Tag Archives: Trauma

PTSD, Triggers, Keeping Silent And Remembering Trauma

The smallest things will trigger a response from me. A loud male voice behind me at the grocery store, the smell of beer and leather, bright lights and loud music, aggressive men in general, and even the way my Dad calls my name sometimes startles me.

Deep in the back of my mind I think I still resent my Dad for the way he handled everything. For the way he shook his hand and thanked him for bringing me home. For the way he called me a “drunk and a liar” as I was on the floor covered in blood, in and out of consciousness.

It wasn’t the first time, it was just the worst time.

REMEMBERING THAT NIGHT

I don’t remember the day. I don’t remember the exact year. I remember the apartment because I was there everyday. I remember the person because we had been as close as two people can be for over 10 years. We were both alcoholics. The only difference was I did my drinking between 4pm and 3am. I never drank during the day and I never drank alone. He drank whenever, by himself or with other people.

Over the years I had seen him be cruel. He had been physical with me on a fee occasions but I wasn’t a small girl and always thought I could handle him. I thought I could handle all of them, that it was no big deal. I admit to drinking to the point of blacking out at times, having no memory of the previous night. I know during these times some things happened without my permission. I only know this by how I looked when I woke up and where I woke up.

I was undiagnosed Bipolar and doing anything I could to not feel emotions. My alcoholism eventually made this a million times worse. I also admit I wasn’t always nice while drinking. I could be obnoxious, jealous, and petty.

I would try to stop or slow down my drinking many times.

One night I took my cousin to the apartment with me, I wasn’t drinking. Someone thought it would be funny to put Rum in my soda. I took a big gulp and that was it. He was pissed and said “You better not get drunk because you’re not staying here tonight”. Of course this pissed me off and I thought “Who the hell is he to tell me how much to drink? He wouldn’t even have groceries or clean laundry if it wasn’t for me.” So I drank and drank.

At some point we started to argue. Over the years he always said to me “You always hurt the ones you love the most”. And he did.

I turned my back to walk away from him, he picked up a heavy oak chair with wheels and hit me over the back of my head.

I tried to fight back and it angered him more, he grabbed my hair and pulled me to the floor. He got on top of me with all his weight, pinning my arms down with his knees.

He started punching me in the face, he wore a skull ring. All these years later, if you look closely, you can see a scar on my chin and an indent on my nose. With each punch he said a word “YOU, STUPID, FUCKING, BITCH” I remember spit flying out of his mouth and my nose swelling shut.

The blood started to go down the back of my throat and I felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t get any air and I couldn’t move. For the first time ever I was terrified.

Eventually he pulled me up by my hair. I noticed one of the bedroom doors open and a girl I had known for years looked out at me and hurried to shut the door. I know I said “Help” but maybe I wasn’t loud enough. My cousin was asleep in a bedroom.

I had bleach blond hair at the time, it was soaked with blood. Everything was soaked with blood.

He dragged me to his apartment door which was always open and threw me down the stairs. I don’t know how long I stayed at the bottom of the stairs.

The next thing I remember is being in a moving car.

He had his friend drive me and my cousin to my parent’s home. He carried me to the door where he told them I fell. I kept trying to tell them it was him, I didn’t just fall.

It might have been the blow to the head because I wasn’t able to remain conscious. My Dad took this as a sign of being extremely drunk.

When I could speak and told my parents as much as I could my Dad said no one would believe me. I shouldn’t have been there and I was a drunk and a liar. They told me not to go to the Hospital and that I would be fine.

I wasn’t fine and wouldn’t be fine for the rest of my life.

The heavy chair hitting my head had actually caused permanent damage. I found this out 6 months ago.

PTSD is bad enough. When you have an underlying mental health issue like Bipolar Disorder, Anxiety Disorders, and Substance Abuse Disorders, it can turn into something much more complicated.

Dealing with Conversion Disorder has been as bad as coping with Bipolar. I never really know what is going to set it off. It’s embarrassing to start stuttering and have people stare at you. To start shaking and have your hands tremor so bad you can’t count change. To have no control over your body.

