Unfrozen
Hi, everyone. I'm Zebragirl. ^_^
I'm here because I've always kept to myself, and that is clearly no longer working for me. It's time to try something new.
My whole life, I've been the strong one. The one who has it all together. The brave one, the organized one, the one who accomplishes an astonishing number of tasks in a short period of time. The "old soul". My friends are impressed by the lack of drama in my life, and when it crops up in theirs, I'm the one they come to for support.
Secretly, all of those accolades sent guilty shards into my heart. Because I let my friends believe what they were saying, I didn't correct them. I wasn't strong, I just ignored the things I couldn't fix and pushed them down into my inner bottle. It's easy to be brave when you're not actually dealing with things. It's easy to be organized because my skin starts crawling when there's clutter and breathing is harder when things are out of place. I get so much done because I cannot sit down and relax when there's so many other things I should be doing. There's no drama in my life because I clinically snipped the ties binding me to the people who caused it. I always considered myself to be different, because I could "choose" to take something upsetting and simply...not think about it. "It's not healthy to bottle things up" didn't apply to me. It seemed like I had an infinite number of bottles, and I didn't have to worry about where to store them. My life was on cruise control, my motto "Get over it and move on to the next thing." I was tough, like the single mother who raised me.
Until a month ago, when a Bad Thing happened. It wasn't a huge Thing. It wasn't even a Thing I could report to the police. To someone else, it might not have been remarkable at all. But that Thing was too big for my bottles, and it tried one after another until they were all broken. I spent two weeks in a daze, alternating between numbness, paralyzing anxiety and an inability to stop crying. I felt like hiding every single day, even while home alone.The inside of my head felt like a kalaidascope and I couldn't concentrate on anything. My supervisor noted that I looked upset and took me into her office - I told her everything, ugly-sobbing on the industrial carpet. I am so, so lucky that I work with the people I do. She called HR for me and helped me figure out how to find a therapist who would be covered by our insurance.
My first therapy appointment was two days ago. It was just a consultation, so we didn't go very deep. But simply telling her the bullet points of my life helped me realize that I'm not just being a crybaby. I have been mistreated. Not just once, but multiple times by multiple people. "It doesn't matter" is a lie. I've had a couple moments of clarity since then, and I don't think I've been fully alive for a long time. I think I've been disassociating since childhood. Waking up feels like pins and needles in my soul. I still feel like I'm making a big deal out of nothing, but multiple people have told me that's not correct and I've decided to try trusting them.
I have three weeks until my next appointment. In this thread I intend to post my experiences from the beginning. Some of them might be story format and some might be letter format, but I'll always put a specific trigger warning in the title if necessary. Maybe it will help me get a new perspective, if I kick these memories out of the shadows and onto a computer screen. Maybe it will help me figure myself out. And maybe someone else will be able to take some comfort from my words. Comments are welcome and appreciated on everything that I post here. Thank you so much for reading. :)
@ZebraGirl13
I look forward to reading your postings. And I hope that both the appointment , the venting here and whatever other means you try along the way would help you to unravel your true self and shed off your top shattered layer :)
@MikaMarvel Thank you so much. ^_^ I've always been kind of scared of any kind of group setting, but this community seems very welcoming and compassionate. I hope you find peace on your journey as well. <3
@ZebraGirl13
It is , and the best thing is, there are several zones so that you find whichever suits you. Between group chats , forums and one to one chats, you're bound to find an atmosphere in which you are comfortable, and meet good people along the way. Welcome to the Community :)
@ZebraGirl13
Oh and thank you for your wishes. "Peace " is definitely the keyword here ^_^
@ZebraGirl13
Wishing you all the best <3 its so hard to share with others when you spend so much time being strong, it seems like betraying yourself somehow, or it did to me. However its awesome that you have shared and well done for allowing your work place to help you, they sound awesome and really supportive, I know how important that is so super happy for you there.
Wishing you the best of luck on your journey, facing the monsters in the cupboards isn't easy but it is worth it <3 You are strong and you will figure this stuff out! :)
Dad (TW: mild neglect)
(This is one of those things that I thought was normal or at worst mildly quirky, until I brought it up with my therapist and she said "that's neglect, even for the early 90s". So I'll consider this an easy starting point as I work through my issues.)
I grew up in a very small town with about 700 people. The high school was 7th-12th grades and numbered 180 students total, and everyone was on a first-name basis with everyone else. In a backwoods town like that, pretty much anyone with any talent became a mini celebrity. My dad, F, was one of those people. He liked to go to the bar every night and play old favorites on his guitar. When he got me ready for bed, he would sing the song "Les Poissons" from The Little Mermaid, which was my favorite movie. His French accent was spot-on and it made me laugh every time.
