My journey to self discovery has hit a plateau...do any of you ladies have the time to give some input & maybe help me? (Wall-O-Text)
For about a year, I've been on a personal journey to find myself and understand myself better. I will be 22 years old in September. From about age 12 up until I got married last October, I have experienced numerous traumatizing events. I have been trying to figure out why/how I feel about them because I ignored them for so long. This is a very long recounting but I think it's necessary for you to understand:
I was heavily abused by a "boyfriend" at 14, and by heavily I mean he beat the shit out of me every other week- kicking, biting, punching, dragging me by my hair, picking me up and tossing me across the room, always being careful to never mark my face but threatening to kill me if I let anybody find out what he did- and would often do this awful thing where he would lay on top of me (I was barely a hundred pounds at 14, he was 10 years older -which I didn't know until much later- and was a good 250-300 lbs.) and reach under/remove my clothes while forcing his tongue in my mouth and saying things like "You wish I would rape you, you know you want it but you're too prissy and scared to do it. You came over here hoping I would do it, you know you did. You want me to make you do it so you don't have to be a slut, but guess what babe you're a slut because you want. You're a dirty fucking slut, you're my whore and I'll take what I want from you..." among other horrible threatening things pertaining to raping and abusing me, and constantly berated me, telling me I was fat and should stop eating, nobody could ever want me because I'm ugly, fat, flat-chested, etc. After several months of this, a family member figured out something was wrong and helped me get out of the situation.
Beginning during that horrible "relationship" I developed an eating disorder. I stopped eating but my family was noticing, so I would eat in front of them and then excuse myself within 15 minutes of finishing, and force myself to vomit repeatedly. If I couldn't vomit enough, I would also take laxatives to get everything out of my body. I also began to harm myself my pushing thumb-tacks into my upper thighs until I blacked out, which eventually progressed into slashing with scissors. I started carrying a purse about this time so I would always have a toothbrush (to stimulate the gag reflex & brush my teeth after) and laxatives at school. I lost a great deal of weight, my hair began falling out (which I attributed to constantly dying it), my nails became brittle and thin (I've been a nail-biter since I got my first teeth so nobody noticed but me), and my skin became horrible but my dad had bad acne at my age so that was at least partly genetics. I was very fake, even with my closest friends. I told a friend after about a year and she & her mother helped me to begin recovery, but I relapsed after only a couple of months and hid it very well for almost 2 years before I began to search the internet and help myself recover after my dentist threatened to tell my mother why I had no enamel left on my teeth.
I began dating legitimately at about 16 years old, my parents knew that I was dating and always met the guys I was hanging around with. Through a friend, I met a guy who was 19 and I fell madly in love with. I decided I wanted him to take my virginity. He was preparing for a religious mission so he refused my advances. He did however allow & even request/initiate hand-jobs on a regular basis. In his mind, he wasn't sinning if I performed sexual favors for him, only if he did so to me. I was so eager to please him, I followed every instruction. One night he asked me to wear a specific pair of panties, particularly skimpy, and I thought maybe he had decided to stay with me instead of go on his mission and he was finally going to take my virginity. We made out, he removed my clothes down to this tiny thong, and dry-humped me until he ejaculated all over the panties. He didn't talk to me for about a week after & then called to tell me he had cheated on me. I said we were done, then cried for days. About a month later, I figured out I was pregnant. I went to Planned Parenthood for the "Day After" pill because I had no idea what else to do, I was 2 months shy of 17 & had never had "the talk" so my only knowledge of sex was health class & my friends. At Planned Parenthood I lied and said it had only been 3 days & explained what had happened. The woman (doctor, nurse? IDK) told me it was highly unlikely I would get pregnant but still definitely possible so she gave me the pills. I followed the instructions and crossed my fingers. My period never came, I took another test & I was still pregnant. I was terrified. I called my ex