I need to get out of here.
My time here with my husband's aunt has quickly morphed into a miserable time. Respect and mutual liking I used to have for her? Gone. Replaced with red-hot rage and hatred. I hate her. I've never met such a miserable person. She's got a mean-streak a mile wide, and I just can't understand it. I've never had a mean-streak. I don't like to hurt people, therefore I avoid doing it. Doesn't she know whats it's like to be hurt? She says she does. Knowing how bad it hurts, how could she inflect that pain on another person? I can't wrap my head around it. I handle myself with class, and a lot of times bite my tongue instead of saying the evil things that are going on in my head.
Aunt told us today that we are to be gone for Labor Day Weekend. Go stay with Husband's mom. My heart dropped to my stomach, and I think I actually tasted bile in my mouth, I was so angry. So angry. Be gone for Labor Day Weekend, so she and her husband can leave the house all day long, flitting from mall to movie to restaurant, while I suffer insomnia, allergies, and panic attacks by staying in the dark, smoke-filled pit that is my mother-in-law's house? I hate her. I would never be able to tell someone to go live in somewhere as awful as that, when I could help them myself. I could never live with myself knowing I caused that person so much pain and distress.
Learning about Labor Day Weekend ruined my day. My week. I've been down the whole day since I found out, at about 11 am this morning. There is one good thing I've got to look forward to. My husband found out he gets about a month off from work, so we are packing up the dogs and going to my parent's for a month. I can't wait. I can't wait to be somewhere where I feel welcome, loved, and wanted. Somewhere with absolutely no drama. With people who are warm, and deep in their hearts are good people. I am so happy I will be getting away from here, and away from Aunt. Of course, when we return from my parent's, we have to move in with my husband's mom until the house is done. We won't be back from our trip until the end of October, so I am hoping against all hope that the house is done by then. When the house is done, I'm going to be hard pressed to associate myself with Aunt. Being nice to her is going to be hard work.
I've noticed lately that I'm not making any progress on my issues. I haven't recovered any new flashbacks, and it's almost like I've completely stopped thinking about it. My obsession with getting better and figuring out what happened to me has been replaced by my all-consuming hatred for Aunt. This is not good for a couple of reasons. One, I really thought I was moving forward. All I wanted to was figure out what happened, piece everything back together, find a way to accept it, and move on. All progress has halted. I hate that, because I feel like my mind is simply putting off the inevitable. Once I no longer have Aunt to fixate on, then what? It starts all over again? Two, this hatred I feel is not normal or healthy. It makes me stressed. I constantly feel in a state of duress. I'm not the type of person who judges everyone, is jealous of them, and therefore talks crap and looks down on them. That is not me. But I don't deal with people like Aunt. Ever. My life is normally pretty laid-back and easy-going. Like I normally am. I wish I could just go to sleep, and wake up on the day when it's time to leave for my parent's. Fast-forward through this awful period of time right now.
Of course, that's not going to happen. I've got about a month that I've got to keep it together. We are leaving on September 27. I have to just try as hard as I can not to have a meltdown during this time period. Easier said than done.
Showing posts with label flashbacks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flashbacks. Show all posts
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Where Did It All Begin?
I'm 4 days away from my first appointment with a psychiatrist, and I've pondered this thought for a long time now. Ever since I kinda, sorta put the puzzle pieces together, I've been reaching and straining to really, really put the pieces together.
It's just not that easy. What I have recovered are more like flashes of images, not actual memories that play like a movie in your mind. I want to remember, because I want to heal, but obviously my mind is not ready to concede. I know this. Sometimes at night, when I am laying in bed, waiting for the Ambien, Noritriptyline, and Hydroxyzine to kick in, I try to remember.
I have lots of memories from this time period (3-5 years of age), but none fit together in a succinct timeline. I felt a lot of fear as a kid. I remember my mom leaving me at daycare, and crying inconsolably for hours because she had left me. I remember being horribly afraid of the dark, to the point of panic if I was completely in the dark without my nightlight. I suffered from terrible nightmares as a child, dreaming about everything from ghosts, to serial killers, to killer clowns. I was convinced there was something under my bed that would grab my legs and pull me under if I got out of bed at night. My window shades in the room had to be tightly shut with no way to look in. Because, you know, if you could see in my window, the aliens would see me and take me away. I honestly believed that if I looked in the mirror at night, there would be a ghostly image of a girl who would pull me in. I still avoid mirrors at night to this day.
