Any day that follows a really horrendous nightmare, is harder.
Last night’s was the flashback, 100% re-experiencing type. Waking up, massive anxiety, crying, disorientated, fear, and a good 10 minutes to calm and ground myself. My husband took one look at me this morning, and he knew.
I get severely depressed at the thought of having these nightmares, all my life. Isn’t 43 years enough of having this evil repeating over and over?
Sometimes, the regularity of nightmares lesson, and I think I am healing and then they come back, always triggered by issues occurring within life. Within the life I cannot escape.
I can’t avoid father’s day, my boys have a father, my husband. I can’t pretend father’s day doesn’t exist and my PTSD mind, won’t let me forget everything from my past.
Plus, I know I am starting to feel more anger. Anger I have every right to feel. Anger I have allowed myself to only fleetingly feel in the past, following a shed load of guilt and shame, the anger suppressed and internalised – just as my mother and step father trained me as a child.
The anger, of all I have processed, particularly within the last 6 months, is still pretty raw at times.
My childhood was living in a garden of evil. I am allowed to be very angry. No, I don’t have to feel ‘sorry’ for any of them. And I am so sick of hearing how terrible it ‘might’ have been for them in their childhoods. They still made repeated decisions to hurt me, severely.
Abuse of this level, from your own parents, is the ultimate betrayal. I refuse to minimize that anymore. I refuse to allow anyone else to minimize that anymore.
The anger bubbles up and I am trying to allow myself to just feel it, sit with it, not try to suppress it and let it out.
Often I end up in tears, because I cry a lot with my strong emotions. Tears of grieving, anger, pain, joy, relief – always tears that vent these emotions. I don’t know why I always cry. Alone, quietly. I guess it is the one emotion I could vent in childhood, in my bedroom quietly, so no-one would hear me. Cry in my pillow, curled up in fetal position on my bed. It’s the one negative, strong emotion I had, whilst a child.
Even whilst giving birth to my eldest son which was not good, he was too big for my messed up pelvic area. The labour was long, the pain intense, the only anaesthetist on duty at this village hospital I ended up at, was stuck on a C-section. Epidural wore off, my son then in distress, heart rate dropping, a big bunch of very concerned looking people filling the room, two sets of forceps later, husband in tears (one f few times I have seen him cry) and a massive amount of stitches later, my son was born. Throughout this, I only cried quietly. No screaming, no wailing like many. My husband was amazed. He knows, I am not a drama queen. No emotions shown other than crying, quietly.
Crying is the one expression of emotion I have, that wasn’t destroyed by my sociopathic family of origin.
I tell everyone on my page; healing, processing and grieving takes time and no-one can guess as to the time span, considered ‘normal’.
What is normal? Appropriate? Who the hell can truly judge this?
I refuse to have anyone judge me anymore for how long ‘they’ consider is normal to heal.
But, this doesn’t make it any less painful, to endure all these severe symptoms.
43 years of this horror.