I can feel them starting again.  I don’t even know what to call them.  I think I’ll call them an “attack” or “episode,” so I will continue using that term.

When I say episode, what I’m referring to is a PTSD episode.   You are triggered by something, maybe you don’t even realize it and it just starts building up.  My chest gets tight and I get highly agitated.  Noise and people start to suffocate and overwhelm me.  I could either burst into tears or be filled with intense anger.

I’ve been triggered a lot these past couple of weeks and its almost out of the blue so I’m really trying to understand why its happening.  Then again, my breakdown two years ago was also out of the blue.

Last week, for example, I had flashbacks of the first time my brother raped me.  I haven’t had a flashback of any kind in over a year.  Nightmares, panic attacks, yes but not intense flashbacks like this.

Note: as I write this, my legs are subconsciously bouncing and moving with much intensity- almost as a way to ground me here to keep me from going too far back.  Now that I’m aware, I make myself stop and now I notice all the other things my body is feeling.  I want to vomit and my chest is filled with such immense pressure as though someone is sitting in my chest.  My throat is tight and my shoulders are tense.  I feel like I’m ready to jump up and run or burst into tears at anytime. 

I am going through some family issues which may be triggering, as well as, I recognize that I am also being triggered by my husband.  We separated two years ago and have since became best friends.  We recently starting trying to give things another shot and I am realizing how much I am being (unintentionally) triggered by him.  Little things that he says or does makes me feel unimportant or disrespected I’ve learned, is a huge trigger.

Even when I know logically that there is no reason to be (ugh dog is barking and whining because she was just locked in her crate for the night and its making me more agitated and I’m ready to scream.) so angry, hurt, and upset, but I can’t stop it.  I’ll cry or scream if I can’t calm down or get completely overwhelmed, stuck in some sort of anxiety attack until I can process what’s happening.  Usually if I get quiet time alone, I can usually calm myself down and figure out what was bothering me.  Maybe not why it bothered me though.  The struggle is real.

I can’t think…. my mind is blanking now.  My leg is shaking/bouncing up and down and I can’t stop it.  I don’t really want to….  it helps.  Now I want to cry cause I feel like that is really sad and pathetic for some reason.

It is sad, that someone has to suffer like that.

I often push aside my thoughts and feelings and pretend I’m okay.  Until I can’t do it anymore and then I avoid socializing of any kind.  It’s too intense and overwhelming to keep up the facade.  It’s so much work to pretend you are okay.  That you don’t have these constant demons in your head screaming at what a pathetic worthless, piece of lazy shit that is good for nothing and never will be.   You overachieve, hoping to get positive attention and appreciation.  You become the best friend, best daughter, best wife, best person, just to have someone show you a little love.  Anything to help you not feel so pathetic and worthless.  It makes me feel even more pathetic just by typing that.

When you are so used to wearing a mask, its hard to remove it when you really need someone.  It’s difficult to reach out to someone, so I don’t.   And deep down, I don’t think anyone truly cares about me or wants to know about my problems.  If I do try to open up, then their response is usually a triggering one that makes me feel even shittier and stupid for even trying.  Not as though they are cruel in any sort of way, they just almost brush it off like I didn’t say anything.  It’s really hurtful when I always feel as though my pain doesn’t matter.  Also, I feel like others will either take pity on me or think I just want their pity or attention, when neither is my desire or intention.

(I turn on my favorite Christian playlist, in hopes it helps to calm me) 

Tomorrow I go into a mediation with my mother and my daughter and son in law, for custody of my daughter’s boys, of whom I currently have custody of.  (story for another time- maybe) I know that I am completely and utterly barely holding my shit together.  I know that I won’t lose it in front of her or the mediator, but I’m worried and anxious about how I am going to feel during and after mediation tomorrow.

I do not have a good relationship with my mother.  For many reasons, including personal things involving my daughter (again, story for another day) but I think mainly because of her role in my abuse.  She was made aware of the abuse, yet even so, would leave my brother and I alone.

Let me backtrack.

When I was nine I was tested by a child psychiatrist because I was having issues.  My mother blamed it on her recent new marriage, but it was truly because my brother had started to molest me and my new step dad was a little too affectionate. (He later molested me too)  While I wasn’t diagnosed with PTSD at the time (1991), reading the report now, it was written all over it.  ( I had intense fear of death and dying, monsters coming to kill me, my family being murdered, I was scared of everything) They instead diagnosed me with ADHD and childhood depression and anxiety and advised my mother to seek medication and therapy for me.

She didn’t.

A year later, my sisters got suspicious of all the “alone time” my brother and I were having and confronted me.  I admitted it.  The next day my mom sent him to a place that dealt with children with behavioral issues.  My older sisters realized what was happening to our family and were confused.  They bullied me one day at the pool in front of many other kids and adults.  So during our mandatory family therapy, I recanted and said I was lying.

My family failed me.

He was released later to go live with my father who lived a few hours away.  This didn’t stop visitation to our home.  Or the abuse.

About a year later he moved back in with us and that is when the molestation turned to rape.

I was only 12.

And it didn’t stop until I ended up pregnant.  The pregnancy was a product of rape, but it was from an older boyfriend who raped me when I was 14.  I look at that rape and the pregnancy as a blessing in disguise, because at least it stopped my brother.

Anyways… I need to stop now.  I purged a little and turning on my play list helped to calm me.  I’m afraid if I continue anymore, it will worsen again.

If you made it through all of that….  if you have PTSD, what are ways that you cope when you have a “episode” or flashback? What methods do you use to ground yourself? I appreciate any comments or suggestions.

Note: This blog is written in purge form. I rarely go back to edit what I have written due to the sensitive nature could be triggering.  Thus, the errors in grammar and my words my be seen as “rambling” or confusing.  





Obviously, if you have been following me for awhile, you already know that I have PTSD, as well as major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder.  The things I will be talking about is to further explain how my PTSD effects me from what I have learned about PTSD through my tough journey the past couple years.  However, its more going to enlighten you to how PTSD have effected my entire life.

