More confirmation

Oh dear,
Where do I begin?
One time, awhile back, I told my therapist that I wished my abuse wasn’t true. I suggested that perhaps I made it all up, just to get attention or something. (Well, I was hoping that it wasn’t true).
Unfortunately, my younger brother remembers too. He just didn’t know “why I had to go into the bedroom so often”.
He also remembers having to kneel on a broom handle and face the wall. He is a grown man and now he has problems with his knees.
I have osteo arthritis in my thumb, because our abuser would bend my thumbs backwards, to my wrist. Dr said it’s an old injury causing my arthritis now.
My two younger brothers and I each have shoulder problems. That was from getting our arm twisted behind our backs. I remember being “marched” into the bedroom when I was being rebellious... when I didn’t want to “do it”.
He always counted to three; I had to be naked and laying on the bed by the count of three or it would be worse.

A cousin who is one year younger than me, called me recently. We had a falling out many years ago. So we never spoke.
We saw each other at a funeral, we talked briefly. (About day to day life).
Then a few days later, she called me. Eventually we got onto the topic of the abuse. I had blocked out so many memories, I didn’t remember her being there with me.
I remembered the times when it was only “him” and me.
She told me that he used her as well as a wife or girlfriend....
Then she said she remembered the other guys lined up to get a turn. I remember the line up but I don’t remember their faces or their names.
Her older brother was one of them. My therapist said that I’m not ready to know the rest.
My cousin said she remembers each of their faces and their names. The F-ers.
She said she laid on the edge of the bed and I laid against the wall and they all took turns on the two of us. She remembers always looking up at my ceiling and waiting for it to be over. She also remembers “leaving her body” and watching from above.

I still get body memories. I can feel the pain deep inside my vagina. I beg God to take the memory away.
I name ice cream flavours, I focus on five things around me. That’s called grounding. I am getting better at it.
I still get nauseated a lot and throw up.
He used to punch me in the stomach quite often. I remember being in the hospital quite often as a child with a sore stomache. Sometimes I think I wanted to go to the hospital to get away from the abuse.

My younger brother wants me to find out who the other guys were. I’m afraid. I’m afraid to know.
I’m afraid to face them one day.

Other cousins say that they remember that he was so mean to me. They didn’t know about the sexual abuse, only the physical abuse.

Another subject:
One time when I was wrestling with a younger cousin, a good one, one of his little brothers kicked me between the legs, he was wearing pointy oxfords. Dress shoes.
I cried. My mom “checked” me but there was no blood.
I remember her checking... but since I was the only girl, she probably wouldn’t have even known what to look for if there was any damage or anything from what the older boys were doing to me.

I wish I could turn back the clock and tell on those boys.

Mother’s Day 2018

Well, another year has passed.
I had a “relapse”... I was starting to feel better and do better.
I went back to square one.
I’m not in any mood to celebrate Mother’s Day again pm. I said that I would stop in for abit.
My inlaw family is having a moms day day for mom inlaw. I don’t know if I am ready for that crowd yet. I feel bad, but somewhere deep inside of me, Mother’s day is a trigger.

I still can’t send roses to Heaven on FB. It wouldn’t seem “true”. I do love my mom and I forgive her. She was a different person when she died.
I just can’t get past the name calling when I was younger.
I wish that I could separate into two people, it’s like I’ve had two lives.

I am so grateful for my husband. He is my rock.
My sister in law is also my rock. She totally understands me.
I am distancing from certain family members again, because they only contact me when they want money or something from me.

I have a wonderful relationship with my daughter. She is also my rock. She sends me random texts and messages telling me how much she loves me. She prays for me EVERY day. I need that.
I try so hard to be a good person, but there’s days when I cuss and swear like my mom did. She could do it. But we were never allowed to.
I think I only do it now because there’s nobody to tell me to stop, or nobody to tell me that I will get my mouth slapped.
Even my first husband didn’t allow me to swear. He would threaten to slap my mouth too. Yet he could swear at me while we were arguing.
It was so unfair.

