Hey all, I'll go by Senecia here and I'm 19. :) Pretty much my whole life I've been seen as the happy-go-lucky gal who loves everything. I can't pick a favorite color, because I love them all; same goes for animals and more. When I'm "up" I surely do feel that way, but the past several years I've been in a struggle.
When I was little, probably 7 or so, my parents had a nasty divorce. At the time I was put into the traditional school counseling, constantly being told, "it's not your fault." and I absolutely agreed - I separated myself from my parents and I knew it was them, not me. In that time I was very afraid that I would end up homeless or be taken away, either by the CPS or my father. It was a really scary time. I didn't know that most kids didn't have to deal with parents wrestling each other for checks, calling the cops or having a dad addicted to cocaine. Though I was terrified, I just didn't see that it was abnormal.
Unfortunately, I didn't believe "it's not your fault" for much longer. After going through the hell of gradeschool bullying (both sexual harassment and just rumors), I started to develop a sense of self. And the moment I tried, I was crushed. No matter what I did, it was never good in the eyes of my mother - whether it be the way I dress, my weight, what I eat, or my grades and past times. My one B+ had to be an A, or my cellphone, activated for safety purposes, would be taken away. It was fun to have a phone - I could take pictures and occasionally call my friends I didn't get to see. But it wasn't often enough, it just had to be a threat for control. I learned that if I failed, I was unworthy of love. I believed it and it was essentially my mantra. When my father returned and moved in with us (a flood wiped out his home), it only aggravated the pressure on my shoulders. "It's all my fault."
In high school I met a boy in my guitar class. We played our music together, and had fun. We started dating and ended up being in a relationship for nearly three years. It was great at first, for the first few months, but it went down hill. Sex was rarely consensual - I felt I had the duty to appease him because I was afraid, if I didn't, I was unworthy of love. He'd be disappointed. There was a lot of abuse, whether it be me getting called crazy or "How could you not know something like that?", my music choice sucked, or the manipulation into having sex - I know I wasn't ready. But it happened, and I am where I am now. In the end, again, no matter what I did, after all the apologies I made, it was not enough and he was still an asshole. I'll spare you the long tale, but essentially, a friend of mine made a move on me and I couldn't live with myself staying in the relationship. I felt awful. So I ended up leaving the relationship, thank God, but it was so hard... I still beat myself up over it. Keep in mind that, through that entire relationship, I was still being abused by my mom as well. I also was starting to have panic attacks on a fairly regular basis. But I never sought professional help, in fear of my mother's reaction, and I was told just to "get over it, it's not that bad." Starting to crumble, here...
Afterward, I didn't know what to do with myself. It was my first year of college. I had sort of found what I wanted to study. I'm a huge science nerd, I LOVE ecology and the study of climate and.. well, everything Earth, I suppose. I started taking chemistry courses, along with math and writing - the pre-requisite courses. The first quarter, I had 2 4.0s and 1 3.1. My GPA was looking good. The next quarter, I started to slip. I would wake up some mornings and not want to get out of bed. I'd essentially drag my body into class, but then not pay attention because all I'd want to do is cry and distract myself from the state I was in. I felt pathetic. I attributed it to the "breakup grief." and I'd give myself a couple months.
It didn't get better. Though I was taking a psychology course at the time, I still didn't think that I could have anything wrong. No, I'm just overreacting, is what I told myself. It got worse, and eventually I wouldn't even get out of bed because "What's the point?" and I ended up failing a class.
The next quarter, I couldn't even handle basic work because I'd get so overwhelmed I'd start crying. I'm a failure, I'm pathetic...over and over. I just couldn't do it. I ended up losing around 10 pounds (down to 113Ibs) and even felt suicidal. My mother told me she wouldn't care if I committed suicide, due to her religious beliefs. Regardless of her reasons, I was devastated, and I was breaking. It was time for therapy.
My new boyfriend, now fiance, is the one who encouraged me to make the first call. I was trembling even staring at the dialpad. I'm so thankful he supports me through all of it. I don't know where I'd be without a support system like him. Absolutely no abuse- all love- and then there's me going through therapy with constant flashbacks, fear, sadness, hopelessness.
Two days ago, I received my diagnosis after four months of therapy. I have PTSD and Major Depressive Disorder. I feel so relieved, because I feel validated. I started realizing it wasn't normal to live in fear of people walking behind me, or jumping out of my seat on the verge of tears from a knock on the door. I started realizing nightmares every night aren't normal. I don't feel crazy. For once, I'm not crazy...
I'm still stuck with my mom, and she thinks I'm wearing it as a badge of honor and making it my "identity." That I'm just trying to be afraid and I'm not trying to look at the bright side. Even part of me feels ashamed for telling others about it, because "A pretty young girl like you can't have PTSD. You didn't go to war." I also feel ashamed because I know that so much of it is from my mother over the years, and by even talking about it, I have to accept that she's not a hero to me.
