Lightning-Nl
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Nov 11, 2012
- Messages
- 1,245
Probably very triggering, so be warned.
I just recently was admitted to a hospital for extreme PTSD. I was having nonstop flashbacks... and I kept believing that I was a 7 year old child again who feared for his life because his father was incredibly abusive. For years, I convinced myself that my father wasn't sexually, physically and emotionally abusive. He manipulated me, my sisters and my mother into believing that nothing was wrong and that anything he did was just a "mistake". I repressed this for years with benzos. I was on 3 milligrams of Xanax everyday for two years.
Now that I'm off xanax I have so many terrifying memories that I can't stop having panic attacks. At the hospital they helped guide me through the beginning of starting to recover from this. They reminded me that I have no obligation to do anything for my parents and that I deserved to be just as happy as everyone else. I couldn't agree more with that and for the first time in my life I'm actually starting to plan for the future.
When I came back home from the hospital, more memories just started pouring out of my mind and it's been so exhausting to remember incredibly painful events that I can't stop reliving.
This is where things get dark. This will be incredibly long and I'm sure most will TL;DR
When I was a child my dad would get impulsively angry all the time. Whenever I did anything the slightest bit wrong, he'd come after me and beat the crap out of me. Eventually it got the point that I asked my dad if everything I did was right because I didn't want to get beaten anymore. Whenever my dad would come after me, I'd try to hide somewhere in the house that he couldn't get to, or where I wouldn't be found.
This would make him furious and he'd tear up our house looking for me - so most of the time he found me in the house. I learned pretty quickly that my house wasn't safe and when my dad would rampage, I'd hide in the house - and when he wasn't looking I'd climb through the window in the bathroom that was adjacent to my backyard.
Several nights when he was being violent, and I went into the backyard and slept on the ground. I'd find my way into the house around 4 or 5 AM after all the yelling and violence ended and I'd get in my bed so when my parents came to check on me - they'd think I'd been there the entire night. I made a bed for myself behind some burly bushes in my backyard and held that as a closely guarded secret because I didn't want my dad to know. Of course he found out - and began getting violent whenever I tried to escape there.
After a while when he started getting violent, I'd run out the front door - down the street to a nearby park. There was a lake behind this playground in this park (you can look up the park if you want. It was Swan Lake park in plymouth.) and I'd get as close to the lake as I could and hide in the reeds and underbrush after my dad stopped looking for me there. But that hiding spot was really obvious so he found out about that pretty quick... I don't recall the circumstances (all though they must of been pretty bad).
I broke through my front door running from my dad, he got in our van and started patrolling our neighborhood looking for me because he knew I hid in the weeds all around the neighborhood. Every time as soon as he found me, he'd usually hit me pretty hard - knock me hard enough on the head that everything would go black for several seconds. This one night I was able to make it to swan lake park without him forcibly taking me back home. He showed up there, but I hid in the small slide at the park.
He came around and searched the entire park, but he didn't find me so I slept in the slide that night. At swam lake, there were these big trees and some underbrush around them, if you went through the underbrush there was a clearing there. I was able to keep that hiding spot secret for some time. I brought some blankets out there and slept there a couple nights.
My parents would molest me, my older sister and my younger sister (once that I know of). I'm really not ready to share this yet - so I'll just tell you one pretty hard story to tell that I feel comfortable telling.
The one time my dad was molesting my younger sister (he was raping her, she probably gave him consent to do it - but she was too young to understand what she was doing. I came into my sisters room and found this happening. My dad screamed at me to get out and that he I was going to 6 belt wips if I didn't leave.
I've always been very protective of my little sister. Nobody fucks with her. When I saw this happening - I was LIVID. I ran into my garage to find some sort of weapon to hurt my dad with. I found a crowbar, ran upstairs broke my sisters door down and hit my dad as hard as I could with the crowbar.
I remember him having a look of legitimate horror on his face... I'll never forget that. I chased him outside and was able to successfully hit him a few more times. He ran through our back gate, got in his suzuki. I wasn't far behind. I hit the car window several times and told him to never come back... but my dad being the manipulative fuck he is, he was able to convince my mom that noting bad happened and that I was the violent bad one. My parents grew increasing wary of everything I did after this and they started to keep an annoying close eye on me and were looking for the slightest him of treachery.
I couldn't live after this and tried to kill myself several times by hanging myself from my ceiling fan. I wish my dsad was dead. I wish this wasn't so hard - I wish I could tell someone about the horrible sexual abuse that happened but I just can't...
