Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts

Friday, April 27, 2012

Return To Therapy - And A Memory Of A Bad Day

Sometimes things don't seem real. It feels like my life is a dream that I am unable to awake from. A dream that is keeping me trapped and held prisoner in my own angry, painful, tearful, and never ending sludge of a memory. I am really scared and I have no idea what I should do to feel better. I have tried everything but nothing works.

I started seeing my therapist again on Thursday. Although I know that she isn't judging me in a negative way because I stopped seeing her for 4 weeks, I still feel like she sees me as a failure. Of course I am smart enough to know that it isn't her that sees me that way, it is me. The way I am feeling is the epitome of a double standard in that I would never think that another survivor is a failure if they were in my exact shoes. So why do I KNOWINGLY judge myself so egregiously incorrect? If someone who was in my shoes told me that they feel like a failure I would tell them that there is so much empirical proof that shows them to be an amazing success, but when it comes to telling myself the same things I REFUSE to accept it.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Question 1 of 10 (Therapy Assignment)

Self interview assignment question 1 of 10. Questions were submitted by my supporters through my blog and then approved by my therapist.

Question submitted by Author Unknown
Q: How did you see yourself before your assault, and how you see yourself now?
A: Before my assault I never really thought about how I see myself. I think I thought of myself like an average person who just wanted to go with the flow of life. I never really considered myself to be a pretty person or an ugly person. I do think I was a nice person and a fairly astute person.

After my assault much of my opinions of myself and others have changed. I am a far less trusting person of others and myself. I always think that there is some sort of motive behind people's actions even if they are nice or kind actions. I see myself as damaged and unworthy of happiness and wonder why anyone would want anything to do with me. Many times I am confused as to how someone can even bare the mental pain of even looking at me.

Some people think I am smart, wise for my years, attractive, insightful, brave, and inspirational, but I often think these people are nuts because I don't even come close to seeing myself in those ways. I see all the mistakes I made that night and how I was manipulated and I feel stupid and foolish. I hear people call me brave and I laugh on the inside because I know how messed up I am on the inside and I can't believe that people can't see the real me, the broken, tainted, and disgusting me that could never be an inspiration to anyone.

Sometimes, more often than not, I wake up literally hating myself. Sometimes the thought of my own perceived failures make me sick to my stomach. Many times I want to punish myself for my failures and for perceiving my life as a failure. I have punished myself before. Some people cut, but I punch or scratch myself. The scratches are always on a place that I can cover with clothes. Most of the time the bruises are hidden under clothes as well. Sometimes I have to use make up because I have hit myself in the face hard enough to swell and bruise.

Basically I see myself as highly messed up and to the point of no return. I still try to feel better but it isn't easy. I have lost most of my ambitions to become someone in life. The really funny part is I still have the same goals but the reasons behind the goals have changed. I now what to prove myself wrong and that I am not a failure, but I am secretly wanting to prove that I am a failure because I don't even realize that I am not a failure. I'm pretty sure there is some sort of psychological term for a self reinforcing delusion. Knowing that there is a term like that makes me see myself as a bigger failure because I fit the bill by merely writing this last paragraph.

I seem insane because one of the definitions of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. I try to heal and it doesn't work. I do this over and over and hope that one day there will be different results. That seems insane to me.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

A Venting Letter

Before anyone reads this I want it to be clear that this is just a means of venting. I have no intention of harming myself.


Dear World,
I became a part of you when I was 100% useless and vulnerable. I spent 16 years trying to become something of worth that was strong, but I have failed. I should be standing tall but instead I cower in the corner. This is even before you pissed and shit on me with extreme indifference. Now I am less than nothing, now I am worth less than valueless. Now I'm not even strong enough to be worthy of the breath in my lungs, love, compassion, or life.

World, I submit to your cruelty and I'm on my knees in defeat. As my life spills on the floor I replace the stain that is me upon the world with a single staining puddle that a sponge can clean up. I know you will be a far better place for others without me.


