father

All posts tagged father

Published January 30, 2018 by Chloe Madison

I cannot stand this feeling.

I can’t even articulate it. I feel so, so alone. I can’t get over how incredibly alone I am in this world. I think it would be easier if I was the only human on earth, instead of being surrounded by people.

My roommate went to our apartment when I was at work today and took a bunch of her stuff. I only saw her once since I was in the hospital. That time, she came by the apartment and tried to run out without speaking to me. I said hi to her and she said hi back…but she refused to even look me in the face. She literally darted out the door. I don’t know why I’m so bothered that she took some of her things today. It just feels more empty.

It’s a more physical reality of the fact that people are distancing themselves from me. She acts like I have the plague. Everyone who knows I was in the hospital acts like that. People have stayed away from me, have stopped talking to me….and people who I used to think cared, have made it clear they don’t even trust me anymore. I’m broken over that. So, so disturbed and hurt and broken over that. Just as I start to open up and share and trust another human being, they bolt and act like I’m diseased…like they’re not allowed to be in the same room with me. It makes me feel like shit.

I wish to God I could just disappear. Forever. For fucking ever.

I hate this. I hate myself. I hate that I can’t connect with people and when I do, it somehow backfires and they bail. I hate that I don’t trust people…and I hate that they don’t trust me. Don’t people know I wouldn’t hurt a soul? To feel unwanted and not trusted…ugh…it’s a horrible, horrible feeling.

I have no idea where I’ll be living come this summer. I’ll need to move again. I don’t know where to go. I’m thinking of putting my stuff in storage and going without a place for the summer- just to save money. I’m not praying much, but the very few things I’m asking God for includes a place to call home. Somewhere I can belong.

But I just don’t. I simply don’t belong anywhere or with anyone. I wish I had a family. A nice, loving family that talked and hugged each other all the time. Tears are streaming down my face and clouding my vision as I write this. I want to belong. I want a family. This, though….this will never happen.

Resiliency.

That’s something I don’t have. You would think I do…after all that I’ve been through, I’m still walking upright. I was physically, psychologically, and very much emotionally abused by my mom. My father molested me when I was 11 or 12. My mom and grandma conspired to cover it up. When I was 9, I was raped so many times by a neighbor, that I don’t even know how many times…that included sodomy. That shame has never left me. My father died from cancer only about a year later…after I wished him dead. For half of my life, I thought it was my fault he died. I got pregnant at 18 and planned to marry my boyfriend. My mom wouldn’t allow it. She forced an abortion on us. I was raped again when I was 22. I got pregnant and out of fear of every possible scenario, I had another abortion, believing it was the best course of action. I still solemnly remember those would-be birthdays. I believe that’s why God won’t give me any more children. My house has been broken into, my car has been stolen. My uncle committed suicide over the fact that my dad sexually abused him and no one believed him. My father is a sexual predator/ molester/ whatever you want to call it. I’ve been mugged, pretty much every single crime you can think of has been perpetrated against me. Yet, I still stand. Wobbly and shaking and reaching out for something to hold on to for support…but I’m still upright.

But I’m no longer resilient. This has changed me. I’ve given up.

I used to be much happier. I saw a video of myself today from a while back and I couldn’t believe how funny, energetic, and happy I was. I didn’t even know the girl in the video. It was surreal to watch someone who looks so much like me be so completely different from who I am now. Is that what depression does to you? Is that what anxiety and PTSD does? Is that what happens when you’ve lost hope and people have dipped out of your life because they simply don’t care? Do you turn into this wasteland of a body with nothing but numbingly sharp emotions and tears and fears? Do you just have so much rage inside that you have to act- even if that means hurting yourself?

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Published December 20, 2017 by Chloe Madison

Watch this:

https://vimeo.com/247425613

3:35 Her whole story resonates, but at 3:35, man it struck me hard. So, so true.

It’s just unattainable for some of us. I don’t see this getting any better. I don’t see people recovering from this. My uncle didn’t. I’m not. It’s just not meant to be. I’m glad that it happened to me and not someone else though- I’d rather be a casualty in someone else’s place. And for those of us in this position, we’ll just never live normal lives. There’s nothing that can be done.

Why God does this, I’ll never know. And whatever…that’s fine. I guess he has to appoint this to someone…so I’ll take it and go.

