TW: Bermuda's journal of memories.

[Bermuda]

I never thanked those who replied up there for replying. Thank you. Even if I don't thank you at the time, I am thankful. It's hard for me.

Someone over the weekend asked about my life. I'm not used to being spoken to at all. I was supposed to be studying over coffee. I paused, and asked her if it was okay if I went on, and that my story is very unpleasant, and that I don't want to bring her down. She said that she really enjoys listening to people's stories, if I did't mind telling it, and so I spoke. I don't mind speaking. I always want to tell someone. It's like my life is secret I have to keep sucked inside of me to protect myself and others from my truth.

Afterward, I feel a lot of self-doubt and vulnerability. I do not have friends, as I had explained to her, I never really learned how to do things that other people take for granted, like maintain a friendship. We were getting along well, and I hope that talking about myself didn't ruin it, at least not until after I have mastered Swedish prepositions and learn more about these strange Swedish gnomes that like buttered porridge.

When I wrote my first post on this forum, it was about isolation. Sometimes I wonder if all of my posts will in some way be about isolation. I am isolated by my silence, by that will which was thrust upon me, and by my own voice. I feel segregated from society, and I speak so desperately to be heard, and my very words are the things which make me so unrelateable, like a wedge between myself and others. Even reading over this THE WAY I speak is odd. This is not how others speak.

I probably sound lonely and desperate. Which I have always been.

I wrote about my trauma here, because I want to tell people. People who don't know me. People who are anonymous. People whose reactions I cannot see. I want my story, that I feel is my entirety to exist publicly, at least in some minute anonymous sort of way.

...I was going to type that it would also be nice to know someone, but then the thought of it made me shutter.

I know this journal of memories hasn't had memories in a while. One of the stories I shared, that this person had asked about are the things that led me to realising that things weren't normal. I talked about a very benign incident of disobeying my parent's wishes, and doing something that was very normal, going to someone's house, not having any terrible things happen to me, and returning completely unnoticed.

[rainydiary]

The thoughts you shared around friendship, loneliness, and anonymity really resonate with me.  They describe my experience too.  In many ways it helps me to know that there is another person (and probably more) that feels that way too and wouldn't expect me to act or change myself.  I often wonder if given my history if I can overcome the deep feeling that I am alone.  I am sending you a wish for ease as you find your way. 

[Bermuda]

It seems I delete more of these than I don't delete. So, it's very likely I will delete this.

Rambling:

I don't want to share too many details of my situation, but I am not at all a child anymore. Despite this simple fact, my childhood is still following me. I mean this in the most literal sense. I have people who I haven't seen or spoken to in nearly two decades that are still trying to intrude in my life. Legal avenues have failed.

The technique that they're currently employing is seeking forgiveness, which is in no way to be construed as an admittance of guilt. I see it as a way to mirror their guilt and shame and a way to gain power. I admittedly haven't read much on this topic, and it (forgiveness) hasn't been anything I would consider. I don't believe in forgiveness as a concept. If I did, I may not be alive today. I also realise that their choices have been shameful. As an adult, I realise that there is no amount of manipulation someone could do to make me trust a parent whos children have no contact with them.

But now, here I am, not making any considerations for those who haven't for me, but just contemplating the idea. What is forgiveness? I am perfectly justified in the wall I have built to protect myself, and now that I am a mother, if anything that wall should be built even higher to protect my son. I don't want him to get any secondary affects of my trauma, or primary, if they had their way.

The lengths I have gone to protect myself are great. I have gotten comfortable. I know logically, at this point and at this time, I am safe. I am physically safe here. ...But I feel still deeply violated, and I feel violated by the intrusion into my life. If someone cannot see how these actions are violating, than they to not deserve forgiveness, because they haven't changed. My chilhood would playout again the exact same way.

What do I have to do to be free of it? Forgiveness is not the answer. These are not the things that will haunt me in my old age.

