Escape

I started my blog in November of 2015. My initial intention was to post regular updates of my life with post traumatic stress disorder, however; I found this a rather tedious task. You see, it’s difficult to remain focused on something, no matter how important, when you suffer from something like this. Then there was the issue that I felt I was posting too much negativity and that I needed to post more “happiness.”

Nearly two years later and I find myself wondering why I don’t post more of the hindering, mentally crippling days that I have. What if someone is going through the exact same thing I am, but I failed to post it, so they think they’re alone ? I could post brighter days too, when I have them. I need to use my blog more, I should be using it to jot down my thoughts, feelings, and my every day surge of emotions that I typically struggle through. I suppose I find myself embarrassed by the sufferings I go through due to the PTSD.

So now I ask myself..

Why not use my outlet as an escape ? Why not let my mind be free for a few moments a day ? I need this. I deserve this.

❤ LAFMommy

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Night

Lately I have been more anxiety ridden. There’s plenty going on in my life to bring upon these anxious moments, as there always is. However; lately, it’s been moreso.  

Along with the anxiety and the frequently appearing panic attacks, are nightmares. Not the normal nightmares that one can recover from quickly, but the ones that leave me fighting for air and covered in sweat, or tears; I haven’t deciphered which it is yet. Possibly both. The nightmares that leave me with internal screaming that is begging for release. The nightmares that keep my eyeballs from seeking refuge behind their lids, that has me staring into a dark abyss of black, feeling as if the walls are slowly closing in on me. I’m left to inhale my breaths as if they’ll be my last, as if I can’t get my chest to expand further to accommodate my need. I fight against my own body, or it fights against me, in whether to lay still out of fear, or to run because the anxiety makes my body ache for movement. Laying there, praying that I’ll forget the last nightmare or that maybe it’s the opposite and I’ll remember this one to know what caused the turmoil this time. I close my eyes, just for the terror to begin again and again and again, until eventually, the sun is coming up and I’m beyond exhausted. Or I close my eyes, and envision new nightmares, new anxieties, or the same ones with different scenes. Each time they grow darker, more frightening, more crippling. Nightmares so vivid I wake up still seeing them, as if they exist again or for the first time, right there in front of me, they’re happening. 

Fear is real for me. It is a never ending cycle, that grasps me like a predator searching out its prey. One day, I fear, it will grab hold and never let go. 

Is there truly an escape from these fears that become so real in the night ? 

❤ LAFMommy

Bitterly helpless

My good days no longer outweigh my bad. I no longer have a bad day and say, “it’s okay, because tomorrow will be better.” Because it won’t. I frown more than I smile. I shout, yell and scream more than I hold casual conversation. I break down on a more than regular basis. I cry over small things, like spilling some of the milkshake out of the blender a few minutes ago. I get very angry and then I get upset and feel incompetent. I need therapy, I need help, but where do I turn ? Support is sparse when people close to you don’t understand, and when the doctors only want to shove medications down your throat. I want to feel better, I want to be better. I don’t want to hide my feelings and my emotions in a fog of pretend. I don’t even talk to people about this, I know what they think. “Oh, she’s fine, she’ll get over it.” It doesn’t work that way, I’m broken. Forever crippled by my trauma. 

❤ LAFMommy

Depression can suck it

The world is full of two kinds of people; people pleasers and those waiting to be pleased. 

I used to be the type of person that wanted to be pleased. Of course, I went into the military at 18 and had that knocked right out of me. In the past years, I’ve become the person that pleases everyone. Literally. Everyone. No matter who the person is, I feel like I have to make them smile, like when they leave from my presence or mine theirs, they should be happy. A person could be horrible to me, and I will still try to make them happy. I bite my tongue, I hold back my anger, and I no longer do anything for me.

Where does it stop ? I feel like my depression and anxiety have played a big part in this. I felt like I would be happy if everyone around me was. I felt like it would help the depression melt away. I found this to have the opposite effect and it doesn’t help me at all. 

The last few days I have been reflecting on my life and trying to decide what I want to change. 

After I had my son I fought with PPD. I loved my baby, and I hated everyone else. I cried over anything, I was like a jack in the box; my handle was turning and turning until I finally popped with emotion. I would look in the mirror and hate who was looking back at me. I always found something to be disgusted at: my hair, my skin, stretch marks, being out of shape because I just had a baby; anything. 

So today, I made the decision to start working out. Now, I don’t particularly like going to the gym, it’s too busy, and it sends my anxiety on a wild roller coaster, so going alone was definitely not an option. I decided to grab my weights and hit the living room. I’m out of shape, so it hit me quickly, but just that 30 minutes helped me feel better. My son even joined in, and let me tell you, his squats are the cutest I have ever watched. I’m sore, but it will help in the long run. 

Part of my decision was made because I’m in physical therapy. My trauma and having a baby caused some muscular issues so I’m doing pelvic floor PT. I won’t go into detail, but it’s like having a masseuse and chiropractor in one. I need to strengthen my core and start feeling better about myself in order to help my PF so I made up my mind today. Everyone has to start somewhere, right ?

