Trauma – PTSD

Question:

{{{{{Mouse}}}}} I wish there were something I could do or say that would help you, but I can’t think of anything – I’m just crying after having read your post. I hope you read the other responses and take strength from them. Take care! Maria

Response:

(((((((Mouse)))))))))) Words can’t explain how i feel right now i read your post and was crying you have gone through more then your share of troubles which you DO NOT deserve you are a great person and don’t ever think other wise!!! keep you face to the sun so the shadows fall behind you!!! Be strong!!!!               luvs….                 ~*rAiNbOw*~

– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – I don’t know if I am going to stay or go with ASED. But I wanted to post a something about myself so that maybe you can understand why I do the things I do. This is going to be long and boring so now is your chance to go the next message. I don’t want any flames, I don’t want any hugs. I ask for nothing. February 28 2000: Caught by police in park trying to hang myself. Kept at hospital for 24 hours for observation. Released. Sometime in 1972: I am sitting on the bathroom sink at the age of four swallowing pills one by one. My mother caught me and asked me why would I do should a thing. "I’m not happy, Mummy. I don’t want to live". Rushed to the hospital and made it. When my mom told the doctor what I said, he said it was impossible for a four year to understand the concept of suicide. My parents asked me why I was so unhappy and I said there was so much "bad" in the world and I didn’t want to be here. Plus I was adopted (as an infant), and really felt like I had no place in the world. I had a brother who was not adopted (4 years older) who adored me. My parents tried to make me happy. To make friends. But I was an early reader and would catch glimpses of the headlines and panic. Couldn’t sleep. Worried all the time. By the age of seven I had developed an ulcer. 1973: I start Kindergarten in an ALL FRENCH school. Kindergarten to Grade 6 were the worst years in my life. It was the 70’s and politics were hot in Quebec. All the students picked on me because I was English. Sometimes I would get beat up. When the principal would hand out report cards we each had to go in turn up to the front of the class and receive them. Every time she would grab me by my neck and lift me up and say (in French): "Are you going to let la petite anglaise do better than you." She couldn’t handle that an English student was doing better than all the French students. Neither of my parents speak French, so I was pretty much on my own when it came to homework. I guess I was bright. During the next few years my mom decided I was just "too sensitive" and that I would have to toughen up if I was to survive. She treated me like an adult. I don’t remember any hugs. My father, who was also into the arts was my friend and mentor. Together we would read Chaucer, Joyce — you name it. I was daddy’s little girl, although never treated like a little girl. Fast Forward to 1980. I’m 12. My parents placed me in a private girls’ school. I was a FREAK. Two months into the 7th grade my parents received a phone call from the school saying that I was dumb and they don’t know how I passed the entrance exam. I would have to leave the school. My parents wouldn’t allow it. I remember having to take all these tests. One month later the school phoned my parents and said that I should go directly to Grade 10. I wasn’t dumb, just bored. My parents wanted me to stay with my peers so I took some class at the grade 10 level (mainly language arts, math was not my forte and I saw no purpose for it). Beginning of 1981. I’m still in grade seven. No friends at all. Called names. I wanted to die. So at 13 I locked myself in the garage with the car running. My parents were not at home. My brother came home early and found me. Luckily, no brain damage. The doctors told my parents that I was depressed and anorexic. My parents just brushed off the diagnosis and said that I was moody and petite. They never talked about the car incident with me. I am sure that if I were to mention it today that they would deny it. Beginning of 1984. What d’ya know. Still no friends. Teacher’s pet. Since I had already completed the grade 10 and 11 curriculum for Language Arts the next question was — what are they going to do with me? Send to me to University to take English classes. Jesus Christ, I’m just a kid. Still depressed and anorexic but as long as I was doing well in school my parents were happy. Forget the fact that I had to wrap myself in gauze every morning to hide my thinness. June 1986: I graduate and thank God. I’m off to College. In Quebec, you go up to grade 11 and then you go CEGEP for 2 years. It replaces Grade 12 and your first year of undergrad (our undergrads are 3 years). September 1986 I’m in Creative Arts focusing on