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About Junebug126

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  1. Just to get this out...

    Today was a good day today. Until about 11pm. I was having an ok day, just very busy. One of my errands today was my appointment with my therapist. I told him I was feeling better. Which, for me as I sure is for many people in this forum, a really big deal when battling PTSD, MDD and GA. We talked like friends instead of dark stuff. I even laughed. He probably about fell out of his chair if it weren't for his ability to keep a good poker face. He was very kind and enjoyable. I like my therapist a lot. He is pretty straight laced. I know very little about him except that he is very smart, kind and religious. The last was at one point very important for me. He's been seeing me for 6 years. I just now feel like I can really talk to him like I would a good friend. Yes there are still things that I still can't talk about, but for the first time in my life I feel like I'm going to get there. I'm going to be able to let someone in far enough to dig out all the crap in my head. That seems like a miracle to me. I know, that a long time right? It's crap like tonight that keeps me there. I know this sounds stupid but probably no one's reading this anyway so, like I said, this is just to get this crap out. It's now been about 8 months since I told my dad what happened to me as a kid. What happened, EXCEPT for the fact that my mom already knew and has known since I was about 12. She "left it up to me" to tell my dad. She told me he might not believe me. Wrong or right, what I heard as a child was not let's do something about this, but rather, "He WON'T believe you". If you tell your dad he might kill him (and go to prison). If dad goes to prison, ?????, mom doesn't work. We'd all go to foster care. It would be my fault. We would all (my mom and my 2 brothers)be split up. I chose not to tell. I held it for my whole life. In January I turned 44. As I reflect, I'm thinking about all the serious episodes of depression I went through. They started as an early teenager and have weaned and waned my whole life. I usually hid them from most everyone in my family. dad. When I was about 15 I tried to kill myself by not taking my insulin. (I had been a juvenile diabetic since the age of 10). I remember the fits of anger that I used to have and got in trouble for. I remember being a small child and being TERRIFIED to go to sleep at night. At first I used to climb into the back of my closet and rock, and bang my head eventually on the wall. My parents would hear that and wake up and put me to bed. Where I would then wait for them to leave and I'd sit in the middle of my bed and rock. I was sleep deprived my whole childhood. When I was a little older, but like toddler size, I used to sneak into their room at night and bring my blanket and pillow and try to sleep at the foot of their bed. They started to yell at me and punish me for it. I kept doing it even though I got yelled and and spanked. I didn't care, anything was better than the nightmares or worrying that he might get me at night. Finally they moved my bedroom next to theirs in the house. I still stayed awake all night. I had to have the hall light on and the door shut almost all the way so I could see him in the shadows if he came to my door. Then the nightmares and fear, or more like terror, got worse. I would crawl into the bathroom and turn on the light, lock the door and either sleep in the floor or the bathtub. Sounds silly right? But the tub had a set of shower doors. If someone got through the first door, I could hear them if they tried to find me in the tub because the shower doors ALWAYS made noise. Thus my life with sleep issues was born. I never let go of that fear though. I was always scared. When I was about thirteen I was cleaning the bathroom as 1 of my chores and I remember the anger in me rising. I had no idea why, but I was LIVID. I went into my room and destroyed it. I ripped all the posters down, cried, screamed and just threw every cassette tape as hard as I could against the wall. My mom ignored it and let me rage. Maybe she understood why or was afraid to ask why, I don't know. I broke the window in my room. I was terrified I was gonna get it! My older brother fixed it for me a couple of days later in secret. That day, I realized why I was so mad. It was the smell of Pine Sol. It was the first trigger I ever really figured out. It reminded me of the abuse. Shortly after that , I started drinking a lot. I had already experimented with alcohol. The first time I got drunk I was 13. I became depressed, cried all the time (my parents laughed because I was so sensitive that I "would cry if someone looked at me funny"), and I began to withdraw. I hid out. If I went outside, I hid back on the backside of the five acres I grew up on. I used to fight with my brothers, but I did have some good times with them too. That was the only happiness I felt. