TRIGGER: journal entry: TRIGGER
theo
Registrant
Why am I so upset over the probable loss of the opportunity to own this car? I just dont understand it. I have been avoiding the issue of the recent memories lately like the plague. I am fixating on something else because I dont want to face the memories and the pain. I can handle the loss of the car far easier than the confrontation over the memories. It is safer to face the fixation, even at the expense of the lower GPA. That is a really stupid thing to do.
It is a common defense mechanism. I cant face the memories (or feel like I cant), so I set myself up for disappointment on another, safer issue. This way I can deal with some of the negativity while I screw myself silly. I need to stop this. I need to face the memories. I cant keep doing this to myself.
Here is what I need to do. I need to go back to white house clinic and go through their hoops to see if I can get started on Strattera. I need to talk to my professors to see if I would be able to take some time off. That would mean that I would have to accept a lower grade. There is a policy of instructors being able to change the grade at a later time, if the work was presented and the instructor agreed to it. What this would mean for me is that I would lose a letter grade, if not more, temporarily, if they agreed to it. It would give me time to get the white house thing set up, and I would still be able to attend the summer session. The problem would be whether or not the instructors would agree to it and whether or not this policy really exists. There could also be a negative effect on my financial aid. I could lose DVR. Hell, I could lose the whole fucking thing.
I just dont know what to do anymore. It was never about the car. It was never about the possible home ownership. It was all about trying to stay sane. I have been fighting the last few weeks to stay grounded ever since the memories hit me. I have tried so hard to do my academics, stay on top of the finances, stay in tune with the present, and to stay away from the acting out. I have tried so hard, and I have failed. I just cant do it.
Damn you! Why did you do this to me? Why was I nothing more than fucking blow up doll to you? Why couldnt you have loved us like a real mother should have? Why did you sell your daughter out? What was wrong with us that you had to treat us like you did? Dont you know what you did? Your pain and stupidity resulted in my sister running into the arms of one madman after another to escape the screams she grew up with. It resulted in my paralysis of the heart and mind when I need it the most. What you did was turn two wonderful children into tormented adults. Your legacy is our misery.
Why was I nothing more than your little man? what did you need so badly that you had to find it in my arms? Damn you! I was a boy! Why did you do that? I was your son. You used me as your private toy for whatever sick reason drove you, and now I am paying the price by being stuck in a hell of not being able to function. Because of you, I cannot look at an adolescent girl without feeling guilty. You wanted me to be your perfect son, but what that meant was to be under you Damn you! Why did you do this to us, your own children? I just dont understand, I really dont. I was your son, but you made me into your toy and my sister into your currency.
You held me many times growing up. I was your little man who would protect you from the big bad world and I was to give you what you could not find yourself. It was you that night that I remembered being smothered in bed, wasnt it? You crawled into my bed because you were lonely. You held me and I responded. You told me it was okay, that I was your little man, and I responded. I tried to fight, I tried, but I respondeddear god, I responded.
In the bathroom in apartment, three you sat there on the commode in front of me as I was taking a bath. You enjoyed those baths you gave me because you kept teaching me how to wash myself, down there. I remember your words. I had to be careful how I washed it because if I left the soap in there I could get sick, down there. I remember that. I was in late childhood and you were still bathing me. You sat on that stupid commode with your body facing me, and you did things to yourself. I was sitting there in the bathwater while you were doing that watching me! I remember this. The time I was pretending I was asleep in the big bed in apartment three, you hit me because I was pretending to be asleep because I knew what you wanted to do. I was pretending and when you hit me I looked up at you and asked you what happened, that somebody hit me while I was asleepyou said nothing happened. You were the only person there, and I had to trust you, I wanted to trust you. The only thing that made sense to my child-mind was that it must have been a ghost that hit me, a really angry ghost.
I remember these things. What I did not remember was the images that hit me three weeks ago when I was talking to my therapist about some of the things I had written in my journal. It started so easily in my journal. I was just trying to understand why one body type attracted me more than others, and I made the connection to you. I had to stop writing because it was scaring me. The next day I was in therapy and I mentioned this then the images started pouring in again. I was getting aroused, damn you!! I saw these images of you and me when I was a child and I was getting aroused at the same time I was getting sick with revulsion. What was worse? The images or the arousal? I have been stunned ever since. I have not been able to focus on anything that I needed to focus on. I remember now. I remember seeing your body because you wanted me to be your little man and to do things for you that a man did. I remember you showing yourself to me. I remember you holding me in bed and I remember I responded and you were oh so fucking happy!!
I see these images now. I see you as you made me see you. Is it any fucking wonder that I try to escape by fixing another image in my vision than your body? Is it any fucking wonder that I tried to escape through the fog of alcohol? Is it any wonder that I tried to commit suicide as a child? I see those images now and I cannot get them out of my mind. I am so grateful I am not responding as I did when I first started remembering the memories. You hurt me. I trusted you and loved youand you hurt me. I cant do this anymore. I need to rest. I need to try to find a safe place. Why was I never your son? Why?
