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My List Of My Physical, Psychological, And Emotional Traumas – Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, Abuse, and Pain

My therapist has asked me to write down a list of my emotional traumas.

A list of all the emotionally and physically traumatic experiences that have happened to me in my life, that have contributed to my Bipolar Disorder and PTSD.

Right now, my therapist doesn’t feel as though I’m ready for the therapy called Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR). As far as I understand, I have to relive physical and emotional traumatic experiences, have the proper emotional response, get over it, then have Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) so I can develop some sort of coping mechanism for the future.

But until my medications are adjusted and I’m in a better place, I have to wait.

So, here is my list:

Sexual abuse around age 3 by a family member. I repressed this memory until it slapped me in the face at age 12, causing an intense anxiety attack.

Constant arguing between my parents, thanks to my father’s alcoholism, gambling and pain issues due to needing a hip replacement. The pain issue turned into an anger issue; turned into a power tool being thrown at my mother, missing, and going through the window and landing at my feet; followed by an argument on a holiday with my father resulting in me taking a heavy duty power torch to the head.

As a “gifted child,” I was bullied a lot in primary school and high school. I still carry some of those emotional scars with me.

Funnily enough, my brain is currently trying to stop me from accessing more memories. Suck it, brain; stop being a whiny bitch and let me write this shit out.

When I was 16, my mother – being severely depressed – attempted suicide several times. The last time she tried, she had an argument with my father (now a better man, nothing like his days in my earlier life), and downed a ton of pills. I found her and her suicide note. I actively suppress the things written on that note thanks to the emotional trauma but I know how it began.

That sentence haunts me in my dreams. She is fine now, thankfully, but I refused to talk about it with anyone and pretended it never happened.

I was diagnosed with severe anxiety disorder when I had a panic attack at high school so bad my heart rate was 180, and I had to be rushed to hospital for fear of doing damage to my heart.

Since that day, I regularly have heart palpitations.

I had a psychotic episode at 17, when voices told me to stab my mother. I became paralyzed in my own bed while lights shone down from the ceiling, and I was convinced aliens were coming for me, despite my logical brain telling me I was being stupid.

I was diagnosed with endometriosis and told I should probably have children before 25. I’m currently a week away from my 24th birthday. Talk about another emotional trauma.

I moved out of my family home to the capital of my state to attend university. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder at this stage, and promiscuity, sleepless nights, shopping sprees, and severe irritability kicked in.

I dated a Muslim man for eight months. Toward the end of the relationship, I was emotionally abused, when he called me a dog. I went running into the arms of a male friend.

I decided I was the worst person in the world and went off screwing any guy who looked my way, drinking myself into oblivion, and eating pills like candy, just to numb the pain. I wanted to be used. I asked my male friend – now my fuck buddy – if he was using me for sex. He replied yes. I cried and said, “good.

” Turned out he wasn’t using me: he was in love with me; as a result of my promiscuity, and his inability to tell me how he felt, he quit university, broken-hearted.

I started dating my current partner, whom I have been with for five years now. We lived with his sister, her fiancé, and their daughter. His sister is a lazy bully who cannot look after herself, let alone children (currently a total of three). Her fiancé is a violent, alcoholic gambler. After being made a prisoner in my own bedroom, we got our own place.

My diagnosis of fibromyalgia explained my constant pain and tiredness. Yay for inheriting every single shitty illness my parents have.

Recently, I have started to have feelings for a close friend, who also has a partner. While drunk, we have made twice. I have feelings for him, but he is just attracted to me. I have immense guilt over betraying my partner, who is emotionally stunted. I think I’m just attracted to my friend because he has the social and emotional skills my partner lacks.

I was severely bullied at my last job until I began having daily panic attacks and getting into a screaming matches with a higher-up and former friend.

I decided to self-harm and contemplated suicide when the medication I was taking for five years stopped working. Unfortunately, while the medication stopped working, my now non-existant libido did not return.

Have also suffered dermatillomania (chronic skin-picking) for most of my life, particularly my feet. It is disgusting.

Currently, I am plagued by insomnia, headaches, anxiety, shame, severe depression, guilt, and every other horrible feeling imaginable. According to my therapist, I have feelings of low self-worth. According to my friends, I have a much lower opinion of myself than everyone else does of me.

I am both numb and emotionally unstable. I can’t cry, even though I really want to let it out. I think of myself as selfish and horrible, a terrible person who doesn’t deserve what I have. I theorize that I have some subconscious need to sabotage myself.  Every time something is going well, just to add some drama in my life. Why I do this, I don’t know. And as I have written this list in such a cold, emotionless manner, I find it odd that I can be so numb and feel so many negative emotions at the same time. I feel like a robot.

I don’t want sympathy. At least, I don’t think I do. I am just tired. Tired of struggling through every day with these issues. I want the problems to just magically disappear because I’m tired of fighting.

I know it’s a long road ahead to my recovery. And as much as I don’t want to relive the aforementioned memories, I am also excited for the first time in ages because maybe, finally, with proper therapy…

…maybe I’ll finally get some peace and closure.

Dose of Happy: Latest Victory

I’m not sure if I deserve a pat on the back or a really good nap, but either way I’m proud of me.