I just recently was admitted to a hospital for extreme PTSD. I was having nonstop flashbacks... and I kept believing that I was a 7 year old child again who feared for his life because his father was incredibly abusive. For years, I convinced myself that my father wasn't sexually, physically and emotionally abusive. He manipulated me, my sisters and my mother into believing that nothing was wrong and that anything he did was just a "mistake". I repressed this for years with benzos. I was on 3 milligrams of Xanax everyday for two years.
Now that I'm off xanax I have so many terrifying memories that I can't stop having panic attacks. At the hospital they helped guide me through the beginning of starting to recover from this. They reminded me that I have no obligation to do anything for my parents and that I deserved to be just as happy as everyone else. I couldn't agree more with that and for the first time in my life I'm actually starting to plan for the future.
When I came back home from the hospital, more memories just started pouring out of my mind and it's been so exhausting to remember incredibly painful events that I can't stop reliving.
This is where things get dark. This will be incredibly long and I'm sure most will TL;DR
When I was a child my dad would get impulsively angry all the time. Whenever I did anything the slightest bit wrong, he'd come after me and beat the crap out of me. Eventually it got the point that I asked my dad if everything I did was right because I didn't want to get beaten anymore. Whenever my dad would come after me, I'd try to hide somewhere in the house that he couldn't get to, or where I wouldn't be found.
This would make him furious and he'd tear up our house looking for me - so most of the time he found me in the house. I learned pretty quickly that my house wasn't safe and when my dad would rampage, I'd hide in the house - and when he wasn't looking I'd climb through the window in the bathroom that was adjacent to my backyard.
Several nights when he was being violent, and I went into the backyard and slept on the ground. I'd find my way into the house around 4 or 5 AM after all the yelling and violence ended and I'd get in my bed so when my parents came to check on me - they'd think I'd been there the entire night. I made a bed for myself behind some burly bushes in my backyard and held that as a closely guarded secret because I didn't want my dad to know. Of course he found out - and began getting violent whenever I tried to escape there.
After a while when he started getting violent, I'd run out the front door - down the street to a nearby park. There was a lake behind this playground in this park (you can look up the park if you want. It was Swan Lake park in plymouth.) and I'd get as close to the lake as I could and hide in the reeds and underbrush after my dad stopped looking for me there. But that hiding spot was really obvious so he found out about that pretty quick... I don't recall the circumstances (all though they must of been pretty bad).
I broke through my front door running from my dad, he got in our van and started patrolling our neighborhood looking for me because he knew I hid in the weeds all around the neighborhood. Every time as soon as he found me, he'd usually hit me pretty hard - knock me hard enough on the head that everything would go black for several seconds. This one night I was able to make it to swan lake park without him forcibly taking me back home. He showed up there, but I hid in the small slide at the park.
He came around and searched the entire park, but he didn't find me so I slept in the slide that night. At swam lake, there were these big trees and some underbrush around them, if you went through the underbrush there was a clearing there. I was able to keep that hiding spot secret for some time. I brought some blankets out there and slept there a couple nights.
My parents would molest me, my older sister and my younger sister (once that I know of). I'm really not ready to share this yet - so I'll just tell you one pretty hard story to tell that I feel comfortable telling.
The one time my dad was molesting my younger sister (he was raping her, she probably gave him consent to do it - but she was too young to understand what she was doing. I came into my sisters room and found this happening. My dad screamed at me to get out and that he I was going to 6 belt wips if I didn't leave.
I've always been very protective of my little sister. Nobody fucks with her. When I saw this happening - I was LIVID. I ran into my garage to find some sort of weapon to hurt my dad with. I found a crowbar, ran upstairs broke my sisters door down and hit my dad as hard as I could with the crowbar.
I remember him having a look of legitimate horror on his face... I'll never forget that. I chased him outside and was able to successfully hit him a few more times. He ran through our back gate, got in his suzuki. I wasn't far behind. I hit the car window several times and told him to never come back... but my dad being the manipulative fuck he is, he was able to convince my mom that noting bad happened and that I was the violent bad one. My parents grew increasing wary of everything I did after this and they started to keep an annoying close eye on me and were looking for the slightest him of treachery.
I couldn't live after this and tried to kill myself several times by hanging myself from my ceiling fan. I wish my dsad was dead. I wish this wasn't so hard - I wish I could tell someone about the horrible sexual abuse that happened but I just can't...
