Don’t Tell Me Its Not Real

One very dire, damn near lethal mistake you can make with me, is to say, or even suggest or imply the things I deal with, my issues, what makes me the Chronically Awesome Chronic Bad Ass that I am, are not “real issues” I have been physically, mentally and emotionally abused growing up and raped and sexually abused as an adult. The man I was in love with fucked me one last time, threw a roll of paper towels at me, told me to clean myself up and proceeded to tell me it wouldn’t work and that I need to leave, NOW, because he’s going to go boost some furniture. That is the day I got pregnant. He told me to get it taken care of because he can’t deal with that, and didn’t talk to me until 5 months later to see if I took care of “the little gift” he left me. The abuse I suffered lead to me developing multiple personalities… My mind shattered itself to help me survive. That is how you develop Dissociative Identity Disorder. Now when anything reminds me of past trauma, I dissociate, I lose touch with reality. I don’t know what’s going on, where I am, I’m afraid, angry, defensive, lost, I don’t know who I am… I become somebody else. No one can touch me, the lights have to be on, I fear eye contact, I need to be in the best physically defensive place and position… You cannot see my body. And it can take hours or me just passing out from fatigue for me to come back. That’s just SOME of the abuse and trauma and its effects. And you’re going to tell me my issues aren’t real? By the way, you don’t even know what I have, what’s going on or what has happened.   Don’t judge me, or others.  Practice what you preach. This post was written as part of NHBPM – 30 health posts in 30 days:


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