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Topics - Sceal

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Letters of Recovery / The most difficult letter *trigger warnings SA*
« on: September 24, 2017, 10:09:33 AM »

It's two years ago now, two years since the beginning of our story.
It was friday night, everyone was partying.
We were drunk.
You lured me away into the forest, you flirted, you made moves.
I got scared, I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing.
Your phone called, it was your wife. She was wondering where you were. Where were you, J?

We rejoined the party around the bonfires. The singing was loud, the accousting instruments were almost drowned in the night. The alcohol was plentyful.
It was a great party, I was buzzed! The day had been a success, and the following day would be another successfull day with costumers and games and new friendships. I hadn't slept in days, in fact, I hadn't slept most of the summer. I was coming off my high from being hypo manic. My first, and only, mania. And I didn't sleep the following nights.

Your wife dragged us to bed. I was sharing the room with her, you and your kids and step kids. In theory. Your wife kicked you out, she knew you'd be snoring loud and keeping us all awake. I went to bed, but I didn't sleep. I got restless and I went downstairs to start preparing for tomorrow's event. You werent asleep you either.
You followed me.
You were drunk as *.
You pulled me into a large empty room.
You wanted me. You wanted the forbidden.
And no one says no to you.

This is where my memory gets confusing, J.
I know now what it means to be hypomania. I know now that I had no boundaries left to be crossed. I know now the afteraffect of that night and all the other nights that followed. But, I don't know if I wanted you. I don't remember if I said yes, I don't remember if I were of sound mind and could actually make that desicion that night of my own free will. I don't know if I can blame you for it, I don't know if it *counts*, I don't know if it is all my fault, and it's just because I regret it. One of my biggest fear is that I wanted you. Another is that I wanted someone to break me down again because I didn't deserve to be getting better from my past. A third is that I had no choice whatsoever. And a fourth is that I simply submitted, without any fight, because that is what I was taught by my ex. That when men wants, they get what they want, regardless of what I want or desire.

So how do I untangle this, J?
Does it count as much as the night where I can truly say you r*ed me in my sleep, in your 8 year old daughters bed? Do you realize how sick that was?
Do you?
Do you even care?

I was so ashamed, so scared, I blocked the event out. For months, but my body remembered. And it continously told me, for months after that one. Your wife even called me an ambulance one day because I was seizing. I still didn't understand. I didn't want to admit it.
I got a speeding ticket and nearly lost my drivers lisence because I was so full of anxiety driving in your neighbourhood. I was sick to my stomach that I had to spend a whole week-end with you again. That's when I realised, that's when I remembered. That's when I had to admit to myself what you had done, despite me explicitly saying no.
I went to my doctor, I told her. She wanted to admit me to the psych. ward. I wish she had, but I said no. I had obligations, other people were expecting me to deliver. To help out. To do the work, I was the leader of the group at this point afterall. And the annual event was on again. During the day I walked and ran from place to place so much I busted my knee and I could barely stand on my leg for weeks afterwards. At night I hid in the car. I locked it and hid under blankets, clothes, sleeping bags. All sort of crap so I wouldn't be seen from the outside. I didn't sleep. I most certainly didn't sleep when you sent me a text summoning me.
I didn't answer.

The last time I remember seeing you was at another party, a small gathering rather. A private gathering.
I was so scared, so I drank. I drank to forget, to numb the feeling. You were after me.
All the time.
I don't remember much from that night. But I know you did stuff. I know. I woke up with a huge lump at the back of my head.
I don't know how I got that. The others laughed it off, said I was so drunk I couldn't stand on my legs. And that you J, you had taken me for a walk to "sober me up". You whispered in my ear that I'd gotten that lump when we'd been out walking.
What did you do to me, J?

I am no longer in contact with you, your family. Or any of our mutual friends. You won. You got them all. I never told any of them, you're safe. Your reputation is safe from me. You've manipulated me enough to know I will suffer if I open my mouth.
And I will be honest, I am deeply ashamed that I could never repport you to the police. That I couldn't go through the re-traumatization of rapporting you, and then having the police reject the case. My only hope is that you will never do this again to someone else. My biggest fear is that you wont leave your kids alone.

I am constantly afraid. Afraid you'll be at the door. Afraid your wife has found out and will be at the door. I am afraid to run into you on the street, I rarely if ever walk the same path twice in a day, and never on the same day and time three succecutive weeks. I don't think I can put it in words how much your actions have affected my life and my future.

Tell me, did I deserve all of this? Was I just a toy to you, something to be used, discarded without thought of consequences? Was it a plan of yours to break me, to see how far you could go? Or have you no idea what you've done to me? Do you consider it all fair play amongst adults?

