(no subject)
OK. This is going to be a long, more than likely a depressing post so i am doing a cut so pass on by if you want.
i wrote recently in a friends lj that i wanted to run off to an island somewhere and sell shit to tourists, lie in the sun and drink all the tequilla and rum i could get my hands on until things get better.
While it was said to cheer him up, the sentiment is actually true. The urge to run is coming back strong. The urge to push shit down is coming back strong. To forget about it and not worry. Now i know that is wrong, i truly do. But, the urge....no the desire....no, its even stronger than desire...perhaps the need to run is back.
Will i? No, i'm too fucking responsible. i have to many people that depend on me and the need to please and not disappoint is too strong. The emotion of blame is also coming back. Whenever i feel rejected, whether its a true rejection or an imagined one, i still find myself asking what did i do wrong. And please, dont reject me sexually as that would send me in to a tail spin. To take away the one thing i believe i am good for.
i am reading a book, The Courage to Heal, if you have kept up with these sensored posts at all, you know about the reaction i had the first time i read it. The second time wasnt as strong but was still pretty intense. i had actually written a long post about it last night but damn lj ate it and i didnt have the evergy or time to want to repeat it.
If you told someone about what was happening to you, they probably ignored you, said you made it up, or told you to forget it. They may have blamed you. Your reality was denied or twisted and you felt crazy. Rather than see the abuser or your parents as bad, you came to believe that you did not deserve to be taken care of, that you in fact deserved abuse. You felt isolated and alone.
Many abused kids are told directly that they'll never suceed, that they're stupid, or that they're only good for sex. With messages like these, it's hard to believe in yourself.
First, let me explain. My abusers (yes, there was more than one), were not family members but other kids (aged 10-16) and a man (aged >60?). My parents never told me anything about being bad or worthless or even sexual. i was brought up in a religious home, where rules and consequences were made and had. i was expected to get good grades, go to church and basically be a normal, if not "brady bunch" type kid. My parents confronted the one person they knew about (i never told them everything when it came out by getting caught, they thought it was that one occasion) and then we just never talked about it again. That was wrong. First, i should have told them everything, but i thought i was going to be in trouble and my Mom was crying and i thought i had done something wrong. See, i took the blame almost immediately. Even now i often say i dont blame some of the boys involved. Even now i still think it was my fault.
And yes, i know thats not logical. What does a 6 year old know about sex? What does a six or seven year old do to make someone believe that they like lying in a garden while they took turns with me? Logically, i know that it was not my fault. That i was not to blame. That my parents were not to blame. They did what everyone did back then. Talked about it once and then pushed it to the back of the closet and forgot about it happening. And it wasn't until i was 30 something that i realized i hadnt forgot about it. That it did have an impact on my life and that it was affecting me at that moment and had been for many, many years. It just took me 9 more years before i decided (OK, things got so bad that i didnt have a choice but to face the demons or end it all) to deal with the issues.
So here i am, dealing with the issues. Dealing with all the shit. On more meds than i have ever taken in my whole life. Living in a world of mixed emotions, actually putting my moto in to use. "If you can't make it, fake it." There are plenty of times i fake it. Everyone remarked how well i had done on Christmas day. How much more like myself i was. What they didnt know is that famous question.......How many valiums does it take to handle being around your family at Christmas time?.....Who the fuck knows. It brings to mind the owl in the tootsie pop commercial. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a toosie pop?.....One, Two, Three..... Crunch..... It takes 3 licks to get to the center of a tootsie pop. Well, it took me three valiums to get through a Christmaseve night and day with my family. And it's not that they arent great people. It more that they want everything back to normal. And it is never, ever going to be back to normal again. i broke the normal mode the first day i walked in to therapy and said through tears "i was sexually molested as a child and i am beginning to have problems handling it".
What brought it on? There are too many things that could have done it. Lets leave that one alone for a while.
So here i am dealing with this shit, and yes, i do feel better than i did 2 months ago. But, do i feel good? i could give you the "pat" answer i have for people who ask me that......"It's a day".....and leave it at that. i could tell you i feel 100% better. i could tell you there are times i still want to "run" or worse. i could tell you there are days when i force myself out of the bed. When i make myself shower. When i make myself dress. When i make myself leave the house. When i make myself eat.
Then there are days when i obsess about something. i put all my energy and focus on one thing. Like finding those damn 35 cent stamps that i know is here in the house somewhere. When i started the great closet experiment that made me sleep on the couch for 2 nights. That i want to paint my living room and kitchen because the urge to run is here and i cant and perhaps by redoing the rooms i can quench it. That i want a new kitten not because i dont love the other cat but because i need something new to focus my energy on.
Fuck, i dont know. All i know is now i am tired and i have bored you with my drivel far to long and that i will be out of touch for a few days as i go home to my parents and see my brother and his family. And see my cousin and her family. As i go to visit my G'mothers grave who died last month. As i slip a valium in to cope with all this shit. As i hide everything real that i am feeling because i dont want to upset my parents. And as i wait and hope to get home soon so i can be around familiar things and i dont have to pretend anymore and i can just relax without stress from trying so hard to make them think i am getting better so they wont worry anymore. OK. i really have to stop this now.....
