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31 Years of HELL, Now They Tell Me I've Got PTSD

Discussion in 'Introductions' started by mortiis31, Sep 13, 2007.

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  1. mortiis31

    mortiis31 Active Member

    Hi everyone.

    I am 31 years of age, was born with a condition called Noonan's Syndrome, something which I have always loathed and detested about myself.
    From an early age (as early as birth, so I'm told), I was exposed to trauma of a brutal kind.

    My father would beat and rape my mother constantly, whilst he forced my brother and I to watch, spiting on her, kicking her throughout the house, breaking bones and (most importantly), breaking hearts.

    When I was five, the sexual abuse started, it lasted for five whole years, every night of the week, constantly for hours at a time, obeying to his commands, exposing myself, taking him in, allowing myself to be taken in by him.

    It was around the age of five that I began to start writing, seriously. Parents and teachers alike tried to stop me, commenting that my subject matter was disgusting, was brutal, was something of a mature element.
    (little did anyone outside the family know, what was going on inside our walls).

    At aged six I was diagnosed with Perthes Disease of the hip, traumatized through school, teased by both of my parents, put through the wringer, so to speak. I developed a self-hiding way of coping, sucking my outside feeling deep within my soul, and not exposing anything at all.

    The Perthese Disease cleared itself up, and when I turned 13 I had to start taking growth hormone injections, twice daily, giving them to myself, bruising myself, making my legs and arms a mass of scars and bruises.

    At aged 15 my parents (finally) divorced, they had stayed together through all of their shit for twenty five years of marriage. I was so overwhelmed when they divorced, to be taken away from my father by my mother and moved to a different town.

    I told my mother about the sexual abuse issues with my father, she never believed me, told me to stop talking nonsense, to shut my mouth and never mention it again.

    It was around this time when my mother started to show signs of abuse towards me, hitting, biting, punching, swearing, threatening to stab me.
    She was absolutely insane.

    I left home at sixteen, even though I had nowhere to go, I became homeless, addicted to heroin and alcohol, and started to have a relationship with a bi-polar girl who was much older than myself (she was 26 at the time).

    I became self-immersed in the heroin, the alcohol, and in Xiola (my partner). I discovered sex with her, it hurt my brain, my soul, my insides, but it felt good in the right places (if you know what I mean).

    All throughout this time I had continued writing, had taught some English at the local University to people who couldn't speak a word of it, and was relatively happy.
    (I was severely addicted to the drug Heroin, and was drinking almost constantly, you must remember).

    After two years of the same, Xiola decided that it was time to commit suicide whilst I was outside collecting firewood one morning. I heard the tremendous bang of the shotgun, ran inside, and saw her corpse waiting for me on the bedroom floor, minus the back of her head.

    I recall being absolutely astounded, not able to speak, not able to breathe, pain in my stomach like I had been shot and my insides were being dragged out through my mouth.

    I tried putting the pieces of her skull back into place, not really noticing that she was long gone, kissing her face, trying to get her to wake up, constantly talking to her.
    (It was hours before I contacted the authorities).

    After this incident I stopped heroin cold turkey, locking myself in my home with no more than enough liquid to survive and a cupboard full of bad food, to numb the pain.

    I wandered aimlessly through life, stumbling, crawling, hating (both myself and everyone else), writing - constantly writing.

    I met my new partner when I was about 21 or so, and we began to live together. It was a shocking relationship, I was constantly severely 'depressed', started drinking again, and also started using internet fraud in order to cope with insomniac nights.

    I committed internet fraud religiously, almost every minute of the day, thinking that people did not matter, not having any feelings or thoughts about what would ever happen to me if I just so happened to be caught one day.

    I was caught, charged, yet I continued to offend, severely, I wanted to piss the police off, to satisfy my own curiosities, to stretch my own limits.

    I should have known that this could not have gone on for long. I was investigated once again, and (five years later, and one child later), I was sentenced to a term of nine months in prison.

    I served four months, was raped inside of prison continuously, both by inmates and a particular prison guard.

    I'd learned my lesson though, oh I'll never be naughty ever again, please - just stop this horrible feeling of dread and despair and uncleanliness!

    When I was released from prison, my partner (and mother of my beautiful little girl), told me that she didn't want me back anymore, that I was to find somewhere else to live.

    There I was - homeless and alone once again.

    I went and stayed for a number of months with my older brother, before I met my next 'partner' - Kerstin, a German woman, over the internet.
    It was six months before she decided to move down here to be with me, with her two children.
    (My ex had custody of my daughter).

    I moved in with Kerstin, glad to be free from the confines of my brother's military-strict regime.

    From the minute she moved in with me, she stated that she hated me, did not love me anymore (yes, we'd met three times before she moved down here, and yes it was a rational decision).

