NO I won’t go to the police

My last post was in Dutch.
Here it will be in English.

One of the things I have learned in time is that I am someone who just says what he thinks. That’s what I will do right now.

I am against going to the police for a sexual offense in the Netherlands.

The whole organisation behind it is what makes me so disgusted. It’s something I always used to say, watching the TV and seeing people getting away with stuff (what’s the point then?) but now that I’ve actually went through the whole thing myself I really am against it. Holland sucks when it comes to taking care of victims of sexual offenses.

I know there are a lot of budget cuts in this whole system and that, that’s a part of this thing but either way, it still stinks. At the end of the day it still was more harmful to me to press charges than actually let it go. And that shouldn’t be the meaning of it, right?

“You don’t want the offender to keep running free?” Ofcourse not. But me going to the police won’t stop that. The low punishments here will do that all on their own. The legislator made sure of that.
“You don’t want the offender to do that to other kids/people do you?” Ofcourse not! What a *** stupid comment! When did I become responsible for the actions of other people? Let me remind you again, even if I went to the police, the chances of the person being locked up are very low (if they are locked up, it’s probably for a few years), so there will be enough opportunity for them to do it again.

I went to the police, which is very hard, describing everything to the very detail, they told me they’d get back to me in 3 months. After 9 months of not hearing anything I called them. They told me my case did not have any priority. (Well okay, that hurts but I can understand in some way)
A year later some people were heard by the police and they collected all the evidence and send it through to the public prosecutor.
That person apparently decided to sit on my case and wait till it was ready to hatch like a chicken for about 3 years. Mean while, every now and then they send me random letters with questions. (let me tell you, each letter from either the police or public prosecutor made my heart skip a beat and make me go through the whole thing again. Simple letters like “We are going to get ABC in for a hearing”/ “we just heard KLM and are getting things together”/”your case will be forwarded to the public prosecutor”/”would you like to be updated by us?”) I answered the question letter and send it back.

Then I didn’t hear a thing from then in a long while. And you can forget calling them. They’ll keep sending you around, and around untill you feel like yelling to everyone on the phone, and of course you will be charged for yelling at a civil servant :’) so, you just wait patiently. 

1,5 years after the one letter asking me some questions, I got the exact same letter (it even said that I didn’t respond 1,5 years ago even though I had to within 14 days). Well, filled it in and send it back. Changed some things, I didn’t feel like talking to the public prosecutor anymore etc. I mean, at this point I felt like I went to the police 500 BC and it’s 2014 now.. so, no. Meanwhile  4 or 5 years have passed (almost a quarter of my life). 

Also during this whole period, society expects everything from you. Get on with your life, act normal etc.

Then the public prosecutor apparently decides the egg has hatched. I got a letter that the hearing would be in 14 days. Btw, you should get a lawyer. (well, it wasn’t written like that, but that kinda was the message)

I just got my life together, I actually got into university it was actually going well (!!!) and now they just pull the ground away under my feet. They decide… I don’t have any say in this (you see.. powerless, reminds of trauma, trigger)

Needless to say, I broke down completely. Crisis after crisis. Popping pills like crazy. 

I really am disgusted with the way they handled things. Oh and the budget cuts in the health care as well, it’s getting harder as it is to get decent help, especially for complex trauma.
I can honestly say this case did more bad than good and I’ll never go to the police again for something like this.

If you want recognition? Your psychologists will give it to you, the right people around you will always give it to you.
Besides, the lawyer from the offender will dig a whole in the ground for you so deep you’ll lie next to the core of the earth. Apparently he didn’t have a conscience or maybe he does the same thing in his free time.

NEE ik doe GEEN aangifte.

This post will be in Dutch for now, I may post this in English later on.

————-

Een van de dingen waar ik met de tijd ben achter gekomen is dat ik iemand ben die zegt wat die vind. Geen blad voor de mond. En dat is ook wat ik hiermee ga doen.

Ik ben fel tegen aangifte doen over een zedendelict in Nederland.

De organisatie er om heen is wat ik zo walgelijk er aan vind. En dit zei ik al half binnensmonds een paar jaar geleden, wachtend op nieuws van het OM, maar na slepende jaren kan ik, en durf ik het vol uit te zeggen; Nederland stinkt als het gaat om zorgen om zedendelict slachtoffers.

Er zal ook geen aangifte meer komen van mijn kant, niet met dit systeem. Of het ligt aan de bezuinigingen, waardoor er allerlei rechtbanken zijn gefuseerd, of gewoon pure bureaucratie maakt me ook geen reet uit. Het komt erop neer dat het schadelijk is (in mijn ogen) voor degene die aangifte doet uiteindelijk. Dat lijkt me alles behalve de bedoeling.

