I know I'm no expert or genius. Living a reclusive lifestyle does not allow me to be full of wisdom in how the world works, how to make money or find the person of your dreams...but I do know this...
I know that I have experienced a number of unusual situations. My awareness of what happened, examining my emotions and relaying this information can help those who have been through the same things. This information can possibly help those who are treating and working to mend those who suffered as I.
It feels like some friggin' miraculous treasure that I can articulate these secretive events. So few, so very few have escaped their prison of shame and silence. I want to speak out, loudly and clearly for myself and other survivorsho have yet to find their voice
Part of the reason I blog, I've recently surmised, is that I want people to know that I'm not this strange, sullen, depressed human who never leaves her house and nobody knows her. Whew, big sentence there (in meaning not so much as in length.)
I want those that knew me, old teachers, fellow students, coworkers, past friends, that there are very valid reasons for my oddish behavior.
To those friends that I treasured, then offended or dropped all contact with suddenly and recklessly.
These events, they shaped me, morphed me, into a human with very little control over things like trusting, communicating and being stable.
My life is an unpredictable roller coaster of autism, abuse reactions, Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (this one, in and of itself accounts for 90% of my behaviors, my exhaustion, etc. It's so complicated. Read about it!) and chronic low energy.
It's like I could exhaust myself trying to explain the reasons behind why I'm exhausted. Everyone would like an explanation. All my life, I've had to explain and be accountable for my behaviors. It may look like I've let people down but it wasn't intentional.
Most people have predictable behaviors, energy levels and social lives. They aren't required to explain themselves because it's a large group and each knows the others qualities. It's only those of us on the outside that are put under the magnifying glass and picked apart for being, ya, you guessed it, different.
Different, different, different. Make the oddballs, the ones who struggle to find the right words, make them speak and explain themselves. It's heaping crap upon crap.
Sigh
No one is ever going to sit next to me, put their arm around me, look in my eyes, and say "Yes, I can see you've had a rough day. I'm sorry. I get why that menial disturbance was highly upsetting. I know how that must have triggered you. I get you. I understand why. It's going to be okay. You're okay."
So I write to maybe be heard and to maybe be understood just a little bit.
I'm not a freak
Really, I'm not.
Just some really odd genetics and some really bad things happened to me weekly throughout my youth that affected me deeply.
Ya know????
These secrets, events, crimes, misdemeanors, insults, episodes of torture, manipulations and my emotions and thoughts around them need to be released so that I can finally be free.
Books have been written by experts on the subject of childhood abuses. People that have never experienced such egregious malfeasance. And they are the experts??!
I know this stuff.
I was there.
I know how it felt and the impact upon me.
I know the road to healing.
And I can talk and write about it!!!
See, I've lived an extraordinary life. Trust me. Validate. Understand if you can. Know how to help others.
I have knowledge....take it
❤
I'm a misfit toy and that's okay!
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