I’ve been hiding. I think I’ve fallen deeper down the rabbit hole.
I started this blog because I wanted to show the world an honest look at an abuse survivor’s life. It’s been a really rough week and a half or so. I’ve been hiding from everyone. I’m not even sure where to start. Most likely, I will make a few short posts, all in the next day or so (hopefully) to cover this last week and then some.
It al started with a flashback while I was home alone with my daughter. Damn PTSD! It sucks. I’m lucky, I can usually have some sort of control over my flashbacks. I’m also usually aware, to some degree, that I’m still “here” in the present, and the flashback is “there” in the past. This flashback…..well, it wasn’t exactly like that. It came out of no where. My daughter was playing with a sleeping mask her grandmother had given her, and she slipped it over my eyes. It triggered a flashback of my abusive relationship. I haven’t even gotten the story out in therapy, so no details today. Let’s just say it’s not a pretty story. I did not maintain that quality of knowing I was “here, not there” and I wasn’t really in control. It was bad.
I did not hurt my daughter, but I did yell at her. I scared her. She has a really hard time understanding emotions, because of her autism, so seeing these big emotions come from mommy was scary. I cried after the flashback. Like I said, damn PTSD. I texted the nanny to come early, and thank God, she was able to. I let my kid eat marshmallows for lunch and watch movies while I cried and freaked out in my head. By the time the nanny arrived, I was pretty dissociated.
I spent the rest of the afternoon hiding in my closet. Yes. My closet. My actual, physical bedroom closet. Sometimes, abuse survivors do things that seem crazy. I feel like this might be one of those things. But when I admit this to Bea at my therapy session on Monday, she acts like this is completely normal.
“What does it feel like to hide in your closet?” She asks me.
My head is spinning, doesn’t she realize that I, a grown woman, just admitted that I hide in my closet like a little child? I don’t know what it feels like. I just like it there. “It feels like no one can get to me there,” I finally say. It’s not a feeling, but it’s the best I can do.
“So it feels like it’s safe?” She asks me.
Safe. Yes, that’s it. I think. It’s my safe place. I nod at her.
And that, my friends is what started my further descent down the rabbit hole.