I just want to write, yet it's such a pleasure that I find everything I can to distract me from doing it. Sometimes I don't feel like I've earned the right to do something so healing, so cathartic, so I just, don't write.
I've been struggling a lot lately with my emotions. Much of my life I lived day to day, just one foot in front of the other. The big picture was often lost on me. It took leaving my IT career and being unemployed to sit down and really think about things.
My life has been amazing. Don't get me wrong, it sucked a lot, many times. Still, I feel that my experiences made me strong. They also made me a very flawed and traumatized woman. I used to worry that acknowledging the damage made me weak, or somehow infers that I like this illness or enjoy the attention that comes from having it.
Nope. Speaking about it takes the power from those that would use it against me. It gives fellow sufferers a voice. It actually means I'm pretty damn brave to share my most inner pain with others to help them heal as well. I no longer worry about people using my own words against me. I know what I am, I know what I'm not. Truth is truth. Speculation is just....speculation. No one knows what it's like to be me, completely. I'm aware that there are many more people like me. Similar experiences, friend bond, family bonds..that's what matters. A stranger pompously making assumptions about me is as useful as a canary fart in a cave.
I've joined a lot of groups of others with Complex PTSD. It's such a bitch. I don't hate much, but I hate PTSD. My brain and body operates on a different vibration due to the trauma, and as much as I can explain why I did and said certain things, I know it doesn't erase the effects it's had on my life and the life of those I love. I didn't ask for it, for sure, and I resent that this illness, that I didn't ask for, that was thrust upon me due to violence, is also something that can be used against me to damage my credibility.
Holy run on sentence....
My memoir is at a standstill. I've still processing my own memories, impressions. I want to make very sure my book is not focused on my mom's death, my own abuse endured, but the positive life one CAN live afterwards. It's about being authentic, real. It's the damn nitty gritty...we are in fact, responsible for our own healing. If we cannot depend on others to hold us when we are week, we need to seek people who will. If we don't find those people, we must love ourselves enough to value being healthier, more whole. It's up to us to forge a path that is as unique as our experiences, that fulfills us while contributing to the world in a beneficial manner.
Lately, I've been struggling with the language involved. Truth is, violence, abuse, suffering, grief, agony, cannot be wrapped up in a neat, pretty package. It shouldn't have to be, to be palatable. Those who are more offended by the delivery of the message, than the actual MEAT of the matter, are people I shouldn't bother with anyway. They have preconceived notions, archaic notions, of crime and abuse victims, and personally I feel they can shove it up their ass. I'm not going to wrap my trauma in sleek, pretty, attractive wrapping to suit others.
Mostly because I owe it to the child in me who suffered. She needs to be validated. She went through horrific events, and it's a disservice to her and victims everywhere to play down such grievous suffering to make others want to pay attention.
Fuck all that.
So I'm going to put a disclaimer in the front. One, about triggers, two, about language.
My thinking is that so many people who are hurting are in survival mode. They aren't thinking about creating a snazzy Powerpoint presentation with bright graphics and upbeat music to convince people that they are barely hanging on my a hair. They need help, and words and behaviors are a cry for help. In the future, I wish people would look past that to the core of the truth. "Help" is a cry that comes across in several ways, in several words, languages, behaviors. Please, please don't get upset at the method used to convey it.
Hurt is hurt. Don't turn away from suffering because of how off-putting the cry can be. Just don't.
Moving on.
I've been doing a lot of research lately about PTSD. I hate that my attention span is so short I talked about it in the beginning of this entry, got distracted by another point, and then chose to revisit the topic here. This, I have learned, is one of the many symptoms of PTSD. The inability to focus is so annoying. I have tried Adderol. I have tried supplements. I have tried list making, asking people to remind me. I have five apps for tasks and 3 for Calendar and Organization on my phone. Do I use them? No.
The more I read, the more I don't feel alone.
I wish more people would take the damn time to read about it, learn about it. So many of my relationships suffered because even while I was in treatment, a few of my loved ones couldn't be bothered to read about it.
I didn't isolate to punish others.
I didn't shun my loved ones because I was being selfish.
I felt I was toxic. I was tired of talking about my trauma, which is ongoing. I felt like everything was about me all the time, and it made me feel like shit. Only, I couldn't be fake and pretend to be ok, and I felt like they would know I was suffering if I made contact. Then, questions and veiled comments that dismissed or belittled my experience would come. Or they'd chide me for not talking about how sad or depressed I was. Then I would get mad, and try to explain myself, which fell on deaf ears. Then, I'd blow up after a while, and they'd think it was because of that current day, when actually it was about all the times this happened, with all the people it happened with. Then I would look like I made a big deal out of nothing, and they'd be pissed at me. I'd be pissed at myself for losing my temper, knowing that they did not create the trauma that caused the reaction itself,and I hated myself for hurting those I love. And this cycle goes on and on and on unless I try to head it off.
I was exhausted at the mere notion of having to deal with this cycle, and I fell into radio silence. It wasn't the fault of my loved ones that I was hurting, but the trauma was ongoing with no closure. I did not foresee a time ever where it would not be happening..and one cannot truly heal without an end of some kind.
Those who would tell a person to "get over" trauma or infer that it's attention seeking have no fucking idea what kind of hell it is to live inside, knowing that we did not create the chaos, but are victim to it. I didn't ask for this crap. I'm dealing with it the best I can. It's day to day, you know?
I digress. What I mean to say is that a bit of reading and active LISTENING is what we need. That and we need you to care about yourself more than us. And what I mean is that I can barely address my own needs sometimes, so unless you are my child or my closest family, most likely, I cannot be what you need all the time. And you need to understand that I may not ever be completely what you want me to be for you. I love you, I may need you, adore you. Still, until I heal completely, there will be periods of time that I am struggling to heal. PTSD is all encompassing at times. It's not an excuse. I do have a life outside of PTSD, but I'm still learning to address symptoms, attend counseling and indulge in self-care.
I once had a friend who made me the center of her world. It was totally exhausting. She needed me so much and I couldn't be what she needed. I tried to explain to her that it wasn't her fault I was flawed, and she needed to love herself enough to realize I wasn't rejecting her. Of course, I was being idealistic. I asked her many times to read about PTSD, but eventually realized that she was along the many who thought I was simply being lazy. The periods of time we were thick as thieves was equal in number to the times I isolated. She knew I was capable of being genuine, involved, devoted and doubted that I really had a problem with connecting, or even really had abandonment issues.
She saw me speaking out about my experiences, and connecting with strangers on a spiritual level. Jealousy and mistrust dropped like a heavy fog into our relationship, and it kept growing until it edged out whatever was left of our bond. What started as a beautiful friendship died a horrible death because I was unable to properly deal with my demons. It wasn't the first relationship that burned out, but I hope it's the last.
I can't take the destruction of a bond that I worked years to nourish, again.
I already have trust and abandonment issues, and every time someone I had a long term relationship with turns on me, and uses my PTSD against me, or paints my activism as attention seeking...
It just makes me want to stop talking.
Still, I believe in love, and relationships, and beauty, and healing.
Those relationships weren't meant to last. I've changed a lot from the person that used to be sad, miserable and meek. Maybe the truth is that the person I was is not someone people like anymore. I've become bold, more confident, happier, apologetically me.
I'm not ashamed of who I am. I'm not anymore. I like myself.
I don't like that I wasted years on people who didn't love me in return. For all my issues with communication, I loved them dearly, without conditions. It was only after repeated instances of disrespect, abuse, lies that I begrudgingly severed those connections. I'm sorry that I did not feed my healthy relationships more, but I'm doing that now. Better late than never.
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