When I look back it started off sweet enough, but now I’m 35 it’s 1:34 a.m. and I can’t sleep with my husband. I play games on Facebook as I wait until my eyes get heavy enough to let sleep in and shut down my spinning, out of control, finally remembering brain and my body that hurts, hurts, hurts all the time. If I believed in a god I might cry out to him for some relief or some justice. Does relief feel like justice? I wish I knew.
I’m getting ahead of myself, but that’s not unusual. I never turn off. I never relax. I am a coiled spring on what remains of a state of the art machine. I burned the candle at both ends. I lived for other people. I was rode hard and put away wet. Can I throw any other bullshit lines out to describe it? Sure can. I was “Everything to Everyone.” Thanks Everclear.
For being so smart I sure feel like a fool. It all started in 1994. Well, I was born in 1979 so you could say it started then, but everything sure went to shit when I started high school. The cast of characters I met there could not have been more cliché and don’t deserve much of a place in this story other than to note that they drove me to date someone other. Someone not from our school. Someone who wasn’t a football player. Someone I thought of for a long time as an escape. An escape from the mean girls and jocks and my parents and perfection! None of that lasted very long – he ended up as conniving as those girls, as demanding as those jocks, as moody as my father and perfection? Oh yeah, that was expected too. Change your shirt, you look like a slut.
I have PTSD, but the only war I’ve ever fought was psychological. My father yelled, my boyfriend fucked, and I dissociated. Remembering is hell.
Every potential title of this blog that I Googled yielded porn except for this one. How fucked is that? It’s now 2:49 a.m. Welcome to my head.
Edited to add (1/23/14): shared on https://recoverybloggers.wordpress.com/
Obsessively Perfect Grrl 
The 1st requirement for this can be to be eighteen years
of age and above.
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Um, I have no idea how to age restrict this blog so… ?
Edited to add — I did some Googling and know how to do that now. Then I thought about it and there is no way I’m going to age restrict this. I’m writing this as part of my therapy to deal with sexual abuse I endured from when I was 14 to 18 years old by a boyfriend who was only 2 years older than I. If some teen girl finds this blog then good, maybe it’ll help her. There might be some bad language, but it’s not my job to monitor other people’s internet usage.
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Your writing is raw and visceral. It is painful to read but it is equally rewarding for its brave honesty.
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Thank you Sid.
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Oh boy, can I relate. I never fought a physical war either, but I sure have many PTSD symptoms (I no longer have the full diagnosis but that’s mostly because I dug everything in, long story). I can totally relate to feeling like I have to be everything to everyone. Like I can never be good enough. I’m sorry you’re sitll fighting this fight. Thanks for linking up to Saturday Sharefest.
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Thank you Astrid. Lately things have been getting worse, which is why I started the blog. My therapist says the only way out is through, so here goes nothing, right?
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