Sickly sweet
like poisonous sap
drinking your innocence
you sit on his lap
An explosive laugh
contageous to guests
as thunderous
as his angry fists
Smile so bright
music so pulling
his web of deceit
so soft, so lulling
trapped inside it
there is no escape
you love him
you hate him
despite the rapes
stay away little girls
you're of no consequence
Daddy doesn't care
about your innocence
Showing posts with label abandoned. Show all posts
Showing posts with label abandoned. Show all posts
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Monday, December 15, 2014
Only One
I've had about 30 hours of sleep in the last 36 (thank you Nyquil). The few hours I've been up, I've been lost. I took the Nyquil after deciding last night that I was going to commit suicide but then, using a tactic I've used before, told myself I would wait until tomorrow and if I still felt the same, I would do it then. As I lay down, restless, anxious, angry, hurt....I fantasized about ways to do it. I have a lot of pills I can take. I sometimes hoard them...."just in case." But I know from experience, that overdosing doesn't really work and best scenario you end up with smiley shoes on the fourth floor of some cold, God-forsaken hospital for three days until you say the right things to get out. So I thought of other ways, in addition to the pills. I thought of the order in which I would take the pills. I thought of ways to build a "tent" for carbon monoxide poisoning. Perhaps a bag over my head, too. I would close the bedroom door. Trevor would never know. Nobody would find me until I was gone. Maybe I'd use my old, illegal, beat up car and drive somewhere and hide. But then I thought maybe the cops would see me and pull me over. Then I'd really be screwed. I even tried to figure out ways I could smuggle in my meds in case I did get arrested but that wouldn't work either: The meds would need time to kick in, plus they'd find me before I could die. I fantasized about using a big black sharpie to write "DNR" all over my arms and chest and even my forehead. I figured I'd probably have to do it on paper and then trace it since doing it in the mirror could prove difficult.
Every purpose I had to live, is leaving or dying. My fault for putting purposes on people, instead of myself, most would say.
But most wouldn't know I am no purpose. I have no purpose. I know, I know....and I've heard it all. My existence alone, changes the world. Yada...yada...yada...
Appeasement does not work for me.
All the work I've done on myself has been so honest and intentional.
But for naught.
I still have my pills hidden. (I hid them in case my therapist instructed my friend to hide them from me). I still have not gotten them out. I still haven't entirely changed my mind.
I have therapy tomorrow.
I have almost nothing to say.
I am so numb. So, so numb.
Voiceless, wordless, needless.
Nothing. Obviously.
Every purpose I had to live, is leaving or dying. My fault for putting purposes on people, instead of myself, most would say.
But most wouldn't know I am no purpose. I have no purpose. I know, I know....and I've heard it all. My existence alone, changes the world. Yada...yada...yada...
Appeasement does not work for me.
All the work I've done on myself has been so honest and intentional.
But for naught.
I still have my pills hidden. (I hid them in case my therapist instructed my friend to hide them from me). I still have not gotten them out. I still haven't entirely changed my mind.
I have therapy tomorrow.
I have almost nothing to say.
I am so numb. So, so numb.
Voiceless, wordless, needless.
Nothing. Obviously.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Living in Limbo
My name is Cristina D. Johnson
Had another nightmare about "him" last night. Third night in a row, only last night I woke up crying.
There are good things happening, of course. I mean I have the help and support of some wonderful people.
Therapy's been tough because of the concept of boundaries and relationships. I suppose it all goes back to living in that black-and-white world. Yes or no. No gray.
In therapy, though, it's obvious that things are out of whack here at home. My new apartment is beautiful. I have an antiquated kitchen but it's super roomy. All wood floors (except the living room) and I have a dining room, living room, and upstairs I have two bedrooms and a bathroom and then, upstairs (where I am now) is my private space - my 'writing room' as I call it - and outside each window is nothing but trees and green. The breeze blows through the windows and I hear the rustle of the leaves and it should be soothing.
But I feel like I'm in limbo - I feel as if I have lived here now for about two months and I haven't exhaled. So much is uncertain and I sometimes feel like I'm being taken for granted (hence the conversation about boundaries in therapy).
