Hello all,
I'm pretty newish to posting but I've been reading some of the stories and threads and decided to post my own. I hope that it might be able to show my perspective and if anyone has any questions please feel free to ask.
I come from an Irish Catholic family so let me start there, my mother who I found out in early adulthood holds a very similar childhood to my own and also suffers from PTSD, she however is a bit hesitant in her treatment and thus struggles with her symptoms severely. During my childhood she had never received treatment and I now know that was the reason for a lot of the troubles between us.
My mother and biological father were majorly abusive in their relationship with one another. I was born as a product of my mother thinking she owed him a child and a family although she was definitely not ready for a child. My biological father (I saw him for the final time when I was four so I don't truly know the man) attempted to kill both me and my mother when I was an infant or so I was told with a knife. He then left her, she obviously not in a good state herself felt the delusion that nothing good would ever come of her if she had a child, she proceeded to attempt to smother me thus my transition of care went to my grandparents.
A bit of background there, my grandmother a very Catholic woman refused to end her marriage to my grandfather who served in the military and was deployed far more times than he should of. He is a very abusive alcoholic, never to me however, to him I was his pride a clever child but I bore witness to all the hits my grandmother took and the fighting between them as well as the drinking, she loved me dearly but there was always the resentment that he never hit me and always went after her. My grandmother never cared for children and rarely let me associate with them, play with childrens toys or talk babble. I was presented with novels and watched adult movies, I learned to speak in full sentences from the beginning because nothing else was accepted. My favourite toy was a medical encyclopedia. Needless to say I became a clever child, reserved but clever, I witnessed the abuse and had little contact with my mother as she was busy going through a few more abusive husbands at the time. They sent me to boarding school, a very Catholic boarding school and yes I know what you are all thinking but nothing ever happened there in fact the education was quite wonderful and I could read and write years beyond my age. I was spelling paleontologist by grade two.
Anyways, summers weren't bad besides the drinking etc, even my uncles and extended family were drowning troubles in drugs and alcohol. I grew up with it being seen as quite normal, a sniff of coke under the nails drinking beer till noon then switching to something a little harder. My grandmother had heart problems and after one fight with my grandfather had a major heart attack, I was seven at the time and my grandfather walked out in a drunken stupor. I called 911 and administered care until they arrived, then I sent someone to look for my grandfather. My grandmother later blamed me from the incident saying I had been mouthy that day and that was why he had been angry and her heart problems were my fault.
When I was eight my mother was onto another marriage, she decided she wanted me back, and through some manner of blackmail I'm not sure what was really said I was sent to live with her. It was fine for awhile, then I noticed her husband abused her and drank, I thought this was normal. Little did I know that things would change, the abuse turned to me. At first it was physical black eyes, broken bones, for the both of us, we would simply move whenever someone became suspicious. My only salvation was that boarding school. It wasn't long before the sexual abuse began, he would harm my mother and I would hide under the bed knowing when she went to get stitches or have something set her would come for me. I remember one fight he left and injured my mother and she threw a rock through his window, I held the glass wondering if he loved me and if it was wrong that I was scared he would leave because what if the next husband was worse. I was nine at the time, I ran away that winter in the snow and the minus twenty cold. He caught me and beat me locking me in my room with a broken wrist, I ate snow from my window for water until he felt I could be let out. I tried to kill myself the following summer seeing no alternative to the pain, overdosing on my mother's sleeping pills I had my stomach pumped and we moved once more.
Finally my grandparents got a house in the same town as us now that they were retired they had the freedom to go back and forth. At this time I was 12 and I had been physically abused, mentally abused and sexually abused the entire time. My abuser also fed me minimally so I was grossly underweight, he told my mother that she was silly and it was naturally for a girl of my age. My grandfather saw this and threatened the life of my abuser, an ex military man with PTSD can be persuasive, he handed me over to my grandparents to raise and left my mother running away never to be heard from again. She had another child with him at this point and an elder one with a husband before him. My mother is prone to bad marriages. I returned to my grandparents and the alcoholism and emotional abuse, it was better than before. This summer I began doing drugs my cousin introducing me to alcohol and coke that my uncle had laying around, he too suffered abuses, it made the pain go away. We were thirteen.
My mother remarried the following year to the man who saved my life the man who I consider my father. I didn't trust it at first but I went to meet him and his two children my brother and my sister. I befriended my brother immediately and my sister and I grew to have a very close friendship. He was a navy man and despite my acting out I knew he would never hurt me. He took me in and dealt with my many many many behaviour problems, no matter how terrible I was he never yelled and never hit me. He was wonderful and I finally learned I could trust him. I still never called him dad at this point. One day my mother hit me infront of my brother frustrated that I had not made dinner to her standards my brother took me and we ran away waiting for our dad to return. He told our dad what had transpired and he went into the house and told my mother that they were done that I was his child now and she would never touch me again.