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have gone outside except my mom used to throw all us kids outside to have her alone time. I used to lay in my bed and cry when I was inside. I remember feeling so alone. Like no one loved me. I failed at school and got made fun of and picked on. I was shy, chubby, ugly, scared and cried at the drop of a hat. That's just begging for bullying in school. When I was 20 I moved out and rented a loft from my brother and his new wife. I used to have a friend who bought me alcohol. I got drunk all the time. I had heard you could get "alcohol poisoning" and it could kill you. I drank most of a fifth of tequila one night to kill my self. GOD was looking out for me because I didn't die, but I was sick as heck from the tequila. And I mean for days I was sick. I quit drinking so much. But I was still depressed. I struggled and struggled until one day I KNEW no one loved me, i was garbage, a slut, scum, fat, ugly, nasty, damaged in more than one way and now suicidal. I wanted nothing more than to doe that night. I had bought a gun a couple of months before. I took the gun, I drove to a nearby lake and parked. I sat in my car for hours and cried and prayed. I didn't pray for GOD to help me get through this. I prayed for the courage to do it. I never got the courage. I had the gun right there several times. But all I could think about was how my mom and dad might deal with it. My mom had had agoraphobia when I was growing up and wouldn't even leave the house. So I knew that she was "fragile". I was afraid of pushing her over the edge. So at 21 I had a very close friend die. He was my best friend in the whole world. We were constantly together since we were kids. I almost fell apart then. I moved back home with my mom and dad. I was miserable. They were fighting all the time, I was extremely depressed and now had absolutely NO ONE I thought. Then out of the blue I met this wonderful man. We dated for a few months and I was in love. I told him about what happened. This was the first date I had ever let get in my head. Otherwise, they could have any other part of me they wanted. I remember telling him very explicitly one night, "You don't want me. I really f&@%$@ up. I told him briefly what had happened. Not all the gory details but the truth. I told him, so now you have permission to walk away. I'm damaged goods." He looked at me and for the first time EVER in my life someone said, "I'm sorry that happened to you. And I'm not going anywhere." We've been married 21 years now. Right after we got married, I was having night terrors all the time. I was working shift work and found a new love. Night shift work. I loved working at night cause then I could confront all those bad things at night that might catch me in the dark while I was asleep. I started seeing a counselor. Which is funny because I had started seeing my mom's therapist in high school. I used to drive there and pay for my own visits. I didn't trust the first on because she told me about a secret that my mom told her that I didn't know. I didn't tell her anything but what she wanted to hear after that. Eventually we stopped talking about that and talked about controlling my weight. Anyway, the new therapist was ok. I liked her. She used to cry sometimes when I told her some of the things I went through. I never told her everything. BUT, she made the night terrors go away. So after that happened I stopped going because we had a glitch with my insurance company and I stopped going so I could pay off her debt. My husband had gotten cancer and I was having a hard time paying her for 2 months. I got a loan and mailed her the balance. The day she received the payment she called me and said that she had sent me a letter a couple of days before and I should tear it up. It was pretty nasty and hurtful. Basically she told me I broke her trust and that she wouldn't ever want to have another client like me. She called me because the day she mailed it she got my payment in the mail. She apologized. I never told her my husband had cancer. I never went back. I was humiliated. Eventually the depression came back. Depression has always been with me. For me it's like a jackets. Sometimes, I have a small one on, but it's there. then I have to get heavier ones and heavier ones until eventually I'm in full eskimo gear and am unable to move. But whenever it waned, it came back worse. Each time was more and more debilitating. I was a mess, I missed a lot of work, I almost quit my job, I almost lost my job, I was feeling more and more depressed every day. I was so desperate, I went back into therapy. It was getting worse. Therapy wasn't helping. I tried taking a whole bottle of sleeping pills from the drug store. Once again, I threw them up before they killed me. Now I understand people use them all the time to get high. Just like me to even mess that up. I'm a loser. I can't even do that right. I started going to church with my husband. Then we started to study the bible together. I eventually made the changes I needed to make at work and my husband was a rock. He is the 1 constant (other than GOD for me)in my life. But I still had that winter coat on all the time. Eventually a good family practitioner prescribed some anti depressants which worked so so, but kept me going. Now through all my life, I have been very close with my mom. Even though I was her "difficult child to raise" as she told me many times. I called her daily almost. I went to family outtings but sometimes