film, English, acting and philosophy. Needless to say my mom was NOT thrilled. She did NOT want an artsy-fartsy daughter. My father on the other hand just wanted me to do whatever made me happy and fulfilled (thank you dad). I made friends in CEGEP, but not too many. I will still a freak. Anorexia was still raging, but my parents chalked it up to the fact that I was working so hard. September 1988 University! I was so excited. I did a double major in Journalism and Communication studies. I ran the university radio station and work at the TV station as well. All my courses were hands on. I was happy. I made so many close friends. Finally I had found people like me. Creative, neurotic, and willing to think outside the box. We made videos, radio programs, films — you name it. We also had theory courses which I loved as well. During those 3 years my eating was disordered but I had gained weight and didn’t look like I had a problem. April 1991 Graduated with "Great Distinction". Didn’t mean shit to the business world. Could not find a job. So I did temping jobs for 3 years! Guess what? I lost weight and became even more depressed. Started cutting. Withdrawing from my friends. Decided that I would do my Master’s degree but would go to Europe first. June 1992 -September 1992 Off I went by myself to Europe. I loved it. I met so many people. They didn’t know my history. I wasn’t a freak. Eating became less disordered. Four months of freedom. October 1992 – April 1994 Worked my butt off so I could do my Masters. Still living at home so it was easy to save the money. Was only doing "temp jobs". Not enough to stimulate my mind. Became depressed and fell deeper into my world of anorexia. Those years are really a blur to me. I was working several jobs, trying to find a grad school. February 1994 Accepted at 3 universities. Yeah! Decided on Calgary. I had a keen interest in educational technology, social implications of technology, and educational Broadcasting. Could not wait for September. September 1994 Arrived in Calgary. Never even been there before. What the fuck am I doing. I can’t do grad school. I’m not smart enough. Not good enough. They want me to teach!!??? The first semester was hell. I was teaching (none of the other students were). Small department only 5 students accepted every year. By November I was a MESS. Thin as a rail and suicidal. Strangely enough managing to get straight A’s. My friends knew I was suicidal and they kept an eye on me. If it hadn’t been for their support I would have attempted suicide again. Went home for Christmas. I felt like I was in shell shock. All I could was watch TV. My parents tried to make me eat. I didn’t want to go back to grad school. I couldn’t handle it. Of course I went back. Second semester not nearly as difficult. Was sexually assaulted on campus. Shame, guilt, depression, suicidal thoughts all over again. The director of my department was such a sweetie. She used to take me to movies on Friday’s because she said I was working to hard. After the assault she brought me to a therapist. I was suffering from PTSD big time. My friends were great. They would always walk me and make sure that I never had to walk in the dark. Made it through the second semester. Started my thesis the next semester. Went to interview someone for my thesis and he offered me a job! It was so related to my thesis I said "yes". I go to work at 7am and leave at 2pm. Go home, have a nap and a shower and then worked on my thesis until midnight. I managed to keep this up for 2 years. October 31st 1996 — My world falls apart. I receive a call from my mom saying that my father (who had heart surgery 10 prior) had a massive stroke and that I had to come back to Montreal. I was sure he going to die. He was so thin and frail that I didn’t recognize him. When he saw me he freaked out. I guess he thought that if I had come all the way from Calgary that he was going to die. He took my hand and started doing morse code on it. I don’t morse code. His brain continued to swell and he went into a coma. I expected to bury my father that week. Today he is in a permanent care facility is blind, paralysed, depressed, angry and can’t talk. My dearest friend in the world could not communicate, something he loved to do. He is a living death. Every night I pray that God will take him.  MY DAD LOVED LIFE. I went back to Calgary to finish my studies. Completed my thesis while working a full time job and dealing with the ups and downs of my father’s health. My supervisor was parading me around like a proud father once I defended "she had no revisions!". Apparently that was a first. That was a Friday. That Monday I was laid off from work. Spent two months in the psychiatric ward and then went home for Christmas. My dad was Christmas. We used to do all the decorations, make Bailey’s Irish Cream and he and I would perform a duet on Christmas Eve at our church where

