Is it a trauma or not? To me, it kinda feels

@givemecoffee Im really sorry about all of that. It sounds like you have had it really hard

I start to think I just had small things building up. My mom not being emotionally available, my dad being both good/bad, deaths when I was a kid, bullying, medical things - and the medical is my fault. I did it to myself, they were just trying to reduce the damage. But it hurt, the way the treated me, the things they said. I'm trying not to trigger anyone, but I'm sorry if anyone reads this and feels triggered. For a year after that day, probably more, I'd have nightmares with the tube. I'd wake up in middle of night and feel it down my throat, feel the pain. I remember once was watching a movie and it happened to show a scene with it, and I had a panic attack that I told myself afterwards "this is crazy. I'm acting this way but I deserved it, I did it, I told someone, they had to do it or so they said".

Still, I didn't deserve the looks from the nurse. Or so I hope. Or so I tell myself whenever those memories come back. I didn't deserve being called "gross" and being told I'm "disgusting the whole ER" - I didn't deserve to get put in a cold room with only a small sheet that was dirty. I didn't deserve to be told "well, it will hurt but you don't mind that, right?". I didn't deserve to get treated like trash. I didn't deserve to left there, for hours, waiting for a psychiatrist that just ignored me. Told me would be back in 5 minutes to explain, but for the 7 hours I was there, didn't see her again nor one nurse. I didn't deserve to not get food, I didn't deserve to get refused water or tea. I didn't deserve to be told lies. I didn't. Even if was something I did to myself, I wish they realized that took a lot of courage to admit what I did - that I was all alone, my phone's battery was dead, I didn't have my watch nor any warm clothes. And was left during the night with just a thin sheet, in a cold dark room, crying and no one said a word. Only one woman was gentle to me that night, a cleaning lady that asked me if I'd like to go to the bathroom, and helped me standing up because I was too weak and frightened, let me have some minutes on my own while I cried, and didn't force me or criticized me - just told me it'd get better and other kind words.

Funny how someone with no qualifications with probably 'meaningless' education to some did more of a work of an empathetic person than those that are qualified and educated to support and help others. She wasn't afraid to hold my hand and smile, but nurse and doctors didn't even ask me if I was comfortable. Sometimes I just gotta remind myself I didn't deserve that, even if they told me I did. I won't trust doctors any time soon, you can bet that!

Somethings just make me so angry, it's hard to control. And the worst? It's about my mother. I have to live with her, so I usually handle these on a daily basis. Most times I just walk to a different room, others they just make me so upset I get locked up in my mind and can't move, only pinch myself to avoid doing something I'll regret like yelling "stop".

Her giggle. I feel my skin crawl when she giggles. It reminds me of each time she'd ignore me telling her how school went at the end of the day, how she'd giggle before she turned away and slept on couch, totally ignoring how I was there talking about things I was interested in or things that hurt me, without even saying a word. So many times I found myself talking alone, on the rare ocassions she'd be awake. Or she'd giggle when some family members said some rude comments. Her giggle feels like knifes in my body when I hear, I feel almost allergic to it. Or even her singing, her humming out tunes.

The smell of rosemary. It's something that, I can't explain. She has a tendency to keep rosemary on her purse or in her hands, as a way to keep 'bad spirits away' and the smell is strong. Today, she smelled like rosemary and I was trying to watch one of my favorite movies "The Help". I had asked my dad to keep quiet, because he was telling jokes and I wanted to watch it. She knew I wanted silence, but then started to tell stories from her work. I wanted to tell her "please stop, you can tell those after, I want to watch it now" but couldn't. The smell was upseting me, I was feeling overwhelmed.

Also.. I don't trust my mother enough to ask her kindly to stop talking. It's weird. For me, she's like a stranger, I don't want to be around her - I'd rather avoid her like the plague. I hate her, but I can't hate her because she's my mother. Her voice, her giggle, her singing, her touch, her as a person is too much. If no one else that I trust, usually my dad, is beside me (or a group of people), I lose it. I have to go way far from her, or else I don't know which dark places my mind goes to.

The day has been well, and was studying fully concentrated when my mother asked me to check her phone if someone had called her. Then she asked me about lunch what I wanted. When she left, I felt the anger building, my mind screaming at me but I'm not able to know which toughts, I just fell my mind racing but can't understand what, or maybe I'm just blocking them so I don't freak out. And she didn't do anything wrong. Not now.

