First Post

My brain has resisted this for years. 

It’s okay, brain. Calm down. 🧠🤗

It’s difficult for me to talk about myself. I’ve been using the Internet since 1992 (so old!) and never once have I put myself out there. Even the anonymity of the Internet doesn’t help.

I used to tell myself that I wasn’t built that way. That might be a lie. I don’t really know for sure. The way it works for me, opening up emotionally is the same as waiting to be attacked.

It’s equally hard for me to share face-to-face. Nothing quells the voice at the back of my brain that someone, somewhere, will get me if I open up. 

Not true, brain. Calm down! 🧠🤗🤗🤗

So, here I am, doing the opposite. It’s taken me quite a while to get here. Please forgive these awkward words as my brain quietly freaks out. 

ABOUT THIS SITE

I’ve had mental health issues for my entire life. I wish I could say that I woke up one morning and thought, yes, of course, I can go from zero to a hundred with my issues. All I need to do is write a blog on the Internet. 

Life doesn’t work that way and, surprise, surprise, doing nothing didn’t work. There is no cure for my type of issue, only hard work and management. 

One thing I’ve been putting off for a while (decades!) is dealing with my past. Being honest about the child abuse is a little… depressing. It’s so much easier to do (literally) anything else. I’m exceptionally good at distracting myself. I’ve put it off for so long that it now looms over me. If I’m being honest, I know it’s always loomed over me. 

Calm down brain, what happened in the past is not happening now. 

I’m going to write a series of letters to my younger self. They’re written to me when I/he most needed it. It sounds strange, but it’s going to help. I am going to change how my brain responds to the past. 

My abuser conditioned me not to tell anyone about the abuse. Whenever I do, a loud voice screams in my head. 

Nobody can find out! Promise me you’ll be good. You’re a good boy, aren’t you? You’ll keep our secret, won’t you? Promise me you’re not bad. 

My abuser was terrified about what people thought of them… but that didn’t stop them from abusing a child. 

Unfortunately, I learned my lesson a little too well. As a child, I had to close myself off to survive. That survival technique has long since stopped working for me. It causes me a lot of problems. My brain and emotions shut down whenever I’m triggered. 

At the risk of sounding like a cliche movie tag line, the only way forward is to go back to the past. 

I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this movie. 🍿🎥

I don’t expect anyone to find this blog, let alone read it. And, honestly, I don’t know if that is something I believe. Maybe it’s my brain trying to convince me I’m still (technically) keeping my abuser’s secrets. Thinking about it too much causes chaos in my head. Chaos causes me to shut down. So, I’m pretty sure it’s the keeping secrets thing. 

Helping an abused child is tough to write. From time to time, I’m going to write about other stuff. Stuff that is less serious. 

I love writing funny stories, so I’m going to post some flash-fiction. I love wrestling, so I’m going to write about that too. 

Also, one last thing. I’m going to write about all the techniques I’ve leaned to get better. I can’t explain it, but it feels important that there’s a record somewhere. 

WHY START WRITING NOW?

It was at the grand age of 46 that I sobbed in front of my doctor. I can only imagine that I wasn’t the first middle-aged man to walk into his doctor’s practice talking about feelings of “vague anxiety”. It wasn’t as though I had a plan to talk about anything. 

I just need some anxiety medication, right? There’s no reason for my anxiety. Anxiety is natural and spontaneous, like the weather. 

My doctor looked me right in the eyes and asked about my childhood. I was so surprised that I forgot to lie. 

Apart from my husband, I’d told no one about my childhood. I’d never expected a health professional to help me. This was nothing to do with health professionals. My experience is a long and tangled web.

It was in that doctor’s surgery that I first heard the words “Complex PTSD”. He explained regular PTSD could stem from a single traumatic event; but several traumatic events cause multiple traumas to twist and fold together.

I did get a prescription for the anxiety, but it was only there to help me get through the day. It was the words he used that were more important to me. Those were the words I could use to describe myself. 

After some serious procrastination, I tried a lot of things to work on my issues. As far as I can tell, there is no silver bullet to solving Complex PTSD. However, everything I’ve tried has brought me closer to managing my issues. 

It can be like Whac-A-Mole sometimes. I can stare too closely at one issue only for an older issue to pop back up. On the whole, I’ve made slow and hard-fought progress. 

Unfortunately, I’ve reached a plateau. I haven’t made genuine progress in a while. I know the next step is to address what happened to me in the past. It’s a weight that hangs around my neck. That’s a poor metaphor. The past is a noose patiently waiting for me to slip-up.  

I’ve tried many things to resolve my issues with the past: procrastination, denial, and copious amounts of avoidance. 

Why, oh why, won’t these work? I’ve tried nothing and nothing works! Poor me! 😢

I would have loved to be one of those special people that wake up in the morning, magically cured. Unfortunately, that’s not realistic. 

Why am I writing this blog now? Because I’m tired of not making progress. Obviously, I can’t change the past, but I want to change how I feel about it.

There’s a hell of a long way to go. Maybe for the rest of my life. I want to know what happens when I can put the past to rest. What’s around the corner after that? I want to find out.  

COMPLEX PTSD

As I grew from infant, to toddler, to young child, then tween to teen, and so on, the abuse continued. The very fabric of my brain changed in unexpected ways. Neurones formed. Pathways connected. Trauma created bruises on every layer. The abuse caused parts of my brain to grow, while other bits withered. The abuse shaped the underlying hardware of me. 

My brain is a wonderfully unusual place, with a lot of offbeat quirks. 

Hey, quirky brain! 👋🧠

My brain holds abuse, trauma, along with the means of survival. Imagine it as insects trapped in amber. There’s no reason or logic to the survival. Much like there was no reason or logic to the abuse itself. My tiny child brain did what it needed to survive in that chaotic world. 

Want an example? Every so often, I can’t brush my teeth and I don’t know why. I can’t force myself to brush my teeth. A giant invisible hand prevents me. I can stare at the toothbrush. I can even pick it up, open the toothpaste, and imagine myself brushing. If I’m feeling motivated, I can cheer myself on, like my personal pep rally. The only thing I can’t do is pick the toothbrush up and brush. 

Why is it only sometimes? Why is it only brushing my teeth at night? What is the logic that decides if I can do it or not? What happened? I don’t think I’ll ever know the answer. Is knowing important to getting better?

Complex PTSD has a dry medical explanation that rings hollow for me (I know, I looked it up on Wikipedia). Complex PTSD is about scars and bandaids. Underneath are all the scars that criss-cross throughout my brain. They cut through all the layers, from the adult “higher executive” function all the way back to the “lizard” core. 

Covering those scars are bandaids I put on myself as a child. In fact, I made those bandaids myself. They were the most amazing bandaids I could make as a child. They may not make sense to me now, but they did back then. The important thing is that they worked. 

Hopefully, with this blog, I can now do better.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Phew, I’ve told you about myself. I’ve posted something on the Internet after a lifetime of lurking.  

Go me! 📣

In my mind, the only people who might read these words are those people who’ve googled “child abuse” and “complex PTSD”. I’m so sorry that this happened to you. If you’re reading this blog, then you’re trying to do something about it. Congratulations.