It was the day after Thanksgiving, two years ago, that I made my escape. That day triggered the events that led to a downward spiral that I never saw coming and still struggle with moving beyond.
My mother had a stroke with her final pregnancy. She was diabetic, had high-blood pressure and had lupus. Not only did my father want her to get an abortion (for alternate reasons), but the doctors highly recommended it. She decided against this and she suffered a minor stroke when she gave birth to my youngest brother. It primarily affected her short-term memory but she lost other pieces of her memory also.
I am not sure what happened to me, mentally, in some pieces of my life two years ago. Is a stress-induced stroke possible? I feel like my ability to speak suffered and sometimes I am sure that part of my brain is blocked, locked or simply gone. At the time, I felt like I had to relearn everything--simple, everyday things that I had always taken for granted before. I can't explain since I really am not entirely sure what happened. All I know is, I now struggle greatly with my memory--both short-term and surrounding many of those events. Some of it is the blocking/mental protection that surrounds trauma--some of it I can't logically explain. It is as though some of the doorways in my brain have shut and struggle as I may--I cannot figure out how to open them again.
Two years later, I am almost functioning as a "normal" person again. Leaving that relationship was the best thing I could have done for my self-preservation. The events that transpired due to my leaving, however, were almost my destruction. After my father made the choices that he did and the people in my life that I loved, became bent on my destruction--my sanity waned. At the time he had the police come for me, I felt that my life was in a better place that I was healing and liking the new "more positive" me so much better. I had been given a new lease on life and I was eager to make each day the best that it could be. My family decided that this "change" did not suit them--that I should be sad that the relationship with my ex was over--that my happiness and new found laughter was the work of the devil, drugs, or insanity. They decided that they knew what was best for me and a "family" vote determined that commitment to a state hospital was in my best interest.
My father took the steps necessary to have me committed. Police, handcuffs, evaluation by my colleagues. What he didn't realize, despite me repeatedly telling him, was that I wasn't doing anything wrong; I knew my rights; and he had no ground to stand on. I don't think he realized that I would be able to access a copy of his 302 report. As a therapist myself, and years in the mental health field, I did know my rights and immediately obtained a copy of the statements he made in an attempt to have me put away.
Devastating enough were the events that occurred prior to obtaining my PFA against my boyfriend. Devastating enough were the pleas to my father to listen; to help me. I was scared. I only got the same answer each time, "that is between you and ....." He added his own special flavor of terrorizing me to the mix and called it love. Before the day of handcuffs, I was sure I would be okay. To be taken from my own property against my will and without reason pushed my mental capacity beyond its limits. How could I possibly feel safe again when there was no way that ever should have been permitted to occur?
When I sat in that hospital bed waiting for my drug tests to come back negative, when I read the statements that my father made about me, how could I not feel betrayed? To learn what a parent thinks of us, to know that he didn't know how to properly spell my name, did not know my actual age, did not know my birthdate--yeah, jacked up. To learn that your parent either lied in all kinds of crazy manners in an attempt to have you put away for the remainder of your life or worse, actually thinks and believes those accusations--what does that do to the self-esteem?
I am not sure which pieces led to my breaking. But broke, I did. I could no longer do simple tasks. My brain quit. Simple things: routine shower habits would end with me not remembering if I washed my hair or getting out of the shower to find I hadn't shaved; getting dressed, would lead to an hour of standing in front of my closet not sure what I was doing; simple functions were no longer simple. I wondered about dementia. I wondered about a stroke.
One of my closest friends stepped in and flew me to see her for a month. I think she knew that I was on the verge of collapse. I remember just even trying to pack for that trip and not being able to figure out what to do. The fear that I wouldn't be able to successfully make it through the airports and that I wouldn't be able to figure out the plane transfers--a trip I had done so many times in my life. Even there, with her support, I felt fragmented--a hollow shell--like my inner-essence was gone. I couldn't start simple conversations, I couldn't hold conversations--broken. Simply broken.
I no longer felt safe anywhere. I couldn't do my own grocery shopping. I would park in the closest spot I could find to the entrance and then spend an hour in my vehicle crying and watching over my shoulder. As spots nearer the entrance opened, I would move my vehicle to within dashing distance--I would go in, grab a few essentials and then sit in my vehicle crying for another hour until I had gathered enough strength to drive back home. I was terrified to have vehicles driving behind mine. I would pull over until they all passed me and start over when the line regrew. I couldn't go anywhere without taking my dog. When my father came to my house, she knew my fear and his anger--I knew she would protect me after that.
