Crawling

I don’t know how long my subconscious mind has been urging me to take a look. Leaving clues. Showing me that there was something lurking there in my past.

I have been going through my old journals, and through my beautifully broken words, I found this. 2002 I wrote this. It seems that there has always been something urging me to look. To see what I have been through. I don’t even know what event actually caused me to write this. But it’s here now. I share it with you all. Slowly but surely I am back to writing and it feels so good. Writing letters, blogs, short stories about my past. It feels good to be the person I was, bringing out my fear, and Triumphs to paper. To this wall. What I have survived will come to me. I left these clues thinking one day I would forget, when all along, it’s there for me to see. I commend myself for leaving a trail.

Sick and twisted memories that only I own.
From dreams festering upon my brow is if they ever happened.
Only on my own can I recall the things I never did.
In my head I wonder what another night will bring,
If I may be forced to have my own fears revealed from deep within.
Can it be the demons upon my subconscious that crawls out to torture me in my dreams?
For it was so real when you broke my trust and stared right through me.
As I blindly walked backwards fearing if I turn my head or body to run,
I would find the monster behind me.
As I crashed and you called bloody murder I ran from the womb that bore my very breath I breathe to this day.
My own blood created this distrust,
This dishonor that I cannot look into the eyes because you violated me.
If only you knew you covered it up.

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My hands and soul are aching to write, and write I do. I found this quote in the last journal of poetry I kept. I stopped writing for a while because my mom had told me my poems were depressing and she was sad for me. I had writer’s block for 10 years. I went back for a look, and they are masked clues to my past. Beautifully broken painted pictures only written. I keep trying to understand how I lived every day of my life with PTSD, and yet was fine, but now, it seems I can’t a day without thinking about my past knowing that it is not a beautiful as I had made it seem. Though it still is beautiful in a way. Even when it got scary and all melted together, just an image played backwards let me see my brother pulling balloons from the fun garbage bag wrapping that Mom had left for him to find on the morning of his birthday. I don’t live there you know. I just visit, and my mind’s eye can see some beautiful things. My cat Midnight Snack curled around my head when I awoke in the morning after I had been sick so bad, it felt like there was a mountian lodged in my throat. Seeing the pink bubblegum medicine fighting the bad guys that made my ears hurt so bad. I can see good, but the bad, it creeps up. It is as vivid as the beautiful and that is hard to take. Every Artist has their moments. I guess my Awakening is now.

The Monster that lived with Us at Dad’s house

My memory manifested itself into a thing that touched me when I was trying to fall asleep but I fought it. It was small human sized and inviable. It floated over me as I laid in my bed at Dad’s house. If I jumped because I felt it it fled, crawled like a crab up the wall to the corner. Eyes on me always. I ignored it and finally fell asleep. When I awoke too many times over the weeks with it trying to steal my breath. Until I took my blanket and pillow into my car and locked all the doors. I saw it lingering and clawing at the outside of the Neon’s window. The monster had grown from it’s small invisible self, to this mountain of purple and pink striped fur, big blood shot eyes, a mouth full of razor sharp teeth, breath and drool spitting on the window, claws on it’s fingers. Parts of it looked human, but a dead, or undead one, burned by fire and it’s skin bunched at parts of it’s eyes. A werewolf stuck in between phases. With horns on it’s head. It had all these ways to move the car even, but it couldn’t even touch me. I was safe in the car.

My brother and I, believed it was a demon, or some angry, groping spirit. The same spirit touched his girlfriend, and he yelled at it, said you can do anything you want but leave my girlfriend alone! Forgetting that his girlfriend was not the only female in the house. We could hear it roam in rooms we were not in. I was so scared of it that some days I would drive to Pennsylvania to sleep on my Aunt’s couch.

All that time, thinking it was a ghost, it was a nasty demon ghost that found me because I could hear it, feel it, see with my mind’s eye. It wasn’t a ghost at all. It was my PTSD I didn’t even know I had. I think it became most real, because I was in the home of my father’s, with my brother, the 2 people that didn’t, but couldn’t save me from the real events that caused me truma.

I moved to Massachusetts in August, but I spent many of my days living in PA at my uncle’s and driving back and forth to NJ every other day. Any where I had a job, and my car could take me.

After I moved, I inquired about the monster. My brother said when I left, it left. It was never there again. This was 8 years ago. It only started showing itself more after I had my daughter. It left me for a long time, but I never was able to sleep unless I knew someone would wake easy in an emergency. I always felt followed, eyes on me. When I was pregnant, and first had my daughter, I slept beautifully, the watching eyes became my mother and grandparents, angels watching over me as I slept. My motherly instincts became protective of even myself. Until on day, a few months ago, I heard a child yells bravely “Leave my Sister alone!” And another voice, sounding like a Gay man speaking to another adult in the room. Then I knew, since I heard them, my mother was no longer my angel, she had left. A cold Breeze rushes over my face, it messes with my eyelashes Like My Cat does sometimes, and then the spirit, touches me. As I grow stronger, this monster has not touched me. It has left me be. But I know what it is now. It’s a memory.

