One Trauma at a Time

ladee

MyPTSD Pro
You aren't wrong about emotional abuse or being disrespected. Just validating what I've been reading. I see you trying to figure some things out. And I feel you are right on the money about all of it.

Keep taking care of you. He'll figure it out on his own. But you are not the Handmaiden for him either. I hope you can start setting some good boundaries for yourself.

You aren't poison but sounds like your environment might be.
 

WonderWriter

Confident
January 12, 2020

I’ve finally exposed the elephant in the room. No more will I allow the puppetry to continue. I see it for what it is and when it happens. The toxic shame is not my burden to bear, and the emotional abuse I see with fresh eyes (and ears).

January 13, 2020

Went to bed at a decent hour, and I still woke up at 12:30 am 😡 it’s like I can’t sleep through the night if I don’t stay awake past 1 or 2:00 am. It’s no wonder my physical body is giving up on me; yet, when I try to do right it never works out the way it’s supposed to. Ugh, why did God bring me here only to be kicked around like an aluminum can?
 

WonderWriter

Confident
January 13, 2021

Awake again at 2:30 am. I had a dream, but unlike Billie Eilish, it wasn’t anything I wanted, it was a dead-a** nightmare.

I was at a party ready to leave, but when I yelled for my husband, who was in the car, he punched the gas with the driver door and trunk open. Stranded and crying, I went back to the party. All of my surroundings were red and black (anger and mourning?) A mutual friend was there, and he comforted me until he felt I was vulnerable enough to try and make out with me. I firmly said, “No!” Then, I ran outside where my husband was waiting for me in the car. When I looked back at the house, I saw it was the place I lived after my mom fled from my dad; taking my brother and me in the middle of the night. Then I heard a baby crying, and woke up asking, “Where’s the baby? I heard a baby. Where’s the baby?”

As soon as I had use of my faculties again, I frantically wrote down the dream before I lost too many details. As soon as I stopped writing, I was gobsmacked with the dream’s meaning. I began sobbing uncontrollably. I stayed grounded, fixed a cup of instant coffee with whipped cream and wrapped myself in my Wonder Woman blanket. I sat curled up on the sofa death-gripping my mug and continued sobbing for another half-hour.

After I calmed down enough to think, I realized I was grieving the childhood that was lashed from me. For the first time, I was able to truly feel what I should’ve been allowed to all those years ago. It was the most painful, empowering experience I’ve ever felt. I’m softly weeping as I write this because I understand if I’d been able to grieve back then, I wouldn’t have suffered as much as I do now.

I have an appointment with my T this morning, and I’m making sure she sees this before our session today.
 

WonderWriter

Confident
January 17, 2021

I’ve been on vacation and reflecting. I realize that I have a lot more work to do than I once thought. Slowly, I realize that my relationship with my mom isn’t what I believed it to be. I thought we were close, but I see now that we got along because I have always stepped aside or let her take over whatever conversation, situation, etc. Today, I am sad. I called to talk to her, and she asked my daughter to answer her phone and talk to me while she was busy doing other things. “I’m glad I’m so important.” I said, after my daughter told me why she answered. My feelings were most definitely hurt. I became painfully aware of all the times my mom and I have talked on the phone and she spends most of the time talking to my step-dad about dinner or doing other things and I have to wait. It never bothered me before; I suppose it’s because I ignored how I felt - “It’s not that big of a deal.” I always thought. However, I’m working hard to make my feelings matter even if they don’t matter to anyone else.
 

WonderWriter

Confident
January 22, 2021

So, I had the last couple days off and decided to take in some cinematic drama. First up: “When Love is Not Enough: The Lois Wilson Story.” I cried through most of the movie! There were some serious triggers for me, and Winona Ryder did an excellent job of portraying the emotions associated. Next up: “The Piano.” After the end of that one, my heart boiled over with empathy and sympathy for every woman who ever lived! I can only speak for myself when I say, “The message was a physical representation of toxic masculinity cutting off woman’s voice for centuries!” I was so angry during the last half hour, I nearly threw away every memento of my wedding 😳

In other news, I had a good - somewhat - emotional therapy session on Wednesday. I’ve gained so much insight and exposed evils I naively thought could never exist in a human. I see now that I was nothing more than a tool - a torture device, if you will - to inflict emotional pain on my mom for neglecting to give him what he was “entitled” to. It’s no wonder I feel inhuman, unworthy and undeserving; and I understand why I pushed myself aside. Thank you, Dad, for the monstrosity of anger and hatred. Thank you for throwing any love I could ever feel into a giant trash bin and still have the audacity to call yourself a father! Thank You Husband for picking up where he left off and inventing new ways to punish and traumatize me!
 

