The ramblings of an abused kid (trigger warnings galore)

[GoSlash27]

 Last night was a series of unpleasant dreams. I'd wake up from one, try to decompress and get back to sleep, then have another one. They all revolved around the same theme; feeling like everyone was ganging up on me. I could not set boundaries, call them out, defend myself, or even escape. Everyone interpreted whatever I did like *I* was the aggressor and come after me.
 My mother even made a cameo appearance (haven't dreamed about her in who knows how long). She came stalking in and told me I need to have a talk with her boyfriend. I was resolute. I don't "need" to do anything she says and I have nothing to say to hem.
 She got angry and slapped me, but it was so weak and feeble it didn't hurt. Like getting slapped by a toddler. I didn't even touch my cheek, just looked at her sadly. "So, it's right back to that, then"?
 I was in the middle of telling her how much of an immature bratty petulant little girl she was when I woke up.

 I get what it's all about; all the recent events that have brought me here. My subconscious has a *lot* to say about it.
________________________

 I'm very apprehensive about therapy. My T has warned me that this process may reawaken my inner critical voice and bring back my suicidal depression. That terrifies me, but I'm resolute in my decision to press on.

_______________________

 When someone is abused or neglected as a child, they often grow up to become the person that they wish they had in *their* life. Someone who is kind and caring. Someone who will befriend them and listen. Someone who will help.
 Sadly, in my experience most people that are that way had similar experiences as children and we grow to recognize and gravitate toward each other.

 I was talking with my GF (a literal red- headed stepchild) the other night, and she was reiterating about how she was always afraid that that she would've been an abusive mother. I've told her many times that the fear was unfounded, as I've known her for decades and I've seen how good she is with kids. One of the examples is the little boy who would come around to visit her; how she'd ask him about what was going on, let him talk, and really listen, etc.

 She said "yeah, but that's only because he was broken". I didn't get the importance of that comment in the moment. I do now. 

_____________________
*EDIT*
 I've been told I'll need to welcome and allow my panic attacks, as they will be a critical part of the healing process.

 This is very much like night terrors and lucid dreaming. I once had a terrible spate of night terrors, where I can sense somebody in the house coming to kill me, but I'm paralyzed. I can't move, I can't scream, I'm struggling to awaken so I can defend myself. When I do wake up... Nothing.
 It had gone on so long that I resolved to just trust that I'd be okay and let myself fall asleep... Which introduced me to my first lucid dream. I was asleep and dreaming, and fully aware that it was a dream. I soon came to *welcome* my night terrors because they would always lead to lucid dreams (which I soon learned I had total control over).

 So, too, shall it be with panic attacks and processing childhood trauma.
 

[Little2Nothing]

Slashy, trauma nightmares are disconcerting and can stay with me all day. I think your T's assessment is correct. When I started therapy so much pain, shame and fear was resurrected. I found those things are necessary to exorcise some of the demons from my past. 

My mother-in-law knew that I was raised in an abusive family and told my then future wife I would be abusive with her. I always had the same fear. But, it never happened. I loved, and love, my wife so much that all I want is for her to be safe, secure and happy. I agree with you many of us grow up to be the exact opposite of how we were raised. I think it's because we saw so much evil that we know viscerally the inward sorrow it brings and would never want to inflict that on anyone else. 

[GoSlash27]

 Important footnote I figured out tonight: I was in foster care during the summer of 1974 in either Centre County or Clinton County, PA. I would've been 3 years old. I sleuthed it out! 
 I distinctly remember the sound of the cicadas going crazy and my foster mother showing me molted exoskeletons of them. That's a very calming sound for me.
 Cicadas are very odd creatures. They have a life cycle that's based on a prime number so no predators can ever synch with them. All cicadas in PA bloom in 17 year intervals.

 There was only one cicada bloom anywhere in PA anywhere near that timeframe. Cicada brood XIV, and it's very specific to that area. That was the time and place.

[GoSlash27]

All,
 I must apologize in advance.
 From time to time I will say some things that *as an adult* any reasonable person (even myself) will find enraging, but as a *child* I maybe didn't mind so much. 
 Sorry, I was just a kid and didn't know any better. I was only 3 years old.

 As always, all trigger warnings apply in this journal.
__________________

 I found my very early and short time after the shelter with my foster family to be mostly safe and nurturing out there in the boonies. There weren't many toys around and no TV, but I found joy in other activities. Picking peas in the garden, getting fascinated with the grandfather clock or cicada exoskeletons, etc.

 They were mostly loving and nurturing. They'd occasionally get annoyed with me. I was such a picky eater, I'd crawl out of my high bed scared because it was so dark at night, or because I saw sparkles in my eyes, etc.

