Monday, August 31, 2015

Run With it.

  I have been contemplating starting a blog for years now and decided it was time to join the club. Some things are just too long winded to post on Facebook.

  I should give you a little bit about me before I go on though I have to admit that I feel like I am writing a dating profile introduction.  All you really need to know about me is I am 31 and I have Celiac Disease and PTSD. The entire reason I wanted to start blogging was to raise awareness and share my story. Whether it be my daily struggle with an incurable autoimmune disorder that as of now has no medication to relieve symptoms or my inconsistent struggle with PTSD and the crippling anxiety that it can cause me. The one thing I know that does help keep me going is having a sense of humor and the ability to laugh.

   About three years ago I was diagnosed with Celiac Disease. My sister also has it. I feel thankful for that. I have someone who can relate to my pain and the struggles I go through daily. Being able to talk to her and share my journey with her has made it easier in a way. My Celiac Disease is not really what is bothering me today or what made me start this blog. It is the PTSD and the way it has affected me and my ability to connect to other people.

 I don't want to get too far into the past here and give up too much of what has happened, but I will divulge what is important to know. I had a rough childhood. I don't mean rough as in my parents argued a lot and split rough, I mean rough as in I have had to call 911 after my stepfather beat my mom type rough. I was exposed to things as a child no child should be exposed to. I endured abuse that alters you for life. I am thankful that in my case it altered me to be strong and to be kind. I had wonderful influences in my life to help guide me through it.

  The one person who has really shaped me and changed my life even quite literally saved me life is my dad. He has always been there.  He got me out of the situation I was in and gave me a home. My poor dad had to deal with me in my teenage years and for that I consider the man a saint.

I am going to fast forward a bit here and say in the past I have had some pretty shitty relationships. I have also had very wonderful men in my life who I will always adore. However, nothing quite takes the cake as much as my last shitty relationship. About 2 years ago I went through a very awful and traumatic breakup. The relationship wasn't much better. This is the important piece. This relationship is worth sharing. Here is where I share and hope that maybe it reaches someone who needs to hear it. Here is where I share a terrible thing that happened to me and still affects me very much and hope that it saves someone's life because maybe they have it worse. Here is where I open up and let someone else out there know that- no it is not your fault and you can get out.

 Two years ago I had a horrible breakup. Sometime in early Septemeber, I don't know maybe it was late August, I was admitted to a psych ward. I tried to commit suicide and failed. I woke up in a hospital bed with no recollection of how I got there. I knew something happened, I just didn't know what. I felt the soreness of my wrists and my arms. I felt scared. I felt alone. I had no idea what happened. I was in my bed as a nurse came in with my doctor and the doctor explained what had happened to me as the nurse took my vitals and gave me my meds. The doctor was gentle and understanding. She was kind. She told me I had blacked out and tried to commit suicide. I broke down. I had just lost a cousin to suicide and couldn't believe that I had done that. I couldn't believe I was going to do that to my family, to my loved ones. That I felt like that was my only way out.

 
  Let's rewind a bit. To the relationship and what went so wrong to land me there in that hospital bed. Our relationship started out great. We had so much fun together and we were in love. We also respected one another and got along wonderfully. He worked a lot and he made decent money which kept him very comfortable. He was able to work from home and to basically do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. I did not care about the money, it didn't phase me. He liked that about me. He liked that I was interested in him not his money, or his job, but him. He liked that I just wanted to simply hang out and was content with staying in. I was grateful and appreciative that he enjoyed taking me to extravagant places and buying me nice things that I could never buy for myself or even justify buying for myself. We were happy. One day it changed.

  I can't even tell you when it started or how. All I can tell you is that it did and it snuck up on me. He would tell me to go run errands and I had a card to do so that he would put money on so I could. He would get angry at me for spending as much money as I did on the things that he wanted me to get on the places he wanted me to get them from- even groceries. He would tell me to go buy something nice for myself if we got in a fight, then he would hold it against me later. If I was feeling bad due to a Celiac flare up, he would get angry with me that I was resting and keep me up. He would get upset at me for going to my job in the city, then get mad that I didn't go. He would get mad at things I didn't do right or if I didn't wash the laundry right or take care of his dogs. I could really go on and on. I won't.

