Packing up somewhere sounds like it will be easy. Then the packing begins, and all of these old memories come up. Suddenly, things that have not been seen have meaning. The house actually becomes more of a mess as trash is separated from keep. Then, there is the I have no idea pile. At least I know that progress is being made.
I overreacted with my daughter yesterday. She was playing with all of the other kids. There was an adult around who reminded me of the past and freaked me out. I yelled at my daughter to come sit by where I was. I cannot explain the panic and fear that took over me in that moment. I do not ever want her to have negative experiences if I can prevent it.
Maybe I have been through to much and have done to much research. A person can still be a pedophile if they have kids or if they are older. There is not just one description. I do not care if they are at the same party, a background check was not done to get into the party and something could happen.
Luckily, my daughter and I had a productive talk last night about the incident and I assured her that it was nothing that she did.
Today means more packing and getting the house ready for pictures. Should be a busy day.
Our family is looking at moving out of the area where I was abused. In some ways it is scary. In other ways I am looking forward to be able to go out of the house and maybe explore a new area.
It will be weird to not be by my abusers and to not have to come back to the neighborhood. I feel like my life is going to get a second chance and I cannot ruin it. Maybe going back to school at different college with a different viewpoint will help.
My family can make new memories at a new place that may allow me to finally get well and recover. I will be able to still see my treatment team. I will try to keep the blog updated. Especially when we find a house and have a contract.
My husband and I are looking to move. If I were “normal”, I would have a job and income to use for the paperwork. Unfortunately, my PTSD symptoms are not controlled. I still have panic attacks around people and places that I do not know. My short term memory is messed up. I swear that is from the ECT.
And then there is the feeling of anger that I try to suppress each day so that I can at least get through the day.
Because of the complications from my mental illness, we may just have to stay where we are and I am going to have to learn to be ok with that. It just sucks that I am such a large part of the problem.
Some people would bring up getting damages from my abusers, yet the statute of limitations has passed. It still makes me feel like I am limited each day due to the symptoms of my illness.
No one chooses to be abused as a child or suppress those memories. Yet, it seems like we are blamed when we cannot hold a job or function as everyone else does. We fought a fight that we did not choose, yet we get blamed. Why didn’t you just tell someone or why did you not move out. I wish it were that easy. If I would have told, things would have been much worse. I was frozen for so long. I just did as they said to not rock the boat. It was not really a choice, it was a way to get through each day with the least amount of pain.
I just wish recovery would happen sooner. It just seems to take so long and involve so many aspects of my life. I just have to do what I can. Keep going to the doctors and seeing my therapist. One step at a time!
My therapist has a new goal for me: to say hello to people at counters and restaurants. I have become an expert at being invisible over the years. It has led to not having friends and isolating myself inside the house.
I like the house, it is safe and I feel comfortable. I feel like a freak outside. My scars are so noticeable from all of the self harm. I am going to try to have one removed or at least decrease the size.
Therapy is going ok. My therapist and I have come to the realization that my feelings are buried so far down, they may never come up. We are working on trying to feel in the present. That is hard as well. I am used to shutting down.
Right now I am just trying to take one day at a time and know that I did the best that I could each night before I go to sleep.
Maybe I will be able to make friends. There is always hope!
Why does therapy have to be so difficult. I wish that I did not have to go through hell and feel all of my emotions associated with the abuse I had growing up.
Not that not being in therapy would help either. I still have flashbacks when there are certain colors or smells. Locations are the worst. These are not dependent on therapy.
At least a horror movie can be turned off. Not so with memories. They haunt me while awake and asleep. PTSD has taken so much from me. I am always scared to be out of the house and am hyper vigilant. I try to go out and be “normal” yet I have scars that are visible and I am always looking around me waiting for the next event to happen.
Maybe one day I will be able to relax and process all of the horrible things that happened.
On Mother’s Day I had lunch with my husband and the kids. We had played games the day before and it was a great weekend. I had decided that I wanted to visit the cemetery to put a wreath on the graves of the two women in my life that had acted more like a mom to me than my mother.
I have always felt guilty that I was not there when they died. That I did not get to say goodbye. I have carried that feeling around for over twenty years.
When we arrived at the cemetery, I told the kids that they could stay in the car. They did at first, then they came up to the headstones. I was surprised as I looked in back of me. Here were two kids who even if they wanted to go somewhere could not drive and still needed a parents permission.
