It's catching up to me now

I'm a 30 yr old gay male. Nineteen years ago I was taken away from my parents because I finally spoke up about the 8 years of nearly every day physical, sexual an emotional abuse with a religious slant and a hefty side of neglect. I was emaciated at the time, and my clothes were stuck to me from dried blood. I often spent weeks without food and was pulled out of school so my wounds and bruises could heal without notice. I mostly stood in the corner with my arms outstretched upwards, facing away from my mixed-race half-siblings, who were never touched by their father. I also was brainwashed into believing that the Devil was making me 'be bad', which meant talking during class, not doing my chores to the standards set for me, and defending myself from bullies in school who beat me up for being one of the few white kids in school and wearing hand-me-down clothing from my massive step-father. I was brought before the Kingdom Hall Elders and forced to say that I had sexually assaulted my youngest half-brother, when not only had I not known what they were talking about, but he had been constipated from the poor diet he was fed; mostly fried food and pizza as they did not cook often. I cleaned the whole house, and if anything was out of place, I got to choose between two tubs to sleep in, one that was in the dark basement and the other my step-father would shower in and then force me to sleep in the moisture. I had been molested by a stranger when running to buy a money order for one of our bills that month and lost the money. I returned hours later, very late at night/early in the morning and was stripped down and made to spend the night in the backyard while it snowed. They did not listen to me, and my mother even went on to tell me about how much of a 'fruitcake' I was and probably deserved it. Years later, when i came out of the closet, I reminded her that I had been molested that night, and she still did not believe me. I was often branded a liar, no matter if I was telling the truth or not. I did lie sometimes, honestly, because to me it was always worth it to try and not get beaten that night. My step-father walked around naked at all times, because he was 'the man' and when my mother had a crippling accident, I had to massage both of them, nearly from head-to-toe, sometimes I would be stuck rubbing my father's back and chest until 2am on a school night. If I began to pass out, he would whip me in my face with a telephone extension cord, who's wires had come free and would cut my skin. I have many scars in my head from gashes and wounds afflicted by him, and both of my large toenails are destroyed from being ripped out by my parents.

I was eventually taken away after my mother chased me out of the house with a skillet because she claimed I had stolen 500$ from her. She had been in a very bad accident that affected her brain, which they blamed on me. We did not have a lot of money, and my step-father was let go due to cutbacks. My mother claimed that he quit his job because he said he needed to raise me not to be a sissy. Honestly, I wasn't that gay and still, many people do not even know I am until I tell them even to this day. I am just a regular dude. She never even remembered how old I was. I ran away and called the police because after my arm being dislocated, my wounds having salt and alcohol poured in them, and being chased with knives and pans, I knew it wasn't long before it would get worse.
I didn't fit in any foster home. My first was an emergency place where the lady hated me because I was the only white kid. She made me sleep on the floor while everyone else had a bed. I eventually ended up, after a few more attempts, with a family who had a few children, some had been adopted. They were...okay. Not abusive or anything, but clearly not equipped to handle a post-trauma child such as myself. I remember, vividly, dropping a plate in the kitchen and being so afraid they were going to beat me that I screamed at the top of my lungs and passed out.
I was put into a series of group homes, which began with heavy supervision and constant therapy, some including family-therapy which never worked out, but did make the group homes believe my stories as my step-father would readily admit to everything that happened. I regret not pressing charges on them, but there are records out there. The social worker told me that if they went to jail, my brothers would be taken away and split up, and I may never seen them again. My next younger half-sibling has Turrets; not the screaming kind but the twitchy kind. I wasn't sure if he would be okay, my parents very rarely hit them for anything, and even then would be nothing compared to what I got.
I eventually was old enough to decide to discontinue seeing my parents at all. My goals with the social worker changed from reunification to 'long-term-placement'. I spend all of my teen years in group homes. Nothing really bad happened there. Mostly we were left to ourselves outside of group events and I spent most, if not all, of my time in my room. I did have a full year of pretty bad depression, in 9th grade specifically. I was late to school all the time, refused to do any school work or homework, started smoking, fighting a lot more (you can't avoid fighting in group homes), became promiscuous, etc. The sad thing is I have always been considered 'mentally gifted', and instead of considering my mental state, my supervisors would accuse me of seeking attention and refused any attempts at intervention, both by the school and my therapist at the time. I was whipped into shape by taking all my things away and leaving me in my room with nothing to do. My belts and shoelaces were taken away, and my door was removed. Other kids would run into my room and bother me all the time because if I left the room my punishment would be extended. I spent half a school year doing this.
I did eventually sign myself out after I turned 19 because it was clear that there was nothing left for me at the program. It was full of empty promises and funding was being cut for our programs, so we sat around doing nothing again. I moved in with my older half-sibling, but we did not grow up together, so we are distant. He tries very hard to understand what I went through, but never really helps. Since my immediate family that I was growing up with was very secretive and alienated us from the rest of the family, due to religious differences, when I was removed from the home, it came as a large shock to everyone else: my family, the Kingdom Hall, school, etc. I was not able to tell anyone what had happened after being removed because I was cut off and so far away geographically (like in the woods isolated). My parents told the family that I was deeply mentally disturbed and had been on medication for a while now. Not only had I not been on medication, but after my mandatory vaccines were finished, I never saw any doctors for the rest of my childhood, with the exception of one emergency that I did to myself being goofy. Any family outside of my immediate family either does not know, doesn't fully believe me, or is religious and agrees with my step-father. I am the black sheep, but not by my own doing.

