I said this blog would always be honest and it has been. That being said, this post will contain details and possibly be triggering for some.
I was so proud of all the exciting things I have been accomplishing.
And then it happened. Another flashback. A new memory. A new downward spiral. A new struggle to stay alive.
The last week has been incredibly hard, and I’m struggling. The thing about PTSD is you don’t really ever know what is going to trigger you. It can be a sound, or a smell, or one word, or just a look.
Last week I had to be COVID tested and had no idea that this would be a major event for me. I heard everyone say it was a little painful but doable. I got to the doctor’s office and was immediately brought in a back door as if I was plagued or something. I had some nausea and felt like I had a virus. The doctor came in, suited up in PPE and he looked like something out of an apocalypse movie. He told me to lay back. He was on one side and the nurse on the other. He inserted the micro-qtip far into my nose and my ears began to burn. The pain wasn’t as bad as the fear. His arm across my body and standing over me, made me panic. I kicked and pushed him away. I didn’t even think for one second that he’s not there to hurt me. It just happened. He made a comment when I was leaving about hoping to never have to do that to me again because I “really didn’t like that one bit”.
After I got to my car, I had the biggest meltdown. I couldn’t even drive. Just sat there like I was 5 again. I felt so embarrassed and all I wanted to do was go home and get under the covers. Which is exactly what I did.
Fast forward to the weekend. I mostly just numbed out and went to work. Staying busy is how I avoid emotions.
Along came Wednesday and a trauma session with Mrs. A. We discussed Friday’s meltdown and my embarrassment and awful self-talk. Followed by a heavy feeling of darkness. And wait – here comes a memory. What perfect timing. The memories always seem to pop up when I’m looking for peace of mind. It’s like a cruel joke.
So, I’m struggling with this memory and ask Mrs. A. if we can have an emergency session. I need to talk about this. Or do I? If I talk about it, I can’t numb it. This is the inner struggle that follows every memory or flashback.
I’m remembering the first time my uncle touched me in my private area. The previous day, he asked me to come with him to see some baby kittens in a box. As I’m looking down at them, he comes up behind me, moves my hair, and kisses my neck. I froze. I’m 12. I don’t get this. But since I didn’t tell anyone or scream or whatever, he decided to try for more the next day.
He came up behind me, wrapped his big arms around me. It was a tight hold. He slipped his hand down in my pants. I don’t know how long it lasted but it seemed like forever. Again, I froze. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t run. He held me against him in a way that I could feel his man parts growing on my back. Afterwards I had a lot of pain and soreness. I went to take a bath. I just sat there soaking. And dropping those silent tears that I was so famous for. I remember some blood. And the confusion, all of the confusion. What did this mean? I thought this was the one family that loved me. Or does this mean he loves me? Does this mean I’m an adult? Does this mean I shouldn’t come here again? This was my safe place from the violence, drugs and alcohol at home.
And so, I’m sitting here today with the darkness. Feeling like I need to run and hide. Feeling like there will never be a life without pain and heartache. I want to move past the memories and start to enjoy my life again.
Attached is a picture I drew. I’m just trying to vent out some of the pain. Art is my latest relief. I’m not an artist but I just need someone to know how bad it hurts. Even if that someone is my drawing pad.
Until next time, I am being MJ every day.