Anywho, everyone around me seems to be working out and on “health trends,” but I didn’t want to do it because of everyone else. I needed to do this for me. So I am. It took time for me to finally make the decision to work out, but I already feel great about it. 

I’m trying to be someone that is not a complete people pleaser anymore but also not a person that is sitting and waiting for people to please me. I just want to be someone in the middle. 

I want to be happy. 

❤️ LAFMommy

A delicate flower

6 months. 6 freaking months.

The amount of time that the judge felt was appropriate to give a RAPIST. He did not sell weed, he didn’t steal a candy bar. He raped a woman, he stole her life, her comfort, her being. He took everything from her that made her, her, and all he received; 6 months.

That’s like a slap on the hand of a toddler that keeps getting into the oven drawer and pulling out pans. It doesn’t teach anything. It isn’t a punishment. It’s an open invitation to do it again. It says, “Oh, no one minds if I stick my fingers or my penis in a place it doesn’t belong, it’s okay, I can do it again.” It teaches other rapists or would-be rapists that it is okay to rape a woman. Go ahead, rape her, you’ll get 6 months in jail and then you can go back to your wonderful life. All the while, she has to suffer through nightmares, panic attacks, self esteem and self worth issues. She will fight with living a semi-regular life and have difficulty maintaining any relationships in her life.

He’ll probably go in and serve his easy six months and then get out and return to his pre-rape life. He’ll drink and he’ll party. Then, one day, it will happen again. This time, it will be someone else’s daughter, mother, or sister. Maybe the next time, he’ll get a harsher sentence. Maybe next time he’ll be seen as a rapist, and not just the toddler than pulled the pan out of the oven.

Let’s talk about why. Turner is a white man, upper class, attending Stanford. Judge Aaron Persky is also a white man, upper class, and previously attended Stanford. Of course, he couldn’t let a Stanford student “suffer” in prison, he’s an alumni. Turner is a delicate flower, he’d SUFFER. Oh, you mean like his victim is suffering ?

What does this say about women ? That we don’t matter ? That because we freaking wake up in the morning, we are giving someone permission to violate us ? Women have fought for equality for a long time. Then, we get a massive slap in the face when a Judge gives a 6 month sentence to a rapist. Equality doesn’t mean that a man can rape a woman and get away with it. Had she done the same to him, she’d have received a harsher sentence.

I’ve been raped. I know how it feels to be stripped of everything. I don’t know what it’s like to go to trial and face such a huge demon head on. I don’t know what it’s like to look your rapist in the eye and confront them in front of a courtroom full of people, and still watch them only get 6 months when all is said and done. However; I do know the endless suffering day to day. I know what it feels like to want justice and not get it. I was too scared to speak up about what happened, and this beautiful woman did. She done what so many others haven’t been able to do. Yet, all she gets is 6 months. Pathetic. Where is her justice ?

❤ LAFMommy

 

[in]Sane

Occasionally I go to your Facebook. I look to see where you live, if it still says the same place as the last time I read it. I scroll through your posts, the ones I can see to see if there is any hint of any new information about you. I study your pictures carefully, remembering the shape of your eyes, the creases in your face.

It isn’t that I want to remember that smirk that you make, or the way you sound when you speak. I don’t want to remember how you smell or how sick I get when I even think of your name. In fact, I don’t want to remember you at all, anything about you. But I have no choice. 

You gave me no choice, no say. 

I struggle to remember every day things, but I remember everything, every little thing, that you did. I remember like it was yesterday. I have no choice but to remember. 

I try to forget, I honestly do. I can’t. So if I can’t forget and I can’t live a normal pre-rape life, then I’m going to etch every inch of your face into my memory. I want to prevent ever seeing you, or you seeing me. Look at that, you even took my sanity. Just when I thought I hadn’t lost almost every bit of myself to what you did to me, I find another part of me that you took. You made me crazy. I try to get my pieces back every day, but you’re holding them hostage it seems. 

I need to know, how do I get my pieces back ? 

❤️ LAFMommy

Uplift One Another

Something I see too often. Black people talking down on other black people. 

I do not understand how an entire race can be screaming for social and racial equality, yet, hate their “own” people.

My husband is a black man [obviously] and our son is biracial [again, obviously], and we get called out of our name over and over online. Do you know who it is by ? Black people. My husband gets more hate from other black people than any white people we ever come across. 

So I want to know, how can an entire race want social and racial equality from other races, yet they can’t even love other people of color or themselves ? 

This same post could go for women. I see women [no matter their race] talking down on each other all the time. 

We ALL need to build one another up, stop breaking each other down. Love yourself and then love others. 

I do not want my son growing up thinking he has to hate one side of himself. Does he choose to love the black side, or does he choose to love the white side ? I do not want to have to explain to my young child these things. I want him to love and be loved, like everyone should be. We WILL teach him to love himself first and then exude that love onto others. 

Everyone should be treated equally, we all deserve love. We should not have to ask for it. 

#stopbreedinghate #loveyourself #loveothers

❤ LAFMommy