“Je wilt toch niet dat diegene vrij rond blijft lopen?” Oh, nee tuurlijk wil ik dat niet. Maar een aangifte stopt dat niet. De lage maximum straffen (die vaak niet eens gehaald worden) van onze lieftallige wetgever zorgen wel dat diegene uit zichzelf vrij rond loopt.
“Je wilt toch niet dat diegene het bij anderen kan doen?” Nee, natuurlijk niet. Wat een ongelofelijk domme opmerking! Sinds wanneer ben ik verantwoordelijk voor andersmans daden? En dan weer een mooie verwijzing terug naar de lage straffen, diegene krijgt genoeg kans om het nog een keer te doen.

Ik zal een kleine schets geven van hoe het bij mij verliep.

Aangifte bij de zedenpolitie (wat natuurlijk hartstikke zwaar is, de mensen zelf waren aardig gelukkig), ze geven aan dat je na 3 maanden wat zult horen. Na 9 maanden nog niks gehoord > mijn zaak heeft geen prioriteit. (au… okay…)
Een jaar later worden er paar verdachten gehoord. En wordt het afgerond bij de zedenpolitie en gaat de hele meuk naar het OM. 

Daar besluiten ze er lekker op te zitten broeden voor ongeveer 3 jaar. Ondertussen sturen ze me wel nonchalant een brief, met paar vragen. (Laat me je vertellen, elke brief die ik krijg “we gaan ABC verhoren”/ “we hebben zojuist KLM verhoord”/”je zaak wordt door gestuurd naar het OM”/”wil je op de hoogte gehouden worden door het OM?”< al deze brieven, rakelen alles weer op) Netjes beantwoord en weer terug gestuurd. 

Vervolgens hoor je weer niks van ze. En als je denkt zelf te bellen heb je het mooi mis, je wordt van het kastje naar de muur gestuurd. 

Anderhalf jaar later (na die ENE brief) krijg ik precies dezelfde brief, waar ook nog letterlijk in staat dat ik (anderhalf jaar terug) nooit gereageerd heb (het moest binnen 14 dagen). OM logica! Nou goed, opnieuw ingevuld, en nu wat dingen aangepast. Ondertussen was ik wel klaar met die aangifte die ik 500 jaar voor Christus had gedaan. Ik was inmiddels ook 4 a 5 jaar ouder (bijna een kwart van m’n leven)

En ondertussen, wordt er natuurlijk alles van je verwacht he. Dat je je leven op pakt (je wordt toch geen uitkering trekker? enz.) op alle vlakken. Nou, maatschappij wilt, ik doe. 

En dan besluit het OM dat ze (blijkbaar) klaar zijn met broeden. Ik krijg een brief in de bus dat over 14 dagen de rechtzaak plaats zal vinden. PS. ik zou maar een advocaat nemen als ik jou was. (Nouja, zo stond het er niet, maar zo had het er kunnen staan)

Ehm.. ik had net m’n leven op gepakt.. dingen begonnen.. en nu jullie zelf bepalen dat het tijd is (ik had namelijk tijd hiervoor toen ik aangifte deed, niet 5 jaar later) moet ik maar weer gehoorzamen. 
Needless to say, m’n hele wereldje stortte weer in. Doei studie, doei stabiliteit. 

Ik vind dit ronduit walgelijk. Oh en daarbij komt ook nog eens hun geweldige bezuiniging op de zorg, die het moeilijk maakt om ondersteuning te krijgen hierbij. Wat dat betreft zou ik al helemaal zeggen, zet je 100% in op zorg + herstel. Laat de rest maar zitten.

Ik kan eerlijk zeggen, deze hele zaak heeft meer kapot gemaakt dan goed.

Ben je opzoek naar erkenning? De juiste hulpverlening, en mensen om je heen zullen je die geven. Bovendien zal de advocaat van de dader je de grond in trappen tot je bij de kern van de aarde bent en daar wegschroeit (blijkbaar heeft die advocaat zelf geen geweten.. of doet ‘ie dat soort dingen ook in z’n vrije tijd.)

zo, dat is eruit 🙂

Done

Is it christmas? Is it the that time of the year where it feels like most of the day it’s dark outside? Or is it just the trigger of that one person coming into my personal space?

I’m hoping it’s all three. Because that would mean the trigger didn’t bring me down as bad as I thought it would.
I can’t even say; back off. I can’t find the words, they’re stuck in my throat. All I can do is stare into the distance and wait. Fade away inside myself, into this emptiness. While a tiny part of me just wishes for some comfort, even if it’s from my mum. For someone to come save me. Get this thing away from me.

But it’s not my place. Not anymore. It can just go around and to its thing. No matter how it feels to me. I mean that’s what’s freedom is about right? It would take ages to write the whole story. Which wouldn’t even matter, because I like to clear my head while writing stuff down, but I’m just too scared that everyone would say it’s all in my head, my fault, that I’m overreacting.