We live in a small city, I do not believe I will ever be as lucky to never see your face ever again. So I don't feel safe. I fear you will find me one day. Or that your wife will, once you've told her what you did. Except you'll tell her it was concentual, and she will attack me in a voilent rage. You know that is likely.
Everyday, I fear for my life or for my sanity.

You won.

Letters of Recovery / Dear Mother (long) *TW*
« on: September 23, 2017, 12:19:29 PM »
Dear mom.

I love you. I do.

I remember when I was a child I loved watching you sew, and I always wanted to be able to make clothes like you did. I wanted to be able to cook like you did, to be as creative as you were with christmas decorations. I loved baking with you. I loved it when elder and distant family members or friends of yours would say "you look so much like your mother did when she was a child", I still remember your uncle said to us once "You have the same beautiful eyes as your mother, only kinder". I was proud. And I felt that because we were so alike that I could do all the things you could.

Then you got sick. It wasn't your fault. I both remember and not remember what happened. We were in the car when it happened. You, father, former uncle A and aunt B, my sis and then I. You convulsed, you shook, you were having a seizure. I remember visiting you at the hospital in this foreign country. I don't remember much after that. I don't remember you getting a brain surgery, I don't remember travelling home, and I don't remember clearly what happened after you got home. I know you did the best that you could, I know you didn't have any help when father was away at work. I know you were barely holding it together with two young children at home, one a toddler, and me the seven year old. I remember that I often had the phone book out on the page for the ambulance, just incase you got sick again. But I needed you, dear mother. Or I needed someone. I was being bullied and no one saw. I was alone, and no one cared. I started believing the truth that I was worth no more than a thrall. That my entire existance meant to serve others -regardless of what I needed or wanted. But you were sick, how could I be a bother to you? You had problems enough, I didn't want to be a bother to you.

The years passed by, and you remained at home. It took over nine years before you returned to work. But you were different, again I do not blame you. I just missed you. We never talked about what happened, like we didn't talk about anything bad that was happening. We didn't talk about deaths, loss, fear, love, or any emotions really. What did we talk about? I think at some point we became strangers to each other, never really knowing the other person.
You often say to me that I didn't dare lie to you, because you knew everything anyway - so there was no point. This always hurt, for if this was true. Then why didn't you help me? The truth is, you didn't know everything. I just learned not to talk about things that hurt.

When I got so sick I couldn't deal with it alone anymore, I tried to shield you. You, father and sib. I didn't want to be a bother. I didn't realise it at the time, but I think this hurt you more deeply than I can understand. I didn't tell you then either what was it that made me so sick, I didn't tell you why it was I needed to cut my skin open, or why I wanted to die. And you didn't ask.

When I finally became an adult, you had been worrying about me for years, and now it was my sister's turn. It must have been difficult, but I wonder.. Maybe it would have been easier for all of us if you had just talked to us when we were children. If you had taught us how to deal with emotions, and had taught us that sharing our secrets aren't wrong. You wear me out these days. You've become so bitter, so angry. There's something wrong with the entire world, and people are idiots. The only thing that's important to you is to smoke your self to death and your dogs which you do not even walk.  I've invited you over for coffee so many times, even when we lived 10 minutes walk from each other. You never came. You always had an excuse, or it was better if I came over to you. I wanted to be your host mom. I wanted to show you what I had been working on. I wanted your company. It's like this everytime we plan something, you agree to begin with, but you always cancel. And on a rare occation you do come out, all you do is complain.

You and I. We had a plan. For years, we had a plan. You were turning 60 the year I turned 30. Our plan was that instead of a big party, we'd go away somewhere else in the world. Visit some place. We never bought the tickets because you cancelled "your father is making me travel so much this year, I am so tired. I can't do it". I felt dissapointment yet again. I had really been looking forward to this. This was something we both still enjoy. Dissapointed, but not surprised. A month before my 30th my father is taking me on a small local trip. In the car he says "your mom and I are going to Spain in November". I had a sinking feeling about the way he said it. I asked when. "We leave on the 20th". My birthday. My 30th birthday. I was angry. I felt betrayed, dissapointed. She wouldn't travel with me. None of them would. What was it that I had done that was so terrible? Am I so bothersome to be around? Couldn't they delay the trip for a week? Father's only excuse was "that's the day the plane leaves". BullSh*. Four days before my birthday I got admitted to the psych. ward. I never told you. So when you called on my birthday, it was weak. You gave me alot of money, as a way to silence my anger. My dissapointment. It feel I am not loved by you, mom.

I am trying to accept you for who you are now. For all your faults, for the lack of your ability to tell me you care. But I am struggling.

Dear mom, we're worried about you. We love you. We know you've had it hard and difficult. And we would like to be here for you - if only you would let us.
Stop pushing us away. Stop killing yourself. Stop isolating yourself. Talk to us. Or talk to -someone-. Please, mom.