(This will end up being a two part, because it ended up being so long) 

A little history first: 

I was officially diagnosed with PTSD after I was violently attacked by a boyfriend about 13 years ago.  We had only dated about a month or two and we were actually broken up when the attack happened.  Looking back, there were signs that he would turn abusive but I was so used to dating piece of shit, bad boys, that I didn’t notice it as a warning sign.  He would get upset and as I would try to console him, he would shove me away or push me when he was upset with me.  That was the only sign.

He was at my house to talk about us.  I can’t remember what we were talking about.  I don’t think it was even about us yet.  He was upset and again, I tried to console him by reaching out to him; that is what I do.  I comfort though hugging, wiping tears, and touch.  He jerked away and told me not to touch him and me being the smart ass that I was, I poked his leg and he lost it.

Everything happened so quickly.  I know that I didn’t fight back.  Part of our physical fight, took place in the kitchen and I saw the skillet and knives as weapons, but I don’t have that part in you that you need to hurt another, I guess, even when I’m being beat down horribly, I still couldn’t defend myself.  Thankfully I am different now and would like to think that I would defend myself and fight back now.  So I was unable to lift those objects in defense to save myself.  I also worried that if I missed I would be hurt worse or killed.

I ended up that night in the ER with a broken nose, a concussion, a sprained wrist (probably from trying to protect my face from his fists) with bruises and so much swelling on my face that I was unrecognizable.  I kept a hood up when my friend arrived to take me to the hospital and the look on his face when he pulled it down, spoke enough for me that I knew I didn’t want to look in the mirror.  I was so embarrassed and ashamed that I hid in the waiting room, hood up, facing the wall so no one could see my face.

For the record, he was found not guilty of felonious assault, due to the fact that his lawyer tried to play off the fact that we sometimes have “kinky” sex.  I would like to note, that that “kinky” sex never involved being hit or choked or punched in any way.  I had finally stood up for myself, only to be knocked back down.

Shortly I was diagnosed with PTSD due to the flashbacks and nightmares that I was having.  I looked up the symptoms and laughed, because I didn’t understand what half of it was, as well as I thought it was some stupid diagnose that meant nothing – that it was just a name to put on what I was going through by a counselor.

Little did I know how much it really did affect my daily life.

Two years ago, I had a nervous breakdown after a counseling session.  I had shared an entry I wrote about what I thought was ADHD.  I always lost the words to describe what I would go through in previous sessions, so I took the time to write in my phone as I was experiencing symptoms.  I wrote about how I was paranoid at the cars that were driving by.  That I was rocking back and forth.  That I was losing focus every few seconds on what I was trying to say.  I tried to write, without looking back up as a reminder to my train of thought.  I would often write “lost thought” every time I lose my train of thought.  After I finished sharing my entry with her, she said that doesn’t sound like ADHD, that sounds like PTSD.  We discussed it a little bit, she asked if I was diagnosed with it prior, I said yes, but no one ever mentioned it again and I just figured it went away.

We talked about my first rape- my brother when I was around 11/12 years old.  I shared how I always saw it like I was watching it happening to someone else, about 10 feet away.  I told her how I had tried to remember it as though it were actually happening to me on that basement floor.  I told her how I pictured me being under him and fighting him off, but I couldn’t.

Well, something clicked in me during the session.  I left feeling okay, but as soon as I got to my car, I burst into tears and freaked out.  I couldn’t understand why or what I was thinking or feeling.  I finally discovered I was grieving.  I felt I was grieving the loss of that little girl I used to be that night.

It didn’t get better from there.  My husband was staying out of town for a job hours away and only came home on the weekends.  I was alone with two toddlers and I couldn’t handle it.  For the next two weeks I could hardly leave my house or my room.  I was so scared of every shadow, every sound and pictured all these end of world or dangerous situations that I felt could happen at any moment. Thankfully, I was lucky to have a babysitter who kept my daughter longer than normal and a dad who helped me with them as well.  I also had a job that was understanding and I traded some shifts and spent about a week home, most of the time, being alone.  When I did make it into work, I was lucky that I worked a position that I was alone most of the time, didn’t require any demands from anyone else, and I could work at my own pace.  If I did have a meltdown, I could cry with my back to the other workers and they most likely wouldn’t know.  I was able to walk out when I needed to smoke or make a call.  I am grateful for the women I worked with and to be in such a lucky position to have the ability to do all of this.

Now, that you know some history, I will end this.  I will finish up tomorrow, explaining more about how having PTSD has affected my childhood, adulthood, and my present.

A year ago, I would have said that the hardest thing to deal with concerning my PTSD was the emotional triggers and flashbacks.  They haunted my every move, new triggers popped up everyday, I never knew what would cause them and I most certainly never knew what kind of result I would have from said triggers.

It was a terrifying world that I lived in.

Every shadow scared me.  Every sound made me jump.  A knock on the door could throw me into a panic induced coma.

I wore huge baggy clothes and hoodies in the summer.  I slept with clothes on for the first time in many, many years…. to hide myself, to protect myself.

I would shake whenever I was in public.  I was convinced that this couldn’t be seen under my huge clothing.  I also didn’t want to be a “sexual” target and the baggy clothes helped with this.

I became an introvert, a shell of my once outgoing self.  I stopped allowing people over to my house.  My home became my bomb shelter, my only safety from the scary outside world.

But it only protected me from the world, not from myself.

Not from my thoughts, my nightmares, my flashbacks, my guilt………….

Slowly, over time, I became more aware of what triggered me.  I was able to become stronger and more prepared, sometimes even able to avoid them all together.

I was able to tell others what triggered me and why.

I call it “Progress.”

Now a year later, I realize how much stronger I am mentally and emotionally.  I went from seeing my therapist twice a week to twice a month.  I learned boundaries, when to say no, how to protect and defend myself.  The greatest thing I think I have learned, is that I’m worth it.

I am worth it.

