Monday, February 4, 2008

Where's the Line Between Reality and Dissociating?

NOTE: This blog contains graphic content, language and "triggers" (sights, sounds, colors, phrases and more) that can be disturbing/dangerous to PTSD survivors. If these bother you, stop reading now. If not, keep going. And please pass this blog onto anyone that it might help.

2ND NOTE: This blog contains extremely graphic content, language and triggers. If these bother you, stop now. Otherwise, keep going.

My therapist and I talk a lot about where's the line between reality and dissociating? Dissociating is a coping mechanism that all trauma survivors use to stay alive during and after what happened to them. But, everyone recovers at different rates. Some people using EMDR, cognitive (talk therapy) and more can recover in 6 months to a year. Severe cases can take up to many years before there's some relief.

In my case, we're talking about 35 years of abuse (rape, verbal, emotional and physical). And now, at times it's getting harder and harder to stay in reality. Last night I had physical flashbacks that for a while wouldn't stop. The psycho pedophile m****rf****r that raped me was behind me and had me in headlock. Over and over I broke his hold, whipped around and stabbed him, shot him and f*****g beat him to death. I grabbed an opener and wasn't sure where I was. All I knew is it's either me or him. And I am NOT going to just f*****g roll over and die. I tried to ground myself, but nothing worked. Is he dead? Is he still here? What do I do now? And still the flashbacks kept coming. Now I have to check every inch of my apt. Is he in here? Is there somebody else? Do I call 911? What if they don't believe me? Can't call other numbers because they don't know anything. My therapist? Can't call him. So what do I do? I prowl around with the opener in my hand looking all over. I am not going to f*****g be used by that sick m****rf****r ever again. I'll f*****g kill his sick psycotic ass before I let that happen.

I look everywhere and there's nothing. Am I safe now? I'm in my apt., I know that. But am I safe? Is something going to happen to me? Am I going to die? No. He f*****g dies first, c**ks****r. I'll cut you into f*****g pieces, bitch. Nobody listens and nobody cares. I can't and won't go back to taking meds because that's a waste of time. It's a band-aid that doesn't get to the core of the problem. Does this happen to all survivors? My therapist says nobody's ever disappeared and never come back. I've disappeared more than once in the past. I came back and had no idea where I was.

Now, what do I do if this hapens again? Sometimes it does and I kill him with anything I can. My therapist says it's the trauma coming out. But what do you do when you're in a public place and flashbacks happen? What do I do then? The whole freaking world never cared about me up till now. I seriously doubt they'd try to now. So what do I do in that situation? I don't know.

Many times I still feel on edge. Sometimes the emptiness hits hard and you just curl up and don't know what to do. If someone is too close to me, are they going to jump me? What do I do? What do I grab to kill them? I am not going to be f****d over ever again.

I try to find help for PTSD in other places. But 99.9% of it is all "scientific studies". There's literally no place in the States that's specifically for PTSD help 24/7. Right now, I have to call abroad to get the proper help. In the place with "the greatest health care in America."

The flashbacks still come. No, this sick asshole didn't shove his dick up my ass. No, he is NOT butt f*****g me all over again. So why do the flashbacks keep coming. At night, sometimes I can't tell the difference between reality and dissociating. Is the ex gf real or not? There's nobody there. It's a empty pillow. Nothing there. No hot body, nothing. This is your hand touching the sheets and an empty pillow. Nobody is next to you, holding you or on top of you. It's just you. So why is it so hard at times to see that? My fight-or-flight reflex is still stuck much of the time. What takes other people a split second to do takes me hours. Imagine doing this EVERY DAY 24/7. You wonder, will I ever get past this?

I think about pulling out the steak knife at times. But what would that accomplish? Nothing. I will NEVER give those sick assholes the satisfaction.

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