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NitaAnn Jan 2014
You are stronger than you realize… I know that is encouragement, and I appreciate it so much. But sometimes I wonder if you have any concept of what happened then, and what goes on for me now. I mean, I know you know to the extent of what I tell you, how could you possibly know more than that, right? And I know that you know there’s so much I’m unable to talk about. So much more. And I sit and wonder if I’ll ever be able to do it…to actually “talk” – and I don’t know the answer. So much more difficult to say than my younger brother used to eat sticks of butter at my grandparents’ house. So much more shameful and embarrassing. Things little girls shouldn’t do, or even know about. Terrible things that don’t even involve the evil father –‘directly’-
(she writes in a subtle way, that you may not be able to ascertain what I’m saying
– again, you can only know what I tell you, right?).

I know you said it takes a long time,
but what do I do in the meantime to deal with it all…
the headaches, the nausea and puking, the nightmares,
the body aches, the questions, the sadness, the fear….and on and on…
I’m not asking for an answer to that question,
I don’t know if there is one.
(Do NOT mention anything resembling DBT or I will hang myself).

But just because I don’t speak these things aloud,
doesn’t mean they don’t rattle around in my brain night after night.
And how I wish I could just spew everything in my head out
and lay it on the table, and then toss it all in the garbage like a dissected fetal pig.

When a little girl is ***** night after night, by her father,
at first the little girl cries and pleads for someone to help.
But when the little girl’s cries are unheard,
when no one will help protect her, and when the crying just makes things worse,
the little girl just stops crying, and protesting, because she realizes no one cares.
Yes, she becomes strong, very strong, she survives…
but she feels void of all emotion.

I am trying really hard not to hate myself today.
NitaAnn Jan 2014
It hurts...this grief, this emptiness,
this ache for what will never be...
it hurts

It hurts...the pain is unbearable.
It feels like someone has surgically removed my heart
and they forgot to sew me back up,
they forgot to put me back together.
It's this unbearable grief, this emptiness inside of me.
I miss him so much.

It's this huge longing for something that will never be...
it hurts...it hurts so much.
And I cannot stop crying from the ache.
I don't know how to get past it.
I don't know if I can.
I don't know if it's possible.
It hurts

It hurts so much to have this aching need that will never be real again.

Tonight I am surrounded by all my memories of Jimmy.  Thinking that somehow it will all bring me healing energy…help put my broken heart back together.  Pictures of us as kids, the sweet letters we shared as adults when we no longer lived in the same states, his high school varsity jacket, his favorite bandanna. Even after all this time, I can still smell his cologne and if I squeeze my eyes shut I can almost believe that you are here with me.

I miss Jimmy tonight.
I miss his safety, and his comfort...
He made me feel safe.
I need that tonight.
I need him.
It hurts so much.
It hurts...
May your spirit soar in freedom from the fears that gripped so tight. May you find the peace you searched for as you wandered, lost, in the night. You're still here in my heart and mind, still making me laugh cause your stories live on. I hold you in a thought and I can feel you. I feel you and this gives me strength and courage. I promise you I will be missing you every day till the end of time, I miss my strong Indian brave. I think of you and wonder why?

But at the end of the day I am one day closer to you....

Happy Birthday, Jimmy! I love you!
NitaAnn Jan 2014
I often wonder if anxiety manifests in your body in a physical sense. I feel despondent today…I’ve been nauseous all day. I lack the enthusiasm and energy to do anything. I am fearful every evening of what will come in the night. I know I should just grit my teeth and push through this phase. ..but l currently lack the fervor and oomph.

Darkness has closed in. My body feels like it’s filled with lead. I am exhausted physically and mentally. I’m walking in the rain and the wind caught under my umbrella and pummeled me into a brick wall. I am constantly fighting against the winds. The winds of my fear, my anxiety, my hopelessness and shame…and the anger, holy smokes! The horrible anger that overwhelms me.

I don’t sleep, the darkness invades my dreams. When I do finally fall asleep, it’s only a half sleep. I toss and turn and wake up multiple times during the night.

So much of what I feel is irrational and the logical part of my brain tells me that – but Ms. Logic can’t win against Ms. Scared –Angry (she has a hyphenated last name). I need help – I know that. I know that I am not “me” and I am not in control of us, not anymore. I know that the strength and spirit and determination I had has been drained from me.

I have been thinking terrible thoughts at night. Thoughts like: what if I just take the entire bottle of ativan and chase it down with a chug of *****. It isn’t about suicide – I assure you, it’s about making it stop! It’s about stopping the crazy voices inside my head; it’s about killing the physical and mental pain in my body. I realize how twisted that sounds…like the mentality of an ‘addict’. Something I never want to be.