I knew eventually he would get drunk and say something in front of the wrong people.

He did. A month later he bragged about what he had done to me in a bar filled with people. The story got back to my older brother and he in turn told my parents. My Dad was furious but both my parents encouraged me to let it go.

Two years later he was arrested for Domestic Assault & Battery and was sent to counseling. He broke the woman’s jaw.

These are some of the reasons we stay silent. We’re talked out of it, told no one will believe us, think we deserve it or we see that nothing is ever done about it when we finally do get the courage to speak up.ddc04855251fa6c0f0d2cc95d4f717f1

Towards the end of my Dad’s life he apologized for not doing more at the time. He said he thought about it often, it was one of his biggest regrets.

I make no excuses, my decisions are my own. I only offer an insight into what life can be like for someone with severe mental illness who doesn’t receive treatment.


TO MY MOM

It’s been 10 years since you passed away. It hasn’t gotten any easier. I still can’t bring myself to visit your grave. The rest of the family make comments about this. I don’t care.

You would be disappointed with us. I know you would. The petty fighting and grudges we hold against each other. Some things can’t be forgiven. You could always forgive and that’s why we loved you.

The one thing I had a problem with was your enabling everyone around you. I know it came from love but you never realized when someone wasn’t being truthful or sincere. Maybe I had been around too many liars, cons, addicts, and thieves so I spotted it easily. It would take years after your death for people to believe me.

There’s nothing worse than your family thinking your “too dramatic” or “making stuff up” all the time. One thing I don’t do when I’m sober is lie. Actually when I drank I was too truthful and that got me into trouble too.

When I first saw you in that hospital room I felt like I wasn’t in my own body. I was outside of it watching as it all happened. I didn’t feel anything for a long time. I somehow knew if I did it would end me. It almost did anyway.

Months later I found myself in the bathroom at work screaming into a bunch of paper towels. I couldn’t move or stop crying. All I could see was your face, eyes open and blank, bloody foam that wouldn’t stop bubbling from your mouth. All I heard were nurses laughing and Dad wailing like a wounded animal. I didn’t want to remember any of it.

Your oldest granddaughter decided to dedicate many tattoos to you and acts as if she was the only one who lost you. Her mother visits your grave often. Your granddaughter also decided to write me and say some of the most hurtful things I’ve ever had said to me.

She has replaced J as number 1 on my shit list. I’d rather be punched in the face than have someone say what the things she said. But she’s found God so I guess she thinks it’s okay to make someone feel like dirt. It’s okay to tell them they should’ve killed themselves because they are waste of space and their own mother didn’t love them as much as she loved other people. It was 3 pages of this crap.

I hope you don’t know what’s going Mom because you would be as hurt and angry as I am. Dad finally told me what you really thought today and you weren’t fooled after all.

You are MY MOM I took care of you and loved you. I think about you always and miss you often. I’m letting go of the toxic people. I don’t have the time to help people who don’t want to be helped. From now on I’m helping myself and Dad from time to time. I love you.11059761_10207494279902008_1407885758767048615_n


GRIEF FOR A PARENT: When There’s So Much Love And Pain

My Mom was the one who held everyone together. Not just my Dad, my brother, my twin sister, and me, but also all of her siblings, nieces, nephews, and grandchildren. She made sure everyone kept in touch or visited one another.

When she died it collapsed like a house of cards. It was like my Dad and I didn’t exist anymore. The phone only rang with telemarketers and there were no visits.

My Mom was outgoing, talkative, loud, bossy, and you did what she told you to do. She also had periods where there was no laughing, no talking, and she stayed in bed for a week or so. She could be quick tempered also. Her capacity to love and forgive almost made up for those times. Almost.

It isn’t easy as a child to wake up and find your Mom gone. Your Dad doesn’t really know how to explain where she is except “She’s sick and she’ll be home soon.” The first two times I was scared and I wanted my Mom. When you’re that young and you know nothing about Mental Illness and no one else really does either it’s horrible.