Having an Exceptionally Difficult Day / Bad day
« on: September 23, 2017, 10:26:57 AM »
I worked hard yesterday, I felt I was making headway. Both with my studies and with therapy.
I had another night with stressfull dreams. I dreamed I had moved into this beautiful appartment, it had the sun the entire day. And I could jump into the lake whenever I wanted. It was wide and open, several bedrooms. But I was moving away from my friend, and it broke my heart to see his heart broken. And then there was this big fat black rat with a shiny coat. It was huge. It wanted to stay in the appartment, and I wanted it out. I got it out, but it got back in again. And then I fet it rat poison. It was awful. I didn't want to kill it. Such a huge guilt and sadness when it died. As far as dreams go, this wasn't a very bad one. Although it felt symbolic. They usually don't feel symbolic. Like I finally got what I've wanted a home of my own, but it was just not worth it.

But I struggled to wake up. I've been lying under my blanket trying to muster any energy to get up. I feel raw, and vulnerable. I feel dirty and shameful. I feel awful, and I just want to curl up and cry. I don't think it has anything to do with the dream really. I know I have to jump in the shower, get dressed and head to the store. And then finish writing my essay for uni, and study some more.
But I just want to throw up.
And cry.

General Discussion / Confused *TW*
« on: September 22, 2017, 08:43:02 PM »
In my last session with my T I brought up a topic I needed her to know. Because it had scared me. The week before I had a sensorical flashback, it was so surprising and powerful and it made me suicidal. It took every part of me to resist the plans and impulses that occured within me. This all happened when I was out on a hike, which I suspect was a good timing if any. My T asked me what I did when I got back inside, and I told her I locked the door and turned off the lights. When she asked why I said to protect myself.

And here is where my confusion came in. I both had such an incredible desire to end everything, yet at the same time I had the impulse to protect myself as if I actually have any value. I dont believe I have any value... but why then do I deserve to be protected?
My T said it is an healthy confusion, that it might wake me up to question certain "Truths" that Ive created to believe in such as having no value.
I am both  hopeful and scared that she is right.
Because if she is right, then maybe I have a chance afterall. But also,  then if my truths arent true... then what is the truth?

Memory/Cognitive Issues / A memory thats not mine
« on: September 22, 2017, 08:25:50 PM »
My T wanted me to buy a spesific book about trauma and growth during healing. I was just reading about after affects when I remembered something.
My mother has told me with random intervals when she talks about how I was as a child that I would suddenly stand in the middle of the livingroom crying my eyes out and that I was pretty much inconsolable. When they asked me what was wrong the only answer I would ever give them was "It just came" (it being the tears). They even considered calling child services to help me. I never really thought much about it other than mild uncomfortableness when she talks about it. I personally have no recollection of this at all. I dont even know how old I was when these "crying attacks" started or for how long. 
Maybe it was nothing at all, maybe l was just overwhelmed. Maybe I was just a little more than sensitive. 
Or Maybe there is something there that I have no memory of. I have to admit, that scares me. I hope its not true.

Dear all,

I've been reading alot on this page about emotional flashbacks, a new termonology for me. I got curious and so I looked it up.
I've read about it at Pete Walker's webpage and an article he has on (, and on some other pages. I've looked it up on youtube and even tedtalks, although the latter I found none.

I am going to try and communicate my confusion, and my questions. But I am having a hard time verbalising them.

I'm going to skip alot of my story, but I changed district psychiatric clinic August of last year and with it a new therapist. I didn't bring my old journal with me, I wanted a clean slate, a place where they could treat me for who I am today, and not who I was when I first asked for help. Anyway, my new therapist wanted to do a proper diagnosing of me, and I felt that was good. I'd previously been diagnosed with BPD, Panic Anxiety, General Anxiety, Social Anxiety and Chronic returning depression (the four latter ones I considered manageable, but BPD I never agreed with. It wasn't me.) I was now to be diagnosed with Mixed PD and C-PTSD. I had heard of PTSD before, but not the different degrees of it. Whether I actually got an indebth explanation I can't really recall. I was not in a good place at the time and shortly after I was admitted to the psych ward. Anyway, that was a brief recollection of my diagnoses...

Where I'm from there's only one word for flashbacks. And it's "flashbacks", and I have plenty of those. But mainly they are visual and/or sensorical. Most of the time I repress my emotions, simply because they tend to get so intense and the only way I tend to deal with them is SI, I never learned how to otherwise deal and regulate emotions as a child. So I've been told I'm overreacting a bunch of times, and now I've concluded it's better to repress most of them. It doesn't work all the time of course. And I can feel them swirling around in my chest, but I no longer can identify them until they explode, or my body is having physical reactions.

