I was 3 years old
And still you saw
The biggest evil grew in me
And you had to declaw
A child so young
But yet you destroy
Beat it to the ground
Like an annoying plastic toy
People saw evil in me
When life had barely begun
And its the kind of evil
That can’t be undone
This rock keeps burning
Through my chest
Smothering my lungs
Though I did try my best
Evil so strong
Does fighting even make sense?
I know he disagrees
CPTSD was the expense
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
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.
Hi,
I kind of wanted to write something from my point of view about why recovery takes ‘so long’ with childhood trauma. Of course the ‘so long’ part actually is often called so long in other people’s eyes, but to be honest, I think it’s taking too long sometimes as well.
This is all written from my point of view and also my experience. So I am only speaking for myself.
In my situation, the trauma started at a very young age, I don’t remember a time where I wasn’t living in a traumatic situation. I know, and have been told that the physical abuse was always a part of my life. As well as the emotional neglect.
As a child, I was being raised by my parents. A little by my environment and school and stuff. But mainly my parents. They form me. Like you can form clay, a child is very flexible, as the child grows older (the clay gets harder) and it’s it takes a form. The form which is set by the parents.
I often see it as programmed. I have been programmed a certain way. Some of my core beliefs are very hard and a result from trauma, for instance, my father is ‘the king’ and I must please him, no matter what (it costs me).
Of course as I grow older, or as the child grows older, I do start thinking on my own, and when I was 15 I got ‘rescued’ out of my home situation, and especially my thinking (rational) part could start to adapt more. It could start to adapt more to the law. For instance about what is right and wrong, no matter if it’s your father, uncle, neighbor, mother, grandmother or a stranger.
But, here is the twist, my hard drive/program/core belief is still the same. I am still, emotionally, the same shape as I was knead by my parents.
So my head can say ‘it’s ridiculous to please your father, if it’s that damaging to myself’, but deep down inside, I feel I still need to please him.
I understand all the things people are saying. Logically I do. Phrases like ‘snap out of it’/’don’t you get it?’ are jus not relevant. Because I do.
It takes a lot of time (and pain) for the original form to maybe even break down and build up again.
Right now I’m feeling that I am moving a little bit more forward, but that took a long time! And to be honest, rationally I may not know anything much different than one or two years ago. But people around me held on, believed in me, supported me, kept showing me what was right… and I guess that really helped.
So why does it take so long?
It takes long because I was programmed this way, and it takes a long time to reprogram. It’s not impossible. It just takes time, effort, patience.
I am beyond thankful for the people in my life who are showing me this precious light that I feel I never knew, it’s so pretty. It confuses me because I feel I don’t deserve it, and yet they keep on showing it. It brings me to tears, brings me confusion, brings me love, brings me pain, but most of all, brings me joy.
Thank you.
xoxo
Brianna
Hi,
Last thursday I had a talk with Brandon (and Polly came with). One thing that really lingered around in my head was that he said that it was a good thing for me to pick up my school work and study, and try to keep the past as it is. (something like that) And later in life, process it.
I didn’t really go into it, but it sure did shock me. What do you mean? Aren’t I ready yet? Have you given up on me? I’m going to be stuck with this stupid trauma for more years now?! How can I study with this head of mine?
As now I am having a little bit more  peace in my head, the thinking came up about this. (+ a lot of other things)
I really agree someone has to be ready. But I really wish someone would sit me down and explain to me clearly WHY he or she things I’m not ready yet. And there’d be no 45 minute time limit, just explain untill I fully understand. Give examples.
I do think I’ve grown a lot in the last year, I went from passive to more aggressive actually. You should see me in public now though, I’m either scared or ready to fight. Standing up for myself, not dealing with bullshit someone’s giving to me. Not afraid of telling them. I’m not someone who will shut up for your pleasure. Done that a long time, no more.
I’m a little concerned about this though, I do want to be self-assertive, but not in a aggressive way. I’m afraid with all the anger in me, it might explode.
On the other hand, I see how I can’t really communicate. Though I’ve been describing above how I can be very straight forward about stuff (an example was in a store, a woman was nagging to a man about me (While I was standing in front of her) that I jumped the queue, which I thought was ridiculous. So I just told her that I thought she was talking with her friend (2 metres from the queue) and just passed them and stepped in line. No need to bash me)
But another example is me not getting what I feel I want/need. Like my pills, or safety. And my way of easily communicating is screaming (Brenda/childish like). Well, it’s totally not an adult way of communicating, but it does (to be honest) explain what goes on in my head. It literally comes out. Fear/anger/frustration/panick/sad/pain, it all comes out in a scream.
To be honest, I don’t think Betty or Brandon appreciate me doing so much research on myself, so I’ve been holding all this inside and not telling them. But I’m getting quite sick of it. Because we may be wasting time on stuff right now, while I may have sorted things out. They may disagree with me, but that’s ok. We can talk about it then. But nooooooooooo, gotta let go of my past. Well sure, but can you tell my head that?
