Let’s try to get back on track, mmmkay?

•January 23, 2013 • Leave a Comment

It’s been just over a month since I’ve blogged and that’s not cool. As usual the holidays got the best of me, and I turned the pain inward instead of expressing like I promised myself I would do. I’m not going to beat myself up about it though. I’ll just pick up and move on.

There are a lot of things going on in my life that I should be happy about, but I can’t snap out of this funk I’ve been in. I’ve got a great job with decent pay and good benefits, my mother is recovering well from her last surgery, my nephew is now closer to me so I can spend more time with him, I’ve got a man that deals with all of my moods the best that he can, yet I’m still absolutely miserable.

I haven’t started EMDR yet – I’ve been too lethargic and deep down I think I’m scared.

I know that I MUST get to the bottom of this issue with my father, and I must process this memory so I can heal and move on to the other aspects of my healing. The question is… what do I do once I find out? I find it hard to believe that I’ll be at peace if I find out that he did in fact attempt to rape me, or even worse… did rape me. Not to mention the fact that there are so many other traumas that occurred because of him:

  • Hearing him rape my mother
  • Hearing him and my mother fighting to the point of physical violence.
  • Watching him beat the shit out of my tiny little brother
  • Watching him choke my brother, almost killing him
  • Him beating the shit out of me many times – even for “talking too loudly in church and embarrassing him”
  • Dunking my head in the toilet bowl in an attempt to drown me

There are so many other things about my father and the past with him that hurts me so much. He cheated on my mother. He was a womanizer. I remember him treating the daughters of other women so much better than me. When our parents divorced he lived a few blocks away but never spent time with us. That was really harsh on the Little Brother because he desperately needed a male role model.

There was a point in my life where I had been living out of my pickup truck after I was kicked out of my mother’s house and after going to Jacksonville FL, and Jacksonville, NC and found myself with no where else to go…. he took me in for the second time. Both times I lived with my father were horrible. If I was not fighting with him to the point of spitting in his face I was partying with him. I had my first drinking binge with my father. I snorted my first line of coke with my father. He tried to teach me how to be a player, and mess with men’s feelings the way he did with women, after I had my heart broken too many times. He provided me with condoms and all the weed I wanted.

I understand that my father “loved us in his own way” but that’s not an acceptable reason for him to be such a horrible father, despite his claims of being a great father at the Little Brother’s funeral service.

I know I need to go headfirst into this, and I can’t keep letting this fear control me. I mean, what the hell am I really scared of? Peace? I know nothing of this peace that people tell me about and what it could bring to my life.

New “first” EMDR session has been rescheduled AGAIN. I’m gonna give it a try on the 31st and quit giving my therapist bullshit excuses as to why I’m not ready. It really is all up to me anyway.

Tired of Crying Alone

•December 21, 2012 • Leave a Comment

The boyfriend is emotionally crippled. For years I have learned to cry alone because he doesn’t know what to do. Even though I have told him all I need is for him to just hold me sometimes it never happens.

The few people I call friends are good people. They really are but how can I make them understand that I am near the breaking point on an almost daily basis? That its taking everything I have just to go to work every day, let alone taking care of myself enough to be ready for last minute poorly communicated gatherings?

It’s been getting worse. I think that this time last year I was so numb from everything that was going on, I can’t even remember Christmas. I normally get the Christmas blues… I’m sure it could do with the fact that even when my parents were together my dad was never there. It could be that when they divorced I went from “spoiled princess” to very little under the tree while I watched everyone else get spoiled at the family gatherings. Perhaps it could be that during these family gatherings I always felt rejected by my cousins so I was alone. All I know is I that I keep Christmas at arms length. And don’t give me the whole “Jesus is the reason for the season” because he is not.

Yea, I’ll probably get a lot of shit for that statement.

The numbness is gone. The pain is here and it’s so real and so fucking relentless I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m expected to just suck it up, be a good girlfriend, daughter, friend and go through the motions. All I really want to do is wish the next two weeks away and have the new year begin. At the most just have a quiet day at home with the boyfriend on Christmas Day and watch a few movies while sipping whiskey.

Oh well. Time to put the strong face on again. Hopefully I can artificially numb myself enough to get through this season without fucking it up for other people.

The Elephant in the Room is ME

•December 12, 2012 • 9 Comments

I don’t think I’ve ever really explained  my weight without being super defensive so I’m going to go ahead and give it a try.

I have to get this off my chest because it’s eating me up inside. I can’t stop loathing myself anymore. I wanted to tackle this self hate in therapy but like I said in yesterday’s post my therapist wants me to focus on the memory I have of my father raping, or attempting to rape me when I was younger. She seems to think that is my biggest trigger memory besides the other abuse that I’m very sure of and well aware of.