Dear Fellow Survivors,
I came to you when I needed support the most. As welcoming and understanding as you all were, I can not risk that I will become an even greater burden to you. It is unfair for me to want you to support what is already broken, and what is damaged beyond repair. It is unfair for me to contaminate your lives with my perpetual stain. You all have your own needs and I can't be so selfish as to expect support from you when you are just trying to keep yourself intact.

I have nothing but stupid juvenile opinions that are lacking in an obvious empathy that everyone needs. I am too stupid to understand, too stupid to encourage, and too stupid to deserve the chance to help someone else. All of you deserve so much more support and better encouragement than I am capable of giving.

My actions will not only set me free from the bonds of corporeal pain, but it will rid me from you like the cancerous growth I am.

Dear Dad,
Don't cry, just find comfort in that I am no longer hurting. I am free, and you are free from my burdening imposition. Now you will have more energy and time to raise Amie, she deserves you so much more than I. Although you will miss me and it will hurt, it is far better to rip the band-aid off than it is to slowly torture you.

Daddy, you didn't fail me, I failed you. I should have listened to your words of wisdom. If I would have just listened, this wouldn't have happened. I failed you and I do not deserve your love. Now you can put all of your efforts into protecting and raising Amie, she deserves you so much more than I.

I love you daddy, but I don't deserve your love. Please allow me one more imposition. Go to my blog and print out my letter to the court and read it during his sentencing.


Dear little sister,
I regret that I will not be there to be the big sister that you should have been able to come to for advice. I know you don't understand this now and I pray you never will understand. I simply can not risk that you will become tainted by me. I am bad for you. There's only one lesson I can teach you, and that is to listen to dad.

Amie, I love you. I am in a better place now, and I am with mom now. We look forward to seeing you after you live a long full life.

Dear rapist,
You won the fight, you overpowered me on every level. You have won the war, and I am too broken to fight anymore. I hope you feel proud of your life's singular accomplishment.


Dear Police,
This is a self-inflicted injury with the intent of my own death. There's nothing to investigate. Instead put resources into investigating REAL crimes.


Dear Court,
In my statement of mine that my dad read I said I wouldn't hint to what I think is a fair punishment. I have changed my mind. Fair would be a dark and filthy hole in the earth where the worms can feast upon him. At least this way he can be some good to the world. Don't kill him, just bury him alive and let the worms kill him.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

An Observation Of Self-Esteem

As a member of several support forums I have noticed something that's very common among nearly all abuse survivors including myself. I am talking about a poor or diminished sense of worth and self-esteem. I have seen some of the most beautiful people I have ever seen both inside and out in online support forums and blogs that have an unfavorable opinion of themselves. I have seen the same thing with people in my real life support group that I go to every other week. There's one woman in my support group that looks like a model, but if I was to ask her if she thinks she is pretty she would say "sort of". I have had several people compliment me and tell me that I am pretty, but I don't feel pretty. When I look in the mirror I don't see the same person other people see, I see someone who is stained, damaged, defiled, and generally undesirable.

Why do we as abuse survivors have a low self-esteem? Why do we often feel so disconnected from the world around us that we have thoughts of suicide and often use acts of self-harm such as cutting to feel like we are still alive? Although many of us have strong support structures it often isn't enough to keep us grounded and feeling connected to the world. I have a very strong support structure, but I still have a very low self-esteem. I have even tried to commit suicide before. Thankfully my dad stopped me before I could pull the trigger.

I think there are several factors that affect our self-esteem. They are, but not limited to, PTSD, anxiety, depression, substance abuse, personality disorders, dissociative disorders, and injuries or illness. Although all of these contribute to a diminished self-esteem, I want to focus on the three in my humble uneducated opinion that affects our self esteem the most.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is a severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to any event that results in psychological trauma. This event may involve the threat of death or threat and actions of physical or sexual abuse toward themselves or to someone else. Symptoms include flashbacks or nightmares, avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma, and increased difficulty falling or staying asleep, anger, and hyper-vigilance.

