I hate my head. I hate it with a passion. I wish there was a way to kill off parts of myself, and just leave the bits that can cope with life …
My skin feels like it is on fire today, except it isn’t burning. I don’t really know how to describe it other than a sensation inside my skin that makes it crawl and makes me want to cut along it because it is skin made of fire and anger and everything inside that wants to come outside, but I don’t know how.
I can’t tell anyone other than the people who read this. I’d say faceless, because that’s what you are to me just now, but it feels insulting. Faceless is better than being able to see you, though … of being able to see the looks of pity, or misunderstanding.
I feel like I’m standing in the middle of the world and everything is spinning in the opposite direction to me. I’m screaming, but I don’t know what about. I scratch at my own face, but I don’t know what I am trying to get rid of. My mind has declared war on me, but it won’t tell me what it’s fighting for, so I don’t know how to yield and make it all feel better.
I stood in the shower this evening with my head in my hands and water taking away the only scream I could let go. I don’t feel real.
I try to work out what is wrong with me, and the only thing in my life that is a problem just now is a doctor’s appointment in a week. If you remember, I wrote a post, I’m Fine. Ages ago. I still didn’t make it there yet. I try and I try, and even picking up the phone to make an appointment triggers me.
But I did it. I called, and I made the appointment. Now it looms and I picture it in my head and all I can see is myself standing at the door begging the dr, please don’t touch me … please don’t touch me. And maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the thing because that breaks the barrier in my head and makes me break down as I write this, but I type. I type just to get this out of my head because if I don’t, I’ll do something bad. It’s right there, on the edge. I could jump …
I cut as I write this. I cut both my arms. Don’t panic. It isn’t bad. I just needed to feel it … I needed that sting to feel something that was something bigger than the ball inside my chest, the one that’s choking me from the inside. The one making is so my lungs are crushed to asphyxiation even though I can still breathe perfectly fine.
I need to make it stop. I need to find some way to shut all this up inside my head … inside my mind. It’s so loud. So god damn fucking noisy and it doesn’t stop. Ever.
I think of telling the dr I was abused. Of saying those words before he does anything. When he asks why it’s taken so long to go to him … I’d say because I was abused, but what if he didn’t understand? What if he told me that was silly?
The first thing they ask when you go for therapy is was there penetration and it’s the first thing that always chokes me up. If I say yes … do you know what that means? Do you know how bad that makes me? If I say no, then I’m wasting your time. It isn’t important.
I rake my hands through my hair and dig them into my scalp because I can’t make any of this stop. I can’t take it away. I make people who know me tired. I have people who knew me because they’re tired. That’s how they change their tenses in my life.
At least you can leave me. At least you can stop speaking to me when I am too much, but what can I do?
I’m a wound-up box with a door closed tight and sometimes, someone dares to open it, but the sound gets to loud and they try to listen, they try to stand, but in the end, the doors got to close again.
I went to a therapist once. It was at the time all those people came out to say the guy Jimmy Saville, had abused them. There were many that came forward. My new therapist asked me if because of all this fame, was it the reason I came to speak about it … I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to leave. He asked why now? Why … now? Because that’s when I needed it.
How do I go to the dr to make sure nothing is wrong, and not have him touch me?
How can I say I was abused, when even in my own head, I don’t believe it?
They can ask if there was penetration, and the yes will catch in my throat because then I make the it sound bad … in my logical adult brain, I know the actions were bad. I know what happened. I know what it means and if that child had been anyone else but me, I would agree … but I can’t lie. I can’t say I was abused when I wasn’t. I can’t say that there was sexual things with my father because it lets the world know I am some sick fuck.
I wish there was a way to end it … just a way to end me … the me in my head.
I just needed to tell someone. I don’t know who you are, or if you made it this far.
I just needed someone to know that I’m not okay.
But if you ask me, I’ll tell you, I’m fine.