[buddy9832]

Hi Bermuda, I'm sorry to hear it that's tough. I'm no expert on forgiveness, I definitely have a long way to go on my journey to be at that point. I suppose the way I've looked at forgiveness is in if it would serve you? Obviously your son and you are the priority. Please take what I say with a grain of salt, but if forgiveness is an avenue that will eventually let you heal then that's one consideration. But if it will only bring you more pain and suffering then perhaps it's not in your interest.

[Bermuda]

Thank you buddy for writing me. I think I am just confused about what forgiveness is. I think growing up in a certain religious environment has made me think of forgiveness as an act, a conscious thing that you do.

...But then I think of my husband, and I forgive him for things he does unintentionally, or that he genuinly feels remorse for, of has at least some reason or degree of understanding why things were wrong... These things do not apply to my former life situation.

That being said, if forgiveness is just passive and not an action then I have no forgiveness to give, because my past is not something I am dwelling on. It dwells on me. Haha, CPTSD is a funny beast.

I am irritated at the constant reminders, and the constant effort I have to put on that make me unable to lead a normal life. I had an employer post a bio of me with my CV on a website once years ago, and I had to explain why they must take it down immediately. That's just one of several examples I could have used.

But I am not mourning anything. I am not in agony over having a terrible life and being thrown into the streets as a teenager. I am happy. My current state isn't enough to exonerate the wrong doings of others though. I haven't moved forward enough to move backward, if that makes sense. ...And there can never be a low low enough to make me step backward either.

When she said she never wanted to see my face again. I just said with resolve. "Ok." There was never a bond to break. That is why I say it is not me who will suffer in old age. I am not burdened, and don't feel the urge to unburden those responsible either. That's not anger or malice. To unburden the narcissist is to empower them to hurt others. The should carry a shadow of doubt and shame with them.

That was a really long explanation, and I totally understand that it is a lot to read and a bit of a tangent. I guess I just really want to talk about my feelings right now, and don't have any other outlet. I feel confused. Even the people who are the most predictable confuse me immensely.

[Bermuda]

I want to post about my feelings.

I've been having a difficult week, as it seems everyone is. I feel bad for posting so much on this forum. Subconsciously it seems I've been trying to reply to others rather than focus on myself. I haven't been posting here because I have a deep fear of embarrassment and not being replied to, and I don't want to steal anyone else's attention.

...I'm having a hard week. I think I put on a good face for the world, and I've gotten through it. I don't know where to begin... Last year the male person who created me died at around this time, it didn't really effect me then, except not telling anyone. My husband's family don't know much about my life except that I grew up in an abusive situation and it just doesn't seem like a normal thing to interject into conversation. So, I never did. This year, the other person who aided in making me has found me, and is trying to scare me. My husband is the only one who knows, because how would I even tell a friend that casually? I would sound completely ...different. I don't have anyone who has known me my whole life, or even from back then... So, no one knows. Other than that I traveled to Germany this holiday to be with my husband's family, they haven't seen their grandchild in ages. I messaged someone that I was here and asked if they wanted to get together and they got really angry and accused me of being the reason everyone is dying. I lost a friend a few days ago, which leaves me with one.

I spent a day crying in secret. I've been feeling very physically ill. To be fair, I need to go to the doctor to get hormone medication altered but the thought has caused me so much anxiety, because every time it's adjusted my body has a two month adjustment period. I don't have two months to lay around in pain.

I said I would talk about feelings and didn't. I feel like a ghost. I feel like I always feel like a ghost, although that's probably not true. I say the same things a lot of this forum, I feel like a broken record... I'm so lonely, and I don't know what it feels like not to be lonely. I just want to whisper all the terrible details to someone. I want someone to get emotionally invested in things just because I am. I just want to fully exist as one person, with real passions. I want to have a personal style, and ambitions... But I'm just a ghost.

I am beginning the process of legally changing my name again. The name is quite random that someone on a forum thought of for me. I quite like it. My birth name was quite the family scandal, and it holds a lot of baggage. Maybe this is offensive to say, but I've always referred to it as my slave name. Whenever anyone says it it makes me feel nauseous and anxious. I took forward to something with no significance that just sounds nice.

