I'm really really confused. I know PTSD is usually from things like rape, beatings, witnessing horrible things, etc. But my therapist said I may have it. I don't even know where to begin. I grew up in a house with my parents and my brother. My parents were loving and kind. My brother however, was extremely volatile. I was often put on "the back burner". I put myself to bed, took care of myself, never got in trouble in school, never yelled, and was very loud but in a way that wasn't impeding on others. He was nasty. In the best way I could put it.
I remember my grandmother absolutely dispised me. Not like "Oh she was mean". Like my brother would hit me or call me names and I would cry and get yelled at for crying. Nothing he did was wrong. Ever. In my own house, he was very abusive towards me. He only hit me a few times, but that was enough. I never started things. Always tried to reach out and make peace.
He didn't want that. He would call me worthless, spit on me, spread rumors around his friends about me, threaten to kill me with knives, threaten to beat the f*ck out of me. But I still loved him. That's the most embarrassing part. I still wanted him happy. He would cry in front of me begging me to stop my parents from sending him to the Meadows, so I would. I'd say I loved him and wanted him home. So they wouldn't take him.
He wasn't thankful. I wasn't allowed out of my room at night. He slept in the living room. So I wasn't allowed to get drinks or food or anything. Because he would scream at me and force me back into my room. I have so many holes in my doors. Not from me. I never hit anything. Ever. I would decide to finally stand up and have to run back to my room while he punched holes in my door and said he was going to f*cking kill me. He hit me once, for standing my ground. I decided enough was enough. He screamed to ask me what I was cooking, I said "It's none of your business". Big mistake. BAM! There went my food, smashed onto the ground. I was next. I remember being balled onto the floor crying while he taunted me for being such a little crybaby.
Then came the time a friend was over, I told him to get out of my room. He smacked me up against the wall as hard as he could. Keep in mind, I was 10. He was 12. I was severely underweight, he was not. All of the breath left my body. I couldn't move. My friend chased him out of the room and attacked him for it. So he told my mom. Keep in mind I told my parents of all the things he did. Just to be told; "One day you guys are going to be so close! Siblings fight, it just happens."
They knew I never initiated it, though. They knew. They didn't care. I tried to hang myself whenever I was around 7. That's so embarrassing to admit. But I did. Funny part? My parents don't even remember it. At all. So it's just another "story" I guess. I know it happened though. Because afterwards, I just got smarter. They couldn't catch me trying to suffocate myself in the backseat of the car while they were busy driving. They couldn't take all of my totes and plastic bags I tried to kill myself with. I made so many suicide notes/running away notes. So many.
I'd pack all of my things and sit outside in my driveway. Waiting for my parents to come out screaming and crying for me. They. Never. Did. Never. Just didn't care I assume. They say they were just numb and overwhelmed with my brother. But I wished they would have never had me. I wished that the bus would veer off and run me over, I wish that I would get cancer so I could die a noble death. I never wanted to be alive. Ever. I always had horrible nightmares. Of getting kidnapped, beaten, everyone I loved lined up to a guillotine and getting their heads severed one by one, and being told to go through their heads to find a key. That's one that I will always remember. Always. It never stopped, either. 17 years old now, and if anything as I've aged and grown wiser they've gotten worse and more believable.
So this is my story, and it isn't even all of it, sadly. I still see him and want to run away. He still finds a way to diminish all of my accomplishments and abuse me. I'm just so confused onto what this is. Is it PTSD? Am I just anxious? I hear loud noises and have an exaggerated startle response, anyone jokingly raises a hand to me and I flinch, I feel worthless and without hope, I have nightmares every night, someone wakes me up and I hit them or try to, I see him and want to piss my pants. My mom is convinced I have anxiety inherited from her. My friends think that it may just be anxiety. I don't know. But I could really use some support.
I remember my grandmother absolutely dispised me. Not like "Oh she was mean". Like my brother would hit me or call me names and I would cry and get yelled at for crying. Nothing he did was wrong. Ever. In my own house, he was very abusive towards me. He only hit me a few times, but that was enough. I never started things. Always tried to reach out and make peace.
He didn't want that. He would call me worthless, spit on me, spread rumors around his friends about me, threaten to kill me with knives, threaten to beat the f*ck out of me. But I still loved him. That's the most embarrassing part. I still wanted him happy. He would cry in front of me begging me to stop my parents from sending him to the Meadows, so I would. I'd say I loved him and wanted him home. So they wouldn't take him.
He wasn't thankful. I wasn't allowed out of my room at night. He slept in the living room. So I wasn't allowed to get drinks or food or anything. Because he would scream at me and force me back into my room. I have so many holes in my doors. Not from me. I never hit anything. Ever. I would decide to finally stand up and have to run back to my room while he punched holes in my door and said he was going to f*cking kill me. He hit me once, for standing my ground. I decided enough was enough. He screamed to ask me what I was cooking, I said "It's none of your business". Big mistake. BAM! There went my food, smashed onto the ground. I was next. I remember being balled onto the floor crying while he taunted me for being such a little crybaby.
Then came the time a friend was over, I told him to get out of my room. He smacked me up against the wall as hard as he could. Keep in mind, I was 10. He was 12. I was severely underweight, he was not. All of the breath left my body. I couldn't move. My friend chased him out of the room and attacked him for it. So he told my mom. Keep in mind I told my parents of all the things he did. Just to be told; "One day you guys are going to be so close! Siblings fight, it just happens."
They knew I never initiated it, though. They knew. They didn't care. I tried to hang myself whenever I was around 7. That's so embarrassing to admit. But I did. Funny part? My parents don't even remember it. At all. So it's just another "story" I guess. I know it happened though. Because afterwards, I just got smarter. They couldn't catch me trying to suffocate myself in the backseat of the car while they were busy driving. They couldn't take all of my totes and plastic bags I tried to kill myself with. I made so many suicide notes/running away notes. So many.
I'd pack all of my things and sit outside in my driveway. Waiting for my parents to come out screaming and crying for me. They. Never. Did. Never. Just didn't care I assume. They say they were just numb and overwhelmed with my brother. But I wished they would have never had me. I wished that the bus would veer off and run me over, I wish that I would get cancer so I could die a noble death. I never wanted to be alive. Ever. I always had horrible nightmares. Of getting kidnapped, beaten, everyone I loved lined up to a guillotine and getting their heads severed one by one, and being told to go through their heads to find a key. That's one that I will always remember. Always. It never stopped, either. 17 years old now, and if anything as I've aged and grown wiser they've gotten worse and more believable.
So this is my story, and it isn't even all of it, sadly. I still see him and want to run away. He still finds a way to diminish all of my accomplishments and abuse me. I'm just so confused onto what this is. Is it PTSD? Am I just anxious? I hear loud noises and have an exaggerated startle response, anyone jokingly raises a hand to me and I flinch, I feel worthless and without hope, I have nightmares every night, someone wakes me up and I hit them or try to, I see him and want to piss my pants. My mom is convinced I have anxiety inherited from her. My friends think that it may just be anxiety. I don't know. But I could really use some support.