It is a common defense mechanism. I cant face the memories (or feel like I cant), so I set myself up for disappointment on another, safer issue. This way I can deal with some of the negativity while I screw myself silly. I need to stop this. I need to face the memories. I cant keep doing this to myself.
Here is what I need to do. I need to go back to white house clinic and go through their hoops to see if I can get started on Strattera. I need to talk to my professors to see if I would be able to take some time off. That would mean that I would have to accept a lower grade. There is a policy of instructors being able to change the grade at a later time, if the work was presented and the instructor agreed to it. What this would mean for me is that I would lose a letter grade, if not more, temporarily, if they agreed to it. It would give me time to get the white house thing set up, and I would still be able to attend the summer session. The problem would be whether or not the instructors would agree to it and whether or not this policy really exists. There could also be a negative effect on my financial aid. I could lose DVR. Hell, I could lose the whole fucking thing.
I just dont know what to do anymore. It was never about the car. It was never about the possible home ownership. It was all about trying to stay sane. I have been fighting the last few weeks to stay grounded ever since the memories hit me. I have tried so hard to do my academics, stay on top of the finances, stay in tune with the present, and to stay away from the acting out. I have tried so hard, and I have failed. I just cant do it.
Damn you! Why did you do this to me? Why was I nothing more than fucking blow up doll to you? Why couldnt you have loved us like a real mother should have? Why did you sell your daughter out? What was wrong with us that you had to treat us like you did? Dont you know what you did? Your pain and stupidity resulted in my sister running into the arms of one madman after another to escape the screams she grew up with. It resulted in my paralysis of the heart and mind when I need it the most. What you did was turn two wonderful children into tormented adults. Your legacy is our misery.
Why was I nothing more than your little man? what did you need so badly that you had to find it in my arms? Damn you! I was a boy! Why did you do that? I was your son. You used me as your private toy for whatever sick reason drove you, and now I am paying the price by being stuck in a hell of not being able to function. Because of you, I cannot look at an adolescent girl without feeling guilty. You wanted me to be your perfect son, but what that meant was to be under you Damn you! Why did you do this to us, your own children? I just dont understand, I really dont. I was your son, but you made me into your toy and my sister into your currency.
You held me many times growing up. I was your little man who would protect you from the big bad world and I was to give you what you could not find yourself. It was you that night that I remembered being smothered in bed, wasnt it? You crawled into my bed because you were lonely. You held me and I responded. You told me it was okay, that I was your little man, and I responded. I tried to fight, I tried, but I respondeddear god, I responded.
In the bathroom in apartment, three you sat there on the commode in front of me as I was taking a bath. You enjoyed those baths you gave me because you kept teaching me how to wash myself, down there. I remember your words. I had to be careful how I washed it because if I left the soap in there I could get sick, down there. I remember that. I was in late childhood and you were still bathing me. You sat on that stupid commode with your body facing me, and you did things to yourself. I was sitting there in the bathwater while you were doing that watching me! I remember this. The time I was pretending I was asleep in the big bed in apartment three, you hit me because I was pretending to be asleep because I knew what you wanted to do. I was pretending and when you hit me I looked up at you and asked you what happened, that somebody hit me while I was asleepyou said nothing happened. You were the only person there, and I had to trust you, I wanted to trust you. The only thing that made sense to my child-mind was that it must have been a ghost that hit me, a really angry ghost.
I remember these things. What I did not remember was the images that hit me three weeks ago when I was talking to my therapist about some of the things I had written in my journal. It started so easily in my journal. I was just trying to understand why one body type attracted me more than others, and I made the connection to you. I had to stop writing because it was scaring me. The next day I was in therapy and I mentioned this then the images started pouring in again. I was getting aroused, damn you!! I saw these images of you and me when I was a child and I was getting aroused at the same time I was getting sick with revulsion. What was worse? The images or the arousal? I have been stunned ever since. I have not been able to focus on anything that I needed to focus on. I remember now. I remember seeing your body because you wanted me to be your little man and to do things for you that a man did. I remember you showing yourself to me. I remember you holding me in bed and I remember I responded and you were oh so fucking happy!!
I see these images now. I see you as you made me see you. Is it any fucking wonder that I try to escape by fixing another image in my vision than your body? Is it any fucking wonder that I tried to escape through the fog of alcohol? Is it any wonder that I tried to commit suicide as a child? I see those images now and I cannot get them out of my mind. I am so grateful I am not responding as I did when I first started remembering the memories. You hurt me. I trusted you and loved youand you hurt me. I cant do this anymore. I need to rest. I need to try to find a safe place. Why was I never your son? Why?