In one of them, Beth shares her own affliction. When she said it, I knew exactly what she was talking about. Hers manifests it's way different from mine, which it ought to because we are both on our own paths to God with some similarities in our past - some not.
What is it? Mental torture.
It's not mental illness (and she says this in the video). Mental illness for me are things like bipolar, depression, anxiety, PTSD, panic attacks, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, and, well, you get the point. Those are illnesses caused by a brain chemical imbalance that can usually (not always) be treated with medication, a great therapist and a smart psychiatrist or another treating physician.
Mental torture, in my life, is played out through images in my head. Again, Beth says some she put in there but some she did not. The same with me. They are so powerful, vivid and at times scary. Let me share the biggies because I know it's going to help me take a step closer to getting out of my cave but I know there are no guarantees (If you don't want to read these for any reason, please don't. I don't want you to get triggered.).
1. It usually starts with the image of me being incested by my Dad in my dark bedroom but the bathroom across the hall has the light on. I'm floating on the ceiling (this is called dissociation) and I can see my Dad on top of me. I am crying but he tells me to be quiet and puts his hand over my mouth and it hurts down there and there's blood. My body is not quite a stick figure but that's as close as I can get to a good description of how small I was. That's the image that stays in my head.
2. Pornographic images flood my mind. The boy who sexually abused me used to read those before, during and after his time with me. He'd show me the pictures of these women and I didn't know what to think. He compared my privates to his sisters saying mine were bigger. I was between 8-10 when that happened. Later, I happened to find my Dad's Penthouse magazines. I took one. One day I was reading it in my bed when he opened the door and saw me. I thought I was really in for it but all he said was, "Put it back when you're done." I still struggle from time to time with pornographic sites, looking for a man who I can have sex with, a total stranger with no strings attached. I've done that twice already even though I know God doesn't want that for me. And the images of the boy and these men stays with me.
3. I see myself taking $10 off our bookcase on the way out the door to school. My teacher finds out because I bought 10 packs of gum from another kid for $10. She calls my mom. When my Dad gets home the three of us talk about it. I admitted I did wrong and said I'm sorry but that wasn't good enough. My Dad told me to go wait in their bedroom. I hear his footsteps drawing near. He walks in, shuts the door and takes off his belt. He said, "This is going to hurt me more than you." He told me to get on the bed and I knew what was going to happen. And it did. He struck me with his belt so many times that I rolled around on the bed trying to get away from him. Nothing I did stopped him. I screamed in pain, I cried in pain and he kept on hitting me. When he finally stopped, I just laid there. Beaten, battered, bruised and broken. I'm on the ceiling again and I see myself rolling around on the bed during the beating. That's the image in my head.
4. One night my Mom packed us up and took us to a hotel. She was taking us for the weekend so that we could see museums and stuff. I remember being in the hotel room with my Mom and sisters but then we came home. My Dad wasn't there but he didn't have to be to put the fear of God into us. We walked in and some of the furniture was broken and had been thrown into the kitchen. It looked like he had a rage fit and I'll never forget it. My mom turned around and said, "We're not coming back yet." But the image of that broken kitchen table and other furniture stays in my head.
Last one.
5. When I got bigger I got braver. Him hitting me was so often that I didn't cry anymore just to spite him. In fact, I'd pick a fight so he'd leave my Mom and my sisters alone. My sisters were never abused by him. I didn't let him. But he and I had staring matches. I remember more than once when he would grab me by the neck and shove me into the wall and hold me there. I could smell the beer. His eyes were bloodshot and beady. He'd be staring at me waiting for me to flinch so he could hit me. I stared right back at him with challenge raging out of my eyes. One time he did this near our front door. He said this to me, "If you're going to hit me you better make sure I go down and and when I go down, you better make sure I stay down." I made a vow at that moment that one day, I was going to kill him - not just knock him down. Those two images cause rage inside of me like you wouldn't believe.
These are the contents of my mental torture. How can they be torture when they are in my past? Because even as I type this, the feelings of rage, fear, vulnerability and my alertness are on high. My past is not who I am - I know that but it did cause a lot damage to every part of me, physical and emotional. I believe my mental illness is the sum total of all the abuse - not only what I shared but what is inside of me that I won't share. The torture is so intense I go to my cave and stay away from people as much as I can. I don't want to be touched or prayed over or go to AA meetings or have anything to do with my Mom. I had a panic attack on the way to an author's lecture tonight and it was only 25 minutes away. But I used deep breathing and asked the Holy Spirit to come in and breathe out the yuck.
I don't know when I'll come out of my cave. I'm going to my occupational therapy appointments, helping one friend with errands, going "to" church but not into the "room," making sure I get to see Faith (my therapist) and working on/going to my Bible study and writing on my blog. I'm allowing myself to rest when I need to and do the best I can even though this mental torture continues.
