Blister bluster ...

This past month (5 weeks actually!) has been the roughest I've had in a while, and I'm SO glad it's over!

I woke up one morning with a sore spot on the side of my tongue. I figured I'd bitten it in the night, got a canker sore, it'll clear up in a few days. Nope. Instead of getting better, it got worse. WAY worse. It got bigger, for one thing, and more started showing up ... your regular run of the mill canker sores don't do that. I had various sizes of blisters all over the inside of my mouth ... on and under my tongue, inside my cheeks, on my gums, the roof of my mouth, and down my throat ... I couldn't eat or drink without severe pain; I could barely talk. I ate tiny bits of oatmeal when I could, sipped water when the pain wasn't too bad. 

 

I went to the outpatients department at the hospital twice (my dr was away) and they barely looked at me, said it's nothing, sent me home. I should own shares in Oragel by now, I've gone through dozens of tubes of the stuff to help ease the pain, but nothing helped solve the problem. When it finally started to get a little better, the blisters spread to my lips. I looked like I had the worst chapped lips ever, with crusted scabs on and all around my mouth. I barely left the house, it was so painful and embarrassing.

I spoke to pharmacists about it and then finally my dr, and it was suggested that it might have been caused by wearing a mask. When we had our last lockdown and some local cases, the stores got very strict and I forced myself to wear one whenever I had to. 

 

Asthma & breathing-wise, it's difficult. PTSD makes it even harder. But they say that masks keep the goobers out and keep your own goobers in, so I wore it. But what about if you're basically allergic to everything, and when you put on a mask you actually trap the allergens in there close to your face? The only thing anyone could come up with that could have caused this huge reaction I was dealing with was that I was exposed to an allergen that likely got trapped in my mask and I was repeatedly re-exposing myself to it every time I wore it, then it spread like wildfire and got out of control. I have no proof that this is what happened, but it's the only thing anyone could come up with that makes any sense.

 

After the blisters spread to my lips my dr got concerned that they were getting infected and wanted to prescribe me an antibiotic ointment. I'm allergic to antibiotics of all kinds. I've ended up in the hospital with anaphylaxis for using eyedrops for pinkeye. So of course she was really hesitant in even mentioning it to me. This was at the 5 week mark and I was desperate, so I said that in my experience with antibiotics, it takes 48 hours before the reaction is at its worst. I told her that I know I can survive 2 days for sure and that if she could hit me hard with antibiotics for that long, I would be ok. OMG the look on her face was priceless. But I know what I can handle and she knows that, so she went along with it with a few conditions. When I saw the name of the ointment when I picked it up I have to admit I got a little nervous. I've used it and reacted badly before. But I knew I had 2 days.

They were a miserable 2 days, and I did use 2 epipens and a lot of benedryl, but it worked. The mess didn't spread any further, and after the 2 days I tapered off using the ointment unless it felt absolutely necessary. 

 

Then I found an absolute miracle cure for the residual chapped lips. Once the crusty part was gone (yep - ick!) it was still raw and sore, but I got thinking about when my sister had told me to use Vitamin E on my arm when I burned it last month. (Yes, I'm a walking disaster). So I got the Vit E gelcaps ... I pierced a hole in the end of one and squeezed out the oil, spread it on my chapped lips off and on through the day, and within 3 DAYS it was cleared up completely. I will never be without this stuff in my house from now on. 

 

I had a couple of small blisters pop up inside my cheek the other day ... I literally felt them appear ... but I popped them and rinsed them out repeatedly and nothing more happened. 5 weeks of misery and no absolute definitive cause except for a theory. 

 

I get that masks are important and safe for many reasons and for many people. But if there's even a chance, and there is, that this is what caused my misery, I'm out. I can't and won't go through that again and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Well, maybe a couple of people ....

 

PTSD and sound ...

A few years back I was explaining to my doctor some things that I had known about myself for a long time but was noticing that it was getting increasingly worse.  I have an intolerance to certain sounds.  It doesn't have to be a particularly annoying sound, or abnormally loud, and it's often things that are just written off as "background noise" and hardly even noticed by most people.  This intolerance developed about halfway into my first abusive relationship and has gotten incrementally worse over time.  The things that trigger me most are running taps and fans.  I cannot stand the sound of a running faucet or fan (mainly exhaust fans, like over a stove or the car heater) for more than a few seconds.  It becomes all I can hear, no matter what else is going on in the room.  It builds up to a deafening sound in my head so that I can't focus, can't think ... I'm disoriented, annoyed, easily irritated, I drop things, I can't carry out simple tasks or finish whatever it was I was doing when it was turned on.  Often I get a sharp pain, similar to a headache but not quite, way in the lower back of my head which doesn't go away until long after the sound is gone.  

When I described this to my doctor she had some tests run and I was diagnosed with Hyperacusis and Misophonia.  She was surprised I'd never heard of them before, expecting that I'd looked it up since I was able to so clearly describe the exact symptoms of it.  

So, what are they?  Here are a couple of simple definitions:

Hyperacusis is a condition where you have trouble tolerating sounds that do not seem loud to others, such as water running, fans, dogs barking, walking on leaves, household appliances, tapping fingers,rustling papers, even laughter.  The sounds that are your triggers (they are not the same for everyone) are amplified to unmanageable heights and cause reactions like I described above.  

Misophonia is similar but in this case the sound triggers an emotional or psychological response.

The two conditions are compared as Hyperacusis causes a physical response, while Misophonia causes an emotional reaction.  Both are fairly uncommon, but do occasionally coexist.  Neither are a definite indication of a hearing deficiency ... my hearing is fine.  They can be caused by head trauma and exacerbated by TMJ and PTSD ... yep, I check all those boxes.  

My most recent ex knew that I had this problem, particularly with running water.  Being who he is, he would sometimes turn on all the taps in the house with screaming instructions forbidding me to turn them off.  They often ran all night long, with me lying in bed wide awake, head pounding, anxiety through the roof, in a state of complete panic until long after they were finally turned off.  Times like those can make you feel like you are slowly going mad.  

In my years of dealing with ptsd, both on my own and in group or individual counselling sessions, I've become pretty good at recognizing and managing situations that I can anticipate being a problem for me, particularly where sound is involved.  I do have the exaggerated startle response too, which is a real treat when your autistic kid comes up behind you and presents you with a loud CLAP out of nowhere.  Some things can't be anticipated so much and you just suck it up and deal with it as best you can.  Other things can be managed more easily.  

I choose my phone's sounds very carefully.  I had a couple of "ding" sounds for when my sisters text me ... one ding for one, two for the other.  But if they got chatty, or even just sent more than 2 messages, the multiple dings would start me down the rabbit hole.  So I changed them to a gentle "whoosh" sound.  I also often just mute my phone completely.  