Goodnight all.
i wrote recently in a friends lj that i wanted to run off to an island somewhere and sell shit to tourists, lie in the sun and drink all the tequilla and rum i could get my hands on until things get better.
While it was said to cheer him up, the sentiment is actually true. The urge to run is coming back strong. The urge to push shit down is coming back strong. To forget about it and not worry. Now i know that is wrong, i truly do. But, the urge....no the desire....no, its even stronger than desire...perhaps the need to run is back.
Will i? No, i'm too fucking responsible. i have to many people that depend on me and the need to please and not disappoint is too strong. The emotion of blame is also coming back. Whenever i feel rejected, whether its a true rejection or an imagined one, i still find myself asking what did i do wrong. And please, dont reject me sexually as that would send me in to a tail spin. To take away the one thing i believe i am good for.
i am reading a book, The Courage to Heal, if you have kept up with these sensored posts at all, you know about the reaction i had the first time i read it. The second time wasnt as strong but was still pretty intense. i had actually written a long post about it last night but damn lj ate it and i didnt have the evergy or time to want to repeat it.
If you told someone about what was happening to you, they probably ignored you, said you made it up, or told you to forget it. They may have blamed you. Your reality was denied or twisted and you felt crazy. Rather than see the abuser or your parents as bad, you came to believe that you did not deserve to be taken care of, that you in fact deserved abuse. You felt isolated and alone.
Many abused kids are told directly that they'll never suceed, that they're stupid, or that they're only good for sex. With messages like these, it's hard to believe in yourself.
First, let me explain. My abusers (yes, there was more than one), were not family members but other kids (aged 10-16) and a man (aged >60?). My parents never told me anything about being bad or worthless or even sexual. i was brought up in a religious home, where rules and consequences were made and had. i was expected to get good grades, go to church and basically be a normal, if not "brady bunch" type kid. My parents confronted the one person they knew about (i never told them everything when it came out by getting caught, they thought it was that one occasion) and then we just never talked about it again. That was wrong. First, i should have told them everything, but i thought i was going to be in trouble and my Mom was crying and i thought i had done something wrong. See, i took the blame almost immediately. Even now i often say i dont blame some of the boys involved. Even now i still think it was my fault.
And yes, i know thats not logical. What does a 6 year old know about sex? What does a six or seven year old do to make someone believe that they like lying in a garden while they took turns with me? Logically, i know that it was not my fault. That i was not to blame. That my parents were not to blame. They did what everyone did back then. Talked about it once and then pushed it to the back of the closet and forgot about it happening. And it wasn't until i was 30 something that i realized i hadnt forgot about it. That it did have an impact on my life and that it was affecting me at that moment and had been for many, many years. It just took me 9 more years before i decided (OK, things got so bad that i didnt have a choice but to face the demons or end it all) to deal with the issues.
So here i am, dealing with the issues. Dealing with all the shit. On more meds than i have ever taken in my whole life. Living in a world of mixed emotions, actually putting my moto in to use. "If you can't make it, fake it." There are plenty of times i fake it. Everyone remarked how well i had done on Christmas day. How much more like myself i was. What they didnt know is that famous question.......How many valiums does it take to handle being around your family at Christmas time?.....Who the fuck knows. It brings to mind the owl in the tootsie pop commercial. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a toosie pop?.....One, Two, Three..... Crunch..... It takes 3 licks to get to the center of a tootsie pop. Well, it took me three valiums to get through a Christmaseve night and day with my family. And it's not that they arent great people. It more that they want everything back to normal. And it is never, ever going to be back to normal again. i broke the normal mode the first day i walked in to therapy and said through tears "i was sexually molested as a child and i am beginning to have problems handling it".
What brought it on? There are too many things that could have done it. Lets leave that one alone for a while.
So here i am dealing with this shit, and yes, i do feel better than i did 2 months ago. But, do i feel good? i could give you the "pat" answer i have for people who ask me that......"It's a day".....and leave it at that. i could tell you i feel 100% better. i could tell you there are times i still want to "run" or worse. i could tell you there are days when i force myself out of the bed. When i make myself shower. When i make myself dress. When i make myself leave the house. When i make myself eat.
Then there are days when i obsess about something. i put all my energy and focus on one thing. Like finding those damn 35 cent stamps that i know is here in the house somewhere. When i started the great closet experiment that made me sleep on the couch for 2 nights. That i want to paint my living room and kitchen because the urge to run is here and i cant and perhaps by redoing the rooms i can quench it. That i want a new kitten not because i dont love the other cat but because i need something new to focus my energy on.
Fuck, i dont know. All i know is now i am tired and i have bored you with my drivel far to long and that i will be out of touch for a few days as i go home to my parents and see my brother and his family. And see my cousin and her family. As i go to visit my G'mothers grave who died last month. As i slip a valium in to cope with all this shit. As i hide everything real that i am feeling because i dont want to upset my parents. And as i wait and hope to get home soon so i can be around familiar things and i dont have to pretend anymore and i can just relax without stress from trying so hard to make them think i am getting better so they wont worry anymore. OK. i really have to stop this now.....
Goodnight all.