Tag: childhood abuse
Discrimination Against People with Disabilities
This is a long post, but I feel it is an important one. I recently had an experience with a Town official showing blatant discrimination against people with disabilities. I am the Resident Commissioner on the board of commissioners for my town’s local housing authority, which oversees five elderly/disabled housing complexes. The housing authority was… Continue reading Discrimination Against People with Disabilities
Her Present Needed Her Past
PTSD-THE LIGHTENING STRIKES
Setting boundaries is an important part of the healing process.
Little did I understand my ‘illness.’ Calling it that is a first for me. All these years I loaded blame onto my shoulders and into my being for not keeping up, for intense reactions, even screaming if someone came up from behind or around a corner. Usually that was my kids, and most times not purposely because they learned early on that’s not funny with Mom because it caused a very serious scare.
But there is so much more, and it hasn’t been given gentleness or compassion, only self-hatred for being so different, for not being able to do what others do so easily, for being so tired, scared, and forever mistrusting. Even when someone truly cared, in my mind it is, ‘What are you up to? What do you want?’
It is not a life anyone else would want. In the night it strikes. I hadn’t thought of my…
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Five Weeks of Funk
Hi, everyone. It’s been more than a week since I’ve written a post. I am enveloped by a physical and mental depression I just can’t seem to shake. This is the first time I’ve gotten online in five days. I just don’t have the energy. I am overwhelmed by the slightest thought of having to… Continue reading Five Weeks of Funk
Would You Be Me?
This deeply resonates with me.
Exhaustion runs deep, into my core, my blood, bones, every atom of my being. I am tired. Even with enough sleep, I am tired. Winter’s weariness? Failures of self?
“It hard being me,” I lament to a friend, and whisper out-loud to the gods. It is hard being me, and I’m tired of it.
My thoughts tend to believe the worst every time, and that tendency consumes me in winter. Bleakness of soul matches the frigid temps. The havoc of this engulfs me in ways that wreck relationships. Others there willing to love, offering warmth and real caring, are shoved away brusquely. My best feature is turning away from you coldly.
Is that all there is left from childhood? Taking my trust, only coldness remains. I need you to keep away from me. Aloof, yet needy. It is so tiring being me. Dreaming of being someone else consumes me once…
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Beneath the Surface
It’s been three weeks since I spoke on the phone with my brother, Kevin – the brother who physically, emotionally, psychologically, and sexually abused me for years as a child and teenager. It was the first time we have spoken in twenty-seven years. He called my folks on Christmas day. My mother, who has Alzheimer’s… Continue reading Beneath the Surface
The Price of Abuse
photo by Patricia
Price tag? One life.
Thinking back on my life, and looking at it now, the wonder is how this place was achieved with so much trauma and anxiety ruling each day. The power of one individual makes me take stock, but with a sense of sadness at what was stolen.
My life is worth admiration. Yet I’m not in it enough to appreciate that fact. There it is beside me as if I’m living that life apart from the real body and being. Retreating to my safe place is where I still go.
Though work occurs now to be present in the moment, it is work. At least now there is awareness that I go elsewhere.
A therapist once said, “Just show up.”
What did that mean? Years later, after the book, and delving into the community of women survivors of childhood sexual abuse blogging on-line, I…
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The Quiet Descent to Tender Ground
The healing power of perseverance...
Phone Call with My Brother
I went to my mother and stepfather’s over the Christmas holiday, to bring my mother to my oldest brother’s house to spend Christmas with our family – sans my abusive brother, Kevin. While visiting with my parents, Kevin called to wish them Merry Christmas. As he spoke with my mother, I heard him ask how… Continue reading Phone Call with My Brother