yourstruly-aoife-blog

[yourstruly-aoife-blog]

Open Letter to the Man That Hurt Me

This is the third time that I have had to be transparent and vulnerable to a room full of strangers. It is incredibly difficult for me, please forgive me for the breaks that I take from reading this letter.

How do I start a letter that is meant to fully encompass the impact years of sexual and mental abuse had on me? How am I to effectively paint the picture of the horrors I’ve endured and continue to daily? To begin I read some the journal entries I’ve written during the times I needed an escape.

Three years ago I described my life as “blurry”. I wrote this:

Blurry is a word that I’ve come to identify the most with. My beginning is blurry, my emotions are blurry, my thoughts are blurry. Blurry is my life.

“lacking definition or focus”

Being confused. Scared. Unsure.

Just blah.

I never know where to start, or maybe I do and I just hate saying the words. I hate dishonesty but I can’t stand the truth about my reality. Thats why I don’t mind being blurry. Staying out of focus, undefined.

My blur is a world full of secrets, hurt, terror, anxiety, confusion, struggle, depression, loneliness, anger, and suffocation.

I can’t. I just can’t escape.

I can’t escape the panic attacks, PTSD episodes, detrimental thoughts, overwhelming pain in my heart. Nothing helps it anymore and I’m losing my mind every other second.

I just want it to please stop.

I’m not suicidal, I’ve already taken that journey and thats not one I’ll ever take again. So I almost think this is worse, because I’m miserable, miserable until this ends, but the misery flows in my veins.

I wanna reach out for help but I hate the state of my mental health. I don’t want to admit how awful its been getting. I can’t sleep at night, I only wanna sleep the day away. I get cold sweats. I wanna be alone but need the comfort of being held.

I’m ashamed of myself. I’d trade lives with anyone else, being uncomfortable with who I am as a person because I just feel damaged. And unwanted. Unlovable. Broken. Never good enough.

I hate myself.

I’m losing myself, but not the parts I want to.

My internal pain isn’t satisfied with the external pain. But consuming nonetheless.

Thats what it does. This monster inside my head. it consumes me.

But how do you get rid of the monster when you are the monster?

I want my mom.

I want her to love me and understand me and hold me while I bawl like a baby because I want her, I need her.

Can I take a mental health sick day? Because I need to escape. And leave. And fix my unfixable self.

I wanna lock myself away. I don’t want to open up to anyone else because I don’t want their pity, shame, embarrassment, judgement, uncomfortableness, confusion. I don’t want to put all my problems on their shoulders but I’m begging for someone to take this load off mine.

Help. Please.

I ask the universe, because I can’t believe in a religion that allows the personal torture I go through every day.

I’m fading, disappearing, becoming part of the blur. This is the easiest thing for everyone else, and the hardest thing for myself; just let me be apart of the blur.

I can’t be selfish. Everything I do is for others. I attempted to take my own life for my family. I wanted to sacrifice everything for them. It didn’t work. But if it had.. They would live happily without knowing the demons that hide in our picture perfect world. I wouldn’t live out my destiny of tearing apart my family. Destroying their world for my selfish reasoning of needing a sane mind. I want to take this to the grave but everyday that passes makes it harder and harder to do so, and I have approximately 21 thousand more days to go.

I need a healthy coping mechanism. I have nothing. I am nothing.

Sigh. I hurt. My head is pounding, I’m suffocating, and my eyes sting.

Medication could help all this but the idea of being codependent on pills makes me feel weak. And all I’ve ever wanted to be is invincible.

I think love is a great medication but I’ll never really have that either.

I think I’m going to give Megan a call. Ditching therapy for over a month was an awful idea. But I keep thinking I can handle this all alone.

Victim. I absolutely hate, despise, that word. But in the back of my mind, that antagonizing, hurtful little voice whispers into my subconscious that thats all I’ll ever be. I’m so ashamed and embarrassed by that, I could never let anyone know I feel that way. But thats what causes the headaches. The heartaches. The all-over aches.

I’m scared to be alone and I’m scared to be with people. In crowds. With family. With strangers. With my father.

I had two chances in life to be loved. Almost three. Why can’t I be loved? Whats wrong with me? What have I done wrong? What am I doing wrong? What am I missing? Why am I like this? And why can’t I love myself?

