This might be triggering to some, so, just a warning. I did read the forum rules upon signing up, but there wasn't anything there about how much we should divulge. This will be long, for those who want to read it. I am also not sure where this is suppose to be posted, as I'm brand new to forums, so please forgive me if this is the wrong place for it!
Well here goes.
Where to start? Well, lets start early on, shall we? I grew up in a rather invalidating family atmosphere rife with emotional abuse and passive aggression (but nobody's family is a picnic, right?) Turns out, there was sexual abuse as well. My father's father had an eye for his granddaughters. Luckily I was born with a fiery soul, and when he tried to slip his fingers inside my shorts while 'picking me up' I whirled away and shouted 'no' at him. He never touched me again, but my sister was not so lucky. So that is my first experience with sexual abuse. Not such a big deal then, but having a sister who refuses to deal with the trauma of repeated, prolonged sexual abuse is difficult to say the least.
When I was about 10 (I have a hard time remembering dates and times; my time line seems to slur together, perhaps this is another symptom, maybe due to dissociative behavior), my father was hit by a one ton truck while he was cycling to work. He sustained serious injuries including a broken leg, arm, hips and head trauma. He was in a coma for about 3 months (I think). I remember being at the hospital, and the doctor came in and told us that they were air lifting him to the 'big' city, and that he may not make it, so if we wanted to see him, we could do that now. I would like to point out that my sister did not go to see him, and perhaps this was the better choice, but I felt that I should go, for reasons of my own, including intense feelings of guilt which perhaps I will talk about later. Through the eyes of a child, seeing my father hooked up to many beeping machines, bloody, bruised, swollen, with a doctor pumping a ventilator so he could breathe was rather unpleasant. But the worst part was that every time my mother would speak (she was saying that we were all here, except my sister who still loved him but was too sad to come), my father would bolt upright on the table and gasp for air. The doctor told us this was a good thing, that it meant he could hear us and was trying to breath on his own and that was a good sign. We watched the helicopter take him away and then my mother prayed with us. I remember that we all went to the 'big' city to see him in the hospital there, after they stabilized him. By this point, my father had woken up, but had sustained brain damage. He had little to no inhibitions and at one point I remember being told that he had torn his catheter out, and also the steel rods that were holding his hips together. I remember having to share a room with my mother, brother and two sisters, sleeping on a foam mattress on the floor with my mother in a stranger's house. When she thought I was asleep (after spending the evening trying to explain to her children what a head injury was, and that our father would essentially be a different man), she held me and wept. I didn't know what to do so I pretended I was asleep.
After these experiences I did receive counseling, but my concern at that time was my previous unresolved grievances with my father (who was also born with a fiery soul). Unfortunately, I found that this traumatic event overshadowed my experiences in the eyes of the professionals and so I felt rather invalidated, and was put off of health care professionals from then on.
As I 'blossomed' into adolescence I predictably became involved with drugs and alcohol. I left my parents house at 16. There are many, many unsafe instances after this that happened, including statutory rape (I am on the fence about this one because it was consentual, but he was feeding me vodka and cocaine all night). I had many sexual partners and tended towards the dominating, aggressive kind of men.
One partner held a shotgun to my head and told me to get on all fours like a dog and beg for forgiveness after I had tried to leave him. The gun was not loaded, but I had not known that at the time. This same partner also abused me in a strange way; we took a motorcycle (I rode on the back of the bike) trip and he would make me zip up his leather jacket for him while he started the bike and drove off. If I didn't zip it up fast enough or straight enough, he would speed and swerve erratically to punish me. At one point when I tried to leave, but wanted to part on good terms, I met him in a graveyard, where he went on a tyrannical rant including such original and tasty sound bites as "If I can't have you nobody can". Then he pulled out some sort of metal object, I ran before I could find out what it was (assuming that it was probably a knife). I have never run like that before, nor do I want to again. I could hear him start the bike and scream after me as I ran up the hill to my friend's house. I am still jumpy and nervous at the sound of motorcycles, and for a few years I scrutinized every rider, terrified he had come back to kill me. After I finally did leave him, he held some of my belongings hostage, burned them (including my childhood teddy bear), and then sent me the bear's head in a box along with the jacket. He also stalked me and would ride the motorcycle up and down the street I was living on, even after the restraining order. Eventually, as he was not a Canadian citizen, he was kicked out of the country, and when he didn't show up for court, obtained a nation wide warrent for his arrest if he ever tried to re-enter the country. (Yay!)
