For some time I have known some of my behaviors where not "normal" and at times irrational and scary. I find it very difficult to control my own emotions, express my thoughts and feelings when I am upset or angry. For me upset is angry, I know I feel upset but my reaction to upset is anger. Somewhere along the line I was taught it wasn't okay to cry. It wasn't okay to feel pain, psychically or emotionally. In the past I have been so unable to feel love, I have no problem loving, and my problem comes in feeling love. I can see it and I know it's there but I still can't feel it.
I'm going to go back in time a bit, many would hear these things and think that I had a bad childhood, came from an abusive home or something to that effect. This couldn't be farther from the truth. I grew up in a small town up north, my parents are getting ready to happily celebrate their 33 wedding anniversary and have honestly always been a prime example of love. They have had their problems over the years however they always worked things out. The type of relationship I strive for is what they have. They were always very loving and caring parents. I have two older brothers; our relationship has never been great. They were both "trouble makers" for a lack of better words. Some days they are my best friends but most days I am the evil little sister. My oldest brother is currently incarcerated in a Florida prison and my other brother lives somewhere in north Florida; I've never been to his house. Our parents spent time with us equally, mom took us roller skating every Saturday and dad would take us out for pizza on Friday nights, each week it would rotate between my brothers and me on who went to dinner with dad. So my issues don't come from a poor childhood.
I do have some clue as to where my problems came from. When I was 14 I was home alone one night and one of my brother's friends came over looking for him. When he realized I was home alone he forced his way in and raped me. I didn't tell anyone, today my parents don't know. We ended up moving from where we lived at the time. I did well at hiding what I was going through, he told me if I told anyone her would kill me. That scared me in to silence. About a year later I start dating a guy he was the first guy I was really interested in after my attack, my parents didn't approve, I was 15 he was 19 and they weren't even willing to meet him. I ran away for three days with him, during these three days he was amazing as he had been anytime I had been with him prior to these three days. He was so kind and caring. During these three days I decided to have sex with him, which was so scary for me I was shaking. He stopped and made sure I was ok with what was happening, and he had no idea of what I had been through just over a year earlier. I told him I was fine I was just cold, and I was fine with what was happening, just scared.
By the third day my parents found out where I was and threatened to have him arrested, I decided to go home to prevent him from getting in trouble. Clearly I wasn't allowed to see him anymore but I had regained some of my trust in men. A month later I started dating someone new. I didn't feel as comfortable as I did with the guy I had run away to be with. I was set on taking things slow. A month in to dating this guy I found out I was pregnant. My current boyfriend and I had not had sex so I knew the father was the guy I refer to as my first. I knew I wanted to keep the baby and I knew he would want that too. I went to talk to my boyfriend to break up with him, I explained everything and he seemed to be very understanding. He gave me a hug and told me he wished me luck. I remember feeling in the pit of my stomach that something wasn't right, I thought it was just nerves where as I still needed to tell the father of my unborn child as well as my parents. I told my boyfriend thank you for being so understanding and I turned to leave. As I opened the door to leave he came up behind me and out of no were pushed me down the 5 steps to the cement drive-way. I don't remember how but I remember waking up in the house, in his room. I remember trying to figure out where he was, as I stood up I didn't feel right at all, my stomach hurt a lot and I was praying the baby would be ok.
I went to walk out of the room and he was walking up the hall, I didn't know what to do. I just stood there. He looked at me and told me the only way I was leaving him was in a body bag. He pushed me back in to the bedroom and when I tried to leave he pulled out a gun and pushed me back down on the bed. He asked if I thought he was joking, I didn't know what to say or do. He held the gun to my head as he raped me. When he finished he told me if I told anyone what had happened or tried to break up with him again he would kill me and my family. When I got home I was glad to see no one was home. I got undressed to take a shower and noticed that I had started bleeding. I stood in the shower for probably an hour, just standing there crying. I never told the father of the baby what happened that day. Over the next eight months this man continued to abuse me, he had clearly had practice he only ever left one mark on me, a black eye and he drove us in to a tree that day and blamed my black eye on the accident. Thankfully he got bored and met someone else and he left me with the final threat if I ever told he would kill me and my family. After that I met the father of my children, we were together for four abusive years, and not nearly as bad as it was with the other guy so I didn't think it was a problem. After I had our second daughter I left him when he split my lip open. For the two years after that I dated a nice guy this is where I noticed my problems, he never yelled at me, never once threatened me or laid a hand on me. He took care of my daughters and me, yet I couldn't feel the love; after six years of emotional, psychical and sexual abuse I thought that was love. Toward the end of the two years I had so much of a need to feel something I started cutting myself and burning myself and while hiding what I was doing to myself I slowly pushed him away from me, not because he didn't want to help me but because I refused to get help. After he left I stopped cutting and burning myself, I resorted to snapping a rubber band on my wrist when I felt the urge to cut, at times I had welts on my wrists. I still didn't put the connection together as to what was causing these problems for me.
After my relationship fell apart I started hanging out with a different group of friends, I started drinking and doing drugs every weekend when my kids where with their grandparents or their father. I kept it under control and never did it around my kids or had it or the people that I did it with around my kids.A month after he left I ended up in the hospital having a miscarriage. I hadn't even known I was pregnant, but I was 4 months along, it was a boy with no heartbeat. This pushed me even further over the edge and I started drinking and doing drugs even more.
About a year later I was living with my parents and due to my alcohol and drug problems that I'm not sure at that time my parents knew what I was doing but my actions caused me to get kicked out of my parents house. My daughters stayed with them and I stayed with a boyfriend. Without my kids around I lost control. I was drinking and doing drugs on a daily basis. About a month later a good friend died of an overdose. I went to his funeral and watched his 3 year old daughter running around point to her daddy's picture and say "that's my daddy, he loves me" and that was enough for me to never touch the stuff again. I knew I never wanted to put my daughters threw that. I moved back in with my parents and my daughters, but I was still going out drinking every weekend. I really felt this was under control, I told myself I know my limit I'm fine to drive and such. I made the decision to come back to school and the weekend before school was to start in August of 2007 my friends and I went out for the evening. I remember the night like it was yesterday, August 18th 2007, we went to Joyland to celebrate me getting in to school and doing well on my admissions test. In the early morning hours of August 19th 2007 I was driving home from the bar I was living with a friend in Parish and my daughters where with my parents for the night. Waking up in the morning I had to ask my friend if she drove home or if I had. She laughed and said I did. We drove down to Sarasota to pick up my daughters. When I got there my mother asked me to take my brother to get her car keys and cell phone out of my dad's car where she had forgot it before he went to work. We went and got the keys and phone, we noticed my uncle from the panhandle had been calling since about 7am, along with my grandparents and my other uncle, we thought about calling them back but decided to let my mother call back herself. We returned to my parents I dropped my brother off and my kids, my friend and I headed back to Parish. Right as I about to get on the Ellenton Bridge on I-75 when my phone rang, it was my brother. At the same time I had been driving home at 3am August 19th 2007, far too drunk to drive, my 17 year cousin was hit and killed by a drunk driver in Navarre Florida about 8 hours north. I haven't drunk and drove since that day. I rarely drink at all anymore
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