So, I sit, and I write
There are days when the words are the only thing I can trust. The words allow me to control the amount of trust given. When you have ptsd there are days when there is not one person that you can trust. They could be the most trust worthy person and deserving of your faith in their ability not to intentionally hurt you.
Because of all the many times people have deliberately plotted to take advantage of you it is with earnest effort that a person with ptsd extends any amount of trust to you.
I am intelligent enough to know that nobody is perfect. Being glaringly aware of my own frailties, makes me also aware of the reasons why people do what they do. I live between the logical knowledge of realistically knowing that people just need to be accepted for who they are and the fact that people committed horrendous acts against me when I was at my weakest and most vulnerable.
Craving physical touch but if I can’t trust you when I need compassion the most, how the hell am I going to be able to trust you at all. We are not meant to be alone and I have beyond doubt overcome the fear of being alone by living in this city without my family and friends. I have been able to prosper despite living in a shelter because my environment was hostile and I could no longer trust the very person I had loved supported to have my back.
The fact is I did not come here to live alone. I landed on my feet. That is what I do. I am a survivor. One of the perks of having ptsd is knowing how to adapt to any situation. Even ones that may appear to be detrimental to you.
I want a partner. I want to make new friends but when I see that they will talk behind others backs and show no loyalty I don’t trust them and I believe that is a logical assessment. I do wonder, though, if I am sabotaging myself because of the ptsd.
Anger is not far behind that question because then I must use my tools I learned in therapy to get me back to a place of love. Returning to the love space will allow me to trust God and more than that to trust the God in me.
Everyday lately I am wanting to go back home to the tried and true of my family and friends in St. Louis. Trust is so very important in all our interactions with people. I am aware of the different levels of trust, but when people show you who they are…….well you already know.
I am trying very hard not to end up old and alone. Being alone though is how I feel safe, but that is sometimes when I am most vulnerable. I know I need to get out more and make friends. I tried that already. I had to stop talking to a woman because she would put other women down and basically murder other women’s character. She would talk to me disrespectfully and was critical of some of the things that make me uniquely me. I did not feel accepted for who I am. It felt like she wanted me to change so she could be around me. I did not trust her for those reasons. I could no longer take her criticism.
I have good friends and not one has told me to tone it down, so they would be comfortable around me. I admit I am not the usual woman. I don’t believe in fairy-tales. I was raised by some very strong, self-sufficient, and fiercely independent women. So, for some I may come off as harsh. I don’t sugar coat anything.
If you are not straightforward I find it hard to trust you. Being perfect is not what I expect. I just need people to keep it real.
Maybe I need to work on accepting people just the way they are, but I need people to be who they say they are. You must know yourself if want to know someone else.
Anyway, having said all of that. It is hard to trust people. I trust only God and the God in me. Right now, being alone is the safest place to be. A victim is something I refuse to ever again be.
I feel closer to my mother than I ever have. She exists in the very fiber of my being.
my groans are unutterable
the pain is too deep
the cries have no sound
and yet I weep
the soul is bound
with love nowhere found
not one person to connect with
“I am bound”
not one person to understand
that my suffering is my own
conceived by a wicked plan
if you say you love me
why can’t I feel it
why is your touch non-existent
am I alone in this great big world
will there be healing for this little girl
How are you supposed to feel about yourself when accused of trying to kill your little brother at the age of three or four. You know the truth although you are only three years old. You know that your mother is lying to cover her own ass. She knows damn well she left a three-year old and a two-year old in the apartment by themselves. This is my very first memory of childhood.
Again, please let me say that I do not want pity. I truly believe my soul chose the circumstances of my life. All of these traumas were mine to experience to get the lessons I needed to evolve. But, that does not mean I did not feel, or endure the effects of the traumas. I am telling my story because I feel compelled to do so. Maybe it is just for me to finally purge this crap. Or, it might be someone needs to know they can make it and see that it does get better with time and hard work.
Yeah, it sucks that you have to fix your self. I know there are people who have experienced things more horrific but if my soul chose this, then it is safe to say that this is all I could handle. We all walk our own path.
I would hear “yo mama did not want you, if it were not for me aint no telling where your little high yellow ass would be” This may have been true but the delivery of the message was brutal. I grew up feeling like I owed everybody something. I felt I did not deserve love. Come on, if I were worthy my mother would not have left me, right. I could not see that them taking me in and protecting me was Love. My grandmother was correct, if she and my auntie and great-grandmother had not took me in only God knows………….
Fear was my everything. It helped me survive when I was a child but as an adult it stopped me from having healthy relationships. Through therapy I have learned to not take my mother’s neglect (leaving me in apartment alone for at least 2 days) personally. I was caught up in her drama or sickness and it had nothing to do with me except this was what my soul chose. She would have been what she was even if I had never been born. Knowing that has freed me so much that words can not explain. It wasn’t my fault.
I still had to heal from the side effects of her does not remove the effects of her boyfriend raping me when I was five years old. I have abandonment issues, trust issues and fear was a part of my Anger was my armor. It kept people away from me so they could not hurt me. Anger made me powerful and in control but nothing could be further from the truth. It was controlling me because my anger was always inappropriate to the situation.
I really would not trade anything for my journey. Everything is Everything and it all has a purpose. It took me a while to get here but all that matters is I am here. Love
My brother survived only to die at the age 36 from the effects of alcoholism and drug addiction. I don’t believe he ever healed from the abuse and neglect.