Messages

I loved the way you described trying so hard to be insignificant! Wanting to disappear.  I felt the same way as a child. The feeling of your heart beating loud enough for everyone to hear.  I was moved by your description.  Good job!

My brain is a dark place filled with deep secret passageways and channels to sneak around in, taking you from one side of the brain to the next under the cover of the shadows put there on purpose to hide from the dangers of the outside world. Slipping from one dimension to another with precision and accuracy needed to get around unnoticed by harmful people.  Staying in the shadows for safety seeking quietly the information needed to survive another day.

My brain is full of information that I hide from myself as a source of protection.  A computer database of memories stored in one of the dark shadows in my mind.  It was never meant to be restored by me in anyway.  This hard drive of secret information was sent dormant a long time ago, destroyed almost beyond repair in the hopes of never revealing the information hidden in the depths of unbreakable codes put in place by a child made to mature too soon under the guise of love.

Now as an adult, I seek answers for the so many unanswered questions of my youth that plagued me with anger and contempt for people.  Trying to utilize what remains of the information I worked so hard to suppress.  To many nightmares to speak of from a childhood riddled with hurtful behavior, I have locked this information behind a server of information too hard to access by normal means necessary.   Too painful to have knowledge of and too much fear to speak of, I need to find a different way to  recall the information I am not granted access too. 

By bypassing the information that could give me the answers I so desperately seek, I have found a wormhole to a new world of information, flashbacks.  Once considered a curse and trigger for anxiety and panic attacks, has become my window to the information I have been seeking for years.  No longer crawling in the shadows, hiding from everything I have reached a wealth of data seen by my own eyes and felt by my own fears to get the solution to problems that have been secretly hidden by a family in denial for decades. 

A glimpse into a past with horrors that can only be seen and felt by having been through them personally, my answers comes to me in waves of sheer terror and fear that open to a world of painful memories once felt by a child used for selfish satisfaction.  These moments, given to me by a desperation of seeking answers, have changed the way I look at life as a whole and a reason behind the madness I could never explain away. They have always been there tucked away, revealing themselves in very discreet ways and in inopportune times hoping I would see them and recognize the secrets that were held captive there. 

My brain trying to shock me into acceptance, would play the scene back to me in reverse exposing me to the harsh reality, starting first, with the paralyzingly fear coming into play. The discomposure felt from a place of sheer terror, knowing that this could be a big reveal for me, is a process I must undergo to get to a place of understanding and peace and the ultimate goal, sanity.  Landing on a place where you welcome the flashback because you know that ultimately it will bring an end to the nightmares, when processed correctly, is a hard place to get to in recovery.   

At first, you have to deal with the emotions evoked by the flashback and understand it is a state of mind of a child and with it comes all the helplessness of a young human in a powerless situation.  Her power comes later when she realizes she is safe and no longer in harms way.  Second, welcome the rest of the information being revealed to you, it will heal you in a way that is remarkable and empower you to take back your life.  Third, fill in all the blank spaces in your life with answers so you don't feel so disembodied from your mind. With this comes a new ability to take back what you have lost control of, everything!  Remember always, that knowledge is power. True power: real power comes from being educated and knowledgeable, not from violence or controlling others. Something a victim of child abuse understands all too well.

bring em all in-yes I too have found therapy in music.  My way may be a bit weird but here it goes...I find a song that expresses the emotion I am feeling but can't express at the moment, like Hello by Adele.  Instead of singing the true words to the song I sing the words I have put into their place. In the song Hello I am talking to my abuser and expressing how I feel at the moment based on the flow of the song. Usually I am talking about how I came out on the other side and made it even though my abuser tried everything to bring me down. 
I feel this was where you might be going with what you were saying about music.  I have not heard the songs you put in your comment but I like the words and will look these songs up.  Words are very powerful things and when used a certain way can evoke powerful emotions.  I am trying to channel what I feel from music into writing as a sort of therapy of my own.  Putting words to my thoughts and giving a voice to my feelings is very helpful to me.

Three Roses I had never considered it was an EF.  I just considered it a mental meltdown or a breaking point.  I am looking into the idea that an EF might be the cause.  Doing some research on the subject. Any help you can offer would be helpful. 

