Pushing Away (TRIGGER WARNING)

For three days, I have been really beating myself up. I feel bruised inside.

I've reached out to people...people I no longer speak to or otherwise communicate with. See, I have this obsession with not being liked. I can't stand to not be liked. There are two defenses to this: Either act however you have to act, to make them like you or treat them like shit so they have a good, solid reason not to like you.

Anyway, I've thought a lot about my past. It hurt that those I reached out to didn't reciprocate because I wanted to just...redeem myself, I guess. I wanted to apologize, make amends. It didn't happen.

Today, after I went on a three-day bashing splurge wherein I laid into those closest to me for absolutely no reason at all and said things I would never say, I find myself thinking back to my adolescence. Even before that, really.

See I never gave anyone a chance growing up. I never let anyone close to me. I did try, but she betrayed me. Lied to me and sent me back to hell. That was it.

I went to the police and the prosecutor in St. Louis when I was kidnapped and I was treated like the villain. That was it for my trust of authority and the police. No way, no how. Not ever.

I told Michelle during a recent session that the police found me walking down the street one day. It'd been a week or so since I'd been attacked and beaten. My lips were split wide open. It was really ghastly. I couldn't talk or eat for days. As they healed, I had two scabs on my lips from the wounds. The police stopped me and asked me where the drugs were. I had no idea what they were talking about. "We can tell you smoke. You have the burns on your lips."

I was speechless. I didn't tell them what happened. They didn't care.

Just took me in, another juvenile in the system. Another juvenile who wanted nothing to do with anyone. Didn't want to be touched or be near anyone. Didn't belong anywhere.

So I went off on everyone. I fought like a hood rat fights. I even kicked a pregnant girl once in the stomach. She cheated at cards and I called her out on it. Hey...she threw the first blow.

I've always felt bad about that.

One time, when I was on Vandeventer street, I was leaving a store and one of the regular guys who hung outside the door said to me, "Watch out for the Goodson brothers." I looked at him. "They're pimps. Their whole family is in it - mom, dad, sisters, brothers..."

I nodded. Never heard of 'em and didn't give them another thought. I was invincible. I'd been raped before and I'd escaped before.

Sure enough, two days later a man approached me. He was wearing a long beige winter coat and a nice hat. He was dressed nicely. He came up to me and handed me a card. I don't remember the first name but the last name stuck out: "Goodson."

I got away from him quickly.

But they found me.

The man at the store who had warned me was right: The whole Goodson clan was part of this huge prostitution ring.

But first you have to be initiated.

I couldn't tell you a thing about the house except there was a very narrow set of stairs and they were painted white. At the top of the stairs was a white door and it had three deadbolt locks on it. Beyond the door was an end table with drugs on it and a bed.

I was forced up those stairs and somehow it still didn't even occur to me that I might be in danger. Again, it wasn't anything I hadn't experienced before. So they'll take my body. So what? I'll get away.

They took me in the room and they locked the door. They took turns raping me every way they could. They made me perform oral sex. They performed it on me as well. They raped me vaginally and anally and if I cried they hit me. I cried most when they performed oral sex on me because I was terrified of orgasm...plus it hurt. It was very uncomfortable. I was 13 years old. They were training me to be put on the stroll and they were trying to indoctrinate me so that I would accept them as my bosses. Letting me know there was no escape.

They took my clothes so there was only a sheet to cover up with. They made me smoke "whack" (PCP) and marijuana - both of which I abhorred. I never was into drugs much.

Again, I felt nothing. Not emotionally anyway. I was busy plotting an escape. Any escape. When they would leave me alone in the room, I would check the  deadbolts - locked by keys - and I knew I couldn't escape. The room was in the attic so there was no way to get out the window.

Finally - I don't know how much time passed - I begged to go to the bathroom. They would not give me my clothes but, instead, allowed me to wrap up in the dingy, nasty sheet that I had just been violated on repeatedly. I didn't care. Didn't think about it.

I went to the bathroom. I was alarmed at first because I didn't think I could fit out of it. Plus it was on the second floor. It was one hell of a jump.

They were outside the door, waiting for me so I had to open the window quietly.

I made the jump. Barefoot. The pain was excruciating but nothing compared to what I was escaping from. I wonder how long it took for them to realize I was gone.

This is why you don't let people close to you....because you see what people are capable of. Thirteen years old. How could they? Not that it matters - it doesn't matter why they did it. What matters is they did and it hurt me - not just physically but in deeper ways, too.

So the police, whenever they'd pick me up yet again, were the enemy. The psychiatrists were enemies. The therapists, doctors and guards were all enemies. None of them cared and I didn't want them near me. They only hurt me more and God I couldn't wait to get away. I just wanted to have my life - my own life - with nobody in it. If there was anyone I could trust, it was myself. That was it.

What a lonely existence, I am realizing now.

People who are close to me now, I push away and sometimes hurt. There's no excuse and there are no words to describe how it feels inside to be that way.

Right now I am just afraid to say anything. I am afraid to decide anything. I'm afraid to do anything. I'm afraid that 13-year-old girl is going to kick whoever comes close and I don't want to be that. Not anymore.

Called Police

Had to call the police the other night when I discovered two of my email accounts were shut down and my website was shut down. The officer was nice but at first didn't understand the gravity of the situation.

He asked if I would be willing to go with a police escort to get my things from "him" and I said, "You don't understand, officer. I have PTSD and DID and he triggers me worse than anyone or anything ever has."

Once I explained this - as well as the email and website issues - he contacted the ...other party, and then called me back.

He said the "other party" would be returning my things to the Essex police department, and an officer would bring them to me, but said there would have to be some contact in order for him to transfer ownership of my website. This is the most dreadful thing in the world to me - having to hear his voice. Just the thought of the things that happened, cause me to throw up. People have no idea...just have no idea....God...

The officer then told me there should be no further contact between us and I assured him that I have absolutely no desire to see, speak to or hear him at all, ever. Not because I hate him, but because I loved him so much, and I am still beyond mortified over the things he did to me. Deliberate things, horrible things, agonizing things.

He accused me of "stalking" him because I went to the same sitting spot I've gone to for months, with Bill, with no idea of whether or not his boat would be there. While there, his boat did show up and, yes, I yelled a few obscenities but I didn't really figure he heard me. It just felt good to scream...God it felt good to scream. He hurt me so bad, and still is. Just needless, vengeful, childish stuff...just exerting control, like always.

It hurts that I had to defriend a number of people from my friend's list because simply seeing a picture of his boat triggered me. It got that bad. It got that abusive. Plus he's concerned about his image. Ironic, I think, given what he's done to mine.

I immediately emailed my therapist. I was so shook up Friday night. I couldn't eat, kept gagging, crying, scared. I don't know why scared, but scared. Scared, I guess, that one person could have so much control over your life and you feel helpless to do anything about it. Scared of myself ...scared that my choices have led me to all these horrible relationships that always end up with me feeling terrified.

But never like this. I've never been affected like this.

All it does is make me question everyone and everything (including myself) even more (which is why I defriended so many people).

How can I trust, after this? How can I ever trust anyone with my journey? My pain and my experiences? How can I ever open up to anyone again when it was spat in my face, used to deliberately hurt me?

Gagging now, just thinking about it....

The no contact order was initiated by me, for the record, which isn't officially a 'no contact' order because there's no need - clearly we want nothing to do with each other. It was just an unofficial police officer telling us no contact.

Fine with me.

For you: You'll always have a place in my heart - I loved you deeply, and that doesn't just go away. I wish you the best and hope you have a happy life.