I have to stop the Blame

I've been reading a few books about resistance in therapy and PTSD. I've been reading the one about PTSD for about two years now. It has different therapies and different aspects of PTSD. Today, I was reading the chapter about grief. Putting it together, I realized a few things that I really want to work on in my written and visual journal.
1. I have not dealt with my dad leaving the house. I don't talk much about it but I went out the day that I was raped by Kirk because I was upset that my dad was moving his things out of the house. I had asked my friend to meet me at the bowling alley, thinking that he'd remember because it was important to me; but he forgot so I went for a walk and went there anyway. I had been very angry with my dad for many years since he had cheated on my mom, moved in with his girlfriend, and for a time, was allowed to go back and forth between the two places. My mom said she was trying to make things work and had considered getting back together with my dad but one of us, most likely me, had expressed such dislike for the situation, that she reconsidered and decided to go with the full divorce.
2. I need to stop blaming my dad and Kirk for my bad relationships. I used to blame them for everything. My dad never showed me what a good relationship could be like. Kirk made me mistrust men and therefore, I cheated. I also learned cheating from my dad. I'm old enough now, I can have good relationships. Yes, I've had some difficulty figuring out what I wanted out of relationships and how to have one. But it doesn't always have to be that way. I can find friends and mentors to teach me how to have friendships and to teach me how to have a good relationship. I feel that my current relationship has been going very well. We're 6 months in and that's a feat for me since it has taken me a while to have a relationship that lasts more that 2-3 months. I have had a lot less doubts in this relationship. I worry about things that aren't about the relationship, for example, accepting that he'll work hard but he'll always want to paint and he won't have a steady income if all he does is paint. He's a great painter and is gaining recognition, but it might be a while before those good paychecks come in.

I haven't dealt with my dad's leaving. I have dealt with the anger towards my dad. But it seems the whole day is overshadowed by the incident with Kirk. It has taken me quite a while to even think about it. I used to sort of blame my dad for leaving and sending me out of the house. I mean walking in the neighborhood is a good coping skill.  There was maybe once that I was walking around the neighborhood that I saw Kirk, hanging out in his van. I didn't trust him and I thought he might have had a naked girl in the back, hiding. It was a weird thought but he quickly drove away and I was glad for it.
I saw Kirk at one of my brother's parties. He was trying to make it seem like everything was fine. I just nodded my head and wished he would never talk to me. There was at time when he got a job at Dominos making pizza. It was located in a shopping center that I had to pass every time I came home. The other side of the street was the bowling alley (I'll have to write a diagram). I had to pass that if I came from the other way. There was no way around passing his car if he was working. My mom noticed that I looked over at the bowling alley parking lot every time we passed. If his car was there, I felt sick to my stomach. If his car wasn't there, I felt sick to my stomach. I thought that if his car wasn't there, then he must be having sex, taking advantage of another girl, or whatever it was. I don't think he ever told anyone that he slept with me. I think he slept with other people I knew. I know some of the girls who bragged about having sex had worked at the bowling alley in the restaurant part.
At one point, I knew the moms of two of my friends were working at that bowling alley. Ryan and I were in the same grade at the same school. He was cool. He told me that Kirk had asked him to go to a party. I really hated Kirk and the stories about Kirk. I didn't like who hung out with him, either. But they were the same as my brother's friends and my brother didn't like me to hang out with his friends.
Another time, my friend, Christy, and I went to the bowling alley. I didn't think that Kirk had continued to work there. He just showed up. I was showing Christy who he was and she was saying I was staring, which made me upset because she wanted to know what he looked like and I was pointing him out. It was enough for me to stand there while he was there. I can't tell you the sequence of all these events because I can't remember.
At some point, Kirk moved to be a cook in Oregon and I knew I didn't have to worry about seeing his fucking van, where he raped me, again. But when my brother knew when he was coming back for a visit, I would get paranoid about any Oregon license plate that I saw, thinking that he'd be in it. I later found out that he was getting married. I wondered how that happened. I hoped that his family didn't have to go through what my family.
I remember when I started to realize what a life he must have had, to look to women as objects and as nuturing him. I infered that his mother wasn't affectionate and probably didn't pay him much attention. He was overweight. I don't know how much he weighed but he seemed so large. Then, he had liposuction. He looked a lot less taller. I think when he was leaving, after the first time I saw him after his lipo, I got a half-assed hug from him. I now realize a few things while writing this-- that he really let other people know what he was up to-- he liked to have his network of people knowing his every move. He liked the attention. But he was so uncomfortable with himself. It still doesn't give him the right to do what he did, knowing full-well that it was wrong.
I remember his friend Flipper. Flipper was dumb. His real name was Dave. I would be surprised if Dave ever got off his ass and did something. I wouldn't be surprised if he's dead from a heroin overdose. Flipper told me that everyone in the neighborhood knew what happened so, Kirk or someone else said something. My brother told my mom that there was a rumor I had sex on top of a van. She told me, "Now, it may not be true that you had sex with someone, you might have just been making out." I did not come out of my room for two weeks. I didn't eat except for a few things every couple of days. One day, my mom even brought food to me. All I wanted to do was kill myself. I wanted to set myself on fire in front of the bowling alley. I wanted people to realize that I was very hurt by the actions of Kirk and this rumor. It seemed like everyone came together to get all up in my business and to call me a slut, when they didn't know shit.

