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PTSD and Childhood Bullying – A Silent Suffering

I always thought that PTSD was something soldiers developed – I was naïve; had no idea anyone could develop Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. After my teenage son began to get into trouble, I assumed we’d become another statistic – a family with an out-of-control teen.

After we started family counseling, my therapist suggested that I try private therapy. About a week into it, I was diagnosed with PTSD. The therapist said were several things that led to PTSD.

PTSD, or Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, can occur when something horrible or traumatic has happened in. It causes stress every time you encounter a situation is similar to the previously-experienced traumatic events.

I’ve had a few types of traumatic events. I had a rocky relationship with my father growing up and then his death was both very sudden and very traumatic. An abusive relationship with my ex. I’ve experienced abuse from my son. Lastly, I was bullied by a girl from second grade all the way through high school.

My reactions to everyday situations can be more intense than they need to be – but whenever I am in a stressful or threatening situation, I relive past experiences. It’s hell, reliving the same horrible day over and over.

Once, when I saw my grade school bully in the grocery store, while I was there with my kids and we were checking out. The sound drained out of the store. My heart began to race. Blood pumped in my ears. My face got hot. As soon as I was able, I grabbed my kids and ran for the car. I must’ve driven break-necking speeds home, but I don’t remember getting there.

I had a panic attack after seeing this woman! We live in a small town and the odds of running into her are probably higher than in other areas, but I never see her. When I did, I hit fight or flight mode, and flew! That was six years ago.

Since I began therapy, I’ve seen her again. My daughters were with me, and this time I made sure to make eye contact with her as I turned to my daughters and said, “Girls, let’s go check out. I think we’ve got all we need now!” I turned and went to check out. As we left I felt so proud of myself for facing her, and not fleeing like a chicken facing slaughter!

Thanks to the ways she traumatized me, I always tell my kids, “Don’t take anyone’s crap at school!” Recently my daughter was getting harassed by a staff member at her middle school. I contacted the principal and reported her. This woman has not bothered my daughter since I reported her; threatened to file a sexual harassment suit against the school.

Since starting therapy, I stand up more than I used to. Despite all the reasons my therapist thought that I was traumatized, I think the bully and my father’s sudden death were the two that really affected me.

I was a victim of domestic abuse, but I came to terms with it, and took a stand. I left my then-husband and married the man responsible for making me feel like I was worth more. I call him my White Knight because I was considering suicide when we met – he saved me.

My son and I have resolved many of our issues and are working on our relationship; things are getting better.

I still have issues with my dad’s death.

See, I was blamed for him dying. He died from cancer 14 years ago and afterward, I was told that being around stressed him out – caused his cancer to return after it had been in remission.

Being blamed for his death is a hard thing to overcome. But this year, I was able to make it past his birthday and the anniversary of his death (exactly a month apart) without being a total mess!

To all those out there who have been bullied, abused, or lost a loved one, don’t assume you are strong enough to deal with it on your own.

PTSD snuck up and took over my life. I’d been miserable for years because I didn’t know what I was trying to cope with on my own. I suffered for years without understanding why, until I didn’t want to live any more.

Now, I cannot imagine having missed one day of my kids lives. Good or bad, I want to be there for it all. When they graduate from high school, when they get married, go off to college, when they start their own families. I want to be there, protect them from the problems I had. To tell them, “You’re better than this!” Or smile for them after they avoid bad situations entirely!

Don’t hesitate to get help for PTSD. It really does make a difference.

I never wanted to go to therapy every week, but I am, and I am doing much better. My therapist told me last week that he thinks I am nearly ready to be done. I think that’s a remarkable thing to hear – I am better, I can do it.

My therapist told me recently that I’m a remarkable person for dealing with what I’ve experienced, and still managing to smile. I told him that despite any issues I’ve had, I have great kids and a loving husband.

That’s all I could ask for!

The Taming and Naming and Possible Maiming of Your Demons

My name is Roxanne.…and I have many demons.

Yet, all of them have always been under my control. I just didnʻt know it.

All this time, I thought they had complete control of me, but the truth is, and has always been, that my demons for me, like yours for you, are ours to tame, name and obliterate (maim). Once they are tamed and named, they can no longer control you.

