January 19, 2017

Today, there was a “tea topic” on my tea-bag. It asked me: “What would you say to your younger-self?”

It popped a lot of questions in my mind: my younger-self? How old is my “younger-self”? What should the topic be? What had my younger-self already experienced so far?

But: I can just make it up in my mind. I picture it to be to my younger-self when I was 15 years old.

I would tell myself:

You shouldn’t punish yourself for him not loving you. There are a lot of other guys out there, wanting to love you so bad. But you only give them a hard time, because they love you but you won’t love them back. After some time you never talk to them again, because you never had feelings for them. You break their hearts the same way he did to you.

Baby girl, you’re so beautiful for loving someone and holding on to him. Even when you want to let him go, you can’t. Your heart is full of forgiveness, and I admire you for it. But don’t let him hurt you in a way you can’t fix yourself. But you did. It’s okay. Life’s full of lessons. But love, remember this: you don’t have to look for him in any other man, because you deserve someone who loves you back. You don’t have to fight for him, because you’ll already lose the battle before it had even started. You wouldn’t have anyone to fight for, because he is long gone.

Love, you are gonna be hurt in so many ways. You are gonna lose people you didn’t ever want to lose. But you’re gonna be okay. Because you have your memories. You have to cherish them.

But you’re also gonna be hurt in a way you shouldn’t ever had to be facing. But you’re stubborn, so you’re never gonna ask for any help. That’s why you’re gonna be hurt. You can’t fix this on your own. You’re gonna be in physical pain, because of your mental pain. Love, it’s gonna be the worst pain you’ll ever experience.

You remember the times when you were bullied because you were chubby? You won’t be chubby anymore. You will live with underweight. How is that even possible? Baby, you will experience you’re losing your appetite once you’re where I am now. All you can think about is surviving the day in your mind. It’s hell. I know the definition of hell now.

You will cry for days. You will lay in bed, wanting someone to stop the pain, stop the guilt. But really, love, there is no guilt. It’s the depression. You did nothing wrong. He did this to you, you have to remember that. Would you tell your friend she should have done something more to make it stop? No, you wouldn’t. You did nothing wrong. Please, please, please, remember that. Don’t be too fucking harsh on yourself, because I was.

You will have amnesia because of your psychosis. It’s okay, love. Maybe it’s for the best you don’t remember. I don’t want to think of you as a monster, because you’re not. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You are the same lovely girl you were half a year ago. You just grew in that half year. You had to learn to cope with a trauma. It’s hard dealing with something like that. It really is. But you can do it. But don’t let anyone stand in your way to fix yourself in help of your psychologist.

I don’t know when you’re ever gonna be the “you” you remember yourself to be. I don’t know when the nightmares are gonna stop. I don’t know when the flashbacks are gonna stop. I don’t know when the mental illness is not an illness anymore. I don’t know when I’m being cured of PTSD and depression. All I know now is that you have to fight with whatever is inside of you. Pull it out now. You have to use it. For you. To fix you.

January 17, 2017

Today I feel like a ticking timebomb.

I started the day with participating in my “normal schedule”, which is a good thing. I went to school and got to do the things I should be doing.

In the afternoon, I had to see my psychologist again for EMDR. This time, she decided to make it even more intense, to ask me to follow the red dot with my eyes when thinking about the image in my cognitions AND ask me to be arthimetic. I will guarantee you: you can’t focus on your cognitions. And I know that’s the whole point of EMDR, but it’s just a little frustrating sitting there and reliving your trauma but also thinking about following the red dot and correctly answer the mathemetic questions.

The most frustrating thing about EMDR is you have to relive your trauma.

I can tell from experience now: it is worse than you think. The rest of the day I had an headache and I was extremely tired. Later that afternoon appeared my depressed mood again. Hello there, old friend. In the evening, the depressed mood was taking over by anger. I just don’t know how to feel. I don’t even know why I’m in all the different kinds of moods. I don’t want to be a ticking timebomb. Everyone around me is waiting for me to explode. To get all angry again and push everyone away. Because I’m so angry all the time.

In therapy, EMDR, I get angry too. Most of the time, I’m angry at the people who didn’t save me, but knew it was happening to me. I’m so angry because I would save ANYONE I could from this living hell. They don’t know the consequences this mess has on my life. I can barely go out to do something without people telling me I shouldn’t because they’re worried about the consequences it COULD have on my mental illness. GOSH. I’m so frustrated as I’m typing this. I want to feel free again. I want to do what I want to do, impulsively. In stead of thinking about activities with all the possibilities to save me when it isn’t going ok in my mind (like, losing my temper). And I have to go through all this, because some people were too scared to stand up for me. I feel like I’m disappointed in them. Because I know I would. If I could help myself in that situation, I would. But now, I have to help myself in this situation.

