The journey begins ... or continues ... articulating the rollercoaster that is my life

[mumstheword]

My mother is histronic;
Historically frightening for a child,
obsessed with men, of the dangerous and/or demoralizing kind.
Everything is dramatic and about her.
I got lost in my parents neuroses
Disabilities that rendered them utterly incapable of making choices that provided any kind of security, safety, consistency or support for me.

 

[mumstheword]

Nyah; she's a strong one.
She comes through for me when it's breakingly painful.
She is all about social justice, being a voice.
Protecting the ones that need it.
She's STRONG, so strong.
I need to invoke her more, perhaps.
She's my performer, along with Linetta Ray,
She's the poet too, the dancer, the champion of the underdog, like an African Queen, she is an African Queen, sent from primordial DNA.
She is Rasta me.
Linetta Ray is more timid, she's a big girl, she's hefty me (I don't want her taking over, coz I won't surrender to being overweight, even though I've needed the protection of my padded armour for these past few years)
She is gospel Christian me.
She loves singing, cooking, Christ and eating yummy food.
I have other parts too.
Not all are black but those two are.
Funny, because I'm a white girl. Alters are weird. I keep mine hidden a lot. I'm not diagnosed with DID.

 

[mumstheword]

Thoughts are going around and around about the really dissociative part of me, when.It started and what happened after my mum and I separated from my Dad.
I was two and a half. I cannot remember a thing, of living with mum, except going to visit mum's boyfriend in a psychiatric hospital.
I have absolutely no recollection of where we lived then.
Apparently there was a share house situation happening.
Apparently (so Dad said) mum was kind of "catatonic" (his words).
I'm not sure who would have looked after me. I think the weird sex stuff happened there.
I remember playing sex stuff with a boy my age when I was three. What strikes me is I seemed to be used to males doing stuff with my vagina, and I also knew it needed to be kept hidden.
I remember being in a car, alone, terrified.
I remember washing my parts at my Nanna's and washing soap up inside there and it hurt, a lot. I never had a hymen, but that doesn't mean, I was penetrated, but why do I obsess about that?
Apparently some guy, that we lived with, when I was three and a half, gave me majic mushrooms on toast.
Here's what my mum said about that ...
"Oh, it just made you a bit happier than you usually were."
That strikes me as a bit odd.
For one, she was ok about her three year old being drugged with a powerful hallucinogenic drug.
And her drugged child was happier than normal tripping on mushrooms. Hmmmmm, sounds fishy to me.
I wonder what else did the dude, that drugged me, did to me?
I may never know.

 

[mumstheword]

I said did twice in that last sentence and it wasn't grammatically accurate.
What am I telling myself?
Am I slightly dissociative, as in DID dissociative?
The part I'm worried about, that I have blacked out in the past, is very sexual.
So much shame, around that part, and she doesn't have a name

 

[mumstheword]

I was a very frightened child. But I wasn't always frightened. I remember going on a loooong car drive, very young, under two, I think. Happily singing to myself, all the way home.
Mum must have lost her shit when her grandmother died. That happened around the same time she ditched my dad for the schizophrenic guy.
Her "catatonic" "psychotic" break, must have caused her to want to hang out with someone she could relate to.
See, mum's mum's mum practically raised her, because her mum was a total narcissist, a really violent, abusive, mean, scary, neglectful one. According to mum, anyway. And I've met her, she did seem horrid. She reminded me of the horrid aunty in that Harry Potter film, you know?
The one he blew up, like a helium balloon?

I know she was a sociopath because when mum got beat up, when I was nine (yes, it happened in front of me, the wasn't the first time), she begged her mum and dad to put us up, even if it was just for a night.
And grandma Pat (I wasn't allowed to call her Grandma though, just Pat) wouldn't take us in.
Not that that means she was a sociopath, coz my mums not easy to be around and she speaks very ill of her mother, but it was pretty callous.
Especially because she had a young daughter that she dragged all over the country; dodging DOCS, I reckon.
DOCS is now FACS, they used to be Department of Child Services, now they are Department of Family Services.
Anyway, we moved too much and laid low, out in the bush mainly, or in communes, so we avoided them.
I thought it was just because she could claim a singe parent pension and also live off the child support my Dad have for me. Coz she sure wasn't interested in actually being a parent to me. All she ever seemed interested in was guys, and they came and went in droves.