They can only be your bitches.

While this might seem very simple, I know it is anything but. I know that it is a demon son of a bitch to deal with the thoughts we think, and it is worse when the PTSD kicks in. I know, too, that people think you are pretending, but, I know that you cannot possibly pretend to be the thing that you have been fighting your whole life long – that thing that other people think and believe is your identity, or, sometimes, they think it is your mask.

Itʻs not.

It is PTSD.

It is the monster that no one thinks about becoming real in the lives of domestic violence survivors, and the irritating little mother fucker of a demon that likes to rear its head just when you thought you had the shitty little thing tamed. You find out quickly that these demons donʻt want to be tamed.  They want to be what you want to be, which is free and wild. They want to be free to run wildly amok in the hallways of your memory, fucking with you until tears fall, and not only do others stop seeing the real you, even you stop seeing the person you always knew yourself to be.

My own demons like to play with me, they like to knock the fuck out of reality and truth, and they like to tell me that I’m not at all what others think me to be.  My demons tell me all the time that I am not capable of doing things the right way, because I do things my way, and my demons like to remind me that I am not the prettiest, or the smartest, they tell me I am the most irritating person and that even the people who love me the most also and equally loathe me.

My own demons fight with me, argue the truth until there is nothing left of it, the proverbial pile of mindfuck particles left scattered around my psyche like some sort of diabolical confetti comprised of the memories that made me feel better, or made me feel awful, or made me think things that were not the truth, or made me believe that I was not ever in control of who I am…but that they were.

Then one day I figured out that those demons were askinʻ for it.  They were literally, by right of their continuing to pop up in my life at the most inconvenient times, asking to be seen to, to be heard, to be told what to do and how to behave. They needed me to see to them, to stop feeding them the bullshit that, for so long, had made them sick and ugly and loathsome, and just completely miserable, and that kept me under their control.

Lots of times we do not see that we might be dealing with someone elseʻs demons, and ones that they show to us, and only us, for the purposes of healing them, through the power of love and truth all at one time.

Sometimes, the demons respond favorably, and other times, they fight back, wanting to live and be heard until they no longer have voice to scream at us with, or anger to flail through us with, or any other way of being or thinking that lives within us, because instead of letting them become like flying monkeys, we make them into the little fuckers who, no matter what, we have control of.

We canʻt see ourselves as anything but works in progress, and as such, sometimes we need to help those parts of who we are that are not that great. We need them to compare them to what we want to see, what is already there, and what just requires a little coaxing….

All our lives, we were told who we were.

Then one day, someone broke us.

Then one day the demons who wore their faces showed us who we were not, but we only believed what the vile little bastards told us COULD happen.

We chose not to believe it.

We chose to no longer believe the lies, or the pain, or anything else that was not the truth.

This is what the demons gave me…

The Truth.

Donʻt kill your demons.

Tame them.

Name them.

Make them your bitches.

Theyʻre way more fun than flying monkeys.

And they shit less, too…

Just sayinʻ.

 

Depression Hangover

I don’t know where to start. I have had dysthymia for as long as I can remember. My new therapist says it is like a living a half-life. I guess it is. This year, it slipped into something worse. This year has been one of the worst years of my life and I have had some pretty bad years. I had a relationship end, I started a bout of major depression that left me 70 pounds heavier, I had two surgeries, I am in a job that I hate, and on November 21st, I lost a dear friend to cancer. I can’t stop thinking that I wished it had been me. I feel trapped by bad choices. I have nothing left to give anyone anymore. I feel dead inside, but I hide it well. No one really knows how many times I came close to killing myself this year. I grew up with an alcoholic, I grew up in a violent household where I never felt safe. I was molested several times by several men and one female relative.

I feel trapped in this fatsuit. I feel like the best years of my life are behind me. I feel damaged and broken. I am trying to get help. The mental health resources where I live are spread pretty thin. I get to see a therapist once a month, if I am lucky, and I see a doctor for meds for ten mins a month. He switched me some of my medications because of the weight gain. I have tried about ten different anti-depressants and all of them had some kind of unpleasant side effect. I keep hoping I will find one that actually works. I also take an anxiety medication. I take it to control the panic attacks I get when I am out in public. I take it to quiet the loop of negative thoughts I have going through my head everyday.

