So i've been thinking a lot lately about why now. Why, suddenly, are my abuse memories so difficult that I can barely function? Why is something that happened 13 or more years ago now leaving me paralyzed with fear. A lot of people ask similar questions. A lot of times it's more in the form of "but you were a little kid, aren't you over that by now?" The answer to that one is yes I'd sure like to be! I've been wondering if maybe I'm just holding on to bitterness or using it as an excuse or something like that. But I really don't think that's the case. I don't feel like I'm holding on to it. It's holding on to me. Add to this that I only really, fully remembered what happened back then a couple of months ago. Before that I knew some, but I had absolutely no concept of the extent of it. That has compounded everything. But again that leaves the question, why now? Why did those memories decide to reveal themselves now?
I was talking to a friend of mine and she says it's because my mind and body feel safe enough now to process these things. Essentially, it was too much for me to process as a child, so I'm having to process it now that i've become an adult. Nice reward eh? It makes me want to pretend i'm not so safe and stable so it will all go away again! If I could keep it buried that long, why not forever? (Of course the answer to this is that I'd put myself at much bigger risk of breakdowns, suicide, alcohol, whatever else I might decide to kill myself with...and I would never find real relationships and happiness and all that...but still!)
But still the question remains....why now. So here's my answer to that.
The abuse started essentially from birth. It's debatable if I was 3 or 4 or maybe 2 the first time anything happened, but really that's not that important. The point is I grew up with it, and it was always there. I spent my childhood learning survival techniques to keep myself safe around my parents and their various addictions, outbursts, psychotic episodes, or whatever else was going on. That's the way I learned how to live, and that was my normal. I didn't have a concept of anything better or even different.
At 13 I'd had enough. Something inside me snapped and I ran away. But I had nowhere to go. I stayed with friends off and on, and I made my way on the streets. It's probably obvious, but alone on the streets is not a good place for a 13 year old to be. But I had my survival skills. That's the one thing my parents did successfully teach me. I knew how to block out the bad and focus on what I need to stay alive. I knew how to work the people around me to get what I needed. And I knew it was a matter of life or death because I was convinced if I went back to my parents after running they would kill me. And really, if you knew them, that's not far-fetched at all. I didn't trust any authority figures for help because I knew they could return me to my parents, so I did it alone and survived it. But, there's three more years of those 13 since the abuse that I was not working on healing. Instead I was still working on fighting to stay alive. In a sense, it wasn't much different than the abuse.
At 16 I ended up in foster care. I know we all want to pretend that foster care is the world of butterflies and rainbows where the poor little abused kids go to become happy, healthy, and loving. I don't mean to diss foster care...it saved my life. But, it's not even remotely easy. I had no idea how to live in any family, and suddenly I was flung into a home with complete strangers and expected to live by their routine. For someone who had grown up the way I did, it was as scary if not scarier than being on the streets. At least with abuse and danger I knew what to expect. But this kindness thing was weird. Not to mention that EVERYTHING in that house was different...and weird. Because when you walk in to your friend's house you notice it's different, not your style, and not necessarily comfortable to you. It doesn't mean it's bad, it's just one hell of an adjustment. In two years I had 3 different placements....2 family homes and one RTC that probably should be considered abusive as well. Another 2 years.
Next was college. When you're aging out of foster care, the decisions you make at 18 are some of the most important ever. In your life. Which sucks, because who really makes smart decisions when they're 18? The average kid has family to fall back on. A foster kid does not. There are people out there that will help you out at the start, but once you're out there you're pretty much out there on your own. For better or worse, it's you. Lose your scholarship? Lose your housing? Bummer. You're stuck. So needless to say even though I loved school starting college was very very stressful for me. It was so stressful in fact that I had to take a chunk of time off to go to rehab because I'd started drinking again. And another year off to resettle myself when I got so lost and crazed I couldn't concentrate and was failing anyway. With a lot of hard work I managed to finish everything in 5 years...big considering I took a year and a half off. But you see where this is going? Suddenly 13 years is sounding like a lot less.
I might be saying this just to convince myself, I'm not really sure. But as I look at this now, I've counted up 10 of those years that were nearly as stressful as the first 13. It's a different kind of stress, but it's still stress. We don't open up and deal with old stress that's still bothering us when we're still in the midst of new stress. So really, while it's been 13 years since the abuse, I've only had 3 years max to have even begun to process it. Add to that that the year or so getting out of college is another one of those that's stressful for everyone. No one knows quite what to do with themselves when making that transition from full time student to full time working world. So that takes out another year at least. Considering that i've been travelling and doing a lot of seasonal work (by choice because it's exciting and fun), I didn't leave myself a lot of time to process and grieve. So finally now life is slowing down a bit. When ya look at it this way maybe it makes sense why it's happening now. My young life was one big stress on another on another. Only recently have I become a "normal" every day, working person. Only lately have I really developed a routine where my body and mind have a chance to relax. And therefore, only recently has my body decided that it's PTSD time. Only now are the memories coming out in their full form. Kinda makes me want to go do something crazy again just to make them all stop! lol But at least now I have a bit of the reason why, which helps.
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