I deserve love, I deserve happiness.

That my abuse wasn’t my fault and I shouldn’t feel guilty for it.  I am a forgiving person, but I have held onto the anger I have found this past year, because it currently is serving it’s purpose.

My anger allows me to keep fighting; to never give up.  Makes me want to show the world that I won’t be held back or held down anymore.  It allows me to keep pushing on, even when I don’t want to anymore.

That all being said, I have determined that I am much more mentally stable.


The physical side of things are now greatly affecting me.

I have came to the conclusion, perhaps because I have became mentally stronger, that what truly, greatly effects me with my PTSD is not my emotional or mental health, it is how my body fights me, how it does things that are out of my control, and the physical pain and emotional frustration that follows from said pain.

Let me explain more.

When I started my job as a dishwasher (and shortly before my breakdown) I noticed that my one of my legs was always in an arch (think: on foot always on its tippy toes like a runner at the beginning of the race).

My body is constantly in fight or flight mode.

My leg stays arched like that because I am always ready to run at any given sign of danger.

If I am sitting, my legs are almost always turned out, towards the nearest getaway, instead of facing forward, under the table, like a normal person.  I also always sit on the outside at a table, facing the most people, and the most doors as possible.

If I am talking with someone, my feet are again, almost always, turned away from them, while my body continues to face them.

When I am laying in bed at night, my legs are still tense.  They twitch, they shake.  They constantly hurt from being overused.  My legs don’t know how to relax.

It’s like that fitness saying: ” A body in motion, stays in motion.”

You’re body gets used to exercise and movement.  Anyone who works out or has a physically demanding job will understand what I am referring to.  If you stop working out, or have a day off, your body aches to be moved, to move, to run, to jump, to squat, to lift, whatever your healthy drug of choice is……..

I’ve had back pain for the past several years.  I’ve been checked for nerve damage, at the time there was none, but I’m convinced I have it now, with the numbness I now have in my back.  I’ve had x-rays; they’ve shown nothing.  I’ve had physical therapy, which helped for awhile, even helped more when I started to exercise and work out on a regular basis.  Exhausting my body physically really did help me relax my body at the end of the night.  However, due to my breakdown, I was unable to leave the house, unable to train (boxing) because I was highly triggered.  My exercise routine went out the door and I have yet to make it a normal thing again.

A few days ago, my back, hips, butt, and pelvic area starting hurting.  It felt as though it was bruised.  It was constant dull pain as well.  It was extremely tender area to touch, it was swollen, warm, and red.  It was on both sides of my body, which I found rare.  I’ve struggled with pulled muscles or muscle soreness in general, but never in the same places on both sides of my body.

So, today I went to the doctor, finally, after days of hardly unable to walk up the stairs, pick up my kids, pr get comfortable enough to sleep (every area I laid on screamed in pain).

They determined that my muscles were inflamed.

All these years of my body fighting to survive a battle that wasn’t happening…. has really torn my body down.  My doctor said “That is NOT good.” in reference to my body constantly arching into runner’s mode.  Not sure what she meant by that but I’m sure I’ll learn more in my future visits.

Her recommendation: More physical therapy.

I would actually be intrigued to see what a CT Scan or MRI would tell about my body.  The x-ray I had didn’t show anything, which I assume because its my muscles, not my bones that are the issue.

I’ve had friends in my PTSD support groups suggest Reiki, Massage therapy, somatic therapy, chiropractor, and yoga.  These are all things that I have thought of in the past and hope to look into soon.

All I know is that something needs to be done.  I can’t keep living like this.  This constant pain is no way to live, no way to be a good mother to my kids.

If you struggle with PTSD, depression, or anxiety, what are some of the things that your mind or body does that you wish you could control more?  What do you find to be the hardest thing about your PTSD symptoms to handle?

Thanks for reading! Remember, I write without editing my work, keep this in mind when reading through my grammatical errors and run on sentences!  




As stated in my last post, I don’t believe anything changes just because the number of the year changed.  It happens with months as well and we aren’t celebrating every time the month changes; pr the season; or the day.  You get my point.

But I often look back at how I was a year ago.

I do this often throughout the year.  You should try it, it’s amazing to see everything that has happened to you, how much you have changed, how much you have grown, how things that bothered you, no longer bother you; things you did a year ago, you no longer do.

So my year in review looks like this:

On New Year’s Day, I was offered a management position at McDonald’s, where I had only worked for a couple of months.  I was ecstatic, excited, encouraged, motivated, proud that I was chosen.  I had also angered people who had been there for years and still weren’t offered management.

Being a manager in training gave me so much confidence and self esteem in myself.  Realizing others could see the good in me, that I was a hard worker, that I did what needed to be done, really built up my esteem.  I knew I was capable of it, but I always had a hard time believing others could see it in me (the good in me, in general, not just at work). I even cried when they handed me the keys because even though I know I’m trustworthy, I am a recovered (yes I said recovered, cause that is my stance in regards to my recovery) addict, thus, have issues with people trusting me, so it meant a lot to me to be trusted by someone who didn’t really know me.

However, I left McDonald’s in August.  The management team was a joke.  There was theft by management.  They constantly insulted the crew, they talked down to everyone and you got yelled at for doing your job, not doing your job, doing the job of someone else, or helping someone else.  Or you got yelled at for the opposite, you never knew what you would be yelled at for.  They only cared about food safety if it suited them in the moment.  I was denied my raise.  As  trainee I knew how to do everything and was being paid the same amount as a new employee.  I stood up for myself and warned management I would leave if things didn’t change.  When I finally put in my notice after I was denied my raise, my store manager mocked my crying when I got my keys, mocked my migraines (I have debilitating migraines that can take me down for a week at a time- yet I would still work through them most days), I was mocked for my “emotional problems.”  But I left, I got out.  I miss my coworkers, I loved my job, I excelled at it, but I couldn’t take the abuse anymore.  I couldn’t take seeing others being abused.