That was long, but I think I managed to cry out all of my feelings into useless mutterings.

[marta1234]

Bermuda, I’m glad you were able to post. And know that I’m sorry you’ve been having a difficult time, my heart goes out to you  You’re not taking up space or stealing attention, you deserve to be here on this forum with your own place to share. Every comment is your own, and everyone deserves to share their story.
I know how lonely it can get (although we’re in different situations with different pasts). I know the feeling of just having someone that will listen to you and emotionally be there for you. I wished for that my entire childhood, but never got one. Only now do I have some, but at the end of day, they will never replace the emotional need and support I needed when I was little. That is something that cannot be filled.
I wanted to congratulate you on starting the process of changing your name, that is a big step towards your well being   I also understand your feelings of “being a ghost”, and having nothing for passions, it’s a horrible feeling when you feel so hallowed out. But sometimes I find that my inner critic exaggerates and makes me feel that anything I say is needless, which is not true. You might feel like a broken record, but what you say always has meaning behind it. And so a reason to exist.

Sending you my support and care, and hugs too (if it’s ok)   
P.S. You don’t have to be self conscious of posting too much, this is a place for people to share their stories buried inside, and anyone can do it as frequently or as little as they like.

[Bermuda]

Thank you Marta. Your words really meant a lot to me when I read them. I was so touched I was unable to type it out. 

[Bermuda]

Trigger Warning: Violence and the "R" word

I am in full retaumatization mode. I have been doing really poorly since the unexpected intrusion into my life from my abusers, that coupled with this time of the year, changes in my routine and everything else... I am only functioning at a very basic level right now.

I had a terrible terrible dream last night. It wasn't a dream, it was a night terror. I woke up having to vomit with my brain running through all the ways I should of/could of changed it, reinstilling all of my CPTSD behaviours.

The dream: I was a child in a large outdoor covered auditorium in a field where there were other auditoriums. The auditorium was filled with childen from my school year, and the other auditoriums with children in other grades. We were listening to presentations from our teachers, and I was eagerly sitting at the very front taking notes, trying my best to not miss anything. The teacher who was presenting suddenly stopped and checked her pager (those were a thing once), she looks up at us on the risers and said in a very serious tone that there were a group of people with guns who were about to come in, and that we should do anything they say or they will shoot us. I was stoic, watched the reactions of others, and just a second later five or so armed gunmen came in, and they started handing out tasks we had to do, some chemical work, and some electrical. Some students were really panicing and unable to do their work and I just happily took mine, and starting doing the electrical work I was assigned without having emotional attachment to it. I finished it first and smiled as I handed it to the gunman who gave me the project. He smiled back, and after that he took notice of me, and gave me extra work to do. It was at this moment that I realised that I was helping to construct a series of small explosives. I thought about the other gunmen who must be in the other auditoriums, assessed that there was nothing I could do, I continued my electrical task. I noticed that some other people had been given dummy tasks that would never actually work, I couldn't think of why but I said nothing. In this moment, two young boys came up and without saying anything handed their project that they didn't even start back to the gunman and turned to walk away. The gunman looked down at it baffled and lifted his gun and shot the two boys in the back of their heads. I watched emotionless as they fell, and I looked around at everyone elses emotions, and then I smiled at the gunman as he handed me yet another project. As other people in the auditorium started panicing and the other gunmen circled, I thought that there must be police in the area, since the teachers were able to page eachother, and nothing bad had happened to them...

At this point I woke up.

This dream has really made me feel ill, and I think it describes my CPTSD brain so well, even in my panic after waking I was thinking of ways I could have escaped, things I could have done better... People pleasing is very often a theme in my night terrors. I use manipulation of the attacker to try to escape, or to lessen the situation. Ex: It's not rape if I pretend I enjoy it. They're not beating me if I don't cry in pain. If I help them, they will not see me as someone to harm. (I realise this is not true in real life, but this is how my dreams often work.) It does emotionally bring me back to being a child, and having to use these strategies to cope, because escaping was not an option, and I would have taken love and appreciation from anyone who would have given it to me. I would still be in the front row of the auditorium, working hard.

