#LifeWithCPTSD

[highemotionscotian]

Mishandled Justice; Putting the Pieces Back Together After Trauma

/First Entry

seemingly endless doom scrolling watching videos online I occasionally stumble upon the side of the world wide web where there's a kind side. Some genuine folk just doin' their best. I have been scared and angry and alone so long I really think I forgot there are kind souls out there, Dearest Reader, I hope you are one of those good people 💙

For a long time I thought I was okay being alone. Lately there's been a overwhelming void and between you and me, I think may be humanity I've been missin'. I know it's more trendy to put this on TicTok, dang I tried however putting myself on camera is uncomfortable in a way I'm not sure yet how to describe, all the same I need to start letting some things out. I would love to be brave enough to share my life with the world like the fabulous content creators that have kept me company over the years but every time I try, I find an excuse not to; my house isn't clean enough. My forehead is too big, my body is too big. I wouldn't be funny enough, I wouldn't be interesting enough. I wouldn't be enough. Would be too much. Heck I even thought I wasn't rich enough to be on Tic Tok. I don't have a nice hair cut or fancy clothes to do one of those 'fit checks' they're dong and the only time my phone rings is a bill collector, what business did I have of sharing my dirty laundry online being in the state I've been in. It's that thinking that has kept me stuck in life.

I don't know who I am anymore. At the risk of sounding too dramatic, it is as if I have awoken from a living, psychological coma unsure of myself or my surroundings. So while I learn who I am and how to get comfortable in front of a camera my relaunch into the realm of social media will start by blogging.

Do I feel like know what I'm doing? Nope! This will be a learning experience with no determined destination or set conclusion. It will be chaotic. Y'all are invited to come along. One joy of writing and throwing it out there, no one has to read it if they don't want to. Unlike a real life conversation, I won't be distracted by your face worried I have said the wrong thing, or said to much, offended or bored you. I am a modern hermit living with complex post traumatic stress disorder and have been experiencing noticeable symptoms akin to ADHD. I am not sure how many times I have tried to 'start over' in life and failed, I've lost count. I have wanted and tried to change but doing it alone isn't working, so here we are now.

I’ve never told my story publicly. Not really. As I attempted put my life back together over and over and take up space in the world I would feel a bit like a fraud. As if it's this big shameful secret I must hide when in reality it's been gagging me getting in the way of speaking and success. I know I could have a beautiful life if I could just get out of my own way, out of my own head, and out of this dang house.

I have to put all the puzzle pieces together, finally get it all out so then maybe I can find peace and put it all behind me. I had posted some details about the events on my Facebook over the years as it all played out. I would share a summary to family and friends and it made a few news headlines, yet so many factors stopped me from sharing the raw truth of it all.

The weight of shame and not wanting to embarrass or hurt my family, I left out so much of what had happened and what I was feeling. When I would try to share how bad things have gotten, the reactions at just a small portion of the whole truth were bad enough I was ashamed of putting it all on tbe table. I had told having my life public would negatively affect my chances of getting a good job, chastised it would ruin my reputation if I cussed or used words like 'rape' or 'sexual assault' online. I still tried, to find strangers commenting on the news stories about my body, my character they knew nothing of, gossip that the evidence was fraudulent and I just wanted attention. After time went by and I had heard the “get over it’s” and the “time to move on’s” I didn't think my story was worthy of telling, to those more than an arms length away I would be fine and move on. Now still, lack of confidence in myself, low self esteem and fear has kept me from living and telling my story in its entirety.

While the fear of being prosecuted for violating a publication ban on my own name had not stopped me from posting on my own Facebook page, it had effectively silenced me from going public. The risk of a $5,000 fine or up to 2 years in custody for telling my story had removed my voice and a piece of healing I didn't know how very badly I needed.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” - Maya Angelou

I have never really known how to have close friends well. I sometimes wish I had a tribe to be comfortable with. Growing up I was that kid that would secretly cry in the bathrooms when at a friends house. I never understood why I didn't feel like I quite fit in. I’d be apart of a small group, always an introvert, I think I would have liked to have been the emotionally regulated, social sort as an adult where I could have gotten the whole story out already. Perhaps around a bonfire, screaming at the moon, blending tears from sadness and laughing. The last time I was in a social setting that wasn't family was in 2019. It's been lonely. Even years before then I had hid away. In late 2015 I left an abusive relationship and became housebound. Fearful to even venture to my front yard, leaving the bedroom was a daily challenge. Slowly I started to engage in social media, supplementing human connection with strangers on Facebook, where this story will officially begin.

⚠️ Trigger Warning ⚠️

This blog will cover topics of intimate partner violence, sexual assault, legal misconduct, mental illness and contain corse language. I will make an attempt to censor myself throughout this therapeutic process. Reader’s discretion is strongly advised.

📍Disclaimer

Some names used will be changed for the purposes here. However, all facts of the trial discussed within this saga are public record, and RCMP interactions from the trial and complaints process are documented for verification. All other details are from my own lived experiences, hours of audio recordings, news and magazine articles, emails, and journals.

