It’s a reoccurring dream I have. It’s always a quick flash but leave a brutal impact on my brain. In my dream, I unleash verbally on my Mom for probably less than a minute. But it is a full-on flash of rage. I am screaming, yelling, swearing and often standing over her in a threatening manner. This time, I was pointing at her face and moving towards her aggressively swearing and said “you want to know, you want to know fine I’ll tell you every disgusting detail” and this time she fell to the floor and crumbled into a ball crying as she replied “what do want me to say? I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
I know that I have anger at my Mom. I have worked very hard to get rid of it. I have tried to see things from her view and her life. I still know deep inside that the child is enraged with her. I know why. I choose to walk a different path. I choose to spare my Mother my rage. She has not earned it. Not all of it. And if that can gets opened, I still do not trust myself not to unleash on her. These dreams are a constant reminder of that.
This dream and the others are nightly reminders that I survived a fucked up childhood and upbringing. And that PTSD remains alive and active in my broken brain. I hate it. I hate dreaming of being chased, trying to escape a burning building or being raped. I would give almost anything to make the nightmares stop.
Every time I stood up for myself as a girl I was chastised and punished. I am 48yrs old and just learning to stand up for myself every time. Sometimes, I still allow people to walk over me. I would say I am somewhere around 60 /40. That number needs to change.
Standing up for me does not feel natural. I have had to learn how to do so with the proper amount of tone and inflection. I can’t let that shit build up inside me. For my sake and for those I love. Learning to stand my ground and speak my boundaries in a sane and appropriate manner has been difficult. I find myself checking myself, choosing my words and tone wisely and then moving on. I owe no one an explanation for my boundaries. Not even myself.
I was spoken down to and belittled for so long that I have zero patience for it now. I can be told that I wrong, need to be redirected and whatever other super hippy way you want to say it. I can take direction. I can not take being spoken down to. Being spoken to with a tone that says you are stupid for not knowing this. My StepFather chastised my Mother and me by asking us rhetorical questions in a shitty “you are so fucking stupid” tone of voice. I would usually stand there blinking searching my mind for what to say to this giant man whom I feared every day. You didn’t ever want to set him off. I’ve spoken of it before. His and Mother’s claim to fame is that he never touched me. He didn’t need to. She was just as afraid of him. I have tapes of her fear in my head.
I find standing up to men to still be a more difficult challenge. They use that tone I begin to crumble. It usually takes everything I have got for me to retain my dignity and stand my ground. The happier I become the easier it gets. A bright shining happy person is easier to hear “no thank you” from then a raging freaking out angry bitch. Just say’n.
Woke up this morning feeling good that you were gone
Hurt for a while, but I’m finally moving on
Said it, Did it, Hit it, Quit it
Then you let it go
See you tried to call me, but I blocked you on the phone
It took a minute, but now I’m feeling strong
It almost killed me, but I’m better off alone
Now you say it that you’re sorry, I don’t wanna know
Better face the fact you had to go
It might sound like I’m an unapologetic bitch
But sometime you know I gotta call it like it is
It might sound like I’m an unapologetic bitch
But sometime you know I gotta call it like it is
You know you never really knew how much you loved me ’til you lost me
You know you never really knew how much your selfish bullshit cost me
Or fuck you
Madonna ~ Unapologetic Bitch (if you haven’t heard it yet, look it up)
I crank this song up every morning now. It is exactly what I would say to her. I have chosen to ignore her last three attempts to reach me. I blocked her on my phone last week after the last call. She thinks I am just over here hurting so bad over her. I am not. I am moving on and the only thing I feel for her is anger and disgust. She used me. She fucking strung me along and tried to ………..
FUCK YOU CRAZY WHORE! Stay the hell away from me. I wish I had never ever introduced you to my friends.
I’m not going to allow myself the guilty pleasure of being angry at her. Yes it’s true I have wallowed in a fantasy of yelling “fuck you manipulative lying whore” or maybe just a very calm & controlled “please do not speak to me” the next time I run into her. But in reality, I won’t do either. I will be careful not to run into her for awhile. Making it all the way to Summer would be awesome. I’ve considered mailing her key back with a request for mine and I’ve considered mailing it back with a blank piece of paper. I have not decided on what is kind & not evil.
Yeah its true I want her to know how bad she hurt me. I want her to know that the truth has been revealed and I saw it. I want her to hurt inside for what she did to me & for loosing me. I suppose that is all normal. Because when it really comes down to it…… I just want her to leave me alone. I don’t want anyone to suffer. Not even her. I wish I had never introduced her to my friends. But I did & she will most likely be around…… Fuck!
How do I let go of being embarrassed? Embarrassed that I went all in & changed my whole life for her. Embarrassed that I was planning to marry her & told my closest friends & family of my plan. Embarrassed that I did it again so publicly. I need to forgive me, learn, grow & move the fuck on.
