whoevers-listening

[whoevers-listening]

My Mom is a Trans Ally

I've known who I am for years...if I felt safe to and felt like I'd be accepted by the people most important to me, I'd be out of the closet as a trans masc.

I have been out before, for well over a year in fact. at first my mom and siblings were okay with it but quickly my brother began to make negative comments about the LGBTQ+ community and threatening to fight me physically because apparently that's what it is to be a man. my dad was never supportive, he refused to use my name and pronouns, he told me I was confused and stressing everyone out for no reason. He told me I was crazy and that I would probably end up being murdered if I continued to "pretend". My sister was indifferent which I respected and my mom was always support. she caught onto pronouns and my name the fastest out of anyone. I don't know why exactly but I began to think that my gender identity was more trouble than it was worth. I started to believe that everyone was going to leave me...including my mom who was my biggest support. I believed began to believe that my mom was only being supportive because she felt obligated to and that she secretly resented me.

needless to say, I went back in the closet. It hurt and I lost myself again but in some ways it was easier because I wasn't receiving eternal judgement. I went back to using my deadname and figured I'd get used to it even though I never had, not even before coming out the first time. My deadname feels so disconnected from me and it's a startling reminder that I am pretending once again every time some one uses my deadname to address me. it sounds so strange to me because that's not what I think of myself as.

the other day, my mom, siblings and I were joking around about how my brother is my mom's favorite out of her kids. she replied by saying that I was her favorite when I had been out as a trans man. this simple comment filled me with more happiness than I've felt in years. It was so validating and I went to bed smiling that night which isn't something I've done in a LONG time.

it's nice to know that she sees me...she's mentioned before that she's noticed a change in my mood since going back in the closet. she's mentioned how I isolate more and how angry I am all the time. I think she knows and it makes me feel so grateful to have her. I feel understood, validated, seen and loved. I know now that if I were to come out and everyone hated me, she'd be there for me.

I honestly don't know why I believed she resented me...I remember being out and how she would talk about me and introduce me to people. We reconnected with my mom's side about a year into my coming out and my grandmother refused to use my preferred name and pronouns...I was expecting it because of how my dad and his side had treated me and was going to just stay quiet but my mom stepped in and stood up for me. when my nana declared that I would always be her granddaughter, my mom physically removed me from the situation and apologized, she told me that I didn't have to put up with people like that. that wasn't the only time either...she informed out landlords and often corrected them. she and I would celebrate when I passed in public and laugh together because often time people thought I was a preteen boy.

I miss that...even though I got so much hate from so many other people...my mom was always supportive and kind, ready to go to bat for me at any moment. I'm grateful to have her and I know now that when I am ready, she will be too.

[whoevers-listening]

Nightmares and Sleep

I haven't posted in a while and in truth it's because I haven't had the energy for anything lately. Started having flashbacks and panic attacks again. it's been both overwhelming and relieving...let me explain. I don't remember much about my childhood and have been trying to figure out why I have such strong reactions to certain situations...some of the flashbacks I've had recently are a lot emotionally but have been helping to explain things.

I'll perhaps share some of the flashbacks in the future but I'm not ready to discuss them at this time as I'm still trying to sort them out and process them.

this post is about my relationship with sleep, nightmares and behaviors surrounding sleep.

When I was a kid...as early as four years old...I remember having sleep paralysis and debilitating nightmares that left me sobbing, sweating and shaking. I only remember once in my life where anyone came to my aid when I'd awoken in the night. I was living in a townhouse at the time with my mom and my sister's dad. I woke up unable to move, my chest was heavy and I quickly started to panic. as a five year old, I didn't know how to handle sleep paralysis yet and so when my bedroom door creeped open...I watched.

A hand reached around the door in the darkness. its movements slow and unnatural. It reached for the doorknob on the inside of my room and that's when it seemed to "notice" me. I don't know how to explain it other than I got the sense that the hand had realized I was watching it. it retreated backwards out of the room with a disembodied voice making a sarcastically alarmed "whoop." the door slammed shut and I screamed.

My sister's dad barged in a slit second later and went looking for the "hand". this was odd behavior coming from him because he had previously had treated my nightmares with the complete opposite behavior...often threatening violence or even following through on those threats. I had talked about that experience for years afterwards and it wasn't until recently that I questioned if the hand had belonged to my sister's dad...that would explain why he was there as soon as I screamed and why he went after the hand to defend me instead of behaving as he usually did.

During that same time of living in that townhouse, my mom told me that I used to "fall out of bed" and cry at almost the exact same time every night. she told me how she would have friends over and they would hear me upstairs. my mom would assure her guests that I was fine and that this happened often.

