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- #25
WonderWriter
Silver Member
My handle was Chicken Noodle
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One Trauma at a Time
- Post starter WonderWriter
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woodsy1
Gold Member
- Post starter
- #27
WonderWriter
Silver Member
December 2, 2020
My path to healing (with professional help) begins this week. I meet my EMDR therapist on Friday. I’m anxious and excited. I’m definitely going to have to pay closer attention to my reactions and memories in the coming days. There’s a TON of ground to cover, but little time. I’m not sure if I should begin at present or go all the way back to ‘78
My path to healing (with professional help) begins this week. I meet my EMDR therapist on Friday. I’m anxious and excited. I’m definitely going to have to pay closer attention to my reactions and memories in the coming days. There’s a TON of ground to cover, but little time. I’m not sure if I should begin at present or go all the way back to ‘78
- Post starter
- #28
WonderWriter
Silver Member
December 3, 2020
“My worth is who I AM not what I can do” Me
Why is it that a person can not say a word (but grunt and grumble) and make me feel guilty for something that I didn’t choose! For example, my husband chooses not to drive yet if I have a rough time waking up at 5:30, it’s my fault he’s late?!
Ugh! Feeling irritated today.
“My worth is who I AM not what I can do” Me
Why is it that a person can not say a word (but grunt and grumble) and make me feel guilty for something that I didn’t choose! For example, my husband chooses not to drive yet if I have a rough time waking up at 5:30, it’s my fault he’s late?!
Ugh! Feeling irritated today.
RussellSue
Not Active
I am so sorry. I relate to this. I had similar experiences with my stepfather. He pointed a gun and fired at my sister on 4th of July in 1987 when I was 7 and she was about to turn 11. When we both bolted in terror, he laughed like I have never seen or heard a person laugh before or since. I can still see his face very clearly. The delight that man took in watching children suffering was 10 times more traumatizing than the events, themselves.
I am glad to hear about the EMDR therapist appointment! It can be so helpful.
woodsy1
Gold Member
I
I'm headed to the local recreational to get some meds for my pain. I hope you are here when I get back.
I hate it for you. I really do. None of us can really feel another's pain. Except in those rare circumstances when we do. Then we have ours and theirs.
I'm headed to the local recreational to get some meds for my pain. I hope you are here when I get back.
- Post starter
- #31
WonderWriter
Silver Member
December 4, 2020
Had a great appointment with my T! Finally, a therapist who is going to work with me! She says I definitely have PTSD based on what we discussed. I’m feeling sad and relieved at the same time. Relieved that she helped make sense of things: why I wake up sad for no reason, why I never sleep through the night without meds or alcohol, why I never know what I want or what makes me happy. I’m sad because I realize it’s gonna be a rough road ahead. Yet the more challenging the feat, the greater the reward
Had a great appointment with my T! Finally, a therapist who is going to work with me! She says I definitely have PTSD based on what we discussed. I’m feeling sad and relieved at the same time. Relieved that she helped make sense of things: why I wake up sad for no reason, why I never sleep through the night without meds or alcohol, why I never know what I want or what makes me happy. I’m sad because I realize it’s gonna be a rough road ahead. Yet the more challenging the feat, the greater the reward
woodsy1
Gold Member
I'm so glad you had a good appointment with your therapist!December 4, 2020
Had a great appointment with my T! Finally, a therapist who is going to work with me! She says I definitely have PTSD based on what we discussed. I’m feeling sad and relieved at the same time. Relieved that she helped make sense of things: why I wake up sad for no reason, why I never sleep through the night without meds or alcohol, why I never know what I want or what makes me happy. I’m sad because I realize it’s gonna be a rough road ahead. Yet the more challenging the feat, the greater the reward
I've been putting off talking to my therapist for a week or so. Avoidance. Ugh.
I hope to soon be reporting a good meeting just as you are.
Woodsy1
- Post starter
- #33
WonderWriter
Silver Member
December 4, 2020
An epiphany: In my search for love and affection, I am really only looking for the me I never came to be.
An epiphany: In my search for love and affection, I am really only looking for the me I never came to be.
- Post starter
- #34
WonderWriter
Silver Member
Take the buzzing from my head
feedback from my mouth
Speak not to me in shouts and screams
Or beat me bedside out
Pick up the puzzle’s pieces
Scatter them about
Choose not for me bright rooms and beams
Just blow the candle out
Boil streaming tears to smoke
Scarring gives no clout
Speak not to me in shouts and screams
Or beat me bedside out
feedback from my mouth
Speak not to me in shouts and screams
Or beat me bedside out
Pick up the puzzle’s pieces
Scatter them about
Choose not for me bright rooms and beams
Just blow the candle out
Boil streaming tears to smoke
Scarring gives no clout
Speak not to me in shouts and screams
Or beat me bedside out
- Post starter
- #35
WonderWriter
Silver Member
December 6, 2020
Got some things off my chest Friday, but unfortunately I feel like water after the plug is pulled! I also have this empty feeling I can’t explain. It feels (or doesn’t feel) like a crevasse in my soul. I’ll have to talk to T about this.
Got some things off my chest Friday, but unfortunately I feel like water after the plug is pulled! I also have this empty feeling I can’t explain. It feels (or doesn’t feel) like a crevasse in my soul. I’ll have to talk to T about this.
