Let's be honest *no replies please* *TW*
I created this space for me to be able to write - whatever is on my mind that I may not want replies too. It isn't that I don't appreciate the replies - it's that alot of times I am really uncomfortable with the support. Sometimes it's the well meaning words get twisted around in my head - sometimes it the well meaning suggestions that are turned around and taking the wrong way. Sometimes - it's fear - rejection - judgement - fear of offending someone with what I say. Even now - the creation of this is - causing some anxiety - and I feel the edge of a panic attack - so let's take a pause and a few deep breaths
I often don't feel as though I deserve support. I waste peoples time and feel like an inconvenience. With that in mind - I've been slowly going quiet
The TW is because - well - lets be honest - if I'm going to put some of whats in my head and and I don't want replies - you dear gentle reader should be warned at least. Because there are times my head is a scary place -
I'll say I'm sorry in advance because sometimes I do swear - I try not to and I try to remember replace some letters - but well sometimes I dont care and sometimes I forget. Idk - I suppose I should say sorry for my sense of humor in advance too - because sometimes it's alittle dark or alittle inappropriate
So - let's post and panic over this now shall we?
They say the truth will set you free and in a way for somethings it has. Since the guilt was dropped - the anger has diminished and isn't as consuming
We've been joining in on the chats they have for DID here. Went to one yesterday - allmost didn't lol - there was a debate. Finally decided to join and I'm glad we did. It wasn't as busy as usual so it didn't feel as overwhelming. When there's alot of people it can be hard to keep up. So it was nice that it was quieter. We talked about thought thieves and it was awesome to be able to talk to people who deal with it too. People who understood and offered honest suggestions
We talked about how some can get - Idk how to put it - *thought thieving lol* hope HOPE and how the RQ is triggered by it I guess - anything that offers hope. They have the same or similar issues with it - it was just so - LOL now I can't find the word for what it was but it was awesome lol. I mean - I hate that other people deal with this stuff too but it's helpful to know it isn't just me that has problems with these things
I still lose alot of time and some mornings I wake up so dissociated it take hours to get things straight. I'm learning that things aren't really as manageable as I thought they would be and for right now you just gotta go with the flow - so this is me I guess - just going with the flow
Woke up this morning and my wrists hurt - a burning feeling down inside - memories of how she would grab them and grind the bones together - just to hurt. Memories of them bound. The bruises it would leave - the raw skin. My first thought was it's ok - they're not mine. They didn't look like mine - they still don't and I struggle to make them work right And suspicion is - pinged and it needs to shut up
Come tear apart my skull
You keep the pieces of my bones
Come to the place where the weary ones are laid
it's yuck muck out side no ride to town doc on the screen and no lollys SIGH so sad
I caught the thoughts creeping in yesterday - the thoughts about *things* and tbh - I thought it was done. I thought we had thought all the thoughts we need to think about when it comes to thinking about it. With the thoughts come sadness and with the sadness comes the anger and we ride the anger until we're exhausted and it slides back to sadness. I think it has something to do with unfairness - but Idk
Trying to decide about processing things and what it really means - I guess I thought if it was processed it didn't come back up in the form of thoughts and feelings but then I realized that processing things is a process and it doesn't just really go away. It becomes manageable better coped with but the freaking insecurities pop up - and the words. The words never go away - no matter how many times we white wash it - no matter how many ways we look at it. What if we're not actually processing things but just shoving it deeper into a box and further back in our minds?
I think as abused people we suffer from stockholm syndrome or something similar to it. So much of our younger lives were so dependent on their thoughts and their feelings. How our lives depended on how other's felt - their bad day spelled out worse for us - how we tried to stay one step ahead - how deep down maybe we knew what was going on was wrong but we worried about them - we worried about their feelings - we tried to do what was best for them. I know we spent alot of time worrying about their reactions. We think of all the times she said - it hurt her more than it hurt us. Did it? In her demented mind - did it?
I want out. Out of this head. Out of this body. Out of this skin. Out of this fucking poor excuse of a life. If I'm honest its not me. I think - Idk. Maybe this is. Got overwhelmed with too many emotions. A flood. A deluge. Anger and a desire to trash everything - break it smash it burn it. Childish anger - acting out. I feel half sick. Went out today got some whiskey but didn't drink it. Don't really recall going out though. Its still sealed - yay me. Wanted to cry a few times - came close - shut it down. I'm tired. I'm - Idk - everything and nothing and alittle in between. Thinking about - things I try not to talk about. That's helpful right? I shut it down shove it in a box - shame I can't crawl in that box too. Let someone else deal with this shit. There's never enough time. Not for what everyone wants - I need a walk or something before I peel my skin off or beat my head against the wall
Let's see if we triggered the censors 😐
Growing up we had things we didn't need. Things we didn't really want. Horses. There is trauma surrounding horse related objects. Danny caused many flashbacks at first. But then we realized it wasn't him. It was never horses. They were the back ground. It was the whips and crops that go with them. But we don't own any of those and have no need or desire. The things we wanted were taken away. Cats and dogs. The things we needed were never given. Love. Belonging. Happiness. Safety. The toys given at christmas weren't allowed to be played with. They were props in pictures sent to relatives to show off. They disappeared afterwards. We ate at supper. Supper had to be ready and on the table when he got home. It didn't matter what was cooked it had to be eaten. If it wasn't eaten by a certain time it would be taken away. There would be punishment and the meal would be on the table for breakfast. As a result there are many foods that will cause serious reactions. The were no snacks. There was very little sneaking of food because she kept track and even kept some things hidden in their bedroom. We were NOT allowed in the bedroom alone. I don't think that room was ever seen in the day time. At night we had to go in and say good night to him. He would listen to baseball games on the radio. This is also something that causes flashbacks. The sound of a game. He wasn't bad all the time. There were a few incidents that surely would have resulted in death had it not been for outsiders jumping into help. The pond and an incident in the winter time being left alone in the snow miles from home. His was more subtle. Silence. Indifference. A nonentity. We simply didn't exist in his world. Until she made him aware. He left. Left alone with her.
