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Enaila's Diary

Enaila

MyPTSD Pro
I finally decided to try an online diary, with the reminder to myself what is put the web stays on the web.

It was a really tough week....I forgot and let my guard down....thinking I would try to be more positive and have a little hope that good things can happen to me..I had been saving a little every month so my son's and I could have a family vacation as it had been over five years since the last one. The day I took the money I had saved out of the bank, the car we were to take wouldn't start. $140 later for a new battery, I had a car which ran for all of ten miles and then died on my son as he was coming home from work, so we had to have car towed. $108 later the shop confirmed it was the alternator. Just great ....$450 for new parts and labor. Car finally ready for travel though now funds significantly less.

Tried positive thinking again as I wanted to have a fun time with my son's. Arrive to hotel first night to find rooms haven't been cleaned yet. Grrr...go get something to eat and on way back to hotel the windshield gets cracked...enough it isn't safe to drive. Thank goodness for car insurance. Next morning head to shop to get fixed. Friend and her family upset at me for "taking big chunk out of their vacation time." This was said after she angrily yelled allowed she knew she shouldn't have traveled with me. I was already massively stressed and truly didn't need her rudeness. Only took little over hour that they would have spent sleeping.

Fell and scratched up my knees at end of hike. Wouldn't be the last fall of the vacation either. My friend continued to be rude to me for most of the trip. I continued to bottle it up until deciding maybe doing this diary would help me calm. I took my anxiety medicine as recommended and mentioned to do called friend she may need some too. I felt verbally abused most of the trip. While she is normally my supportive friend, she was totally different when traveling to a new place.

To top it off, I ended up with bronchitis. I decided I wasn't going to let it stop me, but now am really drained. Ironically, when my friend asked her youngest son what he liked best about the trip, he said all the new things he saw. When asked what he liked least, it wasn't being cold most the trip like his mom expected, it was the yelling she did at me. I didn't once responded back to her rudeness, especially in front of her son, but now I can feel the anger, resentment, and feelings of how my dad treated me. I am wanting to hurt myself to relieve the feelings, but know that isn't an acceptable option.
 
I finally decided to try an online diary, with the reminder to myself what is put the web stays on the...

Hi there. I am sorry this is happening. You're a lot better than me lol. I would have went insane and cried and freaked out maybe. Idk.

But for real she sounds really mean to you. I'm glad you didn't let her ruin your fun for you and your sons! You're so strong!

I know that self-harm urge. It's bad for me too. Please feel free to PM me if you would like to talk. Would love to offer my listening ear and love.

Healing to you. Safe :hug: if wanted or needed and if okay of course. Take gentle care All the support to you.
 
Hi there. I am sorry this is happening. You're a lot better than me lol. I would have went insane and...
I am unable to cry. I bottle things up, block, and avoid. I wanted to say something back, but she always had her youngest with her and I don't believe it was any of his business. She said it it's healthy for kids to witness arguing and then discussion.....I just flash and remember all the arguing and "discussions" my parents had when I was growing up.
 
I sit at the table alone, again, being expected to eat this huge bowl of spaghetti with lots of sauce containing slimy things, I later learn are mushrooms, and spicy crunchy things which make my stomach hurt (onions.) I don't want to eat it. I am tired and there is way too much icky stuff on my plate. I stare down at the plate and feel sick to my stomach.

My dad walks in the door and asks my mom why I am still up and tells her if I don't appreciate what he has provided then he will take care of it. She says something back to him. He stomps over to where I am sitting at the table, picks up my plate of spaghetti and slams it into the wall in front of the table. A big splotch which looks to me like blood oozes down the wall. My mom yells at him and he gets mad and leaves the house.

Mom is mad. She takes a hammer and destroys my dad's gun display case and then dumps it into the yard. I am sent to bed crying while she picks up the glass from the cabinet. I am three.
 
I don't understand what is going on. I don't know why he, my dad, made me get out of the car and threw my little suitcase at me. It is so dark. I can hear animal sounds and remember grandma had told me to stay away from the highway as the trucks were dangerous. Why did my dad do this to me? I am too afraid to move. I know are snakes in the ditch. My stomach hurts. Why am I such a bad kid? What did I do too have this happen? I'm afraid. My mom was crying as they left. I guess they only want my little brother. I am four.
 