All I can ask is to please keep lookng for a therapist. Mental illness is just that, an illness. If you had cancer, you would see a medical Dr. You haven’t come this far just to give up now. Love ya
Looks like you’re stuck with me cause I’m not going anywhere. Love you my boy from across the pond. 💝
Keep looking for someone that understands and will listen. I’m not looking at you with pity, only with love for my incredibly strong friend!! My door is open…always!! Love you my friend!!! ❤
Although I have not had the same experiences you have had, you have a way with words that make me feel as though I have. 😭 I totally understand your reasons not to see a doctor and not wanting to be touched, I would feel the same way. But, I know your family wants you to be healthy and be around for them. I can’t imagine the struggles you have, ever since I read dear teddy series, you actually pop into my head often, it’s not a story that can be forgotten. I do know what it’s like to feel alone, I have no one to talk to, my husband doesn’t do emotional at all. I really hope for you that you can conquer your fears and find someone that can help you without judgment. You deserve to be happy 😘
No past tenses here, except to say, no doors have ever closed. No ears have ever stopped listening or hearing you. And no heart has ever stopped loving you.
Grab on to those boot straps and pull yourself up as you have ALWAYS done. Doesn’t matter the path you take to get to that point. Doesn’t matter what people think…especially the the doctors. They’re just people with pads and pencils, or stethoscopes, etc… and aren’t YOU a doctor of sorts? I only say that to remind you that they’re NO better than you. Toss them off that proverbial pedestal. If this new dr doesn’t help you, get another… and another, and another, until YOU feel better.
Normally I’d say, (and I have said) just do it, but you’ve already begun. You’ve made the call.
And I am SO proud of you.
I get how much it took for you pick up that phone. I get your concerns. Your fears. I also get how FAR you have come in this sh*tstorm of a journey.
My God, how courageous you are, James. I know my words don’t mean much. But they do come from the heart. Having said that, look around. Look that the love on your page…on all your pages. Perhaps it doesn’t mean much. Nevertheless, it’s there…and so are we. The ones with no agenda, except to be your friend, to see you thrive, and to love you.
Hang on, Baby.
This too shall pass.
In the meantime, (as I have for many years) I’ll still be here, sitting atop that wall, legs dangling, my hand out, waiting to pull you up.
I love you.
~ And no past tense about it, Mister.
I can’t say enough how courageous of a person you are. To share what you do with people takes a lot of courage and I am very proud of you for doing so. Keep fighting for yourself. You are worth it.
You know you were abused. You are not “sick” because that was done to you even if you participated. You need to understand and accept that. A therapist should help you with that and I hope the Dr you found can do that. There is no judgement or pity from those of us who love you. Just support and a desire to listen and help when we can. And admiration that you keep fighting. We see you as strong, not weak. Never give up because you mean too much to a lot of people. I hope you find the right person who wants to touch your mind and help you heal. ❤️
I don’t pity you, I admire you. I admire the man you are, faults and all. I am glad you made that call. You know what the next step is, you know what needs to be said. You say it to us and we do not judge. You may be surprised what words the Dr. will say and what you will hear. You have people who believe in you and who care. So if you go and find out you do not like the Dr. or you feel he is being judgmental, who cares, who is he. He is no one. But, maybe he will listen and not look at you with pity or disbelief but with admiration and help you. Help you understand that it was not your fault. You did not ask for it. You did not deserve it. You deserved to be loved and cared for like most children are. I want to take that young boy who lives in your mind and hold him and love him like he deserved to be loved and cherished. And above all else…protected.