My Dad had to work so my sister and I would have to stay at my Grandmother’s house. My Dad’s mother. She wasn’t a warm, affectionate woman which explains a lot about my Dad. I was at her house the first time I got my period. I had no idea what was going on. My Mom was in a Hospital, I was at a mean woman’s house, and I was bleeding to death. It kind of left some damage over the years. It’s a good thing my Dad is the man he is and I finally told him what was going on and he took care of me like a pro.

But in my head I thought my Mom should’ve been there. I loved her more than anything in this World. If I knew 100% what happens when we die, if we do go somewhere beautiful and see our loved ones again, I would go right now.

Her death was so bad I still have nightmares sometimes. The year before her death was tough on my Dad and me. There were times when I had to get up early for work but couldn’t sleep because I could hear her moaning. For a long time my Mom went to Doctors who never found anything wrong with her. It was like the boy who cried wolf. When years later the Doctors told her she had Lung Cancer I don’t think any of us reacted the way we were supposed to. Our sympathy had been used for years and years. It was hard living with someone who would scream your name from their bedroom like they were dying making you run upstairs to their room only to have them say “Can you change the channel on my TV?” There was something wrong with that.

In my head I would tell her to shut up. I have to live with that. What we didn’t know was that all the chemo and radiation had weakened her bones so much she had fractured 2 bones in her back. That’s why she was in so much pain.

The Doctors she had made everything worse for us. They had no clue what they were doing. We did get 7 more years with her but it came at a price.

My memory of her was changed forever.

I no longer see the smiling beautiful woman that was my Mom when I close my eyes.

I see the nightmare version I walked in to at the Hospital.

It kills me to remember her like that. I’ve only been to her grave once. I refuse to go. The rest of my family has made comments about this. I don’t care. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. No one is going to bully me anymore or make me feel guilty about things that were out of my control. I do that to myself enough.11059761_10207494279902008_1407885758767048615_n


I DESERVED IT, DIDN’T I?

I was physically assaulted for years by different men and there were times when I woke up that I didn’t remember agreeing to have sex with a person or know where I was.

Alcoholism will lead you to dark places and to people you wouldn’t normally be friends with.

My parents were actually good parents. They had some moments when we were younger that could’ve been better but I don’t think any of it was too bad. Then again maybe it was and I don’t want to remember it. I don’t really know. I do know I was always painfully shy, over weight by the 6th grade with glasses and acne. It wasn’t fun from the 6th grade to the 12th grade. A lot of damage was done that couldn’t be undone.

When no one stands up for you as a child or intervenes you start to believe what is being said to you. So I believed I was fat, useless, ugly, unlovable, even that I smelled when I didn’t because everyone believes when you are fat you must smell. I was the cleanest person I knew. I became obsessed with expensive perfume as I grew older because of one comment made in the 10th grade. I’ve spent thousands of dollars on perfumes from places people have never had of.

The group of people I surrounded myself with when I began drinking at 16 were all predators in some way or another. Some were emotional predators, some financial, and some sexual or needed to feel in control.

I was perfect for all of it. I had zero self confidence and thought I was nothing when I arrived. I worked hard and always had money. I was easy to control when drinking and I was always drinking to numb a feeling or fake a personality or emotion or to feel normal. They saw me coming a mile away and never wanted me to leave.

While one would say and do cruel things another would be there to act as the good guy. Then it would flip. I went on like this for almost 9 years starting at 16. Those are important years where you learn how to be a young adult then an adult. I didn’t learn any of those things. I learned a lot of street smarts and how to immediately scan a room for scumbags or trouble. I learned to always sit with my back against a wall facing the door so I could see who was coming and going. I learned not to trust anyone ever again and to look people in the eye. I learned how to read facial expressions and tell when a person is lying to me.

I learned all of these things the hard way and by slowly becoming the monsters I hated.