Part of my apprehension is knowing "he" has the power to take it away from me and he knows it, too. I would like to think he wouldn't be so cruel, but then again, if history is any indication, there's really no limit to the cruelty so who knows? I don't know..... I feel so stupid.
Bill helps me a lot. We talk every day: morning, lunch time and after he gets off work. He swears he's not going to let me go again. There's something very powerful in hearing him say those things. Not that he only says those things, but he says other things - beautiful things - and he's absolutely wonderful to Trevor, who adores him.
Bill knows I question my relationships now - an unfortunate truth - and he says he's glad I do this. I am grateful for that space - for that lenience and compassion. He's the only one who truly saw the every-day struggle I went through after the break-up so he knows how deep it goes. During those days and nights, he nursed me so gently. I will never, ever forget this.
Yet at the same time, I can't help but feel this timeless kind of love for him. It's always been that way between us. Very unconditional. Very honest. In many ways, he raised the bar as far as relationships go. In many ways, "the other guy" never would or could measure up, even though - to his credit - he had some redeeming qualities.
I have yet to call it home. It's "the house" or "the apartment" and Michelle (my therapist) says that's because everything is still unsettled. (Also I have Bill's cat - Snowball - and I'm not supposed to have animals so I'm scared of that and not sure how to handle it yet).
Michelle says we can't even get into trauma work until my life is no longer stressful and in crisis. She's right. I can't even think right now. Just scared of everything.
Most of the time in my life - in the past - I have not had to worry like this. Things just were, what they were and I never expected to have a home - always expected to be abandoned or kicked out or whatever. But now that I'm trying so hard to actually have a home, I am terrified of losing it.
Everything is in limbo and my back sometimes feels like it could snap.
Had another nightmare about "him" last night. Third night in a row, only last night I woke up crying.
There are good things happening, of course. I mean I have the help and support of some wonderful people.
Therapy's been tough because of the concept of boundaries and relationships. I suppose it all goes back to living in that black-and-white world. Yes or no. No gray.
In therapy, though, it's obvious that things are out of whack here at home. My new apartment is beautiful. I have an antiquated kitchen but it's super roomy. All wood floors (except the living room) and I have a dining room, living room, and upstairs I have two bedrooms and a bathroom and then, upstairs (where I am now) is my private space - my 'writing room' as I call it - and outside each window is nothing but trees and green. The breeze blows through the windows and I hear the rustle of the leaves and it should be soothing.
But I feel like I'm in limbo - I feel as if I have lived here now for about two months and I haven't exhaled. So much is uncertain and I sometimes feel like I'm being taken for granted (hence the conversation about boundaries in therapy).
Part of my apprehension is knowing "he" has the power to take it away from me and he knows it, too. I would like to think he wouldn't be so cruel, but then again, if history is any indication, there's really no limit to the cruelty so who knows? I don't know..... I feel so stupid.
Bill helps me a lot. We talk every day: morning, lunch time and after he gets off work. He swears he's not going to let me go again. There's something very powerful in hearing him say those things. Not that he only says those things, but he says other things - beautiful things - and he's absolutely wonderful to Trevor, who adores him.
Bill knows I question my relationships now - an unfortunate truth - and he says he's glad I do this. I am grateful for that space - for that lenience and compassion. He's the only one who truly saw the every-day struggle I went through after the break-up so he knows how deep it goes. During those days and nights, he nursed me so gently. I will never, ever forget this.
Yet at the same time, I can't help but feel this timeless kind of love for him. It's always been that way between us. Very unconditional. Very honest. In many ways, he raised the bar as far as relationships go. In many ways, "the other guy" never would or could measure up, even though - to his credit - he had some redeeming qualities.
I have yet to call it home. It's "the house" or "the apartment" and Michelle (my therapist) says that's because everything is still unsettled. (Also I have Bill's cat - Snowball - and I'm not supposed to have animals so I'm scared of that and not sure how to handle it yet).
Michelle says we can't even get into trauma work until my life is no longer stressful and in crisis. She's right. I can't even think right now. Just scared of everything.
Most of the time in my life - in the past - I have not had to worry like this. Things just were, what they were and I never expected to have a home - always expected to be abandoned or kicked out or whatever. But now that I'm trying so hard to actually have a home, I am terrified of losing it.