I remember my grandmother's (my mother's mother) house that she lived in at this time. It was right next door to my parent's house and 2 houses down, my aunt, uncle (one of my mom's brother's, the sane one), and cousins lived there. I remember my grandmother's front door, her living room, her kitchen. I also remember the room that my uncle (my mother's other brother, the not-so-sane one) lived in, the way the window was positioned, his wood bed, the furniture, his ash tray on the bedside table. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her bathroom or her living room couch. I have an image in my mind of my uncle rubbing me on her couch, but I can only feel the couch against my skin and see the couch as separate from the room. I cannot picture the room with the couch in it.
My uncle was bipolar and schizophrenic. He had a pattern of going off his meds, and disappearing for months at a time, not contacting anyone in the family to let them know where he was. He would always return, docile and completely medicated. When I was 5, my parents decided to leave the town I was born in and move 60 miles south. I remember during this time that my uncle was not allowed to contact my family. Not by phone, not by letter, and definitely not to see me or my brother. My parents told us that he was addicted to valium and until he went to rehab, he wasn't allowed to have any contact with us. I was 7 when some sort of deal was reached between my parents and my uncle. My uncle apparently went to rehab, and later moved to the town where we had moved to. I'll save this story for another time, but my uncle disappeared permanently when I was 16. Off his meds, and into a life of homelessness.
For as long as I can remember, something was amiss between my mother and her mother. They never got along, and my mom could barely stand speaking to my grandmother. My dad was the go-between, and he was actually the one who took care of my grandmother as she was dying. My mother rarely visited her mother as she was dying, and could barely bring herself to see her before she passed.
Now that I'm where I'm at, pondering what has made me the way I am, I'm wondering how there could be so much I didn't see as a child. Could my uncle have been harming me, and my parents found out? Is that why we moved? Is that why I wasn't allowed to see my uncle? If so, why would they let him back in our lives? Did my grandmother know about this? Did she know about this and not do anything, and that's what happened between my grandmother and mom? If this did happen, why didn't my parents tell me? How could they not see a link in how troubled I was, the constant headaches, the stomach problems, the drugs, the promiscuity? How could they know, and yet, let me suffer?
I'm struggling with where I am today. My grandmother is dead, I cannot ask her what happened. My mother is such an emotionally shut down person, I couldn't imagine ever asking her these questions. My dad is an intelligent and very caring person, so I imagine there will be a time in the future when we will be sitting down and discussing this. In the meantime, I will continue to wonder where it all started. I will continue to reach for memories, despite the fact my mind tells me I don't want to remember. I just have to know. I just have to.
It's just not that easy. What I have recovered are more like flashes of images, not actual memories that play like a movie in your mind. I want to remember, because I want to heal, but obviously my mind is not ready to concede. I know this. Sometimes at night, when I am laying in bed, waiting for the Ambien, Noritriptyline, and Hydroxyzine to kick in, I try to remember.
I have lots of memories from this time period (3-5 years of age), but none fit together in a succinct timeline. I felt a lot of fear as a kid. I remember my mom leaving me at daycare, and crying inconsolably for hours because she had left me. I remember being horribly afraid of the dark, to the point of panic if I was completely in the dark without my nightlight. I suffered from terrible nightmares as a child, dreaming about everything from ghosts, to serial killers, to killer clowns. I was convinced there was something under my bed that would grab my legs and pull me under if I got out of bed at night. My window shades in the room had to be tightly shut with no way to look in. Because, you know, if you could see in my window, the aliens would see me and take me away. I honestly believed that if I looked in the mirror at night, there would be a ghostly image of a girl who would pull me in. I still avoid mirrors at night to this day.
I remember my grandmother's (my mother's mother) house that she lived in at this time. It was right next door to my parent's house and 2 houses down, my aunt, uncle (one of my mom's brother's, the sane one), and cousins lived there. I remember my grandmother's front door, her living room, her kitchen. I also remember the room that my uncle (my mother's other brother, the not-so-sane one) lived in, the way the window was positioned, his wood bed, the furniture, his ash tray on the bedside table. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her bathroom or her living room couch. I have an image in my mind of my uncle rubbing me on her couch, but I can only feel the couch against my skin and see the couch as separate from the room. I cannot picture the room with the couch in it.