I just wanted to write this dream out. My dreams effect my daytime life a lot, they mirror eachother.

[Not Alone]

It does emotionally bring me back to being a child, and having to use these strategies to cope, because escaping was not an option, and I would have taken love and appreciation from anyone who would have given it to me.

Those were things that you had to do to survive. Amazing that as a child you were able to have those thoughts and behaviors in order to make it through. You absolutely needed love and appreciation. Heartbreaking that you didn't receive what you needed and deserved. Bermuda, please be kind to yourself and bring yourself what comfort you able to; hot tea, soft blanket, safe T.V., stuffed animal, music, etc.

[Bermuda]

My mood has been all over the place lately. I don't really know how to describe what I am feeling today. Maybe the current situation leaves me feeling uncertain. I wish I had plans and goals, and right now life just feels like treading water with my eye's closed. I need things to anticipate.

The other day I hade an intrusive memory while brushing my teeth. I guess I should feel happy that I had a memory at all. The memory caused me lots of strange feelings. I was deeply saddened, and it effected my mood as well as my body the whole day. Rationally, it seemed like if I told the story to someone it wouldn't even sound like a big deal. Somehow to me it was a very big deal.

The memory as always comes with a trigger warning. It relates to shame.

Backstory: I never had many major moments of disillusionment as a child. I never believed in magic. I was quite possibly the most cynical toddler one could meet. I was however terrified of my parents. When I was four my mother was teasing and patronizing me and I replied with, "But there's no such thing as Santa." It seemed like the logical thing to say at the time to prove I wasn't stupid. I was wrong. My mother started first by laughing, and then punishing me, and then she made me go outside and followed behind me, made me knock on all the neighbour's doors, and tell them one-by-one that I didn't believe in Santa. I was mortified and did this while sobbing of course as she stood from afar watching.

This memory triggered a host of other memories along the same principle of public shaming and exhibition all the way up until I was homeless actually. This was one of my mother's cruel and unusual punishments which was very effective on me. I would crumble. Her favourite, I would beg.

These memories are very confusing for me. They're so troubling because I can't understand it. My mother did a lot of horrible things motivated by her own narcissistic objectives, but what does a mother gain in this case? Did she truly just want to watch me in pain? To weaken me?

I suppose I just answered my own question. This forum is helpful.  It worked, I mean the hurting me to weaken me. I was terrified of everthing and everyone. I had crippling social anxiety, and I still struggle with this now to a lesser extent. I also don't attempt social interaction, so that helps.

...I feel snarkier than I usually do today...  Thanks in advance to the replies that I will probably be late in saying thank you for, but they mean I lot. I would really like to hear if anyone else went through this kind of abuse. 

[Not Alone]

What happened to you had a major impact on you. Your memories and your feelings are significant and worthy of care.

[Bermuda]

TW, this memory is especially sensitive in nature and deals with mature topics.

At this point I've shared a lot of my story, but mostly my childhood trauma. Unfortunately for many of us the trauma we experienced as children sets us up for trauma as adults. For me I have written vaguely about my time homeless, and I also write about being stateless, and I wrote about being coersed into military service but then deleted that post because it felt too personal. This is an adult memory that takes place somewhere between homelessness and military service.

Backstory:

When I was homeless, I met lots of other homeless youth. We helped each other out a lot. One person I knew had a car and would occasionally let me sleep in the car with her. She gave me a pair of socks, which was a huge deal at the time. One day she told me that she used to be a bartender at a strip club and wanted to try to get her job back and asked if I wanted to go with her. Me, being niave and sheltered was really curious. So, she let me borrow something to wear and I went with her. I just kind of walked around while she spoke to the manager. I had never been in a bar of any kind in my life.