Dissociative Disorder is defined as conditions that involve disruptions or breakdowns of memory, awareness, identity and/or perception. People with dissociative disorders are able to escape from reality involuntarily. Typically the development of this disorder is the reaction to some sort of trauma. It may also be an automatic coping mechanism to avoid thinking about difficult memories.

Depression is a state of low mood and aversion to activity that can affect a person's thoughts, behavior, feelings and physical well-being. Depressed people may feel sad, anxious, empty, hopeless, helpless, worthless, guilty, irritable, or restless. They may lose interest in activities that once were pleasurable. They may experience loss of appetite or overeating, or problems concentrating, remembering details or making decisions. Often depression leads someone to contemplate or attempt suicide.

I think these 3 contribute more to our diminished sense of self-esteem than anything else. To me it's no surprise. When we suffer from severe anxiety as a result of what happened to us during our abuse, we become hyper-vigilant of everything around us. We become hyper-vigilant because we want to protect ourselves from further abuse. This hyper-vigilance can drive us crazy. We understandably become so fearful and anxious of everything around us that our stress level remains high.

This increased stress level as a result of hyper-vigilantes will tend to keep us separated from the world in an attempt to limit emotional and stress triggers. This compounds the often dissociative disorders that many survivors of abuse experience. When we avoid thinking about the things that happened to us, we essentially avoid dealing with them. When the anxiety attributed to PTSD causes us to purposefully and often obsessively avoid emotional and stress triggers, we tend to keep to ourselves isolated. We drastically limit our in person interaction with the world around us. All of this draws us further into a state of isolation. We gain the mindset of, "I may be alone, but I am safe."

This increased acceptance that we need to remain separated from life in order to remain relatively trigger free and safe leads to depression. As we become more and more isolated from family, friends, and society we become depressed. We become accustomed to being alone and watching the world seemingly passes us by. At this point what are we left with? We are left with our own thoughts, our own negative influences, and our own memories of our assault to deal with on our own. We get so use to listening to our own negativity and self-blame that we laterally become ashamed of what happened to us. We look back at all the things we could have done differently that may have changed the outcome of our abuse, but we seldom accept the fact that hindsight is always 20/20.

As a result of this self-contrived isolation we are denied the positive influences of real-life friends. Leaving us almost exclusively at the mercy of our own negative thoughts and it causes us to sink even further into a state of depression. It's no surprise to me that all of this leads to abuse survivors having a poor self-esteem.

How do we counteract our poor self-esteem so that we can heal? I think the answer is so simple that each and every one of us already knows the answer. We need to let our voice be heard. We need to let family and friends into our lives and our thoughts so that we can hear and feel their positive influences instead of only our own negative influences. As we let other people's positive influences become a part of us, our own negative influences and shame start to diminish. In time, this will help rebuild our sense of self-worth and self-esteem.

I have so many negative emotions bouncing around in my head that sometimes I feel like I am to blame for everything that is wrong in my life and the world. Irrationally I accept responsibility and shame when in fact the responsibility and shame lies with the execrable person who hurt me. However there's responsibility where it does lie with me, which is the healing process. A process that more often than not is a life long process that's very difficult at times.

As survivors if we want to have a favorable opinion of ourselves, and we need to let others into our thoughts. We need to share our feelings and listen to the encouragement of the family, friends, and other survivors we encounter. It is hard to let other people's positive influence affect us, but it is very easy to believe our own negative influences. That's why support forums, support groups, and the positive influences of those around us are very important. As survivors let's do what we can to heal, let's surround ourselves as much as possible with people who give us the positive reinforcement that we deserve and need.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

10 Phone Calls

Very early Saturday afternoon I started making phone calls to let the 10 adoptive families know how sorry I was for me losing the baby that could potentially have become their baby. It was without a doubt the most difficult news I have ever had to tell someone. Everyone was very supportive to me and none of them gave the impression that they thought I was to blame. Still, there were moments of silence where I knew they felt a huge disappointment and I can't help but feel bad about it. I wasn't able to get in touch with all 10 of them because 2 of them didn't answer the phone and I wasn't going to leave a message on voice mail. Of course they already know about the miscarriage; dad called the adoption agency not long after we got home from the hospital Wednesday and the agency notified them being that they were the final ten.