But her. Her contempt was on her face constantly. Sneering. A child's image of a monster. How she would tower over. Hands clenched. Teeth flashing. Spit at her mouth. Her eyes so cold but so hot at the same time. Longs nails as claws. Hands so quick to strike. Angry so ANGRY all the time. The things she would say. If I wouldn't have had you... If it weren't for you. Do you want a reason to cry? I think the silence may have been worse. The quiet way she would say things. The rage you could feel coming off her in waves. Come here she would say. So quiet like a whisper. Come here now. The fear.
Attempts were made to tell. The last time was at 14. 3 months before the 15th birthday. They called her in. Surely someone must have suspected. The bruises. The cuts. The blood but they sided with her. She had spun such a web by that time there was no getting away from the labels of clumsy defiant troubled child. In trouble at home constantly. Doing things we were told not to. Did you see that huge bruise? I said not to do it but he never listens. She would take care of it she'd say. She will see to it. And she did. And she would cry. I would watch her cry in silence. In disbelief. But uttered no sound. Made no arguments against her claims. Oh the tears would fall like rain. This poor poor woman with this horrible child. Oh the things she had sacrificed trying to do right by us. He's the reason his father left I'm sure of it. He just couldn't handle it any more. Maybe what he needs Ms. is a good ass whooping. The take them behind the wood shed kind. Her feigned horror at the thought. I could never! The ride home. The fear. The dread. The resignation. The silent prayers to a god who never answered. We did not return to that school.
There isn't much recollection of that night. From anyone. Flashes. Images. Sounds. Pain. The hospital. For weeks after we spoke to no-one. Simple nods. Yes or no. We needed to leave. We needed to go some where or she would end up killing us all and blaming it on some unruly horse. Or a fall. On being some where we shouldn't be or doing some thing we shouldn't. It was only a matter of time. We were older. Bigger. Stronger. I think she knew. But she had made us so complacent. So docile. So fearful. Of her. The things she would do.
We spent time in the woods. Made our way across to the east coast. Grandparents lived there some where. We never gave it a thought that it wouldn't be easy to find them. Ended up in North Carolina for some time. Worked on a dairy farm. Milked cows. A few hours a day and all day Sundays. Some money and a small room to stay in and meals. It was quiet and peaceful work. We saved all we could. For 2 months and then we left. Went farther up north. Ended up in Philadelphia. Despite it's nickname it is not the city of brotherly love. We stayed on the streets. Met a girl a few years older than us. She helped show us the ropes. She talked. We listened. We never spoke to her much. She gave us a necklace at one time. I believe it was stolen. Her name was Teah.
We still have that necklace. It's worn every day. A good luck charm of sorts. Now it holds a ring of silver and gold dolphins. It was grandmother's. 2 lucky charms.
We tried to keep out of sight. But there seems to be people who can not let things alone. The wrong place at the wrong time. Accused of stealing. A candy bar. We did not. There were no charges. The was no candy bar in our possession. They needed a name. They needed someone to call. We couldn't give them her's. The grandparents names were known but we had no number. We had not seen or spoken to them in many years. Their names were written down and handed over.
We were woefully unprepared. I'm much smarter now. I watch. I learn. Everything. Its not hard to locate people. Especially for the police. Had I known. Had I had access to computers. I could have found them myself.
The grandparents showed up and another problem made itself known. We did not recognize them. It had been so long. They were older. There was panic and fear. But they knew. They knew the name. A special name. We had told no one that name. But they knew it. There were doubts. So many doubts. Could they be trusted? Would they contact her? Were they working with her? She had said so many things about them over the years. So many bad things.
She was crying. The old woman. Grandmother. He handed her a handkerchief. Said her name softly. Janie. Jane. Her middle name. She asked softly if I would like to go with them. We sized them up. They were old. Should a problem come up could we get away? Could we get away? We were handed over to them. In their care. They were responsible for us now. Did we understand what that meant? A head nod. Yes.
Is it wrong that I still get embarrassed finding writings that aren't mine sometimes? How do I learn to accept things? Is it wrong - to share here? It used to feel right but now I wonder if I'm just painting myself as a bigger freak.
You can't heal if you keep pretending you're not hurt - for some reason that hits home today