December sucks

Content warning; gaslighting, verbal abuse, depression, and PTSD.

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As the December Holiday draws near, I'm caught in a difficult loop again. Every year it gets harder and harder to ignore the past just to make peace with my immediate family, and every year I remember more things that I hadn't thought about in certain ways before. There's just so much trauma in my life that even though I've been delving into it, and calling it for what it is, since 2015, I am still figuring out what to call certain things I'd brushed off or made excuses for before.

During the pandemic, it was the first time PTSD symptoms had ever come on full force. I hadn't had a lot of time to process the reality I'd never confronted. Even in 2015, while getting a start, I still had not realized many things. I had certain terms in my head, vague memories, and I started to recall some things, but I still belittled them; "It wasn't the worst case scenario, so it can't be that bad." "I've remembered many things and I feel fine, so that's it. I'm good now."

Just today, I recalled something I haven't thought of in years. I don't remember ever giving it much thought that was any deeper. It was too painful to, but it reinforced the idea that I'm a burden and I hurt people even when I don't mean to.

Some time ago when my oldest brother got into a fight with my parents after spiraling from his own trauma, I'd defended my parents because I had been gaslit into believing they were innocent. So I threw one of my dad's boots out the door after my brother because I was upset and freaking out. He was yelling at them, putting them down, and everyone was screaming at each other from all directions — crying, insulting, pleading for it to stop.

As my brother turned to me, he said, "You've caused nothing but pain and suffering for this family."

The words hurt when I recall them, but they had been so awful I blocked out what they really made me feel. I never let them sink in because they confirmed a fear I always had, that by being so sick as a child, having a panic disorder as long as I've been alive, and struggling with other mental illnesses that resulted in self-harm and suicide attempts, as well as more hospital visits — it all made me a huge burden.

It hurts especially after what happened last year. I hurt some without meaning to, and I've come to realize that I'd let my mental illnesses and my trauma hurt others while I preach on social media; 'Your trauma is not an excuse to cause others' pain.' But again, it reinforced the fear that I have, that I've just caused so much pain without meaning to.

When it comes to the holidays, I am isolating just like I have been doing over the past year. I don't want to be around others, and I try to only rely on myself unless it's an emergency when it comes to necessities. I tell friends all the time that they can let me know if I've stepped out of line, and to please call me out on it. I am careful with my words and I reread everything I type before and after I send it, and I double back with something positive or change the subject if I've been too negative. I apologize more, even when people tell me there is no need to apologize.

It's easier to isolate and be by myself, and to only communicate from afar rather than risk messing up. I don't want to be a burden to anyone anymore, and I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. My alters and spirit guides are here with me so I'm never truly alone, and I'm usually fine without seeing anyone face-to-face for long periods of time. I'm very aware of my past actions and I don't want to repeat them, so this is the best choice I can make.

In past journal entries in my trauma journal, which I've been keeping on a private blog, I've been told by my parents throughout life, during their bad days, that it's no wonder I have so few friends, no one wants to be around me, and that I am selfish and a burden. When my parents fought, dad would tell me sometimes that it was my fault, and that if they broke up, that would have been my fault too because mom would put me between them by asking me to rat him out if he was drinking.

So staying by myself and just working on creative projects, and keeping a journal to get it all out of me so it doesn't destroy me, is the best thing I can do. Even then, my journal has caused grief, as has this blog. All I can do moving forward is choose my words more carefully about how I feel, and find reasons to continue to live where I won't be a hard person to love.

©2022 Shane Blackheart