My brother on the other hand, often woke up in the night and instead of being yelled at or ignored, he would be welcomed to sleep in our caretakers bed. whether it was our mom, our dad or our grandparents. Countless mornings I would see him leaving our caretakers bedroom instead of his own. Sometimes I would think things had changed...after all if my brother was being comforted for his nightmares, maybe I would be too. I would go to my dad and he would scream at me to go back to bed and that I was invading his privacy. I was being dramatic and it was inappropriate for me to sleep in his bed...my brother was only a year younger than me...I never understood. my grandparents who were often kind through the day would tell me that I was looking for attention and to go back to bed. I never even tried to go to my mom for help because I was terrified of her boyfriends.

the nightmares never stopped, sleep talking continued and sleep paralysis became normal. I very quickly started crying in my sleep and would occasionally wake up screaming. I would hide under my bed and even fell asleep there because I felt safer hidden than I did in my own bed.

I didn't want to have sleepovers for fear of being laughed at or yelled out for embarrassing my caretakers when I would inevitably have a nightmare. I taught myself to sleep lightly when I had guests so that I could wake myself up and prevent dreaming.

Entering my late teens and early adulthood, my nightmares became violent. I had partners complain that I attacked them in my sleep or screamed at them to "get the F*ck away from" or sob and repetitively say "no."

I had reoccurring nightmares as a kid...I dreamt about my younger sister's death every year for years and in the dream, it was always my fault and she would come to me as a ghost and everyone would call me crazy in the dream and say that I had a "guilty conscience." I had dreams about being left in my carseat in the backseat of a car with no one there to save me as the car filled with water. I dreamt about my underwear strangling me, I dreamt about my entire family dying and me being forced to return to the foster home I had been placed in as a toddler. I dreamt about a maze of red walls and checkers tile floors that existed within my grandparents basement. I would run down the halls and try to escape the many eyed, many handed "tickle monster" that I knew if it caught me, it would tickle me to death. I often had dreams where I would die. I often had dreams that were filled with panic, death and gruesome violence.

some of these dreams make sense to me now...for example, the "tickle monster" was probably because my dad would often tickle me and would not stop when I asked him to. He wouldn't stop until I peed my pants and often it was in front of his friends. the dreams about being left alone in a car that was slowly filling with water probably came from the handful of times when I was left alone in the car with no idea where my parents were. once, the car even started rolling away with me in it.

I don't remember a lot of my nightmares and now I rarely remember any dreams. I still wake up in a panic but am no longer able to remember what I was dreaming about.

I don't seek support anymore...not even from partners. I leave the room if someone is in bed next to me because I don't want to wake them up.

I feel stupid for bringing up my dreams to people...they are just dreams and as an adult, I should be able to handle them on my own. I've been doing it on my own for a long time and it bothers me that I still have them and though I don't cry or scream when I wake up, I know that I cry in my sleep still. my sister and my best friend have both told me that I cry in my sleep almost every night. some nights are worse than others...

[whoevers-listening]

Gender Envy

thought I'd share my Pinterest board of people and images that give me gender envy...

Note: I definitely have a vibe I'm going for...At least one that I can see reflected in this board!

[whoevers-listening]

Do Better Healthcare System

Just an example of how badly educated professionals are on mental illness (other illnesses as well but for this example I'm referring to mental illness).

During my last hospitalization, the crisis worker asked if I have any diagnoses and I told him my list...He claimed that bipolar disorder, C PTSD and BPD are all the same thing. (I have bipolar and C PTSD).

When I was visibly surprised by his response, he asked me to explain the difference between the three...

Do Better

[whoevers-listening]

To Whoever's Listening

Hello out there,

Anonymous Cracked here,

I'm in my early 20s yet I feel like I've lived enough experiences for several lifetimes.

I'm disabled both mentally and physically. I have bipolar type II, OCD, ADHD, depression, anxiety, panic disorder, C-PTSD and I'm fairly certain I'm autistic. addiction runs in my family and struggle with the gene myself along with disorder eating (may be an eating disorder but haven't ventured too much into that territory just yet).

I'm here to share my experiences along with what I learn/have learned through my recovery journey.

Not sure who I'm writing these post too exactly but to whoever's listening...thanks

[whoevers-listening]

I feel something! - It's Anger

DISCLAIMER

heavy content

I'm uncertain of where to start…the timeline isn’t linear and so pinpointing the beginning is impossible. I guess starting with the present is as good as any other point in the timeline. It’s easiest to start there, everything surfaces best there…sometimes.

I’m in a support group…Monday through Friday for two hours a day, eight weeks straight. Week five. The group is the first major help I’ve received…at least one that I am retaining anything covered. I know I’ve spoken to counselors, psychiatrists and the like before…but I have little to no memory of such times. This is a common occurrence for me…my memory isn’t selective…it’s unpredictable. I can remember distinct moments of trauma and word for word dialogue from movies I watched as a kid but there are lengthy blocks of time in my life that I can’t recollect. A couple of months to a couple of years at a time, I have no memory of. There are even people who claim to have known me quite well that I do not remember or even recognize at all.