Below are the lyrics to Korn’s “Bottled Up Inside”

It ain’t fading

Man I gotta let it out

Am I crazy?

Screaming nothing ever comes out

I keep feeling lost

I’ll never find my way out

I’m not thanking them

Unless the truth can pour out

Give me some courage

Beating me down now for some time

Are you laughing am I funny?

I hate inside,

I hate inside.

I’ll take this time

To let out what’s inside

Cause I will break

Sometimes I wish you’d die

Full of sorrow

You raped and stole my pride.

And all this hate is bottled up inside

My heart’s breaking

Man you really ripped it out

You take pleasure watching as

I claw my way out

The hurt rising

Soon it’s gonna tear my soul out

It’s not kosher feeling like I’m on my way out

Give me some courage

Beating me down now for some time

Are you laughing am I funny?

I hate inside,

I hate inside.

I’ll take this time

To let out what’s inside

Cuz I will break

Sometimes I wish you’d die

Full of sorrow

You raped and stole my pride.

And all this hate is bottled up inside

Feeling the haze as they cut down my spine

Pealing your flesh like the way you’ve cut mine

Do you feel happy, you fucked up my mind

You’re going to pay this time

I’ll take this time

To let out what’s inside

Cause I will break

Sometimes I wish you’d die

Full of sorrow

You raped and stole my pride.

And all this hate is bottled up inside

I’ll take this time

To let out what’s inside

Cause I will break

Sometimes I wish you’d die

Full of sorrow

You raped and stole my pride.

And all this hate is bottled up inside

I change the line, “Are you laughing? Am I funny?” to “Are you laughing at my body?” It relates to me more. And I don’t wish death on my perpetrators the way he does in this song. But I do need an outlet. I absolutely do.

My friend who called 911 that horrible night…I’d asked him a couple of times right afterwards to not come and read this blog for a while. It’s not to be rude or mean or to push anyone away- it’s just so I don’t need to worry about what I say. I’m almost certain he’s been respecting that. But I feel stifled here…I’m still so scared to say what I truly want and need to say. I’M SO AFRAID TO EXPRESS MYSELF- to anyone, anywhere. I need a place to un-bottle my emotions and thoughts, no matter how horrible they are. I can’t keep them inside. Inside me, it’s like poison…and I’ve got to get it out. I’ve been thinking for about a month about this and I think I’m going to start a new blog. I’m still going to write here and maybe use the other one for when I’m REALLY not doing well and I need to get it out, but I’m too afraid to express it here. It’s not worth the risk of getting locked up again. NOTHING is worth that. Nothing. Certainly not my life.

I will probably still need to write here every day. I’ve noticed my writing has increased a lot and it’s been much more haphazard. But that’s ok. I don’t care. I’m just getting out whatever happens to be inside- haphazard or not.

Published December 17, 2017 by Chloe Madison

I’ve been trying so hard to not write.

I have nothing. I am nothing. I have nothing to offer anyone. I’m not good at anything. No gifts, no talents, nothing remotely close. But God can use people like that, right?

What a crock.

I have no idea why I’m so devastated. I know I’m dealing with a lot. I know my father is a sexual predator, a child abuser. I know my grandmother and mother betrayed me and covered up my abuse. I know my uncle hated me my whole life and committed suicide. I know my father sexually abused my uncle. I know I am nothing. I’m not worth a gdf thing. This life isn’t meant for people like me. I know people have given up on me. People aren’t talking to me. People don’t have time for me. Sorry I’m so inconvenient. Sorry you need to go so far out of your way to take two seconds. I KNOW I’m not worth that. You don’t need to prove it to me over and over. I can’t take this anymore. I don’t belong here. I want to disappear. I want to go. So badly. It’s like I’m going to explode. I can’t control it.

I’m so full of hate and anger and pure rage. And I direct it all at myself. Who else can I direct it at? Many of those who have hurt me have passed away or are far away. What am I supposed to do with all of this? I hold it and it kills me. From the inside out. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.

Published November 28, 2017 by Chloe Madison

Overall, today was a good day. It was good to get back to work and see everyone. People told me they missed me over Thanksgiving break and that was a nice surprise to hear. Plus, I REALLY don’t do well when I have too much free time to let my brain wander and stew on my issues. So it’s good to get back to work and feel productive.