This is my first post. I come here and I know that I am not alone. I thank the brave people who share their stories here.

I am trying to get better.  I am with The Band.

Dose Of Happy: Maine

I recently got back from a trip to New York, a five hour drive (from Maine), which was huge for me!

I suffer with agoraphobia, meaning I have a hard time leaving my house for any duration. Five minutes is hard enough, you can imagine how hard A WEEK was for me.

BUT, alas, I DID IT! I successfully left my house for a vacation and managed to have fun!

 

Not only did I have fun, but so did my son, here is a picture of him playing with his cousins in the sprinkler on one of the hotter days. 

 

He had a ball and I was so happy I overcame this hurdle and was able to experience this with him!

Anxiety and panic disorders are very real and can feel like a noose around your neck, but I promise- with a lot of work and effort, YOU CAN FREE YOURSELF FROM ITS HOLD. It doesn’t have to be a life sentence. You can overcome your fears a little at a time. Baby steps, just remember baby steps. Small victories lead to even bigger victories (before this trip, I was only able to be outside of my house for 15 minutes at a time). Don’t let yourself be held down by anxiety. Fight for your life back!

Thanks for being there for me, The Band. I don’t know where I would be right now without you guys!

I Am The Adult Child Of A Narcissistic Malignant Mother

Recently, I discovered that I’m an adult child of a malignant, narcissistic mother.

I’d always believed that my mother loved me and all her interference in my life was to make me better, stronger. Blindly, I trusted that she meant for me to be happy. But I also knew that … something was wrong. I never could do right by her and I just knew that something was wrong with me. She was inside my head, under my skin, causing me to drown. I lost my strength and discovered that I feared her.

These revelations took over a year – it was a whole process for me.

My life had fallen apart and I went to a specialized therapy clinic for help. There, I learned I was codependent. My therapist actually told me “you have a bad mother, you need to protect yourself from her.”

I was shocked.

I talked to my mother as I came out of the clinic and decided to break contact with her. Afterward, I felt so guilty and sunk into a very deep depression. I think I put all my energy into avoiding contact with her. I was stuck in bed, only leaving to go to therapy.

I couldn’t understand my mother’s attitude toward me. How could she be so crazy insensitive to what I was going through? I was obsessed with the question “why?” After seven months of therapy, I discovered that it was helpless to believe there was a way to save our relationship. I remember my therapist saying “no, I don’t think so. Any relationship with her, you’ll only get hurt.”

I cried so much. It was such a big loss. I finally understood how much she’d taken from me. How she enslaved me, took away everything I got, people that I loved. My mother had bullied me all of my life. The pain was indescribable; I was destroyed. Crying every day, having nightmares all night.

None of this made sense. I felt that she’d only rest once I’d killed myself. How could she be so awful to me? I did everything for her; gave her more than I had to give. Was it really just jealousy? Why? Why had she been so cruel to me? My therapist explained that she’s a narcissistic mother; she has narcissistic personality disorder. I was her extension. It was quite confusing so I turned to the internet for answers. I didn’t know what having a narcissistic mother meant.

There I found it. I understood the way I’d felt my whole life. I understood her attitude toward me.

My mother is a engulfing, malignant narcissist.

I learned the tactics of psychological manipulation: invalidation, gaslighting, parentification, triangulation, narcissistic rage. Convincing me to do the opposite of what my gut said. Denying my needs.

I was deadly shocked for I don’t know, months? I haven’t really recovered. My symptoms increased, I developed panic disorder, my self-esteem melted, felt so insecure talking to people or making changes in my life.

For five months, I stopped dealing with it – it was just too much. I’m still unable to deal with anything or anyone. I feel lost, I’m afraid that I’m too damaged to be able to be happy. I’m paralyzed. I have no idea who I am.

I’m 40 and I lost my childhood, my innocence, my adult life. I am sick, depressed, lonely, and terrified.

I discovered The Band Back Together Project, for which I am very grateful. Thanks to reading your stories, I now know that I did the right thing in stopping contact to my mother. That was really killing me.

