Venting Dread #1

[dissociatedmess]

Posting these mostly for me. Past-tense journaling feels like a story and makes it easier for me to get it out without things feeling too close. Just sick of keeping all the words to myself so putting out to a different void.

TW for abuse in general

________________

I lived in a city. It was loud, and the fire station roared and whined at all hours of the night. I often played music, turned on fans, and did anything to quiet the noise, but every time I heard a car fly by, I was yanked out of my mind and thrust into the real, ugly world again. Headphones couldn't silence the sirens or the low-frequency rumbles and engine-revving.

You see, I grew up rolling around in acres of hills, riding horses, and napping in trees. I needed the quiet. That aspect of my life was my sanctuary, and I looked back on it fondly, conveniently forgetting all the reasons I ever ran away. It was funny, what the brain did with trauma. I forgot, and remembered, and forgot again, and so often went careening back toward danger down a raging river without a raft. I blamed my inability to believe that someone would want to hurt me, despite the years of evidence. I blamed my dissociation. I blamed myself, thinking if had been a better child, no one would've wanted to hurt me. I spent a lot of time blaming whatever I could to fuel the anger - because the anger was the only way to prevent total collapse.

Total collapse was the brink of death without the ability to die. It was the pit in my stomach, the lump in my throat, the distortion of my surroundings, and the stranger in the mirror. My face would droop and what words I could speak were slurred and slowed. My eyes couldn't settle on anything. They stared blankly while my insides felt jailed and panicked.

I tried fight, and then I flew. I tried fawn, and then I was frozen. I screamed, and I screamed, and I screamed for help, and no one came.

So I collapsed.

Do you know what terror is?
A voice whispered to me.
The answer was yes.

I was terrorized the days my father almost intentionally crashed our car as my mother screamed and begged him not to kill us. I was six.
I was terrorized the day he stole my lantern in a blackout. I had a phobia of the dark. I was further terrorized when he mocked me for screaming, laughed, and kicked me across the hallway. Again when he hurt my mother and stormed out of the house. I was ten.
I was terrorized when I screamed for hours in my room for them to let me out. I was stuck in there for days because I had been so bad. I was seven.

And I was terrorized now, decades later, as I realized no amount of reaching out to someone would create a connection I could feel. I was terrorized knowing every waking moment of my life would be waiting for when I was allowed to die.

I looked at the ring on my finger and felt tormented by my own choices. Of course I loved him, but that didn't mean I felt things the normal way. It didn't mean I felt care when he touched me, or held me, or kissed me. I would always feel fear at someone near my body. Regardless, I knew I loved him. He was one of the only loves that didn't scream, or neglect, or assault me. He was the only love I felt safe with.

But I spent most of my time grieving him.

He's going to die someday
"I know."
He's going to leave you.
"I Know."
You would never be worthy of this love.
"I know."


He and I were countries apart. Paperwork and the border had been a hassle, and five years of long distance was taking a massive toll.

I looked at the ring again and felt tormented by my inability to get rid of Hope and Curiosity; those were two of the several terrible emotions keeping me alive.

I had citizenship paperwork in progress. Any day, I could've woken up to an email saying "It's okay now! You can be with him! The distance is over! Your life can finally begin all these years later!"

I had fractured years ago and spent my life splintered. These different versions of me tugged at my sleeves constantly. "Peace" was excited to wake up in the morning to drink coffee and play video games.
"Hope" was eagerly awaiting that email. Hope was envisioning our husband and a white picket fence.
"Curiosity" was waiting to see how it all panned out; maybe if we just waited, something good would happen.
"Promise" knew if she died, it would devastate her loved ones. She had felt the grief of suicide and couldn't put them through that. She promised.
"Passion" felt catharsis writing songs and sharing her music. Creativity gave her life.

But I was Dread. And no amount of Peace, or Hope, or Curiosity, felt like it outweighed me. I wanted nothing more than to take control of my body, tear out of my skin, rip myself limb by limb, and extricate myself from the terror and dread forever.

My emotions were red, redder than blood, and I didn't know if I could contain myself anymore. I wasn't in control for now, but I was as heavy as the insoluble grief of a dead lover; an unstoppable wave fit to crash down and drown cities. Maybe Hope and Promise and the others would find a way to stop me, but they were running out of time.

 

[FF777]

i read your whole thing carefully and so i guess i know a few things you've been through.. i think some times it helps a little to just have some one kind of know what you've been through.. not saying i know even 1% of it all, but just in general i think that a lot of people that hurt so much just want some one to comfort them and try to understand what they went through, since it hurts that much more having to go through every thing alone.... i kind of wish i could see all the darkest moments of your life and all the horrors you've had to live through just so you would at least have some one else that knows all the crap you've had to try to survive through..

i see so many people on this forum that are in a lot of grief, and i wish i had the time and excess energy to console all of them and reply to all of them, but it takes a lot of time and energy.. but for some one that ends up with a splitting of personality like that, it really makes a mark in my mind that tells me "this person has been through actual real shit that has hurt them to their core being".. like you've said before, it's a type of defense mechanism; when there is no where a person can physically escape to from the pain, they try to escape mentally and start dissociating.. no child or person on earth should have to endure so much torment to cause that to have to happen..

i've not even been responding to much on the forums lately any more because i've gotten kind of burnt out on trying to help so many people all the time, but when i saw your post i knew i had to read it all and respond.. i really hope some aspects of your life can improve some how, and i hope you are able to move to where ever it is you are vying for and get to be with the dude man you're trying to get to.. i've met 8 different people from the internet in my life time.. one of them was my girlfriend for 9 years.. 2 of them were from other countries (but they were just visiting me).. not sure if you've met people from the internet yet or not, but one interesting thing about it is that you end up having the same kind of relationship with them that you do on the internet; some people are afraid that a person might be different when you meet them in real life, but from my experience they end up being the same type of person in real life that they were when you talked to them on the internet..

hmm so i dunno... i guess try to do what you can for now, and i mean we can't even change the past really, so i guess try to focus on what you can change now and try to improve things a little if you can or some thing (sorry if that advice seems overly practical; i'm kind of a pragmatic person by nature)..

any way, but at the least i want you to know some one (me) cares about what you are going through and i wish that things will improve some how and i'm sending you love and light and positive vibes (i hope none of this sounds too cringe; i really do care about people but some times i articulate it kind of dumbly)..