C-PTSD--I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THIS WAS A THING

I just found a blog for those who are going through C-PTSD (Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I never heard of it before, but if you're like me, and have suffered the flashbacks and debilitating symptoms of living with an abusive or NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) person, this blog article is for you.

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/10/living-with-c-ptsd-following-an-abusive-relationship/


Let me know what you think. What's YOUR story?
 

GOOD ADVICE

Not Enough

In my thirty-three years of marriage, I was often barraged by my husband with abusive harangues of not being thin enough. I had let myself go since the children were born. I would not cater to his needs enough. The house wasn't clean enough. I wasn't organized enough, tidy enough, perfect enough. There were so many "not enoughs" that my self-esteem shattered and my self-worth was non-existent. He had me convinced I was such a loser I wasn't worthy enough to even live.

There were a few times I planned my death. I became obsessed with thoughts of driving my car into a telephone pole, or a wall, or off a cliff. At length, I became convinced that if I was such a horrible person, I didn't deserve to raise my children. I was not a good enough mother. My husband, who was perfect, would be up to the task because I didn't do a good enough job--of anything.

My friends saved me, as usual, by lifting me up and buoying up my psyche so that I was able to "consider" I might be "okay" enough to live. One of my friends, when she noticed how depressed I was, told me that if I ever had any thoughts of killing myself, to call her--no matter what time of the day or night. "Even if it's three o'clock in the morning--you call me!" she commanded. At that, I actually wondered, "If she loves me that much, maybe I am good enough."

I consulted a therapist for depression.  Of course, when she asked what was my problem, I just said, "I don't know." And in my mentally-defective mind, I just denied everything--even to myself. She suggested Prozac. I couldn't have lived through the last fifteen years of my marriage without it.

This photo was taken in August 1996 when I wasn't "thin enough."

Whenever I see the photograph above, I am reminded of my life at that time--tumultuous. About ten years earlier is when I had sunk into such a deep depression, I had the suicidal thoughts mentioned above. It was a struggle every day to live with my non-compassionate, unsympathetic, and narcissistic, abusive husband. I put on a good show in front of others--just as he did--pretending we had a perfect family. 

Two years after this photo, I had those same suicidal thoughts, but I had dealt with that dark side and vowed to myself and God that I would NOT kill myself. I sought therapy instead. Many times.

Two months after the above photo was taken, my world began to collapse, slowly, like the crack in a delicate egg. I had thought that, despite his abuse, my husband loved me. (All co-dependents think that way.) He was a good provider, and he was good with the kids, who loved him. I was "enduring" our marriage, yet still had that hope our relationship would work itself out somehow. I didn't realize then that, showing respect for their mother was what makes a good father. Being "good" with the kids only meant he sometimes had fun with them, but he was abusive toward them as well.

It was a Friday night in October. My husband was planning a business trip for Monday. It had been ages since we had been intimate. Since he had been unusually nice to me that day (yes, I hoped in days only), I made advances to him when he got in bed.

He pushed me away. I asked, "What's wrong?" but didn't want to know because it was probably something I did. He had never turned me away up until that time.

I tried again.  He pushed me away again. He leaned up on his arm, looked at me with disgust, and said, "I've lost my desire for you."  He rolled over on his side away from me as I lay next to him, questioning, his venomous words echoing in my brain.

"What? What do you mean? What does that mean?" I asked over and over, but got no response.

I angrily kept asking him. I pushed him and pulled on his shoulder and ranted, "What do you mean by that?" not able to process it in my brain, not caring if he would turn on me with verbal abuse--or even physical abuse.

With no reply whatever, I grew even angrier and began to punch him in the back, all the while questioning, "What do you mean, you've lost your desire for me? Tell me! Tell me!"

At that point, adding insult to injury, he feigned snoring.

I fell back on my pillow, my sobbing shook the bed. I couldn't control my anguish and humiliation. I tried to stifle my sobs, not wanting to wake the children, but I couldn't help it. My pillow was wet from my tears, and my sides ached from crying so hard and so loud.

No movement from him. None.

After that incident, I pulled away from any love I had for him. I had to break my bond with him. It was the only way I could save myself. I never let myself love him again. It was a long process, but an easy one, because he was very accommodating by being abusive to me. I stuck out the marriage for the sake of my children.

At that time, I was forty-two years old. I had four children, the youngest was five. I thought of my friends who had similar circumstances and wondered if their husbands had no desire for them. He always told me I was too fat--and I believed him, but losing weight didn't seem to bring any reward. I was always not enough in some way or another. If I lost weight, I wasn't toned enough. If I did aerobics or walked on the treadmill, it wasn't doing the job and I should have more self-control. Even the lady at Weight Watchers advised me not to lose any more weight when I was 125 pounds. They wouldn't be responsible for it.  My idiotic ex actually said, "Who do they think they are? Weight experts?"

My mother visited. It was Sunday after church. We were walking about in the yard admiring the flowers and she pulled out her camera and said, "Let me take a picture of you."

I said, "Oh, Mom, don't. I'm too fat. I don't want my picture taken."

My mother actually stomped her foot on the grass. "You are not too fat! You are beautiful! And I want to take a picture of my beautiful daughter!"

Because I wasn't cooperating--I just stood there--my mother further yelled, "Smile!" The look on my face shows a tentative smile, like, "Okay. I'll humor her. Who's going to see it anyway?" (Before the days of Facebook.)

