Sunday, February 26, 2012


I was going to place this in my last post but that seemed inappropriate.

Here is my view on things.

My past is crappy and not bright. It is full of pain and guilt and I would like to believe that nobody once noticed I was suffering... but I am not that naive. I know it was obvious in many ways and have even found out their were those who noticed but did nothing. Therapy never had any effect except to be annoying and repetitive. it is a tool... in of itself it is useless.

therapy did not help me ever. I coudlnt' even accept a compliment or say a single thing I liked about myself until a few years ago... because my baby sister laughed at my stupid jokes and thought I was funny. she said I was nice. one moment did more for me than years of therapy.

before mom died their was a period I refused to speak. I had no desire to even try to pull myself from the endless memory of my father... and merely moved through life like I was simply living because he wished me to. I was very young... preschool age when he died. I was about 6 years old when I finally came out of it. it took years of little things... things that I came out little by little to do just to see my mother and brother smile.

It got to the point where while I still would not speak unless absolutely necessary... and only to my mother and brother. before my father had died I had been very vocal. Papa used to listen no matter how trivial it may have been... from wild make believe to reality even a song or... well anything. My brother came up to me one day while I was being quiet. when he asked me why I was quiet so much I lied. I told him I did not know, that I could not remember... I knew and I remembered quite clearly. every time I said I didn't remember... that I didn't know... every single time was because I didn't want my sweet brother to know. so... every time I swear I didn't know during that time is a lie... every time I have sworn it. I lived with that for a long time, and one day I was still a child and a friend had cried for her father and he came and got her, mama called him... so in true form of a child I cried for mine... first she tried calling her estranged husband(she couldn't find him to get a divorce-but for me she tried), he wasn't able to be reached and I told her who I really wanted... "you really don't remember?" my mom looked strangely happy with this assumption... so I let her have that. after that she stuck with grandmothers story.

anyway, before I went down memory lane at the keyboard... again I was saying, one thing made a drastic change. my brother. he was so sweet... and he had so much innocence in him still... ever fleck of it that had been lost I blamed myself for, as his sister I have always blamed myself for everything... even things that happened when our aunt had him... logic has not mattered in such feelings and I have come to accept they are natural and simply must be handled. He never would have broken that arm if I had been their... because even if I had to of braced him with my own body... I would have. It wouldn't be the first time. so when he told me he hated it when I was quiet... I made a promise. Because of this promise, it takes more than "not wanting to talk" to get me to shut up. to be honest, he recently told me I didn't have to anymore... but I didn't make the promise to him, I made it for him.... to myself.

he didn't know till a couple years ago... when I told him.

the point of this is... it doesn't take a genius to figure out what I am trying to say.

when my husband did what he did and everything got to the point where the healing could begin... it was my children that kept me going.

every smile, every quirky moment... even the tantrums.

in rowans first 6 months of life, nobody knows this of course but I have been known to do it since then, I went in to check to make sure he was real... still their... not a hallucination or a dream. I did it with rohan as well but... not as much as I had adjusted a bit more... but do you want to know why? what could possibly make me unsure of reality when I logically know I do not see anything else?

after my mom died my grandmother got me. not only did I have to bear lies and horrible things said, to be hurt and then hear you did it to yourself or it never happened, you were just clumsy... to have her say things and then say she never said them... that was only half of it. The medications. I would call it torchure and "cruel and unusual" but... I don't think the mental health system or those in it would enjoy it, truth or not.

I got to feel my mind tear, rip... I know things about myself I am pretty sure nobody should know about anyone, including themselves. It made me see things that were not their, an example would be spiders... at one point one made me see my fears. I looked around and even saw my brother crying over my body... just like I did over my fathers. I saw my sister being hurt... I saw the past repeat NOT just in my mind where it belonged... but with my eyes. I saw spiders all around and darkness... two things I have feared since I was a child. the fears themselves would not stay as thus but would warp, it wasn't just that but blood on the walls, the floors... dripping from the ceiling. The spiders I would see would crawl out from everywhere and were by no means small as a normal spider... that one is why I won't watch horror movies involving spiders. for a long time I hated fantasy... because if I read something I would see it if I feared it. I would hear it... smell it... it all depended what medication or group of them I was on. After awhile I simply learned to tell myself it wasn't real and shut everything out... just like everyone did when I tried to tell them medication made it worse... to be honest it got to a point I could not remember what it was like to deal with it any other way... though I knew it had been that way once.

those are possibly some of the worst flashbacks a person can have. when you must harden yourself to ignore the most horrifying images... of people you care about... dying... not just dying... but blaming you... suffering... screaming... pleading with you for help. You cannot help them. it is only a dream seen while awake and perceived with your eyes and held with your ears... but though you know this... even as you walk through it... you still look down and see yourself drenched in blood.

