Tag Archives: Trauma

I’M NOT FAMILIAR WITH FORGIVENESS *may contain adult content*

I don’t think I’ve ever been good at forgiving someone who has hurt me or a family member beyond the normal day to day slights.

I read something recently on the “Mental Illness Taught Me” Blog. This is what it said.

My Mental Illness taught me that I can’t change past trauma, but I can forgive them and heal without their apology.

I’ve never wanted or needed an apology to heal. There are so many cruelties humans do to one another that can not be forgotten or forgiven. My brain has actually hidden some of these from me. I don’t even know who to blame let alone forgive. I blame myself for drinking too much and putting myself in a vulnerable situation. I have a pretty good idea who else to blame but with no memory of what happened except for previous occasions I’d be guessing.

Imagine being told that you have an event locked so deep inside your brain that it will only show itself in physical ways when you are under stress or frightened. Imagine going for a second and third opinion only to be told the same.

Would you really forgive the person that did that to you? The person who instilled so much fear you LOST YOUR MEMORY OF IT?

The person that causes you to get so startled at any loud, deep, male voice, you drop things in the market and start to sweat.

The person who causes you to stutter and shake uncontrollably when your own father raises his voice? A man that has saved your life more than once and gives you a roof over your head.

What I do remember is bright red streams of blood, the sound of wood breaking, someone choking, screaming, and fading to black. That was the time I remember. There were times before that where there were no physical altercations but left much deeper scars. Dead fetus hanging on the walls, hundreds of them, “You know I love you and you always hurt the one you love the most”. Literally dragging a passed out girl into the bed of a guy I cared for very much just in time for me to see them together. The master of head games. There was no one better. If he had really applied himself he could’ve been a World Leader. His greatest asset was his hair. His pride and joy.

So forgiveness? I don’t think so. I still dream about tying him to a post, shaving his head, and putting a baseball bat where one should never go. This may sound harsh to some. Let me tell you how he would get rid of a girl/woman that he was bored of. He would sleep with her one last time and force her to have anal sex even if she didn’t want to. It worked. If any of them tried to complain he usually had something he could use on them as leverage. I wish I was kidding.

Time has taken care of a lot for me. His hair line is receding, he’s gained an obscene amount of weight from drinking so many years, and his appeal to women is pretty much zero. He still enjoys his life. That is what bothers me. I’ve seen him smiling and laughing with friends. I’m stuck in a time warp of pain and regret. No matter how hard I try to shake it loose it remains. Will forgiveness make the pain go away? I highly doubt it. My illness feeds on pain and loves to show some of it to me play by play, over and over, so I don’t forget the agony of what I remember. There’s no CBT for that. There’s no “picture a stop sign in your head” for these episodes.

I’m lucky to have some manic episodes that never reach psychosis. During these times my thoughts race about doing a makeover on the bathroom, how to sell my car, should I just start driving to Florida and see how far I get, where’s Steven Tyler playing now and should I go, should I move to L.A., I loved L.A., and on and on it goes. These happen at least two to three times a week. Good times.

I don’t believe an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. I think it shows who the survivors truly are. I’m not advocating vigilante justice but for once I would like to see Karma work in my lifetime.

P.S.   I did just finish binge watching Luke Cage on Netflix and may be a little influenced.0b8e4c1b6dbe41d75c5ffea9bb2f4e0d

It’s Been Awhile.

A fee weeks ago my father was taken to the Hospital from dialysis. He was bleeding somewhere internally. After about 3 days he discharged himself against Doctor’s orders. That Sunday he ordered me to get him suppositories at CVS. I told my sister and she yelled at me to “just do it”. Neither one of them would listen to me. I told both of them that sticking a suppository up his ass after having internal bleeding was not a good idea.

I went to CVS and got him what he wanted. I noticed something strange when I had come down the stairs that morning. 2 of the bathroom rugs were gone. I put my contacts in and saw a large amount of blood on the tiles and under the third rug. I ran out of the bathroom. I asked my dad what happened. He said “nothing”. I screamed at him. I called him a “selfish son of a bitch”. The 3 days he had been in the hospital the week before I had to water and feed his hobby of over 300 pigeons. I have a compromised immune system and 1 kidney. My sister’s husband forbade her to help me because it was hazardous. She wasn’t even “allowed” to help me with the inside of our house. He thinks we are animals.

