Trauma and memories

My brain seems to be getting into a new habit of making me remember all the traumatic memories I have right before I go to sleep.

That time before you sleep and you are supposed to be lying down with nothing running through your mind, I don;t have that anymore instead I have images of horrible events clear like photographs in my mind as soon as I close my eyes.

I guess it is my brain trying to process them but it’s not helping. You would think your brain is on your side instead of working against you. I’m supposed to wind down and relax before sleep not tense up and be traumatised.

Instead of sleeping at night I sleep in the morning. I guess during the light there’s less places for these thoughts to hide. They seem to only come out at night.

I feel like a part of me is still stuck in childhood. Like my brain hasn’t caught up or accepted that I’m an adult now and I am no longer stuck in these horrible moments- that I don’t have to keep replaying them, that I deserve to give myself a break.

 

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my father

My father

I met these guys and they were all like my father.

Not in way of looks but in way of life.

 

Some were short some were tall, some were skinny , some were not.

Some were white and some were black.

Some were handsome, some  were not

But they were all my father.

 

I met one who used me

I met one who guilt tripped me into having sex

I met one who threatened to kill me

I met one who left me in my darkest hour

I met one who humiliated me

And I met one who treated me as if I was a trophy.

 

They were all abusive.

 

They were all my father.

They were all my mother

 

I met a guy who was alright

He wasn’t perfect but he was alright.

He told me he was honest, but all I saw was my father.

He was nice to me, but all I saw was my father.

He cared about me, but all I saw was my father.

He said he would never hurt me, but all I felt was my father

 

I pushed him away and insulted him. I became my mother

I picked on his weak spots and I became my father.

I drank, and I became my mother

I was cruel and I became both parents.

 

I cried and I became nobody.

My Confessions

Aside

I have a lot to write about. I sat down and I made a list of all the things which were bothering me when I was trying to study.

About how I always keep my mouth shut for the sake of sparing others but then these people never seem to be there for me.

about how I’m bitter and twisted due the fact my own mother couldn’t support me, yet I hid pills from her when she threatened to kill herself and I was the one who has to witness all the destruction in my family that my parents caused, and look after my siblings and protect them and when the time came when I was the one in need she fucked off.

How i spent so many years when i was younger trying to be other people. literally making notes and trying to become them because I wanted so badly to get away from myself, but i can’t do that, I can’t run away from myself because I’m always here. I can’t run away from my mind. You can’t outrun your shadow or your past. You can try to forget but it will always come back to haunt you.

I thought about my strange behaviour in relationships. How I WANT to become obsessed with people, and make them the centre of my life and focus entirely on them , and fix them. BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO FIX MYSELF. Where I get so involved that I just end up hurting myself because I attract people who want to leach off me.

How I’m scared of change, but I have to change because I have no choice. I can[‘t stay here in this spot, because I will literally become nothing and I won’t be alive, I’ll be a parasite sucking on the life and successes of others and tainting it with bitterness because I’m so miserable inside myself.

I listen to a lot of metal because they do the screaming that I can’t do myself. They scream and writhe for me.

I look in disgust at my own reasoning. the way I can sympathise with the guy who raped me and his friend who watched. Maybe they didn’t know they were doing anything wrong? So why did they put a blindfold on me and why did they jump up when someone opened the door? Why did they jump back when I shouted out and saw the blood on my underwear? Why were they so nice? Did they pre plan this? I came to them asking for help because I wanted to learn a different language, and they responded by taking my trust and twisting it up for their own sexual pleasure.

Why did my family prefer to ‘keep the peace’ instead of outing the guys for the rapists that they were. since when did your honour and standing in the community become more important than your blood relatives? I don’t have a family any more. I’ve apparently been disowned. they can all fuck themselves.

I can’t be friends with a guy or meet a guy without thinking that he wants to use me for sex and that I somehow owe him something. I used to act on this until about a year ago, when i realised that no, actually I don’t want to fuck every guy I know and that I don’t have to get sexual with someone because they have a penis. I don’t need to ‘beat them to it’ by providing it on a plate.

awake

I think this warrants a pat on the back. i’m actully going to aim to leave my bed, eat properly and get on with the work I’ve missed. I still feel miserable, but at least this way i can be miserable and get A’s. Rape has taken a lot of things away from me: trust, intimacy, sexual enjoyment, self confidence, mental stabily, but it doesn’t have the right to take away my education and achievements.

It’s like a black hole slowly sucking away everything that I let go of. I need to let go of it.

contempt

When people tell me that I’m ‘brave’ or thank me for telling them that I was raped, i honestly want to slap them.

there is nothing to be thankful about, i’m not giving you a cure or a pathway to neverending life.

I was told today by a girl, (who means well) that she read my blog and that it was ‘lovely’. at the risk of being a cunt, there is nothing lovely about contemplating suicide and writing about how grief is tearing you up from the inside.

 seriously?

are people fucking stupid?

nobody knows what to say and how to react. so just don’t say anything. just go for the classic response, the look of intense pity and failed attempts at comforting and not knowing the right way to look.

You can all fuck off.

You’re not in my shoes..

this may be slightly awkward because this post sounds a bit bitchy but never mind..

recently I’ve been prone to asking the opinions of others when i quite frankly don’t need their input. I read somewhere that when you feel as if you cannot manage your life or have low self-esteem or lost confidence, you look to others to carry you and make all your decisions for you.

although this may be a short -term fix, it does more harm than good in the long run.

I moved out because i felt that my mother was suffocating me and not allowing me to make my own decisions in regard to MY trauma *possessive tone*. but even though i left home, this did not exactly go to plan the way i thought it did. i didn’t become instantaneously independent. in fact for the past 2 weeks i have been putting all my weight in regard to decision making on my friends.. or those i may consider friends for now. I’m not particularly in the best mindset so who knows i may regret looking to certain people for advice in the future.

i do not enjoy being instructed on what i should and should not be doing in regard to my own choices in life. i appreciate people may want to help and maybe i am not ready to listen to them, but there is a difference between advice and people forcing their opinions on you when they are not in your position and are not thinking with your brain.

i understand many people may think that me publicizing an ordeal that many would not share is a bad idea. But i am happy with my decision. if it comes back to bite me in the arse then so be it. hiding my ‘secret’ implies that i should have some sort of shame and that if people find out my whole life will be ruined.

My life was already fucked from the beginning.. well from 7 years onwards.. and i cannot go back in history to change what happened, but i can make a difference from now by taking back control, regardless of whether or not other around me support my choices.

#rant over 🙂

rock bottom

i think i reached a crisis point yesterday but i have no idea why. all i remember is thinking about how unfair everything that had happened to me was, wanting to text my mum to distance myself away from her then falling on my bed contemplating ending everything. then i decided to call Samaritans before i did do something instead of just fantasizing about the idea.

when you see black, it’s almost peaceful but at the same time it’s a waste. maybe next week i won’t feel so shit , and then my ghost could be looking back saying ‘i told you so’.. don’t want to anger that ghost now do you..

joined a forum for fellow survivors http://www.aftersilence.org , they have a chatroom there which is useful so hope to use that sometime today. also need to work on this paranoia. i wonder if OCD is also part of rape trauma.

last night had a good whinge about my life to a mate.. well several mates actually. i don’t think it works because even when i clear my head, the same worries and anxieties just resurface again. maybe it’s time to sit down and tackle the root of the problem.

fun..fun..fun