I never officially attempted it.  I have come to the point where I had the pills in my hand and a drink to wash them down with.  I have gotten to a point where I wanted to swerve into oncoming traffic but never actually turned the wheel.  I have walked towards a train and wanted it to hit me me but backed out at the last minute.  I have had the suicide hotline number dialed but never pushed the call button.  I have driven to a mental hospital but never walked through the door, instead I sat in the parking lot and cried. I have never wrote a suicide letter saying good bye but have sat down to write it and even started the first line.  I have been, ever so close, on so many occasions, I couldn't count them on my hands, I don't have enough fingers. 
The pain, that brings you to this place, of not wanting to go on living is a suffering inside that hurts so deeply, you can't put it into words that would or could explain the true agony properly.    I didn't want to die but I had lost so much control of my life that I wanted it to stop immediately.  A person who gets to this point, is desperate for the pain to end. The problem is that 95% of the time if I had been successful, there would not have been a suicide letter.  I have only sat down one time to write it.  It turned into a letter to myself explaining why I was hurting so much.  Putting the pain into words.  It was one of the last times I went to that dark place. 
The truth is, I wanted it to look like an accident.  I didn't want to be the one responsible for my own death.  I wanted someone else to do it and leave behind unanswered questions, pain for everyone else and the agony of not knowing why I did it.  It is tough to admit that but it was true.  I didn't understand why I was so angry and why I hurt so deeply.  I couldn't be honest with myself about many things.  I would never lie to anyone else but I lied to myself constantly. 
I had feelings I could not explain or express.  The pain became so bad I began to shut down and could no longer speak out loud.  Strangely enough, I could text. I couldn't say out loud how mixed up everything was but I could write it.  To get to a place where you can no longer speak because you are so overwhelmed is a scary place to be.  I had things I wanted to say but no longer could open my mouth voluntarily.  My mouth would not connect with my brain, it was  like a wire had come loose.  I would be in this state for hours until the episode calmed down.  But feeling completely exhausted, I no longer had the desire to say anything even if i wanted too.  I actually became too exhausted to commit suicide.
In this moment, my brain had short circuited.  I have visions of sparks flying around my head and smoke coming out of my ears.  I can say that now but it was no laughing matter at the time it was happening.  I also had visions of being in a mental hospital strapped down with a straight jacket being force fed drugs to calm me down.  The vision in every movie I have ever seen of a mental hospital.  It was what kept me from walking through the front door.  The other thing that kept me from going to the hospital was the money.  The expense it would cause my husband.  I would eventually get better and regret that it cost us so much to get me there. 
I did feel that I needed help, real help.  I was no longer coping with the chaos in my brain.  My grandmother was diagnosed with manic depression and my uncle with schizophrenia.  At some time in both their lives they were given shock treatments.  I no longer had control in my life and the thought of going to a place that would take even more of my control away was a scary proposition for me.  Scarier than death. 
How I ended up in this place?  It was a long, hard road with many twists and turns full of secrets and about as complicated as anything could be for one person.  How did I scrape and claw my way out of this situation?  Sometimes I am not totally sure I am out of danger.  But it was done by taking one minute at a time, one day at a time.  I could not look too far into the future because just getting through one day was very hard to do. 
I now understand where my anger stems from and am working on processing the memories that have beat me down to a place no one should have to go.  It took getting to this place to finally see things for what they really are and to stop denying things happened to me that shouldn't have happened.  Lying to myself about being ok had to stop.  I still catch myself lying to myself about feelings I think I should be feeling and not about what I am really feeling.  A habit that is hard to break.  It was a survival mechanism put into place, by me, to tell myself that things were better than they seemed and that what was happening was not really happening.  The amount of pain hidden in the layers of disfunction is amazing. To step back and look in now, seeing with new eyes looking in is incredible. I can't even believe the amount a little child can take and still live to tell about it.   

Are you looking up at me form *? Is there a special place there for People Like you? Are you miserable from causing all the pain you have caused? Is there really an afterlife to pay for all your sins? Or are you rotting in the ground without a thought as to what you have done to the people who loved you? Did you get off easy?

