I remember one day when I was young I had a complete melt down. My father walked outside. We were in our apartment at the time and his van was parked behind the building. He walked out the door, down the stairs and around the building to his van. I couldn’t see him once he left. He hadn’t said good-bye to me. He hadn’t kissed me good-bye. He hadn’t even told me he was leaving. I had a complete melt down. I cried, screamed and yelled. I couldn’t figure out why he would leave without saying good-bye to me. What had I done wrong? Had I displeased him somehow? Maybe I didn’t do something right the day before. Oh yeah. He had complained about me not moving right. He had told me he didn’t like the way I was rubbing him. I did it wrong. I was no older than 5 or 6, possibly younger. In the short time he had been gone (only minutes) I jumped to the conclusion that I hadn’t performed right and he left without saying goodbye because of it. He was mad at me. I was suddenly committed to doing it right next time. Next time I would listen and I’d do it right, if only he would come back. It turns out he had just gone out to his van to bring things out there. He hadn’t actually left. But in that little amount of time I processed all those thoughts and came to the conclusion that I had driven him away by not being good enough. I thought dad had left me.
I’m sorry that I have been such a horrible wife. I’m sorry that I have not been loving and affectionate. I know how much you love me. This is something I can’t seem to get my head around. I don’t understand the love you feel for me. I don’t know how you can stand by my side through the things I put you through. I am sorry for the pain I have put you through. I have been mean, cold, unfaithful. I have not treated you the way you deserve. Everyone is right, you are a great guy. You deserve better. You should find better. I can’t be what you deserve. I’m sorry.
I love you. I know I don’t show it enough. I know that I am usually a terrible mom. I yell at you all the time, send you away. All you crave from me is love and affection. I try to find in me what you deserve. I try to provide you with all the nurturing, loving and caring that you need to grow into a happy young lady. As the years go on I see the damage I’m causing. I’m so sorry. I try with every part of me to be better for you. But I can’t. I’m sorry. I hope one day you understand how much I love you. I hope some day you can forgive me. You, too, deserve better. I’m sorry.
I love you. I’m so sorry that I haven’t treated you with the love you deserve. After having you, I changed. This is not your fault. You are a beautiful, funny, precious little girl. You are going to do wonderful things with your life. I’m sorry I don’t show you how wonderful you truly are. I’m sorry that I yell at you, get so angry at you. I’m sorry. You deserve so much better.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not strong enough. I’m sorry I can’t be strong like you. You have always been the strong one. Through everyone you have lost, through all you’ve been through, you have been a rock. You will never know how much I love you. Despite my anger, my frustration and the hurt, I have always cared for you and can’t imagine my life without you in it all these years. Thank you for being here for me and my girls. I’m sorry I’m not stronger. You deserve a better life than the one you were dealt. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t move on. I can’t get past the past. The past won’t let me go. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard. But it won’t let go. I’m sorry. I can’t keep fighting it anymore. Sometimes you just have to let the past win. I’m sorry.
I had dreams last night. All night. I slept like shit. The dreams were all the same, just different scenes. The basic premiss was that they were all about my father raping me. In one, I was going pee. Just sitting on the toilet. Suddenly I’m on the floor, pants still down. I’m on my back looking up as he’s ramming his cock into my face. Forcing my mouth open and shoving it all the way down my throat. Laughing as he did it. End of dream. The next one. I’m in my room. I have a shirt and underwear on. No pants. I was getting ready for bed. He comes in, pulls off my underwear and throws me face first into the bed. He gets on me but my mom yells up the stairs to see if he was up there. He says he will be right down. I try yelling for her but he has my face pushed into the bed so I can’t even breath. I feel his mouth on my ear. He tells me it makes him excited he almost got caught. I feel him enter me. It didn’t last long but it was rough and painful. He pulls my head up and tells me to stop crying. I can’t. End dream. Next one. Standing at the top of the stairs to my room. There’s a window. It overlooks the driveway and gas station next door. I’m standing there watching my mom drive away. Her car is out of sight now. I look down at the people at the gas station. 4 cars at the pumps. 2 employees standing outside the building on the side closest to us. 3 people standing next to one car in the parking lot talking. Suddenly he’s behind me. My face is pushed against the window. The glass is cool on my cheek. He pulls my shirt up, pushes my bare chest against the glass. The glass is cold against my breasts. Despite being tight against the glass my nipples become painfully hard. He pulls my pants down. He enters me by pulling my hips back. He keeps one hand on my head, smashing my head harder into the window. I can still see the people all standing at the gas station, going about their business while I’m smashed painfully against the glass. I want to scream. He rapes me, painfully, violently. He bites me. I feel blood trickle down my shoulder. I cry. He tells me to stop. I can’t. He tells me he will give me something to cry about. He tries to fuck me in the ass. Can’t get it in. Too tight for his violent attempts. Still hurts. Pulls my head back and smashes it against the window frame. End of dream.