I woke up last night at 2am with a migraine. Stupid hospital bills stressing me out. I got another one today- another $6,000 something for the 5 days. I’m suspicious though that there might be more- how can 8 hours in the ER cost three times more than 5 days and nights in a hospital? Is that normal? Anyway, I’m worried there might be some more charges coming. I got additional charges for the ER doctor…and there weren’t any charges yet for the hospital doctors for the 5 days…(YIKES!!!) I’m worried that will be coming soon… 😨

I just keep repeating to myself, “don’t freak out!”

“Don’t freak out!”

“Don’t freak out!”

Gah….😓 I cannot handle this. I cannot handle any more strain on my life. I kept saying to myself over and over again today, “my life is not worth $16,000!!!”

And it’s not. It’s so true. 😦

Alright…what I’m thankful for: I’m thankful for having a good, albeit headache-filled day at work. I’m thankful for better dreams these last few days- I literally dreamed of puppies and ice cream and donuts! 😂 I kid you not! The puppies were drowning…but in my dream, we saved them all and got them all adopted. So it all worked out well. No nightmares last night either… but I was awake at 2am and couldn’t go back to sleep (even with sleeping pills). Hopefully, that won’t happen tonight.

I’m also thankful for something else. I thought a lot about my uncle yesterday and I meant to write that I was thankful for this yesterday, but I got side tracked when I got the hospital bills. I was thinking how he told people that my dad sexually abused him and no one believed him. Knowing that my grandma knew about my abuse and conspired to cover it up…I believe that she believed my uncle, but maybe acted like she didn’t in order to keep it all quiet and protect my dad. But, everyone else that he told… no one believed him. That makes me so sad. I was thinking about that and I realized that I haven’t had that issue. Yes, my mom and grandma knew all along and did nothing to help me or protect me…but I never told them. I never told anyone until I was 18 years old. That’s the first time I had the courage to say a word. I never had the experience of someone not believing me. And that’s what I’m thankful for. I can’t imagine how much more damaging this could be if I was told I wasn’t believed. It made me see that my uncle had more damage done by not having support when he sought it out. That’s so messed up. I’m so grateful that the very few people I’ve shared with have had my back….(minus my two friends who jumped ship recently).

When I think about suicide, I find myself rationalizing that I share the same fate as my uncle. I told myself that over and over. He didn’t survive what my dad did, why would I? He committed suicide, it must be my fate as well. Am I stronger than he is? No way! So why do I think I’d survive when he didn’t? He lived for decades and decades and STILL wound up succumbing to his psychological injuries. My dad will ultimately be responsible for two deaths…and for wrecking who knows how many lives!

…This is what I told myself and this is how I thought. And yesterday when I was thinking about no one believing my uncle, I thought that he must have had it harder. It’s must have been so much more difficult for him because people didn’t believe him. He saw my dad all the time and knew my dad got away with disgusting, evil acts. And HIS OWNMOTHER covered it up. I mean…mine did too. But still…

My fear of not being believed only manifested in one instance and that was with Joe. He had always physically, intellectually, and psychologically intimidated me. Before the rape occurred, he had already been physically violent with both myself and my little dog. So I had already been staying away from him. We were no longer friends because he broke the septum in my nose when he slammed my head against a wall. I had been tapping on something and it had annoyed him. That was the last time I ever talked to him. I was scared and stayed away after that. And months later, the rape occurred. And now…he’s an attorney. Geez…I feel even more intimidated by his occupation. There’s no way I could accuse him without massive fear and anxiety regarding retaliation on his part. I’m almost certain of it. So I see how a fear of not being believed can affect you. I can’t imagine how much that affected my uncle when he tried to confide in people.

I’m trying really, really hard. Things aren’t going well. I’m more deeply depressed than before…but I don’t know if that’s because of the meds or my nice little stay in the hospital that’s giving me a complex. I feel so ashamed of it. My one friend who visited me (and who drove two hours to do so) told me the other day that the hospitalization “doesn’t define you.” I really needed to hear that. I don’t know how she read my thoughts…I’ve been so down on myself for getting hospitalized and feeling like if people find out, they’ll think I’m a looney. It makes me so much more scared to share with anyone. I don’t blame people- I think they’d subconsciously judge me or hold it against me. Anyway, I need to internalize that idea- that this hospitalization doesn’t define me. God does, right?