 

[mumstheword]

So triggery writing this stuff and just hanging it out there. So reminiscent of much of my life. Hurting and ignored is a big part of my picture. Or blamed for hurting and in pain when they inflicted it.
Feeling into that part that has been given the message loud and strong that I am worthless. My survival depends on pleasing others and I clearly don't, that's what's coming up for me.

 

[mumstheword]

So I made the call to the Trauma unit. I got given another number, a direct line and had to leave a message.
Part of what I so desperately want addressed is a huge amount of neglect, rejection, and shaming, so to be admitted for my condition, and treated, at last! Would be HUGE.
I never told anyone when bad things happened to me.
I surmise that I was threatened, when the earliest physical trauma happened.
I had an extreme fear of "ax murderers" as a young child.
Maybe he threatened to chop me?
Don't know. But telling when it happened took a long time. For so long, there was nobody to tell.
Coincidentally, I did get threatened with a wood cutting tool, at nine. My stepfather threatened me and my mum with a hack saw, while holding us down and repeatedly hitting us.

 

[mumstheword]

My T told me that I am a truly amazing strong, resilient, compassionate, caring, giving person on the phone today.

I am still trying to process that.

To truly take it in and see myself in that light.

I always felt like a "freak".
Someone kind of "dirty"
Someone excessively "odd"
Someone kind of "yucky"
Someone inherently "wrong".

It's no wonder I stuck it out with a man who loved to reinforce all that, but wouldn't let me go either.

Oh he did try to boot me out in the middle of the night once, we were living waaaay out in the forest in a little shack and had no car ...

Anyway one day he hired one, and the muffler came off, but he didn't notice, so he took it back minus the muffler.

I just said "Oh Alan!" With a slight tone, because he wasn't the most responsible man and I knew he wouldn't make any effort to take the muffler back (it was left on our very bad driveway) .

He lost it at me, really badly.

Not physically, other than keeping me up all night. But he screamed at me for hours and hours, pretty much all night to "get out!".

I wouldn't go.

I wasn't going to leave my babies with him for anything.

I had nowhere to go, where would I go in the middle of the night?

I stayed for my babies. I only had 4 or 5 then. They were my everything. They were the reason I chose life.

He did an awful lot of sleep deprivation type torture stuff.

He also kept me on a tight leash because of the kids and lots of gaslighting.

He would say "if you leave, you won't get the kids, because you're crazy."

I believed him.

By the time I left, it was because I truly believed I was going to die if I didn't.

I thought, "better to leave and risk the children being angry, at least I'll still be alive for them to be angry at."

And I did get the two youngest, who were within the courts jurisdiction. I was awarded their prmary carer.

I was also told, by a man from FACS "isn't it good to know you're not crazy?"

That was all the help he gave me, but still.

Validation of one's sanity is still validation of one's sanity.

No, he didn't beat me with anything physical that showed marks or gave me an excuse to take the children and run, he was much too clever for that.

The marks were on the inside.

The druggings with cannabis and other hallucinogens that exacerbated my c-PTSD,

Yes I did end up psychotic at one stage, but that was due to malnourishment, isolation. with a gaslighter and too many children (my own, many, many birthings and yeeeaaars of breastfeeding), sleep deprivation, abuse stress and the drugs he "administered".

My current lucid state and the reason my T praised me so is due to my absolute bedrock of honesty, accountability and granite-like grip on reality, I believe.

I have c-PTSD, but I'M NOT CRAZY!!!!!!

But at one stage, he had me so confused, I prayed "I don't know what's true and what isn't, please just help me know what's true!!!!"

The constant sleep deprivation.

The no care, in birthing, after birth, whenever I was ill. The being shamed for suffering or being ill. Being ill meant more abuse and neglect and shaming.

The constant put downs and explicit and implicit messages that I was insane, was being "looked after" by him, was being "kept out of the scary clinic".

The constant overwork.

Even making dinner.

I would ask If he could entertain the children so I could cook, as one of our children had been badly burned, pouring boiling water down himself, when we lived in a bus in a carpark.

And I was triggery, having them under foot when I cooked.

Nope, he never would lift a finger.