I had to work and couldn't be there. I always felt out of place anyway. Like they were my family, but they didn't know the real me. I felt what they did know about me they didn't like. So I kept them at arms length. In 2007 I had a very personal significant and VERY triggering event in my life. At this time I was not in therapy I was just trying to maintain with antidepressants. The event was too much. I became debilitated by depression. I could focus, I cried all the time, I screwed up so bad at work, if not for my longevity and previous good work, they would have fired me. I was falling out of everything in my life. I was also shutting everyone out and isolating. I even shut GOD out, or so I thought. I thought every day about how to kill myself. I kept going deeper and deeper in depression. My husband tried but he was helpless. I saw my practitioner and finally after seeing him for 10 years told him what had happened. Luckily, he "insisted" that I go see a therapist. Through some trial and error I found my current therapist who is actually my psychiatrist. After I started seeing him, he could see without me saying where I was. He knew what I was thinking every day. He made me talk about it. I told him the whole plan I had and that I was just trying to get the strength to get there. After all of these Doctors, other that the practitioner, no one had ever asked if I was thinking about suicide. This guy did. I broke down and lost it and told him how I wanted to die in the worst way. I was hospitalized for about 2 months. The last three weeks I don't really remember because I went through ECT. I was basically a vegetable for about 3 weeks, or so my husband tells me. Eventually after a couple of more months I was able to go back to work half time. Then finally full time. I've been continuing therapy since then, working and trudging along. I've had a few set backs, but nothing as bad as 2007. In Early February this year, I wrote my mom a letter. It was vicious. I was angry that I was put there and then back there after I told. I was angry no one fought for me. I was angry no one comforted me. I was angry no one cared enough to see I had been suffering my whole life. My mom was very hurt to say the least. "How dare I put her in the same catagory as some scum who wouldn't protect their child". We stopped talking. My abuse started when I was 11 months old. I remember all of it. I had some B@%^@$ therapist in the hospital tell me that I couldn't possibly remember that because children don't have cognitive memory before the age of 3. I REMEMBER!!! At 12 I told someone what was going on and essentially we made it a shameful secret for me to carry. Because it was a secret we couldn't make good enough excuses to keep me away from him. And because that was a secret, I never told her about the others. There were 3 family members and a high school teacher who hurt me. Like I said, In January I turned 44. 43 years was a pretty long time. I was agonizing because I wanted it out in the open. I talked to my brother and told him how I was suffering one day and told him about the other family members. He was extremely supportive. To this day I think my brother had as much to do as anyone who has saved my life. On of the first things he said when I told him that my grandpa had messed with me was , "I remember seeing him with his d$%^ out and you in his lap with your hand on it. He said I think I was about 3 or 4, but I remember it." He offered to go with me to tell my dad. Just knowing he would go is what I needed. I told him I'd go with my husband. So I went and told my dad. My dad and I NEVER got along. He related to me by taking me fishing, teaching me to hunt, and playing baseball. Otherwise he related to me with criticism and anger. I had honestly thought all my life that he didn't really love me. I was just the kid in the way before he got his second son. I was definitely NOT a daddy's girl. The first time I remember him telling me he loved me was when I was hospitalized as a child at 10. I heard it again when I was 11 and then when I was 12. The next time I was an adult. I was terrified. But I went and told him. I told him I wanted to kill myself and that's what ended me in the hospital and that's why I was so "difficult to raise". I told him that the perpetrator had told me he wouldn't believe me or he'd cut my tongue out or that he wouldn't love me. I believed it all. I still worry about that til this day. But at least now I've told him and it doesn't have to be a secret anymore. I WAS surprised when I told him that he said , "At least you don't have to go through this alone". I said, you mean because of (my husband)? He said no, you have your family. Me and your mom and brothers. he asked me why I didn't tell my mother. I simply said, "She had her own stuff to deal with". I still protected her instead of her protecting me. So now we're here today. * months later. I've talked to her 7 times total in 8 months. I feel like she's punishing me. I needed her for years to talk to about this and she always refused or made it into something about her. Then she'd be off on a tangent instead of just listening. I had questions. I wanted answers. I was trying to figure out timelines and significant points in my life. I