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

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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

There’s no fighting against this force

 

We met as soul mates on Parris Island
We left as inmates from an asylum
And we were sharp, as sharp as knives
And we were so gung ho to lay down our lives

We came in spastic like tameless horses
We left in plastic as numbered corpses
And we learned fast to travel light
Our arms were heavy but our bellies were tight

We had no home front, we had no soft soap
They sent us Playboy, they gave us Bob Hope
We dug in deep and shot on sight
And prayed to Jesus Christ with all of our might

We had no cameras to shoot the landscape
We passed the hash pipe and played our Doors tapes
And it was dark, so dark at night
And we held on to each other
Like brother to brother
We promised our mothers we’d write

And we would all go down together
We said we’d all go down together
Yes we would all go down together

Remember Charlie, remember Baker
They left their childhood on every acre
And who was wrong? And who was right?
It didn’t matter in the thick of the fights

We held the day in the palm of our hands
They ruled the nights, and the nights
Seemed to last as long as six weeks…

…On Parris Island
We held the coastline, they held the highlands
And they were sharp, as sharp as knives
They heard the hum of our motors
They counted the rotors
And waited for us to arrive

And we would all go down together
We said we’d all go down together
Yes we would all go down together

 

 

This song reminds me of PTSD so much. It’s written about the war and veterans.. but I relate to it as childhood trauma as well.