking aggressive types. couldn’t deal with the conceit or the wham bam thank you sam feeling from those. late at night i’d wait for the type that’d let you spend the night. children of trauma learn to read people really well so spotting the ‘companionship’ types was pretty easy. i’m not ashamed of any of this and i’d love to write more about it some day.

i can still recall the local gay papers when the words “gay cancer” first started appearing, everyone was scared and we were years away from learning how it was transmitted. when i say i’m lucky to be here, there are many many reasons i’m lucky to be here.

so here i am not far from what i thought was going to be a quiet and hopeful holiday season to one where i just want to smash every single solitary object i can get my hands on and not stop until my brain sees a blinding white light and my ears go deaf from nothingness…i just want it to end.

i’d say why me but those aren’t the right words… i can’t describe it other than i just want to grab him, someone, something by the ring of the collar to shake the ever loving fuck of them and scream so loud the whole world hears…

W H Y??????

i’m exhausted…i’m scared, scared of me not him. angry too, very angry. every time, without fail when there’s a time in my life when it really does need to be all about me, such as these health issues, one or both of them find some way of trickling back into my life.

my mother passed two years ago right in the middle of my having to sell my condo, uproot my entire life to relocate to another part of the state, oh and landed in the looney bin with clown boy got elected, thank goodness i was already in a place with meds…

and now this… this big pile of steaming shit called my fucked up family has to come along and try to ruin things yet again. i can’t help him. i don’t know him for fucks sake. and what i do know of him is that he’s someone i’d never, ever want to spend time with if i met him as just a person. there’s nothing there between us, there never has been.

i can’t help you old man. you used and abused me for longer than i should have allowed and now it’s time for you to go. go wherever it is that your road takes you and please please go peacefully.

please     finally     leave     me     alone     once      and      for      all.

Enough…

Enough…

For anyone new to the site I’d like to offer some insight to my Twitter and #SurvivorCulture tweet. My site needs work so you’re probably seeing a happy post about getting back to my previous therapist. Which definitely is good news…especially given the current circumstances.

My father and I tried to forge or repair some sort of relationship last year and it blew up in my face pretty badly. That’s always been the history when it comes to my father and me. When in doubt, blame the kid.

My father has an anger and mental abuse problem and he’s never owned it. I owned it for him by swallowing every single form of abuse he chose to dish out. Verbal, physical and the worst of all. Complete shut out and denial. If he didn’t want to hear something he made sure he got his way and never ever had to live with consequences.

Well. Here we are today. Him leaving me voicemail after voicemail playing the aging old man and I’m sick card. Uh uh. That’s not how life works.

The last time I saw my father was over 25 years ago. We’ve had sporadic phone contact over the years and always at my reaching out to him rather than the other way around.

My usual role as the hurt little boy wanting the love of his father has been a hard role to live through and it’s come at a great great cost. No regrets though. Truly. Because that life is no more…

The #MeToo movement came along at a time in my life when I was already trying to unravel and make sense of my childhood. What I had planned on was it accelerating my having to deal with my own childhood sexual abuse. Not only was my childhood traumatic and painful, he’s still coming from this utterly disgusting catholic altar boy silence and denial upbringing.

I’m still working through the dynamics of an older female family member having been my abuser. Not entirely sure where I’m going with this blog but I hope to get back to my photography. All of the images on the site are mine now and I still have a whole other site to convert over.

Thank you for reading and thank you for being here. ~R

 

why bother part 2…

why bother part 2…

well, the house is fully automated. lights on timers. varying so as to project someone home. bills are all automated although i’m sure electricity and other services will eventually get cut…

in the meantime, there’s no reason to keep up this charade any longer. this site is paid up for two years, it’ll stay online until non-payment happens.

i haven’t found homes for my cats yet but will soon and i don’t really care what happens to my house once i’m no longer here. when you’re gone, nothing matters, nothing hurts anymore either.

that’s all i want. no more loneliness. no more pain. no more being taken advantage of. no more being brushed aside, diminished or shrugged away.

i thought i could do it. keep going no matter the costs. keep going in hopes of some mythical release or indescribable amount of love and safety the likes of which no one has ever know was finally going to magically wash over me and i’d finally know what love and safety felt like…that was the hope anyway.

