Past Journal Entry: July 12, 2005 ~ Evening ~ Part II

Continuation of Past Journal Entry of July 12, 2005

Feels like I'm trying to comprehend how bad it got when I was a teenager, but it is like trying to grasp a cloud. I can't seem to quite get it. But, if how I've been feeling and thinking is any indication...it was quite awful [At this point in time, I am having a difficult time with finding the right words to describe how I am feeling so I just keep saying awful. My therapist says that it is/was an indication of how young I was during the first sets of trauma]. I feel like crying.

School, church and our family friend were my escapes. And, Miss B was really a good buffer...Also, someone else to take care of my mother. I really wanted to live with her...almost did one summer and semester because it was so hot. She had air conditioning, but we didn't.

From my senior year on, it seems that the only time my step-father and I spoke was when we were arguing or he was screaming or yelling at me. Not, that he was home much even when my mother was pregnant and required bed rest. I got to the point where on most nights, he didn't come home after work, but went out with his buddies and played basketball and then went drinking afterward. My mother either took her anger out on me and before she needed bed rest we would go out to eat and go shopping. Most of the time, Miss B would come.

My step-father really enjoyed boxing and would do the pay per view stuff and invite a bunch of friends over. I just remember being so on edge (even more so than just the fear of being killed) because about a week before the event my mother would start to get moody and then the whole cleaning of the house while screaming at me the day of the event.

Then, the party would be so loud. Sometimes, I had to stay home and listen to my mother complain. Other times, we would go shopping. He would always end up drunk and would never help setting up or cleaning after. So, my mother would be even angrier when we cleaned up and would either complain the whole time, throw things and/or scream at me. I used to get so anxious throughout the whole process. And, everyone in the house would be on edge and there would be daily arguments about it.

I am really grateful that my husband doesn't watch sports or even television much and doesn't need to have things loud.

During my second semester in college, my step-father had a psychiatric hospitalization for almost slugging his supervisor, but instead hit his locker injuring his hand. (Sure wish, I could have seen his chart) Afterward, he was home all the time on disability and began a lawsuit against his employer, which he eventually won a settlement. But, that was another source of their arguing.

Often, I didn't sleep as, he would be typing notes on an electric typewriter all night without going to bed or he would be up all night watching television...usually adult films...the volume was loud. Since he wasn't working, he was home all the time. I started working which helped, but that was also when my eating disorder became a more significant problem as my boss even talked to me about my weight loss and not eating.

My third semester was really awful because I wasn't going to school as I took time off to go to Europe, so took the whole semester off. The problem was that my step-father wasn't working, so often it was the two of us at home. I tried to stay in my bedroom as much as I could and worked as much as I could. It made me even more anxious all the time. Also, a couple I met at church befriended me, and "adopted" me into their family which helped a great deal as they had a son that required "babysitting."

I came across some of my journaling during this time and afterward until the divorce and it all sounds so familiar. Constantly, thinking of specific ways to kill myself and thinking that it would be better off if I were dead, that no one cares, I don't matter, I'm manipulative, I want too much and that I really hate myself. So many writings with those exact words. I though of suicide everyday and continued with the self-injury with bruising and cutting. I remember feeling so hopeless, misunderstood, alone, trapped and that I was bad.

Also, in the writing was my anger toward my mother because she constantly compared me to my best friend and say things like, "Why couldn't you be more like her." According to my writings, she used to tell me that my best friend was prettier, smarted, got along with her parents, didn't cause problems, etc...

I guess, I have always felt I wasn't enough or didn't deserve to be alive or exist. I just caused too many problems. I was also anxious and scared all the time. Although I don't remember it, the college group leader recently told me that he remembers my being afraid to go home.