I continued my cycle of choosing abusive partners and dated a man who did such horrendous things to me that I honestly can't remember that section of my life clearly, and often remember bits and pieces in flashbacks at the most inconvenient times. Of the things I DO remember the worst was the bathtub. We were having a bath together when he suddenly turned on me and held me under the water. At first I thought it was some kind of joke, until I realized he was using his whole weight (he was considerably larger than me) and I was going to drown. I kicked him and used his brief shock and imbalance to free myself. As I cowered in the corner of the bathroom, I asked him why he did it. He said he was trying to teach me something. After many puzzlements I have thought that perhaps because I had been suicidal at the time, he was trying to prove to me that I really did want to live. I don't know how to feel about that if that was the purpose. This man also raped me repeatedly, violently, and would play selected songs, so that if I hear them on the radio, I am instantly triggered. He denied me food and took my money. He stabbed a freezer to let the freon out and made me breathe it (thankfully I did not die). This continued for a year.
After that particular partner things settled a bit, whether this was because of age or perhaps I was gleaning some overdue common sense due to experience I don't know. Suffice to say, my standards were pretty low and I had a few partners who, sure, didn't beat me or rape me, but they were certainly emotionally abusive and dirty dirty cheaters. I am happy to say that, after years of introspection, education and support I am happily married in a healthy relationship with a very supportive partner.
It would be nice to not have flashbacks, nightmares, intrusive thoughts, sensitivity to sudden noise and anxiety attacks though. When they happen, I deal with them as appropriately as I am able, and have some ativan for the really bad attacks, though, having watched a friend become dependent on benzodiazepines (and anything else she can get her hands on), and indeed, the cycle of victimizing herself, I am weary of pills and focusing too much on my experiences. This friend, I'm sure, I will ask advice and support about. After being supportive to her for many years, I have realized that she may just be a hopeless narcissist, and in stead of working though her experiences, she uses them as a shield against accountability. It is hard to be compassionate with so much on my plate, and to not feel resentment for the lack of appreciation I get from both her and my sister.
Thanks for listening!
Well here goes.
Where to start? Well, lets start early on, shall we? I grew up in a rather invalidating family atmosphere rife with emotional abuse and passive aggression (but nobody's family is a picnic, right?) Turns out, there was sexual abuse as well. My father's father had an eye for his granddaughters. Luckily I was born with a fiery soul, and when he tried to slip his fingers inside my shorts while 'picking me up' I whirled away and shouted 'no' at him. He never touched me again, but my sister was not so lucky. So that is my first experience with sexual abuse. Not such a big deal then, but having a sister who refuses to deal with the trauma of repeated, prolonged sexual abuse is difficult to say the least.
When I was about 10 (I have a hard time remembering dates and times; my time line seems to slur together, perhaps this is another symptom, maybe due to dissociative behavior), my father was hit by a one ton truck while he was cycling to work. He sustained serious injuries including a broken leg, arm, hips and head trauma. He was in a coma for about 3 months (I think). I remember being at the hospital, and the doctor came in and told us that they were air lifting him to the 'big' city, and that he may not make it, so if we wanted to see him, we could do that now. I would like to point out that my sister did not go to see him, and perhaps this was the better choice, but I felt that I should go, for reasons of my own, including intense feelings of guilt which perhaps I will talk about later. Through the eyes of a child, seeing my father hooked up to many beeping machines, bloody, bruised, swollen, with a doctor pumping a ventilator so he could breathe was rather unpleasant. But the worst part was that every time my mother would speak (she was saying that we were all here, except my sister who still loved him but was too sad to come), my father would bolt upright on the table and gasp for air. The doctor told us this was a good thing, that it meant he could hear us and was trying to breath on his own and that was a good sign. We watched the helicopter take him away and then my mother prayed with us. I remember that we all went to the 'big' city to see him in the hospital there, after they stabilized him. By this point, my father had woken up, but had sustained brain damage. He had little to no inhibitions and at one point I remember being told that he had torn his catheter out, and also the steel rods that were holding his hips together. I remember having to share a room with my mother, brother and two sisters, sleeping on a foam mattress on the floor with my mother in a stranger's house. When she thought I was asleep (after spending the evening trying to explain to her children what a head injury was, and that our father would essentially be a different man), she held me and wept. I didn't know what to do so I pretended I was asleep.