On Valentine’s Day, I kicked my husband out of my house.  He didn’t come home the night before and I was fed up.  He struggled with a drinking problem, his priorities, beyond that, he was very unemotionally unavailable and distant, at times it was extremely cruel the way I was rejected when I needed him.  I hoped he would take it serious this time ( I kicked him out two year prior as well.) but he didn’t.  Months went by and nothing changed.  After I left McDonald’s, I got a great job maybe the same amount in a week that I would in a month at McDonald’s.  I met a guy there.  All we did was flirt and I would often break out in random smile because of how special this guy made me feel. I never even saw him outside of work, because our schedules didn’t allow for it.  My husband (ex) seemed supportive, seemed happy to see me happy.  It didn’t last though.

He followed me to work one day with the kids in tow.  He watched as I got out of my car and met this guy at his car.  I smiled, hugged in, and we started walking into work, playing with each other’s hands.  Little did I know, that my husband (ex) was coming up behind us……….

We were close to walking in, when I heard a voice, ” Are you fucking my wife?” I turned and said what?  In shock, unbelief, it was like a dream.  His hand was in his pocket, I thought he was scared or nervous and subconsciously “hiding himself to make himself look smaller”  Later I learned he had a knife in his pocket.  He repeated himself.  “Are you fucking my wife?” The guy laughed, as he does to just about everything.   Which angered my ex even more.  I pushed Andres back, while I told Franklyn to go into work.  I asked where the kids were and he pointed to the van parked on the other side of the parking lot.  At the moment, my five year old was seen running through the parking lot to me, while my three year old daughter was screaming her head off, cause she was left along in the van and was tied down by the seatbelt.  I told him I could lose my job.  “I don’t fucking care.”

I ended up getting him to leave and walked into work, with the entire factory seeing what happened because it was shift change.  Later he admitted about the knife and that he was going to kidnap the kids and take them to Chicago, where he had friends.  Luckily he called a friend for advice first who told him to not be stupid.  He had no license, it was my vehicle, the worst, is that he is an illegal alien that was crossing not one, but two states lines with an American’s kids.  It wouldn’t have went over well.  Andres has never defended me, never stood up for me, never acted like that ever.  He has never lost his mind like that.  I was very close to filing a restraining order against him.

I didn’t though.  And we ended up getting past that, but I lost so much love, so much respect, and all the trust I had left (which wasn’t much) was gone.  The only reason I even talked to him again, because Franklyn, the guy at work, convinced me to.  He reminded me that it was my kids dad and that we needed to get along.  Plus he wanted to talk to him, man to man, about how he wasn’t “fucking” me and was honoring me and doing the right thing, respectfully.  That never happened tho.  Andres since has started reading the bible, going to church, and is really trying his best to get closer to God and become another person.  The only problem is, he thinks I should take him back.  It’s only been a couple good months.  And it’s been a cycle.  He will be good for awhile, I’ll believe him a little, then he rips my heart out, again and again. And AGAIN.  I just can’t do it anymore.  He is like my best friend to this day, but we co parent.  We don’t kiss and cuddle, we don’t live together, no sex, nothing like that.  I am unable to give any part of myself away to anyone right now.  I need to take care of me.  I don’t want a boyfriend, or any stressful relationships in general (family, friends).  Besides I have a long history of becoming whatever someone wants me to be, or needs me to be when I am with them.  So, at 34, I’m finally discovering who I truly am without someone and I kind of like her.  I like not worrying about someone else for a change, except for my kids of course.  I need to take care of me, cause for so many years I didn’t, and Andres certainly didn’t either.

This is a lot longer, so I will try to do a part two, later.  🙂

Note;  I don’t edit or reread my posts.  I vent, I get it out, I express myself whatever I’m feeling or thinking in the moment and quickly post before editing for grammar or technical errors.  Keep this in mind when reading.


Thanks for reading.  What have you been through in the past year?  How have you been made stronger?  What have you overcome?  How have you grown?  Tell me in the comments!



I’m not going to tell you how much this year is going to be different, what my resolutions are going to be, because ultimately a new year is just a new day, which we get everyday.

Just because the number changes, doesn’t mean anything, the date changes too, everyday, the month as well.  It’s the same as holidays.  They are just symbols representing another day.  We are the ones to choose to see it differently.

So what do you see?

We are the ones who decide whether its a day to celebrate or a day to dread.  We are the ones that decide that a date, a month, a year, or even a moment really matter.

So what matters to you?

<insert more ravishing commentary here>


Happy New Year everybody.

How does New Year’s make you feel?  Comment and tell me !



I have elected to be taken off all my meds.  The only thing I am taking is my birth control pills and I use cannabis for my PTSD, anxiety, and depression symptoms.

At first it started out accidentally.  I was accustomed to taking them at night before bed.

But then I got a night job from 7-7.  So I just “forgot” to take them.  Once I started to try to take them again, I felt a lot more emotional and depressed.  My counselor urged me to stick it out and try to get past the first few weeks, but I couldn’t take the emotional playground I was on.

So I stopped.

My dr didn’t argue with me, my counselor said it was my choice.

So I am going commando as my doctor put it.

I’ve been med free before and I was proud of myself for it.  I am hopeful that I will be on of the success stories about using medical marijuana for my symptoms.

Marijuana is illegal in my state.  Though they past the law to allow medical marijuana, it is taking its time to come to pass.  However, even once its legal, we aren’t permitted to have any plants or flowers.  They plain on making pills and allowing for cannabis oil.  I am a bit disappointed in that, because I would rather just take a hit or two and be done with it.  I was eager to have the ability to grow my own medicine.

Some wonder how I can be a Christian and smoke cannabis.  Well, number one thing is, I’m not perfect.  Number two is that I believe Marijuana was put here by God to help us.  and number three, me and God have spoke 🙂 and he’s okay with it.  I don’t really need to answer or argue with anyone who has something else different to say because well, it’s between me and God.  And if I get sent to hell, it won’t be for Marijuana, that’s for sure.  I’m sinned a lot worse, whats important in Christianity is that you are trying, you are trying to be a better person, you seek out your relationship with God, and you know you aren’t perfect, but you know you are still loved.