He became my dad then, I still had a drug problem and behaviour problems I was 16 at the time so he quit his job so he was not posted elsewhere and he could look after us, he got a mediocre job in town to support us. Well not mediocre but not what he enjoyed doing. He encouraged me to join sports and went with me to every game and even coached my local softball team. I soon realized I was a sportsy person and joined provincial teams, he paid for all of it and went to every game no matter where in the country we traveled. He encouraged my scholarships and my schooling and even as my mother took revenge and took him for all we had he never blamed me for any of it even as we lost our house and we had to live with friends for a bit.
I became better and went to school as he got me into counseling and encouraged me to seek treatment. However, my ex worked in the oilfield and when I was done my first degree I joined him in a drug riddled path. We had been together for a long time but one night my drink was spiked and I was dragged out and was once again the victim of sexual and physical abuse. My ex thought I had left with another guy and took home another girl. I was in the hospital for two weeks, and in that time decided I could no longer linger. My relationship with my mother was better now that she had gotten some treatment and found a new and very kind husband who she is still with to this day. Understanding how I felt when I was released I went to stay with her, I spent two months in fear and PTSD consumed my life, I went to a therapist but it didn't help my new stepfather slept on the couch to convince me someone was watching the door and I was safe. Eventually I got a bit better and in a small town was able to get a job and return to people.
A year later I returned to the city, I sought a psychiatrist and together we embarked on our CBT journey and to this day I am working through it. I met the love of my life, and we have an amazing relationship he has went to therapy with me and understands my PTSD, he never makes me feel bad for what I have went through or any bad days I have. And I will admit I have bad days, my original abuser my mother's ex husband committed suicide last year and I have struggled with that immensely the memories returning. My partner has been with me through it all and I have amazing friends that understand and am working with military and military families now as well as furthering my education. I mostly wanted to say that even though my past looks like a horrifying mess and I struggle with this disorder daily it can get better and with treatment coping has become easier everyday. There are good people out there and I hope you all find them and discover your own hopeful future, because as much as our past haunts us it doesn't have to define us. Remember you are strong you have fought the battle for this long, you are loved, you are compassionate and make a difference, you got this.
I'm pretty newish to posting but I've been reading some of the stories and threads and decided to post my own. I hope that it might be able to show my perspective and if anyone has any questions please feel free to ask.
I come from an Irish Catholic family so let me start there, my mother who I found out in early adulthood holds a very similar childhood to my own and also suffers from PTSD, she however is a bit hesitant in her treatment and thus struggles with her symptoms severely. During my childhood she had never received treatment and I now know that was the reason for a lot of the troubles between us.
My mother and biological father were majorly abusive in their relationship with one another. I was born as a product of my mother thinking she owed him a child and a family although she was definitely not ready for a child. My biological father (I saw him for the final time when I was four so I don't truly know the man) attempted to kill both me and my mother when I was an infant or so I was told with a knife. He then left her, she obviously not in a good state herself felt the delusion that nothing good would ever come of her if she had a child, she proceeded to attempt to smother me thus my transition of care went to my grandparents.
A bit of background there, my grandmother a very Catholic woman refused to end her marriage to my grandfather who served in the military and was deployed far more times than he should of. He is a very abusive alcoholic, never to me however, to him I was his pride a clever child but I bore witness to all the hits my grandmother took and the fighting between them as well as the drinking, she loved me dearly but there was always the resentment that he never hit me and always went after her. My grandmother never cared for children and rarely let me associate with them, play with childrens toys or talk babble. I was presented with novels and watched adult movies, I learned to speak in full sentences from the beginning because nothing else was accepted. My favourite toy was a medical encyclopedia. Needless to say I became a clever child, reserved but clever, I witnessed the abuse and had little contact with my mother as she was busy going through a few more abusive husbands at the time. They sent me to boarding school, a very Catholic boarding school and yes I know what you are all thinking but nothing ever happened there in fact the education was quite wonderful and I could read and write years beyond my age. I was spelling paleontologist by grade two.
Anyways, summers weren't bad besides the drinking etc, even my uncles and extended family were drowning troubles in drugs and alcohol. I grew up with it being seen as quite normal, a sniff of coke under the nails drinking beer till noon then switching to something a little harder. My grandmother had heart problems and after one fight with my grandfather had a major heart attack, I was seven at the time and my grandfather walked out in a drunken stupor. I called 911 and administered care until they arrived, then I sent someone to look for my grandfather. My grandmother later blamed me from the incident saying I had been mouthy that day and that was why he had been angry and her heart problems were my fault.