The majority of the conversations were very clinical in nature where we expressed a sympathy toward one another but didn't invite further conversation. There was one conversation that became very personal and lasted nearly 30 minutes. This woman was very kind and she asked me how I was handling losing the baby. I explained in some detail to her what I was thinking in regards to the miscarriage. Then she asked a question that I wasn't expecting, "What does the babies father think about all of this"? I inadvertently blurted out, "I don't know if he knows and I really don't care".

As you can imagine, this sparked an entirely new conversation. There I was talking to this woman who was wanted to adopt my baby and telling her personal information about how this all came to be. She spent much of the time trying to console me while my brain kept spewing out details I'm sure she had zero desire to know about.

After I got off the phone with that woman, I couldn't help but feel bad for dumping my emotions on her. It was unfair for me to do so. I should have simply told her that the baby's father wasn't a part of my life, but instead I told her stuff that will likely add to her pain. I sort of feel selfish for using her as an emotional release.

I guess I will try and call the other two today.

I'm just trying to hold myself together and not fall apart.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

The Unfair Fight

Most of you have read this already but I haven't posted it into the feed until now.

The Unfair Fight

It was an unfair fight,
a struggle of death and life.
He waged war throughout the night,
I defended him off past the morning light.

No choice was given,
as he to my heart did riven.
Made vulnerable I was for the taken,
why did he choose my soul to be forsaken?

He released the binds,
I into freedom then ran to find.
Although unwillingly I lost to his might,
I had no choice for this war was an unfair fight.

-Jaime

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Test Results From The Hospital

Two nights ago I noticed that I was bleeding when I use the restroom. In an effort not to be gross I will simply say that I was bleeding from the back. I have also been feeling really crappy over the last several days. Needless to say I was a little concerned and so was my dad. We went to the hospital and they ran tests. I say tests because they ran more than one type. It will make sense in a second. Both tests have come back.

The reason why I am bleeding is because I have a perforated bowel. The reason why I have that is because of the A@@hole who hurt (raped) me. For anyone who doesn't know what a perforated bowel is... It's basically a tear in the lining of the bowel. Often this tear allows stuff to leak into the gut area where it can cause a massive infection. I am on my way to a massive infection. As a result I am scheduled for surgery to fix the problem Wednesday morning the 21st (tomorrow). I am told they will make two really small incisions in my abdomen and pump air into my gut so that it inflates like a balloon so they have room to work. I am told it's a really minor surgery and if everything goes well I will be home tomorrow night. It's my first time under the knife and I am a little nervous.

There was another thing they tested me for yesterday. They had this test back right away. In fact I knew the results of this test for twenty hours now. It turns out that I am pregnant, and the A@@hole is the sperm contributor. So now I am facing a dilemma. The obvious first question is should I have the baby or not. I'm sixteen, and as much as I like to think I am an adult I am still a kid. I'm not ready to be a parent. My dad along with some others in my life think I should have an abortion. My personal beliefs on abortion are different than my dad's, and I am reasonably sure it is different than many who read this. My personal beliefs simply will not allow me to have an abortion.

Now this leaves me with two options. Keep this baby and raise it the best I can and risk having some sort of resentment toward him or her because of half their genes, or I can seek out a stable family who would gladly and lovingly raise this baby the way a child deserves to be raised. My first instinct is to find the right family. I am worried about becoming attached while the baby is still in me and being unable to let go of him/her.

Although my dad and I are in full shock mode right now, we are also trying to learn what all of our options are and what the legal matters are. I would appreciate any advice people have to give me.

My surgery is scheduled for 7:00am tomorrow. I can't eat for 24 hrs before the surgery. Which means I probably should have eaten more yesterday but I wasn't thinking about food or that I wouldn't be allowed to eat today. I am going to be hungry. I am already hungry.