A half hour goes by and a I hear a loud bang coming from the bathroom. I run and bang on the door. There is no answer. I force the door open and my dad is lying on the floor. I try to get him up. He opens his eyes and says “Darie please help me to the toilet”. It was at this time that I looked down and saw all the blood that had leaked through his sweat pant bottoms and onto the last carpet. I got him close to the toilet as he started to take down his pants I hear a loud splash on the floor and him landing on the toilet slumped forward. The splash was blood and tissue. He was hemorrhaging rectally. It was the brightest red I’ve ever seen and looked like it had large pieces of liver in it. I screamed and screamed. I called 911 and went and held my father’s head in my hands. They took him back to the hospital. He was there another week with no real answers as to why he was bleeding internally. I fed the birds again. It was torture. Some died. I buried them. He was mad. I yelled at him. He has to get rid them or the town will come and declare it a hazard. I know he loves them but at this point it’s too much for any one person to do let alone one that’s sick.

All of this has been too traumatic on me. I actually was more relaxed with him in the hospital. I wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop constantly. I know my dad loves me. Since my mother’s death and his kidney’s failing he has slowly been going down hill mentally and physically. The dad I knew would never ever say some of the things he has said to me, or threatened me. I know this is because he’s ill. But I’m always the one left to deal with all of it. When I opened that bathroom door I thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest. My mind went somewhere else. I did what I had to but I wasn’t really there. I have nightmares about all the blood and him laying on floor. Just what my Conversion Disorder needed. I stuttered so much 911 didn’t understand me and went by the address that came up on their screen. I felt useless. A state trooper was looking at me while he talked to another guy. His smile was cocky, his thumbs hooked into his gun belt. I had seen him before. He twirled his finger around his temple in the “crazy” gesture. At that moment, if it wasn’t for my dad, I was going to show this asshole just how “crazy” I could be. Years ago I only dated ex-cons. They taught me quite a bit. I’m not proud of it but it would come in handy in certain situations. Like if someone enters your home during an emergency situation and thinks there is anything funny about it. But eventually I have learned Karma does indeed come back around. And eventually she’ll be waiting for me too.

What is Trauma to You? PTSD and Conversion Disorder Discussed

A traumatic event in your life can be anything. As we all know what one person finds stressful or overwhelming another person may not. It can be going to the same job everyday and getting yelled at by your boss until you break. It can be childhood abuse, physical or sexual. It can be a sexual assault or physical assault as an adult. It can be dealing with the loss of a loved one. And yes it can be dealing with what a person has experienced during military service.

Sometimes our brain shields us from the worse of these things. When we can’t handle the knowledge or the knowing of the event or trauma. When this happens it effects our bodies. It manifests itself in a physical way. Sometimes through seizures, temporary blindness, paralysis, speech difficulties, tremors, trouble walking or swallowing. This is Conversion Disorder.

Usually with PTSD you know what the problem is or event was that triggers your reaction. It’s still hell.

I suffer from both. I’ve had people say to me “what happened that was so bad?” or “you had a good family, I don’t understand”. That’s the problem. They never will. Some of my experiences I don’t shout out to the world. The ones I remember are bad enough. It isn’t just about my mother dying. There is way more than that. Things that happened when I drank. The consequences of my bad decisions. To know that somewhere inside of me there are even worse memories that I don’t want to remember, scares the shit out of me. These unknowns cause my stuttering and tremors and also problems with my balance. What could possibly be worse than what I do remember? My mind wanders to unthinkable acts. That is the worse part.

No one wants to discuss it. My father and sister want to bury their heads in the sand and pretend nothing bad has ever happened to me. They also on some level blame me for letting some of it happen. They don’t have to worry because I blame myself for all of it. Did I deserve some of it? No one deserves to be treated as cruelly as I was. But I still chose to put myself in that environment and drink. Sometimes I think of revenge. But how do you get revenge on people who never cared to begin with? You can’t. I just have to live with it. An apology or admittance of guilt would be nice but that’s never going to happen.

Being Bipolar also means I get to relive these lovely events on my bad days. I try to stop it but it doesn’t always work. That’s when you’ll find me in the bathroom crying until I make myself sick. Therapy you say? Doesn’t matter it still happens.

Sometimes I think I see someone from my past. I become paralyzed with fear. I want to run and can’t. I can only move when I realize it’s a mistake. At this point I find a place to shake and cry.

There are many triggers for my Conversion Disorder. Supposedly once a person finds out they have Conversion Disorder the physical symptoms go away. Except when you have a coexisting mental illness like Bipolar Disorder. If this is the case it will come and go whenever you get upset.

It isn’t fun and it can be embarrassing not having control over your own body. No one has the time to wait for me to get my words out. They either don’t talk to me or finish my sentences. It can be lonely. You deal with it because you don’t have a choice.

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