I never fully became the monster but I still carry that fear with me and the street smarts. I also carry the “Trust No One” mentality with me because it huts too much to trust and be let down over and over again even by your family. I have brief flashes of the rage I carry deep within me and I won’t lie, it scares me. I wouldn’t hurt another person but I would hurt myself in that rage as I tore through the World. So I have to be careful with it and channel it into something else. That’s where the tears and stuttering come in I think.

I didn’t ask for any of this. The mental illness I knew was a 50/50 shot so was the drinking. But when I was growing up no one really knew that or talked about it. If my parents had taken me to a Doctor when they first suspected I would have been institutionalized until the age of 18.

It’s here and now at 44 that I decide how I want to deal with all of what I’ve been through, what I’ve learned, what I still need to learn, and pass it on.

If I could travel and speak on Radio Shows or in High Schools and tell the absolute truth with no sugar coating that’s what I want to do more than anything. There are too many organizations right now that so many feel like they don’t belong in because all they see are the positive messages of hope and recovery which is fine but don’t promise it right out of the gate. When I’m feeling like 0 the last thing I want to see are shiny happy people holding hands because I’ll already have the thought of failing in my head.

I don’t know if I’m making sense about this at all or if I’m completely off base and too messed up to even know it. I wouldn’t mind some feedback as long as you don’t completely tear me down because then that’s all I’ll think about for weeks. Ridiculous! But that’s who I am now. I’m a lot stronger in many areas but I still seek love and approval. I’m a work in progress like everyone should be.alone-by-edgar-allan-poe-scarebaby-design


MY BEAUTIFUL BROKEN BOY (Childhood Trauma and Bullying)

He’s standing there with his backpack waiting for his brother to come out of the School Building. His blond hair shines in the sun between the trees. He has eyes the color of the bluest ocean, just like me, his mother and Grandmother. He has trouble being still so he swings his backpack back and forth not realizing how close he is to a treasured “butterfly cocoon” a PTA Mom has gotten a group of children excited about.

When his pack hits it everything will change for this boy I love like he’s my own. He’s my twin sister’s son, in the 1st Grade and small for his age. I’m not biased when I say he’s beautiful, both of my nephews are. They got all of the good parts of both their parents and none of the bad. Physically that is. As an outsider I’ve noticed things in both of my nephews that scare me. They are both extremely sensitive to what’s going on around them. Their feelings are hurt easily and they have a hard time controlling their emotions. It’s good they have my sister for a Mom.

As my sister walks out of the School Building she sees her baby boy surrounded by 15-20 other children and 1 adult woman. The woman is telling her son that he is a “Monster” while the children are chanting “Butterfly Killer” at him. He’s on the ground crying like the World is ending.

Let me say at this point in my sister’s telling me this story I start to feel hot and dizzy I also see spots in front of my eyes. I feel an amount of rage I have not felt since my twenties. I’m happy to say I’m glad I don’t know the woman’s name or address and my sister refused to give it to me. No one threatens the mental or physical well being of people I love. And you better RUN if it’s one of my babies. I can’t have children any longer so I claim them as mine. (My twin doesn’t know this)

I can’t imagine how damaging that must have been for my Shaney. Surrounded like he’s in The Lord of The Flies while being called a Killer with an ADULT leading this behavior.

When my sister intervened and talked to the woman she said my nephew intentionally kicked the cocoon and suggested he had the makings of a serial killer. I don’t know how my sister didn’t ram her head into the monkey bars or said “Let me introduce you to my sister” I would’ve been happy to scare the crap out of her. I know it isn’t right but people like this do not change as adults. They are made as children and it manifests through time making them worse with each passing day. They will never change because that would mean giving up their feeling of control. There’s no point in dealing with them.

But my nephew still has a chance if my sister and her husband deal with everything he’s been going through now. This isn’t the first time he’s been involved in a situation like this. There have been times where I catch him doing something he shouldn’t be and he looks at me with a smile on his face that scares me. But he also is the one who hugs me and doesn’t want to let go, will spend hours outside watching the trees, birds, insects, and inside reading about how to save animals. He’s sensitive and smart but I know how without the right tools and guidance his intelligence and sensitivity can work against him.

