Physical & Emotional

scars

 

“There are so many secret wounds, so many types of hidden scars. The soul, being stronger than we think, can survive all mutilations and the marks upon it make it perfect and complete.”

This is from the PBS series Call The Midwife Season 6 episode 6. I love this series because of all of the stories of true life. It’s not just in today’s society we see aweful injustices on women. It’s been happening for years, behind closed doors, victims kept silent.

The ending spoken narrative, stuck with me. Something to reflect on.

 

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Blogiversary

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I started this blog one year ago in an effort to work through my past and present realities. I’ve grown in knowledge based on putting my feelings and experiences into words. I’ve made some amazing “blogging” friends who have similar experiences in life. I’ve even managed to piss some people off.

My goal was to create a space where I could raise awareness to CPTSD, and it evolved from there. I wish I could be writing more currently, but my health isn’t allowing it. My “brain fog” is a mother fucker at its best. So while I’m not able to put feelings and thoughts into words, I’m still going to do my best to raise awareness.

Thank you to those of you who have been loyal readers, without you…I have no voice.

Katy…the Rough Draft (Part I)

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I believe all masterpieces were created through several rough drafts. A masterpiece comes in many different forms and mediums. Such as oil vs. watercolor, Broadway play vs. film, novel vs. television and food vs. food.

I believe both of my son’s are masterpieces, each unique and beautiful in their own way.

There are flaws in a masterpiece, but only the artist knows of them all. What we see as a possible flaw could have been meant to happen by the artist; therefore I feel critic’s are a waste of space and time. A masterpiece is in the eye of the beholder.

I also believe that God created us each unique and each a masterpiece per His great design.

I also believe that a masterpiece evolves and can continuously be altered, added to or adjusted. For example, Oscar-Claude Monet didn’t conduct just one painting titled Water Lilies. Monet painted over 30 variations, presumably to create each very distinctly, yet with just enough difference you can tell them apart. At least to the trained eye you can identify them.

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What I love about his work are the combinations of color, chaos, free-flowing brush strokes and depth. This is how I feel God created me. I have various colors I portray, I’m not typically just a sterile white, I have several colorful moods I vacillate through. I am not a super intense person about most things, I’m free-flowing and laid back.  There’s a depth to me most will never see on the surface. My mind is in such chaos at times I feel like a tornado sucking up everything in its path.

To know this piece of work, you need to take the time to get to know me. By this time in my life per the blog, I am about 22 years old. I have many appreciations and gifts for who I am and what I have.

Physically I no longer looked like I was 14. I actually started looking more like a woman with curves. Still slender, brown hair, big green eyes, classy dress for work and play.

For employment I was in a career by my own doing, starting off as a receptionist and working my way up in a financial analyst industry. Which is funny to me now, especially since I failed geometry and had to take math for dummies to make up the credit.  Watching my mother and father, who were both professionals, I watched them and absorbed their mannerisms.  I was excellent at customer service and making clients feel important. I cared for them like I’d know them for years. I was well-known for what I did and I loved it.

My domain was perfect and living on my own was liberating, in a little “matchbox” sized house I rented. I’d decorate it from garage sale finds. Heck at Christmas it was decked out, but I don’t think I ever invited anyone over to see it or visit. It was mine and I was “playing” house.

Financially I was able to buy my first new car on my own.  Little red semi sports car. I was so proud of it. I wasn’t a frivolous spender, I watched my money closely. Very responsible.

Relationships were few and far between. I had a couple that were very serious and would have gone somewhere. Yet one had cheated on me,  which ruined the trust factor and reminded me of my father. The other was emotionally destructive, couple bouts of violence and I was done.  I wasn’t sleeping around and just enjoyed life.

My family at this point was scattered. I tried to build a relationship with Joan, it was important to me, maybe hoping she would see how well I was doing on my own. Hoping she would be proud of me..looking for the nod of acceptance. Clint was still in California and we spoke every few weeks. Our closeness went away, his wife basically shamed him when talking to me. Sis moved to California to live with our Father and start over. I guess when I look back, Joan wanted me around more after Sis left.

Spiritually I believed in God and Jesus Christ as my savior. I was baptized non-denominational at age 5. Yet we never went to church, not even on Christmas Eve or Easter. I longed to understand more about the bible. I tried reading it, I didn’t understand it. I’d go to church with my paternal grandmother, it was a Baptist church, I felt like a big piece of sin when I left. I never went back. I’d have moments of feeling lost and unattached, I’d drive up the mountain and go to the beautiful church I was baptized at and just sit.  I felt so safe there. I’d cry. Pray and talk to God and then go home, never to return until that feeling of emptiness came back.

