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aries-tornado · 9 months

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When I lived in Wisconsin I was not allowed to leave the house unaccompanied by my then fiance. Even when he'd go away for long hitches to the oil or solar fields, he'd buy a month or two worth of groceries for me, my daughter, and when we had them, our dogs.

I was not even allowed to go outside with the dogs to play with them, not even to clean up their poo. That was a job my fiance tasked to my then 4-5 year old daughter. Which, in a "normal" house hold is fine, at least I think. Especially with a parent helping and encouraging. But he was gone a lot in the winters and the ground would freeze. She'd struggle and my anxiety of having to shout to her from the cracked open door on how to make the task easier destroyed me the first time or two. Bless her, she listened so fuckjng well. But, after the second time, I told her to make a "big girl pinky promise" that I'd do it, but she had to tell "daddy" she was the one doing this task.

Any sane person would, rightfully, ask "but if your abuser was 2 states away, how would he even know if you went outside?" and it's a good question.

I was (looking back) so far into Stockholm Syndrome. My reality was so warped, and I lived not in *a* world, but his world. I felt like every neighbor was on his side, or his bank roll. Or, even though he would talk so badly of these neighbors, would calculate a way to make buddy buddy enough that if I was spotted outside, they'd feel comfortable to approach me and then text him. Like "hey, just saw your old lady doing yard work and finally introduced myself, nice gal!" And I add "finally" to that fake text scenario because, even living there 4 or 5 years, I NEVER met the left most male neighbor. My fiance would have beers with him sometimes on a weekly basis, over at his house, then come back drunk and accuse me of fucking the guy. Gun to my head, a line up to 5 men, I could not tell you who this man is. And our right most neighbor, I had seen once or twice, but only because he was an older man, who literally sold my fiance the house.

All that to say, I'd wait til midnight, 1am. I'd dress head to toe covered. Think black sweats, boots, a black hoodie, hood up and drawstrings pulled tight. I'd have to boil water, to throw on the ground, to melt the ice, to pick up the dog poop. I mean, whatever. It's not a big deal, but at the same time? Bonkers.

But whatever.

What I did in my spare time, in this jail cell of a home, is a complicated answer. But what I'm reminded of today, tonight actually, is when I was at my lowest mentally. Probably the last year, maybe 2 years. Time is a fickle bitch and it's kinda pointless to try to hammer down time frames from the past.

I taught myself how to lucid dream. And yes!! That is absolutely something you can teach yourself! It can be quite fun, and I had a LOT of time to nail it down. Before I got BAD bad, I'd have fun and fly around my childhood hometown. Visit places I remember fondly. But this isn't about those times.

Sleeping became an escape from my reality. And before anything else, let me just say YouTube and music were my biggest "awake" escapes. So when I tell you I'd dream about Pewdiepie just hanging out with me on my birthday, you can laugh. It's parasocial and weird. But who else could my subconscious conjure up?

Usually I'd go to sleep and let the dreams form on their own, and slowly take the wheel to turn it into something happy. Pewdiepie (Felix) and his now wife Marzia, were commonly good friends. Mac Miller, or someone resembling him, was a common "partner". I remember what felt like a year within my dream, of just living a "normal" life with "Mac". Having an apartment in NYC, going to the flea market together. Laying on the couch cuddling. Watching a TV show giggling, and looking up to see him not watching the show, but me, before kissing my forehead and telling me how cute I was. The funny thing was, truly, there was never any sex. Just happiness. Feeling lover.

It was lovely, and unhinged, to be able to even take an hour nap and feel transported far away. To a life where my fiance never existed. Even when my waking brain thought everything was, or would be okay...my sleeping brain knew I deserved unconditional love. And that this relationship was not okay.

Tricky thing is sometimes I'd wake up feeling better. But other times I'd wake up mad. Mad that it wasn't real. It's not like I actually expected to be wisked away by Mac Miller. Lol. I just wanted that kind of love. The life where I could walk outside with my head up, go places alone and be trusted. Not spend an hour covering up a black eye with a pound of makeup before resigning to be "that douche" that wore sunglasses inside.

But, happy or not afterwards? I miss that. Because that "superpower" of at least semi-lucid dreaming?

It's gone.