I felt like crying and screaming when I could hear him crying in the background and saying “Mommy they all hate me. I don’t want to go to school I don’t want to be a killer Please don’t make me go!”. I thought my heart would break. He doesn’t even know what a killer is. I’m crying as I type this. Humans are the cruelest things on this planet there is nothing else with the same capacity to inflict such pain.


CUTS LIKE A KNIFE

My Dad can be cruel without realizing it. He makes comments thinking I can’t hear him except he can’t hear and is speaking louder than he knows. I can ignore it for a decent amount of time until he does or says something that’s a trigger for me.

Any time I have lost control sober it’s been triggered by words, body language, or feeling threatened. It’s part of having Conversion Disorder it doesn’t excuse my behavior only explains it. I don’t think I’m always 100% to blame. My dad and sister think they are the only ones on the Planet to suffer. This makes me want to slap both of them. They have both had the loves of their lives, children, their own homes, and experienced so much in life they just refuse to be grateful for it.

When I woke up this morning I had a bad headache and felt hot. I know it’s hot outside but my temperature was 99 degrees and I usually run between 93.5 and 94 because of my Kidneys and medications. My feet are also kind of swollen.

I tried to talk to my dad but he was busy reading his email so he ignored me. I started to do something else when he asked me a question. I startle easily. I jumped and yelled “WHAT?”. He said “Well I guess I know how you’re going to be today. Jesus Christ. It’s like this all the time with you now!”. I lost it.

I reminded him that I startle easily and he brushed it off. I felt myself growing angrier. I said “You never really asked about my scars or why I startle easily. One reason is because P and J locked me in a bathroom with a knife told me I was a fat f*cking waste of space and they weren’t going to let me out until I cut my wrists.” He started saying “Shut up, shut up, shut up, halfway through but I wouldn’t stop. I told him I did it and how they laughed when they opened the door and called me a “stupid bitch” because I didn’t get it right. By this time I’m stuttering and rocking and didn’t notice he had left the house.

It’s ok that I take the blame for everything, I’m difficult to be around, I talk too much, I’m too sensitive, I’m used to it. I can’t see my nephews because my brother in law is around during the day now probably because he isn’t working or it’s too hot for him. My sister is afraid I’ll start something with him. It happened one time and only because he was aggressive and looking for a fight. The things he said to me were so offensive that I can’t believe my sister would take his side.

Yes I lash out when I feel trapped which is most days lately. It’s harder and harder to stay here. When I go to the new Doctor Tuesday they’re going to ask me for a contact person. I don’t really have one I can depend on. I want to go off all my meds. I want to leave where I am. I want to be someone else. I’m tired of feeling like a joke or an embarrassment to everyone. I’m not exaggerating I was kicked out of my Uncle’s funeral by my sister because I was looking around too much. She thought I was acting “manic” and should leave so she made her husband drive me home. How would you feel?


AEIOU~THE TROUBLE WITH TRAUMA

I thought I had reached a point where I knew what to expect when I am unable to handle stress, emotions, memories, or situations that trigger Conversion Disorder.

It started with hand tremors and progressed to stuttering. I could still be understood but it took patience, something most people don’t have these days.

No one noticed when my stuttering became “gibberish” so I didn’t say anything. It’s been like this for awhile now. It sounds like I’m saying all vowels “aeiou” repeatedly, in a strange voice and still stuttering them out. But they are not words.

This morning I woke up stuttering. I don’t know what set it off and it sets the tone for the entire day. I was standing next to my Dad in the kitchen, I just woke up, and I tried to tell him I bought sugar and “aeiou” came out. I tried again and again. The more frustrated I became the worse it got. To my surprise my Dad said “Something isn’t right. You’re not saying words anymore these are just noises. What the hell is going on?”.

I had to write down in a notebook that it had been happening for a long time but no one noticed and I didn’t want to tell anyone. I also told him I’m scared. He looked so sad and angry at himself for not noticing. I don’t blame him. He’s almost deaf in one ear and his other ear is blocked with wax. (EWW!) Plus he’s going through enough on his own.

