yellow2567

Member
  • Content count

    525
  • Joined

  • Last visited

About yellow2567

  • Birthday 09/08/1982

Profile Information

  • Gender identity
    Female
  • Membership Type
    Survivor
  1. Being Normal

    I learned an important lesson the other day. I had just dropped my kids off at school, came home, and then decided I would go get coffee at Starbucks. I got back in my car and it wouldn't start. I started panicking because things like this always triggered my self talk about not wanting to live and made me feel like the world was coming to an end. But, I refused to do this and crocheted for a while and watched some TV. Then, I felt calm enough to start figuring out how I would get to work. I decided I could take the bus if I had to, and called a friend who helped me troubleshoot what was wrong with my car. He said it was the battery. I found a forum that said corrosian could prevent the battery from charging, and long story short, I cleaned the corrosian with baking soda and water and my car started 20 minutes later. I was able to go to car shop and get a new battery before having to be at work, and it was in my relief that I realized that I never would have been able to do that if I hadn't tried to go to Starbucks after dropping kids off at school. Here I was thinking that some curse was still plaguing my life because of this misfortune when I would have otherwise found out that my car wasn't going to start when I would have been trying to get to work. So my bad luck was good luck, which made me really how badly the abuse distorted my capacity to handle life on life's terms, but you learn something new everyday as the normal people often say.
  2. Free Will

    Possible Trigger I had never really thought about whether the abuse was my fault or not before and this made me realize something very profound, which is that I don't have a real sense of free will. I know this is true because I have seen time and time again how I am susceptible to suggestion over and over again. It is like I am constantly searching for some cue within the world that will tell me what to do. As though I were only a blank slate with no personality of my own. No ability to think about the concept of concept of freedom. It is like I don't consider it, and this picture of myself would scare me. It would make me feel that the searching for answers has only found its final trap. That my searching has finally trapped me in a place where I feel no free will and I cannot consider freedom like being in a concentration camp I will never escape, if it did not fit perfectly with the subject of the next chapter in my recovery book on powerlessness, almost like divine intervention. This is the definition of my experience of powerless--to feel your own free will taken from you when some type of sound blasts overheard that makes everything blurry, and it was like I forgot who I was. White noise. It is like a point of insanity I suppose, to believe you have no free will. It would see logical that I would have said or done anything to make it stop, but you don't even do this because you are too afraid they will know what you are thinking. They will know that you are not listening. They will know that you are trying to hide. So you block out any of these rationalizations, and over time, you forget they exist as well. You forget that you ever wanted to do something to make the noise stop. That bloody noise. Just like searing like a hot iron, which is like some insane form of branding somehow-is the only way it makes sense to me. But, none of this is what I thought at the time. I didn't think much of anything. It was as though nothing had meaning or was worth considering. Nothing had any meaning. The sound like a searing iron pierces through your mind, like a bank robber, but more evil. What would be a more wicked thief? What could you even compare it to? Who goes about trying to steal someone's mind? What would you call that person? That bloody sound. It was like I could hear that sound for hours and forget that is was there it went on for so long. You just learn to discipline yourself with it. They yell at you if you don't. I don't know why they do this. It is as if they think they are smart for fooling people because they had regular jobs during the day. Well he went to a regular job, so I assume they did as well. But, they yell for you to get up and you don't feel, but it not like you just do what you are told either. Almost like there is something in between. Like I don't hate myself, but I don't hate them. I don't hate somehow. I don't feel. Then, I hear him quote the verse that says "Blessed are the peacemakers," as though it would make him a saint. Is this what he meant? Is that what he thinks it is to be a peacemaker, to not feel? Is that the only way to have peace? Thanks for listening.
  3. Fear is Contempt