I didn’t even know I had such strong feelings. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to be me. I don’t want to live like this anymore, in this blur.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

I wish I could say that three years later I no longer feel these things. I can’t. Things have certainly improved, but I still feel as though I am the monster. I’ve been in and out of therapy- I go for as long as I can before the wave of depression begins to drown me, and I need a break to sit out and breathe. This battle I have to be “normal” is never ending.

What I most struggle with is trying to answer the question “who am I?”

Two years ago, this is what I wrote:

Liar, liar, burning in this hellfire

To me, the easiest thing in the world is to lie; I’m a liar. I’ve been living a lie my whole life, and it comes more naturally to me than breathing. In fact, a good majority of the time breathing is foreign to me and I suffer a temporary memory loss of how to let oxygen flow through my nostrils into my lungs. But my mouth is always capable of effortlessly opening up to let treacherous lies fumble out. I lie to the world around me every second, without feeling guilty, but I can’t escape the guilt I feel for lying to myself.

I’m fine, I’m happy, I’m okay.

Three little lies that consume me.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Another passage from two years ago:

I’m so exhausted from being angry. It wears on me everyday all the anger and hate I have inside me. I can’t stand that I feel like less of a person from things I had no control over. I hate that there is so much screaming inside my head that I can’t even decipher what it is that truly destroys me and tears me apart. I hate that I can’t control it. I can’t control anything thats going on and I hate that. When I was younger I used to leave my house in the middle of the night just to stand in the middle of the road in the middle of no where. I’d sometimes lay down and wonder if a car ever came if I’d get up and move, or just let it hit me. How awful. I wish I could just get over it as I’m sure everyone wants me to do.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

I’ve experienced so much loss I’m not sure what I need to grieve first. By violating me these are the things you’ve taken:

-my innocence as a child -the ability to be trusting -my confidence -a normal childhood -a healthy mind -my self-respect, self-worth and the ability to love myself and -a father

Minus the biological definitions, some define ‘father’ as “a man who exercises paternal care over other persons; paternal protector or provider”. Ironic, the keyword in the definition is ‘protector’. Protect. Verb. To keep safe from harm or injury.

I grew up believing you were my best friend. The different number of ways you manipulated my mind is the reason behind why I struggle to see you as the predator you are. The first time you decided as a thirty something year old man to touch me and violate me as a four year old child is when I was given a life sentence. You continued to attack my mind and body as I grew. As years continued on, the attacks and violations became less frequent, yet more creatively thought out and conveniently disguised to be portrayed as pure.

Unfortunately, or luckily, I can not remember each and everything thing you did to me. My brain has tried to protect me by repressing memories, however with the PTSD I have, things will occasionally slip through the cracks. The first time I remembered you hurting me in the shower I was at a friends house washing my hair. I fell to the floor of the bathtub and vomited continuously. There have been times when a loved one has kissed, hugged, or touched me but all I felt was your hands or lips committing vile crimes to my body. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing or where I am- your crimes effect me daily. I am terrified for the next time I remember something as I continue to heal. I am always fearing the next time I have a panic attack or PTSD episode.

I’d like to talk about my mental health, and how detrimental this all has been. There was a time I attempted to take my own life to protect your secrets. I’ve wanted to die more days than I’ve been happy living. How did you do that to me? How did you take away my light and desire to see each day through? The problem with mental health is it’s not all invisible. I physically am drained each day. I have episodes frequently where I can’t stop shaking, where I vomit the empty contents of my stomach and dry heave until blood vessels pop in my eyes, I go days without sleeping, then days where I can’t do anything but lie helpless in bed. My migraines are so constant I only recognize the sparse times my temples don’t feel like they are about to explode. I have no appetite and won’t eat a solid meal for weeks. I have an anxiety derived disorder where I pick and pull and yank out my own hair to the point where I have a bald spot. I am scared to leave my comfort zones- which are limited to my house and work.

Because of all this it has been an obstacle to accomplish the things I want in life. I was a military police officer for four and a half years and needed to leave the military because I was no longer able to be mentally or physically fit for the requirements needed. I have started and dropped out of school too many times to count, when an education is all I desire so that I might be able to help others like me. I was unable to have a healthy loving relationship for years- I still struggle to maintain a relationship like this, although I am the luckiest girl in the world to have found a man to love me, and show me for the first time what it is like to be respected and cared for. He has shown me how I am supposed to be treated, as opposed to the way I was conditioned to believe.