That’s all I need- another identity crisis.

Published November 24, 2017 by Chloe Madison

I’m so thankful for this. ⬆️ It makes me feel better to think that I’m not “ill.” But it does mention the breaking down of relationships and crushing connections. 😓 I can attest to that. I also think that depression has added more to my isolation and withdrawing from people. The trust part- that’s from PTSD though. I’m trying to understand PTSD more. So much more is known about it now than when I had it before. I never knew my urge to cut was from a build up of adrenaline from a fight or flight response that had been triggered. I’m still kind of in awe of that. I had always felt so ashamed and immature that I had that urge. I didn’t know it was “scientifically based,” as the psychiatrist put it. I went back to every time I was leaning in that direction and tried to remember what path my thoughts went down so I could identify how the fight or flight response had been triggered. I did some research and found out that the stress hormone, cortisol, also triggers a fight or flight response. In one book, it says that this could lead to a suicide attempt as you’re protecting yourself from ever being harmed again. For me, I’m not quite sure why I think of suicide so often. I’ve thought of spiritual warfare combined with plain old depression and stress. I do only think of taking action when I’m beyond stressed and feel like I’m about to burst. (That feeling is what the psychiatrist said was adrenaline.)

This is so complex and complicated and I know I don’t understand all of it. To make matters worse, what I’ll come to an understanding of today, I’ll forget by tomorrow. No joke. 😒

Anyway, I’m trying so hard to be more understanding of myself. That might sound silly, but I’m incredibly hard on myself- very critical of myself. I think that internal dialogue is from my mom. But regardless, I’m trying to give myself some slack when it comes to what I’m thinking and feeling and the resulting behaviors. First and foremost, I’m on a mission to stop hurting other people…even if it’s just hurting them by lying. It’s not right and never will be. Second, I’m trying to get better for myself. So I’m trying to understand what I’ve been diagnosed with and how it’s affecting everything. When I googled how PTSD affects friendships and relationships, I was shocked. I couldn’t believe how much damage it does…and it made me realize that a lot of what I’ve done recently is from PTSD. It doesn’t make it right, but at least I can identify why I did those things. If I can identify my motivation, I can then learn to stop. I just don’t want to ever hurt anyone. Ever. That’s not who I am.

Half of me tells myself I’m NOTHING like my father. Half of me berates myself with every bad thing I’ve ever done, saying I’m cut from the same cloth. I’m trying so hard to believe and to know in my heart that I’m a child of God. I feel like there’s a wall there though. I can’t break past it. I just can’t believe that God truly, truly loves me. I just don’t see myself as a child of God. I don’t know why. I don’t know what the problem is. I don’t know how to change that.

I’m trying really hard to believe this too. ⬆️ I don’t believe it yet. I know all too well that what I’m dealing with is too much for normal people. I know that I’ve shared with people, then they’ve chosen to walk out on me. But that’s their prerogative.

I saw this online ⬆️ That is exactly what I think!!! And unfortunately, a few friends already proved to me that this is true. 😓 It makes me all the more grateful for those who have stepped up and helped me and who have done SO MUCH to ensure my survival even against my own wishes. I thank God for them.

Published November 16, 2017 by Chloe Madison

Dealing with self worth… it’s difficult. It’s difficult to not connect your self-worth to what others think or believe or how they treat you. I think of these people who have known me for 20 years and chose to jump ship. I’m trying my best not to let that hurt me, not to let it affect my self-worth…but it’s near impossible.

I struggle with identity. I struggle so much with identifying myself as a child of God and not as my father’s daughter. And I can’t. I just can’t.

I read an article today about Elon Musk and how he said it’s been difficult breaking up with his girlfriend. His vulnerability struck me because I view him as such a powerhouse of genius, ingenuity, and talent.

“I will never be happy without having someone. Going to sleep alone kills me.” He hesitates, shakes his head, falters, continues. “It’s not like I don’t know what that feels like: Being in a big empty house, and the footsteps echoing through the hallway, no one there – and no one on the pillow next to you. Fuck. How do you make yourself happy in a situation like that?”