 I was only molested for a very short time, and ironically I didn't even mind *that* so much. She was, after all, a high school age girl.    Probably the most traumatizing part was the point where she was frustrated because I was "doing it wrong". Sorry... Nobody explained the 'right way' to me. Didn't get the memo.

 I had a foster brother, maybe 2 years older than me at the time. He sat me down and showed me how to play with his wheel-o. That's a toy that dates back to the mid- 50s. A bent wire frame with a handle and plastic wheel riding on a magnetized axle. If you do it just right, you can get the wheel to zip back and forth at high speed. I found it engaging and soothing.

 I don't remember the names of any of my foster family today. I barely remember any of their faces. I *do* remember being very upset to learn that my foster brother had been run over and killed by a garbage truck.

 Today, my son and I went to the antique store and I bought a wheel-o, *exactly* like the one I played with as a toddler. These days are stressful for me, and I need all the reminders of happier times I can get. Soon after that, my childhood would take a turn for the worse.



 I spent maybe $8 on that little lump of steel and plastic today. Totally worth it. I rode along in the passenger seat of my son's Honda CIVIC sedan "Bubbles" (She's 'hardcore') mesmerized by that toy. No mood swings, no panic attacks.

Today was a good day.    

   
 

   

[dollyvee]

Hi Slash,

I'm glad you found the toy from your time with your foster family and it's helped you connect to a part of you. It sounds like there was probably a lot of difficult things for a three year old to process at the time and it's good to have something calming.

Thank you for what you wrote about becoming the person as an adult you wish you had around as a child. It's given me some food for thought and perhaps an insight as to why/where some of my rigidity about being "nice" comes from.

Sending you support,
dolly

[Papa Coco]

Slashy,

There's a lot of beauty in your journal entry today. It really touched my heart. I'm sorry to hear what happened to your foster brother, and yet so touched by the simple joy he gave to you with that toy. I remember those toys. I never mastered one, but no one ever took the time to show me how to do it.

And, yeah, about the memo, I didn't get it either. I had to learn how to "do it right" on my own too. It took a few years. Good thing I married a patient wife.

Your entry warmed my heart. I hope you have very good day today. I'm glad your son drove so you could play with the wheel-o.

[BecomingMe]

I'm very apprehensive about therapy. My T has warned me that this process may reawaken my inner critical voice and bring back my suicidal depression. That terrifies me, but I'm resolute in my decision to press on.

Hi GoSlash and reading your journal I think we are at similar points in our healing. And your nightmares resonate with me too. Thankfully they have now stopped and they have been replaced by continual flashbacks but these are now slowly being processed and released. One of the few "evident" issues I had was suicidal ideation and I have also felt scared about finding myself in that place again. But I do think that taking these brave steps with that in mind, pressing forward continuously but gently and listening to that kind, caring voice inside you will help. Even if the critical voices come out, you may choose which ones to listen to. And from what you've written you have a kind, caring and loving spirit that you can also give to yourself. I'm so glad you have a happy memory to boost you today and hope you can savour that to get through the dark periods. I'm truly starting to believe there is a bright, warm light on the other side and I hope that you, I and everyone else on this forum can find it. Sending you best wishes and a BIG 

[GoSlash27]

Thank you for what you wrote about becoming the person as an adult you wish you had around as a child. It's given me some food for thought and perhaps an insight as to why/where some of my rigidity about being "nice" comes from.

 Dolly,
 Thank you for the kind words. 
 Truth is, my 'caring, nurturing' tendencies come from a dark place. It's not just that I wanted others to do better. Nothing that neat or altruistic. 
 I was relieved to discover that I could be a good mentor for my son. That feeling was so gratifying after years of feeling like a failure that I latched onto it, tried to help others as well.
 There was a frustration that I couldn't fix whatever was wrong with *me* (cPTSD was unknown back then), but somehow if I helped enough other people, it would somehow help me too. I remember reading about that tendency in the forum rules, so I assume it's pretty common.
 Finally, my tendency to be nice (and avoidance of those who are not) is borne out of a subconscious need to avoid or defuse conflict.
 There's something in there that warms my heart too about seeing others feeling safe, curious, learning, etc. Feeling the way *I* was supposed to feel at that age... But that wasn't the primary driving factor.

 I suspect these darker motives are what drive most of us to become this way.

Best,
-Slashy
 

[GoSlash27]

A thought I have from tonight's session:

 We spent the evening broadly mapping out my 'trauma time line' as best I can recall. A strange duality ensued.
 I spent a lot of time thinking that what happened to me isn't really so bad; like I'm an imposter *pretending* I was abused for attention or something. My T was clearly disturbed by the things I revealed in those moments while I found then fairly innocuous.
 I spent other times recounting vague events that I *personally* found most distressing and she was very nonchalant about them. Like "Yep. You'll have that". 
 I understand that this is just the natural dissociation that comes with all of this, but it still feels very unsettling; like one of the two of us is living in a completely different universe. And of course it's obviously *me*, not her.

