In a world full of terror, crime, full hearts and broken dreams, I kind of find it hard to believe there are people living without trauma. Maybe there are. Maybe there are some people out there who have led really cushy lives. In that case, I hope you know how lucky you are. No one is immune from trauma- no matter how wealthy, famous or wellconnected you are. Everyone can suffer. But everyone can also grow. Post traumatic growth can emerge from the sinewy arms of PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder).
I am very open about the fact that I was sexually assaulted by a junior when I was in eigth grade working on the school play. I was assaulted in the auditorium before I had ever gotten my kiss and the assault mortified me and made me feel guilty and ashamed like I was dirty. In the months following the assault I became very promiscious, throwing myself at guys right and left, especially older guys. I was way too young to be behaving like this and I dealt with overwhelming feelings that didn’t quite understand.
My suicide attempt was also traumatic. Not seeing my wrists bleed. Not being pinned down by my best friend’s mother while the ambulance came. No. It was being left on a gurney in the ER ignored by all the nurses while I screamed for help (help for my hallucinations and help for my migraine). Sometimes the nurses would make snarky remarks about me to each other like I wasn’t even there. They ignored me until they drugged me and I woke up in a quiet bed in a psych part of the emergency room.
Finally, I had to end a relationship. Not with Justin (nah, he’s stuck with me forever). Several years ago I was in a very unhealthy relationship. His family (who was also bad news) was falling apart and he leaned entirely on me which was too much for me to handle. He was possessive. He was sexually abusive and sometimes I still have dreams I am being raped by literally anyone. Other times I had dreams he killed himself as he threatened to do. I was terrified to end it. But it was a sick, twisted love and I needed to get away before I was poisoned. Ending it was the bravest thing I ever did.
I hope these incidents made me more resilient. I know I am definitely more resilient when it comes to smaller scale disappointments or “failures”. I’m taking a lesson on “Trauma-informed” support for my peer specialist training. That’s why traumas on my mind. Here are some things I used to do at the time to cope with my trauma.
Shoot hoops (especially in the February cold. I would return inside with my hands frozen, raw and red and feeling like I went for a refreshing dip in a pool, not standing outside for hours in the middle of New England winter)
Poems. I started writing poetry in eighth grade. It was clumsy, awkward poetry. Then there was a writing rhyming poetry. Some of it was published but I was a still a poetic caterpillar. I hit the butterfly phrase around the time I started doing poetry slams. I watched and I learned. I learned alot. I’m definitely not the most talented butterfly. But at least my wings work.
Drink. Started drinking at sixteen. This turned into a problem because a “hobby” turned into self-medication. Especially on frigid winter nights I would badger my then boyfriend to take me to 7-11 where they sold to me. At college, if you are a girl with boobs there is no shortage of alcohol so I continued with my wicked ways until I vomited blood and realized I was destroying my body. It wasn’t that that caused me to stop drinking. It was the threat that if I drank anymore I would be yanked away from the college I loved and enrolled in community college. Even though I dropped out (for medical neccessity) two years later I never went back to the bottle.
Cut. I used to love cutting myself. It was so freeing and I actually kind of got a rush/ high from seeing the blood. This makes me sound sick and I was. It’s not healthy to enjoy hurting yourself in any form whether that is drinking to you vomit, vomit so you’re skinnier or carving words into your thighs (which is what I did). When you think about it it sounds like a punishment. But for some people its enjoyable, I swear,
Making my own poetry books. When I was in sophomore year in college I had to make a book for one of my classes. An illustrated book. I really enjoyed it and when I finished I ordered another blank book and decided to make an illustrated poem book. I was very familiar with working with words. Art was very new. So I decided I would use silhouettes and I did the illustrations through tracing cutouts. I used washi tape, stencils, stickers, colored pencils- basically I was at AC Moore every other day (I’ve worked there twice so it makes sense).
Since I only did a little bit of the lesson, I’ll probably mention trauma again. Since overcoming trauma is such a big part of who we are as people, I really hope to learn more.
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