It's not mental illness (and she says this in the video). Mental illness for me are things like bipolar, depression, anxiety, PTSD, panic attacks, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, and, well, you get the point. Those are illnesses caused by a brain chemical imbalance that can usually (not always) be treated with medication, a great therapist and a smart psychiatrist or another treating physician.
Mental torture, in my life, is played out through images in my head. Again, Beth says some she put in there but some she did not. The same with me. They are so powerful, vivid and at times scary. Let me share the biggies because I know it's going to help me take a step closer to getting out of my cave but I know there are no guarantees (If you don't want to read these for any reason, please don't. I don't want you to get triggered.).
1. It usually starts with the image of me being incested by my Dad in my dark bedroom but the bathroom across the hall has the light on. I'm floating on the ceiling (this is called dissociation) and I can see my Dad on top of me. I am crying but he tells me to be quiet and puts his hand over my mouth and it hurts down there and there's blood. My body is not quite a stick figure but that's as close as I can get to a good description of how small I was. That's the image that stays in my head.
2. Pornographic images flood my mind. The boy who sexually abused me used to read those before, during and after his time with me. He'd show me the pictures of these women and I didn't know what to think. He compared my privates to his sisters saying mine were bigger. I was between 8-10 when that happened. Later, I happened to find my Dad's Penthouse magazines. I took one. One day I was reading it in my bed when he opened the door and saw me. I thought I was really in for it but all he said was, "Put it back when you're done." I still struggle from time to time with pornographic sites, looking for a man who I can have sex with, a total stranger with no strings attached. I've done that twice already even though I know God doesn't want that for me. And the images of the boy and these men stays with me.
3. I see myself taking $10 off our bookcase on the way out the door to school. My teacher finds out because I bought 10 packs of gum from another kid for $10. She calls my mom. When my Dad gets home the three of us talk about it. I admitted I did wrong and said I'm sorry but that wasn't good enough. My Dad told me to go wait in their bedroom. I hear his footsteps drawing near. He walks in, shuts the door and takes off his belt. He said, "This is going to hurt me more than you." He told me to get on the bed and I knew what was going to happen. And it did. He struck me with his belt so many times that I rolled around on the bed trying to get away from him. Nothing I did stopped him. I screamed in pain, I cried in pain and he kept on hitting me. When he finally stopped, I just laid there. Beaten, battered, bruised and broken. I'm on the ceiling again and I see myself rolling around on the bed during the beating. That's the image in my head.
4. One night my Mom packed us up and took us to a hotel. She was taking us for the weekend so that we could see museums and stuff. I remember being in the hotel room with my Mom and sisters but then we came home. My Dad wasn't there but he didn't have to be to put the fear of God into us. We walked in and some of the furniture was broken and had been thrown into the kitchen. It looked like he had a rage fit and I'll never forget it. My mom turned around and said, "We're not coming back yet." But the image of that broken kitchen table and other furniture stays in my head.
Last one.
5. When I got bigger I got braver. Him hitting me was so often that I didn't cry anymore just to spite him. In fact, I'd pick a fight so he'd leave my Mom and my sisters alone. My sisters were never abused by him. I didn't let him. But he and I had staring matches. I remember more than once when he would grab me by the neck and shove me into the wall and hold me there. I could smell the beer. His eyes were bloodshot and beady. He'd be staring at me waiting for me to flinch so he could hit me. I stared right back at him with challenge raging out of my eyes. One time he did this near our front door. He said this to me, "If you're going to hit me you better make sure I go down and and when I go down, you better make sure I stay down." I made a vow at that moment that one day, I was going to kill him - not just knock him down. Those two images cause rage inside of me like you wouldn't believe.
These are the contents of my mental torture. How can they be torture when they are in my past? Because even as I type this, the feelings of rage, fear, vulnerability and my alertness are on high. My past is not who I am - I know that but it did cause a lot damage to every part of me, physical and emotional. I believe my mental illness is the sum total of all the abuse - not only what I shared but what is inside of me that I won't share. The torture is so intense I go to my cave and stay away from people as much as I can. I don't want to be touched or prayed over or go to AA meetings or have anything to do with my Mom. I had a panic attack on the way to an author's lecture tonight and it was only 25 minutes away. But I used deep breathing and asked the Holy Spirit to come in and breathe out the yuck.
I don't know when I'll come out of my cave. I'm going to my occupational therapy appointments, helping one friend with errands, going "to" church but not into the "room," making sure I get to see Faith (my therapist) and working on/going to my Bible study and writing on my blog. I'm allowing myself to rest when I need to and do the best I can even though this mental torture continues.
I'm glad I had one day without those images.
It's gotta end sometime, right?
