trauma
At its core, trauma can be thought of as the psychological wounds that persist, even when the physical ones are long gone.
Trauma
I had been molested by my father and grandfather for as long as I could remember. My Father would kiss me in a way that made me extremely uncomfortable, he would do things like putting my foot in his mouth, he made me feel horribly uncomfortable all the time. My grandfather would walk around the house completely naked. His reasoning was that when he was little he had to have surgery and the whole time he was in the hospital he didn't have to wear clothes, and since then that's how he's most comfortable. He didn't care if I was there, or if my step-siblings were there, or if my cousins were there. And he knew I was uncomfortable and didn't like it. I would tell him that constantly and he would just say things like, "but you used to like looking at my penis" or he would tell me, again, about his reasoning for doing it. He never stopped when I asked him to. I also have vague memories of my grandfather making me extremely uncomfortable on car rides when he would come to pick me up, but I don't remember any more than that. I know there was a lot more that happened that I don't remember.
By Mariah Kelley7 years ago in Psyche
Interviews with a Big Black Broad: Session #4
Interviewer: How did your collegiate aspirations relate to your experience with BDD? BBB: Before I begin, I should to warn you that this may be the most bizarre coming of age story you've ever heard. I chose a difficult major in college for two reasons: It was revered as prestigious and lucrative, and I was told that once I graduated from all those years of rigorous study, I would have little to no time for a social life while I practiced my trade. I wanted a career that would keep me so busy that I had no time to dwell on my awful appearance. I also wanted a preoccupation that would provide an understandable reason for why I had no time for romantic relationships—why I would never have children. My plan was to strictly focus on my studies, after which, I'd rely on my friends to satisfy whatever social needs I had. I loved to laugh and discuss politics, philosophy and art. So, I targeted those who majored in these subjects to help me indulge my interests when I wasn't studying my more conservative curriculum. Perhaps every now and then, I would enjoy a casual tryst or two if I was feeling up to it. I'd be a workaholic socialite from now on, I thought. Without time to focus on myself—to obsess over my ugliness, I could avoid what I referred to as "The cloud," which were my severely depressed episodes. My new distractions worked to steady my moods and lessen my obsessions. My grades were almost perfect. I'd even managed to acquire a small but well-coveted grant from the university strictly based on my academic merit. There are ugly people all over the world who are very prosperous, I thought. I studied the careers of very successful, powerful men who were also practicing the trade within the field I was studying. Most of them were single, with few or no children, and no one seemed to criticize their life choices. They weren't stigmatized for not living a conventional life. They were celebrated as playboys in fact. This was one of several observations that solidified my decision to become a playgirl. I could be satisfied with just a great career and friends. No husband. No children. I couldn't really conceive of living what all the other girls had coveted since holding their first doll baby: A "normal" life.
By Anarda Nashai7 years ago in Psyche
Emotional Abuse Is Common, So Why Isn't It Taken Seriously?
And though these allegations were mostly met with an out pour of support, many people believe Chloe Dykstra was never abused at all. Even though she mentions sexual abuse as part of the torment her former partner put her through, most of the other allegations are emotional rather than physical. Many people seem to be under the assumption that since Chloe Dykstra was never hit, then she never actually experienced any abuse.
By Sydney Lovell7 years ago in Psyche
The Worst Summer
The summer that I will never forget started with the stupidest mistake. As a young girl at the age of 13, I was just like any other girl. I had secrets that any girl this age would have, so I decided to write about them in a diary on the computer. During this time, we had the floppy disc, so I had a pink one, and I used this as my diary. Every night before I went to bed I would use this to vent about school and anything else that I was going through. All the things I was going through included having a boring summer, wanting to talk to my crush, and how I didn't want to live with my abusive stepfather. I wrote about how I didn't like being abused and molested and how I didn't want to be mean to my mom. My stepfather didn't like us to talk to our mother or spend time with her at all so if we did we were in trouble. Anyways, I can remember this day like it was yesterday I was sitting on the computer and I decided it was getting late and I needed to take a shower, so I got up and did so. Little did I know I left my floppy disc in the computer and that my stepfather was going to take advantage and read it. Honestly, I believe that a day or so went by before I realized that I lost my diary, the day I was reminded was when my stepfather called me into my room and told me to close the door. When he said close the door you knew that one or two things was going to happen, one I was about to be molested etc. or two I was about to get one of the worst beatings of my life. I remember being questioned for hours that night about which boys I liked and if I loved my mom or if I loved him. My sisters were also questioned as well but then he finally brought up the floppy disc and that’s when I knew why all these things were happening. That night I was in for one of the worst summers of my life. That night my stepfather introduced a new kind of punishment, he told me to go outside and just stand there. I had no shoes on or anything and I was just told to stand there. This was one of the first times I literally watched the sky turn from night to day. I was still questioned a million times and I was beaten by his fist and told that from that point forward I was in another boat. For him this meant that I was no longer his family and I was more like an enemy because I wrote about in my diary. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone being “against him.” Anyway, long story short my summer was filled with unlikable beatings. I was beaten naked with a belt almost every day. I was raped, and I was once tied to the post of parent’s bed and beaten naked. One day I thought I could get a break from the pain so I screamed that I had to use the bathroom thinking, “Ok he’ll stop beating me.” Nope! That didn’t happen. Instead, he came in the bathroom and beat me while I was sitting on the toilet, and then, after, he proceeded to tie me back up to the bed and gagged me with a sock so my little brother wouldn’t hear me in the room. It seemed like this summer all he had was time and I felt like it was never going to end. I wasn’t allowed to watch TV, eat, or talk to anyone, I just had to sit there until night time came and I was sent outside because my stepfather “couldn’t stand the thought of me.” This summer was filled with even more unthinkable things, but I can’t even continue typing because the pain is coming back……
By Maelyn Jeffers7 years ago in Psyche
Through the Television
Has anyone ever watched television and thought to themselves, hmm what if I did that? In my childhood, I dealt with a lot of pain and suffering. The pain was from my stepfather, this kind of pain is something that haunts me every day, and I always think to myself could I have done more. I am obsessed with ID Discovery if anyone doesn't know what this is it is a channel that plays all kinds of crime shows. Some of these shows are about people who've survived traumatic events. While watching these shows I get jealous sometimes. Why do I get jealous? I get jealous because I didn't have the courage to save my sisters when they were getting beaten and raped, I didn't have the courage to tell the teacher the truth when he or she asked me why I had a black eye. I remember when I was in elementary school and I got called to the nurse's office. As I walked to the office, I became nervous because I knew why I knew why I was getting sent there. The day before my stepdad put his hands on my sister and me. I can't remember what it was about exactly, but I know the punishment was brutal. This punishment left a big scar on my face because my stepdad hit me in the face with a back scratcher (it looks like a fork). The teacher asked me before she sent me to the nurse's office what happened and I told her my sister and I got into a fight. Fast forwarding to when school was over I can remember sitting on the school bus and looking out the window. As I was looking out the window, I saw the nurses I was speaking to walking with a police officer and the principal. My stomach immediately dropped, and I began to panic because I knew they were talking about me. As I got off the bus and walked through the front door, my stepdad greeted my sister and me and prepared us with a story.
By Maelyn Jeffers7 years ago in Psyche