It’s not easy, not having a pill I can grab in hopes of feeling better.  I think this world is so used to being able to grab a pill for whatever ails us, that we don’t realize how reliant we are on drugs, even just cold medicine and pain killers.

I have struggled with my emotions at times, but its not anything that I haven’t been able to control after a few minutes.  It isn’t anything in comparison to how I was feeling when I was on the medicine and feeling almost suicidal at times.

The most important thing for me is to be able to control my environment, the people around me, and being able to walk away from a situation that doesn’t serve any good purpose.

Walking away from Mcdonald’s helped.  I got an excellent paying job after that, with unlimited overtime.  However, it was taking all my “night” time up, so I was sleeping all day and not spending much time with my kids.  Or I would go days with only sleeping a handful of hours.

I was actually thankful when they let me go for breaking a rule. I am a loyal employee (and codependent) and probably wouldn’t have left otherwise.  The money was so good that I was so excited about the things I could have, the things I could give to my kids, and not worrying about my bills.

I have since filed unemployment and am in hopes of going back to school in the next couple of months.  I am enjoying my quiet time at home, my rest, and I did take a part time job as a waitress.  I absolutely love my job and because I am not money hungry, the fact that I don’t get a lot of hours or very good tips (restaurant just opened in the middle of nowhere) is okay with me.

I’m eager to be able to help them be successful with my restaurant and management experience.

I think something that personal helps me with my depression and anxiety is to have goals and focus on them.  When I have a job, it gets me out of bed, because I know someone else is relying on me.  I shower, I dress nice (which helps me feel better), and I get out of the house.  There isn’t a lot of pressure in my position and there isn’t a dictator manager treating me and everyone else like crap, making it an unpleasant work day.


A little Update

Posted: December 13, 2016 in PTSD


Well, followers, I am alive. I got so busy with work and life that I never found time to write.  I had time, I guess, I just didn’t make the time.  I find, for me, once I break the habit of writing (or drawing or even working out), it becomes hard to start up again.  My lazy habits of laying on my couch, playing games on my ipad, and watching netflix catch up with me.  Then days, weeks, months go by and I feel as though I haven’t accomplished anything.

I finally quit Mcdonald’s.  I couldn’t take the verbal and emotional abuse I was getting.  I couldn’t stand to see all the things they were doing wrong.  Managers stealing food and products and yet they still have jobs.  Men sexually harassing employees and yet still have their jobs.  Minors being called idiots or stupid because they didn’t understand what they were told to do because they were never taught.

Mainly it was what they put me through tho.  I had asked for a raise back in May(ish) I am/was a manager trainee, who was trained in every area and could do everything in that store (to an extent).  I came in early, stayed late, came in on my days off (when I could).  I was trusted with keys, with other trainees weren’t.  I was trusted to do bank runs, when others weren’t.  I was trusted to drive to other stores when we needed items, when others weren’t, yet after a year, I was making the same amount as a new person who could only run the register.  It was unfair.

Upon asking for my raise, I never got an answer.  Two months went by before I said anything.  When I finally asked, my store manager had the nerve to bring up another woman, who was also asking for a raise, and argued with me, that that was truly why I was bringing up the raise….. I reminded her I asked for a raise months ago and patiently waited for an answer.

She told me that I wouldn’t get a raise until I passed my management test.

The management test that I had already been studying for for six months.  The manager test that she had already started giving other trainees.  The management test she said she wouldn’t even give me until I changed my hours of availability.

I wouldn’t change my hours of availability until I was given my manager test.  🙂

So we were at a stand still.

I wouldn’t change my hours, because I had another job in the evening, that paid more.  She wanted me to give up that job, to continue to work as a trainee, not knowing when I would actually be given my test or if I would be given a raise?  I don’t think so.

When I informed her that I was taking the test through the health department in a few short weeks, she simply stated that she wouldn’t accept it.  Ha!

She wouldn’t accept a test, given by the Health Department, where I would have to actually take and finish the test on my own merits.  At Mcdonald’s, the owners, are proctors for the test.  And they sit with you and allow you to use your book and notes and are even willing to help give you the answers! (which btw, is illegal)

I told her, I wanted a raise on my own merits.  I wanted a raise because of everything I do for the restaurant and because of how good of an employee I was.  Nope.  Wasn’t good enough.  She even said that I “don’t do enough!”

Well, I’m sorry, I don’t know any other employee that comes in on their days off, comes in early, never calls off, and works as hard as I do.  Nope, wasn’t good enough.

She tried to keep me by letting me know at the end of the month, I should be getting a raise, along with everyone else.

But she also chose to make fun of my chronic migraines, my ptsd, and other “issues.”  I walked out yelling at her, because everytime I tried walking away, she tried to say things under her breath.  So I left the restaurant, screaming, “You always have to have the last word, Karen.”

I put in my two weeks, and I finished it out.  I even came back in on my last day, to work for someone who called off.

But I don’t do enough.

End Rant for now.

I self harmed.

But I’m not really going to write about that.  I’m going to write about what it taught me.  As I laid there, sad, crying, wanting more than anything for someone to come and be with me, like Andres, I sent him messages saying that I was cutting and even though he said to stop, he never once came to see me.

Remember he lives two doors down.

I passed out at five pm that day, just wanted the day to be over with.  He never called to check on me after I told me to leave me alone to die or something like that.  When I woke up that morning, there was no missed calls, no texts, no messages.  He has the key to my house and he didn’t use it.

I get it, I told him to leave me alone, but I would have never left him alone.  I would never leave anyone alone that said that or was doing that.  No matter what they said, they could fight me if they wanted.  I just felt like absolutely nothing.  It killed me.

He had the kids, so I was grateful for that, that my kids weren’t around during my meltdown.

But something I realized during this is I felt like I had to manipulate him into telling me he didn’t want me to cut or to come and see me.

