@GilesMeehan LOL. You need to come to Australia to catch up with the missed summer. :D Second thought... It may be too hot & humid for you.
247 days ago
Maybe because his wife lived in Japan and loves everything Japanese, or maybe, he is just trying to find out my medical history, my doctor asks about my childhood. He was wondering if I had hard time because I am visibly different from average Japanese. (Taller and larger, not fat though.) Yes, I did have hard time being different. But it didn’t leave scar in my memories.
Whenever people asked about my childhood or my family, I cannot stop getting nervous. It used to trigger nightmares and emotional distress. These days, it is more like reality check of who I was. I don’t know how much I could let people know safely. It is not because I have a shameful past, but because I know that most people cannot handle what I’ve been through. If I let them know, they probably wouldn’t believe me, or assume that my mental health must be really screwed up, or they assume that I am not capable of having normal friendship or relationship. I sense panic and resentment. I learned not to say anything about it but subtlety change the subject.
I don’t know what I can call myself. Child abuse victim or survivor? They just don’t sound right to me. People have different ideas and opinions about “abuse”. People do not really want to know the whole story, anyway. I do not behave, act or think as typically generalised victims/survivor.
After dealing with PTSD for almost all my life, I am finally getting peace with my past. I don’t feel right to call it “Forgiveness”, but I detached myself from “it”. I will not see him again. I don’t care if he is still alive or dead. He can keep complaining that I never go home. I am sure he has no idea what he has done to me. Even if he did, he would not feel sorry for it anyway. He would have his version of incidents, discipline and punishment. I don’t care. I live far away from him in different country, I speak different language from him and I have different nationality from him. No matter how much he meant by the death threat, he cannot hurt me physically and emotionally anymore. He cannot humiliate or ridicule me anymore. It is only memories that hurt me. I do not want to think my blood came from him. If will power can make anything possible, I would have different DNA from him.
Whatever I have or don’t have, I am proud of myself that I am not like him at all. Although my illness destroyed everything I achieved, I have proved myself that I am NOT “slow, useless, stupid, arrogant bitch”.
Maybe because his wife lived in Japan and loves everything Japanese, or maybe, he is just trying to find out my medical history, my doctor asks about my childhood. He was wondering if I had hard time because I am visibly different from average Japanese. (Taller and larger, not fat though.) Yes, I did have hard time being different. But it didn’t leave scar in my memories.
Whenever people asked about my childhood or my family, I cannot stop getting nervous. It used to trigger nightmares and emotional distress. These days, it is more like reality check of who I was. I don’t know how much I could let people know safely. It is not because I have a shameful past, but because I know that most people cannot handle what I’ve been through. If I let them know, they probably wouldn’t believe me, or assume that my mental health must be really screwed up, or they assume that I am not capable of having normal friendship or relationship. I sense panic and resentment. I learned not to say anything about it but subtlety change the subject.
I don’t know what I can call myself. Child abuse victim or survivor? They just don’t sound right to me. People have different ideas and opinions about “abuse”. People do not really want to know the whole story, anyway. I do not behave, act or think as typically generalised victims/survivor.
After dealing with PTSD for almost all my life, I am finally getting peace with my past. I don’t feel right to call it “Forgiveness”, but I detached myself from “it”. I will not see him again. I don’t care if he is still alive or dead. He can keep complaining that I never go home. I am sure he has no idea what he has done to me. Even if he did, he would not feel sorry for it anyway. He would have his version of incidents, discipline and punishment. I don’t care. I live far away from him in different country, I speak different language from him and I have different nationality from him. No matter how much he meant by the death threat, he cannot hurt me physically and emotionally anymore. He cannot humiliate or ridicule me anymore. It is only memories that hurt me. I do not want to think my blood came from him. If will power can make anything possible, I would have different DNA from him.
Whatever I have or don’t have, I am proud of myself that I am not like him at all. Although my illness destroyed everything I achieved, I have proved myself that I am NOT “slow, useless, stupid, arrogant bitch”.
Filed under: Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Thoughts