only have about 3 total memories between 8-10 years old. They lived in the same house with us then. I don't think I want to remember anything that might be in there. I'm just going to believe that it was just to stressful being in the same house to remember. Fathers day came and everyone got together for breakfast, I found out the day before. My nephews birthday there was a family barbque, I found out less that 24 hours in advance. My older bothers birthday dinner she held. Found out 2 weeks after the fact. Younger brother's birthday dinner, no invite. So tonight she posts on Facebook. "Re-post If you love your sons with all your heart." Funny how big a part facebook has become in my life. Her last post before today was in August and then last year. So in 3 posts in a year and a half, she loves her son and has some antidotes x2. Do we love our daughter? Apparently not. Am I being too sensitive? Yeah I guess so. Obviously I'm no where near where I need to be in therapy. But that 1 little thing sent me from being actually ok today, even laughing and joking to hating myself. I hate myself for hurting my mother, because she's really a good woman who made several mistakes. Kids don't come with instructions. She had her own demons to deal with. But that still doesn't keep me from hurting like H%ll now. I have often wondered if my brother had told her that happened what she would have done. My older brother is her favorite. She's even told me she could relate more to him because he's the oldest. My other brother is the baby and has had some horrible marriages and needs her a lot more than me. So I hate myself for being jealous of their closeness. I hate myself because I don't want to go visit them. I love them they are my parents but when I think about them right now, I fall apart. I can't think about them and not become very emotional. I cry whenever I think if them. I can't even come close to controlling my emotions. I'm crying so hard now I can't see to type. I'm supposed to be able to see them for Christmas and I know I can't. I won't be able to hold it together. I can't do it now and I'm not around them. No one wants to see that at Christmas. Please don't hate me for this being so long. I just needed to get this out. If for some unbelievable reason anyone has read this whole tirade....thanks.

    I'm still feeling angry today. Today is worse that yesterday. I was reading over my blog from yesterday and had these thoughts going through my mind. When you, as a parent, find your child in the back of her closet and she's rocking and banging her head on the wall, you might try talking to either the child or a doctor about what's happening in the mind of your child. When you see that your child is not asleep after putting them to bed 3-4 hours prior, there might be a problem. When you hear your child in the middle of the night and find them rocking and bouncing in the bed and not sleeping, there could be a problem. When your child cries every time they are around certain people, investigate. If you find your child asleep at the foot of your bed every morning. Don't punish them, investigate. Or at least ask them why. If you find your child in the bathtub asleep with the light on and the door locked, ask some questions. At this point and after all these clues, try someone other than the child. When your four year old consistently tells you she has vaginal pain, find a doctor. When your child who is six can tell YOU what having sex is, find out why. When your twelve year old tells you that grandpa is molesting her, believe her. WHne she tells you, hug her. Tell her she's never going to have to see them again and MEAN it. When your child tells you they were messed with, find out how much. When your child tells you about 1 molester, ask if there are others. When you find out your child is molested, don't tell her to keep it a secret. Don't tell her that dad will go to prison if you tell him about Grandpa because he'll kill grandpa. If your child tells you they were molested, don't leave it up to them to tell the other parent, be an adult and take charge and handle it. If your child tells you someone molested them, confront that person. If your child tells you someone "messed with them" put someone's a$$ in jail. When your child is hurting, hug them. When your child tells you grandpa is "messing with me", AT ALL COSTS, keep her away from him. This would be where putting his a$$ in jail would help. When your child gets drunk at the age of 13, time to intervene. When your 14 year old child is bleeding profusely, has stomach pain so strong they can't stand up and them passes something in the toilet, take her to a doctor. When your child miscarries, time to investigate and not act like it was a "bad period." When your 15 year old daughter gets caught drinking at school, find out why instead of punching her in the face. WHen your child is depressed for over 20 years, maybe you should encourage them to tell that secret. When your child is hospitalized well into their adulthood because they want to kill them self, it's time for you to correct the mistake you made years ago and help them talk about that secret. When your child finally tells the secret in their 40's, act like you care instead of being inconvenienced.