He asked if my sister had noticed and I didn’t write or say anything. There was no point. She talks to me when she needs something.

It’s always been hard for me to talk to humans, animals I have no problem with at all. Now it’s even harder and makes me wonder if it’s worth it anyway.


To Tell The Truth The Whole Truth And Nothing But… (Sensitive Material Please Be Respectful)

Because of the press conference recently given by Vice President Pence I have decided to discuss a private and deeply sensitive matter that I have gone through. I can no longer sit back and just say “I agree” with the side that represents my view. I feel a need to explain why I have the view I have. This will be difficult to write and probably difficult for some to read. I understand that but I feel it’s necessary.

As some people know I am diagnosed as Bipolar with Conversion Disorder, General Anxiety and Social Phobia. I wasn’t diagnosed until I was around 36/37 years old but had these problems from a very young age.

Many Doctors missed the correct diagnosis. I started drinking at 16/17 and was a daily drinker by 18/19. I would start to have the shakes by 5 p.m. and would go to a bar that knew me and served underage people. I couldn’t hold a glass, mug, bottle or can, so the bartender knew to put my beer in a mug with a straw and push it towards me so I could just bend my head down and sip until the shakes stopped.

When you are young with Bipolar Disorder and using alcohol to self-medicate the results can be life altering. The decisions you make while manic and drinking are decisions you would never ever normally do. The spending sprees, irrational decisions and promiscuity. The last one is complex. Part of it was alcohol, part of it was if I was manic, part of it was to prove my self worth, part of it I don’t remember if I had a choice because I blacked out.

When I was 20 and a full blown alcoholic I found out I was pregnant. I had thought of keeping it. My best friend sat down with me and talked to me honestly. I already knew on my own what she was saying. I drank daily and wasn’t sure if I could stop at that time, I wasn’t 100% sure who the father was (it was between 2 people) and neither one of them were fit to be around children, I didn’t want to be on Welfare living on my own with a baby. I had seen so many girls at that time who had children and partied every night. I didn’t want that. The thing was no one could tell how much my drinking and the father’s drinking would have an effect on the baby. My parents were against me keeping the baby right from the start.

The deck was stacked against me. In the back of my mind I always knew I was different. I just didn’t know how or why. I wanted children but only if I was in a stable relationship where a child would be loved by two parents and there would be financial stability. I couldn’t offer any of that. So I chose to terminate the pregnancy.

The experience was extremely difficult. The picketers yelling and throwing things at me were bad enough. They had also poured some type of glue in the locks of the building where Emergency Vehicles would come and go. So if something happened a woman would most likely die because they destroyed the locks. How Pro Life of you.

I won’t walk you through the procedure but it wasn’t pleasant. Leaving was worse when I still a little groggy and a man asked me if I was okay and I didn’t realize he was one of the protesters. I made the mistake of thinking he was a kind stranger. Instead he called me lovely names as I stood there and cried until my mom tore him a new asshole and we left.

Hindsight is 20/20. My life only went downhill from there. My Bipolar Disorder continued to get worse as time went on. My entire life did. Even after my diagnosis things have not gotten much better. There is no way I can think of that I could’ve made it work. My mom would’ve helped but not long after she was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. It doesn’t mean I don’t wonder about it or grieve. I went through early menopause at 39 and my chance of ever having children was taken away. Sometimes I wonder if it was a punishment. But I know, my family knows, my best friend knows, that there was no way I could’ve had a child at that time or if I would’ve stopped drinking.

There is a lot of trauma connected to the entire situation. The fact I’ll now never have children hurts. What other people don’t realize is that it’s deeper than that. At 44 I’ve never been in love, my dad has, my sister has. They don’t understand the ache and feeling of loss I have most of the time. They’ve both had families and I never will. It’s something they both take for granted and I sometimes can’t stop crying because I see the future and it’s a lonely one.