I could tell you some pretty colorful ways to die.

After awhile... it wasn't just that I was afraid my grandmother would really make sure they were dead... it was that caring about someone meant I had to fear their death... which also meant I had to go through it. could you live knowing if you cared for someone you had to see them die every single day?

I did.

So life has taken some adjusting... and they wonder why on medications I have tried to take my own life... most of the time it had nothing to do with simple urge or compulsion caused by medications(though their were a few of those)... it was the things they made me see. telling them the medication made you see things or hear them or anything of the sort didn't get you off of them, it got you put on more on TOP of the same ones... if I was lucky I got a doctor who just didn't like to use a specific medication and would change it without me saying a word.

once i got lucky... not so lucky actually. I saw less and split more... felt more of it too. I could even feel the wetness of the blood... not just the warmth of it on my skin... it was harder to tell myself it wasn't real when it only felt more real... but the imagery had faded a bit so... sometimes that was my only sanity.

let me be clear... while dealing with the things done by those who hail under the name "family" that is what I dealt with so correct me if I am wrong but that is MORE than enough reason for me to wish I had the "right" to heal without the peanut gallery that is the mental health system forcing their opinions on me. we see where their opinions got me before... don't we? at one point I was able to make friends... but I had to ignore their mangled bodies dying horrible deaths... because that wasn't real.

so yeah... when I had my boys I had to check and make sure my eyes had not deceived me... because nothing ever looked so beautiful and precious in my life... and it wouldn't be the first time I had a beautiful hallucination. logic knew they were real but years in that... I had to check. My past isn't pretty. you try letting go of someone when sometimes you end up taking things that make you see your parents... your sister... you try it. it doesn't happen. I avoided zombie movies especially... because after watching them I would see my parents and everyone I love, hear them muttering things... the same hings I heard my grandmother say, the same things I said to myself... "your fault".... "it should have been you"... now I am not sure what being eaten alive feels like in real life but... whatever the feeling I can assure you if that was anything like it i never want to experience it again.

now I am to the point where I do enjoy some zombie movies... like resident evil, and high school of the dead. the later is an anime... I like it more so i can laugh at the silly sound effects and the way they put emphasis on the body parts (clarification: gore isn't funny to me, never will be. the sound effects with the boob bounce and "Sexy" stuff is-yeah... I laugh at that stuff).... because after all I have been through... I am allowed to have an odd sense of humor.

I do still double check what is real and what is not... so far nothing "not". I just check because after so long... it is like a baby blanket to a baby... a favorite teddy. it is... my crutch in life, but I don't check as much as I used to.

I am not a war veteran and to be honest this is the first time I have spoken about much of that... as I have said before, details. I do not usually give them and on the abuse itself... I probably never will. I lived in hell. in fact, as I said... books gave my mind ammo.... now think of what reading the bible must have done?

I have learned advanced meditations that I honestly didn't realize were advanced. I took up hobbies, skills to learn... anything but what I was forced to see and feel. to be honest... I only got through it because as odd as this may sound... I had multiple personalities and I was aware of each and every one. some were nice, some were not... even my mind ended up a battle ground at times... not just "home", their too.I had to let the good ones fade... even though at one point... they were all I had. I know it is stupid and they were just inside my head... but... when I cried nobody was their, they were. when I was sick or hurt or recovering from "home" they were their... I could tell them what I could never tell anyone... so... when they protected me and kept me as safe as possible form things derived from my own medicated mind... I became attached.

could you really blame me?

even if it was only to myself... I loved them... and if I was going to be forced to live in a world where I had no choice but to see such things... then... wasn't I allowed that weakness? because I knew they were not real... accept for one, but she was always their. she did not come the same nor fade the same way... and when things happened and I had to go on medications because some worker ordered me to... she was the first one to return. she feels different... comes from a different place... personally I just think that wherever she cam from...  perhaps like ying and yang she is the tiny spec of my opposite left in my side of the thing... like the simple of such itself. it doesn't matter though... she is gone... still... I do wonder. musing aside... I will never know for sure and thus, that wondering... is a waist of time. the medications just brought her more... to the surface. one doctor refused to treat me... because I am a surviving twin. she isn't their anymore just to let you know... but even though these people were never born... never really lived anywhere but in my mind... my traitorous heart still loves them as if they had been real people.

wouldn't you?