Between God and I, I have told Him that I want to stop. I want to be a good girl again.
My hubby (current) once said that my pretty little mouth is too nice to have words like that come out of it. But he said it in a loving way. I explained to him that I only do it out of spite to my past. I am regaining my power. Even if it’s bad.

I do have some good days.
I have a very dear friend Moppets who has been to hell and back too. She totally gets me. We have never met in person, we are internet friends. But we talk via email, text, and phone.
I know I have several people in my life who truly do support me. I try to focus on them and just choose whether I can be with the others who have no clue, or don’t even want to hear my story.
Or if they have heard my story, they brush it under the rug.

I am seriously going to write my book. Perhaps in the winter months. It will be based on all of my journals and memories.

I NEED to do this for me. It won’t be a published book. I will print a few copies and bind it, but it won’t be published. Who knows, maybe it will be down the road.

I already have the name picked out: HOOTY SURVIVED, and my tattoo on my wrist.
Perhaps I will show the current tattoo with the two filled in hearts - representing my two younger brothers. And the outlined heart which represents me. I said when I got it that one day I will be healed and I will get my heart filled in solid too.
I’m thinking perhaps I will show both. The outlined heart and then the filled in heart.
That might be kind of cool.

The current one means Hooty survived, the filled in heart will mean Hooty healed.

After Mothers Day

Well Mothers Day has come and gone. I got through it. I avoided Facebook. I didn't want to see the posts "sending a rose to my mother in Heaven" or "honour your mother while she is still here"....
I used to be able to do that.
I can't do it right now though because I am still hurting and wondering why she didn't protect me when I needed her. When I was that little girl being abused and used. She only criticized me. Right up until a few years before she passed.
I often often asked myself "why doesn't she love me"?
I'm sorry, I just can't  get past that.
One day I will send roses to Heaven or whatever.
In my mind, she is linked to my childhood nightmare. I have so many questions: was she afraid of my brother? Was she afraid of losing her babysitter? Did she think it couldn't be that bad? I will never have answers.
I'm getting better about letting them go.

My brother's son whom I loved, raised and adopted no longer speaks to me. I know it was his wife... but he still has a mind of his own. I ask if it's punishment from the grave? What have I done to deserve this? I am afraid of more hurts. I am afraid to contact him. I never in my wildest dreams EVER thought that my son would shut me out.
It hurts. I try to suppress it and not allow it to hurt me.
I have too much time on my hands to think. I am alone. I have my pets but sometimes I miss having an adult conversation.
I am still in therapy. I am still in group. It is helping.
Self care is hard for me to do. It's hard for me to say no. I'm learning.
I'm learning actually by isolating myself. I don't answer my phone, I don't like to call people. If I do, it might mean that I have to do something for them. I enjoy helping people but more so when it is on my terms. When it's not convenient for me, I will still do it but I feel used.

One day I will be healed. One day I will be strong.

To all the survivors out there. Hang in there!!! Even if it feels like it's only a shoe lace.  Hang on.

God Bless You.
xo

Waiting list

Well, another day....
24 hour promise...
I am seeing my family doctor today for a referral to see a  pscychologist. But as usual, there's a waiting list.
What do I do in the meantime?
I'm scared.
I'm scared of hurting myself.
I talk to God.
I scream at my mom for hurting me so badly, then I tell her that I forgive her. You see, I made peace with her before she died. I took care of her. She was an old lady and I did what I had to do to make her comfortable and loved. I think she needed me in the end when she dying. She only wanted me.
I am selfish when I ask now "where were you Mom when I was a little girl, and I needed you? I needed you to make the abuse stop. I needed you to show me love.
I can't remember any happy childhood memories.
It's like before all of the bad memories were blocked out. Now, all of the good ones are. IF there were good ones.
I am consumed with bad memories. I hurt for that little girl who didn't have a childhood. It's all I think of. Even when I am busy.
People tell me to stay busy.
When I am cleaning, I feel like I am being chased. I have to move fast and at the same time do a good job.
In my mind I hear, bend down and sweep, move things out, you won't break your back.
You are a lazy *%#€*. Do it right!!! If I didn't do it right, I would have to do it over. Usually with other stuff that she threw on the floor.
If she wasn't home and I cleaned, my older brother would tell her that HE cleaned. And I didn't listen to him. I would be cleaning and cleaning and then whatever was still left to do, he would tell her that I wouldn't even help him. So she would yell at me, call me names and make me do it.
ie. if I tidied up, made beds, swept, mopped, waxed floors, (we had old tiles),,, but if I didn't get to the dishes yet... I would get into trouble.
It was HIS mess. Especially if he skipped school. I would have to start cleaning as soon as I walked in the door. (Perhaps after I "satisfied" him first).
I was just a little girl. I couldn't clean as well or as quick as I can now....