“When I was a child, there’s one thing I said,” Musk continues. His demeanor is stiff, yet in the sheen of his eyes and the trembling of his lips, a high tide of emotion is visible, pushing against the retaining walls. “’I never want to be alone.’ That’s what I would say.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t want to be alone.”

😔

EMDR

Published August 18, 2017 by Chloe Madison

I feel so weird. Extraordinarily detached. I’m not feeling a thing. My thoughts seem to float. Detached. No connection. The perfect time Too easy.

Shame is what we focused on- being ashamed of who my father is…that I’m so closely related to a sexual predator, a criminal.

I saw myself walking on the sidewalk next to the building where I work. This massive black tar-like substance began slowing oozing down from the entire building. It was one giant encompassing entity. I think it was shame. It suddenly changed from slow moving to a quickly engulfing tidal wave that swept me up into a whirlpool. A deep black whirlpool. I was caught up in the enormous swirling blackness. Then I noticed the sky turning white. It was a stark contrast to the blackness of the giant whirlpool. I thought maybe the white sky might be God. I saw a red rose floating around in a downward trajectory. I want to die so I laid back in the black whirlpool and floated on my back- giving up, wanting to drown or be swallowed up by this. 

The rose drifted down and landed on my chest. I was distracted by it- I kept looking at it laying on my chest, but also kept laying my head back and floating, in an effort to give up. I realized the rose was sticking to my chest- like the tentacles of an octopus. I tried prying an edge of it off- one rose petal- and as soon as I let go, it would reattach itself. 

I remembered that the red rose had made an appearance before, but I can’t remember what I thought it represented. This time I kept getting the phrase, “Word of God” over and over and I kept picturing my new Bible. So perhaps the rose that’s attached itself to my chest represents the Word of God. As I realize that, I think it begins to embed itself in me. 

I notice the black whirlpool begins to swirl with a milky white liquid, mixing with the blackness. The white seems to overtake the black and soon the whirlpool is white with only traces of blackness through it. 

The spinning of the whirlpool begins to slow. I hadn’t noticed before, but the level of it had lowered. The next thing I know, I’m laying on the wet ground- soggy grass wet with a milky white substance. The waters of the whirlpool had so gently dissipated that I barely noticed it. 

I don’t want to get up- I’m curious to see what’s around me, but I feel lazy, maybe just exhausted- I don’t want to even lift my head. I feel like God is telling me to get up and go. But I don’t want to. It becomes clear that it’s ok for me to stay there for a while and as I do, the grass becomes less and less soggy as the milky liquid is absorbed into the ground. 

I can’t remember correctly. 

I think I sit up and begin to look around and I see nothing in all directions around me. I see a weird scene as short, sharp grass seems to be in blue ground. The word “wasteland” comes to mind. There’s  nothing out there in any direction. It’s a barren wasteland. As I stand up, the landscape turns more and more bleak. There’s still nothing but everything continues to dry up- like the desert of Mad Max and the Thunderdome. I look down as I feel something heavy and awkward on my feet. I see sandals on my feet- but super old school ones like Jesus would wear. I feel something in my hand but I can’t see it clearly. It feels like a heavy Bible or something- but an old leather covered one. The ground has now turned into a dry orange sand.

I can’t determine which way to go- which way God wants me to go. No matter where I turn, every direction looks the same. I think God needs to show me which way to go. I also think this is a long arduous journey- one that will take a while and that I clearly don’t have much to survive with. I see a vertical sliver of light off in the distance and think that must be the way to go. I slowly begin to move toward it. Again, I look down at my feet, the old sandals, and feel this big book-like thing cupped in my hand. I feel underequipped for what’s ahead. 

As I move forward, two big masses of blackness come from either side up in the sky. They develop and swirl like clouds- but they reach from the top of the sky to the ground and even cover parts of the ground. They’re ominous and threatening. I can still see a path to follow in the sand though. I can still look above the blackness and see the little sliver of light to follow. So I continue. 

Then…giant evil faces emerge from the blackness. On both sides, I see deep red eyes and huge, deep red grimaces. They’re laughing at me and threatening me. I hear the word “black” over and over rhythmically and as I do, I picture my wrist, a gun, my wrist, laying back floating in the ocean, Chicago, my wrist, ….

I can now see nothing but blackness. It’s grown to cover every inch of the ground. The path is obscured. Images of suicide are everywhere…surrounding and engulfing me.