I know you suffered in your final days, this used to hurt me but now it gives me peace. I hope you were filled with fear while you were drowning in your own, self inflicted, body fluids. The day before you died you thought you were the devil and talked in a satanic voice, you were dying.  Your brain was deprived of the oxygen you needed to be normal.  Were you knocking on heavens door and God told you all the reasons you were not getting in?

While laying there unconscious, your organs shutting down, did you wallow in the  incredible nightmare you created in your life? Did you reflect on the many accomplishments or did you see a slide show of the innocent faces you manipulated?  Were you proud?  Was the power and sexual gratification worth all the damage you caused?

Almost 30 years after your death, the compensation of your moral compass is still affecting the children you used for voluptuary satisfaction.  These tiny innocent lives you were trusted to protect and love, taking advantage of the helplessness of their nature and the complete acceptance of the many questionable deviant situations you subjected  them too.

Can you see me?  Do you feel my pain? Do you know I have figured out all of your deception? I am remembering the lies you skillfully propitiated.  I am coming out of the fog of your righteousness and beginning to heal the unjust memories that never seemed to materialize or emerge.

My memories are painful because I believed you to be a good person.  Fooled, really. Amazed at how competent you were. You had two personalities playing one against the other, conniving and convincing everyone you were not the evil twin who came out at night, after hours of drinking, showing up at a little girls bedside.  Taking more of the innocence away each time you touched and played your secret games, rewarding me for harpocracy. 

Giving me patronizing looks in hopes i will keep my silence about the evil that lurked in the middle of the night, causing nightmares and the impossibility of a normal life.  Paying me off for my servitude to you so you can justify the many horrors you must live with deep in your mind.  Making me keep yet another secret on your behalf. 

Secrets, oh how you loved secrets! Proof of my love for you that you undeniably needed to survive another day. A tortiled love that was more than it should be breaking barriers of trust that I will never fully understand. Shaping my mind for failure because of the harmful way you taught me to experience pedophilia as an absolute right of passage.

In some demonic way, I hope you know this from the depths of * to which you must occupy, that I know your secrets and I am not keeping them secret anymore.  Even in your death, to which you were buried with respect, you cannot hide from vile acts you committed on too many children.  Your grave, once a place where I cried, is now a place of contempt.

This flag, you earned in servitude to your country, draped over your casket, no longer symbolizes all that I lost but reminds me of the demise of my childhood and the evil imposed on me most of my life. I no longer want to be reminded of the horrors that possessed my room at night forcing me to keep secrets on your behalf.   

I want you to know my heart is broken. Hurt to the core of my soul.  I am mending it from the inside out, picking up the pieces of a past that ambushes the darkest spots in my mind. Forcing myself to come to terms with the reality that I was sexually abused by you over and over again imposing on me a fear I never knew I had.  That fear is not going to take over my life anymore, instead I will use it as a tool to strengthen me.

In the end, I will come out of this stronger than I was before. Healing, stitching up my bleeding heart, mending my soul. Someday I will be able to talk about you without crying, think of you without anxiety, sleep without nightmares, dream without violence, look at myself without discuss, feel without hate, give without anger, love without fear,  and exist without pain.

I am new to this, forgive me as I haven't read everything yet. My first question is, is anyone sorry they told anyone about the past abuse? In the beginning, I told anyone who would listen. Now I am exhausted from explaining it and beginning to be sorry I told anyone.  It seems I have caused more of an uncomfortable situation having told friends and family.  I wish I could go back in time and not have told anyone for the simple reason, I think people think differently of me now. 
I have lost nearly all of my friends, for all kinds of reasons, mostly because I pushed everyone away. Half my family thinks I am nuts, not a big loss as the abuse was in my family to begin with.  The other half validates me because they went through the same abuse.  I fear that I may have acted too quickly in telling people, I thought I could trust, and should have kept everything to myself. I have been in counseling for about 2 years only to discover the abuse in the last year.  I feel I need to know from people who have truely been through all of this already, do you regret telling so many in the begining? Am I just going through a rough spot? Is there a light at the end of the tunnel?