Terrified. No, wait... I'M PISSED OFF LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Things are bad. A trauma has come to get me. I know I have blogged before about a terrible experience with a trusted former doctor, and that is what this is. I have been having dreams about Old Guy (because of when he was impatient and mean to me and told me to go to a psychiatrist). In the dreams he was trying to hand me over to my old doctor (who I also have nightmares about sometimes). I think this is all coming to light because of the freaky little flashes that have been assaulting me from my childhood. These make me upset because I worry that someone will hurt me if that stuff comes out. I never understood the connection from the trauma inflicted upon me by my old doctor and how it has tortured me and continues to torture me. Now I'm beginning to. Here's what happened:

My psycho ex (usually referred to as the Dirtball on this blog) raped me in 1995. I dissociated it. Later, when I became pregnant (not from the rape), I left him because even though I could not remember what he did to me, I just KNEW that he was a danger to the pregnancy and I could not be around him. Until I had no choice due to severe complications of pregnancy and needing someone to help me. I got away again as soon as it was in my babies' best interest to do so. And then the bills started rolling in and he was back and making sexual advances which gave me panic attacks. Once, after I heard a voice telling me to push him down the stairs, I had an attack that was so bad, it scared the hell out of me because I COULD NOT be a crazy person in charge of a little boy and two premature infants. The thought of such a thing scared me so bad that I can barely describe it. I was afraid for my children to have an incompetent or ineffective mother and I could not let that happen to them. I went to my doctor to get something to take the edge off the anxiety short term so I could calm down and figure out what was what and what I ought to do. I explained the basic problem to her (panic) and, of course, left out the voices (I just KNEW disclosing that would not be good for my children). Basically, all she had in front of her was an anxious new mother who had a panic attack.

I explained how I had been in a similar pickle several years before and had been given a low dose of Valium for very short term use to take sparingly while learning relaxation exercises. This worked for me then, but she did not listen. She insisted on an antidepressant. I told her I was not depressed (because I wasn't). She insisted it would help me and she pressured me into it. Within just a few days I was more panicked than I had ever been in my life. I could no longer care for myself or my children. I had to send my little boy to his father, leave my own home, and take my preemies and go to the dirtball's house with him. The next few weeks were terrible. I only slept a few hours a night, I was in a perpetual state of terror, could barely eat... I could barely even drink because I was shaking so badly that the water spilled everywhere and the glass kept hitting my teeth. The dirtball had to hold a straw in my mouth so I could have water without hurting myself. We kept calling the doctor's office and kept hearing the same thing - it's normal, you'll be fine. I was even told that I could NOT just stop taking the pills because there would be terrible health consequences and that the way to fix things would be to take MORE. At one point, I was even told to use the dirtball's treadmill to remedy this horrific situation. I shook all the time, I could not eat or sleep and I was instructed to stay on the treadmill until exhausted. I still couldn't sleep. This was abuse. It just was. It was abuse, malpractice and it makes me want to kill someone. I should not have been subjected to this kind of cruelty. It was a trauma and it bounces off things in my present life and sends me back there to when an idiot other turned my own body against me and in effect, separated me from my little boy and turned me over to a rapist with two preemies in tow! It was the extreme trauma of this incident that began the decade long Klonopin addiction that nearly destroyed my health.

And yet... I stuffed everything down as best I could for as long as I could and I have busted my ass all these years to do what I need to. Those same preemies graduated from middle school last night and collected their trophies and honors awards. I had to be there for them with all this crazy shit going on inside and I had to do it with a fucking smile on my face. My babies DESERVE that much. Of course, I very quietly REFUSED to stand for the invocation, though. Instead, I sat and concentrated on the flag that stood in front of me and gave me the right to say no. FUCK NO AND OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY. While everyone else prayed, I felt grateful to every person (including me) who has ever fought for this freedom I enjoyed in an auditorium filled with people of many colors. This is NOT going to break me. I don't yet know what to do about it. Before I can figure that out, I just have to get through the night. But I do know know this - stuffing and 'containing' has to end or it's going to kill me.

And can I just say that I wouldn't shed a tear if some radical terrorist group suddenly started targeting psychiatrists? Actually, though I most appreciate lawful activities, sometimes terror must be met with terror and there are some missions that are of such dire importance, that they must be accomplished BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY. Terrorism against psychiatry? I would probably throw a fucking party if something that awesome ever happened. I would insist on serving the finest wines and I would even enlist a caterer. I'd party like it's 1999. And on that note... I think I know how I'm going to make it through the night.

:-)