Recovery Is Not Linear - Tumblr Posts
A quote.
Abuser, while insulting you, threatening you, dehumanizing you and/or beating you: Stop making me look like the bad guy
Work is stressful right now. Most people self soothe and do things that help them destress - take walks, bubble baths, naps.
Me? I reread this blog. The worst bits. The parts that still make me feel nauseous. Perfect time to double down on all those bad feelings.
Hello self-loathing, hello black hole of misery. Sorry, it's been a while.
Not all self harm involves knives or bruising.
The stronger you get, the stronger they expect you to be.
After slugging through the healing process for the last 3.5 years, I feel comfortable enough giving this kind of advice:
Find those little things that made you happy before. You may be surprised to find that they will add little lights of happiness in your life once again.
I powered through the entire Poirot series a few months ago. I used to watch it with my parents on Masterpiece when I was young, but I hadn’t seen every episode, particularly the newer seasons.
It’s so stylish and lovely. I love Art Deco, not that I’m an expert, and they show just the most beautiful clothing, housewares and architecture. I always loved Suchet’s portrayal of our favourite Belgian detective.
I would never have been able to watch something like this with him around. It would be ‘boring’ or just generally a waste of my time.
Being able to watch it again was like a fuzzy blanket. Or a warm cup of tea. So soothing and wonderful.
Small things can make a big difference, and I encourage you to indulge in those small things you enjoy. “Everything matters” as Poirot would say.
Hercule Poirot + the finger
“Ah!” Poirot shook his forefinger so fiercely at me that I quailed before it. “Beware! Peril to the detective who says: ‘It is so small–it does not matter. It will not agree. I will forget it!’ That way lies confusion! Everything matters.” - Agatha Christie, The Mysterious Affair at Styles
Today in Review
Me: I have a lot of work to get done today, and people are depending on me. Oh shoot, I have two appointments that will interrupt my day too. I should probably get started.
Brain: Maybe you should panic and do nothing for four hours instead.
Me: ... well, no, if I plan and start n....
Brain: PANIC AND DO NOTHING FOR FOUR HOURS!!!
I have gone 194 weeks without contacting him.
Unfortunately, I still think about him often, but everytime I do I try to remember to take a deep breath and focus on exhaling fully.
It releases my chest muscles; a thing that I could never do with him.
The memories I have of him and the abuse blur and refocus seemingly at random, so it can be difficult to consciously remember a specific thing at a given time.
But that feeling of my ribs being seemingly sewn shut endures and serves as the reference point for my progress.
It's been 194 weeks and I can breathe now.
Weaponized incompetence. It has a name. Huh.
Daymare where I am in court because he's trying to get some money Ive come in to. He's telling the judge how terrible I am, and I'm just trying to explain that I just want to be left alone.
Aaaannnd I'm crying over the pancakes I'm making.
Never me.
Missed Milestones
It may be a sign that I’m making progress, but I missed remembering some important milestones this year:
It’s been 210 weeks since I spoke my last words to him (that’s 4 full years and 2 weeks if you don’t want to count).
It’s been 314 weeks (6 years, 2 weeks) since I lived under the same roof as him.
I’ll be 36 this week. And while my body is feeling its age (and more) at times, my mind feels younger than it ever did when I was in my 20s.
I think she just grasped that there's a REALLY long way to go.
Therapist: Ok, I think we can try to tweak how you speak to yourself and shine some light in the dark. How do you feel when you get dressed up? You know, make up, cute outfit, that sort of thing...
Me: eeeeeee *laughs*
Therapist: ... That bad?
Me: "Wow, make up can't even help this. Look at what you have done to yourself. You should cover the mirrors in the house. You are a disgrace and disgusting and you're never going to come back from this. You're ugly, and you're going to be ugly for the rest of your life now. You have no value, slob."
Therapist: Holy shiiiiiit....
A prevailing symptom of my abuse is not believing myself when I don't feel well.
Today I am going to bed early. My body is feeling symptoms of stress, and it’s high time I started listening to it.
I’ll start off by saying that I can’t speak for everyone. However in my experience, and in my discussions with other survivors, it seems that in the early days of abuse recovery we become obsessed with understanding WHY.
Why did they do this? Why didn’t I see who they really were? Why did they choose me? Why did I allow this?
We buy books, research online for hours, bombard our therapists with theories, and try to find stories like ours. We look for the truth somewhere outside of ourselves. It feels like if we can just find that one elusive piece of the logic puzzle, our knowledge will heal us.
It’s probably a necessary part of the process, and can be therapeutic in its own way. But you can’t push away the inevitable forever. The feelings come, and they come hard. They have to.
When I slowed down on the fervent research and made myself sit in the pit of horrors that was my brain, things started to change a bit.
Second Hand Anxiety
My partner has an interview today. I am LOSING MY FUCKING MIND about it. I feel like if she doesn't get the job it will be because I failed her.
Not sure if I just want her to get the job she really wants because it would make her happy and improve her quality of life. Or maybe it's because he blamed me for anything in his life that did not go his way.
"If you would have fucking slept on the couch so I could actually sleep...."
"They asked questions that weren't on the list you gave me. Thanks for fucking this up for me..."
"I don't fucking care if you don't know anything about machining. I told you to take notes for me to study for my trades exam. These notes are shit. It's like you're not even trying...."
Still figuring it out. I'll think about it while I go vomit. Stay tuned!
Oopsie.
You know when you know something is a bad idea, but you do it anyways?
Have any of you figured out how to curb that yet?
I don't know why, but I googled his name.
He got into an accident on his bike in April and has a GoFundMe set up by his girlfriend. He was in the hospital for 10 weeks.
There's some feels here, but not what I was expecting.
Oopsie.
You know when you know something is a bad idea, but you do it anyways?
Have any of you figured out how to curb that yet?
Still trying to figure out how to go out and be social without feeling like I've taken up too much space/said the wrong thing.
I'm in my fucking 30s. Sorry to anyone who thought it would just go away...
If you're struggling to find a reason to stay here, try spite. Be a cockroach.
My current plan to recover from my mental and emotional existence is to just go so deep into being insane that I’ll come out sane on the other side. Being a chronic people pleaser plagued with impostor syndrome stretched me too thin, and that leash simply snapped and I am now a completely untethered, unapologetic vermin.
Fuck having impostor syndrome, if I’m not entitled to be here they should’ve barred the doors better. If I’m doing everything wrong because of imaginary rules that nobody told me about, that’s their problem, you should have made your confusing system more idiot-proof.
I’m not here to please everyone and do everything right. I’m here to make bad art, chew on furniture, make people laugh, cook awful food and look at pretty landscapes, and piss off the people who don’t want me to exist. If I have an unseen infinite debt somewhere that I can never pay back, I’m going to keep running that tab until I die. I’m alive purely because the universe is shit at pest control.
A question for the abuse survivors, did you lose the ability to recognize when you're happy? I feel like someone took an eraser to my amygdala.
Did you get yours back?
The self-loathing bits of my brain are so mad at you right now, OP.
if being hard on yourself worked, it would have worked by now