I never wanted to be ‘this’ woman. I used to be strong – a fighter! And I have been through worse! But I feel like a runner who hit the wall. I just don’t feel like I can push forward anymore, not now. Thinking about the darkness that overwhelms me at night is like looking down the barrel of a shot-gun. I just wait for the bullet to come…wait for the past to start ravaging my body and my mind once again. And I hate it! I hate it! I hate the voices, I hate the feeling that he’s here with me. I hate the way my body aches, the way my hips hurt and my chest feels tight. I hate the way my breathing gets shallow and I hate that I can’t seem to stop it. DT said I should be able to stop it. I don’t understand why I can’t do that. Why can’t I do it?

I feel so anxious so sad and scared. I am such a disappointment. I’m so ashamed of myself. People tell me how inspired they are by my courage and perseverance, and here I am…thinking of overdosing on anti-anxiety and sleeping meds. I need help. I’m so ashamed. This isn’t me – I don’t even know who this is. What do I need to do? I don’t know what the answer is. All I know is that I need something – something to hold on to. I’m overwhelmed by fear and darkness. Thunder and lightning are raging in my head ALL OF THE TIME! And I’m scared.

The SI is back, and I’m so utterly disgusted with myself for falling back into that! But like an alcoholic, I cannot stop after I make that first cut. The endless crying is back – it’s all back with a vengeance! The deep hole inside of me is growing like a cancerous tumor. It’s so hard to even stay alive and no one gets it. Each day is more and more difficult to get out of bed, there isn’t a better day now – and there isn’t another escape that I can think of. This is killing me anyway – a slow painful death, eating me from the inside out – what’s the difference? Why hang on for more pain, when I could just take a bottle of ativan and stop it myself. Take control of my own destiny. I just don’t know how much more I can take – I’m drained, worthless, helpless, sad, angry, disgusted, self-destructive…I hate it! I hate all of it! And I need it to STOP!

I am an evil, bad, mean, nasty girl! Father was right. I am terrible! I don’t deserve love or care. I am undeserving. Hopeless. It is hopeless. There’s nothing left. I’m too tired. I can’t bleed or puke the badness out of me. It won’t leave!
If you even read this I am not writing to cause concern and alarm. I am writing this because this is it! This is my struggle… this is a transparent and honest account of what I’m feeling. I realize everyone has their struggle – this is mine. There cannot be hills without valleys – but I’m caught in a landslide! I don’t know what I’m asking for… I just can’t seem to face it anymore. Prayer? Strength? Faith? I’m so flipping sick and tired!
NitaAnn Jan 2014
God please help me. I come to you because I no longer feel deserving of your love. I am ***** and I know that you cannot accept me. I am used up like trash and there is nothing left of myself to offer to you. I feel forever tainted and unworthy of your guidance and love. I am as a phony in your house. I should not have come to your place of worship. I feel like an outsider there not deserving of the information that so many others take for granted. I am sorry that I am unholy, that I am the sin of this earth. The filth of my hands should not grip your Bible. My mind is destroyed with the images that play in it; I can no longer absorb your truths. Please God forgive my unrighteousness.
Everyone can tell me a million times that I am not the one who is *****. But I can't help how I feel. In time I hope to move past this. But with new memories resurfacing and showing me the bitter truth of how bad things truly got I cannot go to God in this moment. I will keep my distance for a while. I'm sure when I am ready He will be there waiting for me.
NitaAnn Jan 2014
Today I realized that “healing” from this was my choice.
It is not his choice, my husband’s choice, my friend’s choice or even DT’s choice.
IT IS MY CHOICE.
They cannot stop me from killing myself,
From hating myself, from cutting myself or drinking til I black out.
IT IS MY CHOICE.
I have to decide if I want to live in this pain forever,
Remain imprisoned by my past
Wallow in self-pity and destructive behavior
OR
If I am going to help myself
And begin to define a new way of living.

I can look in the mirror
And tell myself that I am shattered
I am in pieces and it is hopeless
OR
I can tell myself that despite my “trauma”
And my struggles afterward,
The power to move forward is within me.
I have now taken off the costume of the “woman without a history of abuse.”
I recognize, admit, and accept that I am that woman
And that is my history.
And when I look in the mirror, I see that confident woman,
The woman with a long history of child abuse and trauma.
The woman with the lack of feelings, too many feeling, overwhelming feelings
I see her scars and I accept her.
I hear her voice, I feel her pain.
I see her confidence and beauty.
She is REAL not a costume.
She is me.
Spend alot of time over that last 48 hours doing some self-reflection on where to go from here. It seems I have been stuck in a rut of being "okay" followed by an "I am far from okay" period. I know this won't be the end but hopefully by accepting the past I can be in control of the future.
IT IS MY CHOICE!
NitaAnn Jan 2014
I ponder that question during those long nights when my mind won’t rest and I am begging for someone to knock me out with an injection of some mind-numbing medication so it will just stop. It used to be that the overwhelming question of “WHY” would send me into fit of self-destructiveness and suicidal thoughts. Kind of a: I can’t change it…I can’t fix it…no one will listen to me…which would lead this overwhelming internal pain that I could not deal with and I would hurt myself (mostly cutting) in a last ditch effort to get it to just stop. I don’t want to die, I’ve never wanted to die – not really…I just want someone to help me figure out a way to deal with all the conflicting parts of me and my past – help me in a way that WORKS!