Sure there are a lot of things still very hard for me. I can’t even describe the flashbacks I’m seeing. The things I remember. I can’t even use the Dutch word for abuse. I just can’t get that out of my mouth. Brandon isn’t even allowed to look at me while I vaguely describe things sometimes. He isn’t allowed to call some people abusers.
I guess my head is still in a lot of denial.
Anyway, I guess what I’m feeling is frustration.
Right now the only possible way of dealing feels like throwing in a few oxazepam and numbing myself out (btw, I noticed, whenever I mention medication in my posts, I get a TON of spam!! Last time, I had 931 spam comments, in a week! All add’s (full of virus probably) on how to get medication)
xoxo
Brianna
Hi,
With every thing happening it seems it’s becoming more clear how my adult, rational part is deciding (me, Brianna). But also how the childpart of me still wants attention and needs help (with everything) and is stuck in her place due to the trauma (Brenda).
Yesterday I went to another city in Holland which is a big deal for me because I have had social anxiety issue’s in the past. I got on the train and was very nervous.
When I actually arrived at my destination, I didn’t know that station very well, it’s being rebuilt etc, I got into a little panick situation.
There were A LOT of people traveling and just going back and forth from platforms and just trying to make their own destinations. I was standing on the side, trying to calm myself down. But to be honest, I felt like Simba (you know, from the Lion king, when all those animals came down at him?). They were like a herd, rushing my way. Brenda panicked like crazy. Of course, there is not really any time to take account for personal space, but even when there was enough metres left, people kept brushing up against me. Against my back. I felt so intimidated.
Brenda was screaming in my head, yelling for safety. I was texting with my mother. Everytime the ‘herd’ was reducing, suddenly, it increased again. All I could think of was ‘oh God, not again, how am I gonna survive this?!’ The tears were knocking behind my eyeballs to come out, but I refused. I couldn’t start crying in the middle of the train station?!
I felt really alone, Brenda screaming. Unsafe. ‘Far away’ from home. I couldn’t think clearly.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t handle it and burst into tears.
I have talked about tendency’s earlier, (tendency’s like, not knowing how to say how I’m feeling, but only knowing what to do, like stamping my feet, or just sitting on the ground and waiting for someone to pick me up)
Well, another lovely tendency came up. I thought, or maybe Brenda thought, if I just go lie down on the track/railroad, the railway police will come and pick me up and get me somewhere save. (It’s crazy right?! And me, Brianna, knew somewhere far in my head, that save place was a cell, because they’ll think I’m suicidal and lock me up there) but I was so fixated on someone getting me out of there, because I can’t do anything myself.
Magically, the herd stopped, or the train left with the herd in it. And I found a train home, called up my mum to pick me up from the train station in my own city. I made it as save as possible. When I got into the train, I sat next to the train driver’s booth (as that felt as the safest place).
I ended up having a great day, I met with Justy (whom I met here on wordpress 🙂 ! ) and luckily I tend to label the whole day as it ended, so my Saturday was amazing.
But sometimes I do worry, what if I give in to the ‘helpless-Brenda-thoughts’?
Like the last blogpost about the topomax, I did end up going to the emergency pharmacy, but my mum wouldn’t let me go in. She knew when I got in, I might end up screaming my head off till I got my medicine. Which is just not an adult way of communicating. But me (in a Brenda-way) trying to communicate my frustrations of not having my medication and being afraid (terrified) of going into the night/weekend without etc. But they would just not accept that, which is logical, because after all there is an adult woman standing in front of them.
xoxo
Brianna
Hi,
I am going to try to write how the confusion in my head takes place.
I don’t know if this is due to the dissociation/triggers/flashbacks or just stupidity (well, I know it’s not that, but I just thought it’d be funny to say that).
I know a day is just a day, with 24 hours in it.
But honestly, I don’t know if I ever make the 24 hours. My body is there, here, in the present, here on the couch in 2014. But my mind/spirit/head (whatever you want to call it), floats off, leaving my body, staring into the distance, and my mind leaves me, I can not follow where it’s going, it leaves into forgetfulness. Sometimes I wish it would just stay there, because whenever it comes back (which it always does), it comes back hurt. Broken, full of pain, triggered. I find myself depressed, sometimes I start to cry, sometimes flashbacks start coming, sometimes self loathe washes over me, sometimes triggers come out of nowhere (things I that just can’t, like the smell of my father, I just had it 30 minutes ago (had to pause writing this actually), he’s not here, and hasn’t been here). I don’t know where my mind has been.
Sometimes a day, which technically has 24 hours, feels like 2 day’s. Sometimes when my mind comes back, I remember.. or actually notice I have to go to the toilet very urgent. Or I am very hungry. Sometimes my muscles are painful. Most of the times I am exhausted.
