Run or Stay
I spun a web of angst.
Drawing forth pieces of a puzzle.
Maybe they weren’t meant to be assembled
Maybe I sped up the process
Never knowing, the outcome arrived.
Learn to weave a different type of web
I’d been traveling in Nepal for a few months; I felt a great amount love toward so many people I’d met. Their openness and kindness astounded me. I’d met so many people I could trust, and when I met one I couldn’t, I wasn’t expecting it. We met in a mundane way, an interaction like dozens of others - just small talk. He suggested we go get coffee and I agreed. He reminded me of a friend from home, thoughtful … if maybe a bit dark. We spoke about our lives, about our families, our schools, our hopes for the future.
The months leading up to the trip had been the most magical of my short, sweet life. I’d gradually become closer to a old friend, Elijah. He’s the best person I’ve ever met, yet I pushed him away for years. He persisted, waited, he wrote songs, traveled far to see me. Finally, I stopped pushing him away. He’d sing me to sleep, then drive half an hour back home. We took walks late at night while the fireflies buzzed around. We took out the canoe we’d bought the year before onto the lake in the moonlight. We went to a contra dance for his birthday - he wore a floral skirt, we went to New York with a friend and rode the ferry until 4 in the morning. I slept on the floor of the subway in his arms while the sun came up.
It’s A Long Road To Freedom
When I was little, my big brother would (in a good-natured way - never seriously!) hold my head under water until I thought I was going to drown, and then pull me up at what I thought was the last possible minute of life. I feel that way now - in my marriage. I feel like I’m drowning over and over and at the last possible second of life for some reason I pull myself back up for a gulp of air and then the cycle begins again.
I know I need help. I know that I am probably at the emotional breakage point of needing to be committed. I know that at any second I feel like I am just going to not do it anymore - I am not going to pull myself up and I am just going to let myself drown.
Still Very Fresh
Wow, this is really hard to write. I’ve never written about it before.
I’m 22. I was raped in June of 2012.
I was at a party for my friend’s brothers-in-law’s high school graduation. I thought I could relax and have a good night. My friend was trying to hook me up with one of the brothers, but he was 18 and I was 20. I didn’t like younger guys, so I wasn’t really interested.
We were drinking. I remember I only had two drinks, but I couldn’t walk, and I was throwing up so much. I would even black out for a minute and not remember how I got into another room.
I wanted to go home so bad, but my so-called friend said, “Its okay, just lay down.” Stupid me, I did. The one brother came in and got in the bed next to me. The other one laid down on the floor. I didn’t want him in bed with me, but she told me it was okay. I SHOULD NEVER HAVE LISTENED TO HER!
Stockholm Suicide Survivor
When I was in college, I met someone. After six months, we moved in together. He was about four years older than me, very caring and dedicated, a successful young engineer with a brilliant mind.
About four years later, he started to act odd, eccentric at times. I didn’t think much of it, thinking it was just related to all his responsibilities at work. But after a few months, something took over him. He wasn’t just in a weird mood for an hour or two, it was all the time.
One evening, I was going to walk to the corner store, but he blocked my way to the door. He wouldn’t let me leave because he didn’t want anything to happen to me. He said they would get me. I just thought he didn’t want me walking alone, so I told him to come with me. As I moved past him to open the door, he threw me many feet away, and said, “You don’t understand how they know it all. They get all the information from listening to all phone calls, reading all mail, and they see us when we watch the TV.” I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing.
I Need Help
There. I said it.
But why do I feel so bad about it?
Why do I feel as though I’m not deserving? That my problems aren’t “bad enough”?
Will anyone help me?
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what my options are. Do I even have any?
You see, I’m a 23 year old wife and mother. I’ve been a stay at home mom for the past two years and haven’t worked since March 2011.
"You’re SOOOO lucky! I wish I could be you."
No, no you don’t.
I know I’m lucky. I know most parents would LOVE to be able to be a stay at home parent. I know I am lucky to have a husband who has a government job and gets a VA disability check every month from being in the army and injuries he gained (both physically and mentally) from his deployments to Iraq.
Feeling Responsible For My Abuser’s Happiness
Everyone tells me I have suffered a lot of abuse, but the people who have hurt me have told me that what happens to me doesn’t matter. I have difficulty getting angry with my abusers and instead feel sorry for them and let them hurt me more.