Aftermath

I Posted earlier about my journey, and also about something I Haven’t shared so much on Facebook as well as my blog. I was raped at the age of 8. I only know of this because I learned through my Memories flooding me and my PTSD. But this was one that haunted me all my life, and now it’s brought into the light, I see it for what it really is. I convinced myself all these years that it was a nightmare. And a ghost. A demon spirit that was hounding me. I could feel it touch me. Learning of my veiled abuse only made it not so much a Demon spirit but a memory. One I can not so much see, but feel. Hear my surroundings and and a small but brave voice yell “Leave my sister alone!” A cold breeze rushes over me and I knew my mother’s spirit was no longer with us. Unfortunately my mother was there… And not herself, but one of her selves. I hear a man that sounded either Gay, or southern talking to the “big bad”. This, I believe was my mother. There were a few of her selves, and I think this one was a gay man. The “Big Bad”, he was the man who lived across to street from us, but then my mother would allow him to baby sit us, and eventually live in what was once my brother’s room. His name is Harry.

A memory that is my own, one day he told us he was a security guard at the mall. He pulled out his handcuffs and had us try them on. My wrists were tiny (they still are) and I would slip out of them. “I’m out!” I announced proudly in my memory, and then he made them tighter until the point where I couldn’t get out, and my memory goes blank.

I don’t fear what comes after. One day my mind will allow me to see what this terrible person did to me, and I will put it to rest.

For now, speaking out about my truma helps me take my fear and replace it with courage. Post traumatic stress syndrome, it is no thing to mess with. When the memories get to hounding, I say “Jessica, you don’t have to do this right now. You have other things that come before it. Put it away until you are in a safe place.” And they rest.

I felt not an hour ago, after seeing my Nebraska Aunt’s reaction to my being raped, that I rushed into saying out loud I had been. I doubted for a few minutes that I may have stepped too deep. I did not. I just needed a moment to focus, and collect my thoughts to know that I am a Survivor. That Man…. Whoever my Mom was at that terrible point. No one can take that power away from me today, not ever! My Demons, they were real, awful people and now they are ghosts. They can’t touch me now, and never again! I am a strong, confident and loving woman, wife, and mother. I am a Warrior spirit. No one can ever take that away from me. I will remember and recover, not forgive and forget.

I will remember, not forgive

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That’s the thing about this journey, I’ve spent my whole life forgiving people that hurt me. I walk a mile in every one’s shoes to understand why certain things may have been said. I have understood why people have turned their backs, exspecially when they told me it was something they had to do. I’ve been told that I get ignored purposely by someone I hold dear. I forgive, because it hurts, but I don’t forget. At this moment, I forgive my mother. The Kind Mother that loved and cared for me. But my Mother was not just one person. I don’t fear the terrible things she did. The bad Mom, who subjected me as a child to awful things. I feared before that I can’t forgive her when I finally see what she did. My memories have given me glimpses, I was physically and mentally abused. The bad Mom, she subjected me also to terrible people… A man that raped me at 8 years old. This is unforgivable. But every day, I am on the road to recovery. I am an adult, with a wonderful husband who is standing beside me every step I take. I have a beautiful daughter that will never ever be subjected to the terrors that I endured. I have survived and I do every day. Every day I feel stronger and have taken back my power. I was once a unknowingly victim. Today I am a survivor. I will remember and recover, not forgive and forget.

Disassociation and PTSd brought into the light

I have been working with a therapist for a year and a half. I started seeing her because my daughter’s cries made me sad and some times angry. I would get so down I could barely move. I pushed through the days and was only really happy when I wasn’t alone with her. My marriage was getting me down, my Mother in-law was getting me down. Not having my own Mom had me down, even though I had a feeling that She also would bug the crap out of me, but I missed that. My therapist was wonderful. Help me work through the tough things that bothered me. Assured me I was doing it right. That all situations were quite normal. That I did not have postpartum depression.

Here comes the bomb. I establish Trust. I was comfortable with my family I was comfortable in my skin for the most part. I had my daughter learning sign language, and she was getting to the point that she was communicating quite well her needs and wants. We still have some money issues, but my Grandfather’s estate has finally gotten finalized. So we have an inheritance coming and my husband just is waiting for a new job which will give us a lot more income. We still have a month or two to wait.

I cried for days over this. My family, I love them, they were fighting over the money from a place that I loved to visit. Fighting over the money of two people that I love and miss dearly! My brother, and cousins were getting packages of papers, death notices, receipts, bills, copies of checks, finding out that our Grandmom was buried, but they weren’t invited. Not to mention their own issues that just hurt my heart that I couldn’t help them. My husband was my rock during this. Stood by me. Talked with me. Sat on our deck after the kiddo was in bed and talked for hours with me. Thank goodness for him. I hadn’t been this sad over things I couldn’t help with since I was younger.

As my husband was my rock, and my therapist was helping me understand my feelings I became more confident as a mother, as a wife, as a woman strong with emotions.

