My Diagnosis

I went to the doctor today and filled out a whole bunch of paperwork about my symptoms. Since I have never gotten help before- I had no idea what to expect. I arrived early to fill out the paperwork. My husband was by my side and so supportive, I knew I was safe, but I still couldn’t help the tightness in my throat. My hands were fidgety, my chest was tight and my eyes were shifty.

Finally, my name was called. I followed the woman to get my blood pressure taken, my weight (yay) and then followed her down a hallway. I hate hallways. It had a lot of doors too which is so stressful. I half expected someone to jump out at me. No one did though.

I sat down in her office and she began the hour long process of asking me questions. Normally I do not mind questions about my life- but these questions were the questions I always try and avoid. I immediately began to feel my air get cold in my throat, my hands wouldn’t stop moving and I kept holding my breath.

We went through all the paperwork and questions at a nice pace. It wasn’t too overwhelming. Once she was done entering all my answers into the computer- she called for the doctor to come see me.

He came in and was very friendly. He got right to the point and even printed out my medications that I will have to take from now on. I had no idea what I had been diagnosed with. I didn’t know if I would be at all. I had my guesses but I wasn’t exactly sure. I thought I would get just an occasional dose of meds for when my panic attacks were really bad.

Nope. I have 2 different medications to take daily and then another one for when my anxiety really spikes. Thankfully when we filled them, all 3 only totaled up to under $10. I really hope they work. I won’t say what they are just because I don’t want to.

The doctor said I am suffering from PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Moderate Major Depression because of the PTSD and I have General Anxiety Disorder because of the PTSD too. I wasn’t expecting Depression. I mean I know when I feel down or sad I “feel depressed” but major depression. Wow. Now I kinda know how Robin Williams felt. You can hide depression and most people are shocked to find out that you have it because you “seem happy”.

My chest and throat are still so tight and I notice I hold my breath a lot. I don’t know why but I always do. My therapist said I have PTSD but it is nice to have it on paper and Doctor diagnosed that in fact I do suffer from these 3 things.

It is really hard to open up about this face to face with someone, a friend, or a family member because I don’t look hurt. If I had a broken arm or foot, people would better understand. I really hope this works and my PTSD won’t be so bad.

Advertisements

The Switch

Switch-from-Lancet

 

In the beginning of my life I can recall happy memories and a normal life, somewhat. I remember being taken to the tanning salon (to go with her, not to tan myself), going to movies, eating candy and getting ice cream. I remember how fun it was, how she wore makeup and jeans. I remember how proud I was to have her be my m.

It was just me and her until I was around 7 or 8. Granted she worked crazy hours and would sleep all the time. I would feel neglected and had to spend most of my time over at someone else’s house, alone and outside. I remember having to get food for myself when I was with her and learning to not bother or disturb my m. very early on. But we did normal things and were as “normal” as we could be.

Plus I would have my dad and step mom visits and stays every other weekend. That was really fun. To be honest I can’t remember most of my childhood except  the bad memories. Even with those I can only remember a select few. I am only in my 20s, is that normal for someone my age to not remember their life before they were 14?

Anyways- my m. always had the attitude, the temper, the inside pain but at least on the outside she was passing off as normal. And I did feel somewhat wanted by her at times. My s.d. came into the picture and they were married when I was 8. I was excited for them.

The first year was fine. I would get presents that I wanted, spend time with them and we even went to a drive-in movie theatre (I miss those). But things started to change slowly and quickly. More outbursts and ugliness was shown. My s.d actually tried to stand up for me one time when she was just yelling at me for something, I can’t remember what.

She ran upstairs, bawled her eyes out and he never ever stepped in for me again. I gained a lot of respect with him that day because he saw what it was like for me. Now a days he is deluded from her control. Things really changed when I had my dog attack that I talk about in The Tree’s Secret, that happened when I was 10.

I would not be able to pick out my own clothes for school. I would have to wear old clothes, out of style clothes. I was bullied at school in 6th grade but I would of rather taken the bullying then to stay home with her. I believe it was either 5 or 6th grade that is when the running began and also the Xs on the calendar, which is talked about in my blog, The Calendar. I will touch more on the running in a later blog.