Often the dogs are in the kitchen when I'm cooking or doing dishes, with the tick tick tick of their toes on the floor, plus the faucet could be running, or the stove fan might be on, so the kitchen is a big trigger area.  I try to keep the dogs out of the kitchen completely, partly because I don't want them underfoot and possibly getting stepped on or tripped over, but also to keep that tick tick tick sound away from where I'm already dealing with the other sounds that I can't eliminate.  I run water minimally.  I use the ceiling fan and open a window to avoid using the cooktop fan.  I run the dishwasher when I'm completely finished everything else in the kitchen so I can leave the room.  

I have yet to figure out how to turn off the music that plays when the laundry machines finish their cycles but hopefully it's possible.

Multiple people in the house plus critters means that often the tv or tablet or whatever is playing a video or music or something is turned up so it can be heard above everyone.  If I can control the rest of the environment so that there are no other triggers, then I can sometimes tolerate this ok ... but if it's just me in the house I usually don't even have any on.  No tv, no computer, no videos, nothing.  I sometimes have music on in the kitchen when I'm cooking alone, but as soon as there are other noises added to the space it gets turned way down or off.  Unless I'm listening to music or playing a game, I don't have sounds turned on my phone or computer most of the time.  As soon as I download a game the first thing I do is shut off the sounds.

When I go for a walk, I wear headphones.  Then I do listen to music.  But this is my music, chosen by me, for me, nothing unexpected or annoying, and it helps block out unwelcome other sounds.

I'm writing this at 5am, the house is quiet, I'm the only one awake and my mind is at rest.  Soon, though, the day and its many sounds will begin and I'll get busy dealing with them as they come.  

So if I'm at your house, and it gets busy with people, critters, electronics, music .... don't be offended if I have to just step away for a bit.  I will come back.

** note ** It has been suggested by some good friends of mine that I try EMDR as a therapy for my PTSD.  I know they mean well, and I do appreciate that, but I've looked into it and spoken to many therapists about it over the years and it is not a viable option for me.  I have so many types of trauma spread out over so many years by multiple sources that it would take an impossible amount of time and money to even begin it, and because of all of that it's unlikely to be effective.  So I do thank them for their concern and suggestions, but it's not for me. 

Masks come in many forms ...

We are now 2 days into our "mandatory" mask wearing in public enclosed spaces, such as stores, offices, etc. As I've said before, I'm one of those who can't wear a mask, and today for the first time in a long time I was literally humiliated for that fact.

I had to pick up a few things in town, went to a few stores. I actually went to a lot less places than I had planned to, because I ended up sitting in my car in the parking lot just waiting for the crying to stop so I could drive home safely.

People with asthma can't breathe easily in a mask, sometimes not at all. I have asthma, but that is not the main reason I can't wear one. As I got out of my car I was quite aware of all the people in the area wearing them, and I was and am sincerely grateful for that. I have such a crappy immune system and am allergic to so very many things, some of my friends joke that it's amazing that I'm still alive, or say "don't get attached" because I won't last long. I laugh with them because they're right, and sometimes it is just so ridiculous that all I can do is laugh. I'm also allergic to all ... yep ALL ... antibiotics, so if/when there's a Covid vaccine, I can't take it. So if Covid doesn't kill me, the vaccine will. So from the bottom of my heart I truly am grateful for all the mask wearers out there for protecting me.

But while I was so clearly aware of all of them wearing masks, they were also very aware that I was not wearing one. Some literally pointed at me as they said things loud enough for me to hear about my irresponsibility. Some just stared. As I went into one store there were 2 women working the entrance and one told me I had to wear a mask. I told her I couldn't. The other told me I HAD to and said they could provide me with one. I said again that sorry, I cannot wear one. One snorted and as I walked away they were talking quite loudly about MY rudeness and that I thought I was better than them, or above them, they said a lot more and I heard it all, as I'm sure they intended. I won't be going back to that store and I tweeted about it.

I got what I went there for, shaken and trying not to let it show, very conscious of all the stares and things other people said until I got out, then when I could, I drove home.

There are a lot of things I could have said to people, but didn't. I'm often not known for holding my tongue, but I did. I was half afraid that once I got started I wouldn't be able to stop. And I was also just trying to get through what I had to do and get out. People think they know things, they make assumptions, they judge.

I suppose asthma sufferers could wear a t-shirt that says they have asthma, so people would go "ooohhh ok, that's why she can't wear it". But I don't think they make t-shirts that say "I can't wear a mask because I have PTSD from my ex strangling and smothering me while he tried to kill me hundreds of times".

I guess I'll have to have that one custom-made.

Jack

From the first day I started planning my escape a big part of it all was this guy, Jack.  Jack is 13, I've had him since he was a kitten.  He actually has/had a sister, but she didn't make the trip with us.  She wasn't really my cat, she followed my ex around like a puppy, he called her his "one true friend" (in reality she likely is his only friend).  Although we got them at the same time and they are blood related, I never really bonded with her, but Jack was mine from the first time I laid eyes on him. 

I'd never had a black cat before, so I didn't know how awesome they are.  He can hide in plain sight just by sitting on a dark chair or in a dark window.  I love the deep dark richness of his black fur.  His eyes are bright and show up even more since the rest of him is so dark.  He's my baby. 

So when I finally made the decision that it was time to go, there was no question in my mind that Jack was going with me.  He had been through almost as much as I had, on a cat level.  My ex insisted that they both get declawed, so biting is his only defence, as is hers, and she used it a lot.  His sister beat him up regularly, he often had to hide from her just to keep her from biting out chunks of his fur.  My ex is very superstitious, so he wasn't crazy about Jack from the start, so if he wasn't abusing me, he would often take out his frustrations on my cat.

Jack has been physically thrown across a room.  He has had many things thrown at him, from a pillow to a book.  He has been thrown in the shower with the water turned on full blast and hot.  He has been thrown in the tub while I took a bath.  He has been kicked, screamed at, terrorized for his entire life.  But throughout all of that time he always knew that I was his safe place.  If he was afraid, he would sometimes hide in the bathroom behind the litterbox, or if my sewing room was open he'd go way under the table in the back.  Once the coast was clear and it was safe for me to do so, I'd go get him.  He was a pretty big kitty, about 14 lbs, but when I'd pick him up to take him to sit quietly and safely with me, he'd snuggle up to me and make himself as small as he could.  We'd go out to the living room and sit in my chair together, with him snuggled up beside me or in my lap. 

Jack's never been a real cuddler, or fond of a lot of touching ... he'd tolerate just so much and then he'd be done and either hiss or bite or just run away.  He never slept on the bed, he preferred to sleep on a chair by himself out in the living room.  He's not a real touchy-feely cat, unless he's scared, then he desperately needs his mommy.  Unfortunately, he spent a lot of his time there afraid and hiding or lashing out, but he's always been my sweet black kitty who loves paper bags, catnip toys, and ice cream. 