NITA, YOU NEED TO DEAL WITH YOUR FEELINGS BEFORE THEY DEAL WITH YOU….and deal with me, they have. Now what? Since my feelings began to manage me and I was no longer able to manage them…I was told to put them in the ‘time-out’ bucket. Label them – and throw them in the bucket. Well, let me just store them in the old cedar chest where they were covered with a quilt and preserved for 30 years before someone actually led me to believe that it was ‘okay’ to talk and I was not bad…and that I had a right to be heard and understood and ‘accepted’.
(To be fair, let me add the statement that my self-destructive behavior was excessive and troubling…and there were times when I could have died due to my ‘behavior’. And yes, I get that it’s okay to have feelings and emotions – however best not to always act on them.)  


But the problem is that there is so much hurt...so much pain, that we can't do it alone.  We have stored it for so long because we were afraid and ashamed that to finally find someone we can trust and then to feel as though that trust was breached…it’s like validation that we never should have spoken in the first place. Somewhere in our maladaptive brains it only confirms that our abusers were right. We don’t matter. Everyone else is more important than we are. We are nothing. We have no rights and we will always be nothing.  However unintentional that perceived breach of trust was...it was enough to send us right back there again. Even if it was a promise, or commitment, that was not sustainable - but was offered with only the best of intentions...even if your life 'changed' and you had over-extended yourself...that just validates that we are not important.  I realize that is not the way a 'normal' person, a person who actually received love and care that every child deserved, reacts.
But we never had that...our trust was broken time and time again.
Day over day,
week over week,
year over year.


Yes, it is a lot of shame to carry...too much. And the abuse from my childhood has ripped apart my insides to a depth I can barely see and feel.  There are parts of my being that were destroyed to the point that I know they can never be recovered.  Every night when I lay my head down I wish for even two hours of peaceful sleep....telling myself, "Sweet dreams, no nightmares."  Each evening when the darkness comes I hope like hell I can get through it without feeling him all over again, without hurting myself, without a pain so intense I cannot stay in this body anymore.  Each morning I wake up with no new injuries or long lasting residual after-affects from nightmares I am thankful for surviving another night.  But the shame, and the fear, and the pain...and the sadness of not having anyone to help guide me though it...all of that remains.  But I have put it back into the cedar chest and covered it with the quilt.  It is my childhood dowry...a dowry no one wants.  

And I remain silent.  
Because I am afraid now.
I am ashamed of my behavior.
  I am ashamed of my weakness and fear.
I am ashamed.
I am ashamed.

But I hope that someday I will not be ashamed.  
I hope that someday someone will listen to me, to 'us'.
What are we waiting for?  Won't anybody help us?  What are we waiting for?
We have stood up...we are trying to fight the enemy...won't anybody help us?
NitaAnn Jan 2014
I am on the cutting edge tonight.
I feel it…the overwhelming urge to cut.
I have the razor blades laying here beside me.
The light reflects off the shiny metal beckoning me to pick it up.
Looking for a sign?
This is it.

When this all bubbles up I can no longer just shove it all back down again, not like I used to.
It just lingers in the back of my throat, in the pit of my stomach, and threatens me with nausea and the taste of ***** when I least expect it. I wanted the therapist to help me but earlier he was not that nice on the phone so I reciprocate in kind.  But I need his help but don't deserve it.  I want to scream! I want to just get what I deserve! Just do it already! I want to disappear from it all. I hate it! I want to destroy the parts of myself that make me “her”. I’m so tired of feeling overwhelmed and alone in this. I don’t want to remember. I want it to go away, and yet still, it lingers. It feels like a razor sharp slowly piercing my skin from my elbow right down to my wrist. It leaves me bleeding, an open wound, scars on my soul. I know exactly how it feels, I can imagine it right now, the sensation of the razor piercing my skin and it thrills me and repulses me at the same time. Why won’t someone take it away? Even just for a day.  

Why doesn’t it go away?
Why can’t I trust?
Why can’t I get through this?
I am lost and afraid.
If I reach out, he could hurt us, if I don’t, I could die.

Reached out.  
Bad Idea.
He was mad at me for bothering him.
I could tell.

I don't want to play anymore.
Pick it up...put it back down. That's been the last hour. I want to be stronger but its so hard. I can feel the relief it will bring me if I just make a few cuts. Maybe just 1 or 2??? or maybe 3 or 4??? Who is going to win this battle? Feel the cold metal as it parts the skin...ah the richness of the bright crimson blood as it flows down the arm....


Sorry, I lost the battle...
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