When Is Enough, Enough?

I grew up, learning the hard way, not to question authority.  I learned not to think for myself.  I learned my feelings never mattered - to my abuser.  At an early age in grade school, my identity was stunted.

I didn't know I'd taken on some roles psychologists identified in alcoholic homes.  They are the caretaker, hero, scapegoat, lost child and clown*.  I was a mixture of the first three.

The trauma I lived through at such an early age has been masked for several decades.  I haven't had a year without some sort of chronic pain since I was four years old.  Beatings and sexual abuse, chronic migraines, a bad car accident where for two years I endured two lumbar disks pressing on a spinal nerve, bursting ovarian cysts, back surgery, back pain, another back surgery sixteen years later to put in titanium rods, screws and a cage and breast cysts.

I'm used to managing physical pain.  Even my mom and sisters tell me I have a very high pain tolerance and are amazed at how much I'm able to withstand.  I don't think about it.  I just do it.

So, why do I want to crawl into a hole and never come out?

Emotional pain.
Shame.

I don't know where to put them except on my body.  I don't want to put it there.  If I could somehow transfer the pain to a ball I would throw the ball into the river so it would get carried away.

Where does one put emotional pain and shame?

I wouldn't know where to begin.

I think I'm closer to "enough is enough."

I just don't know what to do next.

Alcoholic Family Roles - CLICK HERE