by Band Back Together | Sep 4, 2014 | Anxiety, Anxiety Disorders, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Self Injury, Shame, Trauma |
I didn’t get to work yesterday. I went to the hospital instead. At the insistence of my fiance, I called in sick and we headed out. This was after three days of hearts pounding, palm-sweating, barely able to focus anxiety. We pulled off the road for gas and breakfast only to have the car completely break down. We weren’t going any further that way. Our replacement car is over a week late, the current broken down junker has been a death trap for a while now. Needless to say, this turn of events did little to improve my stress level. I did my breathing exercises and fought a losing battle to stay calm. We called a cab, we got to the hospital. Very friendly people. Smiling nurses, nodding sympathetically to my plight. Always the same questions “Any idea as to what set you off? Do you have any triggers? Are you at risk of self harm?” and “Who’s this with you? Do you want him to stay?”
No, no, and hell no. My Fiance, yes.
The thing is, nothing has gone wrong. Work is awesome. My recent trip with my mother was fantastic. I met my fiance’s mother, a narcissistic woman I’d been dreading encountering. It was a pleasant visit, far better than expected. There’s just the background negativity that isn’t going anywhere, that for some reason, some unknown reason, was louder and more demanding than it has been since I was in the midst of abuse. Stuff like that I’m not good enough, my life is going to fall apart, it’s my fault my step father got away with so much, that he has uncontested custody of my little sisters. Sisters I miss so badly, and want to have as bridesmaids at my wedding. Sisters I may never see again. Just the same old shitty baggage, that isn’t going anywhere. I wish I knew how to just let go. The doctor gave me some pills. They put me to sleep, and for a while the background stuff is gone. It’s not perfect, but it helps me focus on the pretty A+ foreground I’m making myself. For now it’ll do.
Until I can let go of the shitty past and current yet distant circumstances beyond my control, it’ll have to do.
by Band Back Together | Aug 27, 2014 | A Letter To My Younger Self, Abuse, Eating Disorders, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Self Injury, Self-Esteem, Teen Self Injury |
You are going to make mistakes, a lot of them.
Like seriously, A LOT.
Mistakes are okay to make as long as you learn from them.
You will make the mistake of letting people tell you who you are, not learning the first time, and believing the hate.
All of that means nothing to you now, you are probably laughing and saying to yourself “I would never do that!”
When you end up in multiple mentally abusive relationships, get out of there at the first sign! Believe me, you try so, so hard and it doesn’t work.
That doesn’t make you a failure though, it was their fault for not putting in equal effort and treating you right.
You aren’t fat, stop starving yourself.
You shouldn’t cut, put the knife down.
You don’t have to struggle alone, tell someone.
You aren’t a bother, speak up.
You don’t expect to much, keep your own standards.
I love you, Younger Self. When you grow up, make sure to remember to love yourself as well.
by Band Back Together | Aug 6, 2014 | How To Help A Loved One Who Self-Injures, Self Injury, Uncategorized |
I have self harmed for four years, yet I can think of so many ways to help other people. My counselor and I decided that by sharing my ideas, it might help me by helping others. I will post these in separate posts for the sake of simplicity.
Self Help Idea One: The Shoe Box
The idea for this one is simple. You will build a barricade of things to block you from hurting yourself. The barricade will be strong, and probably hold up against you.
Step One: Find a shoe box. Find two small peices of cloth, big enough to cover the bottom of the box completely. They should not be see through.
Step Two: Gather everything you use to harm yourself. I mean every single razor, every single knife, lighter, needles, paper clips, anything.
Step Three: Put these items at the bottom of the box and cover it up with one of the pieces of cloth.
Step Four: Gather pictures of people that mean a lot to you, and would be hurt if you killed yourself, or knew that you self harm. When you have collected these items, put the second cloth over them.
Step Five: Collect and gather small items that mean a lot to you. Letters from somebody, a small key chain, a charm, jewelery, anything. Put these on top of the cloth.
Step Six: Put the lid of the shoe box on. Tape it shut. Get a pillow case, and put the shoe box in there. Tie it shut, and hide it somewhere. I keep mine under my bed.
