There are 19 very helpful suggestions above on how to cope, feel and heal from this, lousy experience I'm in. Thank you both very much and will implement some to the best of my ability right away, others may have to wait until life slows down a little, as in the midst of my PTSD, I am still expected to show up and must now take most difficult and time-consuming additional actions, and none of which regard whether I'm fit for these responsibilities now or not. I'm not fit. I need to regain some stability and the time simply does not exist, at least in this day, to do so. Will aggravate, agitate, infuriate and disappoint others if I make the choose to take care of myself at this time. Now normally this is not necessarily a huge problem unless of course the person I'm going to seriously disappoint is my mother, well then I have a terrible problem, bc she'll make sure I pay dearly psych. and emot. for this. And, I don't rightly need her to do this, but she will, bc now, she doesn't even have to be present for me to do this number on myself. Whatever.
Bear with me please, as I attempt to get some out, as my mind is all over the place. It’s both everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
Very difficult to wake up this morning. Not a nightmare, but do recall the snapshot of a scene from my dream prior to finally waking. It was of a man, turning around, in his seat, to quietly speak with and confide in me. His face very badly beaten. Much of the whites of his eyes taken with hilly formations of clotted blood. His facial skin badly bruised. Though his words were filled with wisdom, I could see his weakness, and it was as if I could see into him and the abyss of fear, timidity, brokenness and extreme vulnerability. Any sudden noise in that room would have sent both him and I through the roof. Almost like a cartoon, certain of this.
Would love to take it easy today but, faced with dilemma, ie. To go to mothers place, who repeatedly badly psych., emot., and spiritually abused me over many yrs. And tend to my obligation w/ $300. in hand, that I simply do not have to repay,
or not to…
and all the possible self-preservation BS in between, which I’m not capable of without heavy doses of medication. None of which I’m currently taking.
Presently feeling: helpless to step in and protect myself from certain triggers that escalate my PTSD at this weak and vulnerable time I’m feeling.
Mixed medley of extreme feelings of sadness, rejection and frustration over my reality that after this Mon. I may be compl. blind in one eye, and/or become disfigured over a period of time following surgery, as I signed permission for surgery below a list of 18 to 20 possible results of surgery. Why does any of this frighten me, well the most obvious,
but more especially freakin mother won’t even acknowledge or comment in any way shape or form, that I’m having surgery. Something simple like: I hope all goes well for you Monday, what with your surgery and all, would go miles. Or, even, call me by name and even acknowledge that years of her severe neglect and perpetual abuse, or perhaps the immensity and thickness of the base of that thigh high steel ashtray that was driven into my face, might have had something to do with one or more of my eye conditions, ie. the leaking arteries, lens damage and perhaps even my mysterious autoimmune deficiencies.
My god, When I was six, I helped shovel up stiff doggies and bag them, of whole litter of miniture dauchaunds and their folks, that were either starved to death or accidentally poisoned by a terrible lead hazard throughout our basement. Why am I saying this?
That act of violence, which she so eagerly encouraged and screamed at me that I f’king deserved it, certainly caused brain damage in me, as my ability to think straight slowed dramatically and abruptly following. I lost a great deal of intelligence and the ability to communicate, formulate and structure sentences and conversations as I had been able prior too that experience…and this is no bullsh’t. I know this to be true from my experience. So now, just knowing her, fearing and imagining that she’d respond to this with some poor, pathetic look that I was somehow deluding myself and wanting nothing more in life than to blame her and make her life a living hell. When in fact all I’ve daydreamed about over the last 20 yrs. was that she might acknowledge that it even happened, that it was wrong, she was partly accountable and that she is sorry for being so f’king jealous and threatened of me, my youth, my possibilities. Her blank stare everytime, void emotions and No response to my accomplishments, her inability to even see me, that I might know that I was real and her unwillingness to ever listen that I might be reassured that I just spoke, had devastating affects upon me when habitual and combined with her anticipation, craving and longing to help create, and suck the mistakes, loss, failure and sickness right out of me and exploit it claiming to our whole family, “You see, I told you *#&* was a selfish, rotten, useless, miserable, no good, trouble maker whose sole purpose in life is to make my life a living, miserable hell.” This has been said on countless times with a little different variation of order of words. Her voice haunts me worse than any horrifying ghost. And, then there was something perversely satisfying about the negative focus and attention she so generously lavished upon me, making me and my loss, sickness and failure the centerpiece conversation throughout our entire family, and extended, when I was most suffering, vulnerable and helpless. Deluding me and others and persuading us to believe that I was born for no other reason other than to make her life a living f’king hell.
She can kiss my ass’….the fat, fat lie that she did the best that she could by us girls and if it wasn’t enough than oh’ poor me’ I’m so sorry…When said with right motive or sincerely, than a perfectly acceptable apology, but oh’ know not with her, I’m no fool. Said her way after already having been subjected and controlled by her and her layers of unmerciful self-justification, blame and guilt producing approaches, she wasn’t succeeding in apologizing, she was manipulating and sinking her teeth into my very thought processes and reality, and hopefully provoking neurotic, controllable guilt so as to control me for the rest of my life, for her desired outcome.
I can’t say anymore now, I’ve said more than enough. Apparently having some time, I've attempted to write a little something and instead have nearly written a book. These are some of the things you just don't share as there now all open for interpretation and I can now recall voices of perhaps, well intentioned folk helping me by telling me to get the fk of the pity pot, leave the past in the past, forgive, let go and turn over every last thing to see where I am to blame.