I don’t agree with using abortion as a form of birth control. I have unfortunately known people who have had several abortions. Once I can understand, more than that is a little iffy. I don’t feel that a group made up of mostly older men should have a say in anything I do with my body specifically when more than half the time the man who took part in the procreating wants nothing to do with the woman or the issue at hand when they find out.

There are many reasons women go to Planned Parenthood. The women who go there for the termination of a pregnancy do so for many reasons. Some have been abused, raped, or are too poor to have another child. Until you have been in someone else’s situation how can you judge them?

 


REVENGE: IS FORGIVENESS THE RIGHT PATH FOR EVERYONE?

Revenge is a topic I’ve been fascinated with from an early age. I’ve always been familiar with quotes like “An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind” and “Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves”. I have never agreed with either.

RESEARCH AND SCIENTIFIC INFORMATION

Believe it or not the Human Brain can take pleasure in certain kinds of revenge. Scientists reviewing MRI scans of subjects thinking about revenge noticed that the part of the brain where dopamine is lodged became activated. Dopamine is the reward center of feel good area, it has the same affect as some sweet foods or even drugs.

The desire for revenge increases depending on the number of people who witnessed your mistreatment. The theory is that if you do not take revenge the people around you will see you as someone willing to put up with that kind of treatment or weak.

Revenge isn’t felt for just anyone. We usually feel the need to seek revenge toward people we care about and know well because we feel their betrayal the most.

ALTERNATIVES

You can avoid the person or group altogether.

You can accept the abuse because you love the person or see no alternative.

You can also forgive. Forgiveness is often mistaken for weakness. To forgive the other person has to be willing to look at their own behavior and change the way they see you as a person.

EXPERIENCE

I have always had a problem with the concept of revenge. I don’t believe Karma ever comes around. Forgiveness is next to impossible in some situations. Honestly? I don’t want to forgive specific people. They will never change or see what they did as wrong. I will accept my part in things. I didn’t deserve some of what happened. No one deserves the psychological and physical trauma I still dream about.

If you had the same dream continuously, one where you are drowning but it isn’t water it’s blood. You can’t move your arms or anything from the waist up. There is a heavy weight on top of you making it harder to breathe. You hear what you are being called as the blows keep hitting your face, you can’t talk, breathe, or fight back. You hear laughter and feel spit on your face. You see yourself being thrown down the stairs then picked up by your hair. The laughter is the hardest part. You later learn the person responsible is bragging about what they did. There’s no hope for them changing their behavior. A few years later they are arrested for doing something similar to someone else.

So for some I have no interest in forgiveness or forgetting. My brain doesn’t allow me to forget. It’s one of many events I get to live over and over. I have even fantasized exactly how I would enact my revenge. Don’t worry it doesn’t involve death. I’m way too imaginative for that and I know this person well. I know his Achilles Heel. But I do nothing because I love my dad and as big of a pain in the ass as she is I love my sister. It isn’t a fear of prison because I would probably wouldn’t have a hard time. All those years spent with ex-cons you can learn a lot. (I’m kidding) (I did learn a lot but I don’t want the chance to test my knowledge).

Instead I’ll stick to my revenge movies.

 


THERE IS NO BEAUTY IN PAIN AND TRAUMA (Not For Me)

I’ve talked about this more than I probably should have. I obviously have unresolved feelings I have to work out. I understand that. I’ve been watching Dave Navarro on Ink Master and I know his music from earlier years.

Dave Navarro and his friend put together a documentary style film “Mourning Son”. Dave’s mother was murdered by her ex-boyfriend when he was 15. In the film you see how this changes Dave. He also visits the man that was convicted for the crime in prison.

I also watched a lengthy interview with Dave Navarro and Todd Newman (Director). Mr. Navarro said he probably would’ve been a drug abuser regardless of his mother’s murder. He goes on to say that when you come through the pain and trauma there’s a beauty in it.

It’s how he sees it, it is his life and they are his feelings. When I watched the film footage there was a scene where he was tied to a chair by a woman wearing spiked heels. She appeared to be enjoying herself as she dug her spiked heel into his chest and inflicted various amounts of pain. He was dressed as half schoolgirl, half prostitute. Yes, he was. There was also footage of him shooting up and footage of his behavior as it became more erratic.

