Tag: childhood trauma

Where my passion lies….

My passion lies…..

with people who have no home and no where to go

with women who have been beaten and abused

with women who ran dope across the border for some man that couldn’t care less that they are paying with their freedom

with the children whose mother is sitting in a camp or prison

with the addicts who cant silence the demons long enough to heal themselves

with the families of those addicts who grieve their loved one

with people who are incarcerated and have no outside support

with the children who suffer at the hands of adults

with the broken hearted

with those who feel that they have had enough and cant go on

with all who suffer….

that is where my passion lies.

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Trauma

For the last few weeks I havent allowed myself the time or gathered the courage to sit down and get real with myself.

Questions come up and I lose myself in them….

Who made you feel like you werent enough? And why do you hang onto shit like that? Human beings, decent human beings should never, even in angry moments make another feel like they aren’t enough. Treatment that I have experienced surfaces in this moment. I am transported to some long ago memory, an unpleasant place in time. Fortunately it can be left where it is. In the dust and remenets of some other time.

Who made you feel like you werent smart enough? I have known people who speak to others like they have no knowledge or education. I like poeple like this as odd as that sounds, the phrase “if you give them enough rope, they will hang themselves” comes to mind. I am an observer by nature and to witness someone who thinks they know it all not really know anything at all is sometimes oddly satisfying.

Who made you feel like you were an option? Someone who you arent an option to any more?

When was it ever okay for someone to put their hands on you? I remember the first time….one of them anyway. This came a few times in life. As a young adult it was a shock. It caught me off guard, but throughout life it seems I was used to unpleasant events and so it, in some ways, seemed normal. (“Normal”, a woman I greatly admire cant stand that word…) so it became acceptable. I accepted things that were not okay.

Trauma changes us…

A normal day and a loud sound, or voice behind me when I am lost in thought and the PTSD kicks in. Sometimes it stays for days and sometimes it passes quickly. Sometimes its words. Sometimes is just sadness that sets in. An emotion finds its way to the surface where it hurts. An unhealed layer of some long ago place. Feelings of not being enough. Not smart enough, not pretty enough, not good enough. I sift through them and I shove back the tears until I am alone, I quiet the sadness in the dark, and push aside the anger, because it doesn’t serve me…..because the truth is I am still healing. I find solace in words most often, and safety in the warmth of his arms, close to his heart.

There is no getting over the angry words, or heavy hands, or sheer fear inflicted by another human being. There is no getting over feeling irrelevant, second best or second choice. There is no getting over abuse, physical, mental…abuse is abuse.

There is no getting over it, only getting through it and learning to how to care for that part of ourselves that is still healing from trauma that most aren’t aware of.

So most days I wear my new life….with a quiet strength and some tenderness, knowing that I am getting through it and healing it the best way I know how.

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Alcoholism Part 1

So, as I was trolling social media tonight I came across and interesting article. If you have time, and it interests you, please take a look at it.

http://www.reachoutrecovery.com/recovery-topics/parenting-tips/10-things-to-know-about-children-of-alcoholics

I grew up with alcoholic step fathers. Several. None were nice or fun. I am not even sure where to start expressing my thoughts on this subject, my mind is racing with memories. I never knew the adults in my life were alcoholics, that’s how normal alcohol was for me. I was maybe 7 when I tasted Wild Turkey for the first time.

That is what Fred drank.

Fred was step father number two. He was the party guy. He was a World War II vet. He drank and smoked constantly. There were constant parties at our house where I was not allowed to come downstairs. I would lay on the step, about halfway down the stairs where the wall was so they couldn’t see me. The house was filled with stylish women that had pretty hair and 70’s clothes. The men were semi plane, brand inspectors and cowboys that worked for the state. The room was filled with cigarette smoke and drinks were everywhere. I would fall asleep there until my Mom would get me into bed some time in the night. During the few years they were together, he died in our house of a heart attack, it was a constant party. He drove drunk and would let my Mom walk home from across town in the middle of the night, alone. Piece of shit, but she stayed. So, needless to say I was left alone with him and he was sexually abusive….yep….maybe 7. When I was still married if I smelled hard alcohol on my husbands breath I was repulsed. Sad, but true. He never understood, only when we were in therapy did he apologize and I would like to believe he genuinely felt bad. I am not sure, because after that all drinking was done on the side.

Step father number one use to hit me…he was mean alcoholic.

Step father number three was the most mentally abusive. She married him twice. I used to be angry at her for the choices she made, but she was damaged too. Number three was Arnold. They divorced on my 16th birthday and again on my 18th. Both of those birthdays I spent in the courtroom. When I was 12 he convinced her I ran away.  I have to wonder about her mental state, I was at my best friends house and she knew it. I came home to a police man asking me if I knew where our address was. I said that was my house and he followed me home. Arnold, when I  was 12, called me “a whore walking the street looking for a stiff dick”. I was FUCKING 12!!! I didn’t even know about sex! Of course when the policeman realized he was drunk he left me with my Mom and Arnold. My Mom had the nerve to say many years later that I was not an easy child, are you fucking kidding me? I went to school and stayed in my room, or was at my friend’s house. I had to be out of sight because everything was ok then. You see these men and my Mom were older. They had already raised children and here comes a little girl.

(I have to add that as I am emptying my thoughts here Fred’s daughter-in-law liked my comment on that post…she has no idea. Not that I know of…)

I think this has been a little overwhelming for me this evening….I will follow-up with a second part when I can….Yes, I have moved on, healed, learned the lessons they delivered…just felt the need to empty my thoughts after reading that article….

Our children look to us for guidance and example. I have explained to my girl that addiction runs on both sides and she needs to be very aware….

I am calling it a night….Peace for now ❤

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