Since last Thursday, things seem to have just started to topple over completely within my family, and I’ve managed to keep it together and make sure that not only are those who need to be ok are ok, but that I am, too.

Yes, this is going to take a hot minute or months to take care of, but I didn’t lose it and I didn’t break!

I’m proud of that.

Now if I could only sleep 🤷‍♀️

Chrissy

Wrath And Ruin

In my sixteen years, I’ve never had to deal with the problem of bullying from others. However, for as long as I can remember, I have been a big bully to myself.

“Why are you alone on a Friday night? On a Saturday night? On any night? Because NO ONE wants to hang out with you! No one likes you!”

“You aren’t really asexual! You’re just deluding yourself!”

“You think you’re life’s bad? You don’t even have a reason for being depressed!”

“Why the fuck are you getting a second helping? You don’t do anything to burn it!”

“The reason you’re doing badly in school isn’t because you don’t function well in school, it’s because you’re dumb as a post! You don’t deserve to be in your classes, you’re not that smart!”

“You’ll never make it as a writer!”

“Of course your sisters don’t want to talk to you. They have better friends than you in college!”

I try not to listen to these things I say to myself and keep them shut out. But I can count on one hand the people who really know me and who care about me. I’m so alone.

I won’t crack. Won’t let me get to me. I’ll keep smiling for my family and keep telling my friends that I’m ‘just tired.’ I’ll just keep it all inside, keep it all behind my wall.

 

Latest Victory

I’m not sure if I deserve a pat on the back or a really good nap, but either way I’m proud of me.

Since last Thursday, things seem to have just started to topple over completely within my family, and I’ve managed to keep it together and make sure that not only are those who need to be okay are okay, but that I am, too.

Yes, this is going to take a hot minute or months to take care of, but I didn’t lose it and I didn’t break!  I’m proud of that.

Now if I could only sleep.

*************************************

I wrote the above about 2.5 weeks ago after my youngest got another medical diagnosis and something major happened that I can’t talk about yet.  (Nothing to do with medical diagnosis.)

Then, once I got done what needed to be done, it seemed like the shit show appeared with spring break for the kids. I ended up in the ER for a severe migraine that met my IIH (Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension, which is high blood pressure on your brain, with brain and spinal fluid).

If you’ve never had that happen, you don’t want it too.  It was scary as hell.

Basically, I was strong and got shit done, and then I fell apart.

I felt like such a failure for that.  Ugh.  I’m okay now.

Stress is such a bitch, I swear.

So, I walked into my therapist’s office sat down and said “welcome to the shit show.”

At least I own it, right?

Chrissy

Fear, A Poem About My Eating Disorder

I hate the way I look when I’m in front of the mirror.

Its a constant battle, always running on my greatest fear.

Who is going to love these rolls and cellulite?

Can’t wear this or that because it feels too tight.

Baggy sweats and sleeping alone at night.

Have to restrict or live with guilt after a meal.

Food is the go to, to change the way I feel.

Eating until my stomach is going to burst.

Punishing myself after, my choices are the worst.

Tomorrow I’ll do better, I won’t do it again.

Hop on the scale and I’ve gained another ten.

Shame and self loathing begin to spiral,

I get on my knees on the bathroom tile.

I have to purge this feeling, immediate relief

Now the enamel is wearing off of my teeth.

Run the water so no one can hear.

That being unlovable is my biggest fear.

A Figure Appeared In The Darkness

A figure appeared in the darkness. In the gleam of the moonlight, I knew it was her, the woman who gave me life. She was small but managed to overwhelm the room with her haughty pride. Her words always cut. They were sharp. The wounds were deep.

They pour out of me and saturate my speech, my art, my work, my relationships.

“What the fuck do you want!?” I demand.

She stands still, as if waiting to pounce. Even silence is a weapon.

“You don’t belong here.” I explain.

She’s dead.

Why is she still here? Why can’t I be rid of her?

She never wanted me. I didn’t belong to her.

I was in her way.

She was compelled by her narcissism, there was no room for anyone or anything else. She hated me for being born, for taking up time and resources. She would have easily sold me if it meant she would now be supreme, the fairest of all. She was the monster in my closet.

She had compassion and love for a few. She left none for me. She made me feel undeserving.

Every time my mother saw me, she realized her mortality, her own demise. She hated me for my youth. She couldn’t stand that I was a specimen of beauty and each day it grew; it was going to outshine her.

She knew that. She couldn’t control it.

So she controlled how I felt about myself. She made sure I knew I was ugly.

She told me every day, “You’re so ugly!” She wished I was a boy. Boys were better.

She didn’t have to compete with boys; she could manipulate them more easily.

She didn’t place value on my academic achievements; to her, I was worthless and stupid.

She didn’t graduate high school. She hated me for having opportunities she never did. She tried desperately to hold me back from being successful at anything.

I was the Repunzel in this warped retelling of the story.

The mother (the witch) had fallen from the high tower and was blinded by the thorn brush she herself harvested. Now she’s an aimless spirit, wandering the halls of my home. She wrestles with an unknown assailant as Jacob wrestled with the angel. She’s asking me for something, but she can’t speak.

Is it forgiveness?

Is she asking me for my blessing?

If I do forgive her and let her go, does this mean I’m free?

Will I ever be free?