I do try to stay in the present by doing things. I really do! My mind is something I can not seem to grab or hold on to, it comes and goes and slips through anything. It takes back terrible things I do not want to remember. It leaves me here sitting on the couch like a dead casket. Lately, when my mind comes back, I realize, I’m freezing cold.
My tummy aches, body memories I guess. Brenda screams, or just cries silently with her security blanket covered over her mouth.
But I do try to stay in the present, by for instance reading stuff, but even reading can be hard. Just reading a simple sentence, just reading the words, and have my head define the words into meaningful things that are understandable. Sometimes I find myself reading 1 simple sentence over and over again. I can try to make a conversation with people, but as you can see (especially face to face this is terrible!) it is very hard. In real life, I am often too ashamed to keep asking ‘what?’
I’ve been in this state since friday. Since that trigger. I’ve been having triggers all over the place. My mind has been floating in and out. I haven’t even showered in 2 weeks (nasty right? I am so terrified to even go into the bathroom).
Ah, just daily life. Staying in the present is hard enough. Trying to live is hard enough. Trying to meet my body’s ‘needs’ (eat/drink/toilet) is hard enough.
xoxo
Brianna
Hi,
So today had to be a normal day.
But even the most normal things are hard for me to do.
Big troubles with anxiety, flashbacks and dissociation today and I feel totally worn out right now. I’m ready to start crying like a baby and scream till someone comes and picks me up and takes me to bed.
PTSD is taking all of my energy. I feel  I can’t afford to slip much further.. I feel drained. Like I’ve been tapped… Someone has taken all of my blood but somehow still expects me to keep on living.
And the fun part is.. I get to sleep now, but sleep + night-time, never really means rest to me. So probably around 7 am (when it’s a little lighter outside) I’ll get some good sleep, till hopefully noon. And then, survive the saturday…
Is it over yet?
Can I open my eyes?
Is this as hard as it gets… ?
xoxo
Brianna
Hi,
Do you recognize those times when you find yourself looking out the window, at the world and seeing the people living their lives of which you know nothing of (of course), but as ignorant as I am, I’m thinking their lives are pretty normal and I just want to be a part of them, be like them.
Sometimes I find myself staring out of the window for a while, just looking at them, somewhat jealous, curious, but in the end I always end up looking away because it gets too painful.
I do realize that I may be pushing myself further away from ‘you’ than I need to, by picturing this out loud. But to me it’s just a little thing of me, that happens every now and then. That describes the distance I feel between myself and society. I know everyone has their issue’s, every family, every person has troubles and problems and for that matter I could be walking to the store and someone else could be looking down at me thinking the same. Things are just not visible on the outside. Even if I made a chit-chat with the people down there, I wouldn’t know a thing. I’d only know, what they want me to know.
I feel this huge yearn for that life. That normal life. That ‘boring’, structured, everyday life.
It almost fascinates me..
Whatever you do.. I’ll do it to, show me everything and tell me how.
I wanna know
Can you show me?
I wanna know about these strangers like me
Tell me more, please show me! Something’s familiar about these strangers like me..
xoxo
Brianna
WARNING! This post contains TRIGGERS!Â
Am I being cruel if I say I wish I died during the abuse?
That I wish I died before my mum got divorced and moved out of the house with me?
Am I ruining the chance others didn’t get?
Am I being ungrateful for the opportunity others clearly did not get?
Am I being unthankful by chosing or wishing death? While I have the option?
I just wish it because while I was being abused I never saw a future without to be honest, or maybe I did.. I don’t really know. It’s all really blurry in my head. I do know I wanted to do porn and stuff, but part of me must have hoped this would be over sometime? Or maybe not? Because otherwise I wouldn’t have tried to commit suicide when I was 13.
I wish I died before I was 16 because I didn’t know anything else but abuse. Of course I saw it in movies and stuff, but it was faaaaaaaaaaaaaaar away and this was always very accurate;
At some point the safest place was my bedroom, however, the bedroom was IN that home! How stupid is that?!
Right now I’m seeing all these opportunity’s. These people have gone from my life and new doors have opened and yet I still cannot get past it. I’m still stuck. Almost as if nothing has changed (in my head).
Paint yourself a picture
Of what you wish you looked like
Maybe then they just might
Feel an ounce of your pain
I feel cruel for thinking.. this, let alone writing this. Disgusting and a disgrace.
But a part of me is just thinking ‘its not about comparison.. it’s just about me wanting to be dead and I just link it to the abuse that happened to ME and that is still wandering in my mind of which I just think might as well have killed me in the first place because I feel it will in the end anyways’.
Gross, what a depressive post.
Gonna go eat something and just go to bed early. Tomorrow will be the last therapy day for 2013… yikes!
xoxo
Brianna
Me & CPTSD (Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) 