Upside Down Eagle
Diamond Member
This post is about the courage needed to ignore yourself. To ignore your own unhealthy mental connections. The courage it takes to abandon ideas gone wrong. The courage to admit a choice when you feel that there is in fact one, even though it is extremely difficult. Even though it hurts your pride and makes you feel like your entire composure is shattering.
Many of you know -as you have helped me get through it -about the images I have been getting in my head involuntarily last months. And the tantrums that ensued. The images recall the strongest sense of humiliation, one that is so intense it makes me wish I weren't there.
These images were and still are always triggered by things. Friction of clothes -specially undergarments- against my skin. Itching skin. Touching parts of my body. Visits to the toilet, wiping, unlocking doors with a key, the watertap, sounds, a list so broad that in the end it seems like everything is a trigger and safety is nowhere. Making me (and many of you who have similar issues) feel like you can't escape. Like you are being punished. Like the universe is pulling some kind of sick joke on you for its own amusement. Like you are being betrayed.
But it isn't true. Any of it. Friction against my skin is just that. If I make a connection between friction on my skin and things that are happening in the past, then that's my own brain working against me. In the beginning it was pretty much unconscious, but then it starts to get more conscious as you realize that you are actually actively reliving the nightmere! Actually putting yourself in a situation where the humiliation continues! It's so bizarre, so many times it made me want to cry and scream at the same time for the absurdity of it.
Not only did I make a connection between all of the above and the past, I also made a connection between this behavior and the past. My mother had told me that I wanted to be treated like she did, that I wanted to be beaten and put down. Automatically (as a child) making me wonder whether I was sick and twisted. The weird fantasies I had at night, as a growing child, confirmed to me that I was just that. So in my adult brain something said: "I behave this way because I'm some kind of disgusting sadist that secretly enjoys pain".
But at the same time it said: NO!!! I'm not a #$%@ sadist. So everytime that I was triggered by any of the above, and get the images in my head, I would fight them. Rant and rage, and kick and scream and cry, like a humiliated six year old, not knowing how to deal with it. Wanting it to just stop, stop torturing me. I felt like if I didn't react to the images like a snarling, rabid dog, I would be admitting to the fact that I was in fact sick and wanted to be raped and humiliated just like I saw in my nightmeres and the images.
So. Courage. Courage to ignore this logic, to ignore the triggers, to ignore the images. Courage to let go, courage to stand up and take it into my adult hands, courage to admit the humiliation, courage to stop engaging. Writing it makes me sad on the inside. I've been fighting so long, and I'm a warrior, I know that I'll fight until I'm dead when my mind is set to it -I'll fight myself into a suicide. But that exact strength is the wrong strength and the wrong courage. It is staying in the past instead of moving on. It is a choice.
Admitting that I have in fact that choice is a b*tch. I don't want to admit that I have a choice, because then I'll have to choose a road at this incredible intersection in my life. I will have to leave everything once familiar to me. I'll have to distantiate me from this feeling of "NOOO!!!" that has characterized my entire life thus far. I'll have to be born anew...
Many of you know -as you have helped me get through it -about the images I have been getting in my head involuntarily last months. And the tantrums that ensued. The images recall the strongest sense of humiliation, one that is so intense it makes me wish I weren't there.
These images were and still are always triggered by things. Friction of clothes -specially undergarments- against my skin. Itching skin. Touching parts of my body. Visits to the toilet, wiping, unlocking doors with a key, the watertap, sounds, a list so broad that in the end it seems like everything is a trigger and safety is nowhere. Making me (and many of you who have similar issues) feel like you can't escape. Like you are being punished. Like the universe is pulling some kind of sick joke on you for its own amusement. Like you are being betrayed.
But it isn't true. Any of it. Friction against my skin is just that. If I make a connection between friction on my skin and things that are happening in the past, then that's my own brain working against me. In the beginning it was pretty much unconscious, but then it starts to get more conscious as you realize that you are actually actively reliving the nightmere! Actually putting yourself in a situation where the humiliation continues! It's so bizarre, so many times it made me want to cry and scream at the same time for the absurdity of it.
Not only did I make a connection between all of the above and the past, I also made a connection between this behavior and the past. My mother had told me that I wanted to be treated like she did, that I wanted to be beaten and put down. Automatically (as a child) making me wonder whether I was sick and twisted. The weird fantasies I had at night, as a growing child, confirmed to me that I was just that. So in my adult brain something said: "I behave this way because I'm some kind of disgusting sadist that secretly enjoys pain".
But at the same time it said: NO!!! I'm not a #$%@ sadist. So everytime that I was triggered by any of the above, and get the images in my head, I would fight them. Rant and rage, and kick and scream and cry, like a humiliated six year old, not knowing how to deal with it. Wanting it to just stop, stop torturing me. I felt like if I didn't react to the images like a snarling, rabid dog, I would be admitting to the fact that I was in fact sick and wanted to be raped and humiliated just like I saw in my nightmeres and the images.
So. Courage. Courage to ignore this logic, to ignore the triggers, to ignore the images. Courage to let go, courage to stand up and take it into my adult hands, courage to admit the humiliation, courage to stop engaging. Writing it makes me sad on the inside. I've been fighting so long, and I'm a warrior, I know that I'll fight until I'm dead when my mind is set to it -I'll fight myself into a suicide. But that exact strength is the wrong strength and the wrong courage. It is staying in the past instead of moving on. It is a choice.
Admitting that I have in fact that choice is a b*tch. I don't want to admit that I have a choice, because then I'll have to choose a road at this incredible intersection in my life. I will have to leave everything once familiar to me. I'll have to distantiate me from this feeling of "NOOO!!!" that has characterized my entire life thus far. I'll have to be born anew...
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