… read more »

Response:

….. I can tell you Mouse, that a few years back I was unsteady place.  I too had gone through so much and through several traumas.  I was at a point where I felt completely hopeless.  Everything in my life seemed just awful.  I was so sad, and so confused, and so scared, and so hurt.  I wanted to live, but then I didn’t.  I couldn’t concentrate much.  I spent a lot of my time hurting myself, (cutting…b/p…).  I also attempted suicide several times.  Thankfully & gratefully I did not go!  I can say that today.  Though then, I was so lonely and couldn’t see any hope.  Yet…Mouse there was something in me, and I want you to know that I can sense this "something" within you to…that wouldn’t let me give completely up.  It took me a lot of time, and a lot of work in therapy and such that now, now I *KNOW* there *IS* hope, there is lots and lots of it!

Mouse, I love what Ears wrote to you… I cannot say it any better than she did, and I believe what she wrote (because I have experienced it myself). When I read your post I had a sense of Deja Vu about how much you had gone through.  I also self injured, attempted suicide, and had a list of things that I was up against. The past is the past.  Sure, it affects us, but it doesn’t have to define us.  Some people, like Viktor Frankyl (sp) overcame their past. I’ve overcome (well, am overcoming my past).  This isn’t to minimize the effects, because they are real, but it’s not what happens to us as much as what we do with what happens to us. (I can say this now, but I *know* how much harder it is in the midst of things) One thing I needed was time … time to find my path to recovery. Yes, it was a very bumpy, winding, sometimes-hard-to-find path, but it was there and I trudged along and kept moving in the right direction… sometimes taking detour here and there. In AA there is a saying "keep coming back".  It has different connotations… the one I think of for you is to keep at recovery and life, even though sometimes it might be very hard. There is hope, there was / is for me and I believe there is for you too. Please know that you are in our thoughts and prayers and you are not alone. Kevin K trusting the process….. Sooner or later we have to abandon any hope for a better yesterday. Learn from yesterday Live for today Hope for tomorrow Don’t quit before the miracle happens….. Sending you *continued* strength and courage Mouse!

Response:

Mouse…first I just want to say that it is *so* good to see you.  You do not even realize how much you mean to me and not just to me, others as well.  I only wish you would care about yourself as much, if not even more!   You’ve gone through so much Mouse.  It breaks my heart that you’ve experienced such pain in your life.   I can tell you Mouse, that a few years back I was unsteady place.  I too had gone through so much and through several traumas.  I was at a point where I felt completely hopeless.  Everything in my life seemed just awful.  I was so sad, and so confused, and so scared, and so hurt.  I wanted to live, but then I didn’t.  I couldn’t concentrate much.  I spent a lot of my time hurting myself, (cutting…b/p…).  I also attempted suicide several times.  Thankfully & gratefully I did not go!  I can say that today.  Though then, I was so lonely and couldn’t see any hope.  Yet…Mouse there was something in me, and I want you to know that I can sense this "something" within you to…that wouldn’t let me give completely up.  It took me a lot of time, and a lot of work in therapy and such that now, now I *KNOW* there *IS* hope, there is lots and lots of it! I didn’t realize this then Mouse, but I was not blind just because I couldn’t see any hope or see any light.  What I had done was, I put on blindfolds myself without being aware of it….once I realized this I began to slowly take them off.  I couldn’t do it all at once, for it was to bright for me, I had to take it slow, to slowly let my eyes adjust to things.   Then…I never ever ever thought then that I’d be where I am today Mouse…I was at such deep despair, and now, I’m almost the complete opposite of despair!  Sure, things are still quite difficult, but I’ve grown so much with time, and have done some amazing healing!   You can do the same Mouse…you can be like me, and even though you don’t believe there is much hope or any, ya can hold on to peoples words that there *is.*   I have realized Mouse after reading a quote, and you can realize this too, that life is not just all sorrow, that it is also a chance to love and to work and to play and smell the fresh air, to see the clouds, and the stars!  I still have to remind myself this sometimes, because with all the struggles I’m going through I sometimes forget to see that there are other angles in my life!  :O) I’m thinking of you Mouse, and my heart is with you!  Don’t give up.  I believe in you and respect and appreciate you sharing so much with us!  My heart goes out to you!!! :O) We are more than what we do… much more than what we accomplish… far more than what we possess. -William Arthur Ward You are a very valuable worth person Mouse.  I know you can’t see that, but you are!   You are in my thoughts and in my own of prayers!  :O)   }:}i{:{

