Slowly Rotting

[Girl3]

As one of God's children, you are unique - as one of earth's organisms, you are like many - no one who has similar problems will ever think you weak or unusual. The rest are either blessed or ignorant. As a PTSD sufferer and a doctor - Yep there are people out there worse off than you - but it doesn't change what your traumas did to you. If you get shot in a war you get a Purple Heart whether you got shot in the butt or the chest....PTSD is the same. Doesn't matter how we got here, it is the place where we live.

 

[h2o]

Hi Glass Spine and welcome to the forum. Your thread really touched me, and so sorry you went through what you did - I also had some similiar experiences in my childhood. I totally realate to the feeling of being misunderstood then feeling raw and exposed after opening up to people. I tend to set my barriers pretty high, so being able to read what other trauma sufferers experience while being able to maintain my annonymity online has been especially helpful for me so I hope it helps you too.
Take care :)

 

[Deaf Global Nomad]

Hi Glass Spine!

It is a pleasure to meet you. Yes, you have been through a ton. Your story in some way sounds similar to mine. I am glad that you found your way to this forum. I'm hoping that reading other people's stories and writing about your own will help. You have a reason to feel everything you feel. People with any one of those experiences that you have lived through experience PTSD. In your case adding them all together it becomes more than a summary of each traumatic experience. They add up and interrelate, making it much more complex how it all affects you, me, any of us.

Welcome to the forum! I hope you gain as much from being here as I have.

Take care!

 

[Yellow Sun]

I've often wondered about that. Have I?...People have had it far worse than me. So I ask for nothing and receive nothing. But this doesn't help much .

Hello Glass Spine.

I've been aware of your introduction to the forum for a little while now, and wanted to respond; but was unsure how to.

It is apparent to me, right from your opening post, that you have such a difficult history. And that the profound mark it has left on you is directly proportionate to the violations you have experienced. I do however recognise feeling compelled to compare one's own experience/history to that of others, and minimize our own. I suspect you may also have recognised it in something I wrote about feeling like I was a fraud, when you responded to me.

This feeling compelled to compare, and consequently minimize, gets me thinking. I'm really out of my depth here, but I wonder if this is linked to the self-protective and (during the many violations you experienced) necessary cognitive and emotional adjustment of lowering your expectations of people. I don't suppose the two can co-exist: being "terrified" of the habitual, explosive rage that swept through your home as a child; while also being able to learn and then retain a notion - a feeling - of safety, love, care, kindness. So I suspect we repress our instinctive sense/want/need/expectation of the latter. Because to expect these things is just not logical; not to mention dangerous. And so this wholly natural instinct/expectation is hidden behind your "very efficient mental walls" - in a place where it can be kept intact..safe.

Although Glass Spine, I do wonder if that instinct is actually more easily accessible than it would first appear; even just a little. I really don't know...I do wonder though, if there is any part of you that questions - even just a little bit - the failure of some (that you may feel tempted to buy into), to recognise the violations you have experienced and are seeking to undo.

 

[Glass Spine]

Wow... How to respond? I haven't quite figured out how to quote multiple posts so I'll just do it this way:

Navy Spouse, I appreciate the friendly welcome(s), and like that quote very much.

Girl3, I like that picture. Is it a Luna moth? That purple heart analogy makes a great deal of sense to me. Thank you.

h2o, you too? Thanks for telling me, and for reading my story. It is nice being able to hear from others (so far), without having to suffer in their presence. Typing is much easier than talking for me, and I too appreciate the anonymity.

Deaf Global Nomad, cool name. That was a warm welcome, and I extend my warmest gratitude. Heh heh, that sounds awful, but I mean it.

Yellow Sun, out of your depth?! What you've written is both intelligent and astute. I can only conclude that you definitely know what you're talking about. I do question the validity of those who would not ascribe my problems to the events of the past. And I don't, and I do, and I don't, and I remain undecided and doubtful. If the instinct you speak of is actually more easily accessible than it appears, I wouldn't know about it. It just seems so much easier to remain despondent and motionless than to take a risk and try to find out, doesn't it? I appreciate your words and your time.

 

[Glass Spine]

Well, now I've got me started.... Just one of those days when I can't stop thinking about my father. Mixed with the triumph and tragedy are the distinct pangs of regret. I've found (through reading) that most people who have ditched their fathers and burnt that bridge understand the peculiar blend of hatred and love that one can feel for a parent.

My father was like a moody dog; friendly at times, but I never knew when he'd turn around and bite me. His temper was sudden and violent, but wore off after he'd vented it. He was also addicted to gambling, in the form of poker machines (pokies, or whatever), and would take what little money I and my brothers had to gamble with when he was low on funds, making us believe that he could win a fortune and give us a hundred dollars each, or somesuch. My mother was addicted to gambling too, but she never took our money.

I still believe my father had no reference point to tell him it was wrong to take our money, make us pay for petrol when he had to make a small detour for our sake, and blame us for him having to pay child support when he and my mother seperated. He didn't know that chasing your kids around the house and kicking and hitting them wasn't very nice. Or maybe he did. Neither side excuses it.

By the time I was seventeen, I'd grown to despise him. It doesn't feel good to know I stood up to him, I was forced into it when I lost my first job because he was off gambling and couldn't drive me there. I told him he owed me the money I lost because of him. For him, an attack on his wallet was worse than punching him in the face, and he started screaming at me.