I knew this would happen…derailing what I wanted to discuss to something that just comes up organically by writing. I guess it loops to today though. In group this morning, we discussed grief and loss. Two concepts that I thought I knew but turns out were so much deeper than I thought. I always equated loss to the loss of a person and grief to the pain felt in their absence. Yet today, I learned there is so much more you can lose than a person and grief isn’t just a feeling of loss. You can lose what never was, you can lose what never will be, you can lose yourself, your health, your beliefs, everything. Grief is the process navigated after loss. Grief is sadness, denial, ignorance, avoidance, fear and anger. Anger is the big one for me right now. That’s the one that caught me off guard. My walls went up quickly as we began the discussion and I was angry, defensive and unwilling to listen. It was when the facilitator had mentioned anger as a normal reaction; one that shouldn’t be ignored, that I softened. It felt for a moment like what I was feeling was okay. I fight against my anger…I contain it and ignore it and allow it to slip out without intention. I swear out loud when I miss my mug and pour milk on the counter in the morning. I yell at my dog to go away when she just wants to be near me and I lose my temper when my pants stick to my damp legs after getting out of the shower. I never thought of myself as an angry person…I never wanted to be an angry person. In fact, I was so determined not to be that I wouldn’t allow myself to express my anger at all. Now I have little control over how and when it comes out. Grief and loss are big factors to this.

Anger is a secondary emotion…it comes from somewhere. In my case, my anger comes from hurt. Hurt caused by abandonment, neglect, abuse, and the feeling I’ve had for as long as I can remember that I don’t belong…I was a mistake. A mistake made by my parents and a mistake made by whatever higher power there may be…something or someone, somewhere, fucked up. I’m not a miracle, as some would believe that all life is a miracle, I’m a glitch. Something that slipped through the cracks of what was meant to be.

It’s a deep seeded belief…one I’m told I need to reframe and work through but I’m not ready for that, don’t know that I ever will be ready. I tried to fight it; in childhood I wanted so badly to be liked and loved and craved belonging. I excelled in school not because that’s what anyone expected of me but because I wanted to prove to everyone and myself that I wasn’t what I thought I was. I started to realize it in high school…this dark spot in the back of my mind that I had spent my childhood running away from slowly became familiar. I dipped my toes in and the darkest was relieving. It gave me permission to stop fighting, that my life would be easier if I just accepted it for what it was. I stopped living for myself. I gave up on trying to prove my worth…after all, what good had it done me? I wasn’t good enough for my parents to love me unconditionally, I wasn’t good enough to overcome the obstacles that came with having a disability, I wasn’t good enough to fix everything that was wrong with me.

The darkness was a heavy blanket; under it, I was able to disappear from the world and indulge in my feelings of sadness and rejection. My failures meant nothing and neither did my accomplishments. My existence was simply what it had always been, a mistake, and I was finally able to accept that. The dark held out its hand constantly, offering me the freedom to correct the mistake…all I’d have to do is take the dark by the hand and my life that was never meant to be, would be over. I could finally rest. Yet the people around me kept me going…I convinced myself that they needed me. When I realized that the person I’d been living for really didn’t need me, I’d turn my attention elsewhere. My siblings, my friends, my parents. Anyone besides me.

After high school, the dark became a storm I couldn’t see out of. I’d held onto the hope that things would get better. Everyone always told me, “life will get better,” “You don’t have it as bad as you think you do,” and “letting go would be selfish.” I guess that’s when the anger started; the remarks were contradicting and confusing. Life wasn’t getting better, in fact it was spiraling so quickly in the opposite direction of “better” that I couldn’t even imagine ever reaching “better.” You don’t have it as bad as you think” made me guilty for being angry that my life wasn’t getting any better and the guilty feeling made me angry. “Letting go would be selfish” that one was the one I clung to. I held onto those words because my life depended on it. Soon though, those words made me angry too. I wanted to be selfish. I had been living for everyone else but myself and it seemed to me like everyone else was being selfish so why couldn’t I be selfish for just a second? That’s all it would take…One second of giving in to selfishness and I would no longer be living.

Needless to say, I hit rock bottom quickly. At least, I hit what I thought was rock bottom. I failed, for the first time in my life I failed at the things I had prided myself and placed the entirety of my worth upon. I failed at holding my family together, protecting my siblings, getting good grades in school. I dropped out of college. I gave up and lived in a state of numb. Nothing meant anything anymore. Thoughts made no sense but the ones sent from the dark, I disconnected from everyone I ever loved because I knew they didn’t love me. I’d been many times that they didn’t, and it finally clicked.

It’s been four years since then…hospital visits, diagnosis, abusive intimate relationships, self caused trauma and self destruction with every step forward. I’m angry at everyone and everything now but if there’s one thing I pulled away from today’s group session…it’s that at least now I feel something. The numbness is replaced with frustration, anger and moments of pure rage. Yet at least I feel something. That's a step forward. I’m living again.

Sincerely,

Anonymous Cracked