I don’t believe it is possible to showcase each way I have been effected. I don’t even think I know every way I have been effected. It seems like each day I realize more and more how this has molded me into a person I don’t want to be, I didn’t ask for any of this. I continue to fight this battle until I get what I need… but I’m unsure what victory is truly going to look like. I thought standing here today I would feel as though all my problems and struggles have disappeared. I realize now it is not that simple, or fast acting.

One of the main reasons I decided to air my secret was because I thought of my sister, whom I love and look up to more than anything. I thought of her future children, and how I wouldn’t be able to protect them if she didn’t understand why they couldn’t stay with grandpa.  It hurts me to know that regardless the decision I made- she would be deeply effected as well, and hurt as much as I do. I will never be able to accept that she and my mother had to be a casualty of this war.

I have never been a malevolent person. I did not pursue pressing charges to harm you, hurt you, or punish you. That is not my place. I did it for you to accept responsibility, and the consequences the justice system feels you deserve. You need help, and you should not have an opportunity to force another child to endure what I have.

I’m proud of myself for helping the little girl that couldn’t fight. Now I need to help the woman I am become who she wants to be. My goals are to be an advocate for those who were like me, and terrified to speak the truth. To let go of all the anger and hurt I have. And to find forgiveness for myself.

[yourstruly-aoife-blog]

march 3, 2018, 12:39 pm

i’ve recently become enemies with a burning rage inside me. she is the fire you begin to feel in your toes as you freeze, the chill down your spine as you choke on your breath, with your chest tightening and eyes watering. the numbing is gradual, though her presence bursts from within like a shotgun. she desires my soul, stealing more and more of my light with each visit, and her hunger is insatiable.

the lack of control sends me in a panic. i am a zombie when she takes over, she uses my lips and tongue to carve insults and throw harsh daggers in the shape of words to wound those i love most. helpless, i am her puppet.

[yourstruly-aoife-blog]

october 19, 2017, 1:13 pm

half moon bay

i am in love with everything. i appreciate the sounds that roar and rattle into my ear drums. each sip of rich hot chocolate is worshipped by the individual tastebuds of my tongue, before flowing down my throat and warming my insides. crisp and salty sea air cools my lungs with every deep inhale and exhale. although my light greens eyes are squinting due to the sunlight, i am admiring all the activity around me. to my left, a hip mid-thirties women is lost in her book as she sips her chai latte. she has navy blue toenails, the majority of her blonde hair is colored pink, and she is kind- i asked her to watch my things as i ran to get sunglasses, her warm smile and nod comforted me. in front of me are strangers sitting at the same table as i, quietly reading and taking interest in their phones. further past them on the deck of the quaint coffee bar are gatherings of family, friends and lovers. everyone has a blissful smile upon their face. and why wouldn’t they? today is a day to smile about.

[yourstruly-aoife-blog]

may 28th, 2017, 2:25 am

i think, and i dream, and i imagine, and this is how i pass the time.

although time itself has become irrelevant. i have no distinction between moments, i purely glide from one to the next. i don’t like to be continuously mindful of living by the clock. most follow the sun for their daily schedule; when the sun is out and shining they are its identical twin, and when the sun sets for the evening, it is time to rest. i am different however, i mirror the moon. sometimes hidden during the day, always shining bright in the dark of night.

[yourstruly-aoife-blog]

november 10th, 2016, 6:49 am

april showers bring may flowers

mental disorders are such a terrifying concept. there is something not properly functioning in your brain, and you’re helpless. the disease gradually worsens until it gets to the point where living a normal life is a tremendous struggle. and just as you’re reaching the breaking point, you ask for help and society laughs at you and says “its all in your head”.

but the thing is… it’s not. the physical side effects to this unapologetic virus that consumes you, is equivalent to the pain of enduring the mental effects. but the physical effects happen throughout the shadows of the day, when no one can be a witness. the physical effects start off slow, lack of sleep, then start the migraines, sensitivity to light and sound, the random nausea, chills/sweats... then it escalates to screaming pain and pounding in your head, shakes that near body convulsions, uncontrollable sobbing, vomiting, your heart pounding out of your chest, and the overwhelming desire to do anything to make it all stop. 