and asked if I could see him. I met him where we usually went to be alone & told him I could forgive him for cheating, that I loved him and would take him back. He refused me, slammed the door in my face and let me cry on the porch for 45 minutes before I was able to get in the car and drive away. A few days later he called, asked me to come over and talk, so I went. We made out, he dry humped me, and after cumming in his pants told me he couldn't remember what he wanted to talk about so I could go. After 2 weeks he asked me over to talk again, said he got nervous before but would I come again because he was leaving for his mission the next week. I went over and the same thing happened except no "I forgot..." just "You can leave now. And you probably shouldn't come to my Farewell because I've been back with my ex for a month and it would be weird if you came." I found out all my friends (who met him about the same time we started dating) went to his Farewell & purposely didn't tell me. He left on this 2 year mission to proselytize in another country. I emailed him a few times to no response, so I figured he couldn't use that email while on his mission. It became my outlet. I didn't tell a soul I was pregnant because I knew my mom would kill me & he'd be sent home from his mission and I'd also have to deal with the wrath of his mother. I emailed him often, talking about how I felt, what I thought, what I was experiencing being pregnant, etc. At about 3 and a half months, I started bleeding and had a miscarriage while my parents were out of town for the weekend. I sent him one last email what had happened, that I was so sad, that I wanted to die, that I wouldn't email him anymore & if he ever got my emails to just forget about everything. I attempted to kill myself by drinking bleach (I puked uncontrollably for a good 24 hours, cut myself like crazy, diarrhea for several days)2 weeks later he emailed me a letter meant for his girlfriend (the ex he'd cheated with, she had a similiar name). I wrote him back "Wrong _____" (name he had called us both). He wrote back that he was sorry, that he'd been ignoring me so I could move on, etc, a bunch of bullshit. I asked if he'd read any of my emails, he said he had deleted them all without reading them. I stopped talking to him. He emailed me once a week for a month, saying he felt so terribly about how it ended, that he was so sorry, could we be friends, and constantly asking why I had emailed him so much but stopped when he wrote back. I got to a point that I was so angry at him, I just unleashed. I told him everything, the Plan B pills, the pregnancy, the miscarriage, the suicide attempt, the resentment, the secrets, the lies, the abandonment I felt...all he wanted to know was who I had told. We started emailing back & forth every week after that, me being hostile & him taking it. Then his girlfriend cheated, left him & got engaged to the other guy, so he started on this sob story of how depressed he was & how now he knew just how awful he'd been, etc. He then started asking me to send him nude photos, which I did because my self-esteem was obliterated. This went on for several months.
About 2 months after I lost my baby, I was dating around & seeing a few different guys who gradually went away one by one until I was left with one guy, whom I started dating exclusively. He was 19, dark, odd, attractive to me in a strange adorable way & he let me talk all I wanted and didn't seem to judge me. I told him about my ex and the baby and the suicide, how I had a very fake relationship with my parents & they thought I was somebody completely different. The only part he really latched onto was the bit about wanting to give my virginity to my ex who refused...He said "If the one person who should've cared most about your virginity didn't care at all, why do you?" He let that sink in for a couple weeks before he tried to get in my pants. We were watching Robot Chicken in his room one night and started making out when he asked "Do you want to?" I said "...okay." and he started some heavy making out/ touching and then handcuffed me. I still knew very little about sex and was aware he would probably be "kinky" because he was a little odd so I didn't protest. I figured it was harmless, my dad was a cop when I was a kid & we used to play with his handcuffs all the time so I was never afraid of them. He dragged me out to the porch off of his room (it was late January/early February) and yanked my jeans down, and started spanking me, really hard, for a good 30-45 minutes until I was completely numb from my lower back to about halfway down my thigh. Then he dragged me back into his room, bent me over the back of a dining chair, and put it in. I remember searing pain in my "privates", like he'd