In addition, my mother was violent towards me and tied me up when I was little. She also bashed me into my metal bed frame and left bruises that she made me cover up when I went to school.
Someone I Trusted
I really don’t want to go into too much detail, but I was raped a few weeks ago. I didn’t even register that what happened to me was rape, I blocked it from my memory.
After a bunch of my friends and I hung out for the night, I went back with two of my close friends, both were guys. My one friend left, and I stayed to finish the rest of the movie we were watching. We started making out, which I wasn’t okay with, but I didn’t stop him. But then he made advances to other areas, and before I knew it, we were having sex. I was too in shock to react, so I didn’t fight back, I just didn’t know what to do.
When he forced me to perform oral sex, I said no over and over. He grabbed my head and I couldn’t pull away hard enough. We stopped after this, and I went home.
It wasn’t until a few days afterwards that I realized what he did was wrong, and that I was raped. I didn’t consider that option because he was my friend, but it happened.
Self-Inflicted Repetition Of Emotional Abuse
When I was young, my bedroom was in the basement. My father was mentally, emotionally, and physically abusive and when he would send me to my room he would say, “Go to your hole.”
Thirty years later, my husband and I (both disabled) were living in an apartment that was so dark that we were literally living in a hole. I didn’t even realize it until we bought our house.
The physical abuse left visible scars but the emotional abuse is even worse because sometimes you don’t even realize the self-inflicted scars that you carry for the rest of your life.
Alcoholism: My Uncle Bob
My uncle is an alcoholic. He’s been one for years. I just recently found out about it last year. I was never close to him, he’s barely an uncle to me, but he happens to be very close to my mom.
He had a company in California and the economy started going down hill so he lost everything. He is now in a different state. He was in a relationship with a woman who manipulated him and ultimately brought him down. My mom went down to his place to see him. He said to her that if his parents (my grandparents) weren’t alive, he’d be dead. He was very suicidal. My mother had to forcefully take a knife out of his hand so he wouldn’t slit his wrists.
All Is Lost…
I don’t know where to begin. Too much has happened in my life, it even seems unreal to me at times. My coping mechanisms are different than most people because I have Dissociative Identity Disorder, or DID for short. I will try to be as clear as I can about the events while protecting myself from the grief.
The first trauma - I was sexually abused by an older brother from ages of 5 until 9. That is when my DID began. When I was 9 years old, my mom committed suicide. Her suicide had 2 lasting effects on my life- 1st, it sent my abuser away to live in another state and 2nd, it formed a wall inside of me that will always and forever prevent me from taking my own life.
My twin brother and I went to live with our paternal grandparents. It was not always easy there. I don’t think or believe the same as the rest of my relatives, so while not exactly worthy of outright hate, I was not worthy of unconditional love either. I tried to earn love and respect by getting good grades in school, but that only seemed to alienate me further. My grandparents were hard working farmers and completely illiterate. I would keep my mouth shut, so my “book learnin” wasn’t quite so obvious.
Some days I move forward. I think about you. But I’m able to smile and not get sucked in. I remember, but I don’t cry.
I see your face on my phone. It’s there always. All the time. And I smile.
"Hi, Daddy." That’s what I say. I smile, say that, and I’m okay.
And then the other days. They suck.
I cry. Hard.
I remember the fear. The feeling I felt when I heard the words.
I replay the moments in between knowing something was wrong and knowing you were gone.
I hear my brother’s voice.
My heart hurts so very much.
I just came across this website and it seemed like it could really help me. I’m not going to lie, I’m really scared to share my story. I’ve been told “just get over it” and lost friends over it. But I’m taking a chance. So here it is.
I’m 19. I’ve been going to therapy for about a year and a half now. I suffer from depression and anxiety and I have most of my life. Growing up was hard for me. My dad was a really angry man. He came from an abusive home. I remember hearing about a story where his dad kicked him and broke his hand, but I guess we pretend like that never happened.
It started when I was probably about 3 and my dad started spanking me. I personally don’t believe in spanking kids, but I understand the idea behind it. I don’t think it’s always a horrible thing. But this was different. I was scared to make any little mistake. If I spilled a drink on the floor, my dad would tell me to go wait in my room for him to spank me. These are my most painful memories.