What Gives?

This is a quick post so that I can ask a question. It’s not really a question anyone can answer, at least not one that any of you can answer but I’m going to ask it because it bugs me.

My father’s wife’s daughter reached out to me through social media to give her condolences about my mother. I asked how she found out and she said that they had been visiting my family and my aunt told them. I assume that means my father knows as it was his sister who told them and she said “they” like I would know who that was.

My mother is dead and my father has said nothing. He has not reached out or called or sent a card or anything. What gives? I mean we’re estranged but geez!

He and my mom never married, they were never even engaged but you find out your child’s mother has suddenly died and you say nothing? Really?

Wow. It’s like I have no parents in the world at all.

Posted in dissociative identity disorder | 8 Comments

Sometimes It’s The Little Things

Using my therapist’s technique of identifying emotions by keeping them simple: happy, sad, mad, or scared, I’m going to say that I’m sad. Believe it or not that’s actually progress for me and I still need that kind of help to explain how I feel.

It’s the little things that are making me sad. Yesterday my husband picked up the phone to give his parents an update on our house sale and it hit me really hard that I can’t do that because my mom is dead. I have a stepfather but he’s exactly that. We don’t have the kind of relationship where I just call him up to say hi. My bio-dad is exactly that, the guy my mom slept with to have me.

The casual, sure way my husband called his parents just got to me.

And it’s strange because my wistful sadness is a mixture of reality and wishes. In reality I hadn’t spoken to my mom in a while and if she were still alive I may not have called her about this. But, I would have likely been emailing her at least and I can’t even do that. The wishes come in from not knowing what our future relationship would have been. Maybe we’d finally speak on the phone…I have no idea.

I’m sad. I miss her but it’s weird. And it seems like everyday now I get kicked in the gut by grief. It’s a change because I still haven’t cried since her memorial service. I haven’t felt much of anything until now. I want a picture of a younger her…a her from before the hitting started, but my stepfather has the ones I probably want. My other pictures are packed so I can move when the time comes.

One of the small things that isn’t small is again wishful thinking. I recently read an article where a young woman, now an adult,  who had been sexually abused as a child told her mother what had happened. Of course for her, her mother was supportive, but I thought to myself that I’ll never be able to tell her what happened. There’s no support incoming. I highly doubt there would have been support if my mother were still alive but it’s not even having the option that gets me. It’s the maybe’s  (is that even a word?).

I don’t know how to process these feelings or even how to feel them in the first place. The training from my mother kicks in which means no crying, no showing how I really feel.

On the side I also have an extremely needy, whiny person around me who requires constant hand-holding or they think I don’t like them anymore. This person is supposed to be a friend but they are super high maintenance and they’re so busy telling everyone around us how sick they are (they’re not) that they can’t understand why I’m not focusing all of my attention on them.

Anyway, speaking of whining, I’m done. How’s everyone else doing?

Posted in Child Abuse, Family Relationships, Incest, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sexual Abuse, Toxic Parents, Trauma | Tagged | 8 Comments

Sticking My Head Out To Say Hi

I’m still here everyone.

I had no idea how much my current stressors would interfere with me being able to feel and write. I’m so distracted that I can hardly process any emotion besides anxiety. However, there is a chance that things will finally calm down in February so that I can get back to writing about all the inevitable emotional backlog that will come to the fore when I can focus again.

I have had some triggers involving sexual abuse and of course my mother’s death is still a big issue. It’s amazing (and not in a good way) how distractions can push really important issues like these to the back burner even though they deserve to be a priority.

I am going to take some time to go over some of my past collages because they tie into a trigger that happened on Sunday. I hope to be writing about my normal subject matters in a month or so.

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I’m Not Coping

I just realized a couple of days ago that I am not coping very well with stress at the moment. There are too many things going on at once and I’m not handling it well at all.

I need to sell my house, and the decision about where to move is extremely stressful because of the financial commitment. My mother’s death is still weighing and I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time in my imagination. That’s not coping. Well, it’s my way of coping but it’s not always the healthiest.

Physically I haven’t been feeling well and I’ve completely lost my way when it comes to exercise. Part of it is due to the weather change. When cold weather comes, my chronic illnesses become even worse than usual. Part of it is because I’ve lost my motivation.

Tonight was the first time in a long time that I considered self-injury and the night is not over.

I’m feeling epic amounts of guilt for failing myself and others on so many fronts at once. I actually thought to myself tonight that maybe my husband would be better off if I left him; he wouldn’t have to move (it’s my health that’s making the move necessary) and he’d be happier. I’ve never thought about that before. Yes, I’ve thought about leaving in the sense of death, but not leaving in this manner.

I’m so tired. I’m tired of struggling against my own weaknesses (that’s another post altogether) and I’m tired of failing. I’m tired of not knowing which way to go or what to do. And, I’m tired of feeling unworthy.

My husband thinks I’m depressed but I don’t think I am. I think that I’m worn out from things he doesn’t even know about. Things I could never tell him about.