  3. Today I am a simmering pot. I started out early in my overnight shift feeling anxious. The anxiety kept growing. I realized it was because we were talking about Christmas holidays. In my business, only 1 person who is regularly scheduled can take the night off. Everyone else has to work. I am most senior, so I have the night off to spend with family. For the first time in my life,I don't want to go. This is the bottom layer of my proverbial stew. I'm angry. ENORMOUSLY ANGRY. It keeps growing day by day lately. I get angry about someone trying to control me. I start to simmer. I push back but my still timid nature won't let me exert myself. I simmer more. I think about all the times I got pushed around, insulted, demeaned and physically hurt. I wanna scream. Add one more thing to the pot; I need a release. But I stuff it down. Because I'm mad at a lot of people. Mostly my mom. I wanna shake her. But I'm supposed to honor my mother right. After all, she did give me life. There's another ingredient in the pot. Then there's my dad. My dad who never says I love you before I'm 9 years old. My dad who won't say that again until I'm 13. My dad who doesn't know how to talk to children except call them names and tell them about EVERY LITTLE THING that they do wrong. My dad who calls me names. My dad who thinks I'm stupid, and lazy and fat and unattractive and a slob and an idiot. My dad who has NEVER told me he was proud of me. Then there's the grandfather who can't keep his hands off of me. I'm his "little movie star". He hates me though. That's a front for my mom and dad. We go to visit and he's drunk, and he wants me to stay. My mom and dad thinks it's great he loves us. He thinks it's great cause he's drunk and wants to have sex. I'm angry at him because he had me touching him when I was 11 months old. I'm mad at me because even THEN I KNEW It WASN'T RIGHT. It scared me. My brother and cousin caught him with me. They're laughing. It funny that his d**k is in my hand and I'm just a little kid. I'm embarrassed. Add that to the pot. Every time I see him alone now, he messes with me. I try to hide from him. I go outside and he finds me in the creek. I have to go back. I go back. He's drunk. He's staggering around looking for his hidden beer. No he's not an alcoholic. Add a little sarcasm to the pot. I go to the basement and try to hide. He finds me. He turns out the light and locks me in. I've been in here all day, but I don't know how long. It's getting dark though and I can still see but the light through the single window is enough for me. I'm getting scared. What if he forgot about me. What if I starve to death. What if my mom and dad can't find me. No mom. No dad. No grandma. No grandpa. I'll just wait. Oh wait, I hear him. Thank goodness. I hope my mom and dad are here to pick me up. The door flies open and I can see he's staggering drunk. He smells putrid and he's raging. 'Come over here you f***king little pig. I'm scared. My heart is pounding so loud in my ears. I run over behind the bar and squench in as far as I can. He's yelling profanities and calling me a whore and slut. Add those names to the pot. He reaches in after me. I'm pressed up all the way against the wall and sucking in my stomach as much as I can. I'm feeling like I'm going to pass out. The knots in my stomach are unreal but a frequent companion. Finally his hand grips my ankle and he drags me across the cement floor. I'm crying no no. He rips off my brand new pair of panties. My mom just bought those because I start first grade soon. They're pink and say "Tuesday" on them. i can only cry and whimper. He keeps saying, "Shut the f**K up dammit. I am BEYOND AFRAID. I cannot breath. Now I'm breathing too fast because he's undoing his buckle. He's going to spank me. He grabs my arm and drags me onto the carpet but my hip is against the ceramic hearth. My arm hurts and now my hip is scratched and hurting and I'm crying. Can't we just go back upstairs? Now he is taking he belt off. Oh well, I'm gonna get a whipping for hiding from him. Well it'll be over soon. Now he's taking his pants off and I can see his thing. He makes me hold it and rub it. I HATE that. It makes me feel funny. I'm always afraid someone will see us and make fun of me like my brother did and everybody will laugh at me. I'm trying not to look at it. I turn my head and see my pink "Tuesday" underwear there with writing in red. Now he's on top of me and I CAN NOT BREATHE> I CAN"T CATCH MY....BREATHE. HE's really hurting me down there. Not like before. I start crying and screaming, "Ow Ow OW, stop it hurts, it hurts. He's grunting and being really rough. I can feel the pain on my side from it rubbing the hearth. Now it doesn't hurt so much. I'm looking down at me crying. I think to myself, "it'll be over soon.". It seemed like a hundred years passed before he got up. I could breathe better now nut I can't catch my breath. I'm crying too hard. My hip hurts, my arm hurts, my back hurts and down there is throbbing. I sit upright and see blood coming from down there. OMG am I going to die? What do I do? Then as he's putting on his clothes he says, Look at that you c**t. You got blood on my carpet. Clean that up. I'm afraid to speak, but I have to go to the bathroom. I've been holding it for hours. 