When I was eight my mother was onto another marriage, she decided she wanted me back, and through some manner of blackmail I'm not sure what was really said I was sent to live with her. It was fine for awhile, then I noticed her husband abused her and drank, I thought this was normal. Little did I know that things would change, the abuse turned to me. At first it was physical black eyes, broken bones, for the both of us, we would simply move whenever someone became suspicious. My only salvation was that boarding school. It wasn't long before the sexual abuse began, he would harm my mother and I would hide under the bed knowing when she went to get stitches or have something set her would come for me. I remember one fight he left and injured my mother and she threw a rock through his window, I held the glass wondering if he loved me and if it was wrong that I was scared he would leave because what if the next husband was worse. I was nine at the time, I ran away that winter in the snow and the minus twenty cold. He caught me and beat me locking me in my room with a broken wrist, I ate snow from my window for water until he felt I could be let out. I tried to kill myself the following summer seeing no alternative to the pain, overdosing on my mother's sleeping pills I had my stomach pumped and we moved once more.
Finally my grandparents got a house in the same town as us now that they were retired they had the freedom to go back and forth. At this time I was 12 and I had been physically abused, mentally abused and sexually abused the entire time. My abuser also fed me minimally so I was grossly underweight, he told my mother that she was silly and it was naturally for a girl of my age. My grandfather saw this and threatened the life of my abuser, an ex military man with PTSD can be persuasive, he handed me over to my grandparents to raise and left my mother running away never to be heard from again. She had another child with him at this point and an elder one with a husband before him. My mother is prone to bad marriages. I returned to my grandparents and the alcoholism and emotional abuse, it was better than before. This summer I began doing drugs my cousin introducing me to alcohol and coke that my uncle had laying around, he too suffered abuses, it made the pain go away. We were thirteen.
My mother remarried the following year to the man who saved my life the man who I consider my father. I didn't trust it at first but I went to meet him and his two children my brother and my sister. I befriended my brother immediately and my sister and I grew to have a very close friendship. He was a navy man and despite my acting out I knew he would never hurt me. He took me in and dealt with my many many many behaviour problems, no matter how terrible I was he never yelled and never hit me. He was wonderful and I finally learned I could trust him. I still never called him dad at this point. One day my mother hit me infront of my brother frustrated that I had not made dinner to her standards my brother took me and we ran away waiting for our dad to return. He told our dad what had transpired and he went into the house and told my mother that they were done that I was his child now and she would never touch me again.
He became my dad then, I still had a drug problem and behaviour problems I was 16 at the time so he quit his job so he was not posted elsewhere and he could look after us, he got a mediocre job in town to support us. Well not mediocre but not what he enjoyed doing. He encouraged me to join sports and went with me to every game and even coached my local softball team. I soon realized I was a sportsy person and joined provincial teams, he paid for all of it and went to every game no matter where in the country we traveled. He encouraged my scholarships and my schooling and even as my mother took revenge and took him for all we had he never blamed me for any of it even as we lost our house and we had to live with friends for a bit.
I became better and went to school as he got me into counseling and encouraged me to seek treatment. However, my ex worked in the oilfield and when I was done my first degree I joined him in a drug riddled path. We had been together for a long time but one night my drink was spiked and I was dragged out and was once again the victim of sexual and physical abuse. My ex thought I had left with another guy and took home another girl. I was in the hospital for two weeks, and in that time decided I could no longer linger. My relationship with my mother was better now that she had gotten some treatment and found a new and very kind husband who she is still with to this day. Understanding how I felt when I was released I went to stay with her, I spent two months in fear and PTSD consumed my life, I went to a therapist but it didn't help my new stepfather slept on the couch to convince me someone was watching the door and I was safe. Eventually I got a bit better and in a small town was able to get a job and return to people.
A year later I returned to the city, I sought a psychiatrist and together we embarked on our CBT journey and to this day I am working through it. I met the love of my life, and we have an amazing relationship he has went to therapy with me and understands my PTSD, he never makes me feel bad for what I have went through or any bad days I have. And I will admit I have bad days, my original abuser my mother's ex husband committed suicide last year and I have struggled with that immensely the memories returning. My partner has been with me through it all and I have amazing friends that understand and am working with military and military families now as well as furthering my education. I mostly wanted to say that even though my past looks like a horrifying mess and I struggle with this disorder daily it can get better and with treatment coping has become easier everyday. There are good people out there and I hope you all find them and discover your own hopeful future, because as much as our past haunts us it doesn't have to define us. Remember you are strong you have fought the battle for this long, you are loved, you are compassionate and make a difference, you got this.