At some point I was sitting and staring yesterday, and he touched the top of my head in a “comforting gesture” (makes me sick to my stomach), and I just kept on feeling his hand on my head, on top of my hair. Even though I knew, his hand wasn’t there anymore. After a while I just had to go rub my head against the wall to get his hand off of it.

This isn’t worth anything.
I’m done.

Secrecy

Secrecy was a code I practiced for my life. I regret that to this day – Cyntoia Brown

I can really relate to this quote said by that girl, although she was very young.. those words are full of wisdom.

Anyhow. Trauma comes with so much secrecy and at some point I don’t know if I became good at hiding it from others or also good at hiding it from myself. Either way.. I think I’m carrying around a secret. For over a year now. It has nothing to do with trauma! I want to make that really clear. But, it’s bringing me down like hell. For over a year now. I don’t know if I ever even realized it was a secret. Or I don’t even know if secret is the right words. All I know is that nobody, literally nobody knows how much this is torturing me. There are a few people, and by a few, I think I mean 2 (Brandon and a friend of mine) who know that this occupies my mind every now and then… but the joke is, it’s not just every now and then.

I want to get rid of this. But how do I get rid of this, when I don’t ever talk about it?
The reason I’m writing this is I haven’t told anyone because I am SO ashamed of myself. Of this. I couldn’t even admit it to myself. I am very sure people will judge me for it, hell I even judge myself for it! But the shame is very trauma related.. and I know I need Brandon for that. But I don’t want to tell him. It should be simple, living with this pain or just tell someone. I know Brandon doesn’t judge. But I can’t stand this. And I can’t stand telling someone something, or trying to, without knowing the words for it.

It’s all too complicated.
I find myself crying all evening, and not knowing what to do. But I do know the cause. God knows I’ve tried everything. My head feels like a torture device.

The bags under my eyes are prada

Today I did it. I emailed Brandon. I’m kinda afraid of his reaction. I was very honest. I’m afraid too honest. But a part of me is thinking, how can I be too honest with my therapist? He knows me better than anyone else.

I feel so torn between two parts of me.
The part of me that is real angry and feels like destroying everything “Madness is the gift that has been given to me”

& the part that just desperately wants to stop the pain but doesn’t know how “Don’t tear me down for all I need, make my heart a better place, give me something I can believe”

Actually they both mean the same. Anger does cover up pain. The basic question in my email to Brandon was; how can I stop/survive/handle this pain?

xoxo
Brianna

If you say so

I couldn’t find a reason to stay among the living, so I searched for it among the dead.

Today I visited a cemetery. For multiple reasons.
– I wanted to (as stated above) look for a reason to stay.
– I wanted to say I’m sorry to them, for being ungrateful with my life while (probably) most of them didn’t want to die.
– I was looking for a safe place. A place where it’s actually okay to cry.

I think it did me well to go. I saw a lot of touching things, made me cry, cry for them, the people around them. The hurt they must have been feeling or maybe still are feeling.

I sat there on a bench and did some stuff that was hard for me to do, but it felt easier there.

Though it brought me a lot. On my way home, my muscles still were burning in pain. This rock was still smothering my lungs. I still felt this agonizing pain inside. I could barely walk normal. Or even hold my tears.

I’m pretty sure I’ll go back, I just don’t know when yet.

I miss you

You, sanity.
You, safety.
You, friend.
You, comfort.
You,….
I just can’t bring myself up to type the name.

I had an interesting talk with Brandon today.
A lot of anger came out. I seem full of anger and revenge and yet full of pain and hurt. Of of course those two go hand in hand, but since when at the same time? I asked him if I was allowed to email him. He is actually the only person I can spill my guts to, though I know he prefers not, he agreed.

Dissociation is torturing me. Although I must be glad it’s just that instead of a memory/flashback.

Hurry back, cause you don’t know what it means to me.

It burns so bad. Inside me. It hurts like hell. It’s like my muscles are on fire.

I can’t believe it’s true, I keep looking for you.
I check my phone and wait to hear from you.
In the crowded room
The joker is so cruel.

And now I’ll never know,
If all I’ve been told
Is just a lie so bold,
I thought we would grow old.
Mirrors in the smoke
Left me here to choke

Where is my salvation?

Small/big update

Hi,

Have been real busy lately. The fourth family member has arrived (puppy) and it’s really a big job raising her. Last week I was having a real hard time. Feeling suicidal. Had a good talk with Brandon though on thursday. Then I talked to two old therapy friends of mine and I was very surprised of it but it was very nice to talk to them. I actually cried a lot about how bad I was feeling and how stuck I was feeling. Anyway, then I had the final talk at the old treatment centre (as written in my last post).