[yourstruly-aoife-blog]

september 10, 2016, 4:51 am

the next chapter

before turning the page to start the next chapter, most of the time a defining conclusion occurred on the page beforehand. i lack a significant defining conclusion through an event or experience, instead i reached my defining moment in an instance while self-evaluating. the past few months, weeks, and especially the past couple days ive been harassing my conscious and soul, degrading my self-worth while angrily questioning my existence and purpose. the bajillion and plus questions ive been badgering myself with have not only been a cruel way to self inflict torture and an unjust pain deeper than the surface might have shown, but they have also kept me in a consistent hazy blur which i grew accustomed to live my daily life in. the blur was bigger than depression, anxiety, ptsd, and stress, all the things i was suffering through. the blur was swallowing my soul and sanity with it, ripping my chance at sincere happiness completely away, second by second. i was done. d o n e. luckily for me, i am strong. i am a goddamn warrior princess and i was fucking done. my defining moment happened when i snapped, and i told myself, “thats it, i am changing”. along with being a fierce warrior princess, i am the queen of avoidance and procrastination. i rule over the land of shoving my problems away to the dark parts of my mind, to lurk and prosper in secret without active acknowledgement. of course every random tuesday said thoughts creep out of the dark corners to knock on the door of my conscious, rudely reminding me i won’t ever get rid of them through my perfected skills of ignoring troubles. so today, i prepared myself to welcome them in. i haven’t yet, oh lord, no not quite yet. but I’m suiting up for battle. to conquer my nightmare.

[yourstruly-aoife-blog]

april 11, 2016, 9:45 pm

Liar, liar, burning in this hellfire...

To me, the easiest thing in the world is to lie; I’m a liar. I’ve been living a lie my whole life, and it comes more naturally to me than breathing. In fact, a good majority of the time breathing is foreign to me and I suffer a temporary memory loss of how to let oxygen flow through my nostrils into my lungs. But my mouth is always capable of effortlessly opening up to let treacherous lies fumble out. I lie to the world around me every second, without feeling guilty, but I can’t escape the guilt I feel for lying to myself.

I’m fine, I’m happy, I’m okay.

Three little lies that consume me.

[yourstruly-aoife-blog]

july 28, 2015, 2:03 am

Blurry is a word that I’ve come to identify the most with. My beginning is blurry, my emotions are blurry, my thoughts are blurry. Blurry is my life.

“lacking definition or focus”

Being confused as fuck. Scared as fuck. Unsure as fuck.

Just blah.

I never know where to start, or maybe I do I just hate saying the words. I hate dishonesty but I can’t stand the truth about my reality. Thats why I don’t mind being blurry. Staying out of focus, undefined.

My blur is a world full of secrets, hurt, terror, anxiety, confusion, struggle, depression, loneliness, and suffocation.

I can’t. I just can’t escape.

I can’t escape the panic attacks, PTSD episodes, detrimental thoughts, overwhelming pain in my heart. Nothing helps it anymore and I’m losing my mind every other second.

I just want it to please stop.

I’m not suicidal, I’ve already taken that journey and thats not one I’ll ever take again. So I almost think this is worse, because I’m miserable, miserable until this ends, but the misery flows in my veins.

I wanna reach out for help but I hate the state of my mental health. I don’t want to admit how awful its been getting. I can’t sleep at night, I only wanna sleep the day away. I get cold sweats. I wanna be alone but need the comfort of being held.

I’m ashamed of myself. I’d trade lives with anyone else, being uncomfortable with who I am as a person because I just feel damaged. And unwanted. Unlovable. Broken. Never good enough.

I hate myself.

I’m losing myself, but not the parts I want to.

My internal pain isn’t satisfied with the external pain. But consuming nonetheless.

Thats what it does. This monster inside my head. it consumes me.

But how do you get rid of the monster when you are the monster?

I want my mom.

I want her to love me and understand me and hold me while I bawl like a baby because I want her, I need her.

Can I take a mental health sick day? Because I need to escape. And leave. And fix my unfixable self.

I wanna lock myself away. I don’t want to open up to anyone else because I don’t want their pity, shame, embarrassment, judgement, uncomfortableness, confusion. I don’t want to put all my problems on their shoulders but I’m begging for someone to take this load off mine.

