It’ll never happen

I talked to my mom on the phone last night, and it finally struck home to me.

I will never have her support for the traumas I’ve been through in my life.

We were talking about a friend of mine who moved back to Florida, & when she asked where she lives, I told her.

Mom: “Oh, that’s the same city *he’s* (my male sibling) lived in.”

Me: Yeah, mom, I know.

“And btw, the girls (his daughters, my nieces) are coming up to visit this summer. I need to get in touch with Youngerdaughter to see if she wants to schedule her time home to coincide, so she can see them”.

Me: It would be nice, I don’t get to have any contact with them.

My sibling made a big deal of telling me years ago that he had the passwords & logins for his wife’s social media, as well as his daughters, so I believe he would not just watch if I tried to interact with them, but actively block contact or attack me through their pages.

You can think me paranoid if you want, but he’s attacked me verbally & emotionally so many times I have blocked every attempt he’s made to contact me. He is toxic in my life, & I won’t put up with his abuse.

Mom: “Oh, honey, he’s changed.”

Me: Not enough to say he’s sorry for what he’s done & said. Last time, Mom, he said “I’m sorry if you felt hurt, but sometimes you’re just too sensitive.” He didn’t say he was sorry for hurting me, he put the blame for my trauma back on me, then told me that I was “too sensitive”.

BEING SENSITIVE TO PAIN IS A TRAUMA RESPONSE.

Me: Mom, he has never apologized for what he said, or for what he’s done, he’s always just “I’ve grown up, & want to move past this”

Me: Translation – I’m tired of being called out for the real harm I caused, & want everyone to sweep it under the rug, because it doesn’t fit my “benevolent Christian man, husband & father” persona.

Mom: “Did I tell you my dog hurt her paw? She won’t let anyone anywhere near it.”

After about 10 more minutes of basic, surface conversation, I told her I love her, & hung up.

Avoidance, thy name is Mom.

Same thing happens whenever I bring up anything regarding the sexual assault I suffered from my best friend’s brother when I was 16. Her best friend is this (now man’s) mother. Every time she comes to visit, my mom wants me to see her, & they end up, somehow, working his name into the conversation, which sends me into a PTSD- induced panic attack.

Mom once: “Its been XX years. You should move past this. Let it go.”

I was never believed, not by anyone from either of our families. I was never allowed to talk about it, except when my parents tried to send me to a Christian counselor, & then told him that I thought I was molested. Not that it had actually happened, but that I thought it did.

I love both my parents. And I’m lucky to still have them in my life.

But, that hurts.

It hurts to know that my pain will never be valid in their eyes.

That they don’t believe that one instance even happened, but that I made it up or dreamt it.

And that they don’t remember reading the actual email my sibling sent me that ripped our family apart.

“My little sister died years ago. I don’t know you.”

Oh, fucker, you don’t know how right you are.

She died at 16, when a boy she trusted sexually assaulted her, and no one believed her.

She died at 17, when her parents sent her to a counselor & told him they thought she was delusional.

She died again at 19, when she was raped in college, and didn’t feel as though she could tell her parents, because why would they believe her now, when they didn’t before?

She died AGAIN, when at 20, they accused her of being on drugs, and forced her to get tested, when she’d never taken drugs in her life.

And she dies again, and again, and again, when they excuse her abusers for hurting her.

I still love my parents.

Don’t forget that.

But, loving them, does not make what they say & do, right.

My parents have always been the “turn the other cheek” people.

I can’t. I won’t. I will NOT give you another chance to hurt me, after being repeatedly struck on one side.

I still love my parents.

They’re good people.

But, the pain is real, when I know I’ll never have their unconditional love & support.

It’ll never happen.

Wiped

I fell asleep with my phone in my hand, Facebook open, last night. How do I know this? Because the 1st thing I saw this morning when I picked my phone from the chair today was the top of the FB screen.

I don’t even really remember opening fb, last night. I’d spent the evening mostly on tiktok (my new favorite social platform), & must have decided to flip over to see what the other side of the fence was doing before I…*blank stare, slow blink…oh, Good morning, sun.*

This – the random exhaustion, completely debilitating, has been something I’ve been dealing with for a while now.

I worried about it for quite a while, thinking there was, maybe, a new issue with my thyroid? Maybe a bad slide down in my depression? Maybe (help me out here, WebMD) it could be something really awful?

I visited my doctors. Had tests run. Numerous tests. Lots of money down the drain, and a lot of patronizing medical verbiage from some of the physicians. You know, shit I don’t put up with. One doctor, I refuse to go see, anymore.