Anyways, I'm really sorry for the long intro. I had to tell my story to someone other than my SO. I'm looking forward to interacting with all of you. It looks like a really nice community and I'm happy to finally reach out like this. Thank you so much. XO
When I was little, probably 7 or so, my parents had a nasty divorce. At the time I was put into the traditional school counseling, constantly being told, "it's not your fault." and I absolutely agreed - I separated myself from my parents and I knew it was them, not me. In that time I was very afraid that I would end up homeless or be taken away, either by the CPS or my father. It was a really scary time. I didn't know that most kids didn't have to deal with parents wrestling each other for checks, calling the cops or having a dad addicted to cocaine. Though I was terrified, I just didn't see that it was abnormal.
Unfortunately, I didn't believe "it's not your fault" for much longer. After going through the hell of gradeschool bullying (both sexual harassment and just rumors), I started to develop a sense of self. And the moment I tried, I was crushed. No matter what I did, it was never good in the eyes of my mother - whether it be the way I dress, my weight, what I eat, or my grades and past times. My one B+ had to be an A, or my cellphone, activated for safety purposes, would be taken away. It was fun to have a phone - I could take pictures and occasionally call my friends I didn't get to see. But it wasn't often enough, it just had to be a threat for control. I learned that if I failed, I was unworthy of love. I believed it and it was essentially my mantra. When my father returned and moved in with us (a flood wiped out his home), it only aggravated the pressure on my shoulders. "It's all my fault."
In high school I met a boy in my guitar class. We played our music together, and had fun. We started dating and ended up being in a relationship for nearly three years. It was great at first, for the first few months, but it went down hill. Sex was rarely consensual - I felt I had the duty to appease him because I was afraid, if I didn't, I was unworthy of love. He'd be disappointed. There was a lot of abuse, whether it be me getting called crazy or "How could you not know something like that?", my music choice sucked, or the manipulation into having sex - I know I wasn't ready. But it happened, and I am where I am now. In the end, again, no matter what I did, after all the apologies I made, it was not enough and he was still an asshole. I'll spare you the long tale, but essentially, a friend of mine made a move on me and I couldn't live with myself staying in the relationship. I felt awful. So I ended up leaving the relationship, thank God, but it was so hard... I still beat myself up over it. Keep in mind that, through that entire relationship, I was still being abused by my mom as well. I also was starting to have panic attacks on a fairly regular basis. But I never sought professional help, in fear of my mother's reaction, and I was told just to "get over it, it's not that bad." Starting to crumble, here...
Afterward, I didn't know what to do with myself. It was my first year of college. I had sort of found what I wanted to study. I'm a huge science nerd, I LOVE ecology and the study of climate and.. well, everything Earth, I suppose. I started taking chemistry courses, along with math and writing - the pre-requisite courses. The first quarter, I had 2 4.0s and 1 3.1. My GPA was looking good. The next quarter, I started to slip. I would wake up some mornings and not want to get out of bed. I'd essentially drag my body into class, but then not pay attention because all I'd want to do is cry and distract myself from the state I was in. I felt pathetic. I attributed it to the "breakup grief." and I'd give myself a couple months.
It didn't get better. Though I was taking a psychology course at the time, I still didn't think that I could have anything wrong. No, I'm just overreacting, is what I told myself. It got worse, and eventually I wouldn't even get out of bed because "What's the point?" and I ended up failing a class.
The next quarter, I couldn't even handle basic work because I'd get so overwhelmed I'd start crying. I'm a failure, I'm pathetic...over and over. I just couldn't do it. I ended up losing around 10 pounds (down to 113Ibs) and even felt suicidal. My mother told me she wouldn't care if I committed suicide, due to her religious beliefs. Regardless of her reasons, I was devastated, and I was breaking. It was time for therapy.
My new boyfriend, now fiance, is the one who encouraged me to make the first call. I was trembling even staring at the dialpad. I'm so thankful he supports me through all of it. I don't know where I'd be without a support system like him. Absolutely no abuse- all love- and then there's me going through therapy with constant flashbacks, fear, sadness, hopelessness.
Two days ago, I received my diagnosis after four months of therapy. I have PTSD and Major Depressive Disorder. I feel so relieved, because I feel validated. I started realizing it wasn't normal to live in fear of people walking behind me, or jumping out of my seat on the verge of tears from a knock on the door. I started realizing nightmares every night aren't normal. I don't feel crazy. For once, I'm not crazy...
I'm still stuck with my mom, and she thinks I'm wearing it as a badge of honor and making it my "identity." That I'm just trying to be afraid and I'm not trying to look at the bright side. Even part of me feels ashamed for telling others about it, because "A pretty young girl like you can't have PTSD. You didn't go to war." I also feel ashamed because I know that so much of it is from my mother over the years, and by even talking about it, I have to accept that she's not a hero to me.
Anyways, I'm really sorry for the long intro. I had to tell my story to someone other than my SO. I'm looking forward to interacting with all of you. It looks like a really nice community and I'm happy to finally reach out like this. Thank you so much. XO