Then suddenly one day out of the blue he was put in a cage, then took a ride in a car to a strange place where his cage was put on a wagon and taken to a strange room, where he was finally let out.  He was in his first hotel.  This was the first time he'd ever left his home since I got him 13 years ago.  He was terrified.  He snooped around and tried to hide behind the bed, I had to stuff pillows around there so he wouldn't get stuck somewhere that I couldn't get him out of.  He wouldn't eat, or use the makeshift litterbox I'd brought along.  That night Jack slept on the pillow literally wrapped around my head.   The next day he went back in the cage, then in a plane, another plane, a bus, then another hotel.  I had put an old sweatshirt of mine and a toy of his in his cage so he'd have familiar smells around him.  He must have held out as long as he could but by the end of the trip he did pee on the sweatshirt, but not so badly that he was all gross ... I just tossed the shirt & toy and he was fine.  Of course I had his favourite blankey packed with me and a backup toy.

We were at that hotel for 2 nights, he finally did eat but still wouldn't use the litter box.  It was strange and not what he was used to and he was still scared.  Again he slept wrapped around my head.  If I was sitting in a chair, he sat beside me.  If I sat on the bed, again he was right beside me.  He didn't meow, didn't hiss, no biting, not a sound, just made sure he knew where I was at all times. 

Then we went to the place where we were to do the rest of our 14 day Covid-19 quarantine.  We had a borrowed camper to stay in, it was roomy and very nice, lots of places for him to snoop around and an actual litterbox that he finally used.  He hid under a bed every time I opened the camper door for any reason, and sat tight against me whenever I sat down, and of course slept wrapped around my head.

It was early April, still quite cold, especially compared to where we'd moved from, so we relocated to an airbnb cabin.  There we had a wood stove, so it was nice and warm all the time, more space to stretch out, a borrowed laptop to watch movies on, we brought along the litterbox and we were all set.  He hid for most of the first day, but by the second he was much more comfortable, though he still ran and hid under the bed every time I opened the door or he heard a noise.  We were at the cabin for a week, then back to the camper once the cold snap had mostly passed.  Jack had now graduated to sleeping on the pillow beside my head, instead of ON my head.  It was a refreshing change not to have a "cat hat" every time I went to bed.   This is him in the camper on his favourite blankey with his toy, right beside me, of course. 

When our isolation time was complete, we moved into the house.  For me, this was heaven.  I was and am now surrounded by my people, people who I love and who love me back.  I am safe and no longer afraid (most of the time).  For Jack this was another huge change in his now constantly changing life.  He went from first spending 13 years being abused by a monster, then in the matter of 2 weeks he went into a cage, in a car, a hotel, 2 planes, a bus, another hotel, another car, the camper, another car, the cabin, another car, the camper again, then into a strange house filled with people and pets he doesn't know.

First there's Pepsi.  She's tiny, fluffy, looks harmless, but is obviously the queen of the house as she is the oldest (she's a year older than Jack) and she hates all of the other animals in the house and makes it crystal clear.   They all know to just steer clear of her and all will be well. 

This is Mort.  He's the Alpha Male cat in the house.  He spends most of his day sleeping because he spends the whole night outside hunting.  He brings home squirrels, mice, rabbits, all sorts of critters and leaves them on the deck for us to find in the morning.  He likes to sit where the kitchen floor steps up about an inch or so to the back entrance, with his furry arm leaning there like a little man keeping an eye on the stairs and the back door.

Both Pepsi and Mort of course have claws, they're both indoor/outdoor cats. 

Then there's Chester.  Chester is about 6, he's a black lab/german shepherd mix and he's basically a huge puppy.  He loves the kitties.  He loves everyone.  He's barky and big, but not nasty at all.  He and Mort often sleep on the couch together.  There are no bad vibes coming from Chester unless you're the mailman or the UPS guy. 

The only other animal Jack has ever known in his life was his nasty sister.  Now he lives in a house full of other animals.  I'm sure the first time he saw Chester he was thinking "what happened to make that kitty SO BIG?".  He'd never met a dog before, didn't have a clue what he was or what to expect from this gigantic exuberant kitty. 

We started our journey on March 28, finished our isolation on the Easter weekend.  Jack went back to sleeping ON my head and didn't leave our bedroom for over 2 months.  Since then he gradually started to make an appearance ... one of the kids asked me one night if Jack was allowed to leave his room.  I said he's allowed to, he just never does.  Apparently he had decided to take a little walk down the upstairs hall.  Interesting.  (note: we keep a flimsy cardboard barrier across the lower part of the bedroom door so he can jump in and out IF he chooses, but to deter the other kitties and Chester from going in.  Oddly enough Chester COULD just nudge it over, but never does)

Pepsi was brought in one day to meet Jack (she had been using that bedroom as her own personal space until we got there, sorry kid, it's ours for now).  She growled at Jack, he hissed and growled at her, such sweet cousins greeting each other.  Then she looked around and you could almost hear her thinking "what the --?  he's got catering?  and an en-suite???"  She took a swipe at him and was quickly ushered out.  Since then she's only leapt the barrier once (at 3am - yay) and a full-on catfight ensued.  We take major steps to avoid them even seeing each other now.

Jack very slowly, very gradually started venturing out of his room more often, a little further each time, usually when the house was really quiet late at night.  Chester can be noisy, his toenails clatter a little when he walks on the wood floor, but Jack got used to that.  He no longer hisses every time he walks past the bedroom next to us when Chester is in there for the night.

He spent a lot of his first encounters with Mort with both of them just looking at each other from about 6 feet apart.  I don't think they were social distancing, I think it was more about how neither knew what the other could do and were weighing out their options.   I used to think Jack was a big kitty.  Since we've moved he's lost about 4 lbs, so he's smaller than he was, and he's definitely smaller than Mort.  Mort is a substantial kitty, all muscle (and very snuggly).  If he wanted to, Mort could kick Jack's butt.  Jack started out just hissing and growling every time he saw Mort, then eventually he took a swipe at him. 

Now, when a declawed kitty takes a swipe at you, it's like being smacked lightly with a mitten.  He usually does a few in a row, like bop bop bop then runs away.  I'm sure the first time it happened Mort was just like "what the heck was that?" 

Since then Mort has swatted back, but never with his claws so far.  If Jack was smart he'd just leave him alone, but I'm starting to question his intelligence these days because he can't seem to do that ... though some days he does give him a wide berth. 

We had thought if any house animal would be ok with Jack it would be Pepsi, since she doesn't like the others and keeps to herself, maybe they'd be allies.  Nope.  The one animal that he got used to first was the gigantic mutant kitty - aka Chester the dog.  Jack was snarly and hissy at first, but not for long.  There is no animosity coming from Chester, he's a happy guy who loves kitties. 

3½ months ago nobody would have thought that firstly, Jack would ever leave his room, and secondly, that his main ally in the house would be Chester.  Now Jack is often found wandering the house, he just pops up randomly all over the place.  He is still hissy at people when he's surprised or startled, but fortunately the only person he has ever bitten (I did mention he's a biter) has been me.  I wouldn't want him to bite the others in the house, especially the kids (they're teens, not little kids).  Unfortunately the one person he does bite is the only one allergic to his "venom" (it's landed me in the ER for anaphylaxis already).  But this picture here, with Jack sitting there after having just had a drink from the communal water dish with Chester just laying there chillin', is proof of how far this kitty has come.  I have survived a lot, and so has he, and like a Timex we take a licking and keep on ticking.  Jack is my sweet black kitty who has done so much in such a short time, I'm so proud of him every time I see him come carefully poking his head around a corner. 