How many years has it been? 5, maybe six since I stepped foot, my daughters hand in mine, out of my exes truck, onto pavement, luggage in hand at the bus stop to "freedom".

And here I am, writing this, after a very long, no good, very bad, teeth clinching day off of work. My lucid dreams are now all nightmares. Night terrors. (Can you call it a night terror if it happens during a daytime nap? Huh..)

It felt like I had 10 long dreams today, but they all had the same tone. Me, in a situation, where I needed help. One of the dreams was about when my ex, but based on the IRL time we went to visit his brother and Mom in Las Vegas. He had herion connections there, and he bought us some. And we were both strung out of our minds for the maybe week we were there.

For clarity, I'll include this dream and my commentary of it in brackets...

[[But in this dream, I ran away in the middle of the night. Dropped like that little pin on Google Earth street view into the heart of the city. It was a mash-up of my real experience of being homeless in Albuquerque, as well. My mission was to stay "well" enough to make it to this rehab center that "I knew" would help me. Why I knew? Idk man, its a fuckin dream. I was constantly hiding in alleys, and junkie houses, only able to shoot up enough to be "okay" enough to continue running from the cops. (Now that I type this out - maybe the cops in my dream represented my ex. But who knows. I don't get too into dream interpretation). Anyway, long and frustrating situation after situation later, I made it to the rehab. I collapsed on the floor in front of what was a group session of already admitted patients. The staff helped me until they got my driver's license.

"You're 20" the nurse said to me blunty. "We only take minors, 13-19." I absolutely lost it, screaming and crying "BUT TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY, I JUST TURNED 20!! PLEASE!!! I NEED FUCKING HELP!"

The room was quiet and the other teenaged patients took up for me. Kinda saying "cmon, she's just barely 20, I'm sure you can bend the rules," etc.

I begged until I was drooling at the mouth before the nurses and doctors shook their heads in disappointment, "if only you'd have come a day sooner..."

I was kicked back to the streets, to which I knew I was a lost cause, and continued the cat and mouse chase that is homelessness & drug use.]]

Sleep used to be an escape. Peace. Sometimes just silly nonsense that dreams can be. But now, I just want to dream nothing. I wish I could train my brain to just shut the fuck up for a few minutes, a few hours, for fucks sake.

I woke up from this dream, and the many others, feeling like my world was spinning. Anxiety, clinched teeth, taking time to truly wake up and tell myself where I truly was. And this happens, a lot.

My mind is not a safe space to be. It is scary. It's a scary place to be alone in.

#dream #trauma #cptsd #dreams #ptsd #homeless #depressing shit

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aries-tornado · 10 months

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Fuck it. I'm tired of holding everything in. When I'm awake at night and everything *should* be fine, I'm plagued with memories that my brain blacked out. So I'm gonna write about it when I feel it all over again, not for anything but peace within myself.

Tonight I can't sleep because of one of my dogs, my first with my ex Joe. His name was Slater and he was the most happy go lucky lil Staffy even though he was rescued from being a bait dog in dog fighting. I wanted him from the second I met him, but I pulled away because I was hoping the "dog fever" Joe had was temporary. I did not want to bring another living thing into "our" world. Regardless, we left with him, and at the least I was over the moon. I trained him. Fed him. Bathed him. My little baby, who clung to Mia as a little brother, he warmed my heart everyday.

But Tonight's memory was the first big blow up in "our" world because of Slater. The grocery store was out of the food he was eating, so Joe called and asked me about it (I was not allowed to grocery shop with him). I told him for some dogs switching foods can cause stomach issues but, "he'll be fine" was the response. Maybe a 36 hours went by, it was about 4am, a little before Joe got up for work that Slater was clawing at the door to go out. I offered to let him out but I wasn't allowed ("out" was upstairs and onto the deck on the 2nd floor). "Lay DOWN, Slate!" Joe kept grumbling half asleep, making remarks about "Katie wanted this fuxking dog...piece of shit..." when eventually we heard what sounded like Slater peeing. We both jump up and he's in the corner with his head down pooping in the corner. All hell broke lose and all I remember is grabbing Mia and holding her, after Slater ran under our California King and Joe picked the whole bed up, shaking it and screaming "IM GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU! IM GONNA FUCKING KILL ALL OF YOU!"

