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About lauru

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    Wounded and Confused

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  • Location
    USA - California
  • Interests
    Making jewelry, reading, writing poetry, thinking
  1. It happens to me. However, my current T now brings me back to the present before we end. He doesn't leave me "back there" at the time of the CSA. My previous T didn't bring me back, and what happened to you happened to me. I was overcome by it and I gradually decompensated until I was virtually nonfunctional. Please be careful. I would talk to your T about it and see what the two of you can come up with. Good luck
  2. I completely understand. I have fooled so many with that mask. Sometimes, I forget what I am really like underneath. I forget that I am more than the mask. But when I am alone, it comes off and, well, I fall apart. Sitting with you if you like.
  3. I am so sorry. I can relate. I just got snubbed from the women in my support group for women sexually abused as children. I don't matter. Now they know things about me. I just want to tell you that it is different here at pandy's. You can tell and you are safe here. Everyone is kind and caring. We will not abandon you here. And we will always listen and support you, no matter how awful and dark the secret. But move at your own pace, do what feels comfortable. We will always be here for you. Sitting with you if you like. Lauru
  4. Summer is here and I am so afraid. There have been so many awful things that did to me in the summer. There was no school and so he had a lot of extra time to abuse me because mom said I could stay up late.My father would take me out into the vineyard and rape me anally. He was violent about it. I would carefully throw my bloody underwear into the burner where we burned all of our garbage. I didn't want my mom to see it. I didn't want to get in trouble. I feel crazy in the summer. Like life is out to get me, make me crazy and all alone in the danger. I am so triggered by summer, the sound of the air conditioner, the twilight time of day when the sun is setting and the trees stand out black against the orange sky. Just thinking about it causes fear to run through me. I used to lie in his bed at night and sweat while he abused me. The window would be open and I could feel a little cool air trickle in. I could see a few stars and sometimes the moon through the sliver of the window. I would dream about being out there, safe from my father. We had no air conditioning in his room, so it was always terribly hot there. I could smell and taste the sweat on his body. It was disgusting, revolting. I can't say more about it right now. The memories are too much. Just too much.
  5. Thank you everyone for the kind, thoughtful words. And intrepid, I like the image of a phoenix. Thank you. But I still want to be normal, meaning I don't want to be bipolar or OCD and I don't want to have PTSD. And I don't want to be a victim or a survivor. I want to be the sliced white bread, or the plain vanilla ice cream. And right now I'm like chocolate chip rocky road caramel nut clusters peanut butter ice cream. If you get my drift. I am complicated. I want to be simple and plain. I long for boredom. And a little less self-hatred would be good too.
  6. I'm not normal

    I'm not normal. I have bipolar and OCD, and I was abused, horribly. I didn't have a normal childhood or a normal adulthood. I know this. But I hate it. I want to be normal. You know what I mean, the kid whose father didn't rape her. The young adult who doesn't attempt to take her life more than 5 times. The adult that hasn't been in the psych hospital more times than she can count. I want to be that girl. The one who didn't. The one who didn't get raped orally and anally . The one who doesn't overdose and try to kill herself. The one who doesn't cut herself when she gets angry or sad. I know some of you will say, hey what's normal?? No one's normal. Some of you will say of course you're normal. We're all normal. But I am not. It is not normal what my father did or what he made me do. It is not normal to cut myself. It is not normal to try and kill myself. It is not normal that I was forced to do disgusting, humiliating, and debasing things, all for my father's sick and twisted pleasure. I want to be normal. I really do. I don't want to be me. Being me sucks. I want to be good, clean, innocent, and pure, healthy and happy. Normal. I want to be normal. And it makes me so sad that I am not. I don't want to be me anymore. The loss of all of this is too much. Too much for me. Please don't tell me I am normal, because I am not. I don't want to hear that we are all normal, because I am not. My experiences prove that. I wish I was more. So much more. And I am so sad. So very sad. I don't know if I can bear it. I really don't.