My uncle was bipolar and schizophrenic. He had a pattern of going off his meds, and disappearing for months at a time, not contacting anyone in the family to let them know where he was. He would always return, docile and completely medicated. When I was 5, my parents decided to leave the town I was born in and move 60 miles south. I remember during this time that my uncle was not allowed to contact my family. Not by phone, not by letter, and definitely not to see me or my brother. My parents told us that he was addicted to valium and until he went to rehab, he wasn't allowed to have any contact with us. I was 7 when some sort of deal was reached between my parents and my uncle. My uncle apparently went to rehab, and later moved to the town where we had moved to. I'll save this story for another time, but my uncle disappeared permanently when I was 16. Off his meds, and into a life of homelessness.
For as long as I can remember, something was amiss between my mother and her mother. They never got along, and my mom could barely stand speaking to my grandmother. My dad was the go-between, and he was actually the one who took care of my grandmother as she was dying. My mother rarely visited her mother as she was dying, and could barely bring herself to see her before she passed.
Now that I'm where I'm at, pondering what has made me the way I am, I'm wondering how there could be so much I didn't see as a child. Could my uncle have been harming me, and my parents found out? Is that why we moved? Is that why I wasn't allowed to see my uncle? If so, why would they let him back in our lives? Did my grandmother know about this? Did she know about this and not do anything, and that's what happened between my grandmother and mom? If this did happen, why didn't my parents tell me? How could they not see a link in how troubled I was, the constant headaches, the stomach problems, the drugs, the promiscuity? How could they know, and yet, let me suffer?
I'm struggling with where I am today. My grandmother is dead, I cannot ask her what happened. My mother is such an emotionally shut down person, I couldn't imagine ever asking her these questions. My dad is an intelligent and very caring person, so I imagine there will be a time in the future when we will be sitting down and discussing this. In the meantime, I will continue to wonder where it all started. I will continue to reach for memories, despite the fact my mind tells me I don't want to remember. I just have to know. I just have to.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Out of My Element
My husband and I are staying with his aunt and uncle for a couple of months. We are having a house built, and it won't be ready for about 4 months. To say that staying with his family has been difficult would be an understatement. My husband's aunt is anal. She is very, very particular about her home. We have 2 dogs, long-haired chihuahuas, and since they shed, I have to vacuum the house and the furniture every day. Our dogs have specific places in the backyard our dogs can relief themselves. How do you tell a dog to pee on this bush, not that one? We have to dry our dog's private areas before we let them in the house. Purses can't be placed on the counter. Shoes can never be on. Plates must be wiped down with paper towels before you can rinse them in the sink. There are plenty more rules, but I won't continue.
To say that we don't exactly feel welcome would be true. Hence, I'm feeling very out-of-control. I'm having a hard time refraining from cutting, from self-injury. I feel like there is nothing I can do without making her mad. Her house is not homey. One thing I have learned is how I'm not going to act about my new house.
To give Aunt and Uncle a break, they ask us to go to the husband's mother's house for a couple times a week.
I'm very unhappy at her house. She is a very dirty person, she never cleans. I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach when I go there, and all I can focus on is the filth. My eyes dart around her bathroom, from the dog hair on the baseboard, to the cobwebs at the ceiling, to soiled-on dirt in her sink and around the faucet. I cannot handle it. We spent Friday night there, and I didn't sleep a wink. I lay awake all night, and much to my disgust, was haunted by memories.
I didn't recover anything new. It was all a repeat. The main memory that plays and replays in my mind is a memory of my uncle creeping in on me at my grandma's house. This is the first memory I ever recovered, and the one that continues to haunt me the most. The bed I'm sleeping in is always the same, the nightgown always the same, the moon shining through the windows always the same, the actions my uncle takes always the same. I can't stand thinking about these things, yet they come into my head whenever they choose.
I think the fact that my husband and I are so obviously nomadic right now is affecting me greatly. I don't have a home base, I don't have somewhere I can go to get away from it all. I'm almost always with people right now, and I'm having a hard time processing it. I'm used to alone time, time to recharge my batteries. I won't have that for a couple of months. I'm hoping I can make it through this time without blowing my fuse, and without exploding at someone.
It's hard feeling so out of control, having no place to hide. We'll have to see if this time passes my smoothly. Fingers are crossed.
To say that we don't exactly feel welcome would be true. Hence, I'm feeling very out-of-control. I'm having a hard time refraining from cutting, from self-injury. I feel like there is nothing I can do without making her mad. Her house is not homey. One thing I have learned is how I'm not going to act about my new house.
To give Aunt and Uncle a break, they ask us to go to the husband's mother's house for a couple times a week.