All I remember next is cleaning, while the smell of coffee and the faint noise of the news upstairs crept down the flight of stairs to the basement, where our room was, and the occasional "piece of shit dog ruining my piece of shit house" would echo from upstairs. I don't remember why but he only let Slater out once, and when Slater came back downstairs to Mia & I, I saw him get up from his bed leave the room. I immediately knew he was still sick from his new food and tip toed after him. He looked me in the eyes in a way that is burned into my brain forever. Looking back, A sad, "I'm sorry, please help, i know you hurt too" kind of look. And in the moment I just pressed my finger to my lips, cuffed my hands, and let this poor baby shit into them. It was a tragically hilarious scene, looking back, as if he almost understood my "shh" and I kept eye contact so he knew he could trust *me*. He finished up and I whispered to him what a good boy he was and how ill always protect him, "go lay down for mommy". He seemed okay, but the second he left to lay down I kinda froze, realizing I was right at the bottom of the stairs, (which were carpeted, like 90& of the house, so foot steps aren't heard) and at any moment Joe could be coming back down to say goodbye before work. I went straight to our bathroom a few feet away, flung my hands, full of shit, into the shower, used a towel to clean my hands, then the little bit of poop that got in the carpet. Threw it into the wash room adjacent to the bathroom, ran back to the bathroom and stripped naked, into the shower and water on. All of this, just to hide (another) accident our 2 year old puppy had, to further any abuse to him by the hands of my ex. An accident I warned Joe about, something that was very normal... you switch up a dog's food, it's gonna take time to get used to. You have to fix the old food with the new food slowly over time to adjust their stomachs. But no, we were too prefect of a family to have that happen. And I was never allowed to be right about anything.

So, at the time, telling myself this was all my fault (somehow), I washed the shit down the drain and pretend to decide to "take an early shower" is what I told Joe. Because, see, before this I NEVER took showers that early, especially before he even left for work. And I paid the price for that, too.

Because, my beaten, Stockholm Syndrome brain could only come up with the excuse "I want to be extra productive today, babe! I really wanna do a deep clean of the kitchen, and you know showers help me wake up!" I half fake smiled and half begged him to believe me. Looking back? Girl...just tell him how you had to clean up dog shit from early and felt gross? But no, me then thought that would somehow give away Slaters extra accident I was trying to hide. I don't know why, but does any of this make sense? No...nothing does in an abusive relationship.

So I paid the price. And I'm not mad that I did. My ex being the lunatic he was, accused me of taking a shower early to "get ready and clean for another man to come over and rail me after he left for work". I'm probably low balling this Stat but at LEAST 80% of all of Joe's delusions were about me cheating, and looking back...projecting, much?! I guess it's the "victim" left in me or idk, but I feel like I have to say I never cheated on him, nor did I ever even *think* about it. I was so brainwashed I felt like he could read my mind, but that didn't matter because looking back at most of our relationship...sex with ANYONE, even masturbation was the LAST thing on my mind.

Back on track, apologies. I'm in the shower. I'm told to turn it off. I do. He questions me like I said before and when I do my little "I want to be motivated!" Lie to him he grabs me by the cheeks. Kind of like when you squeeze a cute little babies cheeks, but hard, painful, every fingernail stinging into my skin as I hold still to be a "good girl" and listen to him tell me all of the crazy things he'd say. Idk if I blocked it out at the time, or of my brain is blocking it out now, but I just remember thinking "be good, listen, nod and say anything he wants to hear. You aren't doing anything wrong, so as long as you act good he'll know you're good."

I don't remember the rest of that day, I remember him grabbing my face, I know he left for work, and he came home. I don't remember anything else.

But what I will always remember, that makes me clinch my jaw so hard I feel like I'm going to crack a tooth, is Slaters eyes, looking at me. With such sadness, such...hopeless...hurt......I just can't. I took so many beatings for that dog, that wonderful, amazing, resilient dog, that I will forever feel guilty for having had kept in that house. This is just one story about him. And I know thru healing I did the best I could for him. But I will forever think about him. And his sweet, drooling smile. I hope he's happy. I hope he remembers me, and if he does, it's me being his protector. I love that dog more than words can express and I'd give everything to see him one more time.

#cptsd #trauma #dog #staffy

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