I’m going to be honest and say that this may/may not be PTSD. I’m not really sure. (edit: my therapist confirmed that it is today 1/19/16) Let’s just tell the story.
2015 was a terrible year even though it started out great. It started with my boss helping me get a meeting with the IT manager to discuss how to break into the field. The meeting went so well and I finally figured out what I want to do in the IT world, programming. So I, in a hypomanic burst, signed up for college, again, that day. Without discussing it with my boyfriend (and fellow homeowner) first but, he luckily wasn’t bothered. I started the year taking Eng Comp II and Intro to Java and I loved both classes. I specifically got into Eng Comp II because my teacher was so rooting for me. I had started writing poetry and sending it to her. I even got published in the school’s literary anthology. She wanted a copy and made me sign it for her. I thought that was very sweet. I was really starting to work through some stuff and I was getting A’s in school and then work stomped on things a little. Read more
This is going to be a very graphic retelling of my many rapes. Why am I so rapable? Well, I’m not quite sure. It could be because I was very promiscuous from a very young age. I can’t remember the names of everyone I’ve slept with, I don’t even have a number range and I’m ashamed of that. Here I am slut shaming myself when I would never dare think of doing that to another woman. I think it’s demeaning and wrong and what a woman does with her own body is her business but, when it comes to myself I honestly think maybe I’ve been raped so often because I had a sort of scarlet letter on my chest that was only visible to creeps. I have always had low self esteem and been slightly needy, maybe that was the thing that put the target on my back or another part of my anatomy? I can’t tell you why I’ve been raped so often or why I never pressed charges or even fought or screamed, all I can do is tell you my tales and how they still affect me to this day.
I was always starved for attention. My Father at a very young age made it clear, unintentionally, that I would never be good enough and my Mother made me feel like a burden. They were both struggling with their own mental health issues though my Mother would never admit it. I began to get very sexually curious around age 13 or so after finding pornography in the basement. I had also stopped looking quite so gangly and I had grown into my teeth. When I started getting attention from boys I was thrilled. I saw every “boyfriend” as a chance to have a real relationship and connection with someone. The boys unfortunately did not have that in mind. Read more
I’m not new to the severe depression that comes with my bipolar II disorder. At the end of 2008 I had a breakdown of sorts after a particularly long hypomanic bender. I had decided that we needed to recycle everything we could and only buy food that came in recyclable containers and that we should eat as naturally as possible. There was no junk food in the house at all for months. I was really committed to it and then when it became too much to keep up with I got incredibly depressed. This is usually the pattern; I try to heal the World and when I realize I can’t I fall into a deep depression.
I took a leave of absence from work and was on short term disability for months. Finally I started feeling better in February of 2009. I had started a new medication that seemed to be really helping. I was almost ready to go back to work. On February 27, 2009 I met with my therapist and had a really good session. I felt so good about it that I decided I would take a walk at the nearby nature trails. I drove there and found that while it was a warm day it was still too icy to take a walk. So I left. I drove out of the parking lot and headed home feeling optimistic and almost ready to return to work and then it hit me.
No I’m not talking an epiphany, I mean a car literally hit me. The driver crossed over the yellow lines and hit me head on. I had been traveling at about 45 mph. I unfortunately (well fortunately for my health but unfortunately for my sanity) did not lose consciousness so I remember everything. It was about 10am or so and the road was very busy. I had good Samaritans rushing to the car to see if they could call anyone for me. I had them call my boyfriend and I think my parents. I was just sitting there in shock for a moment not feeling the pain yet and then I tried to move my legs and I couldn’t. It wasn’t that I couldn’t feel them it was that they weren’t doing what I told them to do. Let me tell you losing control of your limbs is one of the scariest things you can ever experience. That and it hurt immensely. Read more
I categorize myself as someone who has PTSD but, I have so few triggers and it doesn’t take over my life so I’m not sure I have the right to say that I have PTSD. There were 3 truly traumatic events in my life; I was emotionally abused by my ex husband, I was in a severe car accident where both of my femurs broke and my right foot was pinned (and broken) I also broke a rib and my pelvis (the hip sockets), and I was raped multiple times. Each of these events has come back to haunt me in a PTSD episode if that is what you could call it.
My ex husband was very controlling. He picked me up from work one night and as we were driving home he swerved to the side of the road like a mad man and asked loudly, “Who was that guy you were talking to?” I responded, “The security guard, he’s like 60 and I was just being nice.” He said, “You don’t have to be nice.” I said, “I can’t not talk to men I work with.” He responded, “Yes you can. Just say I’m sorry I can’t talk to you, I’m married.” I never actually did that because it is insane but, he truly wanted me to, no he was ordering me to. He always thought I was cheating on him. I was raising two kids and working I had no time nor desire to cheat on him and honestly had never once given him any reason not to trust me. I didn’t have a past history, I wasn’t going out ever because he scared all of my friends away. It was insanity. His own Mother told him this on numerous occasions. He just wouldn’t hear reason. Read more