There are two sides of me. The one everyone in public gets to see and the one I have to deal with every day.
I struggle every day since August 2015 and most would never know it because I hide it by putting on a mask; a fake smile.
In reality, I struggle with:
TBI to four areas of my brain caused from multiple concussions from Joe’s attacks and then the brutal attack in August 2015.
PTSD from the abuse
Panic disorder related to the PTSD
Agoraphobia related to the PTSD
Hyperacusis related to TBI
Persistent Depressive Disorder related to PTSD
Cerebral Visual Impairments related to TBI
Hearing loss in both ears from the August attack
Epilepsy the TBI
Degernartive nerve disease in my lower spine the relative abuse and mainly the August 2015 attack
Degenerative disc disease in my back and neck from the abuse; mainly the August 2015 attack
Chronic migraines from TBI
Memory retention issues from TBI
Sensory flooding which is TBI related
Body dysmorphic disorder which is PTSD related
trichotillomania which is PTSD related
The list is so long I would be here for days. There is much more.
I had to have my complete thyroid removed in 08 because of cancer. I have to take medication to replace the hormone or my body down.
I had to have a complete hysterectomy in 02 because of cancer.
I had a stroke in June 2015 because of a blow to the head during an act of domestic violence from Joe.
I’m currently in remission for multiple myeloma. I was supposed to go back for another appointment/check up but my insurance company denied the claim so now I owe Moffitt Cancer hospital a lot of money and can’t make an appointment until I settle up.
I can’t go to weddings, parks, concerts, sporting events, theme parks, friends houses, parties, any place where there is a crowd, any place where it’s a celebration, fireworks, places where it’s noisy, places where it’s bright, places where it requires to go fast, places where I have to sit with my back against the crowd or the door, any place where there is a lot of lights, any place where there is a lot of movement, any place where there is a lot of non secure places or places where people could hide. I can’t stand for more than 5 minutes unless I’m moving, as in walking. I can’t sit for more than 5 minutes without adjusting. I live in constant pain. I’ve had a few surgeries since I was brutally attacked in 2015 because of The violence.
And yet when I struggle, in stead of some help what do I get anymore? I get fucking yelled at and I get bitched at and told to “get over it” or ignored.
I hate being a burden on others. I am told they don’t want to hear it. So I isolate myself further.
I don’t even want to go on anymore. I’m tired of being sick. I’m tired of struggling. I’m tired of the pain. I’m tired of going to bed crying. I’m tired of having nightmares EVERY FUCKING NIGHT of my husband shooting my fucking head or slicing my throat and raping me while bashing my face in. I’m tired of waking up every morning feeling like I have to puke. Im tired of most days being so physically and mentally exhausted getting out of bed itself is a feat. I’m tired of waking up knowing that today is just another day of lip service by people and any more I don’t believe anyone.
And don’t tell me to “pray on it” or go get counseling. Your God wasn’t there while my husband was trying to kill me and you can see where professional help has gotten me, along with medication. Your God wasn’t there while my husband was sodomizing me with a baseball bat and pouring mineral spirits down my throat. Your God was too busy providing him with free will to kill me.
Every day I have to wake dealing being trapped in my own head. I have given up on my work completely. I’ve passed my research project off on another person. I don’t care anymore.
I am signing over my other projects to my colleagues. I don’t even care anymore. It’s stupid anyways. I wake up every day trapped in my own head. I can’t deal with things anymore.
I’m constantly told I look like a heroin or meth addict because I’m so skinny and pale. I always have a spaced out, depressed look on my face. It’s because I have nothing to be happy about. My husband took my life and my way of life from me when he tried to kill me. Money can’t replace being normal again.
However, I don’t do drugs. I have brain damage already. I don’t need to be stupid also. I’m not Joe. He is fucking retarded (literaly and figuratively speaking).
But to call me those names is harsh and hurtful. It drives me further into depression and deeper in my hole. You never know what the other person is struggle with when you call them names.
There are two sides to me. I just can’t be strong any more.
I’m sure people will read this (especially my in laws, his friends, him, his ex wife, his supporters and others) and will twist it and say I’m crazy. I don’t care any more.
You win. I just don’t care. You win. He should have killed me that night and just gotten it over with. I’m sure he would have figured out a way to get out of it.
I struggle every day to keep it together and have to put on a mask so no one knows im struggling while he walks around with no remorse.
Thats the two sides of me.