We got to that decision because she started asking me about the self image stuff and came to the conclusion that if I heal everything else (trauma) that my health and my weight will fall into place.

Those that know me know this basic fact more than anything else about me. I’m fat, overweight, morbidly obese. We aren’t talking about 100 pounds here,  more like 200+. I was always heavy, never really less than a size 16/18 since high school but I was never at this point in my weight until about 5-6 years ago.

As most people know, black mold is a very dangerous thing to have in your home. The other half and I were in a situation where we were being kicked out of my cousin’s house and we were desperate to find a new place to live. We ended up rooming with the other half’s old friend from back home in a slumlord section 8 house. The landlord didn’t give a fuck about our dogs, or anything else as long as he saw cash in  his hands on the first of each month. That was fine by us.

When we moved into this house in the ghetto I was enjoying significant weight loss. You see, my cousin’s house was filthy (I think he had a rat infestation) and I had no access to preventative medication until a dear friend of mine sent money so I can buy a few months worth of meds to get a jump start. Before that I was surviving with no job and no health insurance by going to the ER every 2 weeks and going on a brand new cycle of prednisone. Anyone that is familiar with this drug should know that you shouldn’t be on and off this drug in such high doses so frequently. When I got my relief with the preventative medication I started working out and losing weight.

Soon after I moved into section 8 hell, I had a job and insurance but for some reason I was getting progressively worse. This was also around the time that I realized my anger issues were out of control and I needed to get on some anti depressants stat.

Long story short, after being in that house for a while we realized that there was mold under the carpets after attempting to clean them because the roomie flooded the house. On top of that the anti depressants I was on made me a living zombie that cared about nothing. There were times that I just hoped for death to come quickly because it would be better than living through what I was living through. The pounds came on, and kept coming on, and it took me years to finally heal from all the damage that was done to my body…. well at least my lungs.

There comes a certain point where you think, what the hell is the point of trying to eat healthy when the weight just keeps coming on no matter what I try?

Well I want to try now, I just can’t seem to get moving. I feel paralyzed at this point in my life and I can’t seem to do anything beyond a feeble attempt at keeping the good job I have right now. That effort is exhausting as it is… with the constant bullshit going on in my head. Every time someone looks at me, talks to me, or has any contact with me I’m constantly imagining what they are saying in their head about me and my fatness. I avoid being seen eating, and sometimes I don’t eat at all while I’m at work. Thank goodness I feel somewhat safe around my family and friends.

And I like to say I don’t have an eating disorder. Ha.

What is really sad is that none of what I mentioned above REALLY matters. The fact is I’m fat – and fat people don’t matter in this world. The reason behind our weight doesn’t matter. We are all loathsome, disgusting, lazy people that have no self respect or personal responsibility.

I don’t know when I’ll start moving. Maybe writing all this will be enough in my mind for some reason and tomorrow I’ll go to my private training facility/gym and magically not care about the real or imagined eyes all over me and just care about myself and not everyone else for once.

Is it real, or just my imagination?

•December 12, 2012 • 4 Comments

My mother is gone for the weekend for some reason… and my brother and I were given the choice to either spend the weekend with an aunt, or stay at home with my father. I can’t remember what my brother did but I have the distinct memory of feeling sorry for my father and thinking he would be lonely so I decided to stay home. I must have been between the age of 6-8… we were still living in the blue house on Brooks Street, near the Russian Orthodox Church. In the middle of the night, I find myself waking up in my parent’s bed with the  feeling of something foreign yet unfortunately familiar rubbing against my behind, and a heavy body on top of me. I’m face down to the bed, I don’t fight… and I black out. The next morning is weird. I can’t even begin to explain my actions… it was a combination of trying to avoid my father, and giving him inappropriate affection.

This memory haunts me almost every day. I don’t even know if it’s real or imaginary. It never came up until I told my mother about the other molesters in my life, my brother’s God Father and his son – around the age of 12 or 13. It has confused me since the day it came out of my mouth. Sometimes I think it’s just me being crazy, sometimes I am absolutely sure that my father attempted to rape me, or actually did accomplish it but I blacked out.

I’ve been told by family I confided in that since I have a horrible relationship with my father, that I could be putting him in the same category as the others, and maybe the God Father did it and not my actual father and i’m confusing the two. If that is the case, then why do I distinctly remember what room it happened in? It was the only room in the house that was not my brother’s room or my room. And if it was all my imagination why do I know that I acted weird the next morning?

I’ve been told that IF he did it he was probably drunk and high….