After these experiences I did receive counseling, but my concern at that time was my previous unresolved grievances with my father (who was also born with a fiery soul). Unfortunately, I found that this traumatic event overshadowed my experiences in the eyes of the professionals and so I felt rather invalidated, and was put off of health care professionals from then on.
As I 'blossomed' into adolescence I predictably became involved with drugs and alcohol. I left my parents house at 16. There are many, many unsafe instances after this that happened, including statutory rape (I am on the fence about this one because it was consentual, but he was feeding me vodka and cocaine all night). I had many sexual partners and tended towards the dominating, aggressive kind of men.
One partner held a shotgun to my head and told me to get on all fours like a dog and beg for forgiveness after I had tried to leave him. The gun was not loaded, but I had not known that at the time. This same partner also abused me in a strange way; we took a motorcycle (I rode on the back of the bike) trip and he would make me zip up his leather jacket for him while he started the bike and drove off. If I didn't zip it up fast enough or straight enough, he would speed and swerve erratically to punish me. At one point when I tried to leave, but wanted to part on good terms, I met him in a graveyard, where he went on a tyrannical rant including such original and tasty sound bites as "If I can't have you nobody can". Then he pulled out some sort of metal object, I ran before I could find out what it was (assuming that it was probably a knife). I have never run like that before, nor do I want to again. I could hear him start the bike and scream after me as I ran up the hill to my friend's house. I am still jumpy and nervous at the sound of motorcycles, and for a few years I scrutinized every rider, terrified he had come back to kill me. After I finally did leave him, he held some of my belongings hostage, burned them (including my childhood teddy bear), and then sent me the bear's head in a box along with the jacket. He also stalked me and would ride the motorcycle up and down the street I was living on, even after the restraining order. Eventually, as he was not a Canadian citizen, he was kicked out of the country, and when he didn't show up for court, obtained a nation wide warrent for his arrest if he ever tried to re-enter the country. (Yay!)
I continued my cycle of choosing abusive partners and dated a man who did such horrendous things to me that I honestly can't remember that section of my life clearly, and often remember bits and pieces in flashbacks at the most inconvenient times. Of the things I DO remember the worst was the bathtub. We were having a bath together when he suddenly turned on me and held me under the water. At first I thought it was some kind of joke, until I realized he was using his whole weight (he was considerably larger than me) and I was going to drown. I kicked him and used his brief shock and imbalance to free myself. As I cowered in the corner of the bathroom, I asked him why he did it. He said he was trying to teach me something. After many puzzlements I have thought that perhaps because I had been suicidal at the time, he was trying to prove to me that I really did want to live. I don't know how to feel about that if that was the purpose. This man also raped me repeatedly, violently, and would play selected songs, so that if I hear them on the radio, I am instantly triggered. He denied me food and took my money. He stabbed a freezer to let the freon out and made me breathe it (thankfully I did not die). This continued for a year.
After that particular partner things settled a bit, whether this was because of age or perhaps I was gleaning some overdue common sense due to experience I don't know. Suffice to say, my standards were pretty low and I had a few partners who, sure, didn't beat me or rape me, but they were certainly emotionally abusive and dirty dirty cheaters. I am happy to say that, after years of introspection, education and support I am happily married in a healthy relationship with a very supportive partner.
It would be nice to not have flashbacks, nightmares, intrusive thoughts, sensitivity to sudden noise and anxiety attacks though. When they happen, I deal with them as appropriately as I am able, and have some ativan for the really bad attacks, though, having watched a friend become dependent on benzodiazepines (and anything else she can get her hands on), and indeed, the cycle of victimizing herself, I am weary of pills and focusing too much on my experiences. This friend, I'm sure, I will ask advice and support about. After being supportive to her for many years, I have realized that she may just be a hopeless narcissist, and in stead of working though her experiences, she uses them as a shield against accountability. It is hard to be compassionate with so much on my plate, and to not feel resentment for the lack of appreciation I get from both her and my sister.
Thanks for listening!