I remember after that first Christmas they had as a couple was the best. After that my presents got less and less. I am not materialistic but it was very hurtful. It went from things I wanted to things I needed. For example, I would get soap, shampoo, conditioner in presents that I needed and that would be it. I would get them in Easter Baskets, Christmas’, Birthdays- it was strange.

I would never really spend anytime with her at all. I would be locked outside the house from school all the time and for so long I would wet myself because I couldn’t hold it. Then I would get in a lot of trouble for it. I can’t really remember when it all switched for the worse because it happened so slowly. When my 1st sister was born I was 10 and it slowly started happening then. During this time the Bible wasn’t shoved down my throat and I don’t think she wore dresses all the time. The abuse was still there.

In 6th grade, something happened, I do not know what but something prompted me to speak to a counselor at the school. I can’t recall what I said but I do remember her going back on her promise. She said it would be just between me and her. Well, now being older I know she was probably legally bound to call Child Protective Services.

I felt so ashamed for drawing this attention, I was punished for it and no sign was ever found. I felt like the girl in The Glass House (movie). Things were faked to look like a good home. After that school year, I was given a choice. I either go to a Christian Private School or stay home with her to be home schooled. Up until that time- I had gone to 3 different schools in her custody and this would be the 4th switch.

I of course went to the Christian School instead of being home schooled. I couldn’t honestly imagine being home schooled by her. There would be no escape for me. School was an escape from her. She did have to drive me to school everyday though because it wasn’t nearby. The car rides were horrible, I talk about that in my blog Alphabet Soup- where I had to recite tons of memory verses for no reason than just to please her.

I remember her coming to me one day and saying she is no longer going to have angry outbursts at me. And that is when the fake-ness and no communication took place. It felt like she was the victim each and every time we would have a “discussion”. She also started to take more naps. She didn’t have a job but she was always so exhausted.

The big switch was when my journal was found. The whole entire time I lived with my m. She despised and hated my dad. I wasn’t allowed to talk about him and she would boast about how he was such a horrible father and that he will never get custody of me.

I took matters into my own hands and started keeping a private record of things that were done to me and how I felt about them. To one day take them to court to prove to the them how life was with her. A couple months into summer, right after my 14th birthday (when the custody battle was going to take place) my little toddler sister found the journal and gave it to her daddy. She thought my daddy and her daddy were the same. Actually for a long time everyone didn’t know I had a different last name or a different dad. I was always called by a different last name.

Anyways, they got their hands on it. After the years and years of saying how he will never get me- they gave me to him. Their reasoning was because I had already emotionally left them. What? That makes me laugh because she just didn’t want to be found out for what happens behind closed doors. And she had caught me several times through out my younger years of packing a bag to run away.

That is when the big switch took place. I moved homes. But that last year there was the worse- gradually the spiritual, physical and emotional neglect was at an all time high. Then once I left, the fake, perfect, happy homeschool, Christian life began. I was angry throughout my whole time living with them. I didn’t understand all the changes, moving and the fakery that was happening. I just wanted my old m. back. I felt like I was mourning the loss of a mother and it still feels like I am. Just because my dad got custody of me, my mom had visitation rights and I hated it. It was like something out of a movie. It didn’t and still doesn’t make any sense. How can someone be happy living like that? Everything is planned and calculated. There are more stories to come that will elaborate on this subject.

I just do not understand the crazy lady switch. From anger to silence and everything is perfect. She says, ” Look at me and my wonderful 3 daughters.”  Now a days she forgets to tell people she has a 4th, which is me.

D Y S L E X I A * D S Y L E X I A

I have never been diagnosed with dyslexia but I do know I have it. I don’t know if it’s from the lack of nurturing from my m. or also because it’s in my family. I would say a little bit of both. I also have a stammer or stutter whatever you want to call it. Not as bad as it was but it comes out in stressful/confrontational situations. I am very quick minded but not quick with my speech. Also sorry for any missing words in my blogs. My mind works so fast in what I want to say that my fingers cannot keep up and a lot of the times I miss out on words like  a, the, and, it’s, to, etc.

Let me tell you a little bit about my “lack of nurturing” from my m. This story whenever I tell it or think about it makes me want to cry. You know how your body reacts when someone offends you or treats you like you’re stupid. That is exactly how I felt everyday when I lived with her. Not only did I have to watch what I said but how much I would “bother” her.