Deep down I was confident in what I knew and I portrayed that confidence in all that I did and how I looked. I was tender-hearted and clearly a caregiver at heart, I helped anyone I could with anything they needed. I was hungry for life and to learn more. I could analyze any situation rather quickly. I thought I wanted to be a career woman with a lot of options to go anywhere anytime. Yet I yearned to be married, to be with a man who would love me unconditionally and take care of me, have babies with. Make a life of longterm, one of which I never had as a child.

This is who I was as a young adult from the foundation laid out for me. Damn if I could go back to when I was 11 with the knowledge I had at this point, was a lot of the thoughts I had during this time.

Naive little piggy.

Ephesians 2:10 NLT

10 For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago.

 

The Pig of Teen Sexual Assault

I recently watched a documentary about teen sexual assault in today’s world and the use of smart phones and social media.

The title is “Audrie and Daisy” and aired on FX and now available on Netflix. If you are or know a preteen or teenage girl or boy, you have to watch this.  As a parent or adult in a young adults life, this documentary will open your eyes to so much!

Rape culture isn’t new, but in the world of technology that’s clearly smart and new, we ALL have to take a stand against it. I can’t even comprehend what I would have done if my rape was taped and plastered all over the internet.  I do know that suicide would have been pondered and most likely accomplished.

The bravery and strength these young women have shown by speaking out is astronomical!  The parents that have spoken out are just as brave and strong. So many people choose to point fingers and judge; WHICH IS NOT HELPFUL IT’S DESTRUCTIVE!

Please watch this documentary. Please teach the young people in your life about rape, sexual assault, alcohol, narcotics, safe boundaries, bullying and how to stand up for what’s right.

You can obtain further information at http://www.audrieanddaisy.com as its time to cut this pigs throat.

My heart, love and prayers go out to all these beautiful young ladies.

The Promiscuous Pig

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Sounds like the title of a children’s book. ..in a jacked up sort of way it is.

Experiencing an abandonment in my preteens, then being raped in my teens coupled with poor self-esteem because I was never good enough for my mother and stepmother…I viewed sex in an unhealthy way.  My parents NEVER spoke to me about sex…NEVER!  Plus it was the 80’s where big hair rocker bands had women falling all over them, when MTV actually played music videos of sex & drugs with provocatively dressed women being promiscuous.  THAT’S where I learned about sex.

In a sick way I was trying to “make” a guy like me and want to stay with me. I thought it would happen through sex and that was my “tool” to get them to stay.  Well they didn’t stay, in fact they knew how to “use” me to get what they wanted.  Then tossed me away along with the condom we used…IF we used one.

Are you now questioning in your mind “how stupid could she be”?  I wasn’t stupid, I was uneducated, no one invested their time in me to teach me nor make me feel valued.  I know my reputation was dirt by the end of my junior year of high school, but that didn’t stop my behavior.  Plus I wasn’t the only one.

I look back now through my life and can see that promiscuity played a huge role until 10 years ago.  Anytime I felt not good enough, insecure, break up with a boyfriend or divorced…the promiscuous pig reared is ugly head.

Besides a bad reputation, I suffered and still suffer for my poor choices. I never got pregnant but I did get venereal diseases.  I first contracted venereal warts, treatment at that time was slicing them off with a scalpel without numbing, then cauterizing with a small burning tool.  Also used liquid nitrogen to freeze and burn them off.  Basically PAINFUL!

Secondly I caught chlamydia, which was treated with antibiotics through a painful injection. Caught this a couple of times.

My life long mistake was genital herpes.  Caught this in my twenties and has been a humiliating, shameful and destructive disease since.

Why did I choose pictures of Jodie Foster roles as my top picture for this topic? Because 1. She’s my most favorite actress and 2. These 3 roles defined me psychologically. I was a young promiscuous teen who could have ended up as a prostitute, I had a dysfunctional family who didn’t teach me the basics in life about sex and I behaved many times as her characters did in those movies.

It wasn’t until I discovered and learned why I behaved this way that I stopped being promiscuous. Not until I was in my 30’s. Then I discovered Jesus and learned that God loves me no matter what I’ve done and He’s not ashamed of me. That through grace He understands, but that it doesn’t mean I can still behave that way without consequences.  I learned why my body is a temple, it’s the vessel God gave me to be on this earth and I am to treat this gift with respect and love. Not defile it to get what I want.  There’s so much more there, but I was redeemed and still am!

