Category Archives: trauma

time out

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11

I will not be saying a whole lot on here today because I need to take a time out of sorts from blogging. Trying to put myself back together again as I’ve had a hugely triggering day.

Thanks to all who have been so supportive of me on here. Be back soon, hopefully, tomorrow. Time out is starting now.

Nibbling at the edges

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13

Nibbles with Nut

Many times I think PTSD is this thing where we have to nibble at the edges. It’s not something that we can stamp out with a hammer. Otherwise, we would have done so already.

I often forget that I am a person that is worthy of people. I get stuck in that little girl place in my mind when my mother wouldn’t let me have people over to the house, or wouldn’t let me go to a friend’s house. It was all so weird, and I didn’t understand what the issue was for her. I just got the message that I was not supposed to have friends. She seemed happier when I didn’t socialize.

I need to get rid of that message that was embedded in my brain by her actions because it is not serving me well. Today I almost declined spending time with a friend for no good reason, other than the fact that I’ve grown so used to being alone. And I am very glad that I fought against that message in my head that I am not good enough. As soon as I woke up this morning, there it was, telling me that I’m not good enough, and that I shouldn’t be on this earth. Every single morning I have to fight this thought I have first thing upon waking. Some days I give a better fight than others.

Today I initially laid in my bed, and found myself feeling floaty, and depressive. Finally, after 30 minutes of that I launched myself out of bed, and decided that, yes, I was going to go see my friend Ron. It would be good for me.

As I drove to Ron’s house I started to feel better, and by the time I arrived I knew I made the right decision.

Today I nibbled at the edges.

Photo credit: yuan2003

Useless mother

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Your mother was famous for threatening to kill herself. This happened at least weekly while you were a little girl growing up.

You’re setting the table, but you drop the pitcher, and it breaks.

“God dammit, I should kill myself! This family doesn’t care about me.”

You burn the steaks while grilling them.

“Nobody cares about me! I should die!”

You refuse to be confirmed as a Catholic because you’ve discovered you don’t believe in Catholicism.

“You’re going to hell! I should just die! Just Die!”

The trouble was that you found yourself wishing that she would go away in whatever form, as it was a personal hell listening to all the threats, so much so that you felt responsible for all of it.

When you hear that a friend is struggling with suicidal ideation you just want to run, flee. The whole concept gives you the willies, and you feel hypocritical for that because you also struggle with the very same thing. You want to be there for them, but it’s not possible, and it’s heart breaking.

You love seeing and hearing happy children out in the world. You study their faces intently for any clues, and you detect that their parents don’t threaten to kill themselves.

You hope you never speak to your mother again as long as you live. You’ve nothing constructive to say to her.