She would close up the doors and have to take several naps throughout the day just to function. I doubt she was on any pills but she’d be out like a light. And never ever in a good mood. I was walking on egg shells everyday around her. She wasn’t someone you could be a noisy, regular, messy child around. You had to sit, play quietly and not be messy. When it was nice outside I would be locked out of the house sometimes until she decided to let me in. I was an only child at this point of my life and no friends allowed to come over either.

That part of my life doesn’t bother me. What bothered me most is when I would need help with something. If I had a question on spelling or needed know something she would say, “Well go look it up.” “Go figure it out.” In the meanest tone ever. It made me come to tears every single time. I could of asked her in the nicest way possible- it wouldn’t of made a difference. She would always SIGH the most dramatic sigh ever as if to imply I was imposing on her and her time. She would also roll her eyes at me. My heart would break because I felt so unwanted and stupid for not knowing. My eyes would well up with tears. My ears would ring and my cheeks would flush with embarrassment.

My dyslexia was worse when I was stressed and also my stammer. My brain just couldn’t find the words or if it did they would come out in jumbled mess or backwards. I felt like such an idiot- so I rarely spoke when stressed. I felt like the dumbest kid on earth. I still have trouble telling time on analog watch. I know what the numbers mean but numbers are so hard for me. Words move across the pages. I see them backwards at times. Especially when reading I could read the same line over and over and not know it. Or read a chapter in the book and not recall what I read or what the story was about.

Numbers are worse for me than words. Phone numbers, dates, addresses, math problems, money, time- I get it all switched around in my head. I can’t tell right from left barely. I always have to stop and think about it. Now  if that isn’t explained to a child, that child feels like the stupidest person alive. Words are so powerful. Everyone has their word  they believe about themselves at times when they are really down. Like loser, lazy, ugly, stupid, fat- everyone does. And that word at your lowest day creeps into your mind and you think about it over and over. Maybe not, maybe it’s just me but I do know when people are upset, down on themselves or feel like they’ve failed at something they say that one word that hits a nerve.

I am not saying my m. worsened my dyslexia but she did cause my stutter, stammer. I had developed that stammer all because of her lack of nurturing. I was never applauded or loved for accomplishments. I barely accomplished anything because it was never what I wanted to do. She cut me off, made me feel stupid and over time those nerves had an affect on me.

The one phrase she always says that still makes my heart jump when anyone says it is “Excuse me?” I think that is the rudest thing to say. Maybe not to you but I hate that phrase. She would always say that in some condescending tone when I said something she didn’t like, agree with or if she just didn’t want to answer me. She didn’t say it nicely but rather EXXX CUUUUSE ME? If that helps. lol. Another thing she did was sometimes she wouldn’t answer me at all. It was like I wasn’t even there.

As I grew up if I asked for help or a question and people ignored me- I would go into shut down mode immediately. I would think that they hated me, I was a waste of space and that I should just leave. When in reality, I have such a soft voice no one could hear me. I think I have a natural soft voice when asking a question is because I had to with my m. to avoid confrontation. Now I am getting better but if someone intimidates me for whatever reason I will use that same approach. Like a dog belly up to show submission.

Another thing I just realized as well is that each woman in my life (that sounds weird). Each woman that I know that is older than me- I treat like my mother. I see my mother. Not because they have the same qualities because they don’t. But because that is how warped my mind is. I want approval. I want attention, I want to be perfect, smart, impressive and I guess deep down prove to them I am worth the space.

I have to say to myself sometimes, “she is not my mother” to get my mind right. I guess that is also why I am so sensitive to women feedback and their judgements about me. Maybe if I get other women’s approval my m. will realize I am not that bad of a person. Maybe.

*                                               *                                                 *

As a side note- these blogs are helping me realize just how much my m. has affected me in my life. I hope to break the chains that hold me. I want to be free and finally be the person I want to be without having to fear “what will she think”.

Thank you all for the likes, the follows and the comments- it means a lot to me. In these blogs I am baring my soul for the first time ever and am very nervous to do so. The support from you helps encourage me that not all people think I am waste or crazy. 🙂

 

Alphabet Soup

A, B, C, D, E is where I stop. I used to be able to say the whole alphabet. Sounds weird right? Well, my alphabet wasn’t like yours (hopefully). There was a Bible verse tagged to each letter that I have to remember and recite. Every day my m. would drive me to school- I had to recite these verses with where they could be found in the Bible.