Promiscuity will kill you, emotionally and eventually physically through contracting a terminal illness. Whether it’s HIV or cancer from venereal warts, or severe depression which could be a life sentence of hell.

It’s a pig I no longer wish to put lipstick on. This pig has been sacrificed.

Learn more about teen sex and promiscuity at:  http://www.troubledteens.biz/causes-of-sexual-promiscuity-in-teens/

 

The Aftermath of Rape

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It didn’t take long for the symptoms to hit me after that night.  I went through a myriad of emotions that came at me like a deck of cards beings flung towards my head.

  • Depression
  • Flashbacks
  • Insomnia
  • Guilt
  • Anger

I pulled away from my regular friends, the other cheerleaders, my dad, step-mom and baby brother.  I kept replaying the rape but recreating the end result of me kicking his ass.  I’d get to a point where I’d want to tell someone, but then remember that I put myself in that situation and it was my fault.  I’d become embarrassed to say it out loud.  Instead I internalized it and decided to not tell anyone.

I then began to act out which was later suggested was Borderline Personality Disorder, with symptoms of:

  • Identity Crisis
  • Emotional Instability
  • Impulsivity
  • Chronic Feeling of Emptiness

I started to hang out with different clicks that were considered risky teens, back then they were labeled “Mods” also known as “Goth”.  I would sneak out at night and go to parties.  Cut off all my hair.  Wear different clothes.  Then became best friends with an extremely emotionally disturbed girl.  We started snorting crank and dropped acid once.

Then before I knew it, two and a half months had passed and I hadn’t gotten my period since the rape…oh shit!  I had a journal, but I never admitted in it that I had been raped.  Writing it down made it too real and scary, but I did journal my concern of being pregnant and “what if”.  I had no idea who to turn to or where to go.

After a couple of weeks I came home from school and my step-mom was standing in the kitchen with the bitchiest look of hate on her face. She pointed to the table where my journal was laying.  Well shit.

No questions asked, no sit down calmly and talk and no empathy.  All she said was “I’ve made an appointment for you at Planned Parenthood. You better pray to God you aren’t pregnant. I mean how stupid could you be?  You will have an abortion. Go up to your room I can’t stand to even look at you.”

I now know that because of my changes in behavior she and my dad decided to search my room for drugs and found my journal.  Then, all I felt was shame, guilt, fear, horror and sick to my stomach.  But with a crazy sense of relief, because I was going to get the help I needed. At least I got the physical help I needed.

By the grace of God I wasn’t pregnant.  The Nurse Practitioner said it must have been stress related since I had my first sexual intercourse.  She never asked if I was raped, I would have said yes, but she didn’t ask so I figured she didn’t care.

After that day my stepmother hated me.  I became her little bitch in so many ways.  My father never spoke to me about it until I was like 27 yrs old.

Also during this time, my stepmother Velma, her mother had moved in with us. Her name was Mary.  Mary was an alcoholic for 12+ years with moments of sobriety in between.  After a couple of months living with us, I was up in my room and I could hear my dad screaming at Mary and Velma.  Then he came to my room and came up the stairs and sat down on my bed and calmly asked me, “Katy. I know it’s been really hard on you lately and I need you to be honest with me. Have you been drinking hard liquor?”

Blew me away! Why? Because I hadn’t been. I hated the taste of it, especially the Canadian Club Whiskey they always kept a case of.  “No dad I swear to you I haven’t been drinking. I hate that stuff. Why do you think I’ve been drinking?” Then he told me that he and Velma noticed the bottle had been emptier than before, so they spoke with Mary to see if she started drinking again and she denied it. Yet she quickly pointed out my bad behavior over the past 5 months and it was probably me drinking it all.

That night ended ok for me as dad believed me, he knew I wasn’t lying. Plus I was terrified of him and he knew it, his temper was fucking scary! Mary on the other hand got her ass handed to her and Velma got her ass handed to her because she was quick to agree to blame me. That night I slept good, but it was the last of many sleepless nights.

From that point forward I became enemy number 1 for Velma and Mary.  Until 2 months later, after I finished my freshman year and moved back home with Joan.  Two alcoholic narcissists are WAY worse than one, I had to choose my battles and those two were more than I could bear.

I basically got to run away. I left the rapist and 2 narcissists, thinking I could start over and new.  I just didn’t realize that the emotional shit storm of the rape would follow me, coupled with being an insignificant pig to all women in my life…would exhaserbate the Borderline Personality Disorder.