Everything is in limbo and my back sometimes feels like it could snap.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
As If I Matter
My name is Cristina D. Johnson.
Since May, I've been overwhelmed, consumed by and obsessed with the debilitating grief over my break up of my five-year relationship, as well as the loss of every single "friendship" associated with that relationship. I've defriended at least 50 people from my Facebook page. My PTSD wreaked havoc on my life for the past year, but especially since May.
Being abandoned so young, I grew up with (and still hold to) this belief that I am nothing...worth nothing. I mean, really, if your own parents didn't want you, who would? Right? It started for me, so young (around age 3, when I was placed in a foster home), that it is an extremely deep-seated belief. "You are nothing" runs through my mind, every single time I try to wear a dress or put on jewelry. "You are nothing" echoes in my head anytime I go anywhere. Especially now...after the things that were done to me.
But that's not what this is about.
Today I was perusing my Facebook - which now consists of 127 friends - and I saw my name on someone's status - Robin - and she was commenting on how good a writer I am. "Just sayin'," she said in her status. I almost cried. Robin and I haven't ever really talked much - our sons were friends and her son was wonderful to my Trevor - and we got together a couple of times, but that's it.
But that's not all.
Ron and Cindy adopted me - legally - when I was 36 years old. Yeah, yeah I know it sounds weird - an adult adoption - and most people look at me cock-eyed when I tell them, but to me - at the time - I had no concept of family and in some way, I guess I was both fantasizing about having parents, and also thinking I was helping them. (So technically, my real name is Cristina D. Kuptzin-Johnson).
Anyway for awhile (actually for almost the entire time I dated "him"), we were estranged. Cindy and I texted occasionally but I stayed clear away from Ron. He was frightening to me. Very tall, domineering and intimidating. Much like my birth father.
In May, Cindy and I were talking (apparently, because I don't remember any of it) on the phone as I was heading to a motel to attempt suicide. Cindy showed up and found me, I believe. And "he" also showed up...I don't know who showed up when, but Cindy was there.
That's when our communication opened back up. Cindy understood - much more than "he" did - that it was not a suicide attempt; it was a cry for help...it was desperation, fear, pain...so many things but not a desire to die. (it's called Suicide Ideation).
As "he" went out and told everyone all about my disorders and attempted suicide, Cindy continued to talk to me and check on me, while he would yell at me or swear at me or mock my disorders, attempt to control me and constantly hurt me. While all this was happening, Cindy was there, always checking on me. Always worried about me. Like a mother, I suppose.
And, of course, there was Bill, checking on me and Hannah who was frantic over my well-being and irate over the way "he" was treating me.
But lately, as I go through therapy and work on myself, I am finding tiny little lights...little pieces of heaven.
Ron - with whom I have not spoke in over five years - has been quietly sitting on the sidelines, waiting for me to call the shots - as if I matter.
Cindy has been here every day, texting every day asking how I am - as if I matter.
Hannah texts me for advice or to see how I am doing - as if I matter.
Robin boasts about how good my writing is - as if I matter.
Nate and Derek help me with their knowledge because I have no idea what I'm doing with my whole website situation - as if I matter.
My cousins, Jan, Cora.... they reached out to me (Jan was even gonna visit!) - as if I matter.
My Aunt Neen encouraged me to keep writing, to get it out, to be strong - as if I matter.
Cindy came over today and cut Trevor's hair and watched (and helped) as I taught him to shave for the first time. She sat and talked with me for a few hours - as if I matter.
With her, she brought a box that had a small stereo in it that Ron sent, as well as some other things that he picked up for me at the store. As if I matter.
Officer Gingras knew what PTSD was and he helped me so compassionately, with such kindness.
And, finally of course, there's Bill who has been my rock, my best friend and everything I could dream of...been there for me through everything As if I matter.
Because my "You are nothing" runs so deep, the thought that I might matter, I might be important or valuable, is like (as I told my therapist) trying to get a rock to absorb water but I have to admit, these little pieces of compassion, acceptance, love...these kindnesses ....these small things (and big things) that you all have done, chip away at that rock and I want to thank you all.