After I spent the two weeks in my room, I asked my mom if I could go see my grandparents. I went to see them for a few days. I needed that one-to-one attention and a change of scenery. I don't remember much about it. I don't think they really knew what to do with me. But I had an OK time, having email for the first time and smiling that my friends did care about me. I had difficulty believing that for a while.

I left my journal on my bed back at home. My mom found it and read it. She told me, she knew that something had happened. She thought I had sex. But she didn't even realize to what extent it was. And I think she realized the seriousness of it when the police were interviewing me. Then, they couldn't do anything because no one knew that it was rape. Fuck that. I know the difference between regretting sex and rape. I didn't ask this man to put his hands on me and he did. He violated me. And they took his side. They made me feel even more helpless, like I reached out for help and it was slapped away. Luckily, that record is sealed and according to them, no one has access to it. I don't want some fucking perv getting off on that shit.

I think I've ran out of steam for today but I feel I definitely have some ideas for stories and artwork.

Thanks for reading. It feels important to my healing journey to have a voice and an audience.

Community and Break downs

I'm hoping to add some photos soon. I know I haven't added photos in quite some time so I'll try to get up on that. I have two finished visual journals and the beginning of another so, I have plenty of material.
So the man that I was sorta involved with but just wanted to be friends with-- well, he and I have been at least talking friendly. But at all times, he seems like he's just looking for a way to talk about himself. It can be taken as quite condescending although I know he doesn't mean it that way.

I am still going to the Unitarian church and finding a good community there. They have been nothing but supportive. I thought no one knew me or noticed me but the pastor has. She said I was in her prayers but she didn't know how to get a hold of me.

My friend from jr. high passed away in June. I've been upset ever since and it's been rough. She had this tough life of drinking early, having her social security number stolen twice, and lots of anger issues. She seemed like she was on the way to being happy-- she had a kid with a guy and they were going to get married this year in August. It sucked. I shared this at church and got the support I needed. It was a good feeling.

I started bringing some people to church. My boyfriend has talked about it but hasn't gone. My friend who was raised Catholic wants to go to see what it's all about. A friend from my job at the nursing home came last week and said it was like poetry how it all came together. It was nice.

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Here's what I wrote recently:
9/30/2011
I told my boyfriend about the issues that I had been going through. It was at a moment of weakness. I had lost my job and was crying and crying and crying. Suddenly, we got onto the topic of my sexual issues. I told him about the break down last March and the three rapes. I didn't tell him about the incidences of not-rape. Not-rape like when I had sex with my boyfriend at the time (about 5 years ago) after I had a few drinks. I didn't really want to have sex at that time but we did. I feel like there's just never ending issues for me.

For the short time I was working at a nursing home, I was stressed all the time. I had so much stress that I would forget so easily. My supervisor could tell me something and I'd forget in two seconds. I had asked her about something and about two months later, the issue had come up again. It was as if my mind had reset and I forgot. I felt that I was just there to be told what to do even when others weren't doing the same things. Then, things would get behind because of other departments and then, I'd get in trouble. They were blaming me a lot and I never said anything about it to my supervisor. I feel like even if I had tried to explain it to her, then, she still wouldn't believe me. My friend had helped me to have humor in the situation and a coworker had said that I shouldn't take any blame for anything.

I remember a time when I was a kid when my mind reset. I had a thought to call my cousin to wish him happy birthday. I double checked and saw that his birthday was actually the next day. I remember being young enough that my parents had to help me to make a long distance call. My mind had then reset and I called anyway. Later, I realized what I had learned earlier, that his birthday was the next day. My parents said that I was insistent so they let me call. I also vaguely remembering that they had told me that his birthday was another day but I was so determined to call him that I did anyway. It was such an odd thing.