I write all this because, up until now, I've worn my experiences as a badge of honor and survival. In my younger adult years I would proudly tell anyone who asked. How, despite everything that happened, my therapists and counselors had always been astounded by the level of resilience I exhibited; even going so far as to grant me a scholarship for it. How I always turn out okay in the end because I didn't let things bother me. How I never once had to take any medication outside of some allergies.
What I wouldn't tell them is how it is hard for me to get out of bed in the morning because I have insomnia. I have always had issues sleeping, but sometimes when I go to sleep I dream on a loop, repeating events that happened, sometimes feeling the physical sensation even though I am sleeping.
What I wouldn't tell them is that going outside in the world is such a source of anxiety for me that I sweat, constantly, and have to focus on not breathing too loud so people won't look at me. I have no life skills that are conducive to being an adult. I don't have identification because I don't go out to places that typically need it. I don't buy groceries because there's too many people in the grocery stores and I always rush out of there with nothing really of value. Riding public transportation to work is akin to standing on the top of a giant building and looking down for me.
I have lost my last three jobs because though I am very hardworking and, at the time loved what I did, I eventually start to hate the people I work with. I suspect that I resent them to some degree, but really it becomes this paranoid feeling that everyone hates me and I am completely unwelcome. If I find out someone is spreading rumors about me or said something bad about me, like my last job I heard it in person, I can never forgive them. My trust is very fragile and my tolerance level seems to be getting smaller and smaller every year.
I recently told two of my best friends the truth, which was harder for me than coming out of the closet, that the person they see is really just a defense mechanism, and when I go home, I quickly make myself comfortable in one room, and rarely leave.
It hurt to tell them because up until then I had always been the strong one, and I feel guilty for lying, but also now I am worried they will see me as weak and treat me differently. I lose a lot of friends because of my lack of social involvement. I also hop from apartment to apartment because it seems like eventually whoever I am rooming with just gets tired of me and I start to avoid them all together. Unfortunately, I live in a very busy expensive city with tons of people and no way out yet.
I'm scared. Physically I can put up with a lot; I have a very high pain tolerance. This is different. I can't lie and say that ending it all hasn't crossed my mind, but I don't feel like I would ever act on those thoughts. My sleep schedule is worse now, I've been unemployed for a month and I really am not looking for jobs as well as I should. I cut back on eating to save money, but I started drinking, which isn't me. I even feel like I am doing something illegal when I buy alcohol for myself. I started this post drunk off my behind with tears in my eyes after listening to a song that was actually about being happy.
Honestly, I am afraid of going to see a therapist again. I don't really have the money to go, nor insurance at the moment. I know that if I go to the nearby emergency hospital and say that I am going to jump off a bridge or something they have to intake me, but at the moment I am afraid of never leaving and being medicated.
So much of my identity is wrapped up in being the strong survivor who never cries, but also of being somewhat intelligent. I know logically it is the right thing to do. It feels like If I end up being committed somewhere, that will turn the final few friends and family that care about me away, and give credence to my step-father's false claims.
I need advise or past experiences, please.

That is one of the worst cases I have ever read, yes and I have read everything. When you read cases like that it usually because the child is dead. I cannot imagine how you have survived so well. I at least always had some school friends and some grandparents who gave me a feeling of normality.

I collect child abuse cases, as I find anecdotal evidence much better than clinical research. I have copy and pasted yours. The average person, therapists included will never understand how someone can survive that and not be clearly visibly deranged.

I have a saying here. If it gets bad enough it becomes "eat and sleep". Yours is the absolute proof of that.

In my opinion I will say you are above average intellect. You know what you need to do. We need to understand our triggers. Crowds, groups, etc. As a young man I would visit a well know Sydney bar on a Saturday night and take a table and read for around four hours. I read and watched. Eventually I learned enough social skills to try dating and met my current wife (another survivor).

You have been very successful in wearing a mask, but you need to work on that more. Especially when not involved with employment, as the issues we have and the work imperative builds its own pressure. It is okay to stand back and be cynical and mistrusting but you need to watch more and feel less. Become a cold observer.

You deserve to be proud that you have not been simply written off by society. You also deserve to be happy. Takes work but you can find a niche.

Thank you for the reply.