put a hot curling iron in me or something. I was barely touching the floor with my toes, all my weight was on my lower abdomen, my hipbones & ribs hitting the wood of the chair back every time he thrusted, it felt like he was squishing my insides between the chair & his penis...it was extremely painful & I started crying, almost sobbing, repeating "Ow, ow, ow, God, ow..." and letting my head hang, watching my big black tears hit my hair on the seat of the chair. Then he grabbed my hair and yanked my head back & made me look at myself in the mirror in the corner, my makeup running all over my bright red face, snot running over my mouth, my ass up in the air with him railing me with this grin on his face. When he finished, he took off the handcuffs & went into the bathroom to clean up, I just pulled my pants up and sat next the bed cross-legged, wiping my face on my jacket sleeves. He came in and asked if I wanted to go clean myself up, but I told him I would just shower when I got home. He sat on the bed and told me to lay by him (didn't ask me, just told me like a command) so I did. He hugged me to his chest & kissed the top of my head and watched the rest of Robot Chicken. I just laid there. After about 5 minutes I told him I had to go home so he walked me out to my car (borrowed from my mom) and I drove home. In the 10ish minutes it took me to get home, I had bled through my underwear & jeans, and onto my mom's beige interior...When I got home & she asked why I was crying, I told her I had gotten my period & bled on her seat. The next time I saw my boyfriend, he asked to have sex again and I didn't want to but I said okay. He didn't hand-cuff me, but when he took my pants off he said "Oh my god, what's wrong with your pussy? It's like you had balls taken out & left the sack...I'll turn the lights off to fuck you but no way in hell am I going down on you, that's disgusting..." And that's how I learned my labia were longer than "normal"...he nicknamed me Meat Curtains and would often pinch and pull them. He was so sweet & complimentary when we were just hanging out but anything sexual was always violent or he berated me. After 3 months I tried to end it, which he did not accept, so I did a very stupid thing and hooked up with a guy from Facebook so he would say we had sex and I could tell my boyfriend I cheated so he would dump me. He slapped me across the face but that turned out okay because I used that to finally get away from him. He harrassed me in text and email for weeks, saying horrible things about my body and then "You know what's awesome? I have your virginity & you're just a notch on the bedpost for me, you can't ever change that." So I fucked his friend. Then this friend got my best friend & I drunk, convinced us to have a threesome with him, and I lost my best friend because of it.
So now, I'm trying to figure my shit out. I got married about 7 months ago to the absolute love of my life. Since we met 2.5 years ago, we've had a great deal of trouble (he has a low libido & I caught him cyber-cheating, I have 0 self-esteem & my family is cold to him), but things have really turned around since we got engaged a year ago. I've been trying to figure myself out in that time.
I have a very, very good friend who's been helping me get through some of the tough shit about my childhood & parents, but I've hit a wall when it comes to these things. I've come to a point that thinking about these events is like watching a movie I really don't like. It feels like it wasn't me. I don't feel deep emotions about them, even though I know that many of my deepest fears & flaws now are because of these traumas.
I guess what I'm trying to ask you lovely ladies is: Have I buried these to survive? Or am I really just over them and now dealing with scars?
Thank you so much for reading & any advice/input you have, even if its just "Shit girl, you're dumb and broken." It really helped just typing and letting go a little instead of keeping secrets!
Posted Apr 21, 2013, 5:15 PM UTC
It's pretty difficult to judge someone else's relative status based on what they write, but I would personally say that it doesn't particularly sound to me like you're over them, more like you're seeking to disassociate yourself from them as a survival mechanism. In a lot of ways it sounds like a sizable portion of your life has been extremely unpleasant, and while things now aren't necessarily fantastic either, it sounds like they're at least good enough that you're able to look back over everything that has happened.
The problem is, finally stopping and doing that and trying to deal with it all at once may have overloaded you to the point where you've just gone okay, I can't deal with this all simultaneously, I need to turn the volume down on it all.