And that’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna help myself in this situation. I will have to learn about being a ticking timebomb, but that’s ok. Because I have faith in me. I can do this. (If you tell yourself frequently enough, you will think that you can. This is used during a therapy called “cognitive behavior therapy”: if you change your cognitions, you will change your behavior because of it).

January 10, 2017

Today I started with therapy: EMDR. Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing.

I had to picture a memory in my mind, and the psychologist asked me how I felt about it. She had like this stick she moved in front of my eyes and I had to follow it with my eyes. Then she stopped, and asked me how I felt again. Again had to follow the stick. I couldn’t focus on my thoughts about the picture I had in mind, but had to focus on the moving stick. That’s a bit of explanation how EMDR works.

I don’t really know how I feel right now. It’s been 2 hours since I’ve had my first therapy, and I’m just like, empty. I don’t feel sad or angry. I feel like I’m just… okay?

But I don’t know what it means to be “okay”. Because I haven’t been “okay” for a long time the last couple of weeks. My mood is going everywhere. Sometimes I’m extremely sad, or tired, and then BOOM: I’m so angry.

Today I learned during EMDR how to cope with my anger. I got the knowledge that I shouldn’t project my anger to anyone who I’m not really angry at. I can let myself be angry at the person who put me through all this, in my mind. I can yell at him, cry at him, punch him, but all in my mind. And after I did that during therapy, I felt a sort of rest coming over me.

I don’t know what the effects of the therapy will have on me the next couple of days, but I’m not that affected right now. I’ll just have to wait and see for myself. My psychologist said that I could get a headache or be extremely tired, or just could sleep a bit better afterwards. But it could also be like nothing happened, no difference in behaviour or thoughts. And that’s also okay. Everything could happen.

But right now, I’m relieved. I’m starting to think that today is a good day. Today is the day I’ve had my first therapy. And from now on, I’m getting better. I’m going to get stronger every week, maybe every day. And there will be downturns. But that’s okay. Because I’m going forward, I tell myself from now on. Today I finally did get help to get better.

The only reason I’m looking back to the past is to heal from it. Not to sob in it. It’s not holding me back anymore, I tell myself. And of course maybe tomorrow I will feel awful again because of it, but I’m going to get there. I’m going to get wherever I want to be in life.

 

January 5, 2017

The last few weeks I’ve been obsessed with these poems. I felt like sharing them.

 

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the Rocks,
Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow Rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing Madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and Ivy buds,
With Coral clasps and Amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
_______________________________
The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every Shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When Rivers rage and Rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields,
To wayward winter reckoning yields,
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of Roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten:
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and Ivy buds,
The Coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.
But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

January 5, 2017

On January 3, 2017 I’ve got my official diagnose. I wasn’t only diagnosed with PTSD, but with depression, too.

Tonight, I got to psycho-educate myself in assignment of my psychologist. I got to know that people who are coping too long with PTSD themselves, could get a depression as well. So… Yeah, here I am. The 18-year old girl who got to cope with PTSD for too long. It’s been longer than a year. And that’s why I’m in a depression now, too. At first, I couldn’t believe her (my psychologist). A depression? We hadn’t talked about that before. But it’s captured in my plan of treatment.

Even as my underweight. It’s been captured in my plan of treatment. But that’s really the thing I understand the least. Four months ago, I weighed only 6 lbs more, and nobody thought it was a problem back then. But now, I HAVE to gain weight. Otherwise, they couldn’t treat me. EMDR is the therapy my psychologist choose for me, because it’s a treatment for trauma’s. I have to be fierce for EMDR, and they think I’m not when I’m underweight. I know I’ve got to gain weight for the progress of my well-being, but I just don’t want to. I’m okay with my weight now.

Today, January 5, 2017, I talked again to my boyfriend again for the first time. I miss him. But I still don’t know what’s best for me. Let him go or hold on to him and my love for him?

January 5, 2017

So, I’ve liked this TV-show, The Vampire Diaries, for years now. And it was until today that I just completely freaked out because of it.

