Post by reallifenymphet on Mar 27, 2017 18:01:49 GMT -8
Last year I finally, finally left my narcissistic abuser of 4 years to live at my aunt and uncle's and get back on my feet. I struggled through the PTSD without counseling, focused on my health, and found a job. I saved up a bit of money and moved in with my boss because my aunt and uncle were preparing for a baby. That went about as well as you'd expect. He wound up being psychologically abusive and ten days later, I was moving my sh*t out and planning the move back up north to my mom and dad's house.
I've been in and out of toxic and abusive relationships since I was 12. I have scratched and clawed to get away from this hellhole my whole life through codependency and unsafe situations that I never seemed able to identify because it was normal to me. And I figured it out on my own and escaped it just to be right back in the source. My tiny crap hometown is a place of so much trauma to me -- even happy memories from my childhood are tainted with that looming sense of danger. I became the textbook victim and I'm still unraveling the severity of the abuse and its effects on me. So on top of the shame of being 25 and living at my parents', on top of the fresh trauma of working so hard to build something and getting knocked down, on top of realizing the incest that is in our whole family's dynamic -- I'm reliving it, basically, because I had to come back with the full awareness that I am returning to an actively sexually abusive situation.
[TW: EXPLICIT DESCRIPTION OF SEXUAL ABUSE, SELF-DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR]
The word "incest" has spontaneously popped into my mind regarding my experiences for about a year now, but I didn't realize how close to home it really was until Christmas last year. It was the first year my brother didn't come home for the holidays. My parents are old and sick, so they smoke a lot of pot. We passed around a pipe and threw on a kids' movie. And my dad masturbated sitting right there on the couch next to me.
No one said anything. I just kept drawing, pretending like I couldn't feel him looking at me and like I couldn't hear his waist band snapping or his pajama pants rustling or his breath getting shaky. His laughter got forced and distracted sounding. This went on for a good 10/15 minutes, and then he finished his business, stretched out his legs with a relaxed sigh, and that was it. I kept wondering if Mom had heard anything. I actually hoped she hadn't. She was the classic jealous mother and she's been insecure about Dad's lack of interest in her for years. But I also wanted her to say something to protect me -- she didn't. We never addressed it.
That was traumatizing, but I think it was vital to me taking a step forward and identifying where a lot of my problems are rooted. I've had "icky" feelings about my dad my whole life, but up until that point I always convinced myself it was all in my head and he would never do something like that to me. I realized I really need to trust my gut on this crap, and everything made perfect sense when I read up on covert incest. I started remembering some things with more clarity. I got angry. I started healing a bit.
And now I am back here, and he still does gross and creepy things. He's constantly rubbing or pinching my shoulders without asking, or giving me hugs that go on too long. He barges into my room without knocking, even at night time, and I've caught him looking at my phone over my shoulder. When I asked him to stop touching me, he "joked" about doing it in my sleep, despite knowing that I've been raped. I think I caught him listening at my door while I was getting changed after a shower the other day; when I opened it, he was darting away. My room is off the living room next to the computer desk and it doesn't have a lock. The walls in this tiny house are thin plywood. Privacy is pretty much nonexistent.
The cognitive dissonance I've had to employ to survive being here has wrecked me. I've been nonfunctional and suicidal. I've been throwing up my food and restricting my eating. I've been getting high constantly, isolating myself, avoiding responsibilities. I'm afraid to shower when he's home. My health has plummeted. I struggle constantly with feeling ashamed, dirty, disgusted, guilty, self-loathing, hopeless, crazy. I keep gaslighting myself into believing that I'm just making it up because I'm so obsessed with being the victim that I have projected predatory intent onto my own doting father, who has never been anything but good to me as far as anyone else can see -- but it's really me who's the predator. It's easier to believe that I'm the problem. I've always been difficult and crazy. I want to disappear, just become nothing.
[/TW]
I need to get out of here and I know it. I'm not a kid anymore. I'm an adult and I can protect myself now. I'm working with a counselor to formulate a plan and develop the tools to do that. I'm looking at shelter options if staying here as longterm as I'd originally planned can't happen -- and I don't think it should. I'm f**king scared though. The past few years have been so traumatic and tumultuous and unstable. I never learned to build stability or independence for myself, and the prospect of doing it on my own is petrifying, but I think it's necessary.