'Can I...." "What the fuck do you want. I said to clean that up!" I drop my head because I'm afraid to look at him. I just want to die. I start praying God please help me. He gets up and leaves. I start frantically looking for a bottle or can or something, but I can't hold it. It goes everywhere. Now I'm TERRIFIED! What do I do? If he sees he'll get mad. I'm going to try to sneak upstairs. I open the door and it's harder to see because there's no light in the hall. I start up the stairs but the stair creeks and I hear him coming to the door. I run back down and he comes back and sees that I have pee all over me and blood running down my legs. You are the filthiest bitch. You're gonna sleep here tonight until you dry off. he leaves and this time locks the door. I sit down, pee and all and cry. I'm exhausted, I hurt almost everywhere, especially down there. What if he forgets me. What if mom and dad forget me. I feel dirty and disgusting. Maybe my parents will miss me. After several hours (I think overnight) he comes with the bucket, The smell is really strong. He cleans me with it and it really burns. He tells me my folks are coming to get me. "If you tell anybody what happened, I'll cut your tongue out. If you tell your dad, he won't love you anymore. Daddies don't love little girls who are sluts. You're a slut. Remember, if you tell anyone, I'll cut your tongues out. He had his hunting knife out of it's sheath that he carries strapped to his belt. I nodded my head and went upstairs. I didn't say a word. I left with my mom and dad. When I got home I went and hid in my closet. I started rocking I used to do that all the time. Put that in the pot to simmer. It's soooooo cute. We find her in the middle of the night crawled in the back of her closet, rocking and banging her head on the wall. Throw in a little denial in the pot. Today it's simmering and will NOT leave my head. I wanna die. I want this to end. It's too much to carry. My mom thinks we should keep it quiet. My dad is in total shock and won't speak of it. Everything is not enough. No matter how long this pot boils today, I cannot be cleansed. I don't know what I expect anyway. I'm just MAD AS HELL!!!
  4. What do I do with Mom?

    Today is a better day for me. I had some positive interactions at work. That made me feel better. I still feel like a fraud a lot, but today, maybe not so much. I felt like I knew what I was talking about and even felt confident sharing it with others. Tomorrow I have a meeting on an entirely different subject. I'm already anxious because I'm afraid I won't have as much accomplished on this project as I need to have done. I'm afraid they will think I'm doing a crappy job, which is what I think. But I have to bite the bullet and go. I haven't seen my t* in three weeks now and I have stuff to discuss. Thank goodness I'm not the emotional wreck I was last week and weekend. Oh well, for a week and a half I will have to hold it together til I see him. I hope things continue on this upward climb. He adjusted my meds about three weeks ago and I think it's been effective. I talked to my mom today. We had a nice chat although I felt like she was trying to pry a bit. My mom and I used to have a great relationship but she didn't think I needed to get the SA stuff out in the open. So now she doesn't talk to me much. She talked to my husband the other day while I was sleeping and asked him how I was. He told her I was having a hard time. Did she call me after that? NO. I miss my relationship with her, but right now I'm mad and hurting because she didn't support me. I still haven't figured that out. I'm not sure what it means to me. Does she not love me? Is it just too much for her to handle? Does it make her mad at me? That's what it seems like. I'm not a mom but I raised my niece. I know if I found out someone messed with her, she'd NEVER have to doubt whether I'd support her or not. I think if it were one of my brothers who got hurt, ESPECIALLY my older brother, she'd be there no matter what. I think I'm just too much for her to deal with emotionally. I think it bugs her that I want get past this and she still wants the secret to be kept locked away so we (my family) doesn't have to talk about it. It's not that I want to talk about it (other than with my t*) but I don't want to HAVE to HIDE it anymore. I'm sick of being the outcast in my family because I'm worried someone will find out, or blame me, or not believe me, or think I'm disgusting, or worse hurt me again or write me off forever. I keep them all at arm's length. I only let them in so far. I don't think any of them really know me except 1 aunt that I have who I can talk to but don't because her child who is my cousin got hurt too. My cousin has passed so that makes it hard for me to talk to my Aunt about it. But she's a lot like a mom to me. She handled this the same as my mom. When we told our moms when we were younger both my mom and my Aunt wanted us to keep it to ourselves. Yet I"m not mad at my Aunt like I am at my mom now. Maybe I should be but for some reason I'm not. All I know is my relationship with my mom is now a double edged sword. On one hand I love her and still need her comfort but on the other she let me get hurt, knew about it and I got hurt again. I'm mad and Don't want to deal with her. What do I do with that?
