Some years ago, I was sitting among some girlfriends and we were talking about dysfunctional romantic relationships. They were telling me how I always seemed to attract toxic men in my life and why don’t I ever wonder why that is.
I was pissed that they told me this. So I exclaimed, “FIRST of all, I attract all kinds of men; I’m choosing the toxic ones.”
And I sat there silent.
I didn’t change my comment to fit the narrative that someone else was responsible for my choices. I sat back and analyzed who I was and how who I was morphed into my actions. I was choosing toxicity. Why?
It took me years to understand the importance of truth, even when truth means that you have some changing to do. And this post is going to painfully talk about some truths in my own life, not to just release this deluge of pain that has inundated me with years of dysfunction, but to help someone else who may be struggling to find that space of relevant existence that they have been searching for their entire lives.
My childhood was riddled with a lot of dysfunction. A lot. The drinking, the yelling, the screaming, the multiple personalities that displayed themselves in people, distinguished between the sober one and the inebriated one was incredibly common and impacts me to this day. The emotional, mental, and physical abuse was definitely there; the sexual abuse took me YEARS to figure out. I cannot be in a room where many people are drinking and loud and out of control. It takes me back. And I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been in situations like this where I sit there desperately trying to GET THROUGH IT, instead of saying “It is sitme for me to leave.” When people who I do not trust come near me, I try to get away. Every single event of physical, mental, and sexual abuse happened when someone was drinking and drunk. The mere smell of certain kinds of alcohol make me sick to my stomach. Listening to someone who is extremely intoxicated try to have a conversation impacts my brain in ways that I’m still struggling to figure out. But it is real. Very, very real.
I was sexually assaulted by my brother in law when I was very young. Apparently, it is common for abuse survivors to not know what age they were. For some reason, I can’t get passsed the age of 10. I feel like everything happened at that age. I was abused terribly a second time. It was horrific, and life changing. As I look back on it now, I clearly remember that the second time was when my childhood left and I knew that I was on my own. Little did I know that all these experiences would manifest into a person who became hyper vigilant and out of control and really, reallly angry. These experiences would create someone with extremely low self esteem amd self loathing. I felt responsible for fixing things I didn’t break up until I started getting help.
I used to be specific about what happened to me. It is A LOT. I have a plethora of stories that are just painfully hard to share and even more destructive to remember and re-live. Society has made us feel that we owe it to others to tell them exactly what happened so that THEY can determine if what happened to you warrants the level of brokenness that you experience later on in life. I’ve learned that no one can tell you how broken you are or ARE NOT. Saying that I was abused should be enough.
In 2020, I had the hard task of writing a chapter in a book about mentoring and how mentors have helped me throughout my life. I was having a difficult time of it because old, unhealed wounds were opening up that I did not want to manage. The pandemic forced me to focus and I finished the chapter. For the first time, out in the open, I wrote about having been abused a second time by my brother in law.
Fast forward to the beginning of summer in 2023. My sister, who at the time was still married to my abuser, asked me what happened. I told her. She began to sob and just kept saying how sorry she was. She said it was her fault and she should have done more to protect me. It would be the first time I would hear her say that and we just embraced. I’ve never seen my sister cry like that. She was overcome with so much emotion, I felt compelled to comfort her. She too was a survivor of a lot. And I felt so privileged. So many survivors never get the opportunity to hear those words “I believe you and I’m sorry.”
She and I kept in touch until my mother got ill in late 2023. When I became my mother’s POA, my sister would stop talking to me. She was angry - almost above angry. I felt so cheated out of that moment with her. Then later that year, she would contract COVID. By Christmas, she was on a ventilator. On January 15, 2024, my sister passed away.
I had not dealt with her passing at all. My mother, who has Alzheimer’s and Dementia, has no recollection of this happening, thus, putting her in a position to believe that my sister is still here. I will not tell her that her daughter is not here anymore in person. In 2 days, it will be a year since my sister passed, and I NOW am starting to feel the enormity of all of it.
How do I feel?
I’m angry.
I am really sad she isn’t here.
I miss the laughs that she and I had.
I’m scared.
I’m confused.
I’m filled with many emotions I don’t understand.
Some days, I don’t know what to do.
I’m tired of not being heard.
But mostly, because I have been getting such intense help dealing with my past, I’m gaining some understanding about my history, and my recent diagnosis of PTSD.
I have this thing. It’s real. THAT is where the trouble is for me. I keep trying to diminish it like it wasn’t that bad. I often compare myself with other survivors, and try to make it seem as if I should be doing better, not allowing myself the opportunity to understand that this is ME and about MY experience and that it is okay that I feel how I feel. I’m proud that I have remained sober through so much that has happened. I’m also understanding that it is not anyone else’s responsibility to heal me. The responsibility is all on me. I’m really happy to be getting help. I’m happy that I’m in taekwondo. I’m also happy that I have such an amazing husband and such amazing friends.
But in moments in the middle of night when it’s quiet, and I’m alone, the truth becomes so apparent. not just what happened to me, but the things I’ve done because of what has happened to me. And understanding that blaming things on your history is okay, only if you are taking responsibility for YOUR actions and getting the help that you need. The clairty of the brokenness of me has also become very present.
I have a really hard time telling myself that I am a good person. Even writing that is hard. If I do something nice, I ask myself if I’m doing it only to say I’m a good person, or if it is just a part of who I am. THAT is the horrid result of years of abuse and PTSD.
I SURE DO MISS MY SISTER. I wish she was here. I wish I could just hug her. I don’t think my sister knew what to do. I was trying so hard to get my mom help, not just to help my mom, but to help her. I’m so sad that she isn’t here anymore.
This last part is really important.
I have been attacked so many times for being so honest. I had a former friend who told me once “You need to keep all your stuff to yourself. You push people away by being so open about your business because it’s too much.”
I listened to what this person said, not to take her advice, but I realized that telling people my business would tell me who deserves to be in my circle. I told my now husband EVERYTHING before our first date. And he asked “what time do we meet?” Since that time, I have shared every dark secret with him and he is stilll here and we are stronger than ever.
THAT is what truth does. It eliminates barriers to healing. You can’t find direction elsewhere if you can’t admit that you’re lost. Today I’m lost.
And I write to divert and deal in truth to divert.
However…
I’ll be okay. I’ll keep reaching out for help (I have counseling tomorrow). I’ll keep the door open for functional existence. And I’ll keep it movin.
I WILL be okay. And that too is the absolute truth.
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