I realized I shouldn’t have to manipulate him to get him to come see me.

The fact of the matter is that if he really cared, he would have came and checked on me.

I did scream at him the next day, I said you don’t leave someone alone who says that they want to kill themselves.  You don’t leave someone alone that is cutting themselves.

We didn’t talk for most of the weekend.

I told him he would have the kids every other weekend and every other night or we would play it by ear on our work schedules and the like.  I didn’t want him in my house anymore, because he gets in and then I start to trust him and believe him again and a couple months later, he fucks up.

Then I’m destroyed again, calling myself an idiot for believing him again.

He had been so helpful.  He was basically caring for me, my kids, and cleaning up after my five ferrets.  The night before the fight happened, he had let me sleep 14 hours, I had a horrible day at work and was overly triggered and stressed out and he let me sleep right after work, which led into the night and the next morning.   I’ve felt so grateful to have his help, his support (once again) and I’ve been trying to convince myself how great he is for me and the kids and that I should give him another chance.

I had been feeling so cared for and positive for a change.

It was wonderful.

I felt so great, I woke up, ate a healthy breakfast, went and worked out.  Packed my healthy lunch for work, that day of work was rather uneventful, and well then the devil just wanted to fuck with me some more and destroy all that.

So we fought.

And he sobbed, realizing how bad he fucked up our relationship, how he shouldn’t have said what he did, how unhappy he is, how he keeps fucking everything up.  He sobbed and sobbed.

My plan is to keep him away as much as possible.

When he gets to close I can convince myself everything is okay, then I tolerate things.  I have a hard time speaking up for what I want or need, like space or quiet time.  Or sometimes I don’t know what I need or want, or what’s wrong with me and I just need space.  I feel guilty when he does things for me, I feel like I’m leading him on, though I’ve been consistent about my feelings.  I want no one! I have nothing to offer anyone and if I date or get back with him (or anyone!) it is going to take away from what little self care that I give myself.  I don’t have it in me to care for myself, let alone anyone else.  Though, I know me, I know that if I do let someone get close, I’ll worry too much about them.

How they feel, are they thirsty, hungry, cold, hot?  What are they thinking? Are they happy, mad, sad….was it my fault? Why are they so quiet? What can I do to make their lives better.  I give way too much of myself to others.  And right now, I don’t have much energy to do anything (physical or mental or emotional) so what I have, I have to keep for myself.

It’s hard to be alone.  I’m so used to always having someone close, but I also know, I never feel completely loved or understood by someone and I don’t want to feel self conscious or like I’m a burden to someone with all my issues.  Having someone close to me would put more focus on them, instead of me, where it deserves to be.

So I’m trying to date God.  I’m just trying to get back to that place where I was praying everyday, going to church at least once a week, focusing on him and his love for me.  I know He listens to me and I know He doesn’t judge me.  And when I’m crying or having a panic attack, when I pray to Him to help me, He does.  He lifts it from me, not all the time, not always completely, but He always helps me when I ask.

He is the one who brought me to this journey, He is the one who will get me through this journey.

Follow up: Andres and I had a good talk and I told him how I felt, he explained some things about our fight (what he meant, etc.)  We are on better terms, talking, friendly, but he isn’t here much and we don’t talk much.

I’m okay with that.

I’m okay with where I am right now.  I’m okay with who I am right now.  I’ve hidden myself from the world for so long.  I’m tired of it.  I will never believe someone truly likes or loves me unless I am truly myself.  Friends or more.

I am not ashamed of my past, my diagnosis, my suffering, my tears, my anger, my hurt.  I’m not ashamed of it.  If people got a problem with it, they can kiss my ass.  I don’t need those people in my life.

It’s sad that I have lost all of my friends and family.  But I predicted it, didn’t I?  I wrote about how I will be abandoned by my family and friends.  That none of them would stick by my side.

Sure my dad is still around, but he’s never one to talk to about my problems.  He would just be like uh huh and change the subject.  Emotions make him uncomfortable and they always have.  He used to hardly say I love you or hug, we worked on that in family group in rehab and we do it now, but its still hard to get any emotion or sign of intelligence out of him sometimes.  So I don’t talk to him about it.

My best friend, my sister, I sent books to.  Allies in Healing, which is the sister book to Courage to Heal, for “partners” of survivors of incest, but I still thought it would help her understand more.  And another book, The Secret Survivors : The Aftermath of Incest in Women.  That one is what really helped me learn that I’m okay.  That the things I do or my mind does was a way to survive, that I am really strong and amazing the way my brain works now and the things I did to block it out.  I think it also helped because it was written about “HER” or “SHE” not “YOU” like most books about healing are.  It was also written more like a study, more than a self help book I think, more informational, maybe it was easier to read it, because it was like it wasn’t about me directly, so I was triggered less.

Anyways, I’ve spoken to her through text only a handful of times in the past six months.  She hasn’t liked a single thing on my facebook page (lots of survivor, ptsd, depression, anxiety memes and posts) in months either, I’m pretty sure she just stopped following me or just passes by my posts, which hurts really bad, because anyone who reads my page and my memes and things I post and share would realize how bad I’m really hurting.  I haven’t gotten even a how are you or anything.

I’m happy she’s busy with her life, but it still hurts that everyone close to me has forgotten me.  But I’m grateful too, because it leaves my time for God.  It makes me rely on Him, which was probably His plan the whole time.

Just took this long to figure out.  And I’ve only come to realize this the past few days, but I’ve been thinking of it lately anyways, with the anniversary of my fast last Easter and the start of my weight loss (40lbs in 5 months) and how I started changing my life for the better with God’s help.

Until I had my breakdown.

And I lost focus on everything, while some things were going good for me, (job, money, house) I also lost my focus on my health and body, I lost my mind, lost my faith, and not because I didn’t believe in God or hated him or thought he hated me, I just wanted to wallow in my depression for awhile and I still can.  I am allow to cry and be angry and be hurt and be said.  I can scream and break things if I want.  I am allowed to feel and I enjoyed that for awhile.  I still am learning about myself, but I do feel stronger, I am amazed at the highs and lows I have seen in the last year, and I know what I am capable of, and I know how strong I am.