Ears Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all. -Dale Carnegie The journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.-Lao Tzu

Response:

person..you DO have purpose….you just havent realized it yet. What AD meds are you on? Maybe there is some sort of program. Nikki "… lost in the darkness of my own circumstance, criticizing echoes leaving me awake in the night… the barrier and blockades that keep me safe and in control while I pretend that I am okay… "

Response:

Mouse, we haven’t posted one another before, but I read your story with tears running down my cheeks.  You have indeed been through a lot, I would never deny you that.  I will neither insult your pain by offering you cyber hugs or pretending I understand what you have been through, because, in all truth I cannot imagine how some of those ordeals must have felt.  I can relate to the sexual abuse, I can relate to feeling depressed, suicidal, apathetic, and helpless to situations around you, but that is where our relations end and our experiences differ.  I wish I had words to give, ones that might help, but I am lost for those words.  I am just hopeful, and hopeful that you too are hopeful, that your upcoming multimedia course will give you a focus. I want to make educational CD-ROMS. Work for Encarta and Sesame Street. With my MA and this multimedia course, maybe I will get my dream job.

These words you wrote in your concluding paragraph came as such a relief for me to read – for they do suggest you maintain some hope for the future, no matter how small that hope may be to you now.  Maybe you *will* get your dream job, maybe you will get lots of good things in the years ahead.  You can offer the world so much, you are obviously gifted in many ways; of course giftedness can be both a blessing and a curse…… have you noticed it’s usually the intelligent ones that are depressives?  I believe that knowing too much, absorbing too much, experiencing too much, can be self-destructive. I think the best way to approach life is to approach it with  simplicity, for it is that ability to keep life simple that, in my mind, leads to contentment (Kevin will agree: "keeping it simple" ).

writing it out has made me realise that I have been through a lot.

I know there is still more to come. You have been through a lot.  And yes, there is more to come, but those things to come should not be predicted to be ‘bad things’.  There will be good things to come too, just dont devalidate the good in face of the bad. You concuded your post with the words:  I don’t if I will make it. I don’t know if I want to make it. The choice is mine.

You will know in each moment whether you will make it in that moment, that is all you need to know.  You may make it, you may not, but, as you say yourself, the choice is yours.  I just hope you choose to choose experience, whatever form it takes, in whichever moment it is experienced.  You may only be able to anticipate the bad right now, but please, at least hope for the good. all the best you are in my prayers — Lola — "You’re just an empty cage girl If you kill the bird" — Tori Amos ‘Crucify’ Before you buy.