"God grant me the serenity 
to accept the things I cannot change; 
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference..."
--Reinhold Niebuhr

Monday, September 19, 2011

Part Two Of What Happened To Me

When he first closed and locked the plywood door locking me inside that back of his van it was almost pitch black. The only light that was showing was from the distant street light shinning through the cracks of the wooden wall that separated the front of the van from the back. I screamed as loud as I could but no one heard me. He turned a overhead light on and I began to look around for anyway to escape, but there wasn't. I kept begging him not to hurt me. I asked him why he was doing this but he said nothing. He only looked at me and smiled. I again asked him to let me go. I told him if he let me out of the van I wouldn't tell anyone that he hit me.

He stood right in front of me and again he punched me, but this time it was just above my left eye. He hit me so hard. My face felt warm and I instinctively touched my face and then felt blood running down the side of my face and into my left eye. I was so scared. I didn't understand why he was doing that. He grabbed my wrists and lifted my hands up over my head and used handcuffs that were attached to the roof to tie them. He then pulled a knife out and cut all of my clothes off. I kept screaming, trying to move so that he couldn't cut my clothes off but I couldn't move far. As he stood there in front of me, looking at me, his hands kept touching me in so many places and so many disgusting ways. I became angry and I spit in his face. He placed the knife against my throat and told me he would kill me if I ever did that again. He even told me he might kill me just for the fun of it. He put the knife in his pants pocket and then wrapped his hands around my neck and began to choke me. I couldn't breath, his hands were so strong. After several seconds I felt like I was going to pass out and he finally let go. As I struggled to catch my breath through my coughs he hit me in my stomach knocking out what little breath I had left in me. He then placed a dark colored cloth bag, probably a pillowcase over my head.

I stood there crying unable to defend myself or run to safety. I couldn't even see what he was getting ready to do. I heard him laugh at me and he told me that I was sexy. I heard him moving around but I couldn't tell what he was doing. Then I heard the sound, the sound of a zipper. I knew what he was getting ready to do. I knew he was going to rape me and there was nothing I could do to stop him. I felt him lift my feet off the floor by the back of my knees. The cuffs began to tear into my wrists as I hung in place while he forced himself inside me. It hurt so bad. I have never felt something so painful. His thrusts were so violent that I could feel myself being torn. I kept trying to kick him but every move I made caused everything to hurt more. I don't know how long it took him to finish but when he did I couldn't even hold up my own weight. I could feel blood running down my forearms from where the handcuffs were cutting my writs.

He said nothing to me. I heard him putting his cloths back on and him unlocking the pad locked doorway. I heard his van start and then felt it begin to drive away with me still inside. I was shaking so hard and crying so hard, I was in so much pain. I wanted to be home. I wanted to see my dad, I wanted my mom but I was alone with this guy who was so nice to me just a little while earlier. I thought for sure he was driving me somewhere so he could kill me.

I can't share anymore right now.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Ramblings Of An Emotional Wreck

I sit here pondering the thought of explaining more about what happened to me during those twenty three hours that bastard kept me as his plaything in his van. I'm not sure I can do it right now. I have all of these irrational fears that if I do tell more of what happened it will somehow become true, which doesn't make sense because I know they are true, I know they happened. I also have the irrational fear of people thinking I am lying or exaggerating in order to gain some sort of sympathy.

Nearly everything I read, and advice I get from others tell me that talking about what happened is part of the healing path, but how do I walk a path that takes me back into his van. How do I tell people about all the shameful things he did to me? How do I possible explain that in many ways I am still trapped in that van helpless and vulnerable, staring at a wolf gnashing his teeth at me to intimidate me into silent submission? How can I explain that his actions which are so clearly premeditated in nature were unknown to me before this happened? How do I explain that after several hours I gave up fighting and just catatonically let him use my body?