I am trying to come to terms with my new diagnoses', what they mean and what they do. I am trying to seperate the two of them (three if you include panic attacks), so that I can more identify which part of me is doing what. And which part of me is doing healthy reactions to events. And I'm having a hard time with this. I am also having a hard time understanding what the difference between an emotional flashback is compared to a normal reaction to something upsetting, can someone help me out understand the difference?

Pete Walker says "Emotional flashbacks are sudden and often prolonged regressions ('amygdala hijackings') to the frightening circumstances of childhood."
I am wondering about this 'amygdala hijackings' part, because amygdala is the part of the brain that does a whole bunch of stuff in regards to emotions, and inparticular fear. And it is the part that is on red alert during an anxiety attack. So what then differs bettween an anxiety attack and the EF's 'amygdala hijackings'? As you can have anxiety attacks without suffering from flashbacks.

Pete Walker also says "Because most emotional flashbacks do not have a visual or memory component to them, the triggered individual rarely realizes that she is re-experiencing a traumatic time from childhood" If we rarely realize that it is an re-experiencing of a traumatic memory, then how can you really fight it? And how can you become aware of the difference between and EF and a normal emotional reaction to something bad? He makes it seem like every negative emotions that we have are the result of an EF, but that's not completely true. The emotions are there to signal us that something is amiss or that something is doing good, ultimatedly. And that is a healthy thing, even if it hurts.

Did any of this make sense? I am uncertain if I am clearly communicating in a good way. I am just so confused.
I hope I didn't offend anyone, and I'm also sorry that this became a bit long.

Recovery Journals / Sceal's Journal
« on: September 21, 2017, 07:06:32 PM »

Having an Exceptionally Difficult Day / Scared
« on: September 21, 2017, 08:39:07 AM »
I was in group therapy yesterday, and one of the group leaders were going to come with an example for regulating emotions and she didn't even get halfway through her sentence before I was triggered. She was going to use an example about terror.
It caught me by surprise, I've never been triggered by this word before. Or it's concept. Memories and emotions came flooding back from the terrorist attack in In-Amenas in Algeria a few years ago, my father was stuck in that horrible terrorist hostage situation (he came home safely). I fled the room, and I actually ran. I never run. I broke down in a panic attack followed closely by an extreme sadness. It was overwhelming! I've never had the chance to talk about what happened to us as a family, because it always felt as it was dad who went through *. We weren't suppose to struggle, besides he came back home - when many did not. The group leader followed me, and she sat down and talked me out of my panic attack and comforted me when I was overcome with sadness.  We talked briefly about it, and she said I should talk to my individual therapist about this. And I broke out in tears again.

I don't know how to talk to my therapist these days. I know I have to, I know I have to bring up the fact that I need to talk through my trauma's not just talk about the symptoms and after affects all of my traumas has given me. But I am so scared to talk to her about the fact I need to talk about the hard things, the things I don't dare talk about. The things I don't know how to talk about. I don't even know why I am so scared to tell her that's what I need out of therapy. I've been tense ever since. My muscle ache, my head is on fire and most of the time I'm dizzy. I'm nauseaus and I got a knot in my stomach. I couldn't fall asleep for hours, and once I did I kept waking up until I gave up for sleep. I have an appointment with her in 3 hours. I know I should prepare, I just feel like throwing up everytime. I feel like calling in and cancelling - eventhough I cannot afford the late cancelling fee. And I know I have to do this, I just am so damned scared and I don't know why.

Introductory Post / Newbie here
« on: September 21, 2017, 05:51:01 AM »
Hello, Ive just signed up after having a look around the forum a bit.

Trigger warning
My story started when I was 6. I was bullied and excluded at school for 10 years in varying degrees. I recall learning about thralls and serfs in school and I fullt believed that my worth was even lower than that. And that I was meant to serve everyone else, even at the cost of my health.  I still struggle with this belief that became a fundamental truth to me.

I dont know how old I was during the first few sexual assaults. They were done by an older girl. But I recon I was between 4, 5 or 6. I dont think she understood what she was doing or the consequences of her actions.
The next one was when I had turned 16. I  tried to tell my bf at the time I was scared and not ready. He manipulated and used psychological and emotional bullying to get what he wanted. My boundaries were already destroyed. I thought this is what I must endure to have a bf. This continued for 5-6 years. It took me a long time to accept that this was abuse. Any of this. 
Skipping over some stuff...
It of course made me into a easy prey for other men. The last one was a 1 year and 3 months ago. I have a hard time these days.
I would like nothing more to rise above and prove that they didnt destroy my life and that I do have some worth as well.. but its bordering being too difficult  to do. 
trigger warning end

I am sorry for the long post, i just.  Ive needed to put words to it all for sime time. I am scared though, but Ill try to avoid deleting all of this

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