As far as I know, none of these happened. In the dreams I was an adult. The images are distorted. It’s him, but I’m a mix of feeling like I’m a teen but looking more developed than I was as a teen. I woke with a headache. Feel sick. Can’t take this anymore. Can’t.
You promised you would be here with me today. You were excited about it. You failed me. You weren’t here. You didn’t support me. You weren’t by my side. I can’t talk to you or see you. You were supposed to share today with me yet you decided that drugs and alcohol were more important. More important than me and the things that I thought mattered to both of us. I thought you were as excited as I was. I did it without you. I didn’t need you there to complete the task. But I wanted you there. That’s all I thought about the whole time. I went from sadness to anger to sadness and back. I wanted to scream a big “fuck you” to you. I also wanted to cry. this was important to me and you didn’t care enough to live up to your word that you would be there. This hurts. More than I thought it would.
I just want to write a quick “apology”. I may repeat myself a lot on this blog. Maybe the same memories, the same thoughts, same feelings. But that’s because that’s my life. My life is on repeat. I don’t just experience a flashback once and then never again. These things stay with me, day in and day out. It occurs over and over and over again. Triggers happen repeatedly. And honestly sometimes I just don’t remember writing about stuff. I actually have no clue what most of my entries are about. I saw that I had like IDK 70 something blog entries…. I only remember a handful of them. So there will be a lot of repeats because that is simply how my life is.
I don’t think I could ever commit suicide. The idea of missing my children’s lives, watching them grow up, being there for them, scares me. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to permanently remove myself from their life, from this world. I couldn’t do that to them. How awful would they feel to know they will never see their mother again because she just wasn’t strong enough to hold on? But there is a but. I don’t want to go on living. My life is a mess. Not just in this moment, but my past that won’t leave me. How can I move onto my future, how can I live in this moment, when the past won’t leave me alone? I don’t know how many people have told me that it will get easier or better. So many people compare their life to my life and express how they felt just like I do at one point in their life. Bullshit. I call bullshit. How does anyone know that they felt just like I do? How do they know how I feel? Because I write a few lines here and there about whats on my mind at the moment? You know exactly how I feel based off of a few words read over the internet? Bullshit. You don’t know my every thought, feeling and emotion in every second of the day. I’m beyond help fucked up. I saw a commercial today about how the first 5 years of life mold everything about you. Not only did my abuse start early, it started when I was 3, at least. I spent 10 very crucial years being abused. That has shaped my mind, my thoughts, my emotions, my reactions, my mental status, my development, my everything. You can’t undo the damage done. It just can’t be undone. I’m certain now that even years of therapy won’t undo the things done to me. I’m not talking about the abuse. I’m talking the damage the abuse caused. I have hard time with boundaries, love, affection, anger, happiness. I have lost many people in my life to death and feel nothing towards it. I have cheated on my husband and feel nothing towards it. I don’t miss my kids when they are gone even for a week at a time. I’m a terrible wife, not a very good mother and an overall bad person. Everyone tells me I’m not. But they don’t live in my head. No one lives in my head but me. I live with this. And I can’t. I don’t want to die but I don’t want to live. Not anymore. My mental health can’t take it anymore.
“When face cracks into smile, You’ve taken all you can take”. These are lyrics from a song. While the rest of the song doesn’t strike me as appropriate for my thoughts, these do. I was running the other day on the trail and the words almost stopped me. Of course fatigue may have had something to do with it as well. But really, they struck a nerve. Then, after getting home, my husband started doing annoying things. He does these annoying things frequently. Things like grabbing my boobs, or my butt. Humping me randomly, making sexual remarks. Trying to make out with me, sticking his hand in my crotch. All these things that he does that trigger me. But I laugh them off. All the things he does, I laugh at. Every time. EVERY FUCKING TIME. I laugh. Because if I allow my real emotion through in those moments, if I don’t laugh, I may very well end up in jail. Often times these moments are SO triggering that I actually consider pushing HIM down the stairs or stabbing him in the eye with a steak knife. But instead, I laugh. And he takes that as an invitation to continue. It’s really a no win situation for me. I laugh to keep sane, but my laughter continues the actions that are harming me. My words of “stop, don’t, please, stop it, knock it off” go unheard through my laughter, my smile, my apparent “joy”. I can’t help it. My face cracks into smile when I’ve taken all I can take.