gms1976
Bronze Member
This is the first time I have posted here. I am hoping talking about this may help. I have C-PTSD and Bipolar II Disorder. I now live in California and am an American citizen but was born in Zimbabwe in 1976 and at the age of 4 experienced my first civil war. Our houses there are brick so we would retreat to the middle of them when there was gunfire. I still remember at the age of 4 seeing a huge puddle of blood at the bottom of the back steps. A terrorist tried to use our house for cover. They had to shoot him apparently.
My upbringing was extremely strict, cold and emotionless. My father also had Bipolar II and severe PTSD as he had been shot twice in the war (Rhodesian Bush War) and an army truck he had been in had gone over a landmine. My father had the bipolar moodswings as well as the unpredictable rages and emotional swings of PTSD. He never told me he loved me. Not once that I can recall. I had one hug from him that I remember. I was about 11 years old and I begged him for it as I was so sad. He didn't know how to react. There was never love or acceptance, only criticism and coldness. My mother was sweet but superficial but at times she had a temper too. There was never any deep emotional connection with either of them. Nothing was good enough for my father, ever. I learned my math tables standing beside his chair while he used a stopwatch. I realize now, I spent most of my childhood in fear of him. He was well over 6 feet and slim.
My brother and I were chubby. We weren't fat but my father thought we were. At age 6 I had to report to a doctor's office every wednesday with my mother to weigh in. We were put on a formal weight-loss program. At age 8 we moved to South Africa (my mother is South African by birth). I suddenly had to go to a girls-only, whites-only school, where before in Zimbabwe there had been no racial restrictions. I was confused, but my father liked it that way. I realize now he was very, very racist. It was at this time I started showing Bipolar moodswings. We didn't know what it was at that time. My parents thought I was always difficult and uncooperative. We clashed many times.
At age 10 my granddad molested me and then tried to rape me. He groped me several times and finally when everyone was out, he came into my room, climbed on my bed where I was reading and held me down. He was practically drooling and told me he had me all to himself. I fought him off. Weeks later, my mother noticed something was wrong. She managed to get it out of me what had happened. She urged me to tell my father but I didn't want to. She eventually convinced me to do so.
To tell my father anything involved standing before his chair. He had an armchair and sat there like a king on his throne. I had to stand in the middle of the livingroom like I was on trial and tell him what happened. It was his father I was accusing so he didn't believe me. I stood there crying and he told me I was lying; had misunderstood my granddad's affections. I felt like a criminal. I was only 10 years old. It was never discussed again.
After that, my weight issue got a lot worse. I ate to dull the pain. My parents forced me on various diets; made me eat separate from the rest of the family so I wouldn't get tempted by the food they ate. They tried to bribe me with money to lose weight, but I know now I just wanted the pain to stop.
At age 13 I tried to hurt myself for the first time. Some people say I was trying to commit suicide but that never really entered my head. I was crying out and needed to be heard. I drank toxic flea-dip for dogs. I ended up in the hospital, got my stomach pumped and was very ill. When I came home, we were not allowed to talk about it. I was dragged to a psychologist (physically kicking and screaming to get into the car) and told it was a phase I was going through.
At age 16 my father had a heart attack at home. I was the only one in the house who knew CPR so even though my brother was 3 years older, my mother came running for me. I am now a Registered Nurse, but the first time I did CPR was on my own father and I couldn't save him. He died in front of me. It was in South Africa so the nearest ambulance was an hour away. Even though we called them, they never came.
My family withdrew from me. I guess they needed someone to blame. I blamed myself too. I now know there was nothing that could have been done. But back then, I was unable to save my father and as I was the only one with any First Aid training, in my eyes, I should have been able to do something. I didn't grieve. I went to school the next day after he died. I had to do First Aid at a swimming function. I didn't feel much, I was numb.
There was no support or understanding and basically the attitude was "suck it up and move on". So I did. There is more to the tale but I don't want to bore people or run too long with this. I am now 35 and in the past 2 years my life has started unraveling. I get jumpy, angry for no apparent reason, severely depressed or agitated. I stared spacing out for long periods of time. I used to work in the ICU at a local hospital but I took myself out when I started having frequent anxiety attacks. I lost my confidence entirely.
I work a desk job but unfortunately there are two people who have personalities who trigger me several times every day. It is exhausting. I was on medical leave for 3 months but it didn't seem nearly long enough. I was almost suicidal at one point - I even had a plan. I was dissociating so severely I was blanking out and still somehow doing my work - it was a mess and it freaked me out as I didn't remember doing it. It still happens, but now I know what it is. I am now seeing a PTSD specialist twice weekly (stressful as my boss is not happy as my schedule is difficult) and we are going to do EMDR in the future. Things still seem to be deteriorating. Nightmares, frequent waking up. I am hypervigilant all the time and jump if even a door slams. I also have the Bipolar II to deal with. Feeling really, really depressed. My husband doesn't know what to do. He keeps trying to smother me with love and I just want to scream and run away. I just want to be left alone. When I am alone, I am not triggered. But I am triggered by almost everything: TV shows and movies - especially the nice family ones, dead animals on the side of the road (I feel so sad for them as they died alone and in pain), sudden sounds, perceived rejection. My short term memory is shot and most of my childhood is a blur. I don't trust myself. My co-workers think I am a crazy headcase and most days I wish I was dead.
