Some thoughts

I wish they would try to understand. I wish they had the capacity to comprehend.

I’m not asking them to know my agony. I’m not asking them to change their lives.

But where is the compassion?

Why are they so thoughtless, when they have been told so many times?

When I am trying hard not to remember, why do they strive to remind me?

 

A good day, and I’m feeling better, only for them to hurt me once again.

Not out of malice, I do not think.

Does that mean I should not be angry?

Well, I am. I am raging now.

 

Why am I never first?  Why do I not matter?

I worry endlessly about other people.

I question my thoughts and feelings and those things I have or perhaps should have said.

I never want to inflict hurt on another. Ever.

Is it so wrong, to want some of that back?

Am I over sensitive perhaps?

 

 

A rare good day that has now turned bad.

Perhaps that is my fault too?

Yet, I find myself blaming her instead.

That poor child.

The one who was forgotten. The one who was left.

Forever hated. Forever alone.

Forced to choose a half life, or face certain death.

And what am I doing? The same as them, surely?

Or maybe I am much worse.

Because I am sure that I hate her most.

Much more than they ever could.

 

Can they see she still lives within me?

Maybe that is why they hurt me so.

 

 

 

 

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Growing.

The deeper I go in therapy, the more I learn about myself. Who I was, who I am and how I feel. It’s been a rough ride. It still is.

As part of that learning process, I am getting closer to having to face who I used to be and that causes such discomfort and pain. It is all so very close right now. I remember how it felt to be betrayed, to have my trust broken and how it was to be so alone.

My memories are clearer, I am remembering new memories or filling in incomplete ones. It’s scary and painful, but I am managing to compartmentalise at least. Filing away issues and memories until I am ready to process is something I am becoming quite good at now.

In this process of self discovery, particularly recently, I am beginning to find aspects of myself that I like. And surprisingly, despite the shame, I am even finding myself increasingly defensive over who I used to be.

I am self soothing better than I have ever done before, which is particularly helpful during all the pain I’ve been experiencing lately. Not only do I know how to comfort myself,  but I actually want to. I finally feel I deserve that at the very least.

There has most certainly been a shift. A change in my self perception. It is split into two, where there is fear and shame and self loathing, but at the same time there exists a very real and growing self worth. There is joy in what I have now and great hope for the future, that even in the darkest moments lately, still shines through.

I am growing stronger, I feel more powerful than I have ever done before. I feel that strength and power residing within me, as part of me. The more I feel, the more aware of it I am. Whether it be love or pain, or joy or grief, it continues to grow. Is it that the closer I get to feelings, the more I become the person I should have always been? Is this what feeling is?

 

 

Something happened last night. Something awful and terrible. Or perhaps I should rephrase. It actually happened many years ago. Last night, through an awful flashback, I remembered that something. It is something that has been hidden from me. Or more, I hid it from myself.  It is something completely unexpected, something outside of anything I have explored before, that has me questioning myself. It is something that is feeding the shame that is already so very close. It is something that has the power to make my world implode. It is certainly trying to shake my foundations right now.

I think, had this happened any time before now, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it, not in the way I have today. Because today I am confident in my own abilities and I trust myself enough to know that this did happen and I know I am not lying.

That trust in myself doesn’t take away the pain and the conflict or even the shame and it won’t distinguish the very real fear of “who will believe me?” ..but I feel I have something to hold onto.. and that something is me. I am the only one who has been here for me all the way through. I protect me, I save me and now finally, I am confident that I believe me- I long for the day when that is enough.

Now, for that something? Well, I cannot keep it to myself, but how do I admit to this? I have to put it away I guess. Put it aside, just like every other new memory lately. I have to hold onto myself, because I know, as all the times before, it is my strength that will get me through.

Fighting for hope.

It’s like a Thursday ritual.. therapy procrastination equals a blog post.

 

I am desperate to see my T for reassurance and guidance tomorrow. I’ve been hanging on all week… I am afraid of what I feel. I am afraid of what may happen. I am deeply afraid that I am going to be left alone..

It’s been a tough week, horrible, horrible thoughts. Dissociation and flashbacks. Fear and loneliness.

 

I am not suicidal, I do not want to die. But there are fleeting moments of  “what if?” “Is this impossible” “What if I cannot?” My children and their dependence on me quickly eradicate those thoughts. I have to always look for hope, especially in my darkest moments. He cannot win. I will not allow that.

 

I do not want to self harm. But there are times this week when it has crossed my mind.. When I am in the shower, with the razor close to hand…it feels like it is almost calling to me. Like a long lost friend. And I have to take a stand and be firm with myself. I remind myself that I have been hurt enough. My body is scarred enough. I must not and cannot do that to myself. I do not need to bleed for him any longer.

While the moments pass and the thoughts fade, it is only a matter of time before they return again. And then I must battle to find myself….The 30 something year old woman, who can handle things without hurting herself. I am not that teen anymore, those thoughts do not have a place here any longer.

I know this is probably to be expected, I am struggling with my own identity because I am battling shame. Shame has to be the worst thing I have felt. It is like a burning inside me and I guess it has always been there, smouldering deep within me. Now it is at the surface and I know the only way to extinguish it is to let it out.

And then, what if? What if I cannot do it? What if I am not really the me I so desperately want to be? What if I am her? What if I am still those things.

So many questions with answers that can only come from myself.

 

 

It is snowing here right now (I hope it doesn’t last), it’s beautiful out there and it’s beautiful inside my house. My children laughing, there is warmth and there is light. When the dark thoughts take hold it is this I hold onto. It is the present that is my anchor. What I want, I already have. There lies my hope.