childhood sexual abuse and non-stop trauma can damage someone beyond repair. i sacrificed not only giving up the idea of ‘wanting’ kids but intentionally making sure that my name ends with me.

i’d like to think i’d be a great father. one of those fathers who’s always fascinated in anything you’d say or do. a father who’d share the same childlike imagination in stories and in real life so that everything would always seem possible. a father who’s very presence meant you’d never ever have to feel unloved, unsafe or unworthy. a father who’s one look was enough to let you know you’d be okay, you were protected and you were loved…

Been a heck of a week…

Been a heck of a week…

last thursday was a hit to the gut. she used all the right words. “I know that you have abandonment issues and…”

i do/don’t recall much beyond the utter collapse that i’d never be able to work with her again. we were so close and the one last thing i needed. the one last thing between being forever trapped in childhood or smashing the world to bits is still lying on a shelf in my closet…buried behind even more boxes. waiting to either ruin or free me forever. a box of photos from my mothers past i have yet to open. a part of my timeline fully suppressed, held at bay and kept at a distance until i was strong enough.

this isn’t easy work. i know that for myself the work isn’t in the graphic details either. childhood sexual abuse doesn’t need to be recalled or retold in order to be understood. when someone says to you they’ve endured things no young boy of six should ever have to that’s more than enough.

there’s no easy lead up in therapy when it comes to working with someone like me. when she offered to ‘be the one’ to help me make that final walk through, the one last and most vulnerable part. i only asked one thing. “if you promise than you have to stay to the end, you have to stay to the end.” this had been many months prior.

During our last session this past thursday she said she wouldn’t be able to see me in private practice…i lost my breath…i tried to keep it together…buy time long enough to recover…put on a brave face, we always do. that’s how people like me get through life. we pretend we’re fine until we aren’t…

i had been sobbing at this point. overwhelmed at possibly trusting someone again, the possibility of finally not being the only person carrying my story…

i don’t know where to go from here. next week begins trips to boston for the medical stuff. these random bouts of muscle weakness and joint pain is pretty disconcerting.

as for the mental health side…well. i’ve been alone most of my sober life, which will be 13 years come october. i wouldn’t trade that for anything, i do miss people though.

camera in tow with my shades and tunes. it’ll be comforting to be anonymous in bustling boston again.

Break the barrier…

Break the barrier…

It’s time for water to brawl
It’s time to follow your heart
It’s time for buildings to shake
It’s time for barriers to break
To break, to break, to break, to break
To break, to break, to break, to break

Break the Barrier – Miss Li

if recovery has taught me anything it’s that there’s a lesson to be learned from pretty much anything. examine things honestly enough and you’ll eventually be able to gain some perspective. some call it acceptance or sometimes you just need a reset to regain your bearings, both are viable options.

after the meltdown a week ago i’m just now getting things back on schedule. a little longer than normal but that wasn’t any ordinary meltdown either. that was full on physiological and my body has been out of whack ever since.

my talk therapist has been great and i’m so lucky she has the background she does. she knows how to present me with choices that i can make myself, she’s not indulgent but rather she’s firm and compassionate. that’s so so helpful for someone like me. give me the truth, be compassionate about what my options are and then support me in my decision. thank you! thank you! thank you!

i’ve never liked being the unicorn. i hated it when i was younger. hated it while exploring my sexuality only to find partners more interested in bagging some catch rather than experiencing my vulnerability as something unique and private.

she made me feel like a unicorn and that’s why i needed to escape…i was not going to be her prize, some tough nut that needed to be cracked…i had to find the door and fast.

fortunately my autopilot kicked in while i was curled up in the car that day. not only did i feel physically sick my brain kept saying…

don’t drive don’t drive, you can’t, there’s too many phone poles…the curves in carver, the bogs in wareham…you know you’re impulsive… don’t do it don’t do it… breathe, just stay until it’s dark…then drive home…shhhh…keep your eyes closed…they’ll be gone soon…shhhh…shhhh….

about 3 hours passed, 6:37, still light out, i find an old bag for the soaking wet paper towels gripped in my hands. reopen all the windows and get ready with several deep breathes.

i suppose the only way i can be matter a fact about all of this is i know i didn’t do anything wrong. i answered her questions or at least i tried to. she kept interrupting me which always makes me lose my train of thought, but she didn’t like the answers. oh well.