  5. Thank you for your thoughts. I hope you also find peace. I. Feel like I have a battle of good and evil within. You also take care and thanks.
  6. If I may make a suggestion, offer to be the designated driver. Tell your friends you don't want to drink so that everyone gets home safe. Then you can enjoy their company, keep your faculties about you and be safe. But it's also ok IMHO to just say, I don't like to drink. That's strong, and that's the truth. I hope I didn't offend, but you are right, you are NOT your father. There is the family history but that is all. It takes much more to be an alcoholic. Take good care.
  7. My Dark Heart

    Today has been a day of stress and inside pain. I haven't seen my therapist in 2 weeks and just found out now that I'm going to have to miss the next one for a work meeting. I need help. I have a dark heart. Out of my heart comes anger. Yeah I know I talked about this yesterday, but I'm still feeling lost and down. I hate myself. I try to be a good person and live the life that I think is best for me spiritually. But I fall so short of even being close to who I want to be. My friends think I'm kind and I guess a sort of goody two shoes. I've never sought that image because I know I'm not. It's just that when I'm at work or in a social setting I can hold my temper. As a matter of fact I'm usually so intimidated by other people that I am not very vocal. I am especially not very vocal when it comes to being negative. I guess that may be a better way that people see me, positive. But it's not positive because i say positive things, it's because I try not to say negative things. The problem is that I keep the feelings of anger and hatefulness dwelling deep inside. I hate myself. I hate the way I act. I hate who I am and I hate that other people see me as this "goody two shoes". Not that I want people to think bad of me, I worry about that all the time. But I wish sometimes I could talk to someone like I do my therapist on a "normal" set of circumstances. I'd like to be able to say what I really feel, but my upbringing and especially what I think I should do spiritually conflict with it. So the big problem is, when I let go, I can be so nasty to those who are close to me. I'm talking, swearing, huffing, leering and saying VERY hateful things. Once it starts, it's like I can't control it. It flows and flows. As it's flowing out of me the guilt I have rides right along beside it. But it's too much for me to control, and to be honest, sometimes it feels good. Even after "losing it" sometimes I feel just anger festering in my heart. I keep trying to think of more spiritual things and I revert back to the anger. It's like an obsession. Yesterday, I had issues at home. I'm hurting badly because of them. All I want to do today is cry and lay in bed. But even today, I felt the anger building. I was able to release it with a 30 minute flow of tears. I don't understand why I'm so angry. I don't know why I let it fester inside of me. It colors everything I look at. Most of all it taints me. I hate myself for it. I LOATHE myself. I am not a good person. Why can't anyone see that? My family can, because they have to live with me. Even my therapist can't see it. All I know is that no matter what, the anger in my heart colors everything and I want a release from the anger. No one can help me.