I guess I'm just looking for insight, words of encouragement, and advice from other people who have made it to this point in recovery from incestuous abuse. Does it get better? Do you ever feel stronger? I honestly don't feel like it's worth the work to survive tbh.
I've been in and out of toxic and abusive relationships since I was 12. I have scratched and clawed to get away from this hellhole my whole life through codependency and unsafe situations that I never seemed able to identify because it was normal to me. And I figured it out on my own and escaped it just to be right back in the source. My tiny crap hometown is a place of so much trauma to me -- even happy memories from my childhood are tainted with that looming sense of danger. I became the textbook victim and I'm still unraveling the severity of the abuse and its effects on me. So on top of the shame of being 25 and living at my parents', on top of the fresh trauma of working so hard to build something and getting knocked down, on top of realizing the incest that is in our whole family's dynamic -- I'm reliving it, basically, because I had to come back with the full awareness that I am returning to an actively sexually abusive situation.
[TW: EXPLICIT DESCRIPTION OF SEXUAL ABUSE, SELF-DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR]
The word "incest" has spontaneously popped into my mind regarding my experiences for about a year now, but I didn't realize how close to home it really was until Christmas last year. It was the first year my brother didn't come home for the holidays. My parents are old and sick, so they smoke a lot of pot. We passed around a pipe and threw on a kids' movie. And my dad masturbated sitting right there on the couch next to me.
No one said anything. I just kept drawing, pretending like I couldn't feel him looking at me and like I couldn't hear his waist band snapping or his pajama pants rustling or his breath getting shaky. His laughter got forced and distracted sounding. This went on for a good 10/15 minutes, and then he finished his business, stretched out his legs with a relaxed sigh, and that was it. I kept wondering if Mom had heard anything. I actually hoped she hadn't. She was the classic jealous mother and she's been insecure about Dad's lack of interest in her for years. But I also wanted her to say something to protect me -- she didn't. We never addressed it.
That was traumatizing, but I think it was vital to me taking a step forward and identifying where a lot of my problems are rooted. I've had "icky" feelings about my dad my whole life, but up until that point I always convinced myself it was all in my head and he would never do something like that to me. I realized I really need to trust my gut on this crap, and everything made perfect sense when I read up on covert incest. I started remembering some things with more clarity. I got angry. I started healing a bit.
And now I am back here, and he still does gross and creepy things. He's constantly rubbing or pinching my shoulders without asking, or giving me hugs that go on too long. He barges into my room without knocking, even at night time, and I've caught him looking at my phone over my shoulder. When I asked him to stop touching me, he "joked" about doing it in my sleep, despite knowing that I've been raped. I think I caught him listening at my door while I was getting changed after a shower the other day; when I opened it, he was darting away. My room is off the living room next to the computer desk and it doesn't have a lock. The walls in this tiny house are thin plywood. Privacy is pretty much nonexistent.
The cognitive dissonance I've had to employ to survive being here has wrecked me. I've been nonfunctional and suicidal. I've been throwing up my food and restricting my eating. I've been getting high constantly, isolating myself, avoiding responsibilities. I'm afraid to shower when he's home. My health has plummeted. I struggle constantly with feeling ashamed, dirty, disgusted, guilty, self-loathing, hopeless, crazy. I keep gaslighting myself into believing that I'm just making it up because I'm so obsessed with being the victim that I have projected predatory intent onto my own doting father, who has never been anything but good to me as far as anyone else can see -- but it's really me who's the predator. It's easier to believe that I'm the problem. I've always been difficult and crazy. I want to disappear, just become nothing.
[/TW]
I need to get out of here and I know it. I'm not a kid anymore. I'm an adult and I can protect myself now. I'm working with a counselor to formulate a plan and develop the tools to do that. I'm looking at shelter options if staying here as longterm as I'd originally planned can't happen -- and I don't think it should. I'm f**king scared though. The past few years have been so traumatic and tumultuous and unstable. I never learned to build stability or independence for myself, and the prospect of doing it on my own is petrifying, but I think it's necessary.
I guess I'm just looking for insight, words of encouragement, and advice from other people who have made it to this point in recovery from incestuous abuse. Does it get better? Do you ever feel stronger? I honestly don't feel like it's worth the work to survive tbh.