My viewpoint on all this is colored by my own experiences that rang similar when you were describing what you've been through/what you're going through now, but it's still worth taking anything that I say with a massive grain of salt as it's feedback based purely on what you've written above. I could be entirely wrong in my assessment. Ideally the best thing for you to do would be to find someone that specializes in this area - a therapist or a counselor - and spend some time talking to them. A friend can be great, but there is something to be said for talking to a professional about everything that went on, and is still going on in your life.
The issue with professionals is that they cost money & I just don't feel "broken" enough to justify that cost. I like to think that I don't feel anything about these traumas because I'm over them, but I have come to understand through this process of feeling buried emotions that I'm not over nearly as much as I thought I was. I definitely think I may not be over it all because I've hit this plateau/wall approaching these things. The weird thing is that if I've shut down, it was immediate. When I've come to a wall when dealing with buried emotions from my childhood & family issues, I understood I had shut down and closed off because I felt so much & then went numb. With this, I've been numb from the start.
I also want to say thank you for your input, I appreciate you taking the time to read my novel of info.
Understandable that professionals cost money, and I can also relate to the feeling of not being 'bad' enough to warrant the cost. But it's worth keeping in mind that since you're in your own head, you're not going to be the best source of unbiased appraisal - thereby somewhat proving just why speaking to a professional is generally the better choice, as they are far more impartial and out of your own head than you are, and will therefore be able to give you better advice.
And the thing is, with the more I talk to you, the more I feel like even if you were to talk to everyone of us that visit/frequent TwoX, the absolute vast majority of us will not have the ability to really help you in the same way that a dedicated professional will have, though I'm certainly not suggesting that you should stop talking entirely here. More than anything else, it's a recognition of our limitations.
I think Cathline also has some great ideas as regards that.
I don't disagree with you, I'm definitely going to look into what my insurance will cover...I'm just not entirely comfortable sharing all of this with a stranger in person, professional or not. I don't want to be somebody's "patient"...at least to my husband & friend I'm me, to you ladies in TwoX I'm a woman that has dealt with some shit...to a therapist I would be diagnosis, a syndrome or a disorder or illness, a label. I feel like professionals tend to see a patient rather than a person. I've already been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and I hate that I have that label. To the counselors in high school I felt like I was the 'lost girl' or 'that girl who tries to hard'.
It's okay that you're not comfortable sharing all of it with a stranger in person, professional or otherwise. It's easier to share stuff like this with anonymous people on the internet - you don't even have to see their faces and try and figure out if they're judging you or not. But I also have to say, as someone who would ultimately like to end up in a field somewhere in the counselling ballpark that in my experience the good counselors do not see you as some sort of broken toy that needs to be studied to figure out how to fix before sending along broken toy #39751 and then #39752 - quite a few of them get into the field because they genuinely want to help.
Something you may not be aware of is that counselors themselves are will sometimes have 'debriefing' sessions of their own with OTHER counselors to help them work through and process how they feel after helping others - which indicates to me that if there are things that can affect these professionals to the point that they need to talk to other professionals, they're more human than scientist/mechanic.
Having a label doesn't define your entirety as a person - you're not just someone with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and that is it. We're all more than the sum of our labels, regardless of where we get them - were I to say that I was bisexual, it wouldn't even begin to touch on the complexity of me just with that single label. You're not defined by what has happened to you, Buglet.
I totally get your therapy reservations. I finally started therapy at 28 or 29 after realizing that my traumatic events, although like a bad movie to me as well, were severely impacting my life.
Basically, I found an ear that didn't know me and wouldn't judge me or call me a liar. I found advice. I found someone to put me in my place when I needed it. I found an amazing therapist. She did diagnose me with ADHD, but nothing more. She knew I was there not to get diagnosed, bit to talk and for help.
I got lucky and found my fit in a therapist immediately. It has helped me get my life back on track. The thing that finally convinced me to get over my reluctance to go to therapy was a friend telling me that I didn't have to stick with one if they weren't a right fit for me. Knowing I had an out allowed me to go. I still go and love it.
TL;DR Therapy is awesome, give it a shot, you deserve it.