And yes, he does still sleep on my head or right beside it on the pillow.  I don't think that's stopping anytime soon.

Ain't missing you at all ....

Remember that song that came out in 1984 called "Missing you".....  it was meant to be ironic, saying I don't miss you but hearing your name or thinking about you makes me want you back, breaks my heart, etc.  For me it's not ironic, it's absolutely literal.

I reckon most of us have gone through at least one breakup in our lives, some more than others, though there are the few lucky ones who find that special someone right off the bat and that's it forever.  I'm not one of those lucky ones.  I had my share of teenage breakups that would send me listening and crying to that song (it did come out in my prime), but then when I was 24 I met the man I ended up marrying.  He abused me horribly for 14 years, threatened and tried to kill me many times, then after I left him I met the one who promised to make it all better and take care of me for the rest of my life.  Nope, that one was a dud as well, once again abusing me in some of the same and some different ways as the first.  Neither was any better or worse than the other ... both abusive narcissistic sociopaths.

What strikes me as odd sometimes, though sometimes not so much, is how I really am not missing either of them at all.  The first one is no surprise, it's been 16 years since we split.  The second was just a few months ago, though in my heart I'd left him years ago when he first started hitting me. 

When I was first contemplating leaving him I had my share of second thoughts ... I hadn't been alone in a very long time.  I'd spent the last 30 years being beaten down mentally, emotionally, and physically, and constantly reminded that I was nothing and could do nothing without either of them.  Or could I?  I had no idea, but I knew I had to try.

For 16 years I've had to be constantly accountable for my whereabouts and what I was doing and who I was with.  He would text or call me repeatedly throughout the day to check up on me.  He'd time me when I said I was leaving somewhere to go home (like from the library or something) then quiz me on why it didn't take the amount of time he figured it should have.  If my answer wasn't acceptable then I paid the price. 

When I finally did leave him, I was alone (with my cat) for the first time in a very, very long time; and rather than wondering when he was going to message or call, or try to come up with answers to whatever questions he might have for me, or worry that I was doing something he wouldn't like or that he'd scream at me for stepping out of line, or punch me for making a sound in my sleep ...... for a little while all I did was sit there in the quiet.  I just sat.  I didn't have to say anything, do anything, all I had to do was just BE.  I didn't even cry, I just sat there.  It was terrifying and liberating at the same time.   I had blocked his phone so he wasn't calling or texting.  He didn't know where I was, and had no way of finding me, and I was so relieved that from that point on I was only answerable to myself.

Up until the day I left I had wondered to myself if I would miss him.  I had no doubts that I had to leave, but I did wonder if I would miss anything at all about him.  Nope, not a thing.  I miss nothing of him.  I don't even think about him.  His face doesn't come to mind at all, ever.  I don't wonder how he's doing, I honestly don't care how he's doing.  He tormented me for so long that of course I do have PTSD, on top of the PTSD I already had from the first one, so that's extra special .... I get nightmares, flashbacks, all the usual stuff.  But do I miss him?  Absolutely not.  I truly ain't missing him at all.

It's a strange feeling to suddenly be your own person.  To be responsible for making your own decisions, things that you haven't done for a really long time.  I went to a store to buy cutlery (I am literally starting over from scratch) and when I found a set I liked I was hesitant at first.  I looked around for someone to tell me yes, you can buy that if it's what you want.  There was nobody to do that, this was MY decision, and mine alone.  If I ended up not liking it, then that was my problem too, but I don't ... I LOVE it.  I've been gradually picking out things for my new life, taking my time and getting only things that I love, things that mean something to ME, that are special to ME, that shout out to the world that I chose it and it represents who I am and what I like and if they don't like it, I really don't care. 

It's also terrifying and often overwhelming.  It's a huge thing to just start all over from nothing at this stage of my life.  As I mentioned, I'm having to buy literally everything I couldn't get out of the house with, so that's pretty much everything I need to fill a house.  I did get my clothing, books, my quilting fabric and tools, some dishes I'd collected in anticipation of this hopeful future, and not much else.  I often find myself walking through a store looking at kitchen supplies and comparing things like the various slow cookers and then I'm looking at knives, pots, toasters, kettles, moving on to area rugs, lamps, literally everything starts piling up in my head and I just have to get out of the store ... it's too much.  Thankfully I'm able to collect what I need slowly.  I see an item or a good deal, and if I like it, I grab it.  Then I can cross one thing off the list.  Maybe the next day or week I'll see another thing or two, but there's no way I can do it all at once.  For one thing, I can't afford to.  And I have no place to put it all even if I could.  Not yet anyhow.  But fortunately for me I'm surrounded by people who love me and are helping me deal with that.

I do wonder sometimes if he ever misses me at all, or thinks about me. 

The day I left, once he realized I was gone he sent me an email saying he had no idea it was so bad for me ... really?  Maybe he thought the bruises were what - decorative?  What about the times when he would laugh and brag about how he loved the thought that he could terrify me with just a few words or the tone of his voice.  Or all the pain meds I had to take and x-rays I had to get because of him ... I guess all those things were just for fun. 

He said he was sorry for yelling ... no he wasn't, he loved yelling, often just screamed AAAAHHHHH in the middle of the night just to make sure I couldn't sleep. 

He said all he wanted was to make me happy and he thought a nice home, no worries about money and freedom to do my thing was enough.  The home was nice because I kept it that way, because if there was a tiny mark or loose thread or speck of anything he would scream at me for "destroying" the place.  I could use my credit card when I wanted to buy something, as long as he got every receipt and I had done my duty in adding up everything ahead of time to make sure it was all right and of course I needed a reason for everything.  I knew better than to ask for something fancy or expensive because although he often "offered" to buy me things like a fancy expensive watch or something, I knew from experience that I would be expected to a. not use it so it would be pristine and new forever, b. if I ever did use it I could never get a mark on it that would indicate that it was used, and c. I would have to thank him profusely for it every time I used it.  So no, I asked for nothing.  As far as the freedom to do my thing ... I could go wherever I wanted, as long as I told him where I was going, who I was with, and how long I would be.  Even then he would call and/or message me constantly checking to make sure I was where he expected me to be and then I had to tell him when I was on my way home so he could time me and make sure I arrived in the right amount of time or I had to account for the difference. 

His email ended with him telling me he hoped I was safe and healthy and that he'll love me forever whether I believe him or not.

Well, the rest of the email was a lie so I expect the ending was as well, especially with the way he handled himself after I left.

