why did my seventh grade self want to die so badly?

I don’t know all the reasons why, but I’m trying to figure myself out. I am the type of person to keep track of everything by writing. I’ve always been a blogger, a journal keeper, a fiend for memories. That’s why it’s so hard for me to understand why reflecting on my seventh grade self, why was I so damn suicidal? How old would I have been, 12 or 13 years old? Meeting with 12 years old now, I can’t imagine any of them wanting to feel that way or having a reason to feel that way.

Then I think back to my first trauma as a child, I was 11 years old. I was 11 years old when I was sexually assaulted by an adult. All the feelings of worthlessness before that all happened were then fully engraved into my brain. I constantly (and still do) feel unsafe. I feel the need to hide myself. I hate myself. I want to peel my skin off somehow and throw it away. As if I could start new again that way. I’ve always pictured just carving chunks of myself away because I felt disgusting. Like a snake shedding it’s skin.

That’s almost 20 years of trauma that’s just living underneath everything I have. Every success, every happy memory, all built on top of a broken foundation of trust, self-worth, and love. Three things I have to consistently work on to feel something other than shame and guilt and disgust.

Why is it the norm for my culture to judge and belittle young children for what they look like? Why are we constantly judged by what the number on the scale is, or how well our clothes fit, or how light our skin is? Why is this the topic of discussion for every family gathering after not seeing each other for so long? How can one feel like they’re worthy of living if this is what goes through their head every day? I’m not good enough for my family because of how I look, but I’m good enough to be molested, but I’m also not good enough for help, so I have to maintain this image of perfection by hiding away the things that have hurt me.

“You have to forgive them, so you can heal and move on.” What if I don’t want to forgive them? What if I want them to suffer the consequences of their actions NOW, and not wait until they’re up for their judgment day? Why do THEY have to get away with it for me to move on? Can’t I heal and not forgive them?! Can’t I heal and still see them brought down to their knees for the heinous things they did? Fucking irritating.

God. fuck my life.

No one prepares you for the trauma; and no one prepares you for the healing

I’m pretty sure that no one is born with the expectations that traumatic things will happen to them. We’re taught from a young age that yes, there will be good and bad days. Some days are going to be tougher than others, and we can either “run from it or learn from it” as said in Lion King. You take those words as a kid and laugh at the fact that Simba got hit with a stick and said that it hurt. It’s all fun and games until it’s time for you to actually face your past and learn from it. Then you get hit with the metaphorical stick. And that shit hurts.

It’s taken almost 2 years of therapy to even get a small grip of what I’m going through and why I feel the way I do. My negative core beliefs about myself are the pillars to my personality. I’ve grown as a person because of these pillars. I’m comfortable with where I’m at most of the time… Until I started deciding that inside needed some serious renovation, and the pillars to my personality needed to come down. The wall needed to come down to make room for improvements. But what happens when you take the main support of a home down? It crumbles. It falls. And that’s what I feel like right now.

Unboxing… what? 17, almost 18 years of trauma induced anxiety, depression, stress… My core beliefs of feeling worthless and inefficient. My core beliefs of never being good enough for anyone or anything. The constant battle to motivate myself to “be better”. Showered in toxic positivity, but pushing all of my issues aside. Sweeping it under a beautiful rug to hide all of the nastiness that I’ve dealt with in my life. Looks nice and tidy. But I’m a mess inside.

I fucking hate healing. I hate therapy because I hate feeling the shit I’m feeling. I hate revisiting shit that I’ve tried so hard to push back into a deep nothingness. Can’t it be like Inside Out where those fucking memories just fade forever? Why isn’t it as easy to change my core memories as it was in that movie?

I’m just fucking tired.

What am I trying to accomplish this year?

Honestly, I’m so tired of the question, “what’s next? what are you going to do? what’s your next move?”

Don’t get me wrong because I am a woman of extensive planning. When I held a leadership position, I would have at least 3 courses of action in case one didn’t work. I almost demanded that my Soldiers had solutions to problems they brought to my attention because I needed to know that they could not only plan, but remain flexible. So when being asked what my next move is, it’s only normal to assume that I’ll have an articulate answer.