During the sex/fetish/masochism scene what I saw was a man with the emptiest eyes I’ve ever seen. Someone who wasn’t in the room, who was going through the movements so he didn’t have to think about anything else. I know he does enjoy doing suspension and I can understand that. It’s a traditional ceremony when done right releases endorphins. Having someone hurt, punish, or degrade you is a little different.

As his drug abuse progressed he would put needles in the same site over and over causing abscesses to form and get infected. His friends would tell him to be careful and he became more reckless as time went on.

This looked and sounded like a man who either wanted to die or was screaming for help and no one was hearing him. If they were hearing him they weren’t trying hard enough to get him help for one reason or another.

He talked about visiting his mother’s murderer in prison. It sounded like the experience was cathartic for him. He went in with a calm demeanor and left the same way. He’s a better person than I in many, many, ways.

FORGIVENES AND WHAT YOU TAKE AWAY

It’s obvious Dave Navarro could take a lot of positive stuff away from his experiences. I am not able to do that. I’m not sure I will ever be able to do that. I’m not left seeing the beauty in my trauma and pain. Unless you count the prettno-violence-against-womeny pink in my hair because I couldn’t get the blood out of it. I had such light blond hair that it stained. I would become dizzy and sick to my stomach every time I washed it. I still did it no matter how much it hurt. I am left with a small scar on my nose resembling a crescent moon. It’s from a skull ring. I like crescent moons.

What I am left with are nightmares like the one from last night. I’m pinned down by knees. I’m being punched in the face. I can’t breathe through my nose or mouth because of the blood. I feel paralyzed. It goes on forever. I hate this drowning feeling. Why doesn’t anyone hear me? A girl watches from another room. She does nothing. I’m choking. I’m thinking it will never end and also thinking this is what I asked for. I wake up crying with a sick feeling I can’t shake.

I didn’t drink because of this. My alcoholism started at 16/17 and brought me to some places that a young girl shouldn’t be spending time at. An undiagnosed Mental Illness also helped keep me there. I thought it was where I belonged. I didn’t deserve a better life, I didn’t deserve a life at all.

It’s hard to forgive someone who has bragged about beating you. It’s hard to let go when the person lives near you. It’s harder when you know the person suffered no consequences for his actions and is living his life just fine. As a matter of fact his life is better than yours. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

I can’t forgive and I can’t forget. What’s worse than that is I’m pretty sure that whatever is hidden in the deepest part of my brain has to do with him. If it does it’s better I never know. I’m not sure how I’ll react.

There is a regret I have. I wish he could see me now. After losing 135 pounds, having a flattering hair color, and some self respect it would at least make me feel better. This “man” who once told me I better not get pregnant because no one would ever notice. This “man” that encouraged other men to make elephant noises at me in front of over 50 people. The same “man” who would tell me he could possibly love me if I lost weight then beat me.

I’m lying. I would feel much better with a baseball bat or an extremely attractive, intimidating man with me when I saw him. Sorry, it’s how my brain works. At least I stopped daydreaming revenge fantasies. Progress.

There are so many people that can forgive another person for some of the most painful acts. Parents who forgive the men that murder their daughters. Any family that forgives someone who has murdered or harmed a loved one. I don’t understand. I don’t think I ever will. Is it part of my illness? Is it genetics? Is it because I’m Irish? Why do I have such a hard time with the concept of forgiveness?

When it comes to smaller incidents I can forgive. I forgive my brother for everything he’s done except for hitting on W at my mother’s funeral. I have issues with my sister but they usually go away. Wait. I have a problem with forgiving my niece for what she wrote to me. Telling me that I should’ve killed myself because everyone would be better off and that my mom would be rolling over in her grave if she could see what a loser I am is kind of bordering unforgiveable. Other than a few small things I mostly let stuff go. Ok, maybe not.

 

 


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