Whenever you feel the need to self harm, you will physically have to go through walls to stop you, sit you down, and make you think of what you are going to do. Please remember, I am not a psychologist; only sharing an idea that worked for me. My next idea will be submitted when this one is posted.
by Band Back Together | Feb 13, 2014 | Coping With Divorce, Date/Acquaintance Rape, Divorce, How To Help A Loved One Who Self-Injures, Marriage Problems, Self Injury, Self-Destructive Behavior, Uncategorized |
I have been dating my boyfriend for almost two years, but I am unable to tell him things from before we met. The minor things are okay, things like “I was married for about a year” “my ex-husband used to drink”. Those things are fairly minor.
I tried to tell him about the other stuff, but my heart starts pounding and I find I can’t breathe very well, my fingers get pins and needles. Then I just can’t say it. I get so cross with myself, I feel like such a failure. How hard is it to open my mouth and speak? I was going to tell him, I had a few drinks to get the courage, but then I had too much, and I still couldn’t tell him.
I am shy, I don’t ever want to be the centre of attention, and I feel too exposed to say it in words. None of my friends who know, I did tell my husband, that wasn’t difficult, but that was a lot of years ago now. Why is it difficult now?
It all started so long ago. I was 14. I went for a walk on my own in the woods. I was going to start smoking, so I wanted to be away! I walked through the trees to a clearing and there was a jogger. He only had his trainers on. I guess most people who have any sense would turn right around and leave, back the way they came. But I didn’t have much sense. I carried on walking, straight past him. Close enough to touch, but he didn’t. I wasn’t going to let that put me off, I had a destination in mind, and that’s where I wanted to go.
Anyway, if it wasn’t for a man walking his dog the whole story would have a very different ending. I didn’t tell my parents when I got home, but I told my best friend at school. She persuaded me to tell a teacher, then my parents, then the police.
Its not a bad story, after all nothing happened. But why can’t I tell him? Why does it play on my mind? Why does it matter?
I had my first boyfriend when I was 15, he was 18 and he raped me.
But I didn’t understand what it was, I just thought, “this is how its supposed to be.” I didn’t know I had a choice. It did mess my head up. When he dumped me, I started self harming. I didn’t understand what it was at the time, why cutting myself made me feel better, but it did. I never told anyone about the cutting, I had long sleeves, so no one saw.
I told my next boyfriend “I don’t want to” and he didn’t, but it still went down-hill from there. Sometimes it was okay, but other times he wanted the me I was before, the happy me. That girl was gone.
I wasn’t happy for a long time. I cut myself and burned myself, but never told anyone. I overdosed twice and went to hospital once. I had sex with a lot of people. I didn’t love myself so why should anyone else?
I did find someone to love. He loved me too, in his own way, after all we did get married. He left me. I had a young daughter, and it was so hard on my own. I had to have a job, which was good because it was probably the only thing that kept me sane. I went out for a rare evening with work. I met a man who I knew from my sleeping around days, and we went to my house. I didn’t want to have sex, but he did. It wasn’t rape, I could have screamed or pushed him off. I asked him to leave, then I had a bath, at 2 am.
Then I meet my fella. He’s nice. He doesn’t want me to send him pictures of myself with no clothes on. He doesn’t want sex all the time. He comes to visit me and he give me a cuddle. That’s what I’ve been looking for all this time, cuddles.
We won’t ever live together, or get married, or have children together. But I know one day, that is what I will want. I’m 22 years younger than him. Sometimes I think of what I’m missing out on – a family. But then I think of what/how I used to be. I was unhappy. I was sad. But now most of the time, I’m okay.
I still can’t tell him anything though. I can’t tell anyone.
by Band Back Together | Sep 4, 2013 | Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Child Grooming, Child Sexual Abuse, Date/Acquaintance Rape, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, How To Cope With Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self Injury |
The scars of child sexual abuse last a lifetime.
This is her brave story:
Hi, The Band. I’m not too sure where to start, so I’ll start here.
My uncle’s friend was a police officer. He had a daughter and we played together often; we were like a family all hanging out together.
One night, when I was I was 9 years old, I slept over at his home…everything changed..
Suddenly, I was in his bedroom, the room was dark, and he was on top of me. I started to feel him going in and out of me (sorry I’m not yet able to be specific).
It hurt so much.
I couldn’t do anything.
I couldn’t scream.
Wasn’t I supposed to do what he told me to?
I did. I turned when he told me to, I did all he told me to, and I did nothing to stop it. I just squeezed the sheets tight and hoped for it to be over. But it kept happening, like there was no end.
