trauma
At its core, trauma can be thought of as the psychological wounds that persist, even when the physical ones are long gone.
Navigating Trauma
One thing I learned early on is everyone has different forms of trauma. I want to share some background before I dive into the healing process. I grew up in a poor household that held a lot of neglect and abuse for me and my 5 siblings. Looking back, I describe my childhood as a whole different life than the one I am living now. On top of neglect and abuse, we also spent long periods of time in the Foster Care System. If anyone has lived part or all of their life in Foster Care, you know that there is abuse and neglect that can be worse than the environment that you were taken out of. In our situation, we were taken because or mother chose to continue using drugs over working to get her children back. Her choices led to all of us getting split up and living separately. I was adopted at 11 years old and spent the next 9 years as an only child. I never had the chance to process my past in a healthy manner and as a child, that caused me to struggle a lot. I didn't allow people to get close to me, I felt that I had to do everything on my own and I did not allow myself to get close to people. Once I felt safe and happy I would cause problems to separate myself from those feelings, which resulted in hurting myself and/or those around me.
By Paige Gray5 years ago in Psyche
Scars they cannot see
Maybe you experience this yourself or know someone who does, maybe you've seen a person who does and may not know they do. Unfortunely in the world we live in now, there are still people who see physical scars and are disgusted. There still people who think it does not need to be done, there are still people who sit wonder why someone just ended their life. There are still people who claim they did not need to do that to themselves and that they were there for them. But in reality maybe they were not there at the right times.
By Sophie larissa5 years ago in Psyche
The Trauma in My Mind
What I went through it was never easy. I have had many traumatic experiences. I could tell you story after story about all the heartache that I suffer. I felt like I was trapped in a Mexican soap opera. I did not think that anyone else could understand what I am going through. You see the trauma I went through followed me through the years. I kept waiting for the drama in my life to stop, but it followed me and it was painful through my life.
By Gina R (Gibana)5 years ago in Psyche
There is life after Sexual Trauma
I am a woman now at the age of 41, but my trauma started at age 9. I loved spending the summer with my Granny and Papa because it meant I got to drive the riding mower or pickup out to check on the cows. I got to be a free spirited little girl with the world at my fingertips. All the girls in my family was always told to not sit on Papa's lap or watch out for Jay when he is drinking and as an innocent soul I didn't know why. Now I do. My grandfather sexually abused me from the age of 9 to 12. Every summer. He said it was how he showed his love but even at such a young age I knew that was not love. Love does not make you feel that way. It first started with him just touching me on top of my clothes and by the time I got my voice and said no my innocence was gone. He would let me drive the pickup to the store to get me alone and secluded from everyone so he could touch me and when I would tell him no he would force his hands down my pants. One summer he created a project for me to do with him so that he would insure that I would be alone with him for hours in his shop. There was an old 50's model Mack dump truck that needed to be restored. I remember being so proud when he asked me to help him and he would name the truck Rachel, after me. I also remember sanding the rust off and getting it ready to be painted as Papa was under the hood working on the motor. It took all summer, many hours of being alone with that evil man. Every time that I looked at "Rachel" throughout my life I would get physically sick thinking of the horrors that I had to endure to get the right to have that truck named after me. Now, every time I go back home to visit and drive that damn truck I think of how much I have changed, grown, and moved on from that timid little girl to a strong woman with a voice. This was not an easy task by any means. I have years of counseling, therapy, depression, anxiety, nightmares, thoughts of suicide, self destructive behavior, battling addictions and demons, but I am whole again. I've learned who I am, that the trauma in my life does not define my life. Even after he was incarcerated for sexually abusing 6 little girls in the neighborhood the family stood behind him. We would go on family visitation days to the prison and Granny would have this delicious homemade food all in clear containers so we could bring the food into the prison. The other inmates who looked after Jay would always get to eat with the family too. You see I never told anyone about those summers except for my sisters best friend when I was 12. I was 14 when he went to prison. My friend told her mom who told her friend who was my other Granny's hairdresser who asked her how I was handling Jay's trial. That was how my family found out...thru the grapevine. By then I was already showing signs of severe depression and couldn't think of a time when I was ever really happy. I didn't feel anything but soul wrenching despair that was so strong my heart constantly hurt and was always on the verge of tears. My mom always had us involved in the local church and I was able to be a normal teenager when I was there but youth group couldn't last forever. I had to go home to my thoughts. My thoughts were about to break me when I found out that I could write my emotions out into poems. I was actually pretty good at it and I felt a tiny bit lighter every time a journaled or wrote down my feelings and emotions. I was healing but didn't know it. Now, as I sit here writing this, telling my story, I realized not only am I healed but I have never written down that story. I've played it out millions of times in my head. I've criticized myself for not saying anything and maybe those other 6 girls may have been saved from his horrific actions. He was an old man that only had one leg but he destroyed so many girls lives. He supposedly was saved by Jesus and now a Christian man when he was released from prison on his deathbed. I was 20 and found myself with no where to go so Granny took me in until I could get on my feet. Granny was a true angel from heaven who I love so much still today. She is the kindest most generous person I know. She is from the era that you stand by your man no matter what, and you never betray family.(ironic I know) I was grateful but a little scared of being around him. One night they went to bed and I was watching TV, I had alot of restless nights where my mind would not shut off. I heard him get up and heard his wheelchair take him to the bathroom. Before I knew it he was next to me in his wheelchair and reached out and grabbed my boob and said how they got bigger than before. Well I wasn't that timid little girl from before either. I looked him straight in the eyes and let him know how much of a sick man that I thought he was. I got to tell him he would never touch me again and if he did it would be the last thing he would do alive. He hung his head and wheeled into the dining room to have a cigarette and that was the last time a saw or spoke to him again. I moved away from my hometown and fell in love and got married and had kids of my own by the time he finally died. I did not travel back for his funeral, I did not mourn the loss of him. My kids will never know the evilness of Jay. I'm grateful for that. I will never be able to know what my life would be like if I didn't live with CPTSD from long term exposure to childhood trauma, but I wouldn't be this strong either. There is life after sexual trauma.