I also know I am weak, I am scared, I’m negative.  I’m sad, I’m depressed.  But I’m also proud and happy with who I am, I’m okay with who I am. Depressed, anxious, flashbacks and quirks and all…… I’m starting to accept me for me.   And because I’m starting to love myself and accept me for who I am, I’m starting to not tolerate anyone hurting me.  I’m standing up for myself instead of taking it.

While I hate my job some days, I stood up to my scary boss and while I listened to her excuses about why they yell, “We’re trying to teach you.” I told her, I don’t care why, you can keep giving me excuses why, I’m still going to tell you that I WILL NOT TOLERATE it.  I will leave.  I will give you two weeks notice, but I will leave if it continues.  I told her that I have been treated like shit my whole life and I’m in counseling to help me learn not to take that shit anymore (partially true) and I won’t tolerate it, period.

She’s asked me to teach her how to be with me and not to give up on them.  They have been better with me, they’ve been better with others.  I told the other workers, that I was standing up and fighting for them too, (which is probably partially why I have to balls to stand up to her like I do).  And I’ve also showed them, that there is another way of managing.  I don’t yell at my workers, I am respectful and they are respectful with me, we get our orders out, and we don’t waste a lot of food in the process.  I think they are starting to see the way I do things, and they are following suit.

It felt so great, standing up for myself.  I remember something my mother said to me, growing up, “What you allow is what will continue.”

I hear those words in my head and she’s right. If I tolerate it, it will continue, and I won’t be happy and I will probably quit.  If they don’t make changes on how they treat me and others, I will leave.  While I know I am replaceable, like anyone else, I also know they don’t want to replace me, because my manager has “invested so much in me.”

haha. whatever that means.

Anyways, I thought this post would end up angry, sad, with me in tears, but I actually feel more positive, might be the Christian playlist I’ve been listening too, that tends to change my mindset.

God bless you all. I’m sending all of you positive vibes and thoughts.





Since I have fallen back out of the habit of writing, it’s hard to get back into it.  I remember how much I loved it, but I just can’t get the energy, the time, the patience, the motivation to write.  I regret the thoughts and experiences and feelings that have happened in the past several weeks/months that I’m now unable to remember because I allowed myself to push them out of my mind.

Tonight, was the first time I have seen my husband sob.  This man, who I have seen cry only a handful of times, was sobbing.  We were in an argument about because I snapped at on of our kids.  I snapped at them, because Andres had yelled at me, which triggered me and I felt whatever it is you feel, when you pull yourself into your shell and put up your high defenses in fear of what may happen next.  So I was on high alert.  And I just wanted a minute to myself to try and calm myself down.  With toddlers its hard.  And my husband was also chasing (felt like it) around the house.  The kids and him were taking turns blocking me in, blocking my way out, making me more tense, and I just wanted to burst into tears and relax from when he yelled at me

It just got worse, so yeah, I burst on my kid.

Made me feel like shit.  Andres made me feel like more shit when he starting yelling at me for yelling at him (that’s all he’s done to him for their whole life, but when I do it, since he’s all mr mom now,  I get in trouble).

He somehow brings up ALLLLLL that he’s done for me and I’m standing here yelling at him.  I said, oh, all that shit, no one asked you to do?  Oh, my bad, thought you were doing that cause you loved me, not cause you wanted something back for it.

Honestly, I didn’t say it that cool, but more or less, people.

For those who don’t know, we aren’t together, he doesn’t live with me, yet I practically have to shove out the door every night (he helps in the evenings with the kids to get them to bed-normalcy for them) because he always tries to stay.  We are separated since Valentine’s Day when he didn’t come home the night before.

He mentions he’s depressed.  In a “You think you are depressed? What about me? Don’t you know I’m depressed?” I said, “I can’t help you with that.”

I feel guilty for that, but I can’t.

My whole life I have put myself out there for everyone else, not taking care of myself, mentally, emotionally, physically, even medically and sexually.  It’s always been what everyone else wanted or needed from me.

I’m finally starting to learn that my feelings are important and I am valuable – even if deep down, I still don’t feel that way.  I am starting to stand up in all areas of my life.

It’s very hard to stand up to Andres.  I want him close, because I’m so lonely but I don’t want him close because then I feel guilty as though I owe him something or he thinks its more than it is, even though I’ve clearly told him, even if we get back together, I have vowed that he won’t move back in before my birthday in August.

And that’s important for me to stick to.  Six months away shouldn’t kill me.  I’m trying to focus on me and my illness and struggles.  I’m trying to heal, become a better person, I’m trying to just hang onto tomorrow.

I have nothing to offer anyone else.  I can not be with anyone right now because they will take all I have left.  And that little abused child in me, needs that love and attention, not them.  I’m sorry.

I felt so bad, so guilty as I walked away from him as he sobbed because I had to be at work- I was already running late from our argument (which he started when I tried to control the fight from escalating by saying, “It’s better if I leave for work.” I was four feet from the door when he followed me into the kitchen to continue our argument.

I came back ten minutes later, because I had forgotten my phone.  My five year old opened the door because it was locked, and told me that “Daddy was crying.”

I sighed.

I went into the living room and he was sobbing half on the couch, half on the floor.  I had never seen him in such despair.  I got on the floor with him and held him for a minute and he mumbled and said something about “fucking life.”

I said “Life is what you make it, what you do.  Only you can change your life and make it better.  Seek God.  He loves you no matter what.  He wants you to talk to him.”  He didn’t say anything, just kept sobbing and really didn’t hug me back or hold onto me while I held him, so I let him go and said I had to get back to work.

I almost walked back in to tell them I had a family emergency.  Then I had to compile all possible ways I could say it without explaining what and without lying. I don’t think my husband bawling was a family emergency.