That is when it hit me. I could not have physically gone to my aunt’s house. There was no one to take me there. I was not allowed to call my aunt or speak to her if I saw her. Seeing my kids gave me a new perspective. One that made me realize that I did not have a say in what I was allowed to do. I still feel bad that I was not there, yet in my heart, I know I did not have a choice. One wall that for years that has been blocking my recovery is slowly coming down.
Sitting here thinking about life is challenging. I feel like I need to make a pros and cons list for continuing to go on.
The kids are a big factor. All of the research shows that a child whose parent commits suicide is more likely to do so. I would not want my kids to get into this dark space.
So much has failed including school, losing touch with one of my children, and constant court cases with my ex. All of this has left me drained. I feel alone no matter how many people are in a room. What do I even talk about with people. The kids are a hard subject and school was a disaster.
People do not want to hear about hospital stays and wound care centers. I believe that eating disorder treatment centers are also not at the top of the list. Those are the topics that I know best at this point.
Maybe a better option would be to talk about the diamond paintings that I have done or the garden that my husband is working on. Yet, those topics do not feel like me at this time. One day blends into another.
What to do? Going back to school is going to be rough. I feel like I am on a never ending ride in that department. Keep seeing the kids until they too realize how damaged and flawed I am. Continue to talk about the worst memories of my life in therapy.
This is not the life that I pictured. Not even close. Being a non-custodial parent was something that I did not even know existed. Failing at school because of an illness that I did not choose and is directly related to negative childhood experiences. Living in a neighborhood where I do not feel safe. Even as I write this there are helicopters circling the block.
One day I need to make a choice. I cannot live in between any longer. There needs to be a clear side to work on and pursue.
There is part of me that lives in the present and another hurt and very raw part from the past. Today life is good, yet I still feel depressed. I have a loving husband, kids who are teens and still tell me they love me and check to see how I am, and the ability to be me with all of my quirks.
Then there is the other part of me. The part that was called ungrateful. The one who’s mother stated over and over that she should of had an abortion with her. The one who carries guilt at some of the losses in her life. The one who was made to feel that she did not exist.
It is hard to have a dichotomy like this going on in my head all of the time. I lead toward believing the negative even when positive things are said. My bruises have healed, yet the words that’s stung then sting just as much today. I am a work in progress. Maybe one day I will like who I am.
As I look at myself, I see scars that will not go away that I have created because of the anxiety and self-hatred. This summer I cannot hide them. I wish I could hear what others think when they see them. Do they see someone who was strong enough to get treatment when she was ready to give up on life itself? Will they just think that it is for attention and snicker behind my back? Maybe both are happening. There are others out there like me who have been through the tunnel of abuse and back. Those that are survivors. Maybe I will get to meet some.
After my oldest child stopped speaking to me I have let it get in the way of my relationship with my two youngest children. I need to realize that they want to be here on the weekends and want me at their activities. For some reason I do not take my own advice that they are all different people.
I have also been told to make my illness clear to them. I do not know how to do that. I feel like they do not know enough, yet I still need to continue to keep a healthy boundary.
Finding the right words is going to be hard. Not only do I have a mental illness, but a physical one as well. One that stress negatively affects. I need to allow them to know that they are not causing any of this. The problem is that I already think that I have told them. From what I remember they did not even want to hear. Maybe instead of talking, I should put things in writing. Not to much, yet enough for them to understand.
Last night was a great example. One of my kids had an activity. I was exhausted and did not feel well. I really thought that it was best not to go, yet I had already promised that I would come. I need to begin to be realistic with them. This is where boundaries come in again.
My children mean so much to me and I want them to be able to focus on themselves. At the same time I need for them to understand that my decisions have nothing to do with them. They have to do with what is happening in my life. A good therapy topic and I can ask my therapist to read the completed letters before I give them to the kids.
My children are visiting me this weekend. I am excited to see them and catch up with what they have been doing. It is great to be able to have the simple things like meals together and a movie in the evening.
I am scared every weekend that they are scheduled to come and visit. My oldest decided that he did not want to see me anymore. That tore me up. Until this day, I still do not know what I did that made him so upset. He has blocked my number so I cannot even ask him how come this has gone on.
What if my other children decide not to see me? They mean so much to me, yet at the same time they have their lives to live. I am hoping to be a part of that and be able to see the changes and special events as they grow.
I know that all I can do for now is to cherish the moments that we do have. Take lots of pictures and just live in the moment.