One Trauma at a Time

WonderWriter

Confident
November 30, 2020

NIB

It took you less
Than twenty grand
To get me to accept
Your hand

You put me in a
Tiny box
hid the key
And picked the locks

You showed me off
To all your friends
And put me
On the shelf again

Now here I sit
Collecting dust
My spirit rotting
Gears of rust
 

WonderWriter

Confident
November 30, 2020

MI LLANTO (My Tears)


Water dry
Leaves withered
Over is my part

Decades lost
Heart shattered
Bleeding in the dark

Seeking love
Mercy hurts
Meaning so unknown

Cries loud
Tears drown
Dusting, crumbling stone
 

WonderWriter

Confident
November 30, 2020

APPLE PIE

Fresh linen
Scented skin
Who knows where
We've gone and been

Fresh linen
Scented skin
Peace until
We meet again
 

RussellSue

Not Active
I’m glad you’ve been able to evolve; however, I’ve held on to this pain for so long I’m terrified that when I do start working with a therapist (which I fully intend to) and truly let go, I will lose myself.
You know, I have evolved. I haven't arrived anywhere but I have seen a lot of improvement over the years. In a lot of circles, I am pretty durned messed up, still.
I know that feeling of losing self but it isn't realistic because you never lose your experience but can hopefully lose some of the pain attached to it. Though, my therapist actually told me that I was a lifer with the trauma. I appreciated this in a sense because I had the same notion of losing myself. Hearing that I would not hit the "normal" mark actually provided an odd sense of relief.

as the EMDR, I decided to try the app to get a visual. I’m not disciplined enough to ride solo; I’d much rather have a pro working with me on a plan. However, just sampling one session I feel as if it’s something that may work for me. Talk-therapy never worked because I can spew forever, but nothing gets released.
EMDR is my favorite. I am new to it, myself. But it works. I wish I had known about it 15 years ago because I did that much talk therapy and found the same thing that you did - talking forever. I am no stranger to my trauma - we can talk about it all year and I won't cry or throw anything, but the traumatic response is still in my body. Some of it is dissipating now because of EMDR.

I worked on my roof on top of a ladder for weeks, recently. I was TERRIFIED of heights due to a trauma from when I was 5 or 6, all of my life and it just left after two sessions. It was nuts.

I hope you can find an EMDR therapist soon. It's totally worth doing, especially for someone who seems to be perfectly willing and able to look at/feel the feelings.
 

WonderWriter

Confident
Thank you for sharing this. There is a therapist near me who specializes in EMDR. They have indicated they take my insurance, so I’ll give them a call tomorrow for an appointment. I’m so glad to hear a personal account that it helps.
 

woodsy1

MyPTSD Pro
Summer 1977

My three-year-old self trembled like an earthquake. I felt as if my feet were encased in cement. I knew I was in trouble for disobeying, and I hated Daddy’s voice when he was mad. I kept trodding toward the house repeating my apology over and over in my head.

“This is dumb. Why am I scared? Daddy won’t hurt me. He loves me.” I thought.

As I approached the driveway, he stood at the gate. His eyes revealed to me a stranger, and my stomach burned.

“Didn’t your mother tell you, “not to get wet? Say?” He shouted.

I stood, frozen, like a garden gnome. I tried to speak, but it was as if something stole the air from my lungs.

“You better answer me or you’re gonna get more than what’s already comin’ to ya.” He yelled.

My tiny bones rattled, as I realized I was in danger.

“I didn’t mean it, Daddy. I just wanted to get my feet wet... I fell.” I screamed out.

“You’re a liar!” He roared.

Then he yanked me up off my feet and carried me to the backyard. There was a metal folding chair with its back legs dug in the dirt. With one arm, he jerked the chair upwards and replaced it as he squeezed my waist with the other. He set me down, and slid off his belt.

“You better not move. You so much as blink, you’re gonna get it worst.” He growled.

I was wide-eyed and paralyzed. My insides felt like they were on fire, and I thought my heart would leap from my mouth. He grabbed both of my arms and flung me over his lap.

His arm flailed the leather strap over every inch of my moist skin. I squirmed, screamed and protested; he just kept hitting me harder.

“You better be still. It’s only gonna make it worse!” He Yelled.

I couldn’t tell if the beating lasted 20 minutes or half an hour, but for me, it was an eternity. Time seemed to slow. It was like being in a nightmare and I couldn’t wake up.

When he finally stopped, I couldn’t move. He pushed me off his lap onto the ground and I ran inside to my room and curled up beneath my blanket sobbing, slobbering and hyperventilating. I heard his footsteps coming toward me, and I froze; yet, my body continued jerking and shaking from the torture I’d just endured.

“You gonna lie to me again? Say?” He yelled.

Still crying, I barely whispered, “No.”

“I cant hear you!” He screamed, and yanked the blanket off me.

“You better answer me when I’m talking to you! You gonna lie to me again? Say?” He shouted.

I shook my head. He threw the blanket at me and said, “You can stay in here ‘til your mother gets home. I’m sick of looking at you.” Then, he slammed the door.

Despite my pain, I fell asleep.
It's horrible. What has happened to you. I'm sorry. Nobody deserves to suffer the pain you are feeling. Nobody.