I walk in a happy freedom that I have not walked in since March of 2013. I have returned to me. Wiser & stronger. A lot less angry & resentful. Ready and able to heal myself physically & mentally. I am setting & keeping dates with my girlfriends. I am investing in those whom stood by me. I am not rebuilding my life because I am not the same woman as I was just shy of two years ago. I am completely different. I am building my life & my world to suit me & only me.
This morning I am going to try to talk about something that is difficult for me. One of the many reasons I joined and started this blog was to say all the things in my head and just get it out. If it helps other people then honestly that is just a bonus. I’m here to be selfish and take care of me.
I am sitting here afraid to start the topic. Once I open my mouth it is there for everyone to see and judge. I am afraid that my words will be read as someone who is defeated, weak and scared. I can not stand the thought of people seeing me as a victim or feeling sorry for me. But in a very true sense of the word I am a victim. I fucking hate it. Loathe it. Just typing that last few lines my mouth has turned to a slight snarl and I am disgusted at the thought. As long as I am at let’s go ahead and admit that I have a very hard time dealing with people whom I see as stuck in the role of victim. I get as angry at them for not climbing out of it as I do at myself. It is another reason I created “the bitch” so no one would ever see me as broken.
I want to talk about what will happen when my Father passes away. I know its morbid and a lot of people do not want to think about such things. I have a reason to consider and prepare for it that burns in my stomach everyday. I have an older sibling that I have not had contact with for over 20yrs. He is the person who abused me up until I was 13yrs old in the worst way possible. Somewhere in the late 90’s my Father came to me and asked my permission to find him and try to get him help for what is wrong with him. I detailed out for my Father, one time, what had taken place over the years in my childhood. I gave him times and dates and what I could remember. I told my Father that I didn’t want to ever be approached again with any information, that my sibling was never to know anything about my life and that if I wanted to know I would ask. Over the years I have twice asked and both times been told that yes my Father is in communication with him. I verified that nothing about me has been shared and I pushed it away.
Then my StepFather passed suddenly. I was at my Mothers home for two months helping her. She received a condolence card from “him.” I saw his handwriting and had to use some very old tools in my box of weapons against PTSD to not have a panic attack. I took a photo of the return address and it remains on my cell phone some nine months later. I have a sense of power over him knowing that I could write him a scathing letter at any time. But at the moment I pulled the envelope out of the mail box with all of the other cards it was not empowering at all. It was horrifying. My brain immediately began to race. He knows where my Mom lives which means he could show up here. He could know that I am here. He could just walk onto the property and kill us…. I got my StepFathers gun and kept it where I knew I could get to it for about 24hrs. I talked to my therapist back home via Skype and told her that if he set foot on the property I would empty the gun into him. We had a long talk about premeditation and jail. It helped. She brought me back to reality and helped me to get grounded. She made me promise that if he showed up I would call the police and I would not fire the gun unless he was physically coming at us with intent to harm. Then the rational adult calmed down and realized that in all likelihood if he was coming, he would have already been there. I went about the business at hand and filed the incident away for another time. That time has come.
Why now? Because my Father’s health is questionable. I see him as more and more frail every time I see him. And having faced three sudden and unexpected deaths, I know what will happen when my Father passes. “He” will show up. I know this because I know my Father is in touch with him and I know that my Father has my StepMothers word that she will notify “him” when my Father passes. This is like a guillotine waiting for the moment it get’s to reach up and lop my head clean the fuck off without warning. All I can think is “I will have to face the man who abused and raped me at my Fathers funeral.” I have discussed this at length with my therapist and a couple of very close girlfriends. I have yet to find the courage to bring it up to my Father. I want to ask that “he” be notified of my Fathers death after the funeral. And yes, I will admit that I am asking my Father to punish him for what he did to me. He was never prosecuted. I was a teen when I told my parents. I was taken to counseling but never offered to have him arrested. I am resentful of that. As a teen it never occurred to me that I could have sent him to jail. The fact that he was caught with a male cousin sexual abusing him and he was never arrested even after my telling what happened is upsetting. I need this request to be met. I am both afraid that my Father will say no and that he will break down crying and agree to my request. I don’t feel like discussing why I fear both right now but I can tell you that it is how I feel.
(I just started crying as I type) This is not my fault. None of what he did to me as a child and as a 13yr old girl was or will ever be my fault. I am not to blame that this subject has to keep being brought up and rules made to make me feel safe. he is. The blame is 100% his. It feels like it is every time I broach the subject but it is not my damn fault!
I am 45yrs old. I am still afraid and hate talking to my parents about this subject. It’s gross. It’s icky and drips with sadness and depression. It leaves a stench in the air. This is the most horrible part of child sexual abuse, it never really stops torturing the soul. Never. We just learn how to battle and to choose our battles. I don’t allow the nightmares or triggers to get me any longer. But this battle, this request I have regarding my Fathers funeral….. This is a battle I am choosing and I will win. If I have to hire guards to keep him the fuck out and away from me and my family I will. I will hire the biggest baddest bikers I can find and tell them exactly what he did to me. Because what I don’t want is to snap at my Fathers funeral. In all reality, I would probably start screaming at him possibly take a swing. You know the scene in the movie where the adult woman sees the man who abused her as a child and goes completely berserk and cause a huge public scene. I don’t want to do that at my Father’s funeral. Honestly, I would love to find myself in a safe setting and able to lay it all out there for the world to judge him but not at the funeral.