This is just the tip of the iceberg of my spiritual abuse. It goes deeper than this but this is a good start. I was actually driven away from Jesus because I thought he was only about rules, regulation, memorization and worse pleasing my m. She would twist and turn verses in order to make her point valid and to make me obey. I was never taught about his true love but I was able to recite it like word vomit.

A- Be sure that your attitude reflects that of Christ Jesus

B- Be sure that your sin will find you out

C- Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you

D- Do everything in love

E- …?

Those might not be completely accurate but I hope you get the point. It has been over 10 years ago and I still know some of those verses. When I was in my “prime” I would go through all the ABCs and started another set of memory verses in the same format of ABCs.

I did it please her because in my previous blog I told you as a young girl I made the connection that if I did what she wanted and did it perfectly- I would gain affection and approval from her. I desperately wanted that. I thought that was love.

Now that I am older I realize what a true mother’s love is supposed to be like. It isn’t earned. It isn’t fake. It isn’t based on accomplishments that she would approve of. It is unconditional- like Jesus’ love for us. But I also was given a very false impression of his love too. In my mind I thought that if this is how she is and Jesus is like this too, I really do not want to love him at all.

I do not know what her end goal was with me in teaching me all of those things but all it taught me was to despise it. She calls it love- I call it torture. I was forced to do things she wanted me to do, to learn and to grow into what she wanted for me. I forced to clean everything, cook, sew, learn the Bible, listen to the Bible on tape, listen to the Bible at night, watch Bible movies, go to Church, go to Vacation Bible school (which was just at our house with my cousins).

I understand chores and I do not disagree but to the extent of what I was doing- wasn’t right. Meals like breakfast were planned out each day what I was allowed to eat. I had a couple options and that was it. For a snack I was allowed either apple, banana or orange. I use to always take the apple because I would be so hungry  and now I cannot stand apples. I do not like to cook or sew now because it was forced on me. I can do a little bit of it but it is too much of a trigger for anger outbursts.

The really weird thing about church was we moved around from church to church. We never stayed at one long enough. I will let you in on a secret of why I suspect that is… she longs to be valued at a church. For example she wants to be put on this “you are an amazing woman” pedestal by providing for the church. At small churches she wants to be in charge of music, help out the youth, hold a women’s study, clean the church, provide for the sick, cook meals and more. She wants to be looked at like she is superwoman. If she can’t have that or if people start to question her she leaves the church. I remember for awhile we would have church at our own home just because we couldn’t find one.

I am not meaning to put her down or to paint her in a awful light. I am trying to process all of this to help myself realize she is sick. She is not normal. There is a complexity in telling my story. I want my voice to be heard but I do not want to hurt her. I want to protect her and make excuses for her. If she ever found out about this- I would be even more so uninvited and despised.

I feel like I am an awful child for speaking out about this which causes me stress and anxiety. I feel brave enough sometimes to speak but other times I feel like it’s all my fault and I am just putting it on her. I am so messed up myself from all the manipulation- I don’t know which way is up, right, or down.

Alphabet_soup

The Calendar

590

 

Imagine waking up every morning as a child and having to do things not just promptly with “joy” in your heart but someone else’s “perfect”. And then when it is not completed to the measure of their “prompt” or “perfect” you wouldn’t be able to go to school, eat a meal or worse you- you wouldn’t have the love and affection or approval from that person. You would be completely ignored, despised, looked down on and felt like a waste of space.

The icing on the cake would be is that you wouldn’t know if you “failed or achieved” that day until she decided when to put it up on the calendar. So don’t you dare make her mad on Wednesday or she will decide Monday is getting an X. Don’t you dare challenge her because she is always right. And finally, don’t you dare get three Xs in a row.

Everyday I would look at the calendar and just pray I wouldn’t get an X. I felt so horrible. I was a child! A child in need of love, affection, support and care.

So now imagine that child growing up and even though the child no longer lives with the abuser- the connection has already been made. Be perfect to get love. It wasn’t until just this past couple years I realized why my anxiety for disorder was in place. I felt everything had it’s home and if it wasn’t put in the home or if I didn’t get a lot done in that day I would have an X on my calendar, mentally.

When I am in her presence now as a young woman I still feel like a wounded 10 year old just waiting for mommy to love me and most importantly to want me.