Everyone loved him. I was around three years old, and I remember being with him and hearing people ask "Hey F, you coming out tonight?" He usually was. My mom wound up getting a third job to support us, because he wasn't interested in working just any old job. He had to find "the perfect" job. In the mean time, he was popular enough that people sometimes gave him handouts. He was funny and charming and handsome, and I'm sure it helped that he had a smiley little girlchild with him most of the time.
Since mom worked so much, dad was in charge of watching me. Sometimes we would stay at home and watch Sesame Street. Sometimes he'd promised to be at the bar, playing for the customers, so he took me with him. Children aren't allowed in bars and it was usually late anyway, so he would make me a bed with mountains of blankets and pillows in the back seat of the car. It felt like an adventure. "Don't unlock the doors. If anyone but me tries to open the door, scream as loud as you can. Go to sleep, I'll be back soon."
Usually I would only wake up once dad unlocked the car to drive home. One time I woke up and he still wasn't back yet. I tried to go back to sleep, but it was cold and dark and I was scared. My ears perked every time I heard boots crunching in the snow, but none of them were my dad. I started to worry about him. I thought I wasn't allowed into the bar because it was dangerous. What if he was hurt? Did mom know where we were? Would anyone be able to find me in the car?
Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and I unlocked the doors, got out of the car, walked across the parking lot and went up to the heavy wooden door. I couldn't reach the handle, so I knocked. Two grownups I didn't know opened the door and asked where my parents were; I told them "My daddy is F" and they brought me inside. Dad took me on his lap and played his guitar with his arms around me for a while, and then we went home. He told me it was bad that I didn't do what he said, but he didn't punish me.
I'm guessing no one knew that he left me in the car those times until I went into the bar. I'm guessing one of the locals told my mom about it, because that was my last car sleep. One day my mom picked me up and asked me "Zebragirl. If you had to pick mommy or daddy to live with, who would you pick?" "Mommy," I said. I loved both of them, but I couldn't imagine not living with mommy. A while later, dad didn't live with us anymore. Mom explained that she and dad still loved each other, but sometimes it's better when people who love each other don't live together, so he went to stay with some friends. That's when I learned what divorce was.
For a while, I went to work with mom instead. Her main day job was working at an inn - she cleaned rooms and served food by day and bartended by night. She would set me up at a table in the steamy kitchen, and her coworkers would help keep an eye on me. The boss joked about putting me to work as a dishwasher. The other servers would sometimes sit with me on their breaks and help me color. One lady started teaching me how to read, which I picked up as fast as she could teach me.
When I was around five, I think, mom's boss told her she couldn't bring me to work anymore. Sometimes there were babysitters. Sometimes she brought me to one of her friends' houses while she was working, then came back after I was asleep to bring me home. But sometimes she had to work the night shift and couldn't always afford or find a babysitter willing to stay overnight. So sometimes she left me home alone.
She would tuck me into bed before she went to work and kiss my cheek. "I have to go to work tonight, and I'll be home at 12:00 tomorrow. That's when both the minute and the second hand are pointed at the 12, right? Call the Latitude when you wake up and ask for me. Don't open the door for anyone. Don't touch the stove. Don't answer the phone. If you forget and answer the phone and someone asks for me, tell them I'm in the shower and ask them to call back later. What are the rules?" "Don't open the door. Don't touch the stove. Don't answer the phone," I would repeat. It was like a game. "What if you forget and answer the phone, and someone asks for me?" "Mommy's in the shower, please call back later." "Good girl. I love you very much."
I was a very obedient kid, and it wasn't hard to stick to the rules. I could barely reach the stove anyway, and no one ever called or tried to visit because we lived in the woods and our nearest neighbor was half a mile away. I would wake up in the morning, go downstairs, go to the phone where there was a piece of paper with mom's work number written on it, and call her. She would remind me not to answer the door or phone or use the stove, and would tell me if she left a treat for me in the fridge. I was allowed to use the microwave, so I usually made some instant oatmeal for breakfast. Our dutiful nanny dog followed me from room to room, placid and sleepy. I spent a lot of time playing in my room or watching cartoons. I liked being by myself more than having a babysitter. I liked exploring the quiet house without interruption, and finding clever places to hide just in case there was a robber.
This didn't go on for too long. Before I turned six, mom's friend W moved in and she didn't have to work anymore. I wasn't too sure about him. He was really, really loud, even when talking to someone right in front of him. His hands were rough and black around the fingernails, and his callouses snagged my hair when he patted me on the head. Mom explained later that he was loud because he fixed cars and the noise made his hearing bad. She said she didn't have to work anymore, because he was going to be my stepdad and he made enough money to take care of us. I asked her if I could have a different stepdad because this one was too loud, and she laughed and said I would like him when I got to know him. She said he was nice, just a little gruff and loud.
They went on a vacation for two weeks, leaving me with Auntie K, and when they returned, they were married.
It takes such huge courage to share and write here .. to trust anybody really.. this is your safe place.. may you find your peace and healing .
