Maybe people think I am strong, but I won’t describe myself as such. I am scared, not everyday but I can have intense episodes of fear and tension. This morning, I reflected upon why I am tensed when I interact with some women.
I notice a pattern. These women look like my abuser. Since the pandemic, everything went online. I have my own office, with a diffuser, my favorite playlist and soft LED lights. It’s a pretty little office that I decorated according to my own taste. I spend a lot of time in here. Studying, online volunteering, reflecting, etc.
I like to wear night satin sleep gown in my office, because it is comfortable. My satin night gown is very thin.. I have a sweater in case I feel cold in my office. When I have an episode, like 20 mins ago, I would be crying and cover my skin as much as possible because if I see my skin, I would be reminded of the sexual abuse that I went through.
I am postponing my study session. Until I am okay. I will resume.
Flashback: Warden used to wear her panties while playing on her ipad all day, everyday. She said that she has so many things in her head so she needs to wind down. Thing is, she wind down all day, everyday. She would lay on her stomach in her bedroom and she would wear panties in front of me. She would order me what to do while not sending me to school though she had means to do so.
I was not in school, I was doing the chores for the apartment along with my twin sister. She forced me to be comfortable to change my clothes in front of her. She stared at me changing my clothes.
She is still around, facing no legal repercussions
I have been told that I can reach out. I did reach out. I reached out to my father, to my uncle, to my grandmother, to psychologists. But also I am told to reconstruct myself alone. How? Which one do I follow? I have been dealing with a criminal for as long as I can remember and yet no one is reporting her to the police. No one tried to save me from the abuse. The adults around me were to busy with their own affairs. The adults around me, today, are busy trying to defend themselves. They defend something indefensible.
Is it normal for me to expect that an abuser who has committed crimes be prosecuted? If it is normal then why no one is prosecuting her? Why people try to stop me? What did I do? I never ran over a homeless man in my car, I never abused my mother by forcing her to sleep outside. Why people stop me? Why don’t people stop HER? What is wrong with people I talk to?
She abused her ex husband, committing marriage fraud, kicked me out until I almost got raped and somehow I am the one being told to stop? Stop what? Stop speaking up for myself? Stop standing up to what is right? Stop standing up to justice? Justice is not done alone. It takes more than myself. I almost died, I was so near to death because of Warden and somehow I am told to:
Move to another city
Forgive and forget
Look at the positives
And yet this criminal walk around the city as much as she likes. It is sickening me, truly. It’s despicable. I can’t believe my reality. I can’t believe how messed up this is. I am trying to put myself together, hence this blog entry.
People said they care but .. I have never been saved. I got bruises, again and again, I saw my mother being beaten up, again and again. No one did anything. Where was the adults around me? Where did common sense went? Where were the adults when I needed them the most? They were not there.
There were times in my life where the only thing that bridges me to life was a pair of ears. I had moments in life where I have brought myself to suicide. Child abuse survivors need a support system. Need consistency. This is about repairing an upbringing. It does not take a day, it does not take one person, it takes willing, time, a strong support system too.
My journey of re-parenting myself requires outside help too. I do dwell for extrinsic things yes, because I am aware of my own limitations. I can be frustrated with my limitations. It takes a village to raise a child. It takes a village to re-parent a child that has been abused. May take more than a village.
Sometimes I feel like people only love me based on the idea that I am not broken. I am injured, physically and mentally from about 2 decades of abuse. None of it is my fault.
I am so traumatized. It is very easy for my anxious mind to create some absurd realities. Fear-based reality. My mind is alert all the time, almost anxious all the time. I grind my teeth in my sleep, so much that my partner worried if I would break my teeth and the noise disturbs his sleep.
I enjoy cognitive therapies. I like identifying my cognitive distortions. One of the most frequent ones is ‘Mind Reading’. I assume those around me think like my Warden. I assume those I deal with think exactly like her. Love is earned and has to be maintained, imperfections can lead to inhumane treatments, etc. The harm Warden caused during my upbringing cannot be underestimated. I am not sure how long this lasts. I am trying my best deal with myself.