I'm very unhappy at her house. She is a very dirty person, she never cleans. I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach when I go there, and all I can focus on is the filth. My eyes dart around her bathroom, from the dog hair on the baseboard, to the cobwebs at the ceiling, to soiled-on dirt in her sink and around the faucet. I cannot handle it. We spent Friday night there, and I didn't sleep a wink. I lay awake all night, and much to my disgust, was haunted by memories.
I didn't recover anything new. It was all a repeat. The main memory that plays and replays in my mind is a memory of my uncle creeping in on me at my grandma's house. This is the first memory I ever recovered, and the one that continues to haunt me the most. The bed I'm sleeping in is always the same, the nightgown always the same, the moon shining through the windows always the same, the actions my uncle takes always the same. I can't stand thinking about these things, yet they come into my head whenever they choose.
I think the fact that my husband and I are so obviously nomadic right now is affecting me greatly. I don't have a home base, I don't have somewhere I can go to get away from it all. I'm almost always with people right now, and I'm having a hard time processing it. I'm used to alone time, time to recharge my batteries. I won't have that for a couple of months. I'm hoping I can make it through this time without blowing my fuse, and without exploding at someone.
It's hard feeling so out of control, having no place to hide. We'll have to see if this time passes my smoothly. Fingers are crossed.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Things That Go Bump In The Night
My husband and I have just moved out of the rental home we'd been staying in since we moved here a year and a half ago. We moved across the United States, 2700 miles. We left behind my family, our friends, and the place where I grew up. We are now living where the husband grew up.
The rental house we were in caused me much distress. When we got into town a year and a half ago, we didn't have a place to live. Faced with returning our moving truck and getting a storage unit, we snapped up a house that upon first glance we thought would suffice. It didn't take long at all however, to realize what we had done. I grew anxious over the amount mold in the house, which I felt I could smell all the time. I could even smell it on my clothes when we left the house. It drove me crazy. I also had a great deal on anxiety about how old the house was, constantly worrying about the state of the electricity. I never once left the house without having some degree of panic, thinking the house would catch on fire while we were gone. It was quite the trial for me, dealing with the anxiety that this house produced.
For whatever reason, I believe this house reminded me of my grandma's house that she lived in when I was very young. My uncle lived with her at this particular house. I'd never in my life had a single flashback, nor did I ever suspect I may have been abused. This all started after moving away from where I grew up, and moving into this house. I've got extreme insomnia, so a couple of times I would go out to sleep on the couch in the living room so I didn't disturb my husband's sleep. He does make the money for the two of us. Every time I slept on the couch, which only ended being maybe 5 times, I had night terrors.
I've had lucid dreams before, but never night terrors. I didn't even know what they were until I'd had them a couple of times and looked them up on the internet. Whenever I slept there, I constantly felt someone was on top of me. It was a struggle to pull myself out of sleep, yet my mind was screaming at me to run. I just couldn't wake up. I was paralyzed. I'd finally pull myself out of this trance, only to realize I was "dreaming". I'd dose back off, and the same thing would happen. If I stayed on the couch, it would happen the whole time, with me waking up 10 times before I'd high tail it back to bed.
One night of terrors consisted of me swearing I heard the dishwasher hissing my name. Again, I would be unable to pull myself out of sleep and unable to move. I would finally manage to pull myself out, and try to dose back to sleep only to have the dishwasher hissing my name again.
I've since recovered a memory involving the couch in my grandma's old house, blood, pain, and my uncle. I do believe this is why sleeping on the couch in that house never really happened. And the only explanation I have for suddenly "remembering" all these things, is that it's possible the house triggered something. Something that has been dormant my whole life. I'm only guessing on that one though because I haven't even recovered full memories. I've only recovered snippets and body memories.
We are out of that house now. This has me curious as to whether memories will continue to come to me or not. At this point, I'm wishing everything would come back to me so that I can begin to accept it and find a way to move on and heal. Only time will tell, I guess.
The rental house we were in caused me much distress. When we got into town a year and a half ago, we didn't have a place to live. Faced with returning our moving truck and getting a storage unit, we snapped up a house that upon first glance we thought would suffice. It didn't take long at all however, to realize what we had done. I grew anxious over the amount mold in the house, which I felt I could smell all the time. I could even smell it on my clothes when we left the house. It drove me crazy. I also had a great deal on anxiety about how old the house was, constantly worrying about the state of the electricity. I never once left the house without having some degree of panic, thinking the house would catch on fire while we were gone. It was quite the trial for me, dealing with the anxiety that this house produced.