I also hate myself. I loathe myself and hate what I see in the mirror. Nothing I do is ever acceptable or good enough in my eyes. I despise myself and everything I do. I used to weigh 320 lbs. I had gastric bypass surgery in 2005 and lost 152 lbs. Now I am stuck with tons of loose skin. I also can't get pregnant normally and failed IVF twice. Just so sad and tired all the time. Wish I could end it all, but I don't believe in god anymore so I don't know where I would go. I hope coming here helps. Sorry this post is so long.
gms1976
My upbringing was extremely strict, cold and emotionless. My father also had Bipolar II and severe PTSD as he had been shot twice in the war (Rhodesian Bush War) and an army truck he had been in had gone over a landmine. My father had the bipolar moodswings as well as the unpredictable rages and emotional swings of PTSD. He never told me he loved me. Not once that I can recall. I had one hug from him that I remember. I was about 11 years old and I begged him for it as I was so sad. He didn't know how to react. There was never love or acceptance, only criticism and coldness. My mother was sweet but superficial but at times she had a temper too. There was never any deep emotional connection with either of them. Nothing was good enough for my father, ever. I learned my math tables standing beside his chair while he used a stopwatch. I realize now, I spent most of my childhood in fear of him. He was well over 6 feet and slim.
My brother and I were chubby. We weren't fat but my father thought we were. At age 6 I had to report to a doctor's office every wednesday with my mother to weigh in. We were put on a formal weight-loss program. At age 8 we moved to South Africa (my mother is South African by birth). I suddenly had to go to a girls-only, whites-only school, where before in Zimbabwe there had been no racial restrictions. I was confused, but my father liked it that way. I realize now he was very, very racist. It was at this time I started showing Bipolar moodswings. We didn't know what it was at that time. My parents thought I was always difficult and uncooperative. We clashed many times.
At age 10 my granddad molested me and then tried to rape me. He groped me several times and finally when everyone was out, he came into my room, climbed on my bed where I was reading and held me down. He was practically drooling and told me he had me all to himself. I fought him off. Weeks later, my mother noticed something was wrong. She managed to get it out of me what had happened. She urged me to tell my father but I didn't want to. She eventually convinced me to do so.
To tell my father anything involved standing before his chair. He had an armchair and sat there like a king on his throne. I had to stand in the middle of the livingroom like I was on trial and tell him what happened. It was his father I was accusing so he didn't believe me. I stood there crying and he told me I was lying; had misunderstood my granddad's affections. I felt like a criminal. I was only 10 years old. It was never discussed again.
After that, my weight issue got a lot worse. I ate to dull the pain. My parents forced me on various diets; made me eat separate from the rest of the family so I wouldn't get tempted by the food they ate. They tried to bribe me with money to lose weight, but I know now I just wanted the pain to stop.
At age 13 I tried to hurt myself for the first time. Some people say I was trying to commit suicide but that never really entered my head. I was crying out and needed to be heard. I drank toxic flea-dip for dogs. I ended up in the hospital, got my stomach pumped and was very ill. When I came home, we were not allowed to talk about it. I was dragged to a psychologist (physically kicking and screaming to get into the car) and told it was a phase I was going through.
At age 16 my father had a heart attack at home. I was the only one in the house who knew CPR so even though my brother was 3 years older, my mother came running for me. I am now a Registered Nurse, but the first time I did CPR was on my own father and I couldn't save him. He died in front of me. It was in South Africa so the nearest ambulance was an hour away. Even though we called them, they never came.
My family withdrew from me. I guess they needed someone to blame. I blamed myself too. I now know there was nothing that could have been done. But back then, I was unable to save my father and as I was the only one with any First Aid training, in my eyes, I should have been able to do something. I didn't grieve. I went to school the next day after he died. I had to do First Aid at a swimming function. I didn't feel much, I was numb.
There was no support or understanding and basically the attitude was "suck it up and move on". So I did. There is more to the tale but I don't want to bore people or run too long with this. I am now 35 and in the past 2 years my life has started unraveling. I get jumpy, angry for no apparent reason, severely depressed or agitated. I stared spacing out for long periods of time. I used to work in the ICU at a local hospital but I took myself out when I started having frequent anxiety attacks. I lost my confidence entirely.
I work a desk job but unfortunately there are two people who have personalities who trigger me several times every day. It is exhausting. I was on medical leave for 3 months but it didn't seem nearly long enough. I was almost suicidal at one point - I even had a plan. I was dissociating so severely I was blanking out and still somehow doing my work - it was a mess and it freaked me out as I didn't remember doing it. It still happens, but now I know what it is. I am now seeing a PTSD specialist twice weekly (stressful as my boss is not happy as my schedule is difficult) and we are going to do EMDR in the future. Things still seem to be deteriorating. Nightmares, frequent waking up. I am hypervigilant all the time and jump if even a door slams. I also have the Bipolar II to deal with. Feeling really, really depressed. My husband doesn't know what to do. He keeps trying to smother me with love and I just want to scream and run away. I just want to be left alone. When I am alone, I am not triggered. But I am triggered by almost everything: TV shows and movies - especially the nice family ones, dead animals on the side of the road (I feel so sad for them as they died alone and in pain), sudden sounds, perceived rejection. My short term memory is shot and most of my childhood is a blur. I don't trust myself. My co-workers think I am a crazy headcase and most days I wish I was dead.
I also hate myself. I loathe myself and hate what I see in the mirror. Nothing I do is ever acceptable or good enough in my eyes. I despise myself and everything I do. I used to weigh 320 lbs. I had gastric bypass surgery in 2005 and lost 152 lbs. Now I am stuck with tons of loose skin. I also can't get pregnant normally and failed IVF twice. Just so sad and tired all the time. Wish I could end it all, but I don't believe in god anymore so I don't know where I would go. I hope coming here helps. Sorry this post is so long.
gms1976