Response:

I don’t know if I am going to stay or go with ASED. But I wanted to post a something about myself so that maybe you can understand why I do the things I do. This is going to be long and boring so now is your chance to go the next message. I don’t want any flames, I don’t want any hugs. I ask for nothing. February 28 2000: Caught by police in park trying to hang myself. Kept at hospital for 24 hours for observation. Released. Sometime in 1972: I am sitting on the bathroom sink at the age of four swallowing pills one by one. My mother caught me and asked me why would I do should a thing. "I’m not happy, Mummy. I don’t want to live". Rushed to the hospital and made it. When my mom told the doctor what I said, he said it was impossible for a four year to understand the concept of suicide. My parents asked me why I was so unhappy and I said there was so much "bad" in the world and I didn’t want to be here. Plus I was adopted (as an infant), and really felt like I had no place in the world. I had a brother who was not adopted (4 years older) who adored me. My parents tried to make me happy. To make friends. But I was an early reader and would catch glimpses of the headlines and panic. Couldn’t sleep. Worried all the time. By the age of seven I had developed an ulcer. 1973: I start Kindergarten in an ALL FRENCH school. Kindergarten to Grade 6 were the worst years in my life. It was the 70’s and politics were hot in Quebec. All the students picked on me because I was English. Sometimes I would get beat up. When the principal would hand out report cards we each had to go in turn up to the front of the class and receive them. Every time she would grab me by my neck and lift me up and say (in French): "Are you going to let la petite anglaise do better than you." She couldn’t handle that an English student was doing better than all the French students. Neither of my parents speak French, so I was pretty much on my own when it came to homework. I guess I was bright. During the next few years my mom decided I was just "too sensitive" and that I would have to toughen up if I was to survive. She treated me like an adult. I don’t remember any hugs. My father, who was also into the arts was my friend and mentor. Together we would read Chaucer, Joyce — you name it. I was daddy’s little girl, although never treated like a little girl. Fast Forward to 1980. I’m 12. My parents placed me in a private girls’ school. I was a FREAK. Two months into the 7th grade my parents received a phone call from the school saying that I was dumb and they don’t know how I passed the entrance exam. I would have to leave the school. My parents wouldn’t allow it. I remember having to take all these tests. One month later the school phoned my parents and said that I should go directly to Grade 10. I wasn’t dumb, just bored. My parents wanted me to stay with my peers so I took some class at the grade 10 level (mainly language arts, math was not my forte and I saw no purpose for it). Beginning of 1981. I’m still in grade seven. No friends at all. Called names. I wanted to die. So at 13 I locked myself in the garage with the car running. My parents were not at home. My brother came home early and found me. Luckily, no brain damage. The doctors told my parents that I was depressed and anorexic. My parents just brushed off the diagnosis and said that I was moody and petite. They never talked about the car incident with me. I am sure that if I were to mention it today that they would deny it. Beginning of 1984. What d’ya know. Still no friends. Teacher’s pet. Since I had already completed the grade 10 and 11 curriculum for Language Arts the next question was — what are they going to do with me? Send to me to University to take English classes. Jesus Christ, I’m just a kid. Still depressed and anorexic but as long as I was doing well in school my parents were happy. Forget the fact that I had to wrap myself in gauze every morning to hide my thinness. June 1986: I graduate and thank God. I’m off to College. In Quebec, you go up to grade 11 and then you go CEGEP for 2 years. It replaces Grade 12 and your first year of undergrad (our undergrads are 3 years). September 1986 I’m in Creative Arts focusing on film, English, acting and philosophy. Needless to say my mom was NOT thrilled. She did NOT want an artsy-fartsy daughter. My father on the other hand just wanted me to do whatever made me happy and fulfilled (thank you dad). I made friends in CEGEP, but not too many. I will still a freak. Anorexia was still raging, but my parents chalked it up to the fact that I was working so hard. September 1988 University! I was so excited. I did a double major in Journalism and Communication studies. I ran the university radio station and work at the TV station as well. All my courses were hands on. I was happy. I made so many close friends. Finally I had found people like me. Creative, neurotic, and willing to think