__________________________________________________________

I’m fresh from a therapy appointment where I told my therapist about this blog, and the fact that once again, I WAS excited to start something but never follow through. She doesn’t want me to concentrate on the blog right now, but on a plan to tackle the task of actually taking care of myself in every possible aspect of my life. Well, since I am a sucker for punishment and I never do what I am told, here I am 😉

I’ve been really happy to have an opportunity to see her again, she is the only therapist that truly helps me… I think. She specializes in EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). It’s a somewhat controversial form of therapy but it has been proven effective in those that suffer from PTSD. I don’t really feel like explaining all the ins and outs, but if you are really interested in knowing what it’s all about a simple google search should do. Since I have gone through trauma in my life it seemed like a good idea, and I can say that I have processed one of my many memories with great success. The only problem is immediately after that processed memory is when I lost my job and I was unable to see her again for several months.

In any case, I was under the impression we would start EMDR for my self image issues, and my weight but since I had a horrible allergic skin reaction to something and I had taken some benadryl to ease it all with no luck, she wanted to hold off. You see, if I had done the therapy it would have been way too exhausting for me as I am right now. So instead we decided to do talk therapy in preparation for the EMDR, and we ended up deciding that we would process THAT MEMORY

Hopefully I can start making some sense of it and I can move forward somehow.

Remember the Trees, Remember the Grass, Remember Me, The Pain in the Ass

•November 27, 2012 • 2 Comments

I find myself looking at quotes often. If I’m not searching for one for a specific reason, I’m usually coming across a shit-ton of them on Pinterest. I was going through some quote lists and websites when I came across this little gem (post title). It tickled me and I thought, wow this is probably the first time I’ve laughed today. Little Brother had a great sense of humor, and would even find this quote funny mainly because The Stepfather has an arsenal of horrible corny jokes that you can’t help but laugh to…. because after he executes the punch line, he laughs like a psycho. Little Brother would not want me to wallow in grief and sorrow.

I think I’ve been approaching the one year anniversary of my brother’s death with too much negativity on my mind and in my soul. I’m not sure why I defaulted to that but I’ve been known to have my dark moods and I usually turn my pain inward. Perhaps I’m pissed off at myself because I haven’t stuck to my goals. I know I had a lot of ambition with the thought of “I’m going to do THIS in his honor!” I had a lot of things I wanted to do in his honor but I never did. I know it’s unrealistic of me to think I could do all that, I see that now. I guess it was a form of grieving for me… to give myself all kinds of projects so I can keep my mind occupied on what I can do instead of actually feeling the pain. The problem with that is when the pain actually comes it hits you… HARD.

So… I’m going to try a different approach. I’m just going to start expressing myself and see where things go from there. And I mean for real, not in a drunken state in a room with a close friend… the room happening to be my living room because I don’t want to be anywhere else. Not in a forum like Facebook where it’s getting harder and harder to deal with the fact that family that wouldn’t talk to you otherwise know what is going on in your life. I needed something where I could be “anonymous” and by that I mean open to whoever happens to come across my little blog here…. and the few trusted people I have invited to follow me on here.

With that being said, I’m really sorry this is so long winded…. I was going to write about what happened a year ago today, but I don’t think I have the strength for it at the moment.

 

The Journey

•November 26, 2012 • Leave a Comment

“Don’t you want to allow yourself to live a life free from the pain that has put you right here, where you are at this point in your life? Don’t you think that you deserve to learn how to live with peace and hope for the future? I tell you that it’s possible but you have to be willing to put in the work. I’m just starting my journey and I can already see a light at the end of the tunnel. Let me help you do this.”

This was one of the last important conversations I had with my little brother before he passed away. We found out that he passed away a year ago today. Trust me, I will be writing more about that day and the events that happened before and after but for now I want to explain why I am starting this blog.

I was already in the beginning stages of what I call my journey to healing, to self awareness and forgiveness. I had and still have a lot to work on. I’m a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, parental physical and mental abuse, and self abuse.

There are a few people in my life that I trust enough to share the details of my story with. Sure there are plenty of people that know the FACT that this has happened to me, but I never go into full detail. I really don’t like doing it anyway because I feel as though the other person thinks I’m just reaching and searching for sympathy. Trust me when I say this is not the case. I’ve always been a believer that sharing your story brings great healing. Not to mention the fact that you never know who you can inspire to share their own story because they witnessed you doing it. I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me, I just need understanding.

So, this will most likely flow like a personal journal. I’ve been stuck at the same point in my journey for the past year, even though the loss of my brother sparked a great desire to move forward with it…. I’ve just been stuck. I’ve made great changes in my life this year, sure, but not they way I promised and I’m sure Little Brother would be pissed off at me if I didn’t start again. Right now.