By Rachel Isom5 years ago in Psyche
Childhood Ruined
Ramona always felt alone through her entire life. She did not think anything could be as lonely as her childhood. She was so alone. Ramona used to play outside until all her friends went inside. She was always alone by the end of the night. She went through so many traumatic events. Ramona was molested a few times, held hostage, and raped 2 times before she was only twelve years old. Her mom was always getting evicted and they were always moving into different neighborhoods. She was always being bullied by the other kids because she was poor and she wore the same clothes to school. Once her stepdad, Roy, dropped her off to school with no shoes. He was in a hurry to get to work and he didn't realize that she was in school like that. Ramona just cried and ran straight to the counselor's office. The counselor took her to a local department store, and got Ramona some shoes. Ramona started to remember that her childhood was filled with bad memories.
By Gina R (Gibana)5 years ago in Psyche
My Life
My name is Kimica Sledge, I am Thirty-three years old. I have been married for 4 years and we have a daughter who just turned 7 years old and a son who is 1 years old. I am sharing this part of me because it is so hard for those who live with mental illness and feel they are not worthy of a family, friendships or any kind of relationships. We (the mentally ill) carry the weight of the world on our shoulders. We tend to believe we can not prosper in life or can not have a somewhat a normal life. We struggle to speak what's on our minds because we believe no one will hear us or understand us. Well, I am here to tell you, you can. I am going to give little bit of my history and how I became the woman I am today.
By Kimica Sledge5 years ago in Psyche
old friends
I have never shared this story, yet again I don't think I have fully understood what happened to me until a few years ago. Memories I have that almost feel like they were a dream. I was so young, I believe it was my first traumatic situation, that is the only explanation on why it still plays in my head clear as day.
By Victoria Griffith5 years ago in Psyche
The Life Of A Drug Addict
It all started around age 4, My fist addiction. The very first addiction I had was pretending to be okay, when I wasn't okay. You would think at that age I wouldnt have much understanding on what was going on around me, but I did. I understood that my father was an alcoholic, I also understood the pain my mother felt every time he abused her. I understood how scared I was, but my father is a good man. My daddy was an addict just like me, no matter the denial he still has to this day. I will say if it wasn't for rehab and learning that he did the best that he could I probably wouldn't think that as im typing it here and now at age 26. Due to my fathers alcoholism, his neglect and my mothers jealousy and neglect, I have endured a life time of pain. I have escaped reality my entire life, so much so I still have yet to find my identity. I have pretended to be okay when I wasn't to the point I was being whoever or whatever I had to, to ensure no one knew I was not okay. Age 5 was the first time one of my fathers friends snuck into my bedroom while my mother and him argued in his drunken stuper. What happened in that room, what happened to me and why it happened to me, I did not understand. Why this man and many others till age 11 did this to me, I did not understand. Why my older brother also went through what I did, but also began to do it to me, I still do not understand. Why do I hate myself instead of those men? Why is it so easy for me to let go of there faces and what they did, but I can not look in the mirror without being disgusted. All these years I've kept it a secret. No one knew I was not okay. No one knew at age 6 I tried committing suicide for the first time, besides the preditor I couldn't escape from, for a life time. Who knew that such a monster refused to let me die and cut me down from the rope I hung down from, who knew that two years later he would bring home his older friends from the neighborhood to do with me as they pleased. At this point I started getting old enough to try and defend myself, but even then I was still his pray. I couldn't escape, until the day I found alcohol. Age 11 I am a full blown drunk. I'd fill water bottles full of vodka and steal my dads gum from his lunch box to get me through the school day. On the weekends I would get drunk till I blacked out to try and forget everything. Alcohol was my second addiction.
By Andrena Woodson5 years ago in Psyche
Wake Up Call
There comes a moment in one's life where we wonder where we went wrong. I will tell you this, it hits you hard and mine was probably more literal than metaphorical. I spent 10 long years with my abuser, even married him. We had four kids together and I often wondered how the hell I got there.
By Amy Bellows5 years ago in Psyche
