- Author : Beslyne11
- support : 4
- Topic : Our stories
I am entirely new to this forum- this is my first post. For years I’ve been scouring the internet trying to access support networks such as this one but never seemed to have much luck until funnily enough, I happen to come across this site when i wasn’t even intending to look for or find one. This is exactly the type of online support network I’ve been looking for to assist me in working through a slight but slightly deadly rough patch at this time in my life. I’m an extremely private individual carrying a backpack full of secrets on my shoulders for so long now that sometimes I forget that’s it’s even there. I have many days where I’m able to focus on everything that brings happiness & fulfilment to my life. But when the road gets bumpy and I start to wonder if maybe I’m lost, the weight gets much heavier & harder to carry. I look around for help but there’s no one in site and that is to no fault of anyone but myself. I chose to take the remote path. I chose to take the one way street that in return creates isolation & distance. I chose to carry this backpack on my own knowing full well how heavy it can get. A backpack big enough to carry around 28 years of secrets, shame and fears. Why? Why would I choose to carry around something that is going to hold me back and slow me down. There are endless ways I could attempt to get rid of it but even then so-
I guard it with my life and keep it held tightly against my body because this particular bag has been- is, my keeper. When I was lost this backpack protected the only parts left of me that I know. It let me know that no matter how lost I find myself that the contents of this bag will keep me safe and hidden from any potential threat I may face. But the safe keeping of secrets can sometimes get heavy. I carry my baggage on my own and you’ll see me struggle sometimes, sometimes the rheumatoid arthritis that possesses my body flares and up boy that’s painful. A familiar pain, a pain I can live with and handle on my own. The type of of pain I find extremely hard to live with is the thoughts and opinions you start to create when you feel as though you’re nothing but a burden on the ones you love- psychological pain. That invisible force that either keeps me awake or thrusts me straight back into the nightmares I call sleep. The kind that never goes away when you plan it too, the wounds that cant be healed with just a band aid. The exhaustion.
If I’m hesitant in opening up or letting people in too see the real me it’s more so for their protection than mine. I name my life after that book- a series of unfortunate events. And with each event a small part of me taken and replaced with trauma that has not made a home somewhere inside of me that I can’t reach. Embedded. Nowhere to run and the best hiding spots have already been taken. My poor soul overwhelmed and overpowered by my internal residents shame and fear who are by far the two heaviest components of my backpack. Those of which slow me down are ironically the structural integrity that created a safe place for my trauma to rest within. On my hand I refuse to define myself as a victim and on the other hand over a decade later I am still trying to find my way back to even a glimpse of the person I used to know. The exhaustion sometimes has me wondering if I can even trust myself to know what’s real and whats irrational.
My battery could use a replacement and most of the time I seem to work ok, I’m not entirely useless these days- just a little broken. I’m highly skilled at the art of carrying myself in a way that just goes unnoticed. It occurs to me every so often during my lowest moments that during the final stages of my rapists mission to break me he has obtained a souvenir of his success- A part of me I am sure now I may never get back. If you asked me what it was that he took I honestly couldn’t tell you as I’ve yet to identify it myself. But what I can tell you is that on the good days I rarely notice it missing. And on the bad days I’m completely and utterly aware of its lack of presence just when I need it the most. Nostalgia takes me back to the days where you could have told me I couldn’t do something and I’d do it just to prove you wrong. They say what doesn’t k*ll you makes you stronger but they conveniently left out a timeline in which you can expect to reap the benefits of survival. I don’t recall the exact moment my resilience decided to abort ship but God these days I feel so weak and pathetic. I’ve been stumbling through life for sometime now and I’m just not bouncing back like I used to.
As I said about my life’s tales- as depressing or inspiring they may be, they are not for everybody. But if you are a little lost & happen to read this post reach out and tell me your story. Talking to anyone and everyone in life may not be the key to moving forward in life post trauma but finding just one person or people who understand & relate can be that minor change with an almighty impact.
Sending my love to all in this new and wonderful community I am so grateful to have found. Xx