I don’t want to spoil the show for anyone, but there’s this piece of the story where Stefan and Damon are in the hell of the Phoenix-stone. Both of them are reliving some kind of own personal hell, and when they try to escape; they can’t. They relive this personal hell every day, the same scene every day. The same people in it, the same words, the same place, the same behavior. They try to escape every day by making another scene. But they can’t get out of their personal hell. They have to get through this point where they finally let something hurtful in, or let someone go, or something like that. To accomplish something, if I can explain for the people who aren’t familiar with TVD.

And since today, I’ve been seeing my PTSD like this. Sometimes, I just get stuck inside these pictures of scenes I’ve been trapped in. In these pictures, I’m with the man who put me through all this. He’s holding me. Not letting me go. And sometimes, I scream. Sometimes, I cry. But he just never lets me go. Never. He touches me. I can’t escape. I try to do all these things to escape, but I just can’t. Sometimes I’m fighting. He holds me even more thightly. I thought I’ve been through enough pain by now. I don’t want to relive my memories anymore. Make it stop, please. I want to escape. I’ve been in hell for the last two months. I want to break free and be me again. Because I don’t even know who I am anymore. I just want to escape, please.

January 2, 2017

On December 23, 2016 I wrote myself a letter.

 

December 23th, 2016

Dear me,

I will write you a letter because of your pain. I’m gonna write a piece of letter to all my demons, those who cause your pain. But in the end, I will love you again. You, and only you. And I will have destroyed my demons, so you and me will be in peace with each other again.

So here it will start…

Dear social anxiety,

You are the one causing my loneliness. People don’t understand why I can’t be with them. People just can’t understand. It’s not your fault I can’t be out there with them, I know that. Believe me, I am aware. But you are the one causing my fears of ending up alone, all by myself. It’s because of you I can’t be the fun friend anymore. I am so scared that people will notice me fighting my demons. I don’t want to be weak in front of so many people. So I shut myself out. I end up alone, sitting in a corner of a room, with you in the doorstep. You’re happy. You won. I’ll stay there. Nobody around me. Nobody to care for me. Just you and me. And all of my other demons.

Dear agoraphobia,

You are like the sister of my social anxiety. You don’t want me to go out there. Because when I do, you’ll have me have a panic attack. When I’m around too many people, you’ll make sure I’ll end up crying like a little baby who’s left by its mom. I don’t feel safe either, little baby. I feel like I’m just as small as you. There are so many people out there trying to hurt us. The only thing you’ll have to do is survive. Keep your eyes closed, so you won’t notice those people. You’ll have the hope the people will disappear soon, so you’ll be confident to head anywhere where you’ll feel safe again. The voices of the people, it’s like they’re all screaming. It’s like I’m being in an arena where anyone can hurt me because I’m a person who did wrong to the world and deserves it. But I don’t, do I? They’re coming for me. They will hurt me. With their words, their actions. They yell at me, knock me down. There’s just too many faces, all looking at me. I’m so small, they’re so tall. They want me to kneel. I’m kneeling. It’s not enough. They smell awful. I can’t focus on all the different faces. The people are hurting me. Emotionally, physically. I’m in pain. There are too many incentives. I can’t tell right from wrong. I can’t tell what’s nor who’s real. They’re all spitting their thoughts about me in my face. I’m weak. Sick. Needy. They’re screaming. I notice I’m screaming. Screaming to the moon. Crying. In the middle of the arena. But in reality, I’m not in an arena. I’m in the middle of an agora. Nobody yells at me. It’s just in my head. You are in my head. You make it impossible for me to go out there. I’ll end up alone because of you. I’ll end up in the corner of my room, with you, my social anxiety and all my other demons.

Dear psychosis caused by anxiety,

You are the one I only met once in my life. I don’t even remember you. But you made other people remember me. You made me a monster. You made me scream, yell, cry, agressive, scared, shake the nerves out of my body and made me feel like I was dealing with a dissocative identity disorder. I didn’t know I was capable of psysically hurting people who mean the world to me. You took over my body. You did things I can’t remember and I can’t fix anymore. The damage is already done. My brain is hurt because of you. It’s my agoraphobia what triggered you. I’m avoiding it, to avoid you. I never want to meet you again. I never want my beloved people to meet you, ever again. I want control over my body. I want to feel things that are real. I don’t want to feel threated by something or someone who really isn’t there. I want to feel safe in my own body, with my own brain. I don’t want you to cause any more hallucinations. I don’t want you to cause any more problems. I don’t want you to cause any more demons.