I just want to hug that broken little girl and tell her that she is loved.
I just want to punch that boy in the face. (And all the others one who had a go at me too).

I want to sit my mom down and tell her all that happened to me. Yell and scream and ask why didn't she love me. Why didn't she protect me. Why didn't she believe me. Why? Why? Why?

I'm not a lazy whore.
I'm not just good for spreading my legs for boys.
I'm not ugly and hairy.
I cry because I hurt, not because I'm crabby.

I was taught never to talk back. To respect your parent.
I feel such guilt just writing this.

I'm scared if I commit suicide, I will go where he is. He committed suicide when he was 51.
I'm scared to end up where he is and he will continue to torment me. Forever.
I ask God to keep me from doing anything.
But I get into a dark hole, where I just "react". I don't know how to stop it.
Meds only help at night. Every night I cry before I go to sleep. I try to keep it together for most of the day. I pretend when I'm around other people. The pretending is very stressful.

My thoughts bounce all over the place. All day long....
My therapist said because the trauma happened for so many years, none of it was processed. So my brain doesn't know what to do with all these memories.
I am very organized in real life. But I don't know how to organize my memories. Does that make me a failure?

Will it ever stop?

I cried myself to sleep last night. Memories follow me around like a cloud.
I had a bad melt down at the chiropractor office the other day. Then I blurted that I'm constantly thinking suicide.
They suggested a psychologist. I will need a referral from my medical doctor.
I just want the pain to end. I want the memories to stop.
This morning the dishwasher was full. I turned it on to wash. Came back one hour later, the dishes were hot, not washed. So the food was baked on.
I could hear my mothers voice in my mind telling me to get my lazy ass busy and wash them by hand. It won't hurt my lily white hands. I started yelling back. I feel like I am cursed. I feel like their ghosts are actually haunting me. I know it's not possible. It's my FEELING. I could feel them laughing at me because I had to do the dishes by hand.

I remember as a little girl, we were walking uptown where we lived. We stopped in half way to visit my mom's drinking buddy/friend. I don't remember if the lady was hung over or drunk. But I do remember that there was a big pile of dirty dishes in the sink. My mom told me to wash them before we left.
I washed and dried them. I don't remember if the lady had running water. I know that we didn't. I would have to heat water on the stove. I was never allowed to "air dry" the dishes either. Because one - It looked messy, and two - flies might land on them.
I was only eight or nine years old. I hated washing dishes. My brothers were never allowed to help me because she would say "I was trying to put an apron on them" hat she meant is that I was making them gay if they did dishes. I was the only girl so I had to do all of the housework.
However, my older brother would lie to her and tell her that HE cleaned the house up and that I refused to help. Meanwhile, he made the mess, then he would make me clean it up before she got home. She would get mad at me, because she believed him that I was lazy.
I couldn't win.
This morning, when all that was happening, there was a small sharp knife on the counter. I grabbed it and for that instant I felt like stabbing myself. It happened so fast, but just before I did, I threw it into the sink instead.
Afterwards, it was like it was mocking me. I eventually hid it in a drawer. One that I seldom look in.
I think about suicide often. But yet, this morning, I told God that I don't want to die.
I'm afraid of that black hole, and that instant when I can't control myself. I am asking Him to keep me safe.
When I am determined to do something. I do it. I won't just stab my arm and try to get attention. I know that I won't.
I want my normal back. I really do.
I used to have a wonderful life. I don't want to be on medication and in a fog. I want to be happy and content and confident once again.
Lord, help me please.

