Finding The Missing Pieces

 
 
 
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    A college student's journey to put herself back together
     
    Here There Be Layers April 23rd, 2016

    So, my psychiatrist, who still thinks my problems are OCD related (riiiiiight. /sarcasm), decided to up my medication. Still a little pissed at this. I mean, maybe she was trying to help me, keep me happy, etc., but the truth is, I’ve been trying to keep myself as happy as I can. Doing shit that nourishes me. I just happen to (understandably) not be comfortable around my family members at the moment. Unfortunately, that seems to translate into them thinking I’m a crazy person.

    (Besides the obvious I’ve-got-no-job thing, I don’t think I’m emotionally ready to go VLC/NC. I’m going to have to practice. Build up my skills, stuff like that. I have certain disabilities re: independence skills, so that does not help)

    So…I found new layers as well. They’re small layers, but they are layers nonetheless. I’m thinking of them more like fine-tuning — the whole thing with the Critic I was talking about earlier? Well, it reminded me of something from my childhood — not necessarily traumatic, but just an annoying thing: it was my mom telling me that I needed to keep my skirt down because people could see my underpants. (I used to wear dresses when I was a little girl, absolutely loved them. It’s safe to say I was kind of a girly girl — loved the Disney Princesses, stuff like that. Just general “little girl” things. It was as I got older I got more inclined to start wearing pants, which…honestly, I like. I remember liking to wear jeans because they thought they made me look “grown up”, and liking to wear long yoga pants when I was nineteen because they made me look grown-up. When I was nineteen, I actually went through a period of hating shorts and T-shirts in the summer because I thought they made me look like a little kid. * I wear yoga pants most of the time because they’re comfortable and I like being comfortable, and yet I do actually remember that there was a girl in my Film and Lit class that wore this dress and I actually kind of envied her. I wished I could be as glamorous as she was. I’m not exactly pretty, and even my mom’s attempts to boost me up…I can’t tell if they are the attempts of a loving mother or inappropriate at minimum. Christ, I don’t think the books I read when I was younger even covered this shit)

    But yeah, let’s say that that moment caused a bit of Squick in me when I first saw it. Which probably makes me some sort of sick bastard. *Sighs*

    I also remember that it was after accidentally seeing my dad naked in the shower, full-frontal male nudity kind of started bothering me a little bit. Which…honestly, is a pretty disproportionate reaction to accidentally seeing my dad in the shower. I just don’t know if I was sick somehow (then again, there’s no way I could have seen anything sexual in this at eight or nine) or if there’s some sort of buried trauma in there. Or if, for all intents and purposes I’m overanalyzing — I’m just finding my responses kind of odd because I don’t think I got the same reaction with female genitals and female nudity. I guess that’s where things get confusing because…well, I don’t know if I ever had a sort of anger/hatred towards breasts (faithallen, of Blooming Lotus, did a bit of an inventory of Aftereffects of Abuse By A Female Perpetrator and that was one of the symptoms) or anything like that.)

    I guess I better go into the symptoms (and I’m going to have a link back as credit: https://faithallen.wordpress.com/2010/08/06/aftereffects-of-sexual-abuse-by-a-female-perpetrator/):

    Alter parts (or imaginary friends) who are/were male:

    I don’t have alters, but I do remember when I was fifteen or sixteen, I had Freddy Krueger as an imaginary friend. That might have grown out of a bit of a writing exercise I did for a fan-made script I had to the 2010 Elm Street remake (which has its moments, my script, but it’s generally kind of crappy). As a kid, however, I did have a female imaginary friend, named Isabelle, so…I guess that in and of itself doesn’t mean much.

    Aversion to oral sex:

    Yeah, but mostly of the fellatio variety. (It’s kind of weird that this is pushing me towards a possible male perpetrator?)

    Extreme discomfort discussing periods, bras, and other coming of age issues with your mother:

    As a kid, no. Ever since I got that flash back, yeah, things have been very, very uncomfortable.

     

    Gender confusion in childhood and/or adulthood:

    I went through a brief period of it, but mostly it was

    caused by something else. Basically, it was someone

    back in the TGWTG fandom — people were freaking

    out at the Nostalgia Critic for ragging on TMZ and

    someone else said that basically, TMZ is a feminine

    thing and watching reviews is a masculine thing,

    never mind that I just don’t like this sort of crap.

    It’s a freakshow; I remember the extensive coverage

    of stuff like Britney Spears’ mental breakdown and

    I don’t want anything to do with that coverage. She

    was clearly suffering from severe psychological

    issues and yeah, maybe I am a bit of a Chris Crocker

    here, but I just don’t like how the media turns

    celebrities with clear mental illnesses into some sort

    of point-and-laugh show. I mean, they’re people; they

    aren’t animals in a zoo, for fuck’s sake. And even

    putting that aside, I don’t want to hear about

    everything a celebrity did. Life is too short.

     

    But yeah, I do remember after that, those words did

    a lot of damage. You hear enough of what women are

    “supposed” to think, feel, like, dislike, etc. and you

    start wondering if there was some sort of glitch in

    your system. Or if you had Internalized Misogyny (TM).

    Either way, it sucks. And it seems to be a running theme with me and other stuff “aimed at girls” — I didn’t agree with the idea someone else put out that drawing curvy women was objectification, I didn’t agree with certain interpretations of things…I guess it was stuff like that that made me wonder if I was doing something “wrong” as a girl and a woman. Even though…I am who I am, aren’t I?
    Inability to be responsible for yourself (abusive mother encouraged deep dependence):

    Actually, the irony is that she’s been encouraging me

    to be more independent, things like that. It’s my dad

    who’s been doing the majority of treating me like I’m

    some helpless child.

     

    Insomnia when mother is in the same house:

    Honestly, I think I’ve just always had sleeping problems. I don’t know how much of them are tied to my mother being in the same house as me. I do know that when we went on a trip to London together for my twentieth birthday and had to share a room, I slept okay. Maybe it was me needing a change of environment.

     

    Nightmares about mother hurting you (not necessarily sexually):

    I had one. It involved me using stuffed animals to

    fight her off. And me telling her to stay away from

    my kids.

     

    So yeah, I’ve got a lot of damage to deal with. Not even from what I came here for in the first place, but other stuff.

    Damage to heal:

    -Setting boundaries with my father

    -Figuring out this whole sexuality puzzle

    -Gaining more confidence in myself as a woman

    -Sleeping problems

    -Issues with self-care

    -Emotional abreactions re: male equipment

     

    I don’t know what happened, but hopefully, I can at least heal the damage. And who knows? Maybe the stronger I get, the more I’ll actually get some clarity on. But most of all, I’ll get past the aftereffects. And that…that might do.

    Yeah. That might do.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    *Of course, considering how I freaked out on my nineteenth birthday because I thought I was “getting old” (nineteen is hardly old in the slightest, honestly)…yeah, what exactly did you want, nineteen year old me? Honest to God.

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