I try so hard to be strong, but I am falling apart on the inside. He took something from me and I'm not even sure how to define what he took. He didn't take it once, he took it over and over and when he got tired he sat down and relaxed while I suffered the humiliation of being naked and on display like I was one of his trophies. I'm laying there unable to get free and he's eating soup out of a can like he's on a camping trip. He would steal a part of me and laugh about it and hold his knife to my throat and make me thank him for hurting me. After about 10 hours I stopped thanking him when he put the knife against my throat. So he put the knife against other places and I and I had no choice but to tell him how wonderful he made me feel by hurting me.

It's all just so shameful, and I want to find a deep hole to crawl into and hide. Again I know how irrational this guilt and shame is. I know I have nothing to be ashamed about, but it hurts. I see him when I close my eyes, I feel him when I am touched, I smell him if I breathe through my nose. It's not fair that he gets to hurt me in my dreams. GOD, didn't he hurt me enough? What did I do to deserve this? I know that's another irrational question.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Body Memories

Recently I have been introduced to a term called Body Memory. Basically it's a hypothesis that the body it's self can store a memory of sorts. It's theorized in times of high stress, mental stimuli overload, or incapacitation where the mind (brain) is unable to keep up with events and properly process them for storage that a body memory occurs. For example a traumatic event such as a sexual assault may cause the brain to overload and go into protect mode, essentially either not storing the memory's details, or burying a memory into the depths of the subconscious mind. It's in these times that the body is believed by some to store its own memory. (I hope I explained that right).

Most (I think) of the events from the Twenty Three hours I was kept in his van I have a memory of. Still I seem to remember a new detail everyday. Often I have a sensation that brings a memory to the surface. Sometimes it's a hug, most of the time it's when I am trying to sleep, and last night it was when I was in the shower.

I have been very uncomfortable when hugging people ever since all of this happened to me. Which is unfortunate because I have always been a hugging person, so is all of my family, and most of my friends. As the people in my life become aware of what happened to me, their natural instinct is to try and comfort me. That's natural, but when someone hugs me I don't as much feel them hugging me as I feel that guy in the van holding, restraining, and controlling me. My dad has hugged me a few times since it all happened and I have these memories return to me and I suddenly feel trapped and as if I am in danger. Even when my little sister hugs me I often get the same apprehension. As a result I have been very aware of my personal space.

Most nights when I try to sleep the same thing happens, but I don't think it's as much about body sensation as it is body position that triggers these memories. I have been spending a lot of nights sitting in a chair trying to sleep upright. Even pulling the blanket up to my neck triggers some bad memories. Most of the time these memories are memories that I have had before and am clearly aware of. Sometimes the memories are of a detail or a 5, 10, or 20 minute event that I had forgotten or blocked.

Last night right before I went to bed to go to sleep I took a shower. I was washing myself and it triggered a memory of his hands. I keep trying to get that sensation out of my head, but it won't leave. It makes me worry about the next time I shower. What will I remember then? Will it be worse? Will I be able to cope? I honestly don't know and I am a little scared, well a lot scared of how I will react.

People tell me that this is all part of the difficult healing journey I have ahead of me. My therapist has told me and many of the articles I have read tell me that these memories are a necessary means to an end. It's all part of the brain trying to assimilate a horrible event into a manageable memory.

On a side note:

I am beginning to form a theory of my own in regards to body memory. Personally I haven't seen anything or heard of any part of the human body that can store a memory other than the brain. It's because of that I believe there's really no such thing as a body memory in technical terms. I think when something so traumatic is happening to us our brain tries to protect us by skipping the processing of what's happening and goes straight to the storage. As a result the memories of these traumatic events are raw in nature and unorganized. My understanding of the way memory works in the brain is that a memory is organized by input senses. Meaning your memory of a person, place, thing, or event might be categorized by smell, sound, color, sensation, and taste. Further each subsequent event that stems off from the original memory is further organized in much the same way. Sort of like a hierarchy of folders in a computer.

With that in mind it seems practical to me that a body memory is less about an actual memory stored within the body as opposed to the brain, then it is a physical sensory of one of the five human senses that bring to the surface an unprocessed raw memory to finally be processed.

Maybe I am way off in my theory, or it is common knowledge to others. Either way I'm just trying to understand what I am going through.