    Ok, more rejection.

    She treated me like shit, made me stay in the garage instead of the house, would not let my daughter come and visit, swore and abused me in many ways (sometimes even sexually). I stayed for some time, I deserved it, it was what had always been given to me, it was my punishment.

    Finally I left, found myself living BACK with my older brother again, and ended up moving out of his house soon after, unable to cope with his strange bizarre behavior (he's ex-army and ex-navy and lives like he is still in there).

    I moved in to a place of my own, with my cat, and found a small part time job (one of the first ever jobs for me, in all my 31 years).
    I was relatively happy, lonely and withdrawn, but accepting of it.

    Then I met my love, Elizabeth, a bi-polar beauty (seems I have a luck of attracting girls with bi-polar disorder), and she decided she loved me slightly enough to want to live with me.

    It's hard, guys and girls, trying to live with a bi-polar person and all of their difficulties, but you know the hardest ****ing thing of all? Seeing all of the help and support she receives for her condition, seeing it be of a benefit to her.

    Mainly because I have ever been offered any help except medicinal, and my body seems to reject drugs now, and even though I'd only EVER been diagnosed with depression up until four months ago.

    Four months ago, I took it upon myself to register with the local 'mental' health service, started to see a psychiatrist there, and it was slowly confirmed that I had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Depression and Social Phobia!

    I almost died in the chair there when I heard him ramble off the list of symptoms, yet I answered yes to every single damn one of them, nodding my head in agreement with tears streaming down my cursed face.

    He prescribed me with Nortriptalyne, which I stayed on for over a month and a half before giving it up, due to sickness from taking the drug. I threw it in the bin and told myself I'd never touch the shit again.

    I also started to see a Psychotherapist three or four weeks ago once a week. She is helping a little, but I believe not enough.

    I honestly do not believe that I deserve to be helped, I've never had a friend in 31 years of life, I've never had a person to tend to - I hate people, I detest them really, but I also acknowledge that I need them.

    Those thoughts are what have brought me here to PTSD Forum. I need to know others, I need to feel loved, to feel wanted by someone - to feel that I do belong on this awful thing called earth (or is it hell).

    Somebody please, for gods sake, tell me that I am not alone?

    Thanks or listening to me ramble (but I am an author, after all!).

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  3. becvan

    becvan Queen of the Blunt! Premium Member

    Welcome to the forum Mort!

  4. mortiis31

    mortiis31 Active Member


    Thank you, Bec
  5. becvan

    becvan Queen of the Blunt! Premium Member

    Oh no, your definitely not alone. I have struggled and still struggle with the very same thing. (and I don't like people very much either!)

    I'm glad you joined. I'd say more.. but I'm not in a good head space currently.. so I'll shut up for now.

    Anyways, take a look around...

  6. mortiis31

    mortiis31 Active Member


    So Bec, you do not judge me?
  7. becvan

    becvan Queen of the Blunt! Premium Member

    Hell no. I have my own twisted story and struggle with people, relationships, and PTSD, just like everyone else on here.

    You won't find a lot of judgment here.. you will find, understanding, support, encouragement, kicks in the ass (when you need them due to denial or sympathy,) information, etc...

    My question to you is: why are you judging yourself? Also, what is that judgment?

  8. mortiis31

    mortiis31 Active Member

    Thanks Bec, you're very kind, and quite a help indeed!
  9. permban0077

    permban0077 Policy Enforcement Banned

    Just wanted to pop in and welcome you.
  10. mortiis31

    mortiis31 Active Member

    Thanks Veiled
  11. She Cat

    She Cat Policy Enforcement Banned Premium Member Sponsor $100+

    :hello: Welcome to the forum...
  12. mortiis31

    mortiis31 Active Member

    She Cat,
    thanks for the welcome.
  13. goingonhope

    goingonhope Member Premium Member

    Hi Mort, Welcome Aboard the forum, and no, you're not alone here. And, just think about this. With the same amount of passion that you now hate people, you can, and all in time, come to love them.

    All in time, with you healing from within your mind, body & spirit. I know, bc I once felt immense fear & hatred and frequently fantasized and hoped that I might just lose it one of those days and ................

    Not because I was or am evil, rotten or to be hated, but simply bc I was suffering untreated PTSD, extremely and severely ill, and there was no hope in sight, nor had there ever been help, while my abuse and that of my loved ones continued happening. It's been time and one heck'a'va haul and process from there but it has been mostly all uphill and only because there were my self-destructive relapses into drinking that set me horribly and painfully back.

    Well, whatever, I do hope the very best for you Mort, and I'm glad you trusted thus far to share here.

    Sincerely, Hope
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