Even though it aches, it's like pushing a sore tooth - it feels good, too.
Since May, I've been overwhelmed, consumed by and obsessed with the debilitating grief over my break up of my five-year relationship, as well as the loss of every single "friendship" associated with that relationship. I've defriended at least 50 people from my Facebook page. My PTSD wreaked havoc on my life for the past year, but especially since May.
Being abandoned so young, I grew up with (and still hold to) this belief that I am nothing...worth nothing. I mean, really, if your own parents didn't want you, who would? Right? It started for me, so young (around age 3, when I was placed in a foster home), that it is an extremely deep-seated belief. "You are nothing" runs through my mind, every single time I try to wear a dress or put on jewelry. "You are nothing" echoes in my head anytime I go anywhere. Especially now...after the things that were done to me.
But that's not what this is about.
Today I was perusing my Facebook - which now consists of 127 friends - and I saw my name on someone's status - Robin - and she was commenting on how good a writer I am. "Just sayin'," she said in her status. I almost cried. Robin and I haven't ever really talked much - our sons were friends and her son was wonderful to my Trevor - and we got together a couple of times, but that's it.
But that's not all.
Ron and Cindy adopted me - legally - when I was 36 years old. Yeah, yeah I know it sounds weird - an adult adoption - and most people look at me cock-eyed when I tell them, but to me - at the time - I had no concept of family and in some way, I guess I was both fantasizing about having parents, and also thinking I was helping them. (So technically, my real name is Cristina D. Kuptzin-Johnson).
Anyway for awhile (actually for almost the entire time I dated "him"), we were estranged. Cindy and I texted occasionally but I stayed clear away from Ron. He was frightening to me. Very tall, domineering and intimidating. Much like my birth father.
In May, Cindy and I were talking (apparently, because I don't remember any of it) on the phone as I was heading to a motel to attempt suicide. Cindy showed up and found me, I believe. And "he" also showed up...I don't know who showed up when, but Cindy was there.
That's when our communication opened back up. Cindy understood - much more than "he" did - that it was not a suicide attempt; it was a cry for help...it was desperation, fear, pain...so many things but not a desire to die. (it's called Suicide Ideation).
As "he" went out and told everyone all about my disorders and attempted suicide, Cindy continued to talk to me and check on me, while he would yell at me or swear at me or mock my disorders, attempt to control me and constantly hurt me. While all this was happening, Cindy was there, always checking on me. Always worried about me. Like a mother, I suppose.
And, of course, there was Bill, checking on me and Hannah who was frantic over my well-being and irate over the way "he" was treating me.
But lately, as I go through therapy and work on myself, I am finding tiny little lights...little pieces of heaven.
Ron - with whom I have not spoke in over five years - has been quietly sitting on the sidelines, waiting for me to call the shots - as if I matter.
Cindy has been here every day, texting every day asking how I am - as if I matter.
Hannah texts me for advice or to see how I am doing - as if I matter.
Robin boasts about how good my writing is - as if I matter.
Nate and Derek help me with their knowledge because I have no idea what I'm doing with my whole website situation - as if I matter.
My cousins, Jan, Cora.... they reached out to me (Jan was even gonna visit!) - as if I matter.
My Aunt Neen encouraged me to keep writing, to get it out, to be strong - as if I matter.
Cindy came over today and cut Trevor's hair and watched (and helped) as I taught him to shave for the first time. She sat and talked with me for a few hours - as if I matter.
With her, she brought a box that had a small stereo in it that Ron sent, as well as some other things that he picked up for me at the store. As if I matter.
Officer Gingras knew what PTSD was and he helped me so compassionately, with such kindness.
And, finally of course, there's Bill who has been my rock, my best friend and everything I could dream of...been there for me through everything As if I matter.
Because my "You are nothing" runs so deep, the thought that I might matter, I might be important or valuable, is like (as I told my therapist) trying to get a rock to absorb water but I have to admit, these little pieces of compassion, acceptance, love...these kindnesses ....these small things (and big things) that you all have done, chip away at that rock and I want to thank you all.
Even though it aches, it's like pushing a sore tooth - it feels good, too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)