She never used to ask me what I wanted for lunch, just make it - if she made it, after I learned how to cook, she stopped working on lunch on days we were home by ourselves and would sleep. Or she'd make and not let me know. Or I'd ask her if she'd like me to do it, and then after I started preparing, say she didn't want anymore. I lost it somedays, yelling at her.

Worst was last year, when I was sick. I had the flu or a really bad cold, and truth be told, one of the times it was her fault. I was feeling unwell, and we went shopping and asked her if we could stay away from the sun so I wouldn't get worse - but no, she made me sit under the sun, to 'see the ocean'. When I get home, I could barely keep my eyes open, the headaches were terrible. My dad yelled at her when he found out, because I had to stay in bed for 2 days. She didn't apologize once. And months later, when I got sick again (I kept getting sick), she was home with me that day. I had therapy appointment, but when woke up and had horrible headaches and felt my body all in pain, just mumbled to my dad 'cancel my appointment'. The medication eventually kicked in and I was able to move a bit to prepare my breakfast, so I could leave my bed for a bit but not long. I just layed down on the couch.

She complained she had a headache and asked me if I could make us lunch - some soup. I just starred at her. I was in couch, wrapped in a blanket, pale and barely able to sit down without feeling my head pound. But I had to make lunch because she had a headache. While she laughed at the TV, I was preparing some soup, and having to constantly sit down and take some painkillers, because my body felt destroyed into bits.

This is turning into a "family drama venting" situation but.. this is what upsets me. I don't know what 'mother taking after me' is. I mean, I know - I bet she someday looked after me sick. And me looking after her? 8 years old and being her personal listener on demand. 10 years old and helping her when her blood pressure dropped, even grabbing her so she wouldn't faint, make her sit down and grab a glass of water and sugar. I feel like I'm lying. I remember her bringing fruit and orange juice to me, many times when was kid. So she couldn't have been this bad.. so why do I feel like she was? I mean, she'd bring the fruit even if I didn't ask and didn't want to - but was it, she'd bring the fruit and go. My mind is more confused.

And this doesn't even fit this forum, I can see how people will think to themselves "why is she complaining, this is not a trauma, this not traumatic, this is her being ungrateful and trying to get attention". I wanna go back to being 7. Things weren't so hard then. My grandma was alive, my favorite teachers were alive, I felt cared for even if just in school and with my grandma. And then poof at 8. Grandma died from heart problem, teacher died from suicide, 3 funerals in one month and everyone asking ME how my mom and grandfather felt. Not once did they ask how I felt. Not once. Only grown-ups are allowed to feel. But who cares what a child feels.. that's what they told me. "Children don't understand death or what is to lose someone, so they don't need to grieve" or "if it's not your siblings nor parents, you shouldn't be sad about someone dying". I'm still not sure if that's someone that actually told me, or how my brain processed things when I was 8, because I vividly remember not allowing myself to feel sad around anyone and some voice telling me those things.. like a female voice, maybe my aunt or cousin, not sure.

Sorry. Hate when mid writing something my brain completely shifts opinions

I wish I knew how my mind works about this whole 'traumatic' situation. I mean, if I was so easily affected by traumas then I should be terrified of rain and fire, from a previous storm and terrible forest fires we've had where I live, where cities got destroyed. But no. I get worried, but not like when I heard middle schoolers laughing right behind me. That situation, will drive me nuts, I'll start scratching my skin and mumbling "go away" and panicking, in 2 seconds. But if someone would've told me, there is a fire near your house, I'd just grab what I needed even with my heart pounding and walk away to safety. If someone told me "these kids are just going to sit here and gossip, leave if you want to" I'd block, want to leave but not able, and get locked up in my mind. It has happened before. And it's crazy that someone in their mid 20's biggest weakness would be 13 year olds laughing.

I feel like I am broken. Like any little thing that happens, I can't handle it. And that nothing bad happened. But then I think "some things really happened and were rough". But what? The deaths, the badly made home where it flooded every time it rained a bit too hard, being ridiculed by family, school and neighbors? To me that both sounds hard and easy. To me, all those things both mean I had some rough bits at childhood and exaggerated them or put too much energy on them.