Help. Please.

I ask the universe, because I can’t believe in a religion that believes in the personal torture I go through every day.

I’m fading, disappearing, becoming part of the blur. This is the easiest thing for everyone else, and the hardest thing for myself; just let me be apart of the blur.

I can’t be selfish. Everything I do is for others. I attempted to take my own life for my family. I wanted to sacrifice everything for them. It didn’t work. But if it had.. They would live happily without knowing the demons that hide in our picture perfect world. I wouldn’t live out my destiny of tearing apart my family. Destroying their world for my selfish reasoning of needing a sane mind. I want to take this to the grave but everyday that passes makes it harder and harder to do so, and I have approximately 21 thousand more days to go.

I’ve never swam in the ocean but I think its something I might like to do. I want to travel to Prague. I want to have a happy family. I’d like to kiss in the rain. I want to change a life. I want to get my PhD. I want to have a cute little house with a flower garden with sunflowers and daisies and daffodils. I want to go sky diving. I want to breath and live and I want my soul to smile.

I need a healthy coping mechanism. I have nothing. I am nothing.

Sigh. I hurt. My head is pounding, I’m suffocating, and my eyes sting.

Medication could help all this but the idea of being codependent on pills makes me feel weak. And all I’ve ever wanted to be is invincible.

I think love is a great medication but I’ll never really have that either.

I think I’m going to give Megan a call. Ditching therapy for over a month was an awful idea. But I keep thinking I can handle this all alone.

Victim. I absolutely hate, despise, that word. But in the back of my mind, that antagonizing, hurtful little voice whispers into my subconscious that thats all I’ll ever be. I’m so ashamed and embarrassed by that, I could never let anyone know I feel that way. But thats what causes the headaches. The heartaches. The all-over aches.

I’m scared to be alone and I’m scared to be with people. In crowds. With family. With strangers. With my father.

I had two chances in life to be loved. Almost three. Why can’t I be loved? Whats wrong with me? What have I done wrong? What am I doing wrong? What am I missing?

My own blood didn’t want me. My in between families didn’t want me. My new family wanted me, but betrayed me.

I didn’t even know I had such strong feelings. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to be me. I don’t want to live like this anymore, in this blur.

[yourstruly-aoife-blog]

may 10, 2016, 9:23 pm

The Beginning:

Once upon a time, there was a little girl.

That’s how most fairytales start, right? Once upon a time. I love the sound of that, the assumed distance from reality, as though whatever transpires in the following story is made of tantalizing imaginations, magic, and the inevitable happy ending.

Betrayal and rescue are the revolving themes of her life. At six months blood first betrayed her, and each new foster home was thought to be the latest rescue. She realized quickly she was destined to be a victim, enslaved to the pattern of hope followed dangerously close by its enemy, disappointment.

The beginning years are a blur, and although undoubtedly vital to her upbringing, nothing shaped her heart, mind, and soul more than The Attack on Innocence from roughly ages 5-13.

Minus the biological definitions, some define ‘father’ as “a man who exercises paternal care over other persons; paternal protector or provider”. Ironic, the keyword in the definition is ‘protector’. Protect. Verb. To keep safe from harm or injury.

She knew it was wrong. The pit in her stomach, the cold sweats, the nightmares, the anxiety, the uncomfortableness, and the utter terror confirmed that. But how was she to know when she was constantly being assured that it was okay, that having a secret from mommy wasn’t a big deal, that this was what would make him happy. Sometimes she wondered why if it was all okay, why he would apologize and tremble after.

As years continued on, the attacks and violations became less frequent, yet more creatively thought out and conveniently disguised to be portrayed as pure. Memories after memories had successfully been deeply repressed; it was a relief to be temporarily sane, although the reality was she was being fooled by the cleverest of schemes, brainwashed to the core and oblivious to the vile crimes being committed to her body.

Luckily for her, she is a warrior. She is strong, she is brave, she is fierce. She will overcome the darkness in her past, find herself back in the light, and fight through the trauma… She is me, and the following blog is my sanctuary to find forgiveness, peace, understanding, and healing. And this is my documentation of my thoughts and feelings throughout my journey. _______________________________________________________________________