There are a few things I do miss.  I miss the convenience and accessibility to get certain things easily in a large city.  That is out-weighed by the charm and friendliness of a small town and being surrounded by my family and friends here.  I miss the fact that I won't be going to watch my Canucks play at their arena anymore.  No biggie, I'll watch them on TV (it beats sitting next to someone who either won't stop talking or won't talk AT ALL or the abusive things he'd do on the way to and from the games).   I miss the Childrens' Hospice where I volunteered, I made many good friends and met some amazing people there.  I miss my quilting guild and my friends ... I already know many quilters locally here and I still have many friends that I've already seen a few times.  My best friends in BC will now have to be online friends, but they know that safety is paramount. 

So I do wonder now if he ever does think of me, or wish he'd not been such a gigantic abusive ass for 16 years.  I doubt he does, and to be honest I really don't care.  I'm done.

If you have NEVER ....

To all the people who have questioned, criticized, blamed, finger pointed, whispered, gossiped about the various life altering decisions I’ve made over the years, right now please mentally stand up.

If you have NEVER been raped, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER been strangled or choked to near unconsciousness, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER been punched repeatedly by someone who claimed to love you, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER been tortured, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER been pushed down the stairs, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER had someone tell you that unless you leave & never return you will be gang raped, dragged naked through town tied to the back of a truck, then buried under a cement slab in the yard, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER laid awake all night, silent & still, afraid to move or make any sound, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER been sodomized by a person or various other large and painful things, then crawled bleeding & crying to the bath, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER been told that you are a useless waste of space, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER been screamed at & punched in the middle of the night for any or no reason, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER been told that if you’re too “chicken” to kill yourself they’d gladly do it for you, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER had to have surgery to repair damage caused by someone claiming to love you, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER had to hide in your own home until the coast was clear, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER had to stay away from the small people you gave birth to because your life depended on it, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER been kicked in the face while trying to get away, you may sit down.

If you have NEVER been publicly screamed at & humiliated for any or no reason, you may sit down.

If you are still standing, and I’m betting there are none if any left, then you and only you may criticize me. My shoes are awkward, ill-fitting, uncomfortable and not many people that I know could or have walked in them, so until you have, just keep it to yourself because I have enough going on inside my head that I don’t need you in there hammering away too.

Now I’ll sit down, because frankly, I’m exhausted.

Startlingly enough ....

One of the symptoms or effects of PTSD is an exaggerated startle response.  Loud sudden noises or unexpected sounds cause immediate panic, often resulting in hyperventilating and crying.  It can take literally hours to come back down.  And it doesn't have to be from something done TO or AT me, it can be anything. 

Not long ago I was going through some of my things that I have in storage, and as I walked away from the boxes I wasn't looking down at the floor and stepped on some bubble wrap.  It was unexpected, it was loud, and it sounded like gunfire ... and the more I tried to get away the more I stepped on it, making it exponentially worse.  Once some gentle hands helped me away from the spot, off the bubble wrap, then the crying started.  I was enveloped in a big hug until I got it under control.  I'm so lucky to be surrounded by love these days.

The only thing is, although I can usually control the things that I do, where I go, what or whom I surround myself with, I can't control everything.  Nobody can, or should.  And as a result, stuff happens. 

A broom falls over from leaning on a wall.  BOOM!!!

A kid sneaks around a corner and jumps out to scare his brother.  BOOM!!!

The dog hears a sound outside and starts barking at the door.  BOOM!!!

A random car backfires.  BOOM!!!

A television commercial comes on and starts out suddenly with a loud burst of noise.  BOOM!!!

None of these are things that are aimed at me, or intended to surprise me, or have anything to do with me at all, yet every single one of them and many other random similar things keep happening and every single time they startle the crap out of me.  I shake, sometimes scream, hyperventilate, can't think straight, I'm disoriented, and often I cry. 

The people around me know that I have this "problem".  That I don't like to be startled.  I appreciate that they don't want me to be scared, but I also don't want to be a special case that can't take a joke, or can't handle some good-natured fun; yet every time it happens, no matter how much I try, I get the same reaction ... shaking, can't breathe, confusion, crying ....

I hear a lot of people saying I should seek counselling, find someone to talk to, etc.  Well, here's the thing.  Because of Covid, the local Women's Centre is closed.  Plus over the past 16 years I have been to enough one-on-one sessions, group meetings, PTSD study groups that I could probably teach a class on it myself.  There's really nothing to talk about, I'm all talked out.  I've gotten so used to telling my "story" to everyone who needs to hear it (doctors, lawyers, counsellors, etc) that I've become numb.  It doesn't help me to talk about it, I have nothing to talk about. 

Instead I think I need to work on settling my mind.  Physically he cannot hurt me.  But my mind still attacks me all the time, awake and asleep.  Either through daytime PTSD issues or nightmares when I'm able to sleep. 

A few people have commented that they find it odd that one of the main things I had to take with me when I left were my books.  I'm talking real paper books.  I don't do e-books.  I have to feel the book in my hand, turn the pages, smell the paper -- I love books.  Yep, they're heavy, especially when you're shipping them in boxes and you have as many as I do.  And I really didn't even take ALL of my books, just the ones I value the most.  I took my favourite cookbooks, quilting books, novel series for various authors, mysteries, historical fiction, magical tales, collectibles, and some books on spirituality and mindfulness.  Those last ones are the ones I think I need to read now. 

I also have one that I should get back to that will help my body and mind. I had started dabbling in yoga a few years back and I liked it.  When I did it regularly it helped me feel physically and mentally more at peace, more relaxed.  Both of those are things I'm in desperate need of now more than ever.  I think if I get back into doing it on a daily basis (as much as my sprained knee will allow for now) I'll end up much more the better for it.  My yoga mat stands rolled up right within sight of the computer as I'm typing this, it's literally right beside me and has been since I arrived here.  This book was behind me on the shelf with the others.  They're both just sitting there waiting for me to pick them up and get back to it.  As they say, there's no time like the present. 

There are a lot of things right now that I have absolutely no control over.  I can't control how fast or slow the legal system works.  I can't control what my lawyers are able to do for me or how quickly they can do it.  I can't control the people who live with and around me that unintentionally startle the crap out of me on a regular basis, nor would I want to.  But I can control how much effort I can put into helping myself heal.  Like I said, I've done the classes, the groups, the sessions, I've talked about all the stuff to all the people, and I'm done.  It's time to work from the inside out.  Here we go ...

Tiptoeing through life ....

Since I've been away from him, every day is a learning experience.  I spent the last 30 years of my life with one abuser then another, I've spent a lot of time having to be who I was told or expected to be, to behave as expected, to say or not say certain things, to basically keep quiet and stay out of the way or face the consequences.

Now I'm out.  I'm free.  And I have no idea who I am.  I know who I was, many years ago, but not who I am now.  I don't know how to react to certain things because there is nobody to tell me.  I don't know how to even do certain things or how to function in regular daily life because I have nobody to tell me how to do it, how to behave, what to DO.  It should be liberating, but in truth it's terrifying. 