I struggle with my family but still want to have a good relation with my mom, even if can't find one topic of conversation between us because she always makes the topic bad. Either by making the topic about her/someone she knows, when has nothing to do with the main topic. Or by bringing in cliche sentences. I can't talk to my mother about my studies. She'll say "you can do everything you want" and "you're perfect no matter what" and all I'm saying is "I need to buy a textbook and can't find it". I've started to hate people that say "you're perfect" and "you can do everything" because it's a lie - no one is and no one can. I'd rather they told me "yeah, studying sucks and its tough. Keep trying though, there's things you're doing good, right? Good" instead of "you're doing great" when I am mentioning my struggles. But, if I say this to most people they'll just say "oh but she thinks you're perfect, why are you complaining?". And if someone thinks like that - read again. I'm complaining because THOSE sentences how SHE says them, it's when she didn't pay any attention

And deaths? I was never allowed to grieve. Because children don't understand death, because children don't feel same pain as adults. But then I got criticized for not crying. Even if for all my childhood, if I cried I was criticized. I got told I never loved my grandma, even by my own cousin. I was this little girl, 8 years old - and I was helping my mother grieve, I was letting her vent to me but never opened my mouth. And then helped a friend as well, that lost her grandfather. I saw people ignoring her like they did to me, at school. So I sat beside her and said "I lost my grandma too, it hurts". We just sat together that recess. I was caring for everyone and everyone was thanking me. Why would I care for me?

I don't know where I was headed with this, seriously.. I don't know, I've just been crying myself to sleep lately, and hurts. I have therapy appointment in a week. After a month without any, I am feeling the need to go there! I kinda want to ask her if there's some more ways to get support, but I don't know about any support groups where I live, I don't even think those exist. And i'm too scared to ask for it. But I seriously need more real-life support, problem is how to get it. This whole bringing things from past in therapy is good, but the appointments every 2 weeks and no support outside of that is terrible. I guess that's probably why I keep going in circles. But what to do when your country offers nothing else, you have no friends and your parents think you're cured and only see her for "chit chat"?

"Perks of being only child, you get all attention from mommy" - my 10 year old cousin who is only-child like me. Good thing I was playing a game with her at the time, could distract myself with the game and change topic, because that's a sentence that.. Hurts

I'm not the stereotypical only-child. I didn't get all love or attention. I'm not sure what I got. But it's hard to see my cousin getting so much love from everyone, I want her too but at same time, I'm jealous. And I don't want that to make me bitter about her. I can imagine she won't get bullied, she will get popular in school, and probably be everything I wasn't. And all because she got love, attention and ressurances as a kid that she was seen, loved and wanted. Not only she was told that, but she was shown that. I was only told. But then they did the opposite.

Warning: Pretty long post. I know. I just had some memories in middle and.. bullying.. and me losing my mind. Go on and read if you dare or have patience to follow. don't blame you if you don't. I wouldn't. I didn't even re-read what I wrote, I am shaking so bad I'll just post it and move on, can't read it again now

Today was talking to my dad and for some reason we started talking about internet videos, memes etc. He mentioned I "trolled" him by showing him funny videos, as a joke, and then we started to talk about trolls in fairytales and he mentioned how a troll was different than a bully. I don't remember exactly why he said "not to offend you", if was because he kept saying bullies were the rude kind that 'smacks people for no reason', or something else. But I felt hurt a bit and then ignored it. Or tried to, because the memory kept coming. Of me, being in car with him like that time, telling him some kids were bullying me.

How I told him an older boy was hitting me and calling me names. His reply was "what do you want me to do? Go up to him and punch him?!" - I just wanted him to talk to the principal, but couldn't master the words. So days later asked if he could somehow talk to the school. He instead asked for my student book, which was a notebook each student had for parent-teacher conversation and sending notes from teacher-parent and parent-teacher. He asked the class where it happened most and the name of the students and teacher, I tried to explain to him happened in all, but he still wrote to the teacher of the class where happened more. Next morning, I had to show it to the teacher, such a hateful women.

I showed to her while the class was sitting. Her reply was full of hate, and instead of replying to me, she said to the whole class to pay attention and said outloud: "Since miss (my name) feels is so special, and her father wanted me to know that, I'll have to move her from her seat, so she's away from the people that are sadly being mean to her. So she'll sit right in front, really close to the door, so poor special girl is protected" and while everyone was laughing, told me to sit down. I went from being pinched and hit on my arms, and having my things stollen and destroyed, to hearing laughter behind my back. That teacher, from then on, hated me.

I tried to give my parents clues on the bullying. Even reading news related to bullying outloud, and getting no reply back. I came to realization, they didn't care and thought was normal behavior. I never came home with bruises, only a sore shoulder from once they pushed me off the stage, which was 5-10 cm of ground, I fell on top of my left arm to protect my fall. Then 3 boys went on top of me, creating a human pile. I can feel a weird feeling on my shoulder when remember it.