outside the box. We made videos, radio programs, films — you name it. We also had theory courses which I loved as well. During those 3 years my eating was disordered but I had gained weight and didn’t look like I had a problem. April 1991 Graduated with "Great Distinction". Didn’t mean shit to the business world. Could not find a job. So I did temping jobs for 3 years! Guess what? I lost weight and became even more depressed. Started cutting. Withdrawing from my friends. Decided that I would do my Master’s degree but would go to Europe first. June 1992 -September 1992 Off I went by myself to Europe. I loved it. I met so many people. They didn’t know my history. I wasn’t a freak. Eating became less disordered. Four months of freedom. October 1992 – April 1994 Worked my butt off so I could do my Masters. Still living at home so it was easy to save the money. Was only doing "temp jobs". Not enough to stimulate my mind. Became depressed and fell deeper into my world of anorexia.  Those years are really a blur to me. I was working several jobs, trying to find a grad school. February 1994 Accepted at 3 universities. Yeah! Decided on Calgary. I had a keen interest in educational technology, social implications of technology, and educational Broadcasting. Could not wait for September. September 1994 Arrived in Calgary. Never even been there before. What the fuck am I doing. I can’t do grad school. I’m not smart enough. Not good enough. They want me to teach!!??? The first semester was hell. I was teaching (none of the other students were). Small department only 5 students accepted every year. By November I was a MESS. Thin as a rail and suicidal. Strangely enough managing to get straight A’s. My friends knew I was suicidal and they kept an eye on me. If it hadn’t been for their support I would have attempted suicide again. Went home for Christmas. I felt like I was in shell shock. All I could was watch TV. My parents tried to make me eat. I didn’t want to go back to grad school. I couldn’t handle it. Of course I went back. Second semester not nearly as difficult. Was sexually assaulted on campus. Shame, guilt, depression, suicidal thoughts all over again. The director of my department was such a sweetie. She used to take me to movies on Friday’s because she said I was working to hard. After the assault she brought me to a therapist. I was suffering from PTSD big time. My friends were great. They would always walk me and make sure that I never had to walk in the dark. Made it through the second semester. Started my thesis the next semester. Went to interview someone for my thesis and he offered me a job! It was so related to my thesis I said "yes". I go to work at 7am and leave at 2pm. Go home, have a nap and a shower and then worked on my thesis until midnight. I managed to keep this up for 2 years. October 31st 1996 — My world falls apart. I receive a call from my mom saying that my father (who had heart surgery 10 prior) had a massive stroke and that I had to come back to Montreal. I was sure he going to die. He was so thin and frail that I didn’t recognize him. When he saw me he freaked out. I guess he thought that if I had come all the way from Calgary that he was going to die. He took my hand and started doing morse code on it. I don’t morse code. His brain continued to swell and he went into a coma. I expected to bury my father that week. Today he is in a permanent care facility is blind, paralysed, depressed, angry and can’t talk. My dearest friend in the world could not communicate, something he loved to do. He is a living death. Every night I pray that God will take him.  MY DAD LOVED LIFE. I went back to Calgary to finish my studies. Completed my thesis while working a full time job and dealing with the ups and downs of my father’s health. My supervisor was parading me around like a proud father once I defended "she had no revisions!". Apparently that was a first. That was a Friday. That Monday I was laid off from work. Spent two months in the psychiatric ward and then went home for Christmas. My dad was Christmas. We used to do all the decorations, make Bailey’s Irish Cream and he and I would perform a duet on Christmas Eve at our church where he was a choir director. I was asked by my mom to write something about my dad for the year 2000. They were going something at the hospital. I am not going to show the poem just the intro. "A poor Irish peasant" is how my dad would always describe himself. But he is so much more than that. He is all at once: a father; a father-in law; a husband; a brother; a neighbour; a philosopher; a musician; a mentor; a teacher; a builder; a traveler; a lover of life and all things living; and a man who respects and loves God. Yes, he is these things and more including a touch of genius. Dad, 31 years have passed and I want you to know how much I appreciate the sacrifices … read more »

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