There are long lapses in blogging these days because I struggle with where I’m at.
There was a point where everything was just too much. I shut down. I stopped trying to heal because I felt like healing was killing me.
About a week ago, I was sitting at my desk and was overwhelmed by a flashback. If you’ve never had a flashback, you know that it is much different than a memory.
A flashback can include a voice, a sound, a physical feeling, and overwhelming emotion.
Anyway, as I’m sitting at my desk staring at a spreadsheet, I felt a sick feeling in my stomach as I remember my second day of third grade. Mrs. Maxwell came over to my desk and asked me to come with her. She took me into a little room. Along with her, came the guidance counselor, and another teacher. She had me sit in a very small plastic chair. The three women stood over me. Looking down on me. My teacher says to me, “Are you being neglected?” And a barrage of other questions regarding food, clothing, etc.
I remember that word “neglected” staying with me for weeks after. I didn’t know what it meant.
But after the meeting, I was brought back in the classroom by these women, and I remember them looking at each other in a certain way. At the time, I thought I was in trouble. The kids in the class were all staring at me. I’m sure they thought I was in trouble also.
This was my second day in a new school in a new state. I didn’t know any if the kids. I was already very much a loner but I wanted to be invisible. I didn’t want to exist.
I never told my parents or siblings. I just knew I would be in more trouble.
As I’m sitting at my desk, at 54 years old, the memory is just as vivid as the day it happened.
It was like a camera focusing on each face and zooming in and out like a scary movie.
I drank alcohol that weekend. And shut down emotionally. I didn’t know how to comfort myself.
PTSD is no joke. It’s terrifying at times. It’s heartbreaking at times. It’s such a helpless feeling to not be able to control the symptoms.
What I struggle with is that I didn’t tell those women how badly I needed help. But I honestly did not know that my life wasn’t normal.
Why am I taking the guilt of those days? Why couldn’t they read my mind?
Mrs. A said it was good that I’m remembering that someone tried to care and help me. I guess they did care but were limited by my silence.
I’m trying to reframe my guilt and remind myself that it was survival. Nothing less.
Will she ever know that it was ok to be a little girl with no knowledge of self protection? Will she ever be able to accept her self as a helpless child?
I made this meme to try to love that little girl. Until now, she was a big failure. I’m sorry little one for still blaming you after all these years.
Until next time – I am being MJ every day.