I wish I had come with bruises. I wish I had some visible signs, but no. I wish my dad went to the principal or the headteacher himself, instead of telling me to fix the situation and talk to the headteacher on my own. I wish my mother had decided to get involved - she always said how she wouldn't get involved in school stuff. I wish had someone on my side, even my friend from outside of school took side of my bullies. I wish things had gone differently, and sad thing is: there was nothing I could do. I did best I could with what I was given, everyone else failed me. I tried to ignore them, then they started to pick me up and throw me in trash cans. I tried to stand up for myself, even hitting my own bully - but I was a tiny frail girl and he was a talk strong boy, not only he was 2 years older than me but taller, heavier and way more stronger than me. I only got laughed more. I tried talking to my teachers, they pushed me away and told me to quit whining. I tried finding a place to get support, no one would even tell me about a school therapist much less the office. I tried to ignore it after it happened, but had people come up to me in middle of street, even 2 years later, saying if I was THAT girl. Many times, came home in tears, freaking out - closing the front door and just sitting down right in front of it, crying loudly because all my strength to even go to my room or living room was too hard.

For the years after, I'd have these transes that probably were dissociations with rage blow-ups who knows! All I know is I'd get so angry, I'd forget what happened and wake up with ripped books and agendas, burned pictures of my classmates, ashes all over my hands and even clothes. I got scared I'd burn down the house, because I didn't quite remember doing it so while I was trying to figure out how I got there and how everything around me ended up like that, I had to clean it up and make sure didn't leave a trace behind. One of the worst times was when I found probably 3 magazines ripped page by pages all over the room, the chair thrown the other way, pens all over the floor - my fingers were red and burning, I think I ripped the pages so bad, my fingers got abrasions and papercuts. I rarely tell people this, I think I never did. I'd just clean it up and try to ignore it, because when it happened, I could not stop it. I could just stop myself from breaking important things, and try to contain it as best possible. There is a song I can't listen without memories of that worst episode, because I had it on repeat throughout. "We Are" by Ana Jonhsson. I was listening to that song, when something in it triggered that rage. I think I may have screamed "hope you all die, hope you all die", but no neighboor called police or nothing, so probably music muffled my voice. When I'd wake up from the transe, like I called them, was like waking up from a nightmare that you're not sure if was real or not. I kept trying to tell myself "I did that" specially if I had hurt myself through the 'episode', but couldn't. I could remember it happening, but not me doing it. My worst fear was doing it in front of someone, to their things. So I'd just go to my room when felt could, and do it there.

At worst, I was punching my door. Was 18. My parents called my name and I opened the door, they were looking at me from halfway the hallway, asking if I was okay. I had been punching my door for about five minutes. I still have carved in my wardrobe door "CRAZY GIRL", I just hope no one notices it, no one ever did.

I am shaking a bit, only realized now because it's getting harder to type. Bad choice to put the song on, I keep getting these memories back.

Why why why why why am I thinking about it? It's long gone, no flashbacks in long time if you exclude the 'panic episode' back in May. No nightmares, no nothing. So why thinking about it? Why does it cross my mind from time to time? Maybe it's because it's 10 years, maybe because I didn't thought I'd live this long. But also expected life to be better by now, which isn't. Not sure either is a good thing. And why does my mind focus on that one particular day in November? The only thing different from that day to any other day was that I came into my headteacher's office, told her about the bullying and she told me to go because I had no "proof". Not only she said that, but smirked while she did. What kind of teacher tells you to go find a witness with a smile, and as you leave laughs with her coleagues. Probably was revenge. Because I was stubborn and didn't want to do something in gym class that had injured me before. Though, as a teacher and a legal adult, she should've reconsider how I was a kid and she was the grown up, not the other way around.

My therapist says it's good and great progress that I don't blame myself anymore for the bullying. But it doesn't help to see how NO ONE did anything to help the situation. I'm shifting blame and anger from me onto them, and then back at me for worrying about this. Not healthy

My therapist said: "have you thought you should learn to forgive? Even if they haven't given you those answers?"

I felt super invalidated. I felt ignored. Attacked. Misunderstood. But my mind couldn't show it. I just said the truth, that I can't forgive someone without an answer. Without being acknowledged. I don't think I can trust my therapist, if she doesn't understand how hard this is. I WANT to forgive but can't - not if someone else won't put same effort. Yes, she's right, there's no other option. But it shouldn't be like this. Me being in pain, missing a part of my life and childhood, and everyone happy about how great they did. Well, all but my dad. It's amazing how in all this, my dad is the only one who will say - more than once - "I could've done xyz better" and that means so much to me.