Dear depression,

You’ll have me laying here. In my safe haven. The only place I’ll want to stay forever. I can’t get up. I can’t get myself to do anything. All those things don’t matter. You matter. You’re the only one on my mind. And I let you. You’re overly present. You’re the only one I can think about. Like my agoraphobia, you’ll have me kneeling. I’m down at the floor. I can’t move. I can’t live my life anymore. You’ll have me feeling everything that much, my body is hurting. You’ll have me feeling so empty. You’ll make me lose my appetite. You’ll make me overeat. I’m all alone. It’s dark. All I can see are the tears streaming down my face. I can only think about all the bad things in my life, in the world. I can’t imagine myself out there anymore, facing the world. I can’t fight the world anymore. I’m safe here. I’m staying here forever. There’s no positivity left. None of it. No light. Only darkness. Medicines don’t work. The only thing I can do is cry. Crying. Collapsing. Mysery. It’s all there is. It’s just that, with the rest of all my other demons.

Dear nightmares,

You’ll have me sleepless. Because my lack of sleep, I’m even more depressed. You’ll make me anxious. You’ll have me panic. I’m transpiring because of you, more than a lot. I’m so tired. You’re causing me headaches. I’m reliving my trauma because of you, every night. But sometimes, you’re even here in daylight. You’ll confront me with my deepest fears. I don’t want to relive my memories. It causes too many pain. You’re hurting me. Make it stop. You’re showing me my life, like a movie. Over and over again. Shaking. Waking. I’ll fall asleep again, eventually. But when I do, you’re welcoming me again. And you’re so not welcome. Not you, and not my other demons.

Dear suicide,

You make me want to end my life. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to live another day. Not in this pain. I don’t see the purpose in life anymore. I don’t want to hurt myself any more; my brain is already in so much pain. The pain expresses itself in my demons; anxiety, depression, suicide. But you are the one that will make me want to hurt myself a bit more. To end all the other hurtings. I don’t plan to hurt myself, I’ll have hope someone does it to me. Like one specific person made me go through all this, through this living hell. I’ll want to fall asleep and never wake up again. I never want to experience the fear, the anxiety, the anger, the depression, the suicidal thoughts ever again. I never want to experience life like this ever again. Make it stop. Make the thoughts, the screaming thoughts stop. The only remedy is suicide. Never wake up again. Never have to survive another day in this living hell. I don’t want to live another day with this many demons inside my head.

Dear PTSD,

You’re the one who hide the longest. I know you were there all along. You just didn’t show yourself. I can’t see you. Other people can. I know it’s not fair; you shouldn’t have born. But you are. It’s illegal to kill a newborn. So I can’t kill you. But it isn’t illegal to kill yourself, is it, Suicide? He made you be born. I wish you were never created. But you are. I’ll have to deal with you. You’re so young, but you’re growing so fast. I can’t keep you small anymore. You’re out there; in my world, in the world. You’ll die when I die. But in the meantime, I’ll just have to live with you. How? I don’t know. You’ll forever be my enemy. My biggest fear. My deepest demon. You make me go through this living hell. You made my other demons live their own lifes. You made me feel unworthy. I’m not worth living. My demons tell me so. At first, I didn’t want to listen. But now I do. I listen, very carefully.

But soon, you’ll have to listen.

Because…

Dear me,

This isn’t going to last forever. I know it feels like it will. Believe me, it won’t. Time won’t heal. You’ll have to find your own way to recover. I know you don’t know me, nor don’t want to know me. I also don’t want you to know me. Find your own remedy. Find it in yourself, not in other people. You are the only one who still stand by your side forever. Anyone else can disappear whenever they want. You’re here, with you, forever. You’ll be okay. If you’re not, tell yourself again tomorrow. Because some day, eventually, you’ll be okay. Your demons will always be with you, but they’re not deciding for you anymore. You’re taking the control over your own life back. Make yourself happy. Don’t let your happiness depend on someone else. You. It’s about you. Your life is about you. You. You. You. Not about your demons. You.

 

January 2, 2017

Today, January 2, 2017, I was diagnosed with PTSD: Posttraumatic Stress Disorder.

On November 19, 2016 I got an anxiety psychosis. Since that day, I’m in an epiosde of depressive thoughts, suicide, anger issues, amnesia, feeling lost and not feeling the need to eat.

On January 1, 2017 I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me. His argument was: it hasn’t been easy for me, too.