I have to do this for me. I have to find the strength.
I spend a lot more time alone these days then honestly ever before. I’ve lived alone before but I’ve always found things to fill my time. I’m active in my local arts community and there is always something going with my friends. Right now, I live in a suburb of Seattle. SeaHawk fever is everywhere. My best friend has season tickets and I was thrilled to attend a game in December. But the last 30 days in particular I have a few hours on my feet before all I can think about is home, my ice pack and pain meds. I am very careful not to drive while medicated in any way. I’m either home or not driving if I have more then one Vicodin or any canabis. I go to work and count the minutes until I can start driving home. So, a lot of time alone in my head.
I have come to a realization about myself that I am not happy with. I have been stewing on it for a few months. I’m not even sure I can find the words to tell you or if I do find them that I will then find the courage to click publish.
(((((Deep breaths)))))) I’m a shrinks wet fucking dream. About eleven years ago I made a decision about my character, who I am and what I will present to the world (people) both by how I appear and how I behave and speak. At the time I felt empowered and proud of myself. I picked myself up off the ground after what I had taken as yet another person walking all over me and taking advantage of my gullible nature. I was in my own opinion and told by others “to nice for my own good.” I made a conscious decision to be a different woman. I looked in the mirror and decided it all had to change.
I created Ozzy Girl.
Ozzy Girl is a bad ass. She takes no shit, stands up for herself no matter what and absolutely gets shit done no matter who is in the way. Ozzy Girl is a bitch and proud of it. In the beginning my voice often shook or cracked when I stood up for myself. It got easier as time went by but never ever is it to this day a natural or “easy” thing for me to stand up and defend what I believe in person. I built my own reputation. It worked for many years. It was a joke. I was given multiple gifts with “bitch” on them. I often referred to myself in the third person as “the bitch.” I led event after event successfully with the bitch in charge and was respected for it. Somewhere along the last few years something changed…..
No not something. Grief. Grief is what changed me. I wrote a blog called my story of grief if you want to look back and read it. When the grief took ahold of me and blended with the PTSD it equaled a hell that only the bitch was equipped to live with daily. And I let her have control. Angry take no prisoners bitch got the business of the day handled but it was not with the love and kindness I usually give out. I reached a place of absolutely no energy to spare and no patience for anyone anywhere. I was just plain difficult and nasty to deal with most days.
Now I am intensely aware that somewhere I crossed the line. I wanted to protect me. Protect the little girl who was hurt and all the way up to the still sensitive and tender hearted woman. I wanted my image and my persona to make people afraid to fuck with me. I wanted people to never ever be able to see how scared and vulnerable I am inside. It was a defense mechanism. As I said, it was a conscious decision. Somewhere along the line I took it to far. And I don’t like being the bitch any more.
Do you know what kind of effort it will take to change who I am not only to the community at large but truly inside at the core of my being. Or will it? I have already taken some big steps. How hard is it to just stop having such a sharp tongue? I have to confess. It’s non of any of that behavior stuff. It’s all ego. I created a whole persona of the bitch. If I put her to rest, who am I? And even worse, if I put her to rest am I boring? Am I to be the boring fat scared ignorant girl again? I laughed when I finally typed that out into words. Because that really is a silly fear. It’s not as if all the knowledge and growth goes away. LoL. I am me. I have learned and I have grown. The very fact that I am talking about this is proof. So I was seriously just questioning that if I work to be a better woman who is less harsh and nicer if I will be boring? Yeah these are the things I debate.
Back to the subject. Do I just give the bitch the axe? Or work to change my reputation to a higher level. Like nice bitch. Why? Because I don’t think I can ever let go of the knowledge that deep inside there lives a woman who has been so wronged that if I ever were to happen upon someone hurting someone or an animal I would unleash hell on that person. It’s a topic for another blog but a conversation I have held with many a survivor of abuse. You reach a place of intolerance. Like I said, that’s another blog. But it fuels the part of me that still needs it to be somewhat obvious that you just shouldn’t fuck with her. So can I be a kind bitch? My girl asks for a sensual dominant and that is a language I understand. I taught her something I was taught in a dungeon “I get a far better response to calm controlled firm dominance then I do screaming profanity and chaos.” It’s true in all area’s of life thus far. So turn it down? Dial back the bitch? Be more kind. Loose some of the “fucks” and give more smiles. And yeah I have to work on forgiveness. I just really really embraced the bitch and all she brought with her for awhile. I needed her. I just don’t want to be her any more. It hurts. I don’t like feeling like I hurt people. Turns out, even if I fucking hate you I still can’t stand the feeling of knowing I caused you hurt. Do you see now why I created such a strong but beautiful defense system?