For whatever reason, I believe this house reminded me of my grandma's house that she lived in when I was very young. My uncle lived with her at this particular house. I'd never in my life had a single flashback, nor did I ever suspect I may have been abused. This all started after moving away from where I grew up, and moving into this house. I've got extreme insomnia, so a couple of times I would go out to sleep on the couch in the living room so I didn't disturb my husband's sleep. He does make the money for the two of us. Every time I slept on the couch, which only ended being maybe 5 times, I had night terrors.
I've had lucid dreams before, but never night terrors. I didn't even know what they were until I'd had them a couple of times and looked them up on the internet. Whenever I slept there, I constantly felt someone was on top of me. It was a struggle to pull myself out of sleep, yet my mind was screaming at me to run. I just couldn't wake up. I was paralyzed. I'd finally pull myself out of this trance, only to realize I was "dreaming". I'd dose back off, and the same thing would happen. If I stayed on the couch, it would happen the whole time, with me waking up 10 times before I'd high tail it back to bed.
One night of terrors consisted of me swearing I heard the dishwasher hissing my name. Again, I would be unable to pull myself out of sleep and unable to move. I would finally manage to pull myself out, and try to dose back to sleep only to have the dishwasher hissing my name again.
I've since recovered a memory involving the couch in my grandma's old house, blood, pain, and my uncle. I do believe this is why sleeping on the couch in that house never really happened. And the only explanation I have for suddenly "remembering" all these things, is that it's possible the house triggered something. Something that has been dormant my whole life. I'm only guessing on that one though because I haven't even recovered full memories. I've only recovered snippets and body memories.
We are out of that house now. This has me curious as to whether memories will continue to come to me or not. At this point, I'm wishing everything would come back to me so that I can begin to accept it and find a way to move on and heal. Only time will tell, I guess.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The Inaugural Post
Again, I don't even know where to start.
I just know I have to. I'm in a rough spot right now, consumed by "memories" of what happened. Yet I don't know if these are memories, or stuff I made up in my head. I've always been a writer, doing this is the only thing I know how to do. I don't even have diagnosis to give you for what I am. I haven't even started.
I'm meeting with a psychiatrist at the end of the month. This is my first time ever. Will they give me a diagnosis? I don't know.
What prompted all this? Oh, it's been a long time coming. I've had a headache every.single.day since I was 16. I've seen doctors and neurologists, had cat scans and MRI's, and yet, no answer. I've been on drugs for many years. Has this gotten rid of the headaches? No.
I'm living in a state with very poor healthcare now. My doctor has grown tired of seeing me, and has no advice or medicine to help me. I'd seen her twice when she wanted to refer me to a psychiatrist for my headaches. You know what's funny? I'd never had a doctor suggest this before. Why didn't they? From the research I've done on the internet, chronic headaches are not only a symptom of depression, but a symptom of abuse.
Why, oh why, have I never connected the dots? I'm living in a state of confusion these days. I wish I'd been able to see a psychiatrist before the end of this month, but that's when they could get me in. I've got to keep dealing for a couple of weeks now, all by myself. Yes, I've told my husband what's going on, but he's no therapist. While he does give me unconditional love and support (which I'm sooooo thankful for), he can't help me sort through this.
Only a couple more weeks. Sigh.
I just know I have to. I'm in a rough spot right now, consumed by "memories" of what happened. Yet I don't know if these are memories, or stuff I made up in my head. I've always been a writer, doing this is the only thing I know how to do. I don't even have diagnosis to give you for what I am. I haven't even started.
I'm meeting with a psychiatrist at the end of the month. This is my first time ever. Will they give me a diagnosis? I don't know.
What prompted all this? Oh, it's been a long time coming. I've had a headache every.single.day since I was 16. I've seen doctors and neurologists, had cat scans and MRI's, and yet, no answer. I've been on drugs for many years. Has this gotten rid of the headaches? No.
I'm living in a state with very poor healthcare now. My doctor has grown tired of seeing me, and has no advice or medicine to help me. I'd seen her twice when she wanted to refer me to a psychiatrist for my headaches. You know what's funny? I'd never had a doctor suggest this before. Why didn't they? From the research I've done on the internet, chronic headaches are not only a symptom of depression, but a symptom of abuse.
Why, oh why, have I never connected the dots? I'm living in a state of confusion these days. I wish I'd been able to see a psychiatrist before the end of this month, but that's when they could get me in. I've got to keep dealing for a couple of weeks now, all by myself. Yes, I've told my husband what's going on, but he's no therapist. While he does give me unconditional love and support (which I'm sooooo thankful for), he can't help me sort through this.
Only a couple more weeks. Sigh.
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