The Only Way Up Is Through

[CVC]

It feels so strange to keep a public trauma diary. I've spent so many years locking up myself, afraid to be exposed to the world. And now... I realize there's something healing to be able to put myself out there. To say, here I am, this is me. I sense there's a power in this, in being able to claim my narrative, and not feel like it's something I have to hide or apologize for.

Right now, though I certainly don't feel powerful. I feel vulnerable and exposed, and I guess that's okay. It's a first step, and it's a step I want to take.

 

[every1_needs_som1]

I have days like that all the time. I want to be motivated. I think about how productive I used to be and it just serves to depress me more and make me feel less motivated. I'm sorry I don't have sage words of wisdom or can think of anything more comforting to write other than the simple fact that you're far from being alone. I agree that it is empowering and takes a lot to even post something like this but my questions is: so what now? I have a family who is in denial about my condition and on the rare occasion that i can get myself out to be social, I don't want to be a sad-sack but people always ask "How are you?", "How have you been?" I want to be honest but the last thing I want is pity. I'm a proud person who took pride in the fact that I was productive and accomplished the goals I set for myself. For years now though, that has seemed like a different life. I agree that no-one should feel as though they ever need to apologize for who they are but at the same time, how do you do that without gaining unwanted sympathy or attracting gossip-mongers? I've never kept a diary of my experiences because, to be honest, the pages fill with tears before I can get through a sentence. The fact that you are accomplishing this is amazing. I have a huge amount of respect for your ability to sit down and write about your experiences despite the fact that they make you feel vulnerable. You're right, it is a first step. I genuinely hope it helps in the long run!

 

[CVC]

Thank you for the kind encouragement. You are more comforting and wise than you realize!

I want to be honest but thae last thing I want is pity.

My gosh, I can certainly relate to this.

I agree that no-one should feel as though they ever need to apologize for who they are but at the same time, how do you do that without gaining unwanted sympathy or attracting gossip-mongers?

I think this feeling of wanting to avoid pity is part of what's motivating me to start an online trauma diary. I can open myself up, but without feeling like I'm asking my friends and family to pity me or rescue me.

 

[RussH]

@CVC Good for you. I think you will find that others reading your diary, and making comments will help. I know that recently I have been going through a hard time, and I have posted in my diary, and the comments I have received has helped. I will look forward to seeing what you write, and hopefully will be able to imput some postives for you.

 

[every1_needs_som1]

@CVC - Thank you for saying you can relate to not wanting pity.

Pity drives me up the wall. My attitude is "yeah, so, we all have pasts, this is mine, why should I get any more pity than someone who just got their heart broken?" I mean, I want to help people who are currently coping with difficult situations but the past is the past. When people express pity for my past, I know people are trying to be kind but it implies that we are still dealing with the issue at hand. I don't want pity, I just want acceptance. I mean, I fell off a horse when I was 12 and broke some bones. It's just a story, it evokes no pity and it shouldn't. Why should the scars of abuse or trauma be any different? So, instead, I keep my mouth shut.

The problem is, it makes it difficult to get close to people because that involves sharing histories and so much of my life is full of stereotypes that label me with any number of stigmas which, once applied, can't be undone. I wasn't in the military, I was in a heavily abusive marriage and have two kids. When people think of PTSD, they think of the military and respect the work that the soldier did. I have yet to find a support group for people who suffer from PTSD due to abusive relationships and while I am more than happy to be supportive of anyone dealing with recovering from a difficult situation, it makes it hard for me to relate and I feel silly talking to veterans because somehow, being married to someone who locked me in a small apartment for a year, threw me against the wall on a regular bases, raped me, kicked me in the head with steel toed boots, etc just doesn't measure up to the experiences that someone who was in a war deal with.

All the support groups for people in abusive relationships are for people who are either still in them or just recently out of them There aren't any that I've found that deal with the long term effects of abuse which, to be honest, are very different than those of people who are currently being abused. My point being, as I said, everyone has a past but when someone's past sounds like a "lifetime movie of the week" not only is there almost no real-life group support that I've found but there's a stigma that people who have been in a war don't have. I have a tremendous amount of respect and empathy for anyone who gives their life to the service of our country but I've never heard anyone say anything remotely like "Well, you should have seen the warning signs before you joined up" and while there are definitely stigmas applied to those who walk away from a war with severe physical or psychological damage, it is never seen as being their fault.

Abuse is different, regardless of who the abuser was (parent, significant other, etc.) there is always the implied (and often vocalized) attitude of "Wow, there must be something really wrong with you to end up in that situation." Even at it's best, the pity comes out as "Wow, you're so amazing for getting out of that situation." TO be honest, I don't want either. I'm not looking for a medal, I'm just trying to bond with people and share life experiences not wax on about my past while the person listening tries to decide which of the various stigmas they can apply fits me best.

 

[RussH]

I have yet to find a support group for people who suffer from PTSD due to abusive relationships and while I am more than happy to be supportive of anyone dealing with recovering from a difficult situation, it makes it hard for me to relate and I feel silly talking to veterans because somehow, being married to someone who locked me in a small apartment for a year, threw me against the wall on a regular bases, raped me, kicked me in the head with steel toed boots, etc just doesn't measure up to the experiences that someone who was in a war deal with.