He and my mother were no longer on speaking terms, and lived an hours' walk away from each other. I made guerilla attacks on his house (with the aide of my sister, whose manipulative nature was the reason for my parents non-communication), smashing windows, stealing CDs, phoning his mother and mouthing off at her, stealing a table and giving it to my mother as a birthday present. Hey, call me sentimental, but she had always liked that table. I must have looked kind of strange walking back to her house with it. lol

But in the end he gave up. He gave me the money and a self-pitying note, and I haven't seen him since (I think it's been about 8 or 9 years). I'm not sure whether I should still hate him or not. It seems pointless. It's not like he was the only one to beat the hell out of me. He never hit my mother though. He was as afraid of her as I was.

You'd think someone whose father smacked him around wouldn't want to do that to his own kids, but he hadn't learned that lesson. His father was violent, his father's father was violent, his father's father's father was violent, etc. My mother's family was even worse, but I've got to go and bash my head against the wall 'til I stop remembering now.

 

[Yellow Sun]

Glass Spine, STEP-AWAY-FROM-THE-WALL.

And breathe...

Really harsh stuff there GS. Apart from the bit where you trot back to your mother's bearing your well-considered gift! You were quite an enterprising 17 year old! I can't help but be impressed!

So seriously, I hope having those memories didn't take too much out of you. How're ya doing there mister?

 

[Yellow Sun]

P.S. - Please don't feel under any pressure to respond. In addition to the support expressed by others, I just wanted to send good wishes your way.

Take care,

YS

 

[Glass Spine]

It's difficult to know how to respond to kindness. Sometimes I think hostility would be easier to reply to (at least it wouldn't mess with my preconceptions).

I've got a hard head. Once, when I went 'weird', my brother hit me over the head with a cast iron frying pan. I think he hit me pretty hard, but I felt nothing. Or rather, I felt a cast iron frying pan hit me on the head but I didn't react.

I'm good at suppressing memories. When my mother sees me tilting my head sideways and making strange noises, she knows it means I'm trying to keep from having flashbacks. Unfortunately, you don't have to relive something for it to affect you. The result is, I feel depressed and have no idea why.

After I wrote my last post, I knew why. It takes time to cram something back down, but I managed. Haven't had any sleep though.

Thanks for the good wishes Yellow Sun. It means alot. Good wishes to you too.

 

[Girl3]

Yes it is a Luna moth - a female. Her tail is crinkly like wilted lettuce whereas the male Luna has a smoother shorter tail. She came to visit me for three days this summer. Her beauty and serenity made me weepy but exalted every time I saw her. They live such a short time. All my life I have felt either nothing - having been smashed in the face or head numerous times by my mother, knowing it happened but not feeling it - or I get so overwhelmed by emotion that I cry uncontrollably. Invariably the things that make me cry have to do with nature or man's cruelty. Nothing else human seems to touch me.
Good luck with your healing - like my psychiatrist says: you cannot undo the past, but with the right work you can change how you feel and react to it. I hope you find some peace every day.

 

[Glass Spine]

Invariably the things that make me cry have to do with nature or man's cruelty. Nothing else human seems to touch me.

I know that feeling well. I found a video on the internet recently that was a medley of people getting their heads sawn off, victims of road accidents with their intestines all over the road, one of the Dnepropetrovsk killings, etc, and only felt curiosity. No sympathy, empathy, or even contempt for the killers. I hasten to add that I realize a video lacks the smell, ambiance and involvement of actually being there and having this experience become a part of you.

Every day animals are treated as bad or worse than that. I can't watch animal cruelty, it upsets me too much. I go out of my way to try not to step on ants when I go outside, and become upset when I see dead snails or spiders. Especially spiders.

Sorry about your mother - no one should have to be afraid of their own parents. The head is a particularly cruel place to be hit. To damage someone's mind is unforgivable.

Luck, peace and happiness to you.

 

[Glass Spine]

Terrified. All the time. But I'm safe at home. It's like the song 'I am a rock' by Simon and Garfunkel; "...hiding in my room, safe within my womb, I touch no one and no one touches me..." Except my cat, naturally.

My mother says it was hard to watch me getting ready for school. I was invariably pale and trembling, my stomach always hurt, my shoulders hunched as if their were a large burden weighing me down. And then my father would show up, drive us to school, and if I took too long getting out of the car, he'd kick me out. Trying not to cry, knowing that everybody was out to hurt me - it doesn't matter if they wanted to or not, their presence caused me pain.

The female teachers pitied me, and talked to me like I was terminally ill. The male teachers hated me, and found every excuse to punish me. Strangely enough, as the crazed bastards yelled at me, I usually had to try very hard to keep a straight face. My psychologist later mistook this manic laughter for a weird sense of humour.

After my friend tried to kill me, I had no one left to hide behind. I spent lunch time either in detention or standing, staring, head down, controlling my thoughts so no one could find out things about me I didn't want them to know, making sure I didn't breathe in as people walked past me, showing no emotion, my back to the wall, tensed and alert, waiting for the next assault. The other students thought I was a lunatic who hated and wanted to kill them all. They were right, but I was too afraid of them to try.

Most of the boys just mocked me. That scornful, arrogant, demeaning tone is far too familiar to me. Some of them felt I needed to be taken down a peg. But they got no reaction as they pushed me around, just silent hatred. Groups of girls sometimes talked to me, but with my monosyllabic answers and discouraging put-downs they would eventually leave me alone. That's all I wanted - to be left alone and ignored so I could feel some kind of comfort.