Ugh.
So as I predicted I had a bad night at work. Within minutes of arriving I was already ready to “cut a bitch.” I literally said that. We were packed and had so many orders and I started taking control and one of the grill girls caught an attitude with me and another co-worker noticed how pissed off she made me and told me to breathe. I said, “She’s gonna make me cut a bitch.”
It didn’t get any better.
But whatever……. I’m tired, I’m irritated. My body hurts, I should sleep, but know I won’t be able to without relaxing a little bit first, so here I am, trying to write. At first, I thought I would rant about my night, but I don’t feel like ranting anymore. I don’t even feel like writing anymore.
But there is something there, on the surface, and I’m not sure what my mind is trying to get out. I keep trying to remember what it was I wanted to write about, but I can’t. And I’m too tired to try and figure it out. So I’m just continue to continue to write about….
Nothing.
OOOOH! I know, lets try a journal prompt.
Eenie, meanie, monnie, moe.
Well, I know one post I’ve been wanting to write about, I may have touched on it a little bit a couple posts ago, but I can’t remember. The journal prompt was: What I wear to bed.
This has prompted me to think about the fact that I now wear clothes to bed, when before I rarely did.
When I had my “meltdown,” it made me feel extremely vulnerable. I had so many flashbacks and nightmares that I was and am still, afraid to do certain things. I’m scared to go boxing because I don’t want the hitting to invoke flashbacks of fighting my rapist or other abusers. I don’t want that feeling of feeling so scared and hurt and vulnerable, which I experienced when I first got in the ring with my trainer. I broke down bawling hysterically and I couldn’t stop. He looked at me firmly and said, with power, ” Hey, wherever you just went isn’t here. It’s not now. ” He said it with such force and power that I believed him. I managed to get enough control to finish the session. Later he told me that it was a normal reaction for women that have been abused.
Note: This was the first time I ever hit my trainer. He did not hit me or attempt to hit me, he just had me try to hit him while he tried to avoid my punches. I was angry cause I couldn’t make contact with him and he started teasing me, playfully, and it made me want to hit him hard, so I tried to imagine someone I was angry at. That automatically brought of the memory of my brother raping me and the abuse that went on for years when I was a child. Along with remembering how anger I was, came the hurt. I was overpowered with the strong feelings of sadness and hurt I felt. And I broke down.
Another thing I am afraid of doing is having sex with my husband.
He has spent the weekdays a few hours away working construction for my brother’s concrete business. He would come home on the weekends. When I broke down, he was well aware. It was so hard going through all that pain and misery with him so far away. I couldn’t call him or even expect a text or answer until late night. He was really supportive, even from afar.
I told him the night before he came home that I didn’t think i could have sex with him and I couldn’t have him trying to be sexual with me either. I was afraid that it would trigger me. I also told him I don’t think I could sleep with him, I didn’t want to be touched, in any way. I think I started wearing clothes to bed because I didn’t want to encourage him or provoke him sexually. There were times that first weekend home that he tried to grab me or made little comments and I quickly removed his hands or told him to not talk like that. He respected me, which honestly surprised me.
There have been times in the past when I was too tired or too sick, or I told him I didn’t want to have sex for whatever reason, and he would still tease and joke and try to do it. It didn’t anger me, just annoyed me, and I usually gave in so who can blame him for continually trying? However, I think this time he realized it was serious. I had a counseling session with him and she helped to explain how the things I do, I can’t control and its a reaction to my PTSD. That session really helped and afterwards whenever I tried to explain how I felt, he seemed to understand. When I lost control and yelled or got a little angry or crazy, he was more patient with me and helped me through it. Most of the time, his reaction was a positive and supportive one which didn’t make me feel bad for having a “freak out.”
But after three weeks of not having sex with my husband, I started to feel guilty when he came home this past Friday. When he isn’t here, I don’t think about it, but now he’s home and we are sleeping together and I start to feel guilty or shame because I am not “giving it up” (that just caused a flashback/ ugh).
Because I am not having sex with my husband. I feel like it is my duty as his wife. I feel like I am supposed to or I have to. That “men have needs.” That if I don’t have sex with him, or am never able to have sex with him again, he will start masterbating like crazy, leading to an obsession to porn, which will lead to going to strip clubs and buying prostitutes and cheating on me. And I told him so.
He jokingly said, “mmmmhmmmm, yup, yup‘, in agreement with me. I got a little hurt (just a little bit) by that and said so. He said, “I never said I would, but that’s just what you think.”
I said, “yeah that’s true, but because you didn’t tell me any different and you agreed with me. If you had responded by saying, hell no, baby I would never do any of that, then I would feel more secure in our relationship and less paranoid.”
I’m can’t remember how he responded, but whatever he said or did, did make me feel better.
I’ve told him how I feel guilt and shame that I’m not having sex with him. He told me that he never pressures me or says anything about it. I said, “I know, its not your fault why I feel that way.” We also discussed this in counseling a couple days ago. My counselor told me that I should never have sex because I feel I have to, it should always be because I want to. I said “I know but I feel bad if I don’t.”
The thing is, I also feel bad if I do. I almost think it’s easier to just have sex, to make him (or any other previous lover) happy. At least one of us will be happy, right? Doesn’t matter if sometimes I cry after or I feel disgusting and worthless and ashamed. I’m used to that. That’s a normal, almost comfortable feeling to me.
But since my “Meltdown,” I can’t bring myself to do it. Maybe its the little girl whose living in me who came out of hiding that day. Maybe its me finally standing up for myself, for her. Maybe I just got so scared with how I felt that week, that I want to avoid having that experience ever again.
I scared myself shitless that week. I was shaking and my body was in control of my mind, not my mind in control of my body. At times I couldn’t make myself move. I couldn’t make myself relax. I was so scared to leave my house, my room, my bed. I adopted a big teddy bear that week and continue to use it to sleep with or when I’m feeling sad or unsure of exactly what I’m feeling and thinking. – If that makes sense.
I couldn’t calm myself down. I couldn’t convince myself that I was ok. I was scared of every shadow that moved. I was later told that I was moving like a zombie. Here, physically, but not mentally. I was shuffling around with a blank look on my face, when I wasn’t crying. I called off work (only after arranging someone else to cover me) twice that week. I had arranged to have Friday off, all day. I also arranged for babysitters to keep the kids until Andres got home that evening. I spent the day in bed, watching netflix, smoking weed, and listening to meditative music. It helped.
Having that day of no worry, no stress, no responsibility, just rest and relaxation helped so much. After that, it seemed to get better. I was triggered less, meaning less flashbacks. My medicine was upped, also given one to help with the nightmares, but I didn’t take it often and it honestly didn’t seem to help when I did.
While I don’t remember too much of the nightmares, I wake up feeling like I didn’t sleep at all or with overwhelming sadness or shame when I wake up, which effects most of my day.
Anyways, I’m tired and I promised I would go to bed by 3:30 and its now almost 4 and I have to be up in a couple hours, so I’m off to bed. Nena also woke up and my thought process was disrupted and now I feel 100x more exhausted so since I can’t think, I’m just going to go to bed.
Short answer to the prompt: I wear clothes to bed now, because I am too scared that I may provoke my husband or myself, and what triggers, anxiety, panic, and hurt that may invoke. However, on the positive side, I am feeling more loved and respected than I think I have ever felt in a relationship. Even, if I have guilt and shame because I feel like I “owe it” to have sex with my husband.
Life isn't easy, but it's worth it. 