Trauma clearing – The Virus – & Why I left fbook
Comfort and security. A safe place to call home. A place where the people around me, genuinely love and appreciate me. It’s the one thing I’ve never really had in the entirety of my life. Happy, functional people who love me. The safety and security in childhood necessary for normal human development to occur.
That I didn’t get conditioned in the same old way has yielded many positives. Sovereign, independent, out-of-the-box thinking is so not a challenge, but I wouldn’t go recommending the abuse and neglect route to spiritual and psychological freedom.
Stop and think about what I just said. I’m not alone with that experience. If you have had neighbors, teachers, community members, friends, family that want the best for you, you might think everyone has. You may not realize how devastating an impact it is to a human being who has not or how acutely economic inequality plays a (premeditated) role in this. You may not realize what a privilege you’ve had to grow up without witnessing violence in the home, or hunger, or to lose your innocence before you even knew you had it to lose.
The reason people can survive absurd poverty is usually because of social connections, love makes it bearable. Sometimes love makes violence bearable. But what about when that love is missing, the level of caretaking, attention, nurturing necessary for growth just isn’t available?
Our culture is rife with trauma. The echo is deafening but most feign ignorance. I had an old fbook friend send a message. Even opening the thing to check the message caused tension. Being on that site was like being reminded all over again. You have been abused and neglected as a child. No one cares. Now get a job and quit asking for hand-outs. I never even asked for help, it’s just the voice I hear when I go on there, the accuser. A reflection of all the people who didn’t know the pain and shame and confusion I carried within when they judged me. I don’t like to hear the accuser, so I don’t go on there. That they have conducted experiments with people’s emotions in the past without forewarning or informed consent does play into that decision. Which sucks, because I really could use an outlet to ask people for help and get a little social support when I need a break from this isolation.
I had some very acute traumas occur as a child. On top of the acute traumas, I had ongoing issues with neglect, invalidation, emotional blackmail, etc. Typical complex PTSD stuff. On top of that, I live in a society that shames, ignores or outright punishes adult children of dysfunctional families who have not somehow successfully raised themselves and succeeded where even adequately nourished and educated people often fail. Some things change, some things stay the same.
Got triggered today. I’m sorry. I always feel bad for bothering people with my feeling bad. That’s why I prefer this outlet. I don’t think it is wise that anyone remain unaware of what so many of us face. Here, you can be made aware anonymously without the totality of fixing the problem falling on any one person’s shoulder. Victims of trauma are probably the majority now, instead of the minority, but we’ve been so scared to talk, we don’t realize it. That’s another reason for my sharing. It helps to know others are making it out of the psychological distress. One trigger at a time. One “don’t give up”. One “thank you”. One “I’ll pray for you”… at a time.
Got triggered listening to a talk about ethics and spiritual teachers. Got triggered because I don’t feel safe where I live. Got triggered because it feels like I’ve been talking about these things and asking for help for years and and and… I just want to yell. I just want to scream. Why are you letting them do this to us!!! Why won’t you help!
Who’s the you? That’s where I have to go, have to remember how few people understand trauma, aka spiritual and psychological warfare. And I’m going to call it that because that’s how it feels.
You know the negativity of the energy attacks at my apartment building got so bad one of my neighbors hung himself couple days before christmas? I wish I was making this shit up. I really do. And yea, I know at least one of the sources of it, complained about it, got my rent raised and told they won’t be doing anything about the dude who spits at my kid and slams the doors in the middle of every single night… because it isn’t excessive… and it’s like when I was a kid. And there was no escape from the drama and trauma and danger. Guess I wasn’t the only one feeling it.
One time when I was young, geez, maybe fifth or sixth grade, I can’t remember which, I decided to ride my bike to a friend’s house. Oh, I know, you’re thinking how average that sounds. But it wasn’t. A few months prior to this I had been riding my bike just a block over from my house when I guy in a car decided to indecently expose himself to me. People never think that’s as scary as it really is. When you’re a twelve-year old girl that’s already been through a stranger abduction where a grown man had one of them things waggin at you, who you got away from but another girl got murdered by, you find those waggin pieces of flesh life and death kind of scary.
So the dude that indecently stopped his car in the alley as I was about to cross to wag that thing at me found me again, the day I decided to ride my bike to my friend’s house. She lived way too far away for me to be riding my bike there. My mom was at work because my mom was always at work because that’s what poor single mom’s do, they work, all the time, you’d think you’d eat like kings and queens for how much they worked and how little of them you got to see but nope, no mom and barely enough food to boot, love? Yea, right, but that’s a story for another day.
So my mom was gone and it was summer and I thought I could make it. I had probably gone two miles when I saw him. He did that thing again. I kept riding. And then he came back, circling. You want to know how prey feels? Ugh. You don’t. Civilized? Yea, right. I turned the corner. There was a building there, an old folks home of some kind. He followed. I got for real scared. And then he was waiting in the parking lot. I dropped the bike and ran for the doors. They were locked. The image of my little twelve-year old sweet innocent self, pounding on that glass, begging to be let in. The fear in those movements. Let me in!!! He’s going to get me!!! I screamed. I pounded. I would have broken that glass to get away from him. An orderly finally came. And the psycho finally zoomed out of the parking lot. My mom didn’t even leave work to come get me. He did it one more time after that. I was at school that time.
How do I heal this?
We live in a society that has protected the perpetrators over and over and over again. So many people in authority are allowed to violate, to abuse their power, to hide their crimes. Do you know how that feels to people like me? People who have been face to face with predators and had to run for our lives? To have so called normal, healthy people be unable to tell the difference TO EVEN TELL THE DIFFERENCE between predator and prey?
I watched that video on ethics and spiritual teachers and right smack in the middle of it someone asks the question, a psychologist and it actually wasn’t a question it was a statement. The same old gaslighting refrain I’ve heard repeatedly that still falls on ears that might as well be deaf they are so incapable of discerning… what are those victims doing, creating unconsciously to bring that trauma onto themselves. We need to deal with both sides of the coin. It isn’t just the perpetrator …
Pray for me, would ya? And I’ll pray for you