Wednesday, January 18, 2012


It happened again.  A complete and total meltdown in public.  Not even two weeks after the first occurrence.

Short of stuffing cotton in my nose; I don't know how to stop panicking at the first smell of a certain green bottle with a little gold horse on the front.

I tell myself it's not him.  I tell myself that I'm safe.  I tell myself to take deep breaths.  I touch something to remind my senses where I am.

Screaming.  Yelling.  Tears.  Sobs.  Strange and worried looks.

It's fucking embarrassing to be this broken.  Of course it's all his fault.  But he is not the one coming unglued in all the broken places.  So that must mean that it's my fault that I can't get just over it all.

This is a really good reason why you shouldn't fuck your daughter.


Svasti said...

In the grip of PTSD, I would act very strangely sometimes and for no reason I could even pinpoint.

I'd freak out in crowds and then get angry with people I didn't have any reason to be angry at.

I'd be perfectly fine one moment and then... not. Out with friends, I'd suddenly change into another person all together and freak everyone out, while my muddled brain tried to figure out what was going on and how to escape from wherever I was. It wasn't as simple as telling myself to walk out the door and go home.

Trauma in any form leaves a mark. Trauma such as you've been through? Fuck, no way is it your fault that you can't "get over it".

Being told we should get over it is what other people tell us when they don't understand what has happened and how deep the wounds go.

You are wounded and there's nothing wrong with your reactions. You're doing the best you can. xo

JeannetteLS said...

I know it feels humiliating and embarrassing. And it does not do one rat's ass bit of good when we are told it's part of recovery. WHATEVER. It is terrifying. My son found me in our walk in closet hiding from my brother. He was 13. I was 33. I spilled french toast batter on the tile floor and it sounded like blood hitting tile. I screamed and dropped the pan.

Once I was in the grocery store and heard someone whose voice was like my brother's and I jammed my cart into someone's BACK.

You should not fuck your ten year old sister. Or your daughter. Or niece, nephew, and on ad nauseum.

Nope. It does NOT therefore mean it's all your fault. Getting over it all. FEH to that. We simply, horribly, SLOWLY, find somewhere to store it where it loses its power to break us any more.

What sucks is that first we have to go through all this shit. OH, how I wish I had some wise words to help. Or something. All I can do is find it amazing that you share it all with us. All I can do is tell you that eventually, it happens less and less, and the power it has to control what comes out of us CAN lessen.

I wound up thinking of myself and women (and men) like me as prism people. The more damn CUTS they put in us, the more rainbows we throw when we finally get ourselves polished up and twirling in the light.

And YOU, my dear woman, are going to be swarovski crystal when you are done.

Deborah said...

I'm glad you have Svasti and Jeannette who understand how you feel.
Would you blame someone else for not being able to 'handle' this? Didn't think so. Don't do it to yourself.

Shattered said...

Svasti, you're right; I am doing the best I can. It's just that it isn't enough.

Thank you for sharing your own experiences though. It helps to know that I'm not the only one.

Shattered said...

It IS terrifying and it certainly does not feel like any sort of recovery. I'm sorry that you know what this feels like. You did have wise words; your prism analogy makes a lot of sense. Thank you.

Shattered said...

Deborah, no I definitely wouldn't blame someone else for struggling with this. I "know" that it's not my fault. It just doesn't feel like it's not my fault.