3 steps forward, 2 back

[lighteningdarkness]

It's raining. But the sun is shining. There's no rainbow or anything special. Just the bright sun and a thin mist of rain, like a filter over everything. Feels kind of prophetic.

Life is going on, moving forward, changing, growing. But it feels like there's a filter over the top of everything. Like all of the experiences and things in my life now are filtered through the past, and everything that goes with that.

Most of the time life is good, sometimes unbelievably so. I have a life that some would be jealous of, possibly most. My home is warm, and comfortable and safe, for the first time I have a reasonable degree of financial security. I'm a mum. And I love an amazing woman who loves me back - and more than that, she gets me. I'm safe.

And yet here I am, looking out of the window, through the rain. Thinking of my life and experiencing my life through the filter of PTSD which should be long gone. And because of that every day still feels like a battle. When in reality it's not, it's just life.

 

[lighteningdarkness]

I think I need to get my head round the last few years. It's been a wild ride. I know that's a real kind of cliché but it proper has been. And anyway, I used to be a daily beach bum so I think I'm allowed some surfer slang.

It's going to take a while to do that, and I know I'll rip some sticking plasters off in the process, but I guess the pain is part of the growth. I'm sick of mental health being some kind of dirty secret we all keep. Like we need to protect people from the sheer awfulness of it. Well you know, that awfulness is my life - as much as those good bits, so deal with it.

Sorry, off on a tangent already. It's been just over 3 years since I left, and there's been a lot of realisations since then. You know, that whole 'you don't know how bad it is until you're out of it' thing.

My marriage wasn't really bad or anything. We enjoyed the same things, liked socialising together. It's not like I was beaten regularly. But there are elements that I need to accept happened, and the level of unhealthiness. And the control. And then I need to accept that, actually, it was bad, I just don't like to accept that that was me. What kind of person does that make me?

I mean, at the time, I think every woman (or man I guess) knows when something isn't right, but it's balanced by everything else. And perhaps that's what happens so we can leave, that the balance tips just far enough for us middle class women to realise the comfort and 'keeping up appearances' isn't worth it.

Because, I mean, who else has a husband who cooks and cleans without whining? And does that balance out the rest? The sulks if things weren't right, the expectation that I'd do what made 'us' happy, the not having any money, the control that comes from being able to do that, the watching porn while I pretended to sleep then turning over and taking what he wanted. Is that rape? I don't know, it doesn't matter. That's gone. But at some point I have to realise and accept that that was me, that that was my life, that that was how I chose to live. That was me.

I wish I'd kept the pictures from when I left. That was a mad mad mad weekend. I kept them for a while, the pictures of my back covered in bruises. I deleted them, I think, because I didn't want to accept that things would ever get bad enough that I'd need to show them. Like deleting them would make that situation never happen. I regret that.

I should have gone to the hospital the next day. Or rather, I should have asked for medical attention during all those hours I spent in the cell. I can't go near thinking about that yet. Too many powerful men.

On the upside I can use a screwdriver now, almost without thinking. Or perhaps that's how I can, because I very carefully don't think. Perhaps being able not to think is a good thing.

My family are speaking to me again, and we spend time together. It's not the same though. Once you've been left to rot once I think it can't be. Very raw. So much of my life went into them, so much of what I could be or could have done compromised. And when I needed them, there was nothing, and worse than nothing. Still raw.

And all the time, there's still the filter. The ptsd filter. Why does stuff always come back when you're least able to deal with it, when you're at your weakest? That just proper takes the p*ss.

So I can't work out if I'm crap and tired because of life, or because of the ptsd or because of my choices, or other peoples or if I'm just crap and tired.

I know, I think too much.

I still have acceptance issues from what happened before. Whose fault. I can feel my old therapist's 'empathy eyes'! Stuff to work on. Then the marriage stuff, and the leaving stuff and the family stuff.

And the 'getting through life every day when you're working and have 2 children' stuff.

What's awesome is I don't have to work through the 'I'm gay' stuff. I just kind of realised and went 'wow. That makes sense. And aren't women waaaaaay nicer to look at than men'. Or perhaps that's just a reflection that there's no room left in my head for anything else to 'work through'.

 

[lighteningdarkness]

The feeling of being aroused isn't new, obviously, but it feeling of it being vaguely safe is.

The problem is, I came that first time I was raped. So the 2 things are linked. It's weird, because I'd had sex with the man before and nothing like that had happened. Nothing close. Perhaps the fact I was bleeding profusely provided some help, made things easier. Better.

So my brain has linked it all - the force, the pain and the fear with the sexual release.

I thought for a long time that perhaps I just liked it that way, with the force and the pain and the fear. But I read about the s&m stuff and that's not the way it works.

The stuff that I did and the hurt that came with it when my ptsd was bad, I think that's linked. Like a form of self harm.

I still look back and can't believe it. I knew it was risky, new I was highly likely to get hurt and raped but still did it. Over and over and over. Is it even rape if you know it's going to happen?

So, being aroused is in itself triggering. Even some of the physical feelings, the good stuff that happens, is trippy. But I guess that's normal, and annoying.

It just takes head space and effort to keep myself on track. Difficult when great things are happening.

It's taken a lot of work and a lot of patience to get here. On bad days those feelings are strong. The feeling dirty and the need to hit the self destruct button - go get myself hurt. I have a feeling that that's a line in the sand for my partner though. I wouldn't do that, so I sit through it, knowing that it's always passed before.

 

[heyyou]

"Like all of the experiences and things in my life now are filtered through the past, and everything that goes with that."