You have come to the right place. I know your circumstances are not exactly this (I am truly sorry for how you suffered, you did not deserve it) but look up the long-term effects of bullying. It can get you started on finding help.

I am not a therapist, and I am not making a diagnosis, but look up complex PTSD. I think it will help you to find help as well. In the meantime; there are some really good understanding people here, and you will find lots of friends and lots of support. We are all in this together, and we will all survive it together.

Feel free to read my diary "This is my life story. . ."

 

[RussH]

I'm not looking for a medal, I'm just trying to bond with people and share life experiences not wax on about my past while the person listening tries to decide which of the various stigmas they can apply fits me best.

You are not a stigma, or a disease. You are a victim, and we are not here for pity parties, so don't worry. We are short on pity, but long on understanding.

 

[every1_needs_som1]

Thank you, that's kind of you. I used to have an analyst which helped me over the worst of it but it's the long term effects that never go away that bother me. I'll look up the things you mention. Thanks again!

 

[CVC]

every1: I have a hard time accepting not only pity, but also its more benevolent cousin, compassion. I know a huge part of it for me is that I so much want to be strong, and be seen as strong. Sharing how my past affects me today feels scary and threatening to me. Pity or compassion--or people trying to support me--is a sign to me that I am weak. Showing people that I am weak feels like I am inviting them to prey on me. I feel this about my closest people, who have given me no reason to think they'd ever hurt me. So goes the "logic."

It's a cruel PTSD trick that the worse we feel, the more likely we are to withdraw. No matter what our brains tell us… we do deserve compassion. What happened to us--or any other human being--to make us traumatized is no more and no less than trauma. Whether we are soldiers at war or bullied at home, our suffering is uniquely and perfectly human, and we're all in this together.

If it's okay with you, I'm sending you much compassion for all you've been through, and for all the suffering you continue to endure. Nobody deserves this, and nobody deserves to go through it without support and compassion.

 

[RussH]

@CVC thank you for you compassion. I, like you, hate to be seen as weak. However let me offer an alternative. Someone who is compassionate may not see you as weak, but strong. They see what you have been through, and yet you survived, and that takes a strong person.

 

[CVC]

I see so many people on this forum referring to how they were "before PTSD." I feel empathy for these people, because I can tell they are experiencing a huge loss. It must be destabilizing to feel like your identity has been ripped from you. But, at the same time, I have to confess that I feel envious, because I wish I had some kind of reference point, some idea of what I could be like, if it weren't for all the shit that happened to me. Instead, I feel like my identity never formed in the first place. I know this is not the only way to see things. I know I am who I am for everything that happened to me, good and bad, just like everyone else. But I feel afloat on a sea of emotions and impulses, and I can't tell which ones are "me" and which ones are "trauma." What's the difference, I guess. Sigh.

I do have a single early memory that doesn't feel traumatic, and it's my earliest memory too. I heard noise outside, loud and sharp, and I was curious about it. I wanted to go outside and see. I wanted to know what it was. My mom said it was "firecrackers." I imagined crackers (the food) on fire, and I thought it was funny that they'd make such a loud sound. I pictured them flaming, and it made me laugh.

Maybe this one memory represents a less messed-up version of me, something like "pre-trauma," or at least "less trauma." Would I want to run outside to check out the firecrackers today? Hell no. I hate loud sounds. They make me jump, they make me on edge. I certainly don't feel curiosity about mysterious loud noises, I certainly wouldn't be in any kind of mindset to see humor in the situation.

It feels a little pathetic to be grasping onto this one little memory, this one little reference point. But I feel like this is where I need to start, before trying to do an inventory of my traumatic memories, before digging into it.

 

[CVC]

SO, I guess I'm really going to try this... Try journaling on the internet about my traumatic memories. I know it's anonymous, but it still feels so exposing! That's sort of the point, though, I guess... Trauma causes us to ball ourselves up, to hide, and it makes sense to me that airing this stuff--in whatever way we can tolerate--can be something of an antidote to the near-compulsive walling-off and self-isolating that can come with the territory.

Here goes, Memory set #1...

(in case anyone's reading, trigger warning: childhood neglect)

Me in my crib. I think I'm too old to be in there... standing up, the rail is waist-high. It was the new house, so I was probably old enough to be able to climb out. (Why didn't I try to escape???) A deep, dejected, resigned despair. A feeling like I've been there forever, exhausted from crying and screaming, feeling that nobody was coming for me, ever. There's this feeling that I've gone through multiple cycles of meltdown and exhaustion, as if I've been slipping back and forth between tears and sleep. The corner of the crib is soiled, and I'm ashamed about that, and also somehow resigned to it. Staring at the light coming through the trees, the light shifting and fusing and streaking. Yellow late-afternoon light. I knew people were around, I could hear their voices. Mom... and N? But they weren't coming, I knew this. And then there is the relentless thirst. I remember falling asleep, dreaming of drinking water, only to wake up feeling even more parched, and frustrated by the dreams, frustrated that the water was just out of reach. I kept thinking about the blue plastic cup that was in the bathroom, by the sink. If only I could have just a few sips...