    This are just some fragments from my journal. They don't make a lot of sense together, but I find I can't write a whole lot at a time. Everything seems to come out in fragments. Fear is contempt. I was made to fear so much I would hate myself. I hated myself because I was TAUGHT to fear them. I could not hate the one the I feared. I had to hate myself instead. I had a flashback the other day that made me look up the subject of female circumcision. I looked at myself, but it didn't look like the picture I saw. But, I read about cutting rather than circumcision and I have this vivid sensation of burning. Just this burning, inflammation, redness, and numbness. It is like I just can't feel anything. But it doesn't seem like there was blood; just very, very red... I feel addicted to the memories of the curses they gave me. All of them, saying that I would carry a plague. Saying I was cursed to carry a plague. I can't forget. Because it was wrong and somehow I wasn't discerning that the contempt I felt towards myself was because I knew it was wrong to do this to me. Because it seemed like I believed them to a certain extent for a while. I believed that it was possible I was bad enough to carry a plague. I thought of the reasons why this would be true. I remembered the time I did this or that and I would this is why I deserved to carry this curse. I didn't realize that I was remembering this because deep down I know this was wrong to do to me.
  4. Special Effects

    I have a hard day today and it is like I don't feel like I can move on unless I can share this with someone. I remembered a day when I was blindfolded and sitting in a chair with my hands tied behind my back saying, "I will do what you want, I will do whatever you want," over and over again. It is another moment where it seems like I am having an outer body experience at the time, but I realized that this effect is created with the use of a video camera. So a camera is filming me so I can't see who is there and I am sitting there with a bag over my head so I can't see who is there, which was helpful to realize until I realized almost instantly after this that I can only remember from the perspective of the person watching the video, which made me feel heartbroken. Then, it gets worse because it forced me to look at this day that I would rather forget when I was 17 and I was leaving a party very intoxicated, and I was picked up by someone. This person seemed to start telling me things about my self like he knew me and I black out until the morning where I wake up at home and decide to walk back to the scene of the crime and wander lifelessly around. I have been very ashamed of this day and have not wanted to remember it if I didn't have to, the way I would rather not remember a lot of things that end up being in my best interest to remember no matter how hard it is. Anyways, I have also come to conclusion that these false outer body experiences are supposed to keep me quiet because they shame me into thinking I will be better off if I never see this again.
  5. Flashes of Light

    TW possibly? My memories exist as flashes of light. A flash here a flash there. They make me feel different. There is one flash where I am in a hotel room filled with headless horsemen. The men wearing suits come in and out of the bathroom where I am supposed to be... I don't know why it is hard for me to say what I am doing there. It is because I feel like I am not supposed to know what I am doing there. It is because I am supposed to keep it a secret from myself. And, I can only imagine that the men in suits look like the headless horsemen because that is what someone told me to imagine they were. Because that would make sense? Then there is a flash of the warehouse they left me alone in Numb doesn't describe the feeling of deprivation. Numb doesn't begin to cut it. It is more than numb but it is like the word that I need to describe how I feel was taken from me So that I would be forever silenced. Then, there is a flash of him coaching me to vomit up my dinner I dont know why I only know that I hate throwing up Hate it! Then, there is the flash of being awake in a dream and if you are awake in a dream Do you ever really sleep? Did I ever really sleep or was it all a dream. And they flash like a camera And they mean nothing to me Other than I am different Other people don't do this So no one can help me But the people who did this to me are the only ones who can help me? and I am trapped in a glass house of flashing light searching for their direction. Wanting someone to tell me what I should do Maybe, He knew this would happen so He gave me a pearl to search for instead of flashes of light.
  6. Mind Hack