That saying of yours is rather enlightening and currently very apt. I can find parallels even in my adult life that mimic "eat and sleep" now that you mention it. Having it said that way really put some things into perspective.

That is also a very good idea about being an observer. I will certainly have to try that. I will try something local that does not require public transportation. When I go out, I do usually have my best friend (also a survivor) as a buffer, and it helps, but it is rarer than we both would like.

Watch more, feel less will be easier, I hope, now that I have decided to stop the high-stress, low-paying and emotional career I was in for a decade. I'm looking for a clock in clock out type job now. The only times I lost my job were in this field anyway -- so obvious now that I think about it.

Your reply really helped me rearrange some things in the ol' noggin. I still feel as if maybe I should see and speak with someone, but now I don't feel as uneasy about it. Thank you!

Thanks for your kind words. Honestly your step father was a monster.. I have other ideas I will put them out tomorrow. It is late now, and it will take some time.

Take care.

I recommend becoming an expert on Child abuse PTSD. If you can't find something I will give you a link. Understand your own triggers, the things that set you off into hyper vigilance and hyper arousal. Try and control them.

My wife can't sleep at night without doors double locked. I can't sleep with light in the room. I can nap during the day but at night it must be pitch black and door shut.

Many therapists want to normalize us. I think for us, the trick is to modify our life so we can survive, and find some enjoyment somewhere. Wearing our masks work, role playing works.

The nightmares are a different story. How bad are yours ??

http://www.blueknot.org.au/Resources/Ge ... conditions

this web site is - Australian "the Blue Knot Foundation "

have a look around, they have some fantastic resources.

despite therapists and counselors I often think we have to pull ourselves out of this

They aren't every night. Sometimes, I get them as often as five times a month, tops. It usually involves this overwhelming feeling that I can't escape. One of those I'm trapped in a dream within a dream feelings. I rarely dream now, which is disappointing because I am frequently lucid when they are pleasant. When my step-father or mother are in the dream, I am completely trapped and at their mercy. My step-father is "standard" physically abusive and my mother is emotional / sexual. Nothing rapey, penetrative or incestual, but feminization, genital abuse and bathroom control. I can hold my urine all day, if necessary, if I cannot go in the comfort of my own living arrangement.

Have you ever fell asleep, after not sleeping for so long, that you woke up consciously but your body was trapped in the bed? That type of fear: helpless and vulnerable.

I feel the sensations on my body, not all of them, but it is the same feeling I get when I see needles in people's arms on tv. My arms get sharp pains when I see needles in arms of fictional characters. The heroin awareness assembly at my high school was pure torture, and even now I feel it a little just typing. I don't do that much when I'm sleeping, so it's not like I'm falling off the bed and I lock myself in my room at night. I am able to vocalize to some extent, though rarely, and I've slept right over places and cried out for help. Sucks when their asleep too though and unable to assist.

I just have to let it happen. I know, now, that it's not real and that my body is not in danger. I even try to find things within the dream to make my brain realize it's not real that I've read online: checking books, watching clocks, checking behind me more than once, etc. The most horrendous things that happpened to me where in one specific house and one specific room. That's where I end up everytime and the exit is padlocked or blocked by one of my parents.

I know that dreams are actually really short in real-time, but it feels like days go by.

Nightmares decrease with age and I think with emotional removal. I have no emotion for my abusers except anger, which is well controlled. The dreams morphed over time to me torturing her. That one scared me pretty bad .. and then they stopped.

Do you do any physical activity. It keeps hormones healthy (eg Cortisol)

have you had a chance to look over that web site ?

Do you think you have high level CA PTSD - eg Hyper arousal, Hyper vigilance, low self esteem, etc ??

I do some stretching and light workout in the morning, but nothing comparable to valid exercise. The idea of joining a gym is a bit much for me right now, though I've WANTED to for a while now. I do planks and pushups, squats and situps etc., but mostly I stretch a lot. I'm kinda flexible.

I am pretty sure I did look at the link right away, but for the life of me, I do not remember anything, so I'll go do that again now.

I wasn't very familiar with CA PTSD until coming here, but that forum post 'You know you have PTSD when...' was close to a checklist. I very likely do.

I recently made an appointment for a therapist, two weeks from now. We'll see what happens. I'm not too hopeful, but at least they can point me in the right direction.This has been more helpful than previous therapists in all honesty.

"So much of my identity is wrapped up in being the strong survivor who never cries,"

Was it because you didn't want to give your abusers the satisfaction of seeing you cry?

Ah, but no one cried for you.

Heartbreaking.

Your insomnia, anxiety, trust issues, and suicide ideation all relate to childhood PTSD. The sane ones are the ones who recognise that they need help in some form, and it actually takes a lot of courage to simply ask for help.

Would it help to mentally picture your abusive caretakers as the real 'fruitcakes' who hide behind their religion while dishing out a blame game called "the Devil made you do it" and thrashing you for it? Now that's twisted insanity.