Writing this so I don’t forget

Even though my memory has always been blurry, I always tell myself “Well, it’s not like I’ve completely forgotten things.”

That’s a lie. I had hallucinations when I was 15, and I had forgotten completely about it. I only remembered it cause years afterwards I read it on my diary.

I have forgotten things. There might be some other shit that my brain is hiding from me.

Too bad to be true

I went out for a a walk, it always used to make me feel better. I think a lot when I walk, and it clears up my mind. This wasn’t the case. I was thinking about how fucking trapped I am, how I just wish I was dead because I don’t see an escape from this.

I was thinking about how I was treated the three times that I’ve reached out to professionals to get help. It was… I don’t even have a word to describe it. They treated me like I was so stupid and dramatic, and like I was just making everything up. It’s so depressing I don’t even want to think about it.

Two of them asked me why did I thought I was having panic attacks. I literally had all the symptoms of a god damn panic attack. I was shaking, terrified and sweating, I couldn’t move or speak, my chest was filled with anxiety. And the professionals that I saw would ask me what made me think that those were panic attacks, like if I just happen to read about them on a magazine and then decided to go and tell therapists that I was having them because I had nothing better to fucking do. They literally refused to call them that.

I told them. My family is crazy. My abuser thinks they have super powers. I’ve been depressed and suicidal since I was 13. I’ve had delusions and hallucinations. They would ask me “What do you mean when you say you don’t have energy? Why do you think your family is crazy? What do you mean when you say you have a bad relationship with them?” They would look at me like I was stupid, and they couldn’t comprehend what the fuck I was saying.

I had been having symptoms of sex abuse for YEARS, and I was admitting it to myself for the first time in my life. That’s when I had a flashback and started having the panic attacks. I was terrified. I went to a fucking “therapist” and she told me “Don’t you think that if you’ve been raped  you would remember?”

She said that. Those words, exactly. I was desperate for help, and she said that to my fucking face.

And now, a few months later, here I am. Suffering just as much. But now I don’t have the energy to look for new professionals. I know that they’re going to be just as terrible as them. I even chose those from the options that I had because they seemed the “best ones”.

So what am going to do? What the fuck do I do? I can barely work, I don’t how am I going to get the money to move out from this house. How the fuck do I do it? How do I get better? I don’t have the money for online therapy.

I don’t know, my mind went blank. My brain dissociates and disconnects when I panic.

Just like when I was walking, half an hour ago. When my life gets surreal and I can’t take it, things stop feeling real. I couldn’t feel my body. Which is something that is happening quite often lately. At night, when I panic about my sex abuse, I start dissociating and disconnecting from my body.

And I was thinking, that was the first half of this year for me. Being terrified about all the sex abuse shit that was coming up. But I’ve had forgotten  about this past months, just like I do with everything.

My life is just that: a surreal situation, my brain deletes it, move on. Over and over again.

I don’t feel anything, I’m dissociating. I just know I’ve got to keep going and hopefully someday someone will notice me and help me.

Leaving evidence so I don’t forget

I decided to write again. I need to take all this shit off me. I need to express all the abuse and shit that I’ve been thought, somehow.

Little known fact: people who’ve been abused, most of the time, don’t know that they’ve been / are being abused. And even if you know, you’ll probably forget most of it. Your brain shuts down and hides the trauma, so you can “function”.

When I was younger, and I was starting to be aware of how much pain I was feeling, I used to think: “I HAVE to tell someone. Someone has to know what I’ve been through, or I’ll forget, and then it will be like it never happen.” That’s crazy. I’ll never forget the hell that I’ve experienced.

I don’t think that way anymore, but I still have the need to tell someone. I feel like I’ll loose my mind if I don’t.

I always think of it like a car crash. Imagine getting into a car crash in the morning, going to the hospital, and then having to go through the whole day without being able to tell anyone what happened. It would drive you crazy, and you’ll explode at some point, screaming “A CAR RAN ME OVER THIS MORNING!!!”.

That’s how I feel. But it’s sadder, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to talk.

Honestly, a future in which I’m free from my abusers, and I’m able to speak freely about my past doesn’t feel real. Nothing feels real.