Growing up I always had an anger inside of me that I never quite understood where exactly it’s stemmed from. As time progressed, as I got older over the years a certain person continued to be in my life that I had a certain rage. Rage that was unknown on where it started. Ways I responded towards this one individual who I share blood with for a very unknown reason. From ages six to I always had an anger inside of me that I never quite understood where exactly it stemmed from. I just knew that he was the only person I wanted to see in pain, I wanted him to fail in everything he did. I wanted him to get in trouble for regular things teenagers did. I wanted him to feel pain and I never knew why. As I think of all interactions I had with him I always think back to the time, I throw a playstation remote at his head at 9 years old. 3 years after he did what he did to me. Now at the time I had no idea why I did that. Why did I want him to feel pain. Why was I so happy when I threw the remote at his head. Why was so pleasing to see him hold is head still feeling the blow of the playstation remote? I had no sympathy from him. I said nothing when all my family members were interrogating me on why I did what I did. As time progressed as I got older over the years, certain people continued to be in my life. People that I had a certain rage towards for a very unknown reason from ages 6 to 15 years old and I never fully understand why until the year 2015. The year he moved in with me and my family. 2015 the year my family moved from Florida to California. 2015 the year when I thought subconsciously that he would be across the country from me for the first time. Who is this he you might ask? My cousin to be more exact my cousin who I known my entire life. My cousin who molested me at 6 years old while he was 13 years old. After the incident happened in 2007 some way some how I convinced myself that it never happened. I convinced myself that It was some sick dream I had. It never happened. After seeing how he acted like nothing happened I was convinced that it didn’t for years. It’s crazy how your mind can train the bad memories to go away right? But not forever though. At age 15 when he moved in. Mind you he never ever has lived with us before this. I never had to deal with seeing him everyday which I guess... allowed my mind to forget what happened. But it wasn’t until he moved in is when I started to realize. When he would move his chair closer to me while the family would be eating dinner. How my entire body would tense up and how my chest would fee like someone took a screwdriver and grinded it on my sternum. How I would never want him to take me to school. How I would stay up late around my siblings, to make sure nothing happened to them. That no one would violate them how he violated me.... and you know? I kind of hated myself. For realizing all of this too late. For not knowing if it was real or not. When I realized it was too late. He was already here. My parents would have killed him if they found out. I didn’t want him to die. At the end of the day he was my cousin. I didn’t want to rip away the last bit of family my dad was close with you know? I didn’t. I can truly say 2015 - 2016 was the worst period in my life. The day I came to the realization of what he did to me was a day I don’t think I can ever forget. I can never forget the feeling of how scared I was. It was the day I came in my room ... to find his hair in my bed. I knew it was his, no one in the house hair looked like that but his. The first thing I say to myself is “Why the fuck. Is his hair in my bed?” I probably stared at the bed for a smooth 10 minutes. Confused. He was gone. At work, he began taking up extra shifts so he would be gone most of the time and I’d be so happy because my other cousin who also lived with us would take me & pick me up from school. About 3 months in of him living with us I would barely see him and sometimes forget that he lived with us which was helpful. Nevertheless at night he would come back. Did i mention my room was the only room downstairs? Well him and my other cousins closet was right by my room. That same day I saw his hair in my bed was that same night he came home, came by my room to go in the closet, is the moment I immediately started to have a panic attack and I vividly remember looking up on Safari “How do you know if you have been molested” And that night all of the memories came back to me that night. Memories of what he did to me that night when I was six years old. I felt sick to my stomach. Somehow I found ways to blame myself. Why was I trying to play footsies with him in the bed? That’s something that I’d always do when I was younger to everyone. Maybe that gave him the wrong idea. I was a very curious child. Maybe it was my fault. I thought for years that it was my fault until I realized that I remembered everything I did at 13 years old. That is an age where I feel like you know what's right and wrong. Right?
Understanding your reaction to trauma is going to be complex. There are a lot of confusing emotions to sort through. Much of the healing process can't be rushed through and just requires some time before you move onto the next stage.
I am 23 now and a lot has changed, it’s why I am writing in this journal hoping that what I put down some how the pain I feel stays on these pages than my heart.
If you’ve been in a relationship with a person who suffers from narcissist personality disorder then more likely than not you’ve experienced the discard stage of the relationship. If you’ve not quite hit that point, please know that this is part of the disorder. They discard because their mentality is always that the grass is always greener on the other side.
I grew up poor, with no idea about mental illness,what being gay was about and was always the fat girl. My story starts with the only thing I know to start it with. I wish I didn't have to start here, everything inside of me doesn't want to have to write this. The scapegoat in my family, while maybe not on purpose but it still happened. I was born to my mother when she was 15 years old. And we went through hell and back those first few years. She found my father when I was three, but we were always poor and things got worse when my sisters were born when I was nine and ten years old. By the time I was 12 I had a baby brother and both parents worked and I was the caregiver between shifts. All this time I had hidden secrets in my brain. Secrets I shoved full of food, and no one noticed the extreme pain I was in…
Domestic violence is an ongoing issue in the United States today. Violence with an intimate partner can occur in many forms. These include financial, physical, and emotional abuse. Any form of abuse can have a negative impact on victims and witnesses. Physical abuse can end in the loss of life, whether it is the victim’s life or the abuser's life. There are 1,200 individuals per hour that experience some form of abuse. Parsons (2014) explains that 40% of all homicides of women in each state involved intimate partner violence.
I still remember the pain. It felt like a knife was stabbed in my heart slowly just to be turned over to do the greatest possible damage. Faster than he could think my middle school classmate, whose name I am not going to share, spoke those words to me in a regular break in between our lessons. His peers surrounding and celebrating him for his "coolness". He didn't know to do better.
We often do not realize that trauma sets off things in our life that we simple do not anticipate. Rather that be feelings, emotions, events, endings, trauma is the one unexpected visitor that we never can anticipate. We look at our community now and a lot of the youth and adults are addicted to some type of drug. But where does this all start? Is it the constant bickering between parents that causes the child to search for an escape or the neglectful parenting that makes one run to another source for just .... anything? Could he be the young girl who was placed in a custody battle but ended up with the wrong parent? I mean I could go on, a lot of times we talk about the drugs in communities but we don’t associate the trauma.
This is the story of Beau Button, well, Beau Fairchild, but nobody remembers his official surname. After years of being referred to as ‘Button’, why would they? It’s a simple story, no twists, no turns, no dramatic pauses, just a straight, narrow road that leads to now.
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