 

 

Who am I (again)?

Each week I seem to face the biggest therapy session to date. Bigger and scarier and deeper. What I unearthed today is worse than anything I’ve talked about and quite frankly, worse than anything I’ve been through. And that is quite a statement to make. Not a trauma, but a feeling, or set of feelings.

My T spent the last 10 mins of the session today trying to help me contain enough to be able to cope over the next week. I think it worked, I am coping already. I collected my child from school and while he was out this evening, I played with my youngest child and did the usual mummy stuff.

Perhaps I should be a sobbing, broken mess after our session today? Instead I feel sort of haunted and afraid. Haunted by how it used to be and afraid of myself.

I cannot face this. It is far bigger than me. I fear I cannot handle this, I fear I haven’t really handled anything as well as I make out. I do not let people see me, I do not even dare look for myself and now it seems I should, or more that I must.

 

I fear I am failing those who believe in me. I fear their scolding and their judgement that I feel this way. Or even worse that they will see right through me and learn who I really am.

It’s like it used to be (which is so fucking triggering), living with the knowledge and fear that it’s just a matter of time before I will be caught out. Then they will all see the truth and then I will have to face it too.

Am I lying to myself?

How do other people cope with intense fear and pain? How do others live with such shame? I swear, I feel like I am dying here. I want to run away, but how do you run from yourself?

Thank God for my children and my husband, they are my only reason right now.

 

 

 

 

True Love

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1 Corinthians 13:4

While I have known this verse for what seems like forever, I have not understood or really believed these words.

Instead I thought that different types of love existed and firmly believed that not all love is good.

Lately, I have been disclosing more of my abuse to my T and today following my therapy session, I found myself reminded of that Bible verse and what it can mean for me. More specifically what it can mean for the deep shame that I carry. 

I see now how the misuse of the word “love” was used to abuse me further. To tear a child down, to humiliate and degrade her in the most abhorrent ways cannot suddenly be made OK by covering her hurt with words of love. 

True love would not carry out these actions. True love would not cause such pain. True love would not blame and shame. 

Putting a label of love on top of wicked actions, does not make those actions good, nor does it suddenly make them forgivable. Love cannot dress evil. Love and evil cannot exist together in that way. 

I had no choice. It wasn’t done for love, on either my or his part. I had no choice, right?

That was not love. Love cannot be the reason or the cause. It cannot explain what was done.

Something to explore further I think?

Selfish. Shame.

 

Such hate filled me yesterday and that is not me. I am entitled to feel angry, I know that well, but it isn’t me, it isn’t who I am, or who I want to be. It doesn’t end with hate, it cannot be the way through this. I love, it is what I do and what I want to do. I put others before me- I worry endlessly about being selfish.. am I selfish? I love where it isn’t reciprocated, I take the hurt, to protect others. I have sacrificed myself for others, at great cost to myself.. why do I fear I am selfish?

Today, this week.. for the last 15 yrs…I am suffering because of a sacrifice I made. I am deeply ashamed of what I had to do in order to save someone else. I don’t regret that I put her first, I’d do it again if it were the only way..but I hate the way in which I had to do it.

I wasn’t selfish then, I wasn’t capable of that because I knew I didn’t matter. I learned that soon after it began. The one who loved me most and I her too, I’d have died for her that day and in a way I guess I did. And since a thousand deaths I swear, carrying the secrets of how I got us through.

I felt it on Wednesday, on the anniversary of that day, the pain searing through my body, trying to make me face the reality of that day and what I had to do. As I fought that truth, the pain only worsened, filling me with rage, until I could contain it no longer.

And now the dark secret is coming into the light and that deep shame, working its way through me- hopefully on its way out. I cannot think of anyone but myself. It’s a viscous cycle, I am ashamed that I am ashamed. I am ashamed that I am thinking of myself before her. Before anyone. It was her hell, hers and she deserves to be held and loved, and comforted. Protected and kept safe. Hers. Not mine. I cannot claim it as mine too.. but oh this shame, this pain. The horror.

How do I learn to take care of myself without the guilt? How do I put myself first without hating myself for selfishness? Am I selfish? God, if you only knew the things I did, would you even care..

I long for the morning now, for the life and energy of my children. I long for the light, for the comfort that night will never bring.

 

Pain and shame.

A long and painful month. 31 days and we are at the end. Is this really the end? I fear it is only the beginning. I am only just learning to sit with feelings. I am only just beginning to feel the agony and rage. I am out of my depth and overwhelmed by things I have never experienced.

First day back in therapy today and it was intense. I was practically bursting when I got there, a secret that has been killing me. After the anniversary and body memories this week, it was time to tell. Except, I can’t switch off and just tell like I used to – telling as if it happened to someone else. That responsibility and that shame, choking each and every word so they could barely escape.

It took some time, but I told. Some. What I could. Then we sat, in silence. Feeling. Hurting. Fighting the shame. And then an intense and deeply touching “it wasn’t your fault” from my T and I had to leave. Leave because it hurt too much, leave before the crying started. Tears I feared would spill so ferociously, with such force that they’d drown me in seconds.

 

And now I am left with pain and with shame. What I did- if you knew, would you hate me? Judge me? I justified myself over and over today- for me, I guess. The things you have to do in that situation- to get out of it and especially, to save someone else….such loathing for those actions, for what I did. I know I have to work on transferring that to the one who is really responsible. I know my T is right, I know deep down it wasn’t my fault.. I just wish the rest of me would listen and I wish I’d pushed through the agony this afternoon and stuck around for more of his reassurance.