Returning to the scene of a “crime”… a Trauma… to put it to bed? It turns out you should first think very carefully, thrn realise what you’re getting yourself into — and that you really are ready to face the ghosts still there…
After being in the Premier Inn for 10 days… Ten awful, awful, traumatising, distressing days… The ordeal is finally over. It’s been so, so very bad. Then… It got worse. There are some things, though, that will still remain, to add even more Trauma inside me, from going back there again…
Left hotel after a very bad, very long night before and one horrific argument. Mam came to help, then Dad turned up later to take things back. We managed to get out by the 12pm deadline to leave… somehow.
Had really, really extreme hard time all day, today. Feelings of immense dread, terrifying fear, of floating pointlessly through a dark space black hole, waiting to kill me… Numbed. Paranoid. Lost. Alone. Floating through nothing into an inevitable end. Dead and dying already, and simply waiting for it to come. Overwhelmingly depressed and in despair, and zoned away from reality, almost in complete disconnect.
A lot was let out in Costa. Hiding under hood of my EMP “squishy jumper” (long story behind that name…) I cried, for the horror I’d endured since the last time I’d come. How events — and selfish decisions made by other people — destroyed me. Took the last of me away from myself. Right here. That Premier Inn. That room. Room 9.
Where Mam had a huge blow-up at me, and stormed away. Where the police were called by my father against me, when I went outside into the freezing night to feel better, like I was a vulnerable child who knew naught and was missing. Where my selfish mother destroyed my insides enough to send me outside into the night, alone, to which my selfish father called the police to fetch me like I was a frikkin three-year-old. The incident that made the c****s at Rosalin Mental Health decided to utterly utterly destroy everything inside me, cause an atom bomb in a volcano Meltdown of all Meltdowns (despite being “ASD Trained” — utter frikkin BS…!).
A Trauma To End All Traumas inside me. All of it. The last straw against any trust in Professionals.
The break inside my brain the made me refuse medical help, until I nearly could have died. The six gods-and-spirits-damned weeks I spent with cannulas in my arms to pump in IV antibiotics infusions into me, until I was safe. Until there was more Tazoan in my veins than blood, or even coffee.
I missed my first niece’s christening. Instead of waking in a hotel by Southport that day, I awoke to a bunch of lines in my arms in a hospital bed. It was terrifying. I’d been screaming my lungs out from overwhelming waves of horror agony, all day, every day. Now… They were less… But I had blood poisoning. Sepsis. Staphylococcus and streptococcus. A “Horrific” UTI (their words). A bowel infection. As well. That had also caused it. And I’d refused help because that… cow… at Roslin, who destroyed my brain. My trust. My life. My soul.
I went back to confont it… Confront It All. I went for my birthday. For the day of the Anniversary of my hospital release (8th March). And it destroyed me all over again. The agony inside. (Where there’s Feels). The agony outside. (In my body). The Desperation. The Loneliness.
I was thrown once more into the Nether World Void by “Professional” mental health “specialists” who knew absolutely nothing, who destroyed my insides without thought or care. Suddenly… I was 12 years old once again; left utterly destitute inside, once again… Devoid. Of. Everything. I went through all this; had already been through it all once before. All. Of. It. Now, after spending over Two damned Decades trying to overcome those feelings, I was thrown into them all over again… By people who did it the first time round — Parents and Mental Health imbeciles… It was Hell.
PTSD is Hell Itself. It’s haunting, tragic, terrifying, and never lets you forget. I’ve already been through it once — where I saw it take away my memories, disintegrate my life destroy my soul. All whilst I was a child. Now, as an adult, somehow, it seemed even harder to manage, especially the Flashbacks. They never seemed to stop.
I spent the entire time I was there, in that very same hotel as this all started, being haunted by my experiences, by the feels, burdened by Hate, Angry, Trauma, Destitute, Depression, Despair, Aloneness. The others with me, the friends I had taken along there, they suffered as well. Trying to keep me there with them, in the present, but instead, I simply remained trapped in my head with the Flashbacks and the nightmares, apparently there just to rain nothing but bad karma and hard times upon us.
I was processing it all. Reliving it all. Being drowned by it all.
And… Then, I realised it— It. Was. Over.
It was too much to bear. To be inside all of that so much — not only for that trip, but for the last year.
The Pain. The Fear. The Grief… It all came out, along with the new things I had been left with. Like 3/4 of a body I was left entirely unaware of, thanks to all this Trauma… A total of more than Five Years of Emotional and Physical Trauma, cumulating in all this. Trying to find “Life and Meaning” in the middle of it. I know of neither, right now. It helps immensely I have S. There are no words to even begin to cover what she has done and continues to do for me, inside and out. There’s also doggies Soul and Buddy. And also there’s “Universe Sister”, Boo. And my Parents… They finally Get It. That I am damaged, destroyed, have ASD and Alexithymia. And that I also still have to be a grown up, despite all this leaving me much younger in capability than my 17 month old niece.
But it’s too little, too late, now. The damage is done. Cannot be undone. It’s just… more Sellotape, more of that flimsy repair-job-paper-and-string that barely keeps me (metaphorically) putting one foot in front of the other… Frankly, I’m beyond tired of the all crappy repair jobs done to me, and really tired of people thinking that that’s actually an Okay and Acceptible thing — to screw up, to hurt, to damage and harm as they please, then just muddle a crappy, makeshift “fix” to patch up what’s left of me back together…
If my breaks were like scars you see on a vase, there would be no vase… Just endless spiderweb lines of cracks…
I’m left with the detestating consequences. My life is destroyed even more. I’m the one who can’t walk or feel her body. I’m the one who’s Traumatised.
I am the one who needs to deal with being stuck unable to move. I realise I have be “reprogrammed” to work within these new physical and mental parameters and boundaries, and be the best within them; to make the best of them. The old ones are done with. They are no longer Valid. By still putting my expectations within them, I am harming myself badly, inside and out. Emotionally, it’s draining and disappointing — and that Disappointment Dragon sitting on my head needs to, frankly, leave. Forever.
Maybe in having set myself within these new ones, to properly (re)survive(?) the horror and Tempest from Hell that these last 10 days in that Place have created, I really have done something good for myself. Maybe.
Time will tell… Even if you do not like waiting for it.