Had a flashback earlier today. When I was 7, Warden used to ask for my arm to be pinched. She did this when she gets angry. I recalled some moments in the car where she asked my twin sister to give out her arm so that Warden can pinch it. It’s not really ‘asking’. We never had a choice to not give our arms. So my twin sister gave out her arm to Warden and warden pinched her and that second she burst in tears and screams in pain. I yelled to Warden that what she did is violent and that she is hurting my twin sister. Did she say sorry? No. She yelled at me not to defend my twin sister. She expects me to be calm seeing my twin sister being pinched until she left with bruises.
I tried to sleep off my flashback but I could not make it less intense than what it is. This is why I update my blog. I want the world to understand the impacts of Warden’s abuse to me. I never reported her to the police. Maybe I should, but I have no mental energy to do so. Blog is my best option to date.
When I was five years old, Warden used to tickle me on the bed. It got to the point where it felt like a torture. She would tickle me, so hard and so long that I cried beneath my involuntary laughs. She would say, ‘Say I beg for mercy, please’. This memory is very uncomfortable for me. I did not enjoy it. I followed what she said, I begged for mercy, for pardon. She stopped after another minute. I wanted to cry afterwards. Yet, she said, ‘ahahaha don’t cry, I was just joking’.
I know where she lives, but I cannot face her. Not anymore. I have not finished my healing process. I have some stuff at her place but I cannot bring myself to her place.
She finds enjoyment on torturing and abusing those who are close to her. It seems to be her hobby. She shows no mercy, no empathy. I learned empathy through sense of responsibility. I get used to not receive it. I get used to giving it.
You know, sometimes I wonder if this healing takes a lifetime. I am young, I have dreams and I have plans for my future. I certainly did not plan to have to take an antidepressant, or going in and out of a psychologist’s office. Pills and appointments are not sufficient for my healing. I do Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, I exercise too. I eat healthy. What am I doing wrong? Am I going on an upward trend? I hope so. Is it selfish for me to wish that my healing process is much faster?
I am re-parenting myself, but sometimes I wish I have a mother that I could embrace. I wish I had a mother that has different point of views than me. I am mother-deprived. I had moments where I imagined being able to make some software, perhaps a robot, and it is able to be my mother. I never felt like I have a mother. To me, Warden is an adult, a violent woman who just happens to have control over me. I never understood the comfort of confiding to a mother. I never was able to confide to Warden. She confided to me since I was five.
I will probably feel sad as long as I wish to have a mother.
I had moments in my childhood where I thought that parents are always right. Warden told me that she is always right. She has an endless need of being praised. It makes me think that she has no self-esteem at all. Thing is, she also does not seem to be able to show empathy. Warden told me that she is good at memorizing, she is good at school, she is so accomplished, etc. When I was little I thought that she is perfect. When I was younger and telling people that I am abused, no one talked to her. Relatives told me that I should be faithful to her and that she does not have empathy to me because she never had her own baby. Now, why would a child needs to be understanding to the abuser? A child needs to be safe, away from abuse. My anger towards those who told me to be understanding to my violent Warden would not solve anything. I should however articulate that I am disappointed with many of my relatives.
I learn a lesson that when a child confide in you, it is on their best interest that you listen and trust them.
Having flashbacks is exhausting. I spend about two hours per day writing and practicing cognitive restructuring. It is a constant work. Think of having a farm with chores to do. I don’t have a farm. I had a sour childhood. It takes all in me to work on it. I have two kinds of chores. Normal people chores and traumatic adult survivor chores. I do laundries, putting dishes away, clean the room, make my bed, like an average adult would do too. The traumatic adult survivor chores include but not limited to; Warm baths, gym, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, grounding practices, blogging, meditation and writing diaries. Sometimes I wonder, ‘to what extent does this blog helps?’. I am a person too, I can get tired, I can have burnouts. My thing is stress. My tolerance to stress is so low that a small amount can easily make me dysfunctional almost for the whole day. Have I talked to a psychologist? Yes. I have a privilege for unlimited consultations.
I tried to stop blogging. I was pausing for less than 10 days. Flashbacks return, the whole sour, sad memories return. When will all these things subside? It feels like being in a tunnel with no end. Here I am back to blogging. Can these excruciating memories just.. pouf gone?Never come back until my last breath? I would love to do many things in my spare time than having to tame my brain from excruciating flashbacks.