 

This is where it all begun:

In 2015 I’ve been sexually intimidated by a collegue, a cook. I’m a waitress. It lasted from October 2015 until April 2016. In April 2015 I’ve told my manager I was suffering from this. She made an agreement with me: she would punish him, and if it ever happened again, he would be fired. The cook ignored me ever since April 2016. In September 2016, he started to talk to me again. I even got a preferably treatment from him. In October 2016, he started touching me and making sexually explicit comments again. In November 2016, a girl told me she didn’t feel right around him. I was scared. I wasn’t alone. I should protect her, and tell my manager again.

On November 11, 2016 I made an appointment with my manager to tell her what’s going on the last months. She was shocked.

On November 13, 2016 I had to work again with the cook. The whole day I cried because I knew I had to go to work. My boyfriend at the time called my manager. I was dismissed: could stay at home. But I had to tell my parents why I suddenly wouldn’t have to be working anymore that evening. My dad was furious because it was happening again and the manager hadn’t done anything since our talk on November 11. He visited the restaurant to talk to the manager. Later that night, my dad was being called by the boss. The boss got knowledge of the case, and wanted to make an appointment to talk to me and my dad.

On November 16, 2016 my dad and me talked to the boss about the case. We were certain he wouldn’t tolerate this behaviour, the sexually intimidation, from his staff. But he just wouldn’t fire the cook. I wasn’t protected by my boss.

On November 18, 2016 I had to work again. There was an arrangement set up: the cook wouldn’t come near me. But he did.

On November 19, 2016 I had a psychosis.

On November 20, 2016 I got oxazepam to sleep.

On November 23, 2016 I stopped with the oxazepam; they didn’t work for me.

On November 28, 2016 I got to school again. I was being confronted with the next subject: psychosis. I’m studying Social Work. I cried and went home.

On December 1, 2016 I spent the afternoon at the police station for a declaration. They said they couldn’t help me, because the “crime” wasn’t in the criminal law. They didn’t protect me. That evening, my boyfriend decided not to come around.

On December 11, 2016 I broke up with my boyfriend. He chose a party before me. I didn’t think that was the right mindset about priorities in life. I couldn’t live with that anymore. Later that night, my dad told me the appointment with the psychologist was canceled. I wasn’t protected by that psychologist.

On December 12, 2016 my boyfriend told me he would give me a last chance: he would stay at home for me and cancel the party. He couldn’t stand my anger anymore.

On December 21, 2016 I had an appointment with my psychologist. She told me she thought I would be diagnosed with PTSD.

On December 24, 2016 my boyfriend stayed at home from another party because of my suicide. I had to beg him the whole day to stay with me. “Please don’t leave me.”

On December 26, 2016 I couldn’t attend to a family-in-law meeting because I was scared of the social pressure of being okay. Being not weird at all. Being happy. After 3 hours of crying in my boyfriends bed, I found the courage to wear a mask to attend.

On December 27, 2016 my boyfriend and I had another fight because he couldn’t stick to his appointments with me. I hit him.

On December 31, 2016 my boyfriend and I spent new years eve with friends. My psychologist told me not to drink too much alcohol. I tried to get drunk: but it didn’t work. I tried not to feel anything. I found out that night my boyfriend was cheating on me. That night I spent the night at his place. But searching trough his phone for evidence. I found it.

On January 1, 2017 I hit my boyfriend again. I hadn’t slept a bit. Just searching his phone. I was so angry. Then the suicide hit in again. I got held of a knife, but my boyfriend was stronger. He read a letter I wrote for him: it was about reasons I loved him. I cried to sleep. I slept for a couple hours. Then I woke my boyfriend up to talk. I asked him so many times: “why?” His argument was: “it hasn’t been easy for me, too.” I wasn’t protected by my boyfriend. Another suicide episode kicked in. I held scissors, knifes, nailpolish remover and pills. My boyfriend called my parents for help. I said goodbye to my lovely parents-in-law, but not to my boyfriend. I didn’t say a word to him. He still haven’t contacted me. My parents took me home. Since I got home, the only thing I could do is relive it all and cry. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep.

On January 2, 2017 I had to see another psychologist with many experience. He told me I would be diagnosed with PTSD. He told me my weight was concerning: I’m underweight. I hadn’t eaten in 2 days. My boyfriend, or ex (?), never felt tbe need to contact me again. I’m crying because I feel like I need him.

 

Now, I’m feeling lost.
Now, I’m crying.
Now, I’m feeling empty.