These things... they were not pretty things. they were horrible things.

do I let myself get depressed over it? no.

I can't do that. like wolves to the kill... the mental health system would have me back on medications faster than fly's on shit.

If given the chance... I merely wish to be left to heal. It would be nice if I had family to be here... but I will just have to deal with slower healing... like I said, my sister did more in one phrase than years of therapy.

and wouldn't you know... just by being born and living... my children made me able to stand my own face... and see something... just by looking at me with those eyes... their pureness is what makes me feel something i do not otherwise feel... clean. it is a different kind of clean... being raped it is natural to feel dirty. no amount of bathing can make it go away either. they are little miracles... I love them.

in truth I don't think I could handle the world medications thrust me in... not again... and not knowing that they would be among those I would have to watch die... over and over again. you would think knowing it is fake decreases the pain from it... but it doesn't. in your heart, even if that person is standing in front of you... it still hurts as if they are actually dying or dead... makes you wonder if they are really alive.

this time... I would probably carve out my own heart as even the idea of them facing such a fate hurts with near unbearable pain(at least being alive proves I have bore it and not given under it).. I have no plans to take my life... I simply know myself. that pain would be too much... I couldn't... and if I tried... it really would drive me insane. their is no way to cope with that... not for me.

off of medications I have no such things. I have ptsd... anxiety... but that is to be expected.

I have a stable and steady record of being such for over two years... as I did not receive records from before that... I do not know for sure. they have a habit of not being honest about that stuff and I find... I am not sure I wish to know.

so for me... even knowing what I would face... I did what I was told by the social worker. she of course is neither a trained professional in any other capacity(that I know of) nor a good worker who doesn't shirk and do a horrible job of her own work and even stoops to fraud... but of course that will never matter to anyone else. I was already told that even in court it wouldn't matter. I am just glad it was something that only made me see myself hanging from various places... made me have impulses... and made me start to split again... because if it had been like before... even a hallucination of my children's bodies would have had my blood on her hands. I believe the actions we take make us partially responsible for the reaction... so by doing shotty work and ordering me to do what I TOLD her would not have good results... by forcing me to this by holding something precious above my head... yeah, if I had died I would say it would be entirely her fault... her and the psychiatrist who unethically prescribed it after so long of me proving that i didn't need them.

so yeah... I hate the bitch.

any kindness I have done or tried to do for her... is because I love them. I will not get into the habit of spitefully acting against another because I love them and... further... what kind of example would I be?

I hate her. I do not think my cat is a person and I have a long standing record saying blatantly I have no dillusions, hell... the record of me supposedly saying I did doesn't even exist. I never said it. Now I have been asked if I did... after a call made where he talked to my roommate outside... I also told him no, kept on asking and I kept on saying no. I was really wierded out by the question. he was called on routine theft and vandalism. after I gave her notice my roommate was acting out. I gave her notice for a reason.

I suspect she was the reason he even asked... not really a horrible concept as he spoke to her outside before asking me... I am happy to say, no, but I am not happy to say... how am I supposed to prove that?

I can give you details on what I have seen in the past... but... humoring these people will only cause trouble.

my life is no longer someones toy... well for now perhaps it is. let me correct myself then.

I do not want to be their toy... because when you have no rights and only a peace of paper that says you do... what else can you be called but a toy? why else do people play with other peoples lives than to entertain their delusions of grandeur and to play god with you as their toy?


PS: no, I am not on court ordered treatment. by all rights it should be my choice.  you would be surprised what has been done and said in the past to get me not excersize that "voluntary" status to leave... now that I am at a place(I go to a site-live on my own) that has made no threats to such... I am in a position where it has been made clear they will forever make sure something precious is out of my reach... you do the math.

you may find... their are some things in my life that are horrifying to others... yet while I have had to keep back tears while remembering... let me be blunt. I have barely scratched the surface and because I don't think anybody else can handle it... chances are I will never go any deeper than that.

talking about the past... tends to get those who wish to "help" a bit uppity... "I think you need help for grief" no... I need help getting away form all this help.

their is a difference between constructive help and destructive help and the fact of the matter is... some things are just better left alone. constructive help... OK, but what is constructive for me... is not the therapy and crap other do. I need time... a job... my family... some wounds in life... just need the simple things. the simple things are indeed... the best thing in life.

No comments:

Post a Comment