So I was "crazy" and the house slave.

He liked it both ways.

No, I'm NOT CRAZY and I'm not your house slave or sex slave or any kind of slave anymore, old man.

In fact, people think I'm a decent, kind, honest, caring person of integrity.

 

[AngelKeeperJ]

You started your diary! I am doing a virtual happy dance!!! I just saw your post on the other thread that you had started it. I am looking forward to reading more about your journey.

 

[AngelKeeperJ]

I want to scoop up my little girl self and hug her and tell her that she is good and worthwhile and that I will always love her and protect her. That she doesn't have to be afraid anymore. No one is going to hurt her ever again. That it wasn't her that was wrong, It was them. I love you my child self! Come to your Mama-self! Come home!

@mumstheword
Learning to speak to and comfort your inner child is taking a HUGE step towards freedom and health!

YOU ARE VERY SPECIAL, WORTHY, and FULL OF EXQUISITE BEAUTY!!! I am praying , and BELIEVING that your journey is leading you to a peace, joy, and fulfillment that you have only dreamed of until now!

You are like a caterpillar that has been in it's cocoon for far too long... Longing to be free, to fly, and BE, the beautiful, elegant, and soaring butterfly that you are meant to be!

In reality, you are ALREADY the CHERISHED AND PRECIOUS BUTTERFLY, MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN MOST!!!! :hug: :hug: :hug:

If you don't mind... I am gonna fly beside you so that I will be able to see your beauty unfold in YOUR eyes! I already see you!

 

[mumstheword]

M

@mumstheword
Learning to speak to and comfort your inner child is tak...

Mind! No, I don't mind :-) I'm delighted!
It was so lovely waking up and reading the lovely message you wrote me.

I had to savour it, like the most delicious lolly (for my mind/spirit/heart/soul) ever, although much better than any sugar (candy is your word, lolly is ours).

It was delicious, healthy mind food :-) and I'm stoked that you are offering to "fly beside me" :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

Your words are like beautiful loving-friendship poetry to me and I am honoured and touched and a little bit teary at the offer, lovely AngelkeeperJ/AKJ :-) Thank you, all the way from the bottom of my tender, bruised, tentatively-opening heart.:-)

 

[mumstheword]

I want to correct myself. As I reread what I have written, I want to adjust some of the framing I've put out there.

For instance, I will say that I cannot, entirely blame Alan for my utter confusion and psychosis. Although I will stand by the assertion that he gaslights; and he gaslights very effectively.

I had an eating disorder. I liked to try my very best to starve myself. For lots and lots of years. I was kind of obsessed with being tiny and skinny, but, in my mind, I could never be thin enough. Later on, I realized that I wanted to disappear. I wanted to melt into the floor and be gone. Or blend with the back fence, becoming the back fence, never to be mumma-me again.

A missed meal was a victory, to me. But in my mind, no matter how scrawny I was, I was never skinny enough.

Getting pregnant saved me from that.

I wouldn't starve my babies, although my poor second-born son, didn't get much nourishment in the womb.

I was so utter bereft and trapped when I had to go back to my abuser, because I already had one child to him. I couldn't get away and expect to keep him, and that was all I had to hang on to.

I couldn't lose my child. And I couldn't raise him without support. And seeing as I had already lived 19 years with utterly inadequate support, being with a selfish, mean, manipulative man who clearly didn't give a crap about me, was the only option, I could see.
I was so unwell, so icey numb, hanging on by white-tipped knuckles, holding on to a cliff, just managing to hold on and pretend I wasn't a not-really-human-zombie-human-lookalike.

So I didn't eat much that pregnancy. I smoked weed instead. Because you know what? That was all that was on offer, with my ex. Weed or abuse, ignoring and disdain.

Boy, did I pay for the neglect and illness and no care in that pregnancy.
And so did my baby.

Do I feel guilt about how I may have contributed to having a child with permanent impairment? Who had to hang on, like me, only he was a tiny baby, to life, with all he had. I'm amazed that he made it, he was so sickly and tiny and couldn't hold down.food either.

Yes, I've struggled with enormous, crippling guilt and self-blame. But at the end of the day,.I may not have caused him to have impairment and cognitive delays and autism and to be a failure-to-thrive baby.