    I have had vague memories of abuse for most of my life, but they have been a normal part of my life since I was 17. When I was little there were moments here and there when I knew I was being abused like the day I was playing with some kids in the neighborhood. I was about nine, and I kept coughing up these white chunks that were stuck in the back of my throat. I literally said to myself, I wonder if this means I was molested. I secretly wanted there to be proof, but it was like I could feel him listening to me cough. It was like I could hear him silently threaten me. So, the thought was fleeting and without anyone to tell me otherwise, I didn't know it was possible for people to be abused and just not remember that they were very well. It wasn't until I was forced to look for something to help me win the war that my life had become that I slowly learned that it wasn't as unbelievable as I thought. The first book I found that helped me to see that it was possible to have experienced CSA and have difficulty remembering was called In My Father's House A Memoir of Incest and of Healing. It was a relief, but unfortunately not enough to restore peace in my life because it turns out that so much of the abuse that I suffered centered around the subject of memory loss. My difficulty with remembering was organized with my father's permission, and when I would be traumatized it was the equivalent to a computer programmer hacking into a computer system. I have my son working on this website to teach him basic computer programming skills. So, I learned in the process that a basic computer programming concept is setting up your parameters. It is like the grid you will work within. You can just make it up, whatever you want it to be almost. Like a 100x100 grid sheet. Then, the programmers uses these parameters to plot the shapes and objects that they want within this field. This is the same thing that they did. The parameters are the traumatic experiences. The r-pe, the drugs, the electroshock, the deprivation. This is like a 100x100 grid sheet. The abusers work quickly trying to teach you what they want you know in an wounded state of mind because they know that you will want to forget unpleasant experiences in order to participate in life afterward. It was like my whole life was being planned for me. Sometimes, I often find myself thinking about this interview. It is almost like a fantasy/memory, but it has never happened because in this projection of myself I am older than I am now and I am being interviewed about my childhood. The person asks me about being the granddaughter of an immigrant family who was orphaned and the challenges that I have had in my life because of this. I tell her some crap like, "yah, it was hard but compared to what," and continue on and on with this blurb about overcoming the obstacles of my families American experience to experiencing the American dream, which is all just a load of crap. The abuse is all sanitized out of this conversation. It is a complete script. But, this is why he would tell me if he could that I was being ungrateful because I would have been able to have privileges I don't want. I would rather have freedom than privileges. But, he can't say this because they live in shadows, which is why they won't say anything to me, but the last three cars I have had will have transmission problems which is my worst car fear because of the expense. Two of my cars had the same window have some sort of electrical shortage so they won't roll up anymore. And, these various subtle threats would scare if it were not for my faith. But, it is hard because it is like it will never really end when people don't look at you like someone they abused, but someone they invested in.
  7. Snowflake

    So, today I bought this beautiful little Maltese/Yorkie puppy for my daughter. Her name is snowflake. This was a significant step for my recovery. A few years ago I would not have been able to contact a person through an ad without having a severe shame/panic attack. I didn't have a severe shame/panic attack, but I have been dealing with the reality of discrimination towards victims of RA all day wondering what if these people knew the things that I was taught when I was little. Would they treat me differently? Sometimes, it seems like it is one thing to be recovering from CSA in the world today, but it is still another to experience RA which encompasses the total experience of CSA with additional brainwashing. It is almost like no matter how average or intelligent you are, people will still question your integrity. I would imagine that it is similar to the discrimination AIDS patients have received. Like, want to help them, but they can't always decide if it is safe to reach out to them. Intellectually, they may know they won't get AIDS by touching them, but sometimes the fear of AIDS overcomes their sense of reality. That is what it is like, it is like people seem to struggle with whether the brainwashing I have experienced will rub off on them if they talk to me or something. So, sometimes it is hard, because I know that this is oppressing me in various ways. Like today, I was in the craft store before picking up Snowflake and there was a magazine with a pattern for this beautiful dress made out of tread crochet. I love to crochet. Crochet has helped me quit smoking for a year now. Anyways, I imagined whether I could make something like this and sell it on Ebay. Then, I remembered that the more I put myself out there, the more likely it is that someone will know the awful things that happened in my childhood. I am still gonna try to do it. It is just hard sometimes, that I can't always do the things I want to do because I want to do them. That I have to prepare myself mentally, emotionally, and spiritually for the possibility of exposure.