I Appreciate Your Concern. None Of This Is Your Fault. It's Me. It's Me And My Head.

I appreciate your concern. None of this is your fault. It's me. It's me and my head.

— Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Violet Dickinson written c. January 1909

(TW at the end, mentions of cutting, suicide, abusive parents.)

Ah yes, Trauma!

I've really wanted to talk about trauma recently – I've been going through some family bs – and haven't really had the chance to word vomit anywhere. So Tumblr it is... the end is just my experience but I wanted to make sure everyone was up to speed.

What is Trauma?

So I'm just gonna start with what the definition of trauma is. I found a couple things so I will just list them out.

Trauma is a response to a deeply distressing or disturbing event.

This event overwhelms a person and can cause them to feel physically threatened or extremely frightened.

A traumatic incident can cause physical, psychological, emotional or spiritual harm.

Some examples.

So we've covered what it is basically now about what a traumatic event could be. These can range from a multitude of things.

Natural disasters (Tornado, flood, tsunami, etc.)

Physical assault

Sexual assault

Death of a parent or caregiver

Hospitalization

Emotional Abuse

Neglect (or the opposite side of the spectrum Golden Child Syndrome.)

There are many more than just these. I found when looking up what some examples could be.

Percentage of trauma.

About 70% of people have gone through a traumatic event in their life. However, that doesn't necessarily mean they will be affected by it long term or at all.

Some people only have symptoms that resolve in a couple weeks.

Some people don't have any symptoms.

Some people have long term effects from said trauma.

Childhood trauma.

22% - 48% of youth are exposed to trauma. That's way too high in my book. As a person who realized how much childhood trauma could affect someone, I sincerely wished this number would be lower.

People who have childhood trauma may develop what is called, " a heightened stress response."

This can affect their ability to regulate their emotions.

They may have troubles sleeping. Have problems with emotional health or physical health.

Troubles with relationships and etc.

It just sucks in general.

TW ⚠️This next part is my own trauma. This is me venting/sharing my experience TW ⚠️

I have really wanted to talk about my own experience – partly to vent – I want it out there so I can relieve some of this weight I carry. If I could help enlighten someone or help someone going through similar experiences then I would be putting my trauma to use.

Parents suck...

(TW At The End, Mentions Of Cutting, Suicide, Abusive Parents.)

Well at least mine did. All of my trauma was from them. I'm glad they don't know my Tumblr because I'm about to spit some facts.

Them.

My parents are fucked up. My dad was in the military – already some trauma there – and wasn't even supposed to live because his brain was messed up.

His parents weren't great. My dad seems to have adopted a lot of traits from his dad – who is abusive to my grandma. My dad most likely abused my mom and vise versa. They were a match made in hell.

My mom is an alcoholic that won't admit she's an alcoholic. She grew up with an alcoholic of a mother that probably killed my mom's brother because she was drunk – this is all based off what my mom has told me.

She was exposed to trauma at a young age. She got in fights – did stupid shit – almost didn't finish highschool. Met my dad and had children.

I never understood why.

They screwed us over.

It's okay to have trauma.

But then push it on your children?

It's sad that the person you're supposed to rely on the most just throws you away when you're not necessary. That when you mess up they get to tell you it's all your fault – when you're just a child.

I was forced to play a sport competively when I didn't want to for three years (four of those months I had mono, I was so tired.)

I was berated when I made any mistake. I dropped a glass plate that was in the microwave. (My dad cared more about the plate than me stepping on glass. I was eight.)

My mom always talks about how much we cost her. Groceries, clothes, doctor appointments, braces, glasses. (I didn't ask to be born. You had a child, why is that my fault?)

I was always mentally abused by my father – as was my sister. He was always right. He got to raise his voice; you had to sit and take it. When he was in a pissy mood we had to walk on eggshells around him. He decided when a fight ended. We were always wrong. We were too young and didn't know what we were talking about. (Why do you get to decide what's right and wrong? I'm only a child, I believed you were amazing...)

My dad was diagnosed with dementia. Now I have to live with him longer because we feel bad for him. (He makes me feel like trash, why do I have to deal with this?)

I always thought my dad was "real." He didn't fake liking things for us like other people's parents. He told me straight up what he thought. (He wasn't real, he was a narcissist. He didn't care about us.)

My mom wasn't in the picture much. She treats us – her children – as competition. If we like something she starts doing it. She makes us uncomfortable, tells her friends things we don't want her to tell, if she feels threatened.

I never got to be girly. My dad believed in purity culture – even if we didn't realize it. Dresses are ugly, and feminine. If it's feminine it's bad. I thought I was cool because I was a tomboy. I was only molded into believing that. (When I saw girls at school wearing leggings or short shorts I was envious. I would only look ugly in those.)

I thought I had social anxiety because my head was screwed. I was just made different. (My sister told me how much my dad would overexagerate my mistakes. Everyone said I was so friendly and bright as a child. Why would my parents damage me like this?)

Hearing foot steps makes me anxious. My dad would always come upstairs when taking me to practice. (I never wanted to go. I would rather get hit by a car. I wanted it to happen.)

I cut myself when my dad was gone, only once. I wanted to believe I would never do something like that. Cutting was edgy and something people do when they want attention. (Not when you're faced with the choice to make the hurt go away. Not when it's threatening to swallow you whole. It hurt. A lot. It was a only small nick. I felt so good, my anxiety just went away. I felt amazing. I felt so guilty though, I ended up calling my sister. She drove an hour and a half for me. She genuinely loves me.)

I finally got out. I live with my sister. I still feel guilty for leaving them. For when my mom would come home drunk, cry on me, plead with me not to leave. For my dad being all alone with no one to be there for him. Sometimes the guilt consumes me. I feel like a shitty child. (It's not my problem though. They are adults. Why do they get to act like children. Why did they have to break me?)

There's so much more. But I don't remember it. I don't remember my childhood at all. I have horrible memory. "It's the trauma." I joke. (But it's true. I always coped by forgetting. Sometimes I'll bring something up and my sister will be confused. It's a fake memory. It never happened. I forget days as they're happening. I don't remember what I did yesterday. Why can't I remember?)

All these things contribute to the trauma I have endured. Trauma other have also had to endure. I wished people never hurt their kids. Not just for my sake but many others. Friends and family that have had to deal with this.

I don't know how to end this off. So have a gif of an adorable cat.