Teen Rape in the 80’s

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***WARNING MAY TRIGGER RELAPSE***

In the middle of 8th grade I decided I could no longer live with my mom, I yearned for a home where I was included and loved…significant.  My dad moved to California with his new wife Velma.  I visited them over summer and spring breaks and it was always so wonderful.  Always had dinner at the table together, took day trips to tour Cali, cleaned house together, worked in the yard together…real family stuff.  I felt included.

 

I took the leap of faith and left all my friends to move from an area of mountainous beauty to the ocean.  Moving to a new area at 14 is scary and invigorating at the same time.  I didn’t know anyone, I stuck out like a sore thumb.  I came from a place where you wore Levi’s 501 button fly jeans to miniskirt central.  Yet I was a friendly survivor able to adapt to any situation at hand, a core trait I learned at such a young age of alcoholism and narcissism.

 

By freshman year, which was still considered Junior High School, I had friends from all circles and clicks.  The teachers loved me, I increased my GPA from 2.1 to 3.5, I was a teachers assistant, the administrative office hung my artwork in their offices, I played softball AND was 1 of 6 girls chosen to be a cheerleader.  Cheer leading in Cali is competitive, not about popularity, flat-out skill.  I felt like I was on top of the world.  Yet I couldn’t seem to get a boyfriend, I was a virgin and I didn’t dress provocatively.  Velma and dad made sure I always looked classy and fashionable.  Most of my friends weren’t virgins, spoke of sex a lot, dabbled in drugs, had parties, etc.

 

There was one boy I was interested in and I’m pretty sure I made myself look like an idiot each time he was around.  By January of that year I know he knew I liked him, then all of a sudden he took interest in me.  Talked to me, sat with me at lunch, flirted, kidded around and showed me interest.  It meant a lot to me.  I wasn’t the prettiest in school, extremely skinny and underdeveloped.  I considered myself pretty enough, many of the other boys flirted with me and were awkward around me; but this other boy….I was drawn to him.  On a Saturday night he invited me over to his house for a movie night with a group of friends.  WOW!  I was so excited an all giddy to go, dad was okay with it…so I went.

 

I dressed cute.  I wore a jean-skirt, kind of mini but not too short, tank top with a button-up sleeveless shirt over it.  When dad dropped me off, he was to come back and get me at 11:00pm, no problem.  I thought I was one of the first to arrive.  Because it was only Jake and this other boy Jon.  We all sat in the den, drinking sodas and talking.  An hour went by and no one else showed up, I asked Jake where everyone else was, he said they all must have changed their minds or their stupid parents wouldn’t let them come over.  In my mind, okay no big deal, lets watch a movie.

 

Then he offered to give me a tour of his house. In my mind his parents were there, most likely in their room allowing the teenagers to chill together.  He took me to his bedroom, it was covered in posters of Depeche Mode and The Cure. He closed the door and walked straight up to me and started kissing me. My heart was fluttering and beating so fast. He sat me on his bed, kept kissing me and leaned me backwards to lay down. I don’t remember how long we were kissing for, I just remember the force.

 

In a flash he was sitting on me over my waist, hands above my head and wrists in his grasp.  With his free hand he shoved a sock in my mouth and then shoved my skirt up and ripped my panties off.  I tried so hard to straighten and squeeze my legs together, wiggling around.  I was just to small and had no ability to fight.  He kept saying, “Relax. This is what you wanted.  Just let it happen.”  I couldn’t scream, couldn’t say no and had to stop fighting it. It seemed like forever, but it was only like 10 minutes at most. I just don’t remember.

 

Then he got up and was buttoning his shorts. Told me to clean myself up and come out to the den when done.  My panties were ripped so I shoved them in my skirt pocket. I was shaking. Frantic and just wanted to go home.  This was all my fault, I should have never flirted with him, I should have not let him kiss me or sit me on the bed.  I put myself into that position.  It was like 10pm and if I had called my dad to come get me he would have asked me why along with 10 other questions. I went and sat down on the couch back in the den and watched the clock as if it were in slow motion get to 11pm.  Jake and Jon were sitting there talking like nothing had happened. Did Jon know what Jake did?

 

I was embarrassed and humiliated. I took complete ownership for what happened.  I lost my innocence and identity in one night.  Dad honked the horn and I’m pretty sure I ran out of that house.  Got home, took a bath and cried into the hand towel.  I told no one.

 

On Monday at school I created a facade of happiness and fun, had to pretend to be me.  I never spoke to Jake again. This is when I started to change for the worse and started to create an alternative identity.  No longer innocent.  Clearly not wanted by boys unless I’d have sex with them.  Insignificant AGAIN!