Every now and then I find myself saying something that to me makes sense.  I have always had strong beliefs in certain things, I'm very passionate about the things and people I care about, there are some things about myself that I know for sure, others that I believe I know, and still others that I'm afraid to find out. 

I am so grateful to be able to stay where I'm staying and know that I'm safe, that sometimes I get a little too comfortable and I let things slip.  A month or so ago I made a comment about something to someone I hadn't seen in a while.  It wasn't a particularly bad thing I said, just an opinion.  I was told that I was wrong and that I should reassess my thought process.  So I will.

I have often referred to my first ex as "the idiot".  It was my opinion that if someone has beaten, raped, berated, smothered, tortured, threatened to and tried to kill me, and abused me in every single sense of the word over and over, I have the right to call him an idiot.  By definition an idiot is a stupid or foolish person or someone who does stupid or foolish things; that description fits him pretty well.  It was suggested to me that by calling him this, it made me look bad and that I was stooping to his level and that it would be better if I didn't.  I wasn't told outright not to do it, it was just suggested and not in a nasty way, it was said to me by people I love and respect and who have my best interests at heart.  And so I will.

Last night I was watching a movie with my sister and something she said struck me as particularly funny and I made a joke about it on Facebook.  I didn't mean anything by it, it was just a silly comment, only made in jest and other people agreed.  My sister wasn't particularly pleased by it but she can take a joke and made her own comments about it.  Then someone told me in no uncertain terms that it was insensitive and that I should remove the post immediately.  So I did.

I have been well trained over the past 30 years to do as I'm told or face the consequences, so if I'm told to do something, I do it.  No questions asked.  Just do it and hope for no further repercussions, keep my head down, be quiet and stay out of the way.  Now that I'm out in the world, I'm finding that I'm going to have to start censoring myself.  I need to be more careful in what I say, who I say it to, and how it may affect more than just that person.  That sounds like common sense, but to someone who was allowed to say very little to anyone for many, many years, it really isn't. 

Everything is new to me.  Common things are not common to me.  Seemingly ordinary life is not ordinary to me.  I've mentioned getting used to the seemingly little things in daily life like turning on a lamp if it's not bright enough, putting butter on a potato, not having to account for every single move I make in a day.  These things, and more, are all alien to me.

I have a lot of big decisions coming up to make, things I've never had to do before without someone over my shoulder watching every move, directing me as I do things, so I'll have to make a point of listening to those more wise than I am, with more experience than I have, and I will tread lightly so that I can hopefully avoid being censored again as I tiptoe through my new life.   Fortunately I am very lucky to be surrounded by people who love me and will help me along the way if I'm brave enough to ask.

Getting over things .....

Often I feel like the girl in that song Luka by Suzanne Vega ... "my name is Luka, I live on the second floor ....." if you know the song you know what I'm talking about, if you don't, then look it up and you'll catch on quickly.

People have been asking me where I am, what happened, why did I leave. The answers are pretty simple, yet not. Where am I? I'm somewhere safe. That's all anyone needs to really know right now. What happened and why did I leave? He abused me ... physically, mentally, emotionally, he ran the gambit and I left because it was either do that or kill myself and I chose the former. I'm glad I did most of the time. Sometimes I feel like I'm losing my mind, or like I've made a mistake because there is so much unknown ahead of me, but I'm surrounded by people who care about me and would never, ever hurt me, and they will help me navigate the coming stormy seas. And the stormiest ones are behind me.

People hear about women being abused all the time and comment about how they'd never allow anyone to hit them. What if he does it to you while you're asleep? Like you're lying there sound asleep one minute and suddenly he's screaming something in your face and punches you full force in the chest? Or you're sleeping back-to and you make a little noise in your sleep and he clobbers you in the shoulder or back? I didn't "let" him do it, but it happened all the same.

Or they say they'd never let anyone treat them that badly. What if it came out of the blue, for no reason at all, completely unexpectedly? One minute you're having a perfectly normal conversation, the next he's screaming at you, calling you horrible names and throwing things at you or threatening to kill you or your pet. I didn't "let" him do that either, but it happened.

A relationship can be compared to climbing a tree. You find what looks like the right one,you try it out, you work your way through some good parts and some not so good parts and if it's the right tree and it all works out you get to the top intact and the view is fantastic.  

 

But what if it's not the right tree?  It might look like it is at first, but then as you go along some branches start to give a little.  You press on, because surely not all the branches are bad, but then you could get quite a ways up and suddenly it starts to crack ... things can fall apart slowly or quickly or both at the same time and then suddenly you're falling and you don't even know where you went wrong.  Maybe you did everything right.  Maybe you tried so hard you were physically and mentally exhausted from it all.  Or maybe that tree just kept throwing you to the ground but you were too stubborn or determined or blind-sighted to see it.  So you end up battered and bruised, inside and out, and one day you finally realize you just can't even be near that tree anymore or it will destroy you.

So that's what happened ... he broke me in many ways and now I'm away from him, I'm in a safe place surrounded by hope and love with many people helping me get through it one day at a time. Part of the healing process is "getting over" all the things that had become normal after so many years, that to outsiders were obviously very NOT normal.  I've been keeping a list and telling people I'm close to when I jump a new hurdle, they probably seem like silly little things to most people, but to me these things are HUGE.  

 

Like a couple of weeks ago I had dinner and was given some butter for a baked potato.  I held the little container of butter in my hand, my plate in front of me, and just cried.  It's not that I was denied food before, or that I wasn't allowed to have butter ... but if I did use it I would be given a speech on how it's fattening and how I didn't need it, and what's wrong with me that I can't just eat it the way it was.  It was a small luxury that I had denied myself for many years just to avoid the nagging and criticism, and then here I was just offered it like it was a regular thing.  Because it IS a regular thing.

 

I've been exercising the freedom to throw away used ziplock type plastic bags, used tinfoil, used Saran wrap, because this was NEVER allowed before.  They would have to be washed and reused until they just couldn't be used anymore.  It was disgusting, unsanitary, and plastic wrap loses it's effectiveness very quickly but still I would be literally screamed at if I threw any of them away.  It's quite liberating to be able to throw away a smeared up plastic bag that had raw chicken in it rather than have to wash and reuse it for something else.

I opened the microwave when it was finished and was still beeping.  This was a HUGE no-no.  I wasn't even supposed to be looking at it while it was running, much less open it before the beeping stopped.  And if I opened it while it was running, look out!  But I opened it and as expected the microwave actually stopped like it's supposed to (or actually had, since it was beeping) and the sky did not fall down around me.

I've had dessert quite a few times, if I felt like it, like right after dinner.  And then a snack again later!  Nobody gave me the fat speech or anything and it was wonderful.