After I was fired from the job, my friends and coworkers were upset. I felt that they were being protective and I was embarrassed. I was starting to believe that I wasn't doing the right thing. I wasn't going to the CNA's to ask them to hurry along. I wasn't saying, "hey, watch that patient real quick for me, please." I wasn't walking up to patients to make sure that they were engaged in the program nor was I trying to get them engaged in the programs sometimes. Sometimes I was really tired. Sometimes I hated the whole thing. Sometimes the activities I did were hurting me. I started making it known I hated certain activities. I tried to tell myself that my supervisor wanted me to do well so she was encouraging me along. I just didn't like that she had to talk to me almost every day. I'm glad that it was just a work performance issue, though. With my previous job at the hospital, it was that I wasn't wearing professional clothing and that I was getting too snippy with the patients. So, I worry about those things. I feel that this job at the nursing home was very easy and that I was too good/smart for it. I think that it's better for me that I'm not at either place anymore.

I realize that I like stories where I am the victim of something. I always find something. I try to down play it a lot of the time when talking about a certain situation. I feel that many people don't know the true complexity of me nor the situation so when they give me advice or a statement about the issue, I think, "You don't know the whole story." I explain more but people already have their opinions so, they just hear more about what they already believe. It's a little annoying. At first, I was so angry with my dad, I'd always tell stories. Then, I'd get mad when people would say, "I'm sorry." Why? Did you do something? Leave me the fuck alone to my emotions. So, I was just angry. Lately, it was my bad day in San Francisco last year. The summary: Bad hotel, bad sleep, cold and allergies, called my ex to tell him the cat was dying (she died that night) and found out he was getting married, carried my heavy bags down some stairs, lost my phone, went to the wrong hotel, went to San Francisco, got off at the wrong stop on BART, bum bothered me and a man asked for money for a bad photo I'd taken of him, had something to eat where the guy reminded me of the guy I was trying to get over, went to the art museum only to discovered it was going to close in 45 minutes, I considered going to China town, went to a small coffee shop called "Leaf" and discovered it was really a Starbucks, went back to the hotel (2 hours to get back). I told it over and over again and a coworker had said that I was taking it too personally. So, I started saying that before hand-- "Maybe I'm taking it too personally." I am looking at all that I wrote and I am amazed that that was one day. But I feel that I tell that story to gain sympathy.

I also realize now that I really like attention. I do a lot to get attention. I like when I'm the only one talking and people are just so into what I'm saying. I like when people listen. I had enjoyed talking to one of my coworkers because it felt like an even exchange. We talked and took in what the other was saying. It was nice.

10/1/11
I remember a time when I was having my break down in March. I was suicidal but I didn't really want to die. I wanted to hurt myself but I didn't want to cut myself. I decided to have too much fiber. It was as if I wanted to get rid of the bad things in my body. I knew it hurt my stomach. I was glad when someone listened to me that time. She said, "You're not eating right. Change that and start walking. You can make the time for it." It was just the right amount of advice, concern, and listening to me.
Sometimes I still feel very young. I feel like I am just a child. I know my mind is sharp but I feel like I fuck up all the time. I feel like it's only a matter of time before people realize I don't know what I'm doing. I've been feeling very lost.
I thought my supervisor at the nursing home was using some sort of motivational technique by making me feel badly. I got mad at her one day when I redid an overcrowded closet. She didn't want me to throw away anything. She wanted me to ask her about what to throw away or not. She had made it clear earlier that she was not rational. She thought she might throw away things later but she decided to keep them for the time being. I don't understand that type of thinking. The closet was even more overcrowded when my coworker decided to put everything from the office in there. Then, my supervisor had the galls to say, "So-n-So worked her butt off to clean up the office." Yeah, so she could pass it to me. I hated her but I couldn't do anything. I didn't say anything. I didn't feel like I had the right anymore. I was dis-empowered.
I noticed people pleasing behaviors like trying to make one of the patients happy especially when his wife came to visit him. They seemed to have such a spiteful relationship that I wanted to make sure that at least she was happy. On my last day, he cried in front of me saying that he was homesick. Another time he said that he knew he was acting like an asshole. Later on my last day, I heard someone call him a jerk. They didn't know that he had cried. I wrote a note about it before I didn't have a chance to write down another one.

I am feeling a bit lost without an income. I feel like I'm just looking for the next job that will take me, hoping that it'll work out this time. I hope it pays the bills, I can move out and my life can get even better. I just want people to be able to come over, hang out, and there won't be any problems. I ask my spirits and G-d to light my way so I can see my path. So far, nothing has come to me yet.
Tomorrow, my friend has invited me to his church and I've invited him to my church. So, we're going to do both services-- his at 10AM and mine at 11:15. I guess it's good that it could work out that way. Eventually, I want to go see a previous patient at her church so that I might become friends with her niece. They used to come to the nursing home to pass along the word of G-d according to the Baptists. I don't know the difference. They all are Christians to me. At least these people seem less judgmental than others. I find it interesting that after I asked a different Baptist group to pray for me and they prayed for me to find my way in what is my path, I was fired nearly a week after that.