You are a very expressive writer. Your words brought your experience alive to me. I'm sorry you had to go through that.

While I'm saddened with the circumstances that bring you here, I'm glad to meet you. Welcome.

Woodsy1
 

WonderWriter

Confident
December 1, 2020

I shared with him, my husband, different things that I recently learned have added to my decline in mental well-being. I paid close attention to see if he’d take any kind of responsibility for his constant reminders that, “I cant do this alone.” Never mind the anxiety and guilt I already felt - he didn’t.

I shared with him my post about happy songs making me sad; the conversation quickly becomes him talking about the music that reminds him of happy times with his dad. Maybe I’m being over sensitive, but I sense narcissistic traits in this small exchange. This happens often when I begin a conversation about what’s bothering me. If I’m regressing to a time in my childhood I hear, “I’ve heard all this before.” Like I’m supposed just, “Get over it, already!”

These are things I definitely need to communicate with my therapist - when I finally get one.
 

WonderWriter

Confident
December 1, 2020

It is so lonely sitting next to him. I feel the moment I talk about something I’m interested in, he’s more interested in sleeping. It’s so cold in this place. When I breathe, I imagine black mist rising instead of the usual white fog. There’s a thick, negative monster in the air I feel will one day syphon enough of my energy to manifest. It’s a thickness that’s followed me from place to place and relationship to relationship. Until I exorcise the demons within myself, I will never be truly free of the nightmare I foresee.
 

WonderWriter

Confident
December 1, 2020

While relaying my feelings to my husband about his complaining and making me feel guilty, I recalled a detail that I didn’t realize was relevant until now. When I worked under the new student affairs director at the college, he terrorized me by coming in to my office, picking up a clipboard and slamming it on a table then yelled at me. Not long after, I got the shingles. If that’s not an indication of stress! Yet, I was told, “You better not quit until you find something else!” Once again, I was not the priority - money was.

Even today, as I communicated my suffering he said, “Well, we were having money issues.”

I think deep down, I want him to leave, or at the very least, do something; even my daughter thinks we should divorce - sad, but true.

I wanted my life to be better when I grew up, the problem is I’m not sure - emotionally - I ever did.

I feel numb lately. It’s as if I’m floating in a timeless space where nothing moves forward or back. I’m stuck in some kind of loop, and I’m afraid to move; not because I’m in danger, but because I’m unsure. Maybe it’s a funk I’m trying to get past, or the real me attempting to emerge and I’m oppressing.
 

WonderWriter

Confident
December 2, 2020

Lately, I’m remembering things that I used to do when I was younger that make me realize the depth of the abuse I suffered.

I used to play in my closet, and I kept blankets and pillows in there so I could hide when I heard my dad come home from work. I remember it always being a safe place for me. Plus, it’s where my mom took me whenever we had a tornado warning. To this day, severe weather freaks me out! I also remember my dad standing in front of the screen door during a late thunderstorm, and in trying to ease my fear, he told me to stand by the door. As soon as I did, I felt the ground shake as a lightning bolt struck close to the house. It wasn’t the lightning that traumatized me, it was his laughter as I fled to the couch to hide under my blanket.

Something else that I’ve noticed is my fear of microphones and 2-way radios. My dad was (and still is) an avid CB user. He used to keep the volume up so loud, it always woke me up. He used to sit me on his lap and let me talk sometimes. He had a CB mic that resembled an old-school, broadcast microphone. Then, Mom would wake up and they’d argue because he refused to turn it down. As an adult, I have to use a walkie for my job, but I feel the greatest apprehension and anxiety when I need to use it. I feel it’s such an odd thing, I guess that’s how unique trauma can affect each of us.

On a healing note, I’m calling to make an appointment with an EMDR therapist today. I hope I can get in soon 🤞
 
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woodsy1

MyPTSD Pro
December 2, 2020

Lately, I’m remembering things that I used to do when I was younger that make me realize the depth of the abuse I suffered.

I used to play in my closet, and I kept blankets and pillows in there so I could hide when I heard my dad come home from work. I remember it always being a safe place for me. Plus, it’s where my mom took me whenever we had a tornado warning. To this day, severe weather freaks me out! I also remember my dad standing in front of the screen door during a late thunderstorm, and in trying to ease my fear, he told me to stand by the door. As soon as I did, I felt the ground shake as a lightning bolt struck close to the house. It wasn’t the lightning that traumatized me, it was his laughter as I fled to the couch to hide under my blanket.

Something else that I’ve noticed is my fear of microphones and 2-way radios. My dad was (and still is) an avid CB user. He used to keep the volume up so loud, it always woke me up. He used to sit me on his lap and let me talk sometimes. He had a CB mic that resembled an old-school, broadcast microphone. Then, Mom would wake up and they’d argue because he refused to turn it down. As an adult, I have to use a walkie for my job, but I feel the greatest apprehension and anxiety when I need to use it. I feel it’s such an odd thing, I guess that’s how unique trauma can affect each of us.

On a healing note, I’m calling to make an appointment with an EMDR therapist today. I hope I can get in soon 🤞
My dad also was big into CB radios. Our last name is like a fish name so he'd be Big Fish on the CB. I was little fish. Until I got a little older. Then I was Night Hawk! Lol

I'm glad you are finding healing.

Woodsy1
 
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