Living la vida PTSD

Trigger warnings for childhood abuse and PTSD. As well as self injury.

Sometimes, I go back to my old Livejournal. And sometimes, I find things that take my breath away. Like this, which I wrote all the way back in 2009. Which feels like forever ago.

“make it stop make it stop make it stop
someone. anyone. i can’t take this anymore.
i can’t take it.
it’s too much. it’s too much. it won’t end.
it’s a nightmare when i sleep. it’s a nightmare when i’m awake.
it won’t end. my thoughts are consumed when i’m awake
and there’s no end in sight to this. it won’t go away.
it just won’t go away.
it won’t end.
i’m not safe. i’m not protected.
they won’t go away. and there are some times when the memories get so intense
so real. so tangible. so close. so present
that it’s like i’m living the hell all over again.
and other times (sometimes these times overlap)
it’s like i leave my body, i leave myself, i’m not real
but i’m just watching eveything happen again.
it’s all happening again. and there’s no comfort.
there’s no end. there’s no way to make it stop.
which, of course, why should it stop? why should it end?
i deserve it. i deserve every nanosecond of it.
i don’t deserve to be free from this anguish
even though i want to be free. i want out. i want it to go away.
i want to cry, to scream, to push it all away
but it’s not okay to show that amount of emotion
it’s not okay to let it out. i don’t even know if it’s okay to write it out.
i just want a break from these thoughts. memories. nightmares. daymares.
would cutting stop them? it has before. and it’s to the point where even though
even though i know that it’s just a quick fix, a short-term solution
a momentary trip to nirvana
it would be enough. just for a rest. just for a break. just to make it all end.
even just for a few seconds. nanoseconds, even. just a break.
it’s all i ask. even though i don’t deserve it
i don’t deserve a break but i did deserve what happened.
so maybe i’ll just live in this torment forever.
and never be free. that’s surely how it’s looking right about now.
and maybe i just won’t eat for awhile. maybe if i’m empty inside
maybe if i’m not putting anything inside of me
then maybe, just maybe, it will ease. i’m willing to try anything
at this point. i just can’t keep going with this and i don’t know
what else to do.”

 This was written seven years ago in a private live journal post. And this is the first time I’ve let anyone else see it. And I’m Fucking terrified. I’m afraid people will judge me. That people will say the abuse was my fault – and maybe they’re correct. Maybe it is all my fault. Maybe I should have been a better daughter. 

I try to word these things out loud and I can’t. They’re trapped inside me. It’s like when you have a cassette tape and the brown tape part gets all tangled so it can’t play (gods I just aged myself and I bet there are readers who don’t know what a cassette is). I hate to admit I still blame myself. I hate to admit that I think these things. But it’s true and I do. And I wonder if other CSA survivors think these things. I wonder if other people have these same thoughts. 

Or if once again, I’m alone. 

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