Putz.

Well, funny enough, it was the internet that helped me figure it out, not one of my Drs., who basically all told me that it was nothing, “Just the price of getting older, dontcha know”.

On a tangent, (but applicable, just wait) did you know that I have RA?

Rheumatoid Arthritis.

Yeah, I’ve mentioned it, once or twice, because it mostly affects my hands, both wrists & knuckles. It makes it difficult to work on crafts I love, but, it’s not usually severe, unless I push it too hard, like with serious yardwork over and extended period.

It is starting to affect one of my ankles, which I broke a few years back, so… that’s nice.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

It was actually a TikTok (don’t ask which one, I can’t remember their name, & was in epiphany shock when I saw it) that clued me in.

The creator was talking about something she’d been trying to do, but her RA fatigue wouldn’t give her enough spoons to accomplish the job. (I’ll write about the “Spoon Theory” another time, or you can Google it)

So, I went back into research mode.

I have at least 5 of these symptoms. ✅ Lucky, Lucky me.

And no, RA is not the only cause for my fatigue. I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Chronic Depression, & PTSD working on me too, all of which cause cortisol levels (the stress hormone) to regularly flood my system, causing adrenaline to kick in with the “fight, flight, or fawn” impulse. And once the adrenaline bottoms out, exhaustion sets in.

And…AND… if that’s not enough fun for you, I developed vertigo this year.

My body is literally on a self-made chemical rollercoaster.

I hate rollercoasters.

Is it any wonder I stopped drinking?

Fuck, I feel drunk half the time as it is, anyway, who needs inebriation?

I’m still in research mode, trying to find what legit information I can, trying to plot my own course for treatment, since the doctors I currently have, don’t seem to want to discuss the notion that I might be right.

And no, I can’t go get 2nd opinions, or 3rd, or 4th, whatever I’m on right now, because they all work for the same medical hospital/clinic, & I can’t afford to travel & pay new medical bills somewhere else.

This shit’s expensive, y’all.

So, I’m looking towards more holistic, homeopathic, & self-generated help. As long as I can back the decisions with my own solid research, I might give it a try.

But, until I can start seeing some positive results…

I’m wiped.

Shockwave

* Possible Trigger Warning ⚠

*

*

*

My mother was at my desk today, when I got back to work after my lunch break.

I wasn’t expecting her, she hadn’t called me to say she was coming into town, which would’ve been fine…

Except she had someone with her.

Her best friend.

A woman I used to consider my second mom.

Who is also the mother of the boy, now man, who molested me when I was 16.

You – have no idea – what happens inside, when you’re confronted unexpectedly by one of the people who traumatized you so badly as a teenager.

Yes, she traumatized me.

How?

By forcing me to confront her son immediately, as in within minutes of the attack, by not listening to me, by not believing me, by forcing me to listen to her speak about her son time after time over the years, trying to show me PHOTOS of him! Fuck!

And yet, I’m not allowed to say anything about it. I’m not allowed to bring it up, to say NO, when my mother does these things.

I loved this woman as another mother, & still care about her, because she’s my mom’s best friend.

But – they both hurt me, so much, 32 years ago, and they have continued to scrape open the wounds over the years, callously, because they refuse to acknowledge the damage that was originally done, and the damage they’re doing now.

I’ve got PTSD from the original experience, not just the molestation, but the way it was mishandled by his parents, and by my own.

No one wanted to believe me.

Everyone wanted to think I was either simply “having a nightmare” and being overly teen dramatic, or just flat-out lying.

There were times I wanted to fucking kill myself, because everyone called me a liar, and the inside of my head was so dark and hopeless.

There was a whole summer where I basically was driving myself off a metaphorical cliff, because I didn’t think my life was worth anything.

My parents thought I was on drugs.

Ha. I’ve never taken anything that wasn’t prescribed to me or over-the-counter, and I’ve never taken more than the prescribed dosages.

But what was the use of telling them the real problem, when they wouldn’t hear me? When – if I tried to talk to them, they shut me down, refused to hear it, and walked away?

There’s been so much in the news and on social media lately about why victims of abuse don’t report.

This is mine.

Because – when I told the truth at 16, I was called a liar by the people I trusted to keep me safe, so why would I trust anyone else to help me?

Maybe, just maybe, this is why I have so many issues with asking for help in any way, shape of form, from anyone, about anything?

Because when it really, really mattered…

I was left out in the cold – alone and hurting and vulnerable.

I made it through the rest of the afternoon at work.

Goddess only knows how.

I’m good at stuffing my feelings down.

But I cried all the way home.