The thing is, I don’t. I have no idea what I want to do after all of this. My plan has already changed from getting out to staying in to complete a few things that I can’t leave undone. Do I want to continue nursing or has it really taken it’s toll on me? Have I waited too long to start healing where I can’t go through therapy and be a “productive” citizen? I hate the hustle culture. I was so engulfed by the “hustle hard” culture. Always comparing ourselves to our peers on who can achieve the most in one year. Constantly posting about our new years resolutions, our strategy for the year, our five year plans… Why does no one tell you to just take a breath and slow down to appreciate all that you’ve already done?

Why do accomplishments have to be things that land you a medal, award, promotion, or some big thing worth “celebrating”? What if my accomplishment is getting my kid dressed and fed in the morning while also remembering to eat breakfast and take my medications? What if my accomplishment for the day is not having a breakdown that ends up in my auditory hallucinations cussing me out and telling me to just off myself?

This year? My goal? Focus on my fucking self. Center myself. Find myself again. Explore what it is that truly gives me a reason to continue living. Take a fucking break for once because damn, this hustle shit gets exhausting. Constantly striving to be a star, to be the best, to land bullets on my evaluations to get awards, to be promoted, to show the perfect life to everyone on Instagram.

Ah, my life is fucking hard. My head is a mess. My goal is to not give a fuck this year about anything that doesn’t matter. What matters to me? My family. My mental health. My physical health. All of it has taken a toll from constantly being “on the go”. So let’s get it done ~ or not.

Monachopsis: The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place

There is your vocabulary word for the day, lol. We went over 2 emotions that people feel but have a difficult time explaining. This is one of those emotions that I strongly feel. I feel strongly out of place wherever I go. It doesn’t matter if it is in the work setting or seeing friends and family. I always feel like I am on the outside looking in. I don’t feel like I have a connection to anyone because everyone else has such strong connections to everyone else around me.

I wish I didn’t always feel like this. I feel like when you’re a military brat/personnel, you are supposed to learn how to mold yourself to fit in wherever you go, but I just decided to not fit in. And honestly, it’s tiring trying to fit in, so I’d rather isolate myself and not meet anyone period. It’s not healthy.

I am thankful for the group that I’m in now because I’ve met a lot of great people who are going through similar things, and I can now turn to them for help and support.

i guess it's time to talk about my relationship with my mom

Last night I had a nightmare that my mom was following me around the airport, and I was trying to get away. I was trying to tell the person I was with that, “I don’t talk to my mom, I need to get some space from her while we’re here.” And every time I would try to move away from her, my legs just kept shrinking, they wouldn’t work. I couldn’t move anywhere. My husband told me that I was freaking out telling him that my legs didn’t work (out loud while we were sleeping in bed).

My relationship with my mom is on and off, but I think I’m finally going to say it’s probably at it’s wits end and will be for awhile. There are a lot of things that we don’t agree on, and how I was treated during my childhood and young adult years is one of them. The treatment and befriending of the man who is my primary childhood trauma is also something we disagree on completely.

There. It’s out in the open. My mother is friends with my child molester, and says that it’s because she thought I had forgiven him a long time ago. She tried to put it in an email saying that I forgave him, but I will be the first to tell you, that NO, I have NOT forgiven him, nor will I EVER forgive him. So I will not be talking to my mother while she is still friends with said man-child.

It’s hard. It’s hard to know that she was willing to take herself out of my life and my child’s life for the sake of her pride. The first grandchild from her children, and she’s totally fine with removing herself from the photo. That’s really fucked me up. Did my mom ever care about me?

I used to ask myself this question a LOT last year. Last year I reached out to my mother because I tried to overdose in Korea. She left me on read. The next time she contacted me was when she accidentally “butt dialed” me when she was trying to call my dad. Then she proceeded to call me the petty one for being mad at her for not reaching out to me. She blamed me. She said she had her own things going on.

Did my mom ever care about me?

This woman already lost a child once. Is she immune to pain if she lost another one? Is that why she didn’t reach out to me to see if I was okay? Is that why he was swept under the rug?

She asked me in an email, “you’re a mother, what would you have done? Put yourself in my shoes… Did you expect me to show up across the ocean?!”

Yes, yes I did expect you to show up SOMEHOW. Fuck, a reply message maybe in the beginning? A CALL? Fuck, I don’t know. Make sure I’m not dead maybe? Nothing guys. This is the woman who will sell life insurance using my brother as a sob story, but won’t check in on her psychotic daughter when she says she needs help.

No wonder I’m so fucked up in the head. Cats outta the bag. I’ve been holding onto this too long and my heart can’t take it anymore.