  I remember my breaking point. The event that began my processes of deterioration. I had washed something wrong and it got ruined. He yelled at me for I don't know how long. I broke down. I was crying and begging him to stop. I pleaded with him to stop yelling at me. I told him that he knew that yelling at me made me revert back to a bad time. That it reminded me of my childhood and to please not yell at me. I curled up in a ball and cried. He wasn't backing down. He was yelling and laughing at me. He was taunting me. He told me to leave. I couldn't move. I told him I wanted to die, he said he didn't care if I did or didn't. I left. He called me to come back over later that night. I did. Things were okay until the morning. He was back at it again. I cracked and I left.When I got home I realized all of my stuff was at his house, stuff I needed. I went back, he locked me out after taking my key.
He wouldn't answer my calls or the door. I was distraught I was a mess. I went home. I blacked out.

  That's when I woke up in the hospital. That's when I met the doctor. I met the doctor 5 months later. 5 months later after dating him I was sitting on a hospital bed talking to my doctor about how I got here.

It took me a couple days to open up to my therapist about what had happened. About what was going on in my personal life, in my home life. About the man at home. The man who mentally and emotionally manipulated me and pushed me around. About how we fought and about how we yelled. I told her everything. They wanted me to leave him or for us to start couples counseling. I wasn't going to leave him, I couldn't. I depended on him for so much (or so I thought). I loved him and he loved me (or so I thought).

  I ended up leaving that hospital after 5 days. I was able to go home and start my life again. To work on the problems I had with the man I thought I loved and that I thought loved me back. A couple days after I got back, he yelled at me for something. He broke up with me. He told me he hated me that my note and my pain ruined his life and he hated me. He told me to get out. He already had my bag packed. I felt it coming. I felt that impending doom of a blackout and a flashback.He exasperated it. I wasn't in my right mind. He was yelling so loud. He stopped. He actually stopped. He called my sister for me. It was the kindest thing he has ever done. My sister took me back to the hospital. She waited with me, she comforted me as she always does.

   I went back to the hospital. This time a different one. I was there for three weeks. I did a lot of healing and learning. I got out. I faced crippling flashbacks while hospitalized and more breakdowns. I got angry. I got sad. I felt so much. I went to a transitional house after and finally went home after a month. I got out.

 I still to this day have issues I face from this relationship. It has been hard to date and to connect with anyone. I have panic attacks when I realize that I actually like someone. I get uneasy, anxious, depressed thinking about having a family unit and the fact I am getting older and I virtually can not get past a certain point comfortably in dating or without sabotaging it. There is something I do know. I do know I can overcome it and that I can beat the stigma of an abusive relationship. I will never let myself fall victim to that again. I don't consider myself a victim of domestic abuse, I consider myself a survivor. I take what I am dealt and I run with it.

 Now I am doing better. I am coping with the tools I have. Like I said, dating is hard and I seem to sabotage relationships with people I like. I am in therapy still. I am more independent than ever and have control of my life. I have my confidence back. I feel empowered. More importantly I love myself and am happy with who I am and I respect that all the things that have happened to me shaped who I am.

  I have some advice for the people struggling with or who have struggled with similar issues. It may seem near impossible to get out and like you need the person who is hurting you, but you don't. You may think you have no one and you ruined every single relationship with friends and family, but you didn't. You can get out and you can get help. There are many anonymous women's shelters who help women and children in need. There are also shelters for battered spouses. There are safe houses for the LGBTQ+ community as well. There are hotlines to call. There are many resources at your disposal. Don't feel trapped, or alone. I hope my story helps someone out there.



4 comments:

  1. I think you're sofa king amazing and getting more amazing and amusing and awesome by the day. keep it up

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  2. You are a brave woman! So happy to have you in my life.

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