Saturday I got the puppy and my whole life was actually dedicated to her. But my mind was still having a hard time. A lot of break downs. Calling my mum up in the middle of the night. On Tuesday the two (old therapy) friends came over and we had a lot of fun, talked and had a lot of fun. I felt really supported by them again. Because they knew how hard it’s been on me.

Wednesday I saw Brandon again and at the start of our talk it actually looked like it wasn’t going anywhere. I was totally closed up, but somewhere it turned and shifted and I opened up and we had a really good talk. I was able to talk about the thing going on in my head and I really got the feeling of being able to do this again. (which was a long time ago, I had this feeling)
He told me, which I agreed, that I need to put my defences up at some points.
I saw a friend of mine that afternoon and she looked at me and said ‘your talk with Brandon went well, didn’t it?’ Apparently it was all over my face. She told me she saw me smile again. (A true smile)

A friend is coming over in a bit.

Tomorrow my sister and another friend.

I’m busy, but good busy I think 🙂

 

xoxo
Brianna

Being raised by therapists

Hi,

A very tricky part for me is to explain what trauma does to a developing brain. I’m really not good at it. I’m going to try to give it a shot.
The abuse has been in my childhood for as long as I can remember, and experiencing trauma creates a stagnation in emotional development. So basically, as I see it, I do grow up and learn to talk and stuff, but emotionally I was stuck at the age of trauma. (which also explains the big troubles with emotions, children can not deal with emotions > trauma happened to me at a very young age > stagnation > emotional child)

Anyway, what I wanted to talk about or actually write/type… I feel like I am being raised by therapists. I remember getting into a therapy group when I was 16 and leaving at 17, I was there for 13 months and they taught me some few minimal basic stuff. Like when I was feeling something, I really did not know what the word was, that went with the feeling. They learned me, it was disappointment. It took me 13 months to learn the word disappointment with the feeling (and I’m not even talking about mentioning it while I’m feeling it huh 😉 )

It’s all these kind of small things, that therapists are teaching me. And actually I’m going from therapist to therapist, just switching and hopping from one to another. Bonding and breaking the bond.. hop on, op off.. 😉

Today I had my final talk with Betty (which means I will never see her again) and she asked me what I learned in my 18 months at the treatment centre there, the question was referred to the contact between me and my mother. I told her that I learned to apologize for my behaviour to my mother.
It’s a known fact that my mother irritates me sometimes, mostly it relates to my youth and it’s triggering. Which makes me burst and scream at her.
It took me (yep…) 18 months to learn to communicate with her and to tell her later on (when I’m calm again) ‘sorry momma for yelling at you, I was upset because of ……… but I didn’t mean to yell’
They told my mother to tell me what my yelling does with her and how it makes her feel and to accept my apology.
After that, we’re good again.
(Side note; my age is 22)

I also learned that apologizing for my behaviour does not mean apologizing for my feelings, because that’s not necessary. It’s just feeling angry does not give me the right to yell at my mother and I need to take responsibility for my actions. (Wow, they taught me well 😉 )

So, my biological mother and father can’t give me the parenting I need. But I sometimes really feel like I’ve got a lot of mothers (because most of my therapists are women) and a few dads. They do parent me. I just don’t get to keep them. Which is a shame sometimes.

xoxo
Brianna

Ramblings

I can do it, I am doing it. Living. I’m going out, I actually even smile and mean it sometimes. But mostly I’m not very happy. Especially since yesterday evening. It’s like a dark cloud is pushing down on me, while I try to move forward, I feel it’s pressure.

I’ve known Brandon (my psychiatric nurse) for 1,5 years now, and I think (even though 1,5 years is quite a long time) I actually trust him fully now. I really do. There is a time limit at my new treatment centre and it’s short… I’m actually pooping my pants already because in November I’ll be without Brandon, maybe just temporary, but I’ll be without.
When a part of me right now just wants to cling right on to him. I feel so down and bad right now.. I just want him to ‘make it all better’. The funny part is, when I’m actually sitting in front of him, I’m mostly quite calm. When I’m not, the only thing I do is stare at the ground (while crying) or at my lap, when he asks me to look at him, I refuse. I NEVER search for the physical contact. Or even ask for his comfort with words.

I know there are a very few people who do have a person like that. But if I had a person who felt save to me, in my environment, I’d reach out to him/her and ask for help right now. Tell ’em how I’m feeling and that I’m kinda feeling stuck with it. I know there’s no clear answer or solution, but honesty helps.. and being heard too.. and distraction third. So, in the absence of that person. WordPress is my outlet, I’m gonna make internet or Netflix my distraction wrap myself in a blanket and try to soothe myself and dry my own tears. Because despite all of the shit, I still have myself, and one day it will be okay and enough for comfort.