Taking my own advice: 03 June, 2017

A. 3 things I need to let go of:

  • the resentful, regretful, and shameful cocktail I feel over not having lived a normal childhood, adolescence, and/or early adulthood
  • the damage of interpersonal debris
  • that no matter what I do, this body will never be “enough” for my disorders

B. 3 ways to let go:

A.

  • learn to value the lessons and experiences I’ve gained through my unique journeys. Journal what I’ve gained from my life and note what is important to me and what is of great importance to me and what has made me better as a person. Evaluate the strengths and traits integral to my identity and virtues because of my experiences and learn to see them for what they are.
  • perhaps give support groups a second chance and find others who have struggled with similar experiences in which they also have not undergone normal lives. Commiserate and provide comfort to one another in ways we could not get comfort from people who do not understand.
  • recreate some childhood, adolescent, and early adulthood experiences. When I get my GED, maybe have a graduation party of some sort. Plan a party for one of my birthdays, etc. Try to have a “normal” experience, even if it is a couple of years “too” late. Maybe it is never too late.

B.

  • stop holding onto irreparable relationships. Let go of relationships that are draining, toxic, or whose problems outweigh the benefits. This is something I am getting better at but still need to work on.
  • like with point A, try to value the lessons I’ve learned, the wisdom I’ve gained; try to seek the light that the darkness may shed. Write down positive things I’ve learned and positive things I’ve gained from my experiences, positive or negative, with people from my past, and how they have shaped me to become a better and more multifaceted person.
  • surround myself with positive people. Seek positive interpersonal relationships that help uplift and motivate me. Join Meetup groups. Start clubs, go out. Do things. Meet likeminded people who are kind and supportive.

C.

  • Focus on my health and take the numbers out of the equation: Try to weigh myself less, count calories less, and stop doing “skinny mathematics.” Instead, focus on getting the appropriate amount of fuel, motion, and love this body needs.
  • Try very hard to integrate this body into “my” body; try to feel united with it and make peace with it. Stop fighting a war against myself. Think positive thoughts. Post sticky notes as reminders in the mirror if I have to.
  • Be mindful. Drink water when I’m thirsty. Pay attention to hunger cues. Eat until I’m comfortably full. Eat healthy meals. Put good fuel in, not “junk” fuel. Do good things for myself.

Throughout the course of this entry, I already cut off my hOMETOWN. I’ve started on this. I’m doing this. I have to.

It’s been a while.

We are halfway through 2017, and I haven’t written in months. I have been hit by a strong wave of depression, and while trying to commit to usual self-care routines, I have not yet brought myself out of the void. I am tired and sad and weak. The only thing keeping me going right now is the love that I am surrounding myself with, which brings me to a point I haven’t really covered yet.

Many people recycle the line that you have to love yourself before you are loved, but please don’t listen to them. I think there’s credence to that in a sense that when you harp about people leaving, people will tend to leave, but it goes no further than that. I have coped for years in my past with self hatred and have been loved tremendously and wholly regardless, and for someone to further shame you for hating yourself is ludacris; don’t listen to it.

While we can’t control other people and we don’t have full control on who comes into our life, we do have more control over who stays in our life than we realize. Family is of course more difficult, especially when we are under 18, but for a great portion of our life, we can control the kind of love we accept and the kind of love we refuse. This is crucial to quality of life. Even as an introvert, I can safely say positive social interaction is as vital as food and water to human life.

Surround yourself with people who enrich you; who allow you to grow; who are honest with you and respectful; who are communicative and expressive, especially during times of conflict. Be a person who enriches others; who allows others to grow; who is honest and respectful; who is communicative and expressive, especially during times of conflict. This nurtures your spirit. This nurtures the world.

I strongly believe in self-sufficiency and self-reliance; I can even say I admire it above almost all else. But I am far away from it on my journey still, and I would be not be alive without the people who have supported me and who support me now. I will expand more on the concept of recovery from abuse soon, as suffering from abuse related PTSD, trauma from abuse is a huge and serious issue to me that I know all too intimately. But for now, I’m exhausted. For now, this is all I can do. I hope everyone is well today.

Sending all my love.

 

V.

hOMETOWN blues (TW)

I know I’ve written about my PTSD before, but this is something I want to continue elaborating on because it haunts me in more than just the way of sexual trauma. I have let it ruin so many of my interpersonal relationships and have gone charging, barreling through red flags because of it. I have compromised myself more than a thousand times; belittled myself, pleading on my knees to the wrong people for things I didn’t even want. I am still so caught up in a cycle of self-abuse that it is hard for me to understand what to value, what to drop, and how to manage either/or.

I am deeply sad tonight. I have made a trip to the hospital this year already and have already relentlessly put myself in bad situations. Being assertive is difficult. Being honest and being clear are difficult, too. I am often, in many cases, neither/nor, but I am working on developing ways to cut through the bullshit and be honest and clear with myself and other people.

I still hurt a lot. My memories still hurt a lot. The wash of hopelessness once I cross that stateline, that pain of reliving every object, word, and trauma that had hit me and shocked me in that town.

My suicide does not look like razorblades or cocktails of pills. It does not look like a noose. It looks like a town in western Pennsylvania, made of bland, collapsing houses and trailer parks on grassy hills. At times, I feel like my suicide was sown there; handcrafted by the children and adults of that town, who tried to rob me of my dignity, strength, and love.

I met a few good people there. But while I was there, they could not unstitch the fabric that was sewn for me. Even after, they could not retrieve all of the seeds that were sown. Besides the sexual assault, other things festered in me. Ugly, gross, sad, miserable things. I felt hatred and loathing towards myself and the world. I did not have a normal childhood. The friends I made and in early childhood were sick people, and the things that happened in my childhood were sick things. I did not have a normal adolescence. I had no dates, was invited to no parties, didn’t get a job, didn’t go to prom, didn’t graduate from high school. I was, however, abused. I was raped. I starved myself. I self-harmed. I purged my meals. I attempted suicide. I was hospitalized. Out of those few good people I had met, every one of them had their own hell to go through, too. I felt really alone, even in the company of my own little “group.” There was one particular person who went to great lengths to help me, and she did, but I still felt so alone.

I feel bad, because I cannot make it there for weddings. I cannot make it there for funerals. I am not okay with that town. I am not okay with what the people there did to me and what I did there to myself. Every corner, avenue, and structure teems with horrors I’ve memorized and relive on nights like these. Every slam to my psyche. Every rock to my legs, every plush animal thrown over the fence, every threat, every rumor, every lie, every jeer and jibe and rejection and bruise.

I have not come far enough to really handle a recovery blog. Let’s just be real. I thought I was, but I’m really not. I tell all of you that this blog is part of my recovery; that I’m still recovering; that I’m still not where I want to be. All of that is true. It remains true. This blog is a work in progress. It is the story of my journey. Part of my PTSD is realizing how much power I have to relinquish to people and events to feel this horrible way, and to do horrible things to myself. That in itself is too much for me tonight.

Sleep well. Let’s make tomorrow a better day.

 

V.