A few times I've even left the evening dishes in the sink and on the counter overnight to do in the morning.  That's a hard one, because I've gotten many, many speeches about my incredible laziness if any dishes were left in the sink when I went to bed.  I still do them most of the time, it's been drilled into me for 16 years and it's really hard to break that one, but once in a while I leave them.  I feel guilty when I do sometimes and actually got up and went back to the kitchen to do them before I could sleep a few times, but I'm working on it.

I bought a ringtone for my phone.  I had wanted a particular one for as long as I've had a cell phone but didn't even dare ask if I could buy one because of the speech I'd have to endure about the free ones not being good enough for me, and what made me so special that I had to buy one, and why couldn't I find one like it for free somewhere.  But I decided that I would splurge and I bought the Chicken Dance ringtone for $1.49 and every time my phone rings it makes me smile.

This morning one of the guys came in the back door with a container he was going to empty into a bag, just commenting as he came in that that's what he was doing.  I just stood there, frozen, totally unsure of what to do.  In my world if a man wants a bag, or anything, I was to immediately GET IT, no questions asked.  I had to somehow anticipate what kind of bag or whatever it was that he needed and have it ready asap.  Not today, he was just telling me why he'd come in and got the bag himself while I stood there dumbfounded.  

Later I thought of another thing I've been working on overcoming and called someone into the room to tell her.  I can lock the door when I'm in a room now.  Even the bathroom ..... ANY room!  This was strictly not permitted before, he had to have access to any room in the house at any time.   Closing the door wasn't allowed unless I was actually going to the bathroom, and even then I had to go fast because if he wanted to go in and I had the door closed he would stand there and kick or bang on the door until I opened it.  So I called her to come to where I was ironing so I could tell her this new thing I'm working on doing, and when she walked in the room she commented that it was kind of dark (morning shade) and turned on the light.  I couldn't even tell her my thing for a minute, I was crying ... he didn't allow lights on if it was daylight, and even if it was night, lighting was minimal and only if absolutely necessary ... it hadn't even occurred to me that I could turn on the light, I've been just making do with whatever light was available to me at any given time. 

 

These are just a few of the things I've been working on overcoming so far, I'm sure there will be many, many more as time goes on.  I hope one day I won't even be keeping a list anymore, but for now it helps me feel good knowing that I can do these things and not get in trouble or get screamed at or hit or anything.  

 

That was definitely not the right tree for me, nor was the last one.  I may just stay away from all trees for a long time now, until I get back to whoever I am now.  I don't even know what's normal anymore, I don't know who I am or who I'm supposed to be, what I'm supposed to do.  Everything is uncertain at this point, I'm just making my way through it one day at a time, sometimes just one minute at a time.  I'm not crying every day anymore, that's a huge step right there.  Once in a while, like with the light this morning, something will hit me, but overall there's very little crying.  I don't cry because I regret leaving, that is one thing that I know I definitely got right.  I should have done it a long time ago, but here we are.  And from here we'll see what comes next.  Tonight we're having steak for dinner and baked potato and I will most definitely be putting butter on mine, just because I can.

I survived you.

You were bigger than I was.

You were physically stronger than I was.

You held me down, forced me to the floor, couch, table, bed to do as you pleased to me.

You used your size and strength against me to keep me physically, mentally, and emotionally down.

You did unspeakable things to me because you could.

You bruised me, inside and out.

You berated me.

You called me names.

You diminished my SELF.

You controlled every aspect of my life.

You hit me, punched me, pinched me in places I won't say.

You spat at me.

You slapped me.

You screamed at me.

You told me I was stupid, ignorant, useless.

You raped me.

You made me feel worthless.

You terrified me.

You threatened me.

You tried to kill me.

You humiliated me in private and in public.

You gave me permanent physical injuries.

You made me cry almost every day.

You told me that you care only about yourself, and you meant it.

You reminded me daily that I was not important to you.

You told me that if you didn't teach me, how would I learn.

You told me many times that nothing was holding me back, that I was free to leave at any time.

So I did.

I am smarter than you are.

I am nicer than you are.

I am a more decent human being than you are.

I am mentally stronger than you are.

I am more creative than you in every way.

I don't think about you.

I don't cry over you.

I don't care about you.

I don't worry about you.

I forget nothing.

I don't need to forgive you for myself, because you mean that little to me.

But I survived you.

I walked into the fire and I emerged stronger.

I took what you did to me and used it to strengthen me.

I have family and friends who care more for me than I ever knew, and I value them deeply.

Nothing you can say or do can destroy WHO I AM.  

*****

And there's the big question.  Who Am I?  

I've spent 30 years dealing with everything listed above from two separate individuals.  I won't call them men because a real man does not treat a woman the way they treated me.   They both completely fit the profile of a narcissistic sociopath, and somehow I ended up tangled up with them.  Different circumstances, different times, different reasons.  They come from entirely different walks of life, education, work experiences, families, yet inside they think the same way.  They think they're special, as do all narcissistic sociopaths, yet they are all alike.   Maybe that's why we don't see them coming, we don't expect it because this one doesn't seem at all like that one on the surface ... but then when you get right to the core it's like they were cut from the same mold.  

Living with one is scary.  Doing it all over again is terrifying.  It completely wears you down, takes away everything you thought you knew about yourself, makes you doubt everything you think you know for sure.  I had PTSD from the first one, then add 16 more years of it from the second one, and what do you get? 

People keep telling me I'm brave.  They tell me I'm strong, smart, loved.  I've heard this Winnie the Pooh quote more times than I can count in the past week.  I'd like to think it's true, but I'm not sure it is.  I don't feel brave or strong.  I know I'm smart, I'm not bragging, it's just a fact.  Though I've doubted it a lot over the past years. 

One thing I do know is that I am loved.  I had no idea how much I was loved and by how many people until the moment came that I decided I'd had enough, I couldn't do it anymore, I had to make a plan and get out.  Then all of a sudden the Love came through and I got all the help I needed and more, and I was able to do it.  

So right now I've been out for 5 days, and amazing things have happened in those 5 days.  Things have gotten done at lightning speed, things that I thought would take days, weeks, or even months.  I'm having to spend 2 weeks in isolation because of a stupid virus that I don't even have, so there's not really anyone to talk to besides my cat, or texting, but the cat doesn't talk back and you can only say so much in a text.  I have 10 more days of quilting, watching movies, thinking, and in between all of those things is a lot of crying. I'm not crying because I regret leaving or for staying as long as I did ... I try to live life without regrets.  I figure you do what you do for whatever reason you had at the time and then you deal with it.  Regretting it gets you nowhere, you just do what you can about it afterwards, which is what I did. 

I don't know exactly why I cry so much.  Partly maybe because I'm just afraid of what comes next.  What does come next?  I have nobody to tell me, it's something I have to figure out for myself, and I just spent 30 years being told I could not make decisions.  Someone suggested I'm grieving, and that's probably true too.  I had two relationships that I had put everything I had into and I did not get back even close to that in return.  I trusted them, I relied on them, I jumped in with both feet and I literally got the crap beaten out of me.   

