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Not Another Post!

15 Mar

It is true, I post alot and I post things that I think in everyday life. I share my innermost thoughts and share some very sensitive things that not everyone wants to read. I know how some of the things that I say must feel to others, some roll their eyes and think that I am sharing way too much and care not to read about my life, while others (I have heard) think that it is inspiring and brave to share my story.

Now, Anxiety plays a roll in my life DAILY, while depression comes along every once in a while. But the true fact of the matter is that I cannot get out of my own head. Every day I refer to my abuse as a child, every day I wonder who I would have been without it happening to me. Every day I worry about the same thing happening to my children, which causes panic in me. I worry the most about this. I have little “worst case scenarios” that play in my head every time they go play outside. I think of someone preying on them, taking them and abusing them and worse. I shudder every time and it takes everything that I have in my to not call them back inside where I have constant control of the environment.

Today while I was preparing supper, I was thinking of how they will turn out when they are grown, how they will look, what kind of men they will be when they are older. I daydream things like that while I am alone. I predict what they will look like and what career they will strive for. Then, Mr. Anxiety shows up and I start wondering how I am going to cope letting them go….letting them move out of the house and be their own people. Having their own homes and going off to university, and their safety. This is what I worry about the most. Who is going to be there to keep them safe? Car accidents, freak things happen, and even murders. What the hell would I do then? I don’t know if I could bear it. I know, it turns selfish, it sounds selfish as I read what I write, but  I cannot help it…..this is the monster called Anxiety. This is catastrophic thoughts. This is a disorder. I cannot switch it off.

I am trying. I am really trying. I meditate and I am looking in to learning Reiki. I want to become a Reiki master. It would fit well with my husbands Holistic Nutrition and I dream that we can have our own little slice of “heaven” and do things the Holistic way and be able to sustain our finances while doing it. Ah, to dream!

But,I do think it’s  getting better, I seem to have  more of a grip on reality, which is what it feels like I have a lack of when having an anxiety attack.

Yes, it is yet again, another post about anxiety, about my struggle…..but it is real. It never leaves me.

I was trying to explain to my husband how it feels every day to be in my head. What I think of and how I cope. I told him this ” the first blowjob I ever gave was when I was 3 years old”. That is a hard pill to swallow. That makes you imagine it, to see it and fills you with so many emotions. Yes, it is true. I remember what it looked like and I remember how I felt and the hesitation and ultimately the trust that I put into that one person who I was raised like a sister to. It fills me with all sorts of emotions, and to let someone know how it feels is impossible unless they have been through it, but this is the only way that I could  verbalize the actual brutality of what was done to me. Plus, I think that it is a way to start getting prepared to tell my story to someone else who could really help me. Yes, Mark made me do  all sorts of things and he touched me where he shouldn’t have. The one good thing that I can say is that he did not mess with my virginity. He abused me from the time I was 2 or 3 until I was 5, and then again when I was 10. Only to have my first real sexual experience end up in rape, that was another story with another abuser.

Yes, anxiety is in my life forever. Yes, I will talk about it again. No, I will not shut up. It is real. Yes, it is REAL. I am jumpy, I scare easily and I feel like I am always scared. I try everyday to be better. I suffer everyday. I see the depths of my own hell as no one else can see.

I have taken you on a little voyage of my reality. The glasses are far from rose coloured. I feel better when I know I am just listened to. I feel justified in my fears and weirdness and quirks when people know my story. They see the “why”, not just me as I am now, as the result of the past, the pain. It’s a hard story to tell, but I know it must be hard to read as well. People are either disgusted and don’t want to read it, or are sympathetic and want to know my story or they are disaster whores, the ones who love to see the gore, who dive right into other people’s pain to feel better about their life.

I am okay with it all. As they say, everyone has a story, this is yet another post about it, but it is my Story. My Life as it is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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