I did forgave my bullies. Semi-forgave. It's not like if they come in front me and ask me to give them a handshake, I will - or I'll talk to them if I find them on streets. No. I'd probably rather ignore them. Maybe blow up on them. But I don't think about it everyday, not because I wanted but because I needed. I was having nightmares, I was struggling to trust men. When you're a teenager and a girl, and you can't trust boys/men and your friends keep trying to set you up with someone - it's more stress than fun. I'd have anxiety attacks just thinking of my friends actually finding me a date with one.

I couldn't trust men. But I had to force myself to see "not all men are same" even though life taught me otherwise. Many would think I saw my dad as a pig. No, but I saw him as unpredictable, funny and scary. My uncles? They were the pigs. Talking about women in front of me as if they were toys. Disrespecting their wifes, getting divorced and blaming them. And boys in school? I only had one or two boys actually talking to me like I was human. I was 17/18. Up until then was "don't talk to me" "you're ugly" "oh it speaks" "disgusting" and other harsher comments. Being sexually harrassed by my bullies didn't help. And I only was able to let that grudge go, when I feel in love with someone when was 18. Too bad it didn't work out. He didn't like me same way. That sure makes me feel unloved.

Oh well, long story short. I can't forgive them - I can't forgive my mother and her family. And I can't forgive many people. Have I actually forgiven someone? Yes. My dad. Why? Because he genuinely asked sorry. And stuck to his apology and did change. I guess I'm just as stubborn as him. Which is why many people hate him, and many people hate me - but I'm more lighthearted than he is, and I repeat my mistakes 100x more times than he does.

One of my biggest fears is having migraines. I don't want to be like my mother. I already feel like if I ever become a mother, I'll be a bad one - but that's another story. Growing up, my mother slept a lot and blamed her migraines for insomnia. I think I've mentioned how many times I saw her got from work and take couple painkillers. Was only one kind (not going to say names, but it's a quite popular) and she easily got addicted to it, to the point I grew up with my dad trying to have her not take them, not allowing her to buy those - and she'd buy behind his back. And the strongest dosage ever. When I was 10 apparently she had a mild stroke, and from what my dad said it's because of the painkiller abuse. Basically, she used to take so many painkillers plus so much coffee, her body developed an addiction on both - so the migraines were not only "normal migraines" but from withdrawal symptoms. I remember almost crying in chemistry classes in school, because we were studying LD50 (lethal dose 50: the amount of a chemical per kg that gives a 50/50 chance of death) and my teacher mentioned that painkiller as being highly dangerous. I came home and told my mom "don't ever take that again" but she started buying it behind our back and hiding in her purse and work locker. Or if she had none, her friends would give her. She isn't taking as many, but I now get fear I'll turn out the same way.

As a teen, when started having period pains, I refused to take medication - people thought was because I hated swallowing pills but that was the smallest reason. Bigger reason was: I don't want to be like my mother. The past months I've had more frequent headaches, sometime with nausea. I end up having to lay down and nothing really helps, and I started taking the painkillers when they get worse because it helps a bit but sometimes not that much. I avoid taking more than one dosage, even if means losing hours to rest. Also, it's same trigger as my mother: lights. Couple months ago I researched migraines because was afraid could be them and read about how migraines can be hereditary, and have a genetic part to them. It feels like I have my death sentence.

I mean, the headaches don't seem the generic description of migraines but the nausea and light sensitivity and having to lay down.. I don't know, I just hope they're not. I already feel bad enough. I can't imagine the possibility of one day, causing pain to someone same as my mother caused to us: the arguments, the stress both from seeing her lying and getting worse - and from when she had to go to emergency room. I daydreamed a lot, when was 10-13 years old, about what would happen in my mother died. The scarier thing was I didn't feel my days would be much different. Then I started daydreaming about my dad dying - and realized, that would probably ruin my life. It's a scary moment when you realize that, the person that's supposed to be 'your best person' (just look at movies, shows.. mother is always superior to father) is the person I least know, and the person that makes least impact in my life. And back then, my dad had his anger on worst peak, so while my dad would be yelling and throwing things, my mother would cry how she could die at any moment. And what did I do? I'd clean the mess, stay quiet and try not to cry. If I cried, my dad could get angrier and hit me. Well, slap my face or grab my arm hard. I can still hear my mother yell at him "don't slap her face, slap her hands" while crying. I guess that was her trying to help? Seems like such a distant memory when I start talking about it, and then.. it hits me. It did happen.