There's Nothing All About The First Time...

[walksthrufire]

Some days I still can't pin point what the actual first traumatic even was in adult hood. I always knew what it was, I know what it is still. I can't say it. Was it that awful? The therapy I got afterwards was. Some of that is in a part of my brain tied with a ribbon and an awful note pinned to it saying "everyone called you a liar, never say anything about this." But it was a type of home invasion, with sexual assault. And I was just 18. Yes I was emotionally distraught afterwards. I was an 18 year old college student and I lived alone. Neighborly relationships seemed impossible when it came down to noise complaints about my "crying" or "loud tantrums" I was only 18 and didn't know I needed help. I knew I was depressed and I assumed it was "situational" and that when the situation was gone my depression would be better. 1,2,3,4,5,6 whole psychology classes I had taken by then seemed to tell me that. One of the things I don't always tell a person is I actually started college as soon as I graduated, the summer I turned 17. So somehow, that was approximately where my psych credits tallied, of course I thought I knew what I was doing. I was 18 for god's sake. That summer I moved to the country side to be farther away from town at least until school started. It was more space and cheap rent so my two puppies could have some growing room. I worked a lot. Cycled for my commute, worked long hours to put the kibble down and pay the rent. Went nuts one day, well you know as nuts as "I JUST TURNED 19 THIS SUMMER I WORKED REAL HARD SOMEONE GET ME A BEER." on the celly to all your friends just is.

I was wasted. My friend laid me down and date raped me. I couldn't move my body I was incapacitated. I just kept saying I had a boyfriend. That relationship ended in a tantrum. And that friendship actually ended in my own slammed doors, windows, crossed arms and some luck.

I still can't drink that brand of malt beverage. I won't even say the name of it. Sometimes for the right dare I still will. Strangely, all these years of madness later and, I will still speak a devil's tongue to you over drink and chats of life. ;)

 

[ladee]

Great start to your diary.
Hope it helps you to say what you need to.
This is your space.
Glad you are here

 

[walksthrufire]

Sometimes looking at blurbs like this that I write, and I write different places, I take note that for some reason, it was that count of psychology classes which I had taken so young, I felt prepared for life by. The semester following I dropped psychology with my GPA inevitably stooping, learned to speak French and while switching to an Ethics/Pre-Law major forced myself to push psychology as far out of my mind for a very long time. When I go back over my college transcript and see the total Psychology credits earned, a long with my other major, well it is good to have reminder that you are valuable. And sometimes remembering that, and remembering for myself, can let me still love myself. Despite how many times I got pushed down to the ground for talking about my education, using my vocabulary etc.

 

[walksthrufire]

I love that little sadomasochist inside me grinning right now. That little thing too that I let become myself "Honeeyyyyy you aren't telling them all everything..." I'm not expected to be able to. It funny. I find it hilarious. I can laugh at myself? I can laugh. After years of screaming it, I don't feel like describing that thing that happened to me when I was 18. Um? The memory being broken in and of itself is confusing. The absolute shock and horror I felt as a young woman finding out. I might not remember. and i didn't remember... I knew a mind could dissociate from a particular event? I knew the memories could resurface later? i didn't know how it would happen to me. No one knew what to do. One whole year after it felt like I didn't know how to scream again. I did. I screamed and pointed and screamed "ACTUALLY THAT IS WHY." Why does a previously seemingly healthy 19 year old have a psychotic break? Maybe when they tell you they're experiencing resurfacing memories of trauma...you should believe them.

Because what could have been so obvious was that is how a teenager responds to trauma. PTSD wasn't for me then I was 19. 18 year old young ladies don't get raped like that. If they do they certainly don't behave like that.

So I lived my life laughing according to the expectations that seemed set for me. And at 18 and at 19 and at 20, 21, I set expectations for others that they could not all meet. I raised the bar. I did again and again. I raised the bar. I raised the bar so high you felt like you couldn't possibly be hanging off of that, it was far too dangerous.
AND THEN SOMEONE REALLY COULD HAVE HUNG THEMSELVES.
WHEN I CAME BACK I HAD TO BE REALLY REALLY NICE.
Old hurt can die. There can also be someone turning the grave for their own reasons.