had she stuck to asking me about actual symptoms and more “forward” thinking topics things never would have spiraled the way they did. that’s why i can say “oh well” and be okay with moving onward.

i need to focus on the big health issues and get started on those appointments as close to when my new insurance kicks in as possible. right now that’s august 1st and it’s been two years since i had to put everything on hold so i’m just gonna have to keep moving full steam ahead.

i’ve never had a problem keeping my side of the street clean and owning my own shit as it were. when it comes to that particular scenario there’s nothing else i can do. i’ll find someone else and will just have to figure that out.

my new pcp is in brookline at my old pcp’s building and since i’ll have to be traveling into boston regularly i’m sure there’ll be plenty of options. i’m looking forward to the train rides actually. if i end up on a two month prescriber schedule than that’s a perfect training opportunity. i’ve always had #anxiety & #PTSD issues with crowds and now i’ll have to find a way to adapt or conquer my other fear and drive all the way into the city.

don’t get me wrong. i may opt to drive anyhow which is why i went with brookline. it’s easier to come in the back way via rte 9 than go anywhere near the braintree split. literally makes my skin crawl.

anywho… am i beat down so bad i can’t get back up on my own? not entirely. bruised maybe, slightly scuffed but survivable.

i know many of the seemingly easy day to day things appear to be perplexing from the outside. i really do. they’re more than fucking perplexing to me and i have to live in it day in and day out.

tonight i was listening to a song called Break the Barrier – Miss Li there were some pretty powerful words in it and i had no clue what was about to happen.

i cranked up the volume and sang along…yelled along was more like it. i had it on repeat as i do with most songs that help with my add, it’s soothing to me. i was singing while dancing and acting out my own real life music video. with hardwood floors and full length mirrors on the closet door it’s easy to do.

i was carrying some laundry and bam…

tears…crying…screaming as i turn up the volume so no on hears me scream…

“WHAT YOU DID TO ME WAS NOT OKAY AND YOUR RELIGION DOESN’T ABSOLVE YOU OF THE DAMAGE YOU’VE DONE!!!”

this is life with childhood sexual abuse and the PTSD effects it leaves in its wake. even when i want to fight back, to reclaim my power, my voice, my courage and dignity. it’s her image and lingering shadows that i have to punch through just to catch my breath.

i’ll be okay. it’s a process and no one said it was going to be easy. i’m still here and i’m not giving up.

too many record players…

too many record players…

Screen Shot 2018-06-05 at 8.28.49 PMmy familiar place, i hate you with every fiber of my being…

my mind has always been a series of flashbacks and memories, record players always playing nonstop day in day out…relentless

i’ve never been good at juggling them, like a plate spinner without a break…a slave to keeping them all in the air until they aren’t…

i’m stuck for the moment yet unsure as to just how many lows i have left in me. it’s exhausting and discouraging.

all of the shades are drawn tight, doors and windows locked. i feel safe for now and cross my fingers it passes soon. i misjudged the repercussions of allowing myself to begin the process of opening up about and truly thinking through my early childhood sexual trauma. it may have been a mistake, i’m not sure…i just know i’m shutting down and withdrawing. it’s my way of coping, to avoid the pain, the pain of people even ones who may want to help me.

when all the record players come crashing down its like a mental onslaught of every single fucking negative feeling and emotion i’ve ever had in my life flood back all at once and i can’t control any of them. zero to rage and confusion in a nano second…hateithateithateit

the darkness and heavy blankets help me relax. i can’t be worried about the outside right now. noise hurts, people hurt, everything hurts right now…bed is safe.

i’m shut off from postal mail and voicemail, at&t blew up my vm during a blizzard and used a sledgehammer for the other. it was a daily land mine so i had to remove the variable. self protection mode engaged.

had to delete three people from fb today too. i’ve been let down enough in my life that after reaching out to people over and over again to simply have a cup of coffee, i just don’t need that kind of rejection right now. you can’t keep telling me i matter to you yet it be so difficult to spare a hour for coffee?

truthfully, that’s been really really hard to take.

i’m aware this isn’t normal, i just don’t know how to turn it all off…or at least turn down the volume on the chaos until i can dust myself off long enough for a breather…yet again.

 

 

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