"Normal." I was always so independent. I thought I was strong. I found out that that can all be taken away so quickly. It has taken me so long to return to a functioning state. But I still feel like my brain hasn't entirely returned. Absent-minded? Memory lapses? I am not sure how to describe it. It was like moving through a thick fog and taking one tiny step at a time. Or maybe trying to swim through a pool of black sludge would better define it--not being able to tell if I was swimming to the surface or swimming towards the bottom--but desperately running out of air. I am much closer to the person that I was prior to the day of handcuffs than I was then, but the brain still hasn't opened completely back up.
Two years later, I still sort out the pieces. I try to make sense of the events that occurred; try to let go of the pain and try to reestablish trust and faith in others. This, unfortunately, is not occurring as easily as I would like. I still struggle with anger at the individuals in my life that I trusted at that time--I struggle with the choices I made that granted them so much influence in my life--I struggle with the manners in which I let myself be taken advantage of--I struggle that I have never confronted those people and struggle with my still wanting to confront them when I know I should just let bygones be bygones. I regret so many things that I know I just need to let go of and move beyond. It is difficult though when I examine the nature of those relationships and realize how stupid I was in my trust and faith.
I guess we all have those situations in which we trusted, loved and gave of ourselves to the wrong people. Some of the people I trusted with my heart and I am still deeply scarred by those wounds. Some of them, I miss who I believed that they were. I recognize now that my faith in them was generous and should never have been given and that is my error. But it doesn't seem to diminish the pain involved with their betrayal--it only makes me question my own judgment in the people I allow in my life.
Some of those people are still in my life and I struggle with wondering if I should ever confront them. Is it better to let them question why we now have distance in our relationship; for them to wonder why I keep them at arm's length when at one time they were within my essential circle of life? Does it hurt them? Anger them? Do they even notice? Perhaps they believe that I am just too busy for them or have allowed other parts of my life to eclipse our relationship. Should I grant them the opportunity to make amends, to share why they chose to make the decisions that they did? Or would idle excuses simply increase my anger? I know that some of these are bridges that I do not wish to burn--that the relationships will never return to their former innocence and love--but will evolve into some form of simpler relationship. Some of these people are simply now a part of my past--a lesson learned.
I am not sure how to understand. I have not yet mastered forgiveness. I still wonder how to make sense of who I am now and wonder if these pieces of my past will eventually shape into positivity. I wonder when the doors will reopen. I wonder if I will ever feel normal or safe again. I wonder when these boulders will be gone and if I have the strength to remove them...
My mother had a stroke with her final pregnancy. She was diabetic, had high-blood pressure and had lupus. Not only did my father want her to get an abortion (for alternate reasons), but the doctors highly recommended it. She decided against this and she suffered a minor stroke when she gave birth to my youngest brother. It primarily affected her short-term memory but she lost other pieces of her memory also.
I am not sure what happened to me, mentally, in some pieces of my life two years ago. Is a stress-induced stroke possible? I feel like my ability to speak suffered and sometimes I am sure that part of my brain is blocked, locked or simply gone. At the time, I felt like I had to relearn everything--simple, everyday things that I had always taken for granted before. I can't explain since I really am not entirely sure what happened. All I know is, I now struggle greatly with my memory--both short-term and surrounding many of those events. Some of it is the blocking/mental protection that surrounds trauma--some of it I can't logically explain. It is as though some of the doorways in my brain have shut and struggle as I may--I cannot figure out how to open them again.
Two years later, I am almost functioning as a "normal" person again. Leaving that relationship was the best thing I could have done for my self-preservation. The events that transpired due to my leaving, however, were almost my destruction. After my father made the choices that he did and the people in my life that I loved, became bent on my destruction--my sanity waned. At the time he had the police come for me, I felt that my life was in a better place that I was healing and liking the new "more positive" me so much better. I had been given a new lease on life and I was eager to make each day the best that it could be. My family decided that this "change" did not suit them--that I should be sad that the relationship with my ex was over--that my happiness and new found laughter was the work of the devil, drugs, or insanity. They decided that they knew what was best for me and a "family" vote determined that commitment to a state hospital was in my best interest.