 

Years later, after the Triple A divorce. I looked at that photograph again. I know I'm not beautiful, but I gasped as I saw I wasn't fat either! My therapist at the time tried to tell me I was a good weight for my age after having four children in my thirties. I figured she was humoring me too. But now I can see, at forty-two, I was pretty good for my age!

A big thank you to my mother for insisting on this picture. It has saved my self-esteem immeasurably. I still have that dress, by the way. It's a size "Small."

 

Now, twenty years later, I am angry again for letting him make me feel "not enough." If only I could have seen that I was enough--and way too good for him!!

After the divorce, I researched the effects of a pornography addiction and realized that was why I wasn't "enough" for him, and why he lost his desire for me. It wasn't my fault, though he never stopped blaming me--even after I found his porn. Who can compete with the teenagers in those porn DVDs and videos? I don't even want to. It disgusts me to this day.

I hate pornography.

Three Types of Forgiveness

 

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xsVM_gd0Tc

I have been wanting to post this Prager University YouTube since I first watched it. It gave me a lot to think about and ponder. I hope it will help you as it has helped me understand the process of what I need to do.

The three types of Forgiveness:

1. Exoneration: restoring a relationship to the full state of innocence before the harmful actions took place, such as an accident with no fault; when the offender is a child; and when the person who hurt you is truly sorry, takes responsibility, and sincerely asks for forgiveness.
   
2. Forbearance: when the offender makes a partial apology, mingles expression of sorrow with blame that you somehow caused them to behave badly, and may not be authentic. Retain a sense of watchfulness; trust, but verify. Keep the relationship if you wish.
   
3. Release: does not exonerate, nor require forbearance, or continuing the relationship. Instead of continuing to define the hurt, release the bad feelings and preoccupation with the negative things that happened to you. Release allows you to let go of the burden, pain, and anger. Don't let those that hurt you live rent free in your mind, reliving forever the persecution that happened.

I can see how I've lived through the first two types of forgiveness over and over . . . and over. I exonerated without his repentance. I've displayed forbearance without his repentance. As I said before, I forgave him seventy times seven million times.

I might even say I've tried release. But somehow always falter back and give rent-free preoccupation to my past hurts.

Release sounds so liberating. Why am I having such a problem with it? 

I use this blog as catharsis, but somehow, I still do keep re-living all the hurt, pain, anger, bad feelings, and still have preoccupation with those negative things. When will the PTSD end? When I die? IDK.

Perhaps this preoccupation is, as my therapist friend said, judging him. Perhaps I need to try--every day--not to judge. I know what he did. He knows what he did. God knows what he did. That should be enough, Susan. Give it to God because I can't handle it. And God doesn't give us what we can't handle, right? He helps us handle it. Please, God, help me.

Narcissistic Personality Disorder

I haven't commented too much on narcissism on my blog, though I was a victim of that in my marriage, in addition to verbal and emotional abuse, adultery, and pornography addiction. I found a place on Facebook that has a lot of memes that say what needs to be said.

I have to say, my ex-husband blamed me for abuse, though most of the time I was just defending myself. He was devoid of compassion, sensitivity, or empathy--and remorse. He never apologized for what he did to me. He tried to make it seem as if he deserved to do what he did--abandon me, commit adultery, get addicted to porn . . . He has not ever apologized. He just told everyone we "grew apart." Hey, no apology needed then, right? I think he actually believed it himself.

Here are some other very good memes regarding Narcissism/Narcissistic Personality Disorder:

The last therapist we both saw as a "marriage counselor" told me that narcissism is not a mental illness

like, say, OCD or bi-polar disorder (which my ex had as well). One CAN change from being a narcissist. Most don't want to and have no interest in being kind--unless in front of other people.

The therapist told me there is a big difference between narcissism and Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Everybody is a little bit narcissistic. It's a life preserver in some instances. But the personality disorder is different and simple to explain--they don't want to be nice or kind.

The therapist also told me he treated many, many people with NPD and my husband was definitely in the top 5 of all the people he treated. TOP FIVE!? Lucky me. . .

This next meme below expresses the NPD factor very well:

This meme above reminds me of a trip I took with my ex-husband and youngest son who was about 18 at the time. We were in a car driving from Utah to Idaho. I am hard of hearing and my ex-husband mumbled--probably on purpose. I asked him what he said. He smirked and laughed and told my son he was setting a new rule in the car: Nobody will repeat themselves.
My son laughed along. I was deeply hurt.
So as we were driving, I said something and my husband said, "What?"
I looked at him and frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry. I can't repeat myself." And I looked away.
I KNOW my husband was frustrated because he always wants to know what people are saying and it probably KILLED him not to know what I had just said.
So . . . consequence? Road rage. As usual.
I said, "You set the rules. Not me."
Instead of admitting it was a bad idea, he didn't say anything about changing the rules. Just road raged all the way to our destination. (I found out most people with road rage are narcissists.)

Once we got to the hotel, I stood up to him while my son was not in the room. I said, "I work at a nursing home where I repeat myself ALL DAY LONG to people who are hard of hearing. Why? Because it's the KIND THING TO DO. And I want to be a kind person."

He just looked at me, but didn't say anything--or apologize, you know, because that would have been the right thing to do.

I went on and said, "I don't want my son to think he can put people down by bullying them if they have a handicap in any way. And especially toward his mother. You're supposed to be setting an example of how to be respectful to his mother. You totally disrespected me."

He never said anything else about it. But he did repeat himself if I didn't hear him say anything--but in front of other people. Victory? I guess it was a silent apology. I very rarely stood up to him. I guess he knew I meant it.

What are some things you might have had to go through with NPD? I only mentioned a few from my list.