  8. Anger and Guilt for Supper.

    I'm not a very worldly person, but I do like to write. I started to write short stories and poems when I was younger and stopped after I was about 23. I don't know why I stopped. I guess because I started seeing my first therapist. Writing was an outlet for me growing up. Yes, like many of us, I was abused. I had (and have) low self esteem. I never liked myself or thought I had any worth at all. But I liked to write. I thought I wanted to be a writer when I grew up because it was ONE thing I thought I could do well. I used to show certain people my poems and stuff. They were pretty personal and a lot of it was unseen. I stopped showing it to anyone when I found out as an adult that my mom had read them ALL. She knew where I hid them and she told me, she read them to "see where I was at emotionally". Gee, that's nice. NO ONE has seen them since that day. I quit writing for any kind of pleasure. From that point forward, I only wrote about work subjects or college subjects. That part of me, I feel died. In a much bigger way to me, it was like someone reading someone Else's diary without permission. I'm not saying that for sympathy. I just wanted to explain that this blog is basically to get back in touch with my inner self that I try to keep at bay. I'm not really even sure what a blog is supposed to be. Someone suggested I blog and it might help me express some things to sort out. Hence, the topic of my first blog. I just needed to give a little apology to the reader if it doesn't fit "blog" style. The blog is about anger. Then, it's about guilt. After that I'll throw in a little shame and a big heaping scoop of self hatred. Sounds like a wicked recipe doesn't it? Trust me it is. One of the reason's I'm blogging is in hopes that someone might "get it". And hey, if someone else gets it, maybe they can explain it to me or share an experience that could enlighten me about myself. The situation is with someone I am very close to as if they were my child. I won't re-hash the whole incident because, well, I'd like you not to give up reading at this point. Basically, I've never been a real mom. That is, I've never given birth. I did however raise a teenager for 6 years because her mother couldn't (or wouldn't). Pregnancy, babies and small children are triggers for me. So raising a teenager was going to be hard, I knew that. But I loved the child with everything in me. At times I looked at her and my heart would swell and ache because of how much I loved her. It's sad to say that I, a grown woman now, wanted her approval DESPERATELY. I wanted her to think of me as her mom. I did everything I thought a mom should do AND THEN SOME. I guess that's what they call over-compensation. But she learned at a very early age how to manipulate me and push my buttons. We fought a lot. Finally the day came when I had so much drama and hurt that I told my husband she had to leave. She was 20 and knew EVERYTHING right? I had gotten to the point where every day there was an issue. I would get angry and immediately feel guilty. Parents are supposed to teach their kids lessons right? Every time I was hard on her I told her, "I'm doing this so that when you're 30 and have kids and no one is around, you can rely on yourself. Then I would feel guilty, and mean, and nasty, and ugly. Most of all, I felt UN-christian. Christ would turn the other cheek right? I didn't, at first. Then I would walk on egg shells for days with a knot in my stomach and be ready to throw up, because she was mad at me. As I write that last sentence, I felt the fear. It started when my dad would yell and curse at us. I used to walk around worrying that I would make him mad. I would hide out or "hibernate" as my mom called it. All I knew was I didn't know if everything was perfect, so I worried. If something wasn't perfect, my brothers and I were called in to question and berated like Marine Cadets. I just got that. Maybe this blog thing is good after all. It's that same feeling. I have to be perfect or I am scum. If I'm scum, someone will get mad at me. If someone's mad I'm going to get hurt, one way or the other. I don't understand anger. It's such an ugly thing. Yet when I let it go, for just a millisecond, it feels good. Sort of like taking the top off of a pressure cooker. I worry and have worried many times that I would hurt someone beyond repair with my anger. Like my child. I NEVER ONCE laid my hand on her but I could give some nasty looks. I was the queen of nasty looks and stern voices. But with other people, I could say some of the most hurtful things. And before I could close my mouth, regretted it. Then I was ashamed. What Christian person would do this? What good person would do this? I only became this way as a late teenager. After that, the anger became rage. I would cuss and throw things and cry. And immediately feel ashamed, unlovable, nasty,and hateful. Then I would feel small and guilty. A Christian wouldn't act like that. I've had a lot of reasons to be angry in my life. But for the most part I was scared. Anger scared me. If someone was angry, I was going to get hurt. Sometimes I could see it coming, and sometimes not. I never wanted to pass that fear on to my child. I love her. I just have to face that she doesn't love me like I want her to, or like I need her to. That makes me feel sad and lonely and hurt. I am ashamed because I feel like I did this to our relationship because of anger.