My father took the steps necessary to have me committed. Police, handcuffs, evaluation by my colleagues. What he didn't realize, despite me repeatedly telling him, was that I wasn't doing anything wrong; I knew my rights; and he had no ground to stand on. I don't think he realized that I would be able to access a copy of his 302 report. As a therapist myself, and years in the mental health field, I did know my rights and immediately obtained a copy of the statements he made in an attempt to have me put away.
Devastating enough were the events that occurred prior to obtaining my PFA against my boyfriend. Devastating enough were the pleas to my father to listen; to help me. I was scared. I only got the same answer each time, "that is between you and ....." He added his own special flavor of terrorizing me to the mix and called it love. Before the day of handcuffs, I was sure I would be okay. To be taken from my own property against my will and without reason pushed my mental capacity beyond its limits. How could I possibly feel safe again when there was no way that ever should have been permitted to occur?
When I sat in that hospital bed waiting for my drug tests to come back negative, when I read the statements that my father made about me, how could I not feel betrayed? To learn what a parent thinks of us, to know that he didn't know how to properly spell my name, did not know my actual age, did not know my birthdate--yeah, jacked up. To learn that your parent either lied in all kinds of crazy manners in an attempt to have you put away for the remainder of your life or worse, actually thinks and believes those accusations--what does that do to the self-esteem?
I am not sure which pieces led to my breaking. But broke, I did. I could no longer do simple tasks. My brain quit. Simple things: routine shower habits would end with me not remembering if I washed my hair or getting out of the shower to find I hadn't shaved; getting dressed, would lead to an hour of standing in front of my closet not sure what I was doing; simple functions were no longer simple. I wondered about dementia. I wondered about a stroke.
I no longer felt safe anywhere. I couldn't do my own grocery shopping. I would park in the closest spot I could find to the entrance and then spend an hour in my vehicle crying and watching over my shoulder. As spots nearer the entrance opened, I would move my vehicle to within dashing distance--I would go in, grab a few essentials and then sit in my vehicle crying for another hour until I had gathered enough strength to drive back home. I was terrified to have vehicles driving behind mine. I would pull over until they all passed me and start over when the line regrew. I couldn't go anywhere without taking my dog. When my father came to my house, she knew my fear and his anger--I knew she would protect me after that.
Two years later, I still sort out the pieces. I try to make sense of the events that occurred; try to let go of the pain and try to reestablish trust and faith in others. This, unfortunately, is not occurring as easily as I would like. I still struggle with anger at the individuals in my life that I trusted at that time--I struggle with the choices I made that granted them so much influence in my life--I struggle with the manners in which I let myself be taken advantage of--I struggle that I have never confronted those people and struggle with my still wanting to confront them when I know I should just let bygones be bygones. I regret so many things that I know I just need to let go of and move beyond. It is difficult though when I examine the nature of those relationships and realize how stupid I was in my trust and faith.
I guess we all have those situations in which we trusted, loved and gave of ourselves to the wrong people. Some of the people I trusted with my heart and I am still deeply scarred by those wounds. Some of them, I miss who I believed that they were. I recognize now that my faith in them was generous and should never have been given and that is my error. But it doesn't seem to diminish the pain involved with their betrayal--it only makes me question my own judgment in the people I allow in my life.
Some of those people are still in my life and I struggle with wondering if I should ever confront them. Is it better to let them question why we now have distance in our relationship; for them to wonder why I keep them at arm's length when at one time they were within my essential circle of life? Does it hurt them? Anger them? Do they even notice? Perhaps they believe that I am just too busy for them or have allowed other parts of my life to eclipse our relationship. Should I grant them the opportunity to make amends, to share why they chose to make the decisions that they did? Or would idle excuses simply increase my anger? I know that some of these are bridges that I do not wish to burn--that the relationships will never return to their former innocence and love--but will evolve into some form of simpler relationship. Some of these people are simply now a part of my past--a lesson learned.
I am not sure how to understand. I have not yet mastered forgiveness. I still wonder how to make sense of who I am now and wonder if these pieces of my past will eventually shape into positivity. I wonder when the doors will reopen. I wonder if I will ever feel normal or safe again. I wonder when these boulders will be gone and if I have the strength to remove them...
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