"Thinking of my life and experiencing my life through the filter of PTSD which should be long gone. And because of that every day still feels like a battle. When in reality it's not, it's just life."

Wow these words touched me so much. Sometimes I feel like this as well. Thank god its not all, because that would be hard to deal with. And sometimes all I can think of is wanting to go back to before when all this wasn't around. I don't want to say I felt freer then, in hope that things will get better and maybe I'll learn true 'freedom' or find some part of me that was lost or a part of me I never knew was missing.

Maybe its because this is one of the first diary posts I've read on this site but almost every single word of what you wrote resonated with me even though my experience is not at all similar to yours. Like how being aroused is triggering, and the desire to hurt yourself and self-destruct can sweep you suddenly when things get bad, but you keep going because the wave of hurt will pass like it always has. The self-harm. And 'empathy-eyes'- thats what those looks therapists give you is called xD -

You have two kids and someone you love who loves you back so I think some things for you are going amazing. so yay! All this does take so much work and patience, and I think for everyone there are moments that you are actually *happy* and can step back and say you like where you are.

 

[lighteningdarkness]

Tired tired tired. Round and round and round. Same shit, back in your box. Nothing new. Same same same. Over and over and over. Just look at the sky, look at the clouds, breathe. Ignore that what you feel isn't ok. Ignore that it's not important. Ignore that you shouldn't feel like that. That you shouldn't show that, that it's not ok to feel that, and definitely not show that. Blah blah blah. Shut the box. Not important. I'm not important.

At least not unless I have a smile on my face. I don't want to know you, be with you, acknowledge you if you're not all ok. I have no right to be upset, angry, disappointed. I don't deserve to be allowed to have those feelings.

 

[lighteningdarkness]

Wow, that last post was intense wasn't it. No idea what was going on there. Clearly in the grip of it.

Life is good, I have a safe space, and a safe relationship - somewhere I can be me in, and she can be her in. So respectful. Time, love, space, hugs on tap. Pure. Safe. Joy. When life and ptsd allow us the space to be there.

It's been a while, since I've posted. You know, you think things are better. You think you are better. And then actually it turns out that's a load of shit. You're not better. Nothing's better. All the hard work, the pain, the fight counts for nothing. Because you walk into a room and into someone else's conversation and someone says the word 'rape' and you're right back where you started.

Fighting. Fighting to breath. Fighting the force. Fighting the pain. Fighting to stay alive. Fighting to ground myself here & now, fighting so no-one notices & I can keep some dignity. Always fighting, fighting. Exhausting.

I wish I'd known how hard the fight to stay alive would be. I'd have done a proper job to end it the first time. And not bottled it other times, made sure I wasn't interrupted. I have no plan currently, that's a conscious thing and I'm glad and proud I don't, because my brain often tries. It used to be strangely liberating, like some weird comfort blanket. Knowing that there was always a plan B when things got too bad. But the knowledge of how to end it, quickly and well (if not painlessly) doesn't go away. Something else I wish I could forget. Too many hours of research and planning. Strange how my brain can't remember names but knows exactly how to tie the right knots. Still.

I never thought I'd say it, but I miss my therapy, and my therapist. I miss going to somewhere guaranteed safe, every week for that hour or so. Where I could be me, honest to me, and not be thinking of what I should be doing. Because the only thing I should be doing during that time was making me well. It was the space and the time where I had permission to deal with me, and just me. Not be anything to anyone else, just take care of me. Because I guess I was paying enough for it!

I miss my therapist too. I've always missed her. She was awesome, patient and kind and caring. And, yeah I know, paid to do it. I learnt a lot from her - those puppy 'that's so awful and I feel for you' eyes to convey empathy, the honesty of saying 'that's really shit and hearing that makes me sad for you'. I use at work, for good purposes. I really miss her, and the safety. Yeah, and I found her attractive, she gave me the safety to acknowledge my feelings towards other women, even though I never told her and sexuality was never something we spoke about. I'm very grateful to her.

The self destruct is kicking in. I can recognise it. I'm trying really hard. When my ptsd kicked in initially it had loads of risk taking, I hate the internet for making that so easy to do. I hate more that I did it. I'm disgusted with myself and ashamed, and those feelings just feed everything else. It's so easy to do, so tempting. That urge and need to be hurt, knowing it's so close, and no-one would know. I've never really understood this bit. The need to be hurt. If I don't understand it it's more difficult to stop.

But then if I don't stop then the trauma just goes on and on. I just want to hit my head on the wall to make the thoughts go away, just that clagging consuming need. I'm not even sure what it's a need for, whether it's to be hurt, or give power to someone else, or just because that was normality. My head is screaming.

One thing I know is that I'm not going to be a statistic. In 2015, 17 people a day in the UK took their own life. There's no f**king way that's going to be me. I have at least 3 people who love me and I'm not taking them there. Staying alive for other people isn't the greatest reason, but it's one that keeps me here. And keeps me from re-engaging with the destructive self harming risk, because I know my brain can't take any more of that and stay alive.

That said, I can actually taste the fear. My mouth has gone dry and my heart is pounding, because I know it's right there. Whenever I want it. The pain, the humiliation, the physical reaction to it. The normality of it. The sheer wanting it. The disregard for me, to reinforce what I know about myself, what I deserve to happen. Take everything back to where it should be.

I'm a strong woman, and I'm glad of it. I wonder sometimes, where would I be, what could I have done, who could I have been if I actually wanted to be alive and took all that energy and passion and fight to somewhere else. For something else and other people. Instead of just keeping my useless selfish arse alive.

I'm vey glad I have the strength every day to breath in, breath out, and sometimes just wait it out while keeping me safe.