So despite the fact that I know I am strong, because I DID get out, and I know that I am smart, and I am so very loved, I'm really not feeling all that brave right now.  I'm tired ALL the time.  Like I'm physically and mentally exhausted.  I've never been a good sleeper but now I feel like that's all I want to do.  

What I do know is, I did survive.  Not one, but two of them.  And if I can do it, anybody can.

I wish I had a bubble ...

I wish I had a bubble.
Ideally it would surround me, move with me, so that nobody could touch me, it would buffer sounds, it would deflect anything/anyone trying to hurt me or get too close to me. Because of all of the physical violence I've endured I find more and more that I really don't like being touched. I used to be a touchy-feely person. I loved holding someone's hand, getting hugs, feeling someone's hand on my shoulder as companionship or comfort.

I learned a while back that I can't handle a massage. I was offered a free massage at a support group as a method of relaxation. I had never had one before and looked forward to it. Then as soon as it started I was immediately transported back to when my ex would come up behind me and hold me down, hands all over me, a foot or arm across my neck or throat to hold me still, elbows jabbing my back to make me stay still, a kick in the head to make me stay put. I was frozen in place and couldn't move, literally stuck there until it was finished. Thus I will never again have a massage, because although it's intended to be a good thing, for me it's literally torture. At the hospice where I volunteer they do free massages every Friday. The woman running it would see me there doing groceries and always offer me one. It was very considerate of her, particularly since they were often booked up, but every time I had to turn her down. I always felt bad that she'd think I was being rude, but I couldn't tell her why, it's not a reason I go around advertising.

A hand on my shoulder, especially unexpected, makes me nearly jump out of my skin. I startle easily, more easily than a lot of people ever expect ... they often think I'm over-reacting, and I am, but not intentionally. It comes from the same source, one of being attacked from behind, being dragged off to have unspeakable things done to me,

If anyone's going to touch me at all, it has to be someone I know really well. Someone I know 100% for sure isn't going to hurt me, physically or otherwise. That is a very short list.

The other day I was reminded that if I ever got fat I would be shot. He has always said that fat people (and children) should all be shot, as he has no use for any of them. I had mis-heard something and thought he'd called me fat and he reminded me if I was, that he could easily get a gun at any time and he would shoot me. He wasn't kidding (though really, who would ever kid about something like that). So my bubble would also have to be bulletproof.

Preferably my bubble would be slightly opaque, so people couldn't really see me completely or clearly. Then if the tears that live directly behind my eyes all the time happened to break free I wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing. I wouldn't have to worry that someone was looking at me, scrutinizing, criticizing, ready to break me down. I could just walk through a crowd virtually unnoticed.

The problem with bubbles is that although it would keep out all the bad things, it would also keep out all the good things. Like a warm hug from a sister, the smiles of friends, conversations with normal, decent people about anything and nothing.

For now I'll keep my imaginary bubble around me, protecting me from the known and unknown..... then hopefully when the time is right I'll take out a pin and burst it and just walk right out of it and into the sunshine.

Your trauma is valid ...

I saw this today and felt like it was speaking straight to me.  I know there are many out there who unfortunately can say the same.  

In the past 17 years I've been to many, many group meetings at a variety of places.  Some were focus groups, or women's shelters, or one-on-one counseling, drop in support groups, all sorts of groups in all sorts of places with all sorts of people.  For the most part they are helpful, very helpful, because (ideally) you get a chance to open up in a safe environment and air some things that you normally have to keep to yourself.  You can get information, or opinions, other resources that may be helpful to you in your situation.  

Sometimes, though, they're not all that helpful for me because they can also be very triggering.  I know that's not just my own perspective, most groups will state right at the start of the meeting that you may feel triggered and that it's important to do your own self care to make sure you're okay.  Nobody's going to hold you down and make you listen to something that is setting off all the alarms in your head and making you feel worse than you did when you got there.  

One incident that stands out to me was my first meeting ever to a group.  There were probably 8 women in the group, from all different backgrounds and histories, we were all there for our own reasons.  I was the only new person to the group, the others had known each other for some time.  I'll freely admit I was terrified to even just be there.  It's always scary going to a new group.  You don't know these people, they don't know you, you don't know how it will go, what the normal flow of conversation is like, there are a lot of unknowns and possibilities, but you have to start somewhere.  

It turned out that all of the women in this particular group had been emotionally/mentally/psychologically abused.  I won't say this is all they had experienced, as in an "is that it?" kinda way, I just mean they had not been abused in other ways.  I had experienced all of that too, but I was the only one who had also been physically and sexually abused.  I was the only one that had been raped.  I was the only one who had been punched.  I was the only one who had experienced someone trying to kill me.  We did our check-in and as the new person I was encouraged to tell a little bit about myself, only what I was comfortable with.  I didn't say much, as it was my first time there and I didn't know these people.  I was pretty quiet for most of the meeting, as I am for my first time at pretty much every meeting I go to of this type.  I have to get the feel of it before I'll speak up.  It doesn't take long, but I'm definitely not going to spill my guts at my first visit.  

It was a 2-hour meeting, and about halfway through, just before we were about to take a little break, one woman stated that emotional abuse is by far worse than physical abuse.  As I've said, she'd never experienced anything else, none of them had, and all of them agreed with her.  They went on to talk about how physical wounds heal but emotional/mental ones are with you forever.  The facilitator didn't comment, just said it was time for a break.  I left and did not return.

They had a point in one way, that emotional/mental/psychological wounds DO stay with you forever.  You can't just turn off the memories, the feelings, the nightmares ... they affect what you do, how you conduct yourself, how you react to situations, literally everything.  But they are not worse than any other kind of abuse.  No abuse is better or worse than another.  The woman that said that couldn't see the gigantic bruise on the back of my shoulder.  She didn't know that I couldn't use my right arm for 3 days.  She didn't know I'd had to have jaw surgery and have my mouth wired shut for a month because of damage done to my face.  She hadn't seen me crying as I got an x-ray on my chest to check for a cracked sternum.  

Many people who don't experience physical trauma don't realize that it in itself causes mental trauma.  The fear of it happening again, the crack it makes in your self, the way it makes you brace yourself every time you're near someone just in case you get hit again.  

I sincerely hope she never does experience any of those things, that none of those women do, but I also hope that at some point they see or are told exactly what the above quote stresses ... that ALL trauma is valid.  Whether you experience one thing only one time, or many things many times, it is a trauma and it is valid and should be acknowledged as such. 

Trauma isn't just abuse either.  It can be anything that you experience that affects you negatively, like a death in the family, or a car accident, or a natural disaster, there are so many things that can cause us pain and stay with us for a long time, whether we realize it at the time or not.  

Often you hear someone say people are too sensitive and need to "grow a pair", walk it off, rub some dirt on it ... I'm guilty of this myself in some situations, though usually just in jest.  But when it comes to mental health I think that is the one time we need to be sensitive to what other people have gone through, whether we know the details or not, whether we know anything at all about it or not, just for the simple fact that we are all human, and all trauma is valid.