WonderWriter

Confident
January 22, 2021

My thoughts tonight have drifted back to June 12, 2019. I am at the courthouse waiting to appear before the Probate judge because I filed a petition for guardianship of my father. My aunt, along with her - meddling husband - stroll in pushing my dad in a wheelchair. They don’t see me, so consider it safe to talk smack. I’m sitting just a few feet away, and I hear their whispers. My aunt says, “She signed in; she must be in the courtroom.” They walk right past the bench I’m sitting in and don’t hesitate to decimate my character. “You know she’s only doing this so she can spend your money.” Dad’s reply echoes through the hallway, “What goes around, comes around.”

One of the clerks calls my dad and his entourage into an office. A few minutes passes, and they come out of the office and go into the courtroom. I wait until the doors close behind them, and enter the courtroom myself. I seat myself in the row in front of them and kindly say, “Hello.” My aunt snaps, “Yeah” then glares at me with contempt. Up to this point, I’ve done nothing wrong, and she was well informed that I filed for guardianship.

Moments later, a clerk peers around the door and says something to my aunt. My aunt then calls me by my first name - I’ve gone by my middle name since birth - and says, “They need to talk to you.” I follow the woman into a small office, and she asks for my paperwork. “I don’t see the Objection.” She says. “This is all I have, was I supposed to have something else?” She prints the form for me, and I see it’s dated June 10, 2019. That’s just two days before the hearing! I read over the objections, and now I’m fuming. My anxiety is at a record-breaking high. I’m shaking, sweating and I want to throw up. I’m hurt, and I’d rather jump off a bridge than be anywhere near the cretins. The form says I’m only an interested party for monetary reasons, and my dad doesn’t want me to be his guardian. “Is it possible to withdraw my petition?” I ask the clerk. “Yes. Just let the judge know.” She kindly replies.

I leave the clerk and head for the courtroom. My case is called, and as I approach the podium; two lawyers - a man and a woman - my dad, my aunt and her meddling husband take their place at the opposite podium. We are sworn in by the judge, and she takes her seat at the bench. The judge asks for my personal information, which I provide. She then asks, “Is it true you filed a petition for guardianship?” “Yes, Your Honor; however, I’d like to withdraw my petition.” I reply. The judge looks at me surprised and asks, “You may; But might I ask why?” I give a relieved smile and say, “If he doesn’t want me as his guardian, I will not force him to accept.” “Fair enough. Do you feel his sister is a capable guardian?” The judge responds. “Yes, Your Honor.”

After the judge grants my aunt guardianship and dismisses all parties, my aunt’s attorney thanks me and asks for my address. I provide what she needs, and with the little courage I’m able to muster, I look at my loveless family one last time. As my aunt - fraudulently - thanks me, I take a breath and growl in a low voice, “I hate all of you. Don’t ever speak to me again.” I walk out of the courtroom feigning indifference even though I feel my heart shattering with every step.

It’s approaching two years now, and no one has attempted to make amends; however, I’ve learned that narcissists “are never wrong.” So we are all dead to each other, just not in the same ways.
 

WonderWriter

Confident
January 23, 2021

I’ve driven past three of the places I’d been traumatized. One of them I was forced to take pictures of because a client owned the place. The exterior was the same as I remember except for neglectful wear. The inside was different, but as soon as I peered through the screen, I saw the dark, wood paneling with “disco mirrors” and the wooden clock with a gold face hanging on the wall. The hallway was dark, and I felt myself being pulled toward it. I saw the brown, plush carpet and remembered how my skin burned as I was dragged across it. The backyard was the same minus a picnic table and a plastic, yellow pool with large, painted fish and seaweed. I remembered the spot where my dad sat in the lawn chair and showed me my worth with his greasy, leather belt.

When I finished taking pics, I left there needing a stiff drink; a nap and a place to disappear. I shut my phone off because if I spoke, I was afraid I’d start crying uncontrollably.

As for the other locations, I only parked near them. When I looked at them, I felt angry; I wanted to be Jenny (from Forrest Gump) and throw rocks. I wanted to shatter the memories and feelings of nausea, nervousness and violation. Forrest was right, “Sometimes, there just aren’t enough rocks.”

One of the other places is located on a block that I sometimes use as a shortcut, and I slow down as soon as I see it. I always look up at the attic windows; I feel a wake as if they are eyes staring and laughing at me as I pass.
 
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WonderWriter

Confident
January 23, 2021

Is it so wrong to want what every, living being wants: to love and be loved? Is it so wrong to expect my husband to own up to his vows, “to love and to cherish...?” Why is he okay with treating (or not) the way he does? What does marriage look like to him? I asked him what life would look like if he could drive and handle his own responsibilities; he said nothing would change. That haunts me, but I’m not sure how to feel about it.
 
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