  7. So I found my paradise. I am living alone in a city I love and my dead father is not here. He cannot hurt me here and he isn't even in my head here. Not really. Sometimes just a passing thought, but nothing more. And then the other shoe drops. I don't make enough money to sustain this life. I work full time, I do a good job, and I still don't make enough money to live on. So I have to look for another job. My mom is going to help me out for a couple of months and then I will have a year to find a new job that pays significantly more than what I make now. This is the hard part. I have a college degree, but not one that brings in much money. But hey, at least I have a year. I am hoping to get a job with the county or the state. That is very hard to do, a lot of competition. So I am feeling the stress. I can feel the tension building in my muscles and my head throbbing. I can feel the panic rise, that fear, like a bad taste at the back of your throat. You can feel it and you know you are going to vomit. I can taste the panic, I can feel my brain running fast, erratically. I am afraid. So very afraid. My future is riding on this. And I know I am not good enough. Not good enough at my job, not good enough to get a better job.Just in general, not good enough. I hate me. I really do. I don't feel real right now and I am scared. If I am not me, then who am I?? Whose hands are these typing? I am afraid. I don't know what to do. I feel like I am self destructing. I really do.
  8. Thanks Sarrettaa. I am glad my post was helpful to you. You are never alone. We are all here. All the best to you,
  9. Hi Mand, Thanks for the great reply. I do have a T and we are working on things, I have worked on it before, but that was a long time ago. Then I repressed the feelings for a few years and now I am back. Sometimes I am so filled with it, I feel as if it is leaking out of my eyeballs. Sometimes I think that's what the tears are. All of that abuse, seeping out. I cry for me. The me I was. The little one. She was so damaged. So horrified. So miserable.I wish it had never happened. That I wasn't that little girl. I deserved better than that. I really did.
  10. It happened oh so long ago. But it feels like just yesterday sometimes. I get so afraid, and disgusted and revolted, guilty and ashamed. These images in my head, the scents that aren't there, the feelings from nothing real. How do we live with the remembering? How do we go to work, to school, have a family, all while remembering? How can I carry in my head two such divergent things as school work and rape, work tasks and sexual abuse. I walk around feeling like an imposter. I am posing as a person, but I am not a real person. I am just a victim. This little ball of a thing shivering in the corner, crying because I hear a man's voice, who isn't there, threatening me. How do I talk to people on the phone when memories of my many rapes go through my head. I wonder, can they see? Can they tell what I am? Can they see that I am a freak? That my own father hated me so, that he abused me for 7 years? When I walk down the street I wonder if there is something in my face, or my voice that says I was abused? I don't think people know, but I am not sure. Because it is so fresh in my mind, I feel like it is falling out of me for all to see. I don't want people to know. I am afraid of what they might think or say. I don't want to be the freak, the loser, the weirdo. I don't want to be linked to rape, incest, and sexual abuse. I am more than my past. More than my memories. But sometimes I get lost in here. Floating around inside my head. Turning my eyes from the really horrible stuff and shutting my ears to my own crying sobs. And I am lonely. So very lonely.
  11. Thanks Intrepid. I really enjoy the support at the SIA group. It is very powerful sitting next to someone in the flesh and you both speak your truth. Very healing. I know I am not a liar, but my mom said I was. I was thinking back on it and then I heard it, loud and clear in her voice and I saw her face. It was startling how it just rolled out of my head. She said "Liar! Your daddy never touched you. Your daddy loves you, you ungrateful bitch!" She was angry because her daddy left her and never loved her. She had to be there with her alcoholic mother when she brought strange men home from the bar. But my daddy didn't love me. She might have had it bad with those strange men, but I had it bad with my own father. She knew what it was like to hurt, so why would she let me be hurt? Was she jealous because my dad stayed and he had money? That meant nothing to me. I just didn't want to get hurt anymore.