 My homework is to think of an experience from my childhood that is likely to trigger me for next week's session. This is more difficult than it sounds. The stuff I remember most clearly no longer elicits any emotional response. The stuff that generates a strong reaction... I hardly remember it at all.

 Best,
-Slashy

 
   

[NarcKiddo]

I don't think there's anything wrong in finding pleasure and benefit from doing the right thing. Even if it is your primary motivator for continuing.

The therapy homework sounds tough. My triggers mostly come from left field and it takes a therapy session to connect the dots. Perhaps an approach to consider would be to think of a situation that reliably makes you extremely mad or sad. And then consider whether it would make anyone that mad or sad. If you uncover a likely overreaction on your part then it is likely from a childhood experience. You may want to stick more closely to the brief, but that is how I would tackle it. Or I'd turn up empty handed and say the dog ate it.
 

[Little2Nothing]

One of the most difficult things for me to do is identify my triggers. There seems to be no rhyme nor reason to them. 

I think minimizing the extent of abuse is quite common. I always said "there are others who had things worse." Which is probably true, but I said it, I think, as an apology for recounting my past, and for feeling pain because of it. 

[GoSlash27]

L2N,
 I hear ya there!
 I've been having ( sporadic) panic attacks for decades, didn't even know they were panic attacks let alone that I was supposed to be looking for 'triggers'. 
 
 I think what she meant is a memory that's upsetting enough to me that I'll get worked up retelling the story.

Best,
-Slashy

[Hope67]

When someone is abused or neglected as a child, they often grow up to become the person that they wish they had in *their* life. Someone who is kind and caring. Someone who will befriend them and listen. Someone who will help.
 Sadly, in my experience most people that are that way had similar experiences as children and we grow to recognize and gravitate toward each other.


 

Hi Slashy,
Wow, this is really something that I related to.  Gravitating towards people on similar paths, or with similar experiences.  You wrote the word 'sadly' - do you feel sad that it's like that?  I am grateful that we can find people with similar paths - as it's supportive - maybe it might break a chain somehow.  (Apologies, I feel like I'm actually waffling a bit - not sure of what I'm saying).  Please disregard anything.  I just wanted to come into your Journal, and thank you for asking me a question (in my journal) about my night terrors, and I saw what you wrote, and wanted to comment here.

Hope 

[GoSlash27]

 Hope,
 No ma'am. I think it's wonderful that we tend to find each other. It's just sad that people must suffer such awful experiences to become this way. I think the world would be a better place if people just naturally became like this without the trauma.
 I wonder what I would be like had I not been abused as a child, and whether 'present day' me would respect that 'theoretical' me, or if I'd be more of a callous jerk. 

Best,
-Slashy

[GoSlash27]

 I've been giving the subject of high IQ and depression a lot of thought since my last T session.
 Piled on top of all the other trauma going on (pretty much everything), I was also a super brainiac kid. I knew it, my parents knew it, and my teachers knew it.
 That *alone* is enough of a burden on a child to cause him to crack up even in a *healthy* environment. All these expectations (more like demands) are placed on you. "You will grow up to discover/ invent/ change the world". "You have been given a gift, you must not waste it". "You owe it to the world to reach your potential"...

 They all believed it. Worse, *I* believed it. My entire reason for existing was to become what I was "supposed" to be.

 So what do you do when your home life is abusive and violent and you're frustrated because the school isn't *teaching* you anything and you're moving from house to house to house and your grades are in the toilet?

 I attempted to adapt to it. I stopped paying attention in class, started reading my own textbooks instead. Later in high school I would stop going altogether. I'd spend every day at the library instead.

 I was fulfilling my almost neurotic compulsion to learn, but academically it was getting me nowhere.
 I was never going to measure up to what everyone (including me) expected me to become. And my inner critic never passed up the opportunity to remind me of that fact.

 It was *that* factor, more than anything else in that horror show of a childhood, that drove me into suicidal depression.

 The *real* kick in the pants was my return home from my failed stint in the Navy (medical discharge- personality disorder), whereupon I discovered my expired full ride scholarship to Penn State for Aerospace Engineering, which my mother had lovingly hidden away from me in the couch cushions. 

 In retrospect, I don't know if that was a blessing in disguise or not. Had I continued down that path in my emotional and psychological state, the failures might've continued to pile on.

 As it was... The birth of my son caused me to readjust my priorities. That readjustment saved my life. Setting my sights lower allowed me to flourish in a more organic way, instilling pride in my accomplishments and admiration from my colleagues instead of the constant self- loathing for failing to live up to perfection.

 Best,
-Slashy