Livin' my life in a slow hell...

I was asked recently how I was able to live my life knowing I was molested as a young girl. Being treated differently by my mom compared to my sister. Knowing that I lived with the pain I endured as a child, alone. No one knew what I had gone through. No one knew I had been molested by family. No one. Not even my sister, who knows everything about me, knew. I kept my mouth shut and my head down.

I honestly thought everything that had happened to me was my fault. My fault for not saying no. My fault for allowing a trusted adult to hurt me, like I've never been hurt before. I thought, since it was done to me, it was done to everyone. No one spoke of any wrong doing to others in my family. Not until I was much older, and deeper in my pain, was it acknowledged, by anyone other than myself, that our family wasn't as "good" as we thought. 

I learned how to "act" around my mom. Everything I did though, was in vain. The hurtful words were said. The discipline was enforced. My sister don't know how deeply I was hurt until much, much later. But she knew I needed taken care of the only way a sister knows how. She became, not only my "mom", but a "mom" to many other kids. 

I don't know how to explain how I lived after I was molested, and hurt, but I did. And survived. Having a shitty life thrust upon you is hard to deal with. But nothing is impossible or unmanageable. You just learn to listen to your surroundings, watch and see everyone that crosses your path. It's hell on the mind, being so observant, but it's amazing what your brain can handle. 

Livin life on my terms. Not life's

So. I had a question asked of me last week that got me thinkin'. Can I live life on life's terms without medication. No I can't live life without meds. I know what I'm like without meds. And it's scary deadly. 

Initially I got on anti-depressants to ease pms symptoms. Then it helped with the depression that I was trying to hide with booze. But I didn't work on myself then. I just thought I was "cured" and didn't need to drink because I was on Prozac. That turned out to be a big fat fucking NO! I was not cured. I was not anywhere near healthy. But I insisted I was. Even tried to get others to stop drinking because my life was so much better without booze. 

The truth is, an anti-depressant alone isn't enough. I needed to work on why I used, and what made me tick. I was so fucking scared to face my demons and hurts that I didn't want to even pack to go to treatment. But my sister being my sister, knew that I wasn't going to do what needed to be done. And so she packed my suitcase for me, and had me finish up by choosing my shirts that I wanted. 

Treatment fucking sucked balls. Seriously. I was a mess the first two and a half months. I let everyone know what happened to me growing up, and I've heard that others were able to heal by hearing my story. But once I was able to admit I had an addiction that I could not hide behind anymore, I started my healing process. And now I am able to face my predaters face to face and not bat an eye. They mean nothing to me now and have no power over me. 

I know that gradually tapering off an anti-depressant is an option. But it sure as hell isn't an option on going to consider so soon in my recovery. And I sure as hell won't get off birth control anytime soon either. But that is a whole other story that I won't get into this time around.

So will I live my life on life's terms? Fuck no. 

2-10-14

*huge sigh* Long time no blog. It's been years since I've seen you. Not that I didn't want to see you. It's just that I didn't want to see what's inside myself. That's what I use this blog for. Looking within to find words and feelings I've lost in the jumbled mess of my brain. 

I have gone through a lot of changes since the last time I was on. I had started drinking and drugging again. Gone through treatment and ceased drinking and drugging again. This time though, I am facing my demons, fighting through each agonizing and treacherous memory, thought, feeling - sober. 

I never in my wildest dreams would have thought I would be able to face my past sober. I thought I would just go through life a drunk, pain killer induced being running from my fears. But I was slapped in the face by my past and woke up in a place I never thought I would, the ICU, detoxing from the drugs that I ingested, trying to make the pain go away.  That is when I realized I needed more help than just myself, and the wine I used to numb the pain.

I've come to the realization that there are many things out of my control. The words my mom uses towards me. The way others perceive me, no matter how open and honest I am. I can only control myself, and my thoughts and actions.

Most days I don't even want to leave my apartment, or shower, or even eat when I am hungry. I can blame it on my depression. But I can also put it all on myself because my depression does not own me. I cannot let it consume every waking minute of me. Easier said than done, right? Wrong. All I have to do is go to the kitchen and make myself something to eat. Go to the bathroom and take a shower. Work on the packet that has been sitting on my floor since I brought it from my last meeting with my clinician. I physically tell myself to do these things, then do them. Easier said then done.

It's not easy being me. It's not eat knowing there is a world of people I can call, or text, or message when I am feeling down. Once I feel this way, it's hard for me to tell others what is going on with me. I don't want them to know I can't get out of bed. That I can't bring myself to eat when hungry. I don't want anyone to know how human I really am. And that thought frightens me.