But I picked up my head, reminded myself how many times he ignored my cries, even sitting next to me.  How many times I sobbed like that and how many times he ignored it.

Though he has only cried a few times. I always dropped everything I was doing, or feeling, even if I was hysterically angry at him.  To hold him, to wipe his tears away.

He just starting to hold me.  Through counseling and talking, things were better between us.  Even though he was really being great, I didn’t feel for him, like I did before.  I was too worn, too hurt, too much trust lost.  I want to want him you know, but I’m reminded that its too hard, every day.

Our language barrier is a huge deal.  He status in this country.  I don’t want to be forced to marry him before I’m ready to keep him here and I wasn’t ready for nine years, I don’t know if I ever will be with him ,ever again.  I don’t want to have that responsibility of paperwork to get his citizenship status.  I don’t want that weight, years ago, I would have gladly done it, but over the years, I have realized I did everything for him and I was tired of doing everything.  From cashing his checks, buying ciggs or beer, phone card, paying court costs, joining him at court, saving him from the police when he was stopped for speeding, I’m tried of it.

Now, I feel guilt for leaving him like that.  I feel guilt that I told him I couldn’t help him.  But you know what? I was honest.  I can’t help him. I can’t take care of myself.

I’ve been having suicidal thoughts, because I feel my children deserve a childhood without a depressed, angry mom that is either crying or yelling or sleeping all the time.  I give them love and affection too, but I’m reminded of my childhood, and they don’t need to grow up fucked in the head because of me.

I remind myself that my life hasn’t always been this bad.  I remind myself that it will get better, but its really hard to keep holding onto.

I did try to cut myself with a dull kitchen knife before I sat down to write this.

I’m agitated that it didn’t draw blood.  I don’t want to do what I used to do and tear apart a razor and cut myself with the sharp ends.

I haven’t cut myself in years.  I don’t want to do it.  I don’t want to give in.  I don’t want to let them win.  I can’t let them win, but God, this hurts so fucking bad.  Everything hurts so fucking bad and I just don’t wanna do it anymore.  And I’m doing it alone.

Andres helped me get through my day, knowing he was there to support me by helping me with the kids.  But after today, him throwing it in my face what he has done (btw, same shit I’ve been doing for nine years with him or five years for our children) for the past couple of months.

Shit I’ve never asked him to do.  Thanks for throwing all that shit back in my face.

He threw it in my face that I’m on Facebook all the time.  That I get upset and take it out on him.  He’s referring to a conversation between a real life friend and me the other night when speaking with her, starting getting me really upset.   She also struggles with PTSD and we were talking about how similar we are.   Kids were already in bed, but I think I may have told him to go home or something.  He sits around and watches soccer on my tv or spanish shows.

I threw it back in his face that I’m on Facebook all the time, because I’m a member of multiple PTSD or depression or anxiety support groups filled with like minded people and it helps me!

Not that its any of his fucking business.

Now I’m really pissed.



Fuck you, how dare you treat me like shit?  How dare you use my issues against me- about me not willing to be official with a girl (for the first time ever, just getting out of a nine year relationship, in the middle of a nervous breakdown).

Fuck I can’t even handle taking a shower or my own kids 99% of the time and you put pressure on me then when I back off you flip…… Then when we finally start talking again, we get close and silly and talk about how I was hurt, how you were hurt, I thought everything was great.

Until it wasn’t.  Until you treated me like a piece of shit, like I had no feelings, like I was nothing, Andres has never ever treated me like that.  It was your
“payback” cause I broke your heart.

I was honest the whole time.  I was honest about not wanting to be in a relationship PERIOD.  Then definitely not start a new one with someone with a girlfriend. THEN definitely not my subordinate at work.  Then when you wouldn’t give me any fucking space or respect my need for distance…….

I had to push you way the hell back.  But I thought we were ok, I thought we were cool and then you let someone treat me like that, then laugh and lie to my face, acting like I was being dramatic or she was being dramatic.

I even go as far as asking you to move in, to save you from the situation, plus I didn’t want to lose you.  I was slowly letting you in, I was slowly letting someone in.

Then as I wait for you to come back (again) with your things, I start to look around, little ferret poop piles, the smell (what is that smell?!?!?!? coming from the sink, the dirty carpet, it all became too real to me, that I was going to let you in and that scared the fuck out of me.  I didn’t want to let you in and you reject me or hurt me.  I also didn’t want anybody in my space, but most importantly, I was so scared of letting you get close to me.  I also didn’t want you to be able to pressure or manipulate me and I couldn’t believe what I was doing to myself…. letting you get so close when I had fought so hard to keep my privacy fences up high and wide.

The disregard in your voice I think is what hurt the most.  The game you had played with me, letting me believe you cared about me, that this girl was nothing, less than nothing, crazy and you needed saving, then you are in Van Wert, getting something to eat with her?

I felt crazy. Stupid. Rejected.  The fears I just bawled out (in Andres arms’) was just confirmed that nobody in the world could want me.  I was finally letting in someone who said they cared, said they were in love with me, was kind and sweet to me, always.

Then she turned like a damn zombie and it made me feel like a piece of worthless shit.  Like maybe when I was younger and being abused and made to felt special then to feel the rejection in public……….

She has no idea how much I was destroyed tonight or perhaps she does and shes laughing about it.

I thank you God, for protecting me from myself.  I was making a horrible decision.  I was starting to feel really anxious and scared and nervous about letting someone in and YOU showed me that I was right to feel that way and it hurt so bad, it still hurts so bad.  But i’m getting angry now and hopefully I get angry enough to stay strong at work in a few hours when I have to face her.

I ended our call telling her I just wanted her to be happy, that’s all it ever wanted.  With her ex, with whoever, with life, supported her when I didn’t want to, when I wanted to smack her for being stupid, I tried to lift her up, and she took advantage ( I wanted to write -I wasn’t good enough- but I know that’s not true-) of me.

And I’m going to have to tell my therapist she was right. DAMN it.