- Post starter
- #36
WonderWriter
Silver Member
December 6, 2020
The winter wind wasn’t as cold as her heart. I thought we were friends. Then, she decided hanging out with older kids was “cooler.” Those were her “friends.” Every day after, I was terrorized.
“Meet me at the playground after school.” She said as we walked up the stairs at the start of the school day.
Each moment I was in class was filled with anxiety. I could feel the warmth of churning acid making it’s way toward my throat. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sit still. My legs bounced to the uneasy rhythm of my nerves.
From across the room, I felt her angry eyes burning my skin. “What did I ever do?” I thought.
When the final bell rang, I decided to face her. I walked out to the playground. The peanut gallery was gathered. We waited and watched, but the ringmaster never showed. As the crowd an I went our separate ways, I did something I hadn’t done that whole day - I took a full breath.
For weeks, I was plagued with the same outcome: she threatened, then didn’t show. Yet, I couldn’t let my guard down. I went to the office and told them what was happening, but they didn’t believe me - or didn’t care.
Finally, on a Friday, she showed up. She took a swing. I scratched her. She grabbed my hair. I pushed her to the ground. Then, she simply dusted herself off and left. The crowd was dumbfounded.
“Who won?” Shouted one of the boys in the back.
I didn’t care who won. I was proud that I stood up for myself. My torment was over - so I thought.
The following week, she acted as if nothing happened. Even though the grape vine was ripe with gossip. She threatened to beat me up again after school many times after, but failed to show up. She and her friends called me names and tripped me every chance they got. No matter which adult I talked to, they all had the same response, “You girls need to figure it out.” We were in fourth or fifth grade, and emotional infants.
After putting up with her abuse nearly the entire school year, I decided to take drastic action.
Before school one morning, I grabbed a steak knife from the drawer and stuck it in my purse. If she so much as spoke to me, I would’ve pulled it out. However, she wasn’t in school that day.
Actually, she was out most of that week. Someone told me she had the chicken pox. I decided it was a good time to call a truce. I went to her house after school. Her mom let me in, and took me to where she was taking an oatmeal bath.
She smiled and seemed genuinely happy to see me. She told me I was the only person from school to visit or even ask how she was. I told her i was sorry, and I knew she was suffering because my mom told me they got worse with age.
Our visit was short, but we agreed to be friends before I went home.
We got along great the first couple weeks because she wasn’t hanging around her older friends. But, when she “made up” with them, the bullying started all over again. Only this time she would apologize and say, “It’s because they won’t like me if I don’t bully you.”
Thankfully, once summer came, we moved - again - and I would attend a different school in the fall.
The winter wind wasn’t as cold as her heart. I thought we were friends. Then, she decided hanging out with older kids was “cooler.” Those were her “friends.” Every day after, I was terrorized.
“Meet me at the playground after school.” She said as we walked up the stairs at the start of the school day.
Each moment I was in class was filled with anxiety. I could feel the warmth of churning acid making it’s way toward my throat. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sit still. My legs bounced to the uneasy rhythm of my nerves.
From across the room, I felt her angry eyes burning my skin. “What did I ever do?” I thought.
When the final bell rang, I decided to face her. I walked out to the playground. The peanut gallery was gathered. We waited and watched, but the ringmaster never showed. As the crowd an I went our separate ways, I did something I hadn’t done that whole day - I took a full breath.
For weeks, I was plagued with the same outcome: she threatened, then didn’t show. Yet, I couldn’t let my guard down. I went to the office and told them what was happening, but they didn’t believe me - or didn’t care.
Finally, on a Friday, she showed up. She took a swing. I scratched her. She grabbed my hair. I pushed her to the ground. Then, she simply dusted herself off and left. The crowd was dumbfounded.
“Who won?” Shouted one of the boys in the back.
I didn’t care who won. I was proud that I stood up for myself. My torment was over - so I thought.
The following week, she acted as if nothing happened. Even though the grape vine was ripe with gossip. She threatened to beat me up again after school many times after, but failed to show up. She and her friends called me names and tripped me every chance they got. No matter which adult I talked to, they all had the same response, “You girls need to figure it out.” We were in fourth or fifth grade, and emotional infants.
After putting up with her abuse nearly the entire school year, I decided to take drastic action.
Before school one morning, I grabbed a steak knife from the drawer and stuck it in my purse. If she so much as spoke to me, I would’ve pulled it out. However, she wasn’t in school that day.
Actually, she was out most of that week. Someone told me she had the chicken pox. I decided it was a good time to call a truce. I went to her house after school. Her mom let me in, and took me to where she was taking an oatmeal bath.
She smiled and seemed genuinely happy to see me. She told me I was the only person from school to visit or even ask how she was. I told her i was sorry, and I knew she was suffering because my mom told me they got worse with age.
Our visit was short, but we agreed to be friends before I went home.
We got along great the first couple weeks because she wasn’t hanging around her older friends. But, when she “made up” with them, the bullying started all over again. Only this time she would apologize and say, “It’s because they won’t like me if I don’t bully you.”
Thankfully, once summer came, we moved - again - and I would attend a different school in the fall.
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