Hooty

Another bad day

I had a bad day on Thursday. I was waiting for hubby to come home. It was our anniversary.
I was already getting anxious. But then the lady from the new counselling centre called and I had a bad panic attack.
When someone asks how I am doing, I can't say that I am fine. I basically fall apart and say "not good".
We talked. She said that I need more support, and asked if someone was there with me. I said no, I didn't know where my husband was. ((I couldn't think straight)). 

She calmed me down, reminded me to breathe. She made an appointment for Wednesday. She said I need more support, maybe call a crisis centre. I said no, I wouldn't. She asked can I talk to someone else. I said only my husband but he's seldom home.

I told her that people tell me I need a job or something but I said some days I can hardly tie my shoes, never mind drive to work.... I panic...

She said "No, you need to get better before you can consider a job, or anything else (major) in your life. You are dealing with too much at the moment"She made an appointment for Wednesday for me to see her for three sessions. I'm still on a one year waiting list.

Plus I will be starting group on Mondays.

I haven't told anyone, but Im high risk right now. I've been thinking about dying...

So, she sort of had to calm me down...

 We (hubby and I) want to get me more support but I get very very stressed thinking about going to the new appointments or to group therapy on Mondays, at same centre. There's no parking. That's where I got my parking ticket in the summer.

 There is free two hour parking a few streets over but my session is two hours and twenty minutes so Im screwed.

Last night I had a very bad dream, it triggered another panic attack. My body shakes, I can't focus, I'm scared... blah blah... but Hubby was home. It happens when I am alone too. The meds help abit but I can't drive.

It's like there's two of me. The scared little girl who's hurting and the real me.

It's all from the PTSD. But there's not enough room in my brain for me to deal with normal every day stresses. It triggers an attack.
I used to be so much much fun; I was happy, I want that back. I don't want these triggers or flashbacks or body memories anymore. 

Unfortunately there was a lot of trauma so it's going to take a while to process it all.

It was five years as a child, plus other stuff later on. 

Even if it was only once a week, multiply that by five years and that's still way too much sexual and physical abuse for one little girl.

The nights my mom stayed over at her boyfriends, she came home early in the morning,,, was I living like a wife? Did we have sex all night? I had no childhood.

Not many people can even fathom that.

I cleaned and watched my brothers, protected my brothers... had sex and then went back outside to play like a little girl was supposed to play.  Or did I only get to play when he wasn't home? I remember playing outside once and he came and whispered in my ear to get inside and get naked. I didn't want to.

He dragged me inside, told the kids outside I had dirty panties and I needed to change them. (Meaning poopy or dirty? I don't know. My mom always made me wear a dress). After he was finished with me, I changed my clothes and went back outside and the kids teased me.

Before that, I scratched his ear. I was showing off in front of my friends, thinking that he wouldn't make me do it.

He took a big steel scissors and snapped off all of my nails.

When I tried to tell my mom when she got home. He pretended to cry and said I scratched him and npmade him bleed and I was showing off my panties so he made me come inside and change. My mom got mad at me and said only whores have long nails anyway. And I should be ashamed of myself for showing off my dirty panties.

He was evil.

Loss

Today is a "numb" day.
I lost my father in law on Jan 10, he took his last breath as I held him in my arms. He was 93, almost 94. We buried him on Jan 20.
Everyone tells me that it's for the best, he was old. The best for who?
I miss him. There's still things that I want to tell him. There's still advice I need from him. His body was shutting down but his mind was sharp.
I still talk to him but I want to hear his voice.
I am also mourning my own dad. He drowned when I was 6. I mourn for that little girl that didn't have a daddy.
I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I'm just disappointed at the unfairness of it all.
I'm so sad.
Why can't I be happy? Why can't I do what those memes say: tell yourself when you go to bed that you will wake up and be happy... that you will leave the past in the past, and look forward to the future, blah blah.
It doesn't work for me. I have too much sh*t on my plate. That's what it feels like...
I want to run away.
I want someone to look after me.
I want what I didn't have as a child.

This is just too much for me.....
BooHoo!!!
Shut up Hooty!! Shut up!!