  12. It is 2am my time and I am still awake. I have been having a hard time focusing and getting school work done. I just want to go to my meeting tomorrow. I have an SIA meeting to go to. A "Survivors of Incest Anonymous" meeting. The ladies there are amazing. But it is so hard to say my name and that I am a survivor of incest. Every time I hear myself say it, I hear the voice in my head yell, "LIAR!!" He never hurt you. He is your daddy and he loves you. Be grateful bitch." I wonder to myself where that voice comes from. Did I at some point tell my mother what was going on? Did she say those words? WTF?? I don't know what's going on, but I hate that voice. My father is long dead, but my mother is still here. And I still speak with her. I need her in a way. I need some sort of family so I don't feel totally bereft in this world. But she is such a bitch. She can be so mean and heartless.Did she call me a liar? Did she tell me to be grateful? For him? For what? His money?? That's all he had. He had no love for any of us.None.But she loved his money. I don't believe she loved him, just his money. Because he treated her like shit. He really did. He treated us all like shit. We were only worth something if we could give him something. Like my 4 year old body. Like my mind and my heart and my soul. He owned me. He really did. He decided what would happen to me and when. He decided that I would get orally and anally raped. And more. So much more. That I can't go into here. But you can read it in my story. So what happened? I think I told her or tried to. I was very young. I know I told her that I didn't love daddy anymore when I was 5. I got slapped for that and told to never say that again. Did I tell her more? I think I might have, but I just can't really remember yet. But I can say that I am not a liar. Not at all. I was abused, horribly. I wish that I wasn't all alone in this. I wish I had a friend at least that I could talk to about this. Maybe I will make a friend at the SIA meeting. Who knows. I just want someone I can trust and who I like to spend time with. Who won't judge me on the abuse or my mental illnesses, I think I told her. I really do. And I think she denied it and called me a liar. I think this is all worse then I thought, worse than I know. I am afraid. I really am. My Story
  13. Thank you all for the kind words. I will take all the hugs I can get and thank you for sitting with me. I am just so damn tired of the shame. I want to get rid of it. Once and for all!
  14. Shame

    With a memory that I have been dealing with this last week, has come a lot of shame. A lot. I feel weighed down. I feel that burning inside that flares up my chest and onto my cheeks. My eyes always downcast, breathing shallow, so afraid others will know. So afraid others will know what I did. What was done to me. And how horribly shameful it all is. Well, I am sick of it! Sick of feeling my father's shame. When I told my T this week about my worst memory, the one that creates a cavern where my soul once was, he said it was my father's shame. I should not feel shame for what he did and for what he made me do. He said the guilt lies with my father not with me, And yet I feel it. The shame, deep, a part of me, my foundation for all of my neuroses. I feel a shame so deep, I fear it will consume me. I don't want to die from the shame. And I am close to it. The shame will guide my hands, I fear. I have talked to my T about it, and he is helping me. I don't want my father to win. My T said if I hurt myself, my father will win. I think he is right. And above all else, my father cannot win. My father shamed me. He was the pervert. The deviant. The sadistic sociopath. I was the innocent child. He may have taken my innocence, but he cannot take my purity. My heart and soul were pure, even after the oral, the anal, and the worse. He degraded my body, but my soul was pure. He cannot take that away from me, no matter what he did. Don't let the shame consume you. We all deserve so much better. Let's put the shame where it belongs! On the abusers! Give the shame back. Let them fold beneath it's weight. Let it eat them, destroy them from the inside out. Let it fester. Let it degrade them. Let that shame lead their hands, so that they will never abuse again. Give back your shame. It does not belong to you. It does not belong to me. It does not belong to any of us. Shame eats at our hearts and singes our souls. It leaves us dead inside. I don't want to be a hollow shell anymore. A ghost of who I could have been. I want to be the me I was meant to be, long before the abuse ever occurred. I will strive to forgo the shame and embrace my purity. I hope you do the same.
  15. Intrepid, YAY!!!! I am so happy for you, that it went so well! I was thinking about you and worried about you. I am so glad it was such a positive experience. I wish I had a gyn like that. None of the ones I have seen have been kind or understanding or helpful. They just get frustrated at me for being scared or in pain or not letting things move along fast enough.So, so happy for you!