I walk alone to the school. I'm wanting to be brave, but when I don't find any other kids on the playground, I am afraid. I am alone again. I peek in the window and see them learning to tie shoes. I can already do that. I don't know how to go in, so go and sit in this concrete like pipe to play on and in. I can't go home. I will get in trouble. I start to cry. Friendly eyes peer in. They are those of my aunt's! She says she thought it was me. She suggests we go get a lollipop at the store and she walks me home. I don't think she tells on me. I am five.
 
I sit alone in my room....no surprise there. I seem to be here a lot. I don't know why I am in trouble this time, but I suppose I deserve it. My mom is always asking me why I do things to upset my father. My dad is always upset. I sit cross legged in front of an outlet with a metal Bobby pin in my hand. I know for it to work, I need an end in both holes. I don't know how I know this, but my dad is an electrician so maybe he told me. I am tired of being blamed, having to sit for what seems like hours to eat food which makes my stomach hurt, of being yelled at and spanked. I know if I stick the pin in the outlet, I will probably die, but I don't realize that death is forever yet. My kitty meows and nudges me wanting to be petted. I can always do it later. I am six.
 
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He's here again. I don't like it when Scott visits. He touches me and I don't feel comfortable. He only does it when his wife Roberta isn't looking. I run to hide in my room. My mom comes to find me and asks why I am afraid. I tell her and she moves me to her room where I can watch t v until he leaves. She believed me. I am seven.
 
You're very brave for sharing. You were so small. That all sounds so heartbreaking and sad and scary. I'm sorry they hurt you so horribly. You have all my support. Feel free to PM if l you want to. :)
 
It's raining as my aunt takes my cat away. I know she disposed of the stray cats at grandma's by holding them in a bag by the car exhaust pipe. I cry looking out the big picture window not understanding why I can no longer keep my calico cat. She was my closest friend. My dad is probably punishing me or controlling my mom. Mom tells me the cat was stolen. I saw my aunt take her. Why would my aunt steal and kill my cat? I'm afraid to trust anyone anymore.

I spend hours crying. Whenever we travel in the car at night, I sob quietly against the door. I know if I am caught crying I "will be given a reason to cry." I start to self harm by touching myself to cause pain. My parents never know this. I become good at not letting anyone know how I feel. I learn to keep the pain inside.

I get straight A's and take advanced classes though I am only in third grade. It is still not enough for my dad to love me. My mom makes excuses for his behavior. I stop believing things will get better. I am eight.
 
Okay, so I WAS going to diary chronologically, but realized that would limit me too much...and give me an excuse to avoid what I am currently being to address.

I saw a show today about Alaskan police while trying to do some desensitization toward police. All was going well until a domestic violence call and response was being shown.

Dang it!! Fireworks just went off again while I was typing this! Deep breath.

I am going to share the flashback...I AM.

I came home from work and see my son in the playpen, but am unsure where my unemployed husband is. It is a small apartment so it doesn't take me long to see the laundry room door is closed. I wonder if my husband has killed himself, he had attempted it before. I'm afraid of what I may find. I find the door locked. I get on my stomach to look under it and can see my husband sitting on the floor rolling bullets toward the pilot light of the water heater. I ask through the door if he's is okay, is there something I can do to help. His answer to my question is to load his 30 aught 7 with a bullet and cock the gun. (To this day, that sound sticks in my mind.)

I start trying to convince him to put down the gun. He slams open the door, shoves me against the kitchen cupboards, grabs our six month old son out of the playpen, and locks himself and our son in the bedroom.

My fear kicks in and all I can focus on is my baby! I am in fight mode and angry now. I run at the door and smash my shoulder into it splintering open the door from its frame. It surprised my husband long enough for me to grab my son and escape from the apartment. Thankfully a neighbor in the four plex had heard the noise. They invited me in and called the police for me. The officer, calmly explained what was going to happen, but I still was frightened. A SWAT vehicle pulled up and many police surrounded the neighborhood.

I heard the thumping up the stairs and the pounding on the door. I heard the police yell at him to put down his weapon. I started to doubt myself as distorted as the thinking was. The police took him to the hospital where my husband voluntarily admitted himself to a psychiatric hospital for evaluation.

He was hospitalized for three weeks then released when insurance said he needed to be. He returned home to me more depressed than when he had left due to the huge hospital bill. I tried to be the supportive wife. He chose to turn to self medicating. Yet, I stayed with him for another five years doing the best to be supportive with the knowledge I had at the time.
 
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