I hope when you share what’s going on in your head, that you feel like you got it out of your body… That little boy survived evil and unspeakable abuse by people who were stronger and bigger than him. Hate what was done to him , at the hands of others. But don’t hate that little boy because he’s a survivor with a good heart. Who always tried to treat people the way he wanted to be treated. Your always going to have good days and bad. I’d be weary if you were numb or were always trying to take your own life. I’m glad you’re going to talk with someone. Maybe you’d be more comfortable talking with a woman therapist. It’s an immovable mountain that I know you can climb. Nobody judges you J…. Please don’t be upset with me for saying this. When your parents kicked you out, and the day your mum saw you on the street, then she made you get in the car. She did that action for what other people would think. A performance, so people would think she was a caring mum. You grew up believing that any kind of attention, good or bad, was love. That was a car accident, not your fault. My daughter turned around to yell at her daughter to get back in her seatbelt, and crashed the car. I got hit , by doing the same thing. Car accidents happen in a blink of an eye, all the time. Stop blaming yourself for your childhood. Your children are glad you survived, or they wouldn’t be here, to love you unconditionally. I know one day, you’re going to look in the mirror and love ALL of you. The hardest thing in my life , was forgiving myself. Thank you for screaming. Let’s us know you fighting for yourself💙
I am so sorry that it’s so hard for you to bring yourself to get that lump checked out at the doctor. Would it make it easier if the doctor was a female? Can you get some counselling before going to the doctor ? It’s been around a year since you first mentioned the lump. Sorry to sound stern, but this is said from a point of caring about you and your family: You need to do yourself and your family a favour and speak to a doctor about your concerns. It could turn out to be nothing to worry about, or it could turn out to be something that needs to be treated asap. Please, do what you have to do and get yourself to a doctor. We are all standing behind you. Any doctor worth their salt will not judge or pity you for what went on in your childhood and teenage years.
You are not to be pitied, by me or anyone. You are a helluva brave man. Grab that honor and hold onto it and continue being a brave man. You need to see a doctor and a therapist. Grasp that braveness and make those calls and attend those appointments. It will all be for the best for you. You have those lovely children and even lovelier grands. Please take care of yourself for them too. I was with you, side-by-side, since March of 2014 when I read the Teddy books. I am with you today and I will be with you for the future. No getting rid of me. Say those words to the doc and therapist: I WAS ABUSED. There was penetration and at times I enjoyed that. I am not a sick fuck. I am a survivor of horrific abuse.
I love you and I am not going anywhere. If you need to chat, please reach out. I’ll check in with you tonight to see how you are doing. Many gentle hugs.
What if you ask the surgery for an email address? You could tell them there’s some things you can explain better in writing, or maybe that it’s your preferred communication style. You could email the dr and state what *you* need, eg not to be touched. You may be able to gauge their level of understanding by their response – or lack of response – long before you get near the door. Maybe send off to a few different dr’s and see who sounds the most caring. If you’re not ready to answer specific questions, maybe you could tell them just that: ‘I’m not ready to answer that yet’. Maybe emailing would slow down the conversation and give you more time to ease into it? Hell, you could even email the type of thoughts you so eloquently conveyed on this post! If a doctor didn’t respond favourably to that, I’d say ‘next!’ and keep working through the list, till you find someone who you feel can understand you.
Is is possible to approach another author who has written an autobiography of abuse. Perhaps their experience with a therapy or therapist could help. So sorry if this has been previously suggested or attempted. ❤️🦋
Please know that some of the people reading this would look at you in awe, not pity, because you have somehow managed to survive the most horrible things humans can do. Those thoughts in your head that you are a horrible person and no one could possibly see any good in you… those are lies. Don’t believe them. Don’t believe them. It’s not true. There are so many more people than you can possibly know who, like me, have run across your story and can’t imagine the kind of strength you must have, to face each day with this kind of pain. You look at yourself and see only weakness and disgusting things… but your image is distorted, just like that of a person with anorexia. Don’t listen to the voices that say you have no worth. They lie. You are made of pure gold. You must be or else you would have perished in this fire. You owe no one anything. Don’t do anything for me or anyone else, don’t try to prove anything to us. Your creator loves you exactly the way you are, even though others have tried to bury your worth under their sins. I pray peace for you, and the knowledge of how much you are loved.