Labor Day weekend was here. We had a wonderful day and BBQ. My kiddo had so much fun, as she always did. We put her to bed and joined the adults for drinks. I gave myself permission to let loose. Drank a ton of beers, few shots of fireball and talked politics with friends. Big no no when drunk for me. Nothing that is emotional is allowed in conversation while drinking.

It gets fuzzy. I tried to wake my husband and he got mad, says I threw a punch, so he got dressed and said he was going for a walk. I got upset and stated yelling, “don’t leave! Don’t leave!” At the edge of the driveway. I was awake, but dreaming. In my nightmares, I scream wake up until I wake up. My Aunt and Uncle came down to help husband and I. They said I didn’t think they were real. They assured me they were real. I said fine if you’re real I want to see my daughter. I took my uncle’s hand to check on the kiddo because it wasn’t safe to do so on my own. Then I sat and talked with everyone, trying to say the Asatru prayer. (Another thing I do in nightmares, I pray loud until I awake.) As I was saying it, I came too sitting next to my Aunt. I said wow, this is real. Thanked them and went to bed.

I felt no guilt the next day. Hangover from hell, but no hangxiety. I couldn’t get out of my mind, why on Earth can people drink and just go to bed? Why on Earth did I think I was dreaming? Why does this happen to me? Why can “normal” people go to bed after a long night of drinking knowing that everyone is real? Why can’t I?

I had a therapist appointment on Wednesday. I asked her all this. She went through all the angles. I said even when I am really upset sober, only my husband can touch me (few others) or I fight or run from anyone else. She asked me where it might come from and I broke down in tears. My childhood. Being locked in my room for hours having to use the bathroom on the floor because my mom wouldn’t come to let me out. It was from that truma that I react this way. And that was not the only time.

I was abused, physically, and mentally by my mother. She allowed me also to be abused sexually by a man she brought into our lives. I have disassociation and Post traumatic stress syndrome. Disassociation, is when my mind, as a child who could not understand emotions took me away. I didn’t think it was real. My mind brought me back when the hurt and scary was over. The little girl I write about, she is a real part of my subconscious. Some times, when I drink a bunch, she comes out, because the alcohol stops the wall before between the subconscious and the conscious mind.

My post traumatic stress it happens every day it’s the weird fears of things like falling, broken glass, dying in my sleep, and not being able to breath.

My baby, she is at the age where my abuse started. Her and my grandfather’s estate, the two most brilliant pieces of my past and my present. They both brought my abuse into the light.

My PTSD got out of hand two weeks ago, I went to the ER to get an emergency psych evaluation and had my daughter checked because I thought I was hurting her in my sleep. I spent three days in the psych ward that I signed myself in so I wasn’t section 12. And the last two weeks I’ve been going to a Partial Program outpatient in the hospital learning how to build my defenses back so one day I can go forward and find out more about my abuse through therapy. It’s going to be a long road but I have loving caring family and friends an amazing husband and a beautiful little girl.

Nope

That’s what I have to say. Nope. Right now I’m dying to write a letter to my MIL because I feel like my daughter is always Missing out on having her real Grandmom, but I can’t. I stare at the page and anything I write becomes a blur. There are so many things I could say. Lots negitive. Like because of her codependent actions, I’m lucky that I even have my husband, let alone a beautiful daughter. I cannot write that though. She would never read it. She remembers all the crappy things I did, but not one of her super crappy things. Hypocrisy at its best. For a woman that has had such a burdened walk as a single mother striving to have her children have the best, she cannot and will not put a foot in my shoes. Why doesn’t Jess work? Because there’s no one to watch the baby. Why is that? Because everyone has their lives to live. Because we don’t have 2 parents living with us like your daughter does. My child has 2 living Great Grandmother’s, a step Grandma and her. She was short one Grandma before being born. My Aunt has filled that role. But her one real Grandma will not come over the bridge to see her. She’d rather visit her Daddy at the bar and have a few drinks. The only time we ever got my MIL over to visit and spend any real time with my daughter was when she was babysitting. That was a disaster. If it wasn’t in the morning, she would have to have her beers before coming over. And she would stay the night so if we came home with a bit too many drinks in us she would be mad. But no worries on the buzz she got before taking care of my child… Always strings. Always. I have come to the point where I don’t even want her to bother. I was sick one time, but needed to pick up an outfit. She said she couldn’t watch the baby, but she would pick up the outfit. Nevermind, I found someone to take her. I was sick, but really needed a break from my beautiful child. She is a wonderful loving Grandma. She is amazing with her grandbabies, but she wouldn’t come over to be in the same room as me. So she goes on not knowing her baby Grace so well. When the excuse of I don’t feel comfortable isn’t good enough, she complained about all the cludder in our home. Only time she wanted to visit was after 8. When my kiddo was sleeping (because thank goodness she sleeps!!!) But that was an excuse on my part. Noooo I will not wake my child for you to visit on your on terms. Not an excuse. It was a reality. I could go on and on. But also reality, it’s on her. She’s making her bed and my daughter will not know her unless she wants to stop being petty.