I may not have gone
to war to have the traumatic effects of PTSD, but I do have the emotional
capacity to be a bit broken down by them. My life started out dramatically to
two parents who never really gave a shit of whether I lived or died. I am
uncertain if they truly didn’t care or if they were too selfish to see past
their own needs. I was forced off on relatives to care for me. My grandfather
was one of the gentlest souls I have ever encountered in my life. My
grandmother was a polar opposite of him. She was cruel and harsh. I was raised
in a god fearing home. I learned early on not to speak unless spoken to. I
learned how to conceal all emotions for fear of what was to come if I was
either happy or sad. If I was happy, there was something evil that I was doing
to be that way. If I was sad, there was no reason to be, because I have
everything that should make me happy. I hated when she would dress my hair. If
I didn’t sit perfectly still, she would pull it until it would come out in her
hands. On occasion she would drag me across a room by my hair. There were times
when the belt would come out that I wondered if she would ever quit hitting me.
I prayed for escape. I prayed that the people who gave me life would love me
enough to come rescue me. My prayers went unanswered for over 15 years. In the
end either God did not exist for me or else he didn’t care, because there was
something evil inside of me. After 15 years of mental and physical abuse, my
abuser died a horrible yet fitting death. I was horrified at her passing, not
because she was gone, but because I was relieved that she was gone. What kind
of person was I to be glad that she was dead? Did that truly make me into an
evil monster that she thought of me? Over the next 15 years of my life, out of
guilt I think, I picked up where she left off. I never harmed myself
physically, but mentally I abused myself. I didn’t care if I lived or died,
because no one would notice if I was gone. I would tell myself that I could
never do anything right and I would fail at anything that I did. I have used
the term underachiever, but I believe that is a lie I tell myself. I have self
sabotaged every aspect of my life. I have run people off before they have the
chance to love me and seriously hurt me. How could I allow anyone to get close
to me, when those who were meant to love me more than life itself never gave a damn?
At nearly 37 years old I still huddle in a corner when people act aggressively
around me. There are still the moments when the self abuse comes to light and
it is typically when things don’t go the way I wish them to. I wish there was a
switch that I could turn off to get through everything negative that has
happened in my life, but I am not foolish enough to believe that. I know it
will take work and time. It is something that I need, but more importantly my
children need. I need to be the example of a strong and thriving woman for my
daughter so she can become one also. Will I ever get past the abuse both mental
and physical? I don't know, but I will not quit until there is no breath left
in my body.