I can understand all the pain I’m feeling. How badly I’m grieving this loss. To top it off, I discovered that my father also has narcissistic personality disorder.

So I’m the adult child of narcissistic parents.

I’ve been badly abused all of my life. No wonder I’m unable to do what I want and need, how absolutely everybody in my life has abused me, why I can’t stand up for myself.

Knowing that I am not alone and understanding my symptoms gives me hope. I understand that I need treatment and support. I’ll return to therapy which I hope can help me to learn to feel angry, to defend myself, to stop feeling guilty all the time. To allow me to have things, a family, someone that treats me well. I hope I’ll never have abusers in my life again.

I wish I could see what life is like. Until now, I’ve never had a life of my own to lead; I was just a stupid toy, trying to please everyone for love and attention. I want to learn to respect myself and set clear emotional boundaries with other people.

The hardest part is to see how damaged I am. That’s really scary.

Thank you, Band Back Together for giving me the opportunity to speak out. I don’t need to be ashamed; I was abused, I am a victim. Thank you for showing me that.

Can you, The Band, share your stories about being an adult child of narcissistic parents?

I really want to believe this emotional trauma will end and I will, at long last, be free.

Thank you.

The First Step In Healing From Emotional Abuse From My Narcissistic Mother

Thanks to Band Back Together posts, I’ve found many links about other adult children of narcissistic parents (ACONs). I’m learning a lot about who I am and what I need to do heal from the emotional abuse I lived through.

I now understand that through emotional abuse as a child, a person develops many challenges in his or her adult relationships. ACONs are unable to judge people (especially when it comes to protecting oneself), lack understanding what is bad and wrong, instead believing everyone is good. This is what emotional abuse does – it makes us magnets for abusers in our adult relationships.

Lacking the ability to act assertively and set healthy emotional boundaries is big deal of for ACONs. Since I’ve been to the clinic, I read about narcissistic personality disorder. I now understand that I need to put myself first, to respect myself, and set emotional boundaries. This is new for me: I couldn’t tell when it was too much until was too late. I still struggle but I believe that a part of me is learning to respect myself.

I made a huge step: a friend of mine was celebrating her birthday and was pushing me to go to a disco to party with her. It was far too much for me. I have panic disorder,depression, and struggle interacting in social situations.

I explained to her how I felt, but she continued insisting – she told me she wouldn’t come to my birthday party if I didn’t go to hers. I was about to go. I’d picked out an outfit when it hit me: I knew I’d feel distressed and exhausted. I decided to call her and tell her I wasn’t coming. This was incredibly difficult for me but I did it.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel guilty or fear punishment – I felt I needed to respect myself. If she is my friend, she needs to respect my feelings. She doesn’t need to understand them, but she needs to respect them. I’m so proud of myself.

I’m starting to understand what being emotionally abused by a very manipulative malignant narcissistic mother has done to me. I’ve had to learn that it’s okay to say no when one feels like it. I can do that without feeling guilty. This is self-respect, not failing with someone else’s expectations. I’m not hurting anyone by saying I’m sorry, I can’t – I don’t want to do that.

I know it’s a long road I’m facing to learn to say, “No! Don’t touch me!” To put a really angry face when I feel disrespected, and to develop positive aggression to protect myself from abuse. For that, I need to be able to understand my emotional boundaries.

Still can’t. But I’m learning every day.

I now feel comfortable about cutting ties with my ex-boyfriend. I can see that he’s a crazy narcissistic abuser and that the best thing to do was to cut him off. I’d been feeling very insecure about dealing with him as he keeps sending me kind messages. I ignored them, but I was very insecure that cutting him off. Now I know that’s the right thing to do.

I’m loving this new found freedom. I can easily cut out all the abusers in my life. It’s been tough, though. I now see how many narcissistic people I’ve had around me my whole life. How I’ve been abused by friends and that all my ex-boyfriends – without exception – are narcissists. How I let them abuse me without realizing it. I’d get hurt and try to tell them, but they would never hear, I couldn’t see why they’d hurt me. I’d used to think it was because they didn’t realize it. I struggled, trying to make sense of their abuse. So naïve.

Of course they knew it! They just didn’t care.

I’ve got to protect myself.