Finally it was over, or so I thought. Because even now that I’m 22, I still relive it over and over again.
I have PTSD with severe anxiety, seems like there’s no end to this nightmare.
Last year made it worse – my friend sexually assaulted me, I choose not to call it “rape” as it makes it seem so much worse.
I don’t know what to do or think; sometimes I don’t know how to live – I cut my wrist sometimes. Each time I promise that I won’t do it again, but it’s almost addictive especially at my low points. I don’t trust men, especially police officers – it’s ironic how those who are supposed protect us are the ones who hurt us.
I just need someone who can understand what I’m going through, someone who’ve been there, someone I can talk to, and won’t think that I’m too messed up.
I need help.
by Band Back Together | Jul 30, 2013 | Abuse, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Coping With Depression, Depression, Emotional Abuse, Generalized Anxiety Disorder Resources, Guilt, Major Depressive Disorder, Psychological Manipulation, Self Injury, Suicide |
One of the hardest things a friend can do is to try and help a self-destructive friend.
This is her story:
I know that none of this is your fault.
I know that it wasn’t your fault for being depressed. I know that it wasn’t your fault that your parents emotionally and verbally abused you, or for having a severe anxiety disorder. I know that you were in blinding amounts of pain, and you were just trying to survive in any which way you could.
I know that you honestly never meant to hurt me.
And yet still, I still can’t help but be angry with you.
For a good seven months of my life, I was stricken with terror every single day. I spent countless hours talking you down from suicide; comforting you after you’d have a panic attack, and listening to you describe in detail how you’d hurt yourself that day.
I tried my best to be there for you, even as I was simultaneously dealing with my own self-harm, anxiety, and a crippling depressive episode – so crippling, in fact, that eventually, I had to be hospitalized.
I couldn’t walk away even if I’d wanted. Many times, you’d said I was the most important person in your life – if I left, you’d kill yourself. However, you also told me even if I stayed, you would eventually kill yourself.
I was trapped.
I pleaded with you to get help. Each time, you refused.
Once, I had to call the police to keep you from swallowing your prescription medications. Fortunately, they got there in time; unfortunately, it did nothing to deter you from attempting again. Over the course of six months, you went on to attempt suicide nearly two dozen times.
I was there for it all.
I can still remember the day my younger sister broke up with you. Like me, she’d been backed into a corner and didn’t know what to do. You called her names, accused her of lying to you, and threatened suicide. I spent two hours behind a computer screen trying to talk you down while my sister sobbed helplessly in the background. My mom called your parents. They did nothing to help the situation.
All in all, it was useless.
Later that week, I broke down. I climbed into the shower, bit down on a washcloth, and screamed at the top of my lungs. I screamed until my throat was hoarse and cried harder than I’ve ever cried.
Finally, months later, I attempted to walk away. You responded with aggression and hatred, and later made it known to me in a very marked way that you’d tried to kill yourself that day.
Even then, I recognized this obvious act of emotional manipulation, but that still didn’t change that you’d attempted to end your life… because of me.
When I did eventually manage to extract myself from your grasp, it wasn’t pretty. All my anger and hurt poured out all at once. I said things I shouldn’t have, no matter how sincere; I hurt you needlessly.
The guilt will never fade.
It’s been over two months since that day, and I’m still struggling with this insurmountable level of anger, hurt, and guilt I feel.
I remember the day you told me, to paraphrase, I was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. Ever since, I’ve questioned everything about myself. I’ve never believed I was a good person, but I’ve tried my hardest to do the right thing. It makes me wonder if all my efforts have been in vain, because when it came to you, I tipped the scales.
I blame myself for a lot of things: your descent into self-harm, several of your suicide attempts, and various slights I made along the way.
As I’ve been almost completely socially-isolated for the past five months as part of the aftermath my hospitalization, there isn’t much I can think about besides self-hatred. The same chorus of thoughts play throughout my head: an endless loop of guilt and self-loathing.
I keep trying to remind myself that you were just a sixteen-year-old boy in pain. You felt alone. To some degree, you weren’t entirely responsible for your actions. That does little to quell my anger. I’m not even certain that I have a right to be angry at you. After all, weren’t you the true victim here?
I guess I’m just not sure who I hate more these days: You, or myself.
I’m trying to forgive you for it all.
I’m desperately trying to forgive myself.
I just don’t know if I can.