After a while she came out and the manager asked us both to come in to the office. He said angrily at her that she could only have her job back if I stripped. She cried and looked at me. I didn't want to be a stripper. I told him that I looked like a 12 year old boy... I had no idea that was a marketable asset at the time. I felt obligated to help her because I didn't want her to be homeless. It took me YEARS to realise that was a set-up.

I wouldn't get any other job. I still couldn't have a place to live or anything else normal because I was undocumented. I worked there for a considerable about of time, and made "friends" with the managers.

The memory:

One day a manager from another branch was hanging out at the place I worked. I was sitting in the office chatting with all the managers, and he asked if I wanted to go to the neighbouring city with him and see what it was like and just hang out and after closing up he'd drive me back. I thought it sounded nice, so I said yes. So one morning he came and picked me up from the club I worked at, and drove me an hour and a half away to this other city. We walked around a shopping centre, we had absolutely nothing in common. He was trying on expensive perfume and gucci shoes and I was generally uninterested in shopping. We had ice cream, and then in the evening we went to the club he managed. Of course, in hindsight I realise he was probably trying to buy me things as some sort of leverage.

I just hung out at the club, and after closing up and counting the registers I sat at the bar with the general manager who had invited me and the floor manager, we were drinking and chatting, everything was completely normal. It was the middle of the night and the floor manager said he was going to go pick us up some fast food, also hindsight here, this was a set up. The general manager called me upstairs to where the office was, and when I got to the top of the stairs he grabbed me and attempted to pull me onto his lap onto a chair grabbing at my inner thigh.

I managed to get away, ran down the stairs, out the fire exit, across the parking area, and hid between two giant rubbish bins. I hid there for seemingly ages. I heard the general manager searching for me, and the floor manager did not come back for probably two hours. I watched him pull up and talk to the general manager. He didn't have food.

I had my phone, and when it felt safe I quietly called a friend in the city I lived in. He drove in the middle of the night to come get me. By the time he picked me up the sun was up and I had been hiding between these rubbish bins the whole night.

I told no one. My roommate was the only one who knew what had happened. I returned to work the next day and went on as usual. About a week passed and while I was working, the general manager from the other branch came in and was talking to the manager at my branch. I went up to the manager at my work and told him in a very serious tone that he needed to ask the other manager to leave and that I couldn't tell him why right now, but that he could not be there. The manager did not like that, and eventually I raised my voice and said, "You need to kick him out, he tried to rape me!" So, that manager then told the manager of the other branch to leave. The next day the district manager showed up, and asked me to come into the office and explain what had happened. I told him, and showed him the claw marks on my body. My hypervigilence is like a superpower, and I told him that the cameras would have caught it, because there was a camera on the bar that had a mirrored backdrop that faced the stairs and also a camera on the emergency exit. It would have confirmed my story. His response was, "I looked for the videos, but they're somehow missing, but you're not the first person that has told me something like this about him." "Are you going to sue, what were you even doing there after hours?" I said, "Of course not, I'm not stupid, I need this job, I have nothing else." I knew with absolute certainty that if I had gone to the police, an undocumented stripper, who had been drinking after hours, in a club, with two men, in a city I didn't stay in, that only bad would have come of it. No one had to tell me that.

The general manager later told me that both managers never showed up to work again after that happened, that they never said anything, they just never came back. Months later they start showing up where I work again, and I know they were working the same jobs. I ignore it for the sake of professionalism and keep going on like nothing happened.

That's the whole story. This memory was triggered while I was with other students and the conversation went in the direction of feminism, rape culture, and consent. It's hard for me to participate in these conversations. My only imput was that sexual assault is largely under reported because it's just one part of a much bigger issue.

Sometimes I have mentioned that my CPTSD has saved me from real life danger. This was absolutely one of those times. I had super human strength, speed, and was already completely aware of my environment even though I had been drinking and had never been there before.

This post has been so long, so I don't want to reflect on this memory much, I'll let it speak for itself. 

[Not Alone]

Bermuda, I read what you shared. It makes me sad.

[Bermuda]

Thank you notalone for reading my really long post. It means a lot to me. I'm sorry that it may have upset you. It is upsetting. I understand that now.