I wish I could be a good person. It’s exhausting to hate yourself and your choices all the time.

Posted in Child Molestation, dissociation, Incest, Mental Health, self-harm, Self-injury, Sexual Abuse | 8 Comments

Stephen Collins 20/20 Interview, My Thoughts

*My bluntness may be triggering, so here’s the warning*


I recorded the 20/20 Stephen Collins interview so I could watch it when I was alone. I was prepared to be triggered, in fact I usually welcome it because if I get triggered it means more information for my dissociative memory.

I wasn’t really triggered, at least not to the extent I thought I would be. Maybe it’s because that interview was so full of BS that triggering didn’t even get through. Rosie O’Donnell just wrote about it I wanted to say ‘amen’ after I read her words.

My first issue came when I saw the words “sexual misconduct” being used. Sexual misconduct? Really? Being a pedophile is way more than sexual misconduct. And there’s another issue. Stephen Collins says that he is not a pedophile; he says he doesn’t fit the definition of a pedophile. Let’s see: you admit to exposing yourself to three different girls, the youngest of whom was 10 YEARS OLD. While sitting on the couch with one of the girls, you took her hand and put it on your penis. And yeah I’m gonna use the word instead of saying you ‘moved her hand in such a way that she was touching you’ blah blah blah, the way you said it. Let’s just make it clear: you put a child’s hand on your penis. Then you both sat there unmoving and you put her hand back and walked out. That sir is called being a pedophile! Yeah, you’re a pedophile. He said that he’s not sexually attracted to children…ummm then why did you put a little girl’s hand on your penis? Why did you pull it out and show it to three different children? I’m gonna say it again: pedophile!

I noticed something else that was also pointed out by other viewers. During this sham of an interview Stephen Collins referred to the victims as “women”. It was as if he was distancing himself from the reality of what he did by using that word. They weren’t women when you sexually abused them (and he can read the definition sexual abuse from the cdc here), they were children. That makes him a freaking pedophile and he needs to own up to that publicly.

The whole interview felt like excuse and dancing around the real issues. His apology was empty and he showed absolutely no awareness of the damage he inflicted on these children, these little girls. We don’t know how they feel, but we know that what he did impacted them, even if they aren’t aware of it yet. How many years did I spend feeling “weird” feelings and acting “weird” without understanding why?

Before the interview I read an article where he was quoted as saying that he hadn’t pursued apologizing to the other women because he was counseled that it could cause them pain. BS! It sounds like he doesn’t want to confront them to protect his own neck. He has no idea how a real apology could affect them; or just his being upfront or honest about sexually abusing them. How many victims (and yes they are victims) would give anything to have their abusers at least own up to what they did, whether it was in writing or in person or whatever.

And I’m with Rosie O’Donnell on her view about Katie Couric’s performance during this farce. Katie should have pushed him and hit him hard with questions and real data about the damage sexual abuse does and she just softballed everything. Stephen Collins acted like what he did was of a lesser severity than other offenders and he’s wrong. It only takes one act to change a child’s like forever and that act doesn’t have to be rape. It can be a touch, a photograph being taken, exposing oneself to a child, walking in on them when they’re going to bathroom or showering. There are many ways to sexually abuse a child. Stephen Collins is a pedophile and his interview only showed a man who made excuses and dishonored the innocence he took from three little girls.

Posted in Child Molestation, Sexual Abuse | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments


I continue to be overwhelmed by my feelings over my mother’s death.
I think that, subconsciously, I was aware that at least she was somewhere in the world and I guess that mattered. I didn’t know that it mattered.

Now she’s not there and I still can’t process it. I haven’t cried since the funeral…it’s like it’s too much and I can’t even comprehend that she’s gone.

It’s so complex. Her death changes nothing about what she did and her death does not grant forgiveness or forgetting for me. I’m not feeling any magical affection that didn’t exist before. It’s more like I miss the memory of her, before the abuse began. The woman that I knew very briefly when I was a toddler.

I never wanted pictures of her before but now I do…but not recent pictures, or pictures from my childhood; those are bad memories. I want pictures of her from before I was born, when she was someone else.

I can’t even think the thought that she’s gone…

Posted in Child Abuse, depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, Trauma | 8 Comments


I find it sad that when I was asked to think of things about my mother to be put into her service, I had absolutely nothing that I could add concerning the two of us. Nothing. And I really thought about it, as much as one can while in shock. Nothing.

If I had been asked about my grandmother I could have filled a book. But my mother and I never bonded and my memories save one, are all negative. The only good one I have is about a game she played with my feet when I was very little, before everything went downhill, but it doesn’t belong in her memorial service. Actually as I wrote that, I remembered my other good memory…her buying me a doll I had wanted for a long time. She bought it with her tax return and I definitely remember that. Wow, two good memories for a lifetime.

Otherwise, I had to think of the surface and of the person that others knew in public and draw from that, something positive. I did it but, the tragedy of the lack of stories or memories I can share is…pathetic.

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