Now I know a little bit about a lot, but only a lot about a little bit. I will speak about my own experiences as I have lived them and the things I have learned along the way, but I am not an expert in any topic included below. I am such a mess that I hesitate to even call myself an expert in my own life, yet vow to hold to the truth at every step.

Statistic I’d like to share

1 in 3 women in Canada will be sexually assaulted with sexual assault being more common than robbery – Statistics Canada

_____________

There was a blur after I was assaulted when I heard the words “wait here, someone will help you” and part of me has been locked in a psychological waiting room ever since. This is my raw and vulnerable exit speech from that place.Why now?Publication ban laws in Canada prevented me from telling the story how I needed to tell it or attributing my own name to the events that transpired. The journalist who first covered the story, Lindsay Jones, called me ‘Nicole’ and as the trial was ongoing, I was prohibited from speaking about the case in full. I was not aware nor informed a publication ban would be essentially automatically applied restricting my choice to share my story. A publication ban did not prevent the media from using the accused’s full name, personal information and details of the trial, yet the punishment I could face by putting my name to my experiences, or sharing court documents was possible fines of $5,000 and/or up to 2 years in custody. At times I pushed the line of this ban as if daring the courts to charge me so maybe someone with authority would hear my case. I understand and accept by sharing my life I am opening myself up to trolls and keyboard warriors who may believe to know more about my own life than me and will say cruel and hurtful things. I have been threatened, insulated and received messages from other men they would rape me too if they had the chance. Our society is not always kind, this is a fear I shall overcome. This is MY journey to healing. To judge how someone processes trauma or victim blaming says more about their character than anyone else’s. The longer I am alone with the shame, guilt the more I hurt myself and my family. I need to hold space for myself now. Telling my story is how I choose to do that. Please remember when you comment with hatred or cruelty other victims will see it and may not feel safe sharing their own stories, and that’s a gawddamn shame. The story must be whatever length it needs to be to pour it out of my body. It will be long and parts long-winded. I write this for myself as a step in my healing process, you are invited to come along.

In the news they called me ‘Nicole’, that is not my name, but this is my story.

*deep breath*

#ToBeContinued

[pokingholes-cptsdwarrior]

This is what meditation helps me accomplish. #meditationforcptsdrecovery #meditation #mindfulness #awareness #presence #noting #progessnotperfection #livingwithcptsd #lifewithcptsd #cptsd #complexPTSD #childhoodtrauma #DevelopmentalTrauma #childhoodptsd #ptsd #cptsdrecovery #sharingmystory #tellingmystory #youtuber #blogger #mentalhealthadvocate @pokingholes_cptsdwarrior https://www.instagram.com/p/CC1FkC2j-Q3/?igshid=llpsyb5hgwk6

[danika-alice]

I feel lost. I don’t know what is true, I don’t know who I am and I feel like I’ve lost touch with reality. I’m so convinced I’ve been abandoned its hard not to believe I’m completely alone. ✨ I found confidence not long ago I found my voice, I had opinions and passions and things I believed in I allowed myself to take up space, to grow and bloom and be louder Now I can feel myself shrinking again, turning down the volume, shutting down. I can feel my confidence slipping out of my hands and I don’t know how to hold onto it. I feel like the quieter version of me is easier for others to like. ✨ I think about when I was younger and how much of a ‘good girl’ I was because I made no fuss, I kept my head down. No one saw the pain inside me though, the constant want of escape from myself. ✨ Recently my mind had been unpleasant and it keeps replaying things that I wish I could forget, flashing images and sounds of events that are so ingrained. I blink furiously to try and get them to go and I cover my ears to remind myself I’m not there anymore but sometimes I can’t help but feel small in those moments, with no control. ✨ Maybe my loudness, beliefs, passions etc are not in line with others, maybe my loudness is jarring and unacceptable. Maybe I should stay quiet. Continue to be a ‘good girl’ who makes no fuss. ✨ It’s hard to know myself when I don’t know how to act, when I don’t know if it’s safe for me to shout about how I feel. Can I call shrinking myself back down a comfort zone? Where I know if I’m quiet I won’t lose anyone, I won’t hurt anyone, I will nod and agree because who am I to say what I really believe. Who am I. ✨ #bpdblogger #borderlinepersonalitydisorder #cptsd #flashbacks #ptsdawareness #cptsdawareness #complexptsd #complextrauma #mentalhealthawareness #lifewithbpd #lifewithcptsd #lifewithmentalillness #dissociation (at Scarborough, North Yorkshire)

[birdoutofacage-blog]

Don't drop in on me unannounced ever.

Daylight or night. But particularly at night. I won’t answer. I won’t acknowledge you. I feel safe where I live. In my house. I’m happy to come and go night time or daytime. But I will not answer the door. Ever. If I don't expect you I won't answer