Soxgirl's Personal Journey

[soxgirl]

I think I am going to try a journal for my own benefit to track when I pick, etc. Hopefully, logging this will let me see my own trends and triggers, so I can prevent a picking episode well before I make it to the bathroom.

I know picking is related to other events, anxieties and past traumas in my life. So my next post I am going to try to write a somewhat short history of my life and what led me to develop these negative responses to control anxiety.

I dont believe in zero tolerance until I can reconcile the reasons I pick and accept them. For me the underlying issues are the biggest hurdle before I stop picking. Thus, this is not a zero tolerance journal.

Once I reach a point where I do a lot of self exploration as to why I pick and my fears, and devise other ways to deal with those anxieties---only then will any attempt to completely stop picking be worthwhile or have a remote chance of success.

[soxgirl]

So here is part I.
Hmmm....early memories. One of my first memories was of my parents fighting. I remember being scared because my mother was sitting in a rocking chair crying. I remember wanting to protect her.

I also do remember having child excema and I would pick at the scabs while I played with my dolls. My mom had to make me wear long sleeves to hide it. I think that was only for a short period because once the excema cleared up I didnt have any more arm picking episodes.

I also picked off a few chicken pock scabs when I was five. I remember my mom had tried to put socks on my hands. SHe cried because she was afraid I would be badly scarred. But it wasnt the case.

There were happy times and bad times. My dad was a workaholic and we didnt see him that much when I was younger. But when I was a bit older in grade school I remember he coached all of my sports teams and he would take us out to play video games on the weekends.

My dad had a horrible temper. He could make me cry just by looking at me and he cussed a lot. I remember that I was always afraid to spill something because he would scream about it.

But he was loving in alot of ways-like when we hung out together or played sports-especially baseball.

My mother was young when she had me. SHe married my dad to get out of a home where her step father was abusing her and her sisters. She said she had me because she was lonely and wanted a friend. And that became our relationship. I was the friend to lean on and rely on. But I didnt have the support a mother is supposed to give.

I remember my moms moods have always been unpredictable. She slept a lot because she was depressed and wanted us ( me and my brother to leave her alone). She would also be happy one minute and then fly off the handle the next.
When she freaked out it was like a crazy person had been let out. She would start screaming, cursing, and crying at the same time. I could have just said I didnt want to do the dishes and she would freak out saying things like 'what I must be a horrible f*cking mother' etc etc. SHe would rant and rave, angry, screaming and crying all at the same time.

It always made me feel panicky. I would always remain really calm and just talk in a normal voice which seemed to make her freak out worse. To this day she does that.

Its bizarre and scary--honestly when she does this I feel like she has been possesed by something. The funny thing is to meet my mom everyone thinks she is the nicest sweetest lady. And she can be. She was a preschool teacher. SHe has a really nice side. But her other side-that no one saw but me my dad and my brother-that side is still out of control.

Everyone thought my mom and I were really close when I was younger. I was always at her side. I felt like it was my duty to support her. She would bitch about my dad and how horrible he was constantly. About how she wasnt attracted to him, she didnt want to go home and see him, and talk about her other boyfriends before him and how much better her life would be if she had been with one of them.

So I felt caught between loyalty to my mom and dad. The bizarre thing is that my dad was always trying to make my mom happy, while she never really liked him. ANd I was always supporting my mom. So I think my dad has always resented me for that--sometimes I feel like he sees similarities looks wise and some same personality traits in me as in my mom and resents me because of it. I always felt like I loved him and yet he resented me because of my mom.

My mom could be really nice in buying me clothes or taking me for ice cream if a kid was mean to me. She could be really supportive with superficial problems like boy problems, friend problems etc. But she couldnt go deeper than that.

I also have a younger brother whom I have always loved dearly. He has had a lot of problems from meth addiction, to alcohal abuse etc. He didnt get much support in the family at all. My dad didnt know how to have a relationship with him, and my mom would freak out at him like she did with me.

I know that I love my brother more than anyone in this world--even my parents. I understand his pain because I went through the same problems.

Next time I will go into the abuse I and my brother suffered at the hands of our much older step brother--not details of it --but just how it affected our family.

[soxgirl]

The worst thing that happened to my family was my step brother who is much older than me and my real brother, molesting us (both me and my real brother).
It was that point after I told my parents about it that our family really fell apart.
To back up, when my dad met my mom he already had a kid. The typical 'accident' child. My dad never saw this kid, because he lived a state away from my dad. When my stepbrother was older, 19 or so he wanted to move to our state to go to college, so he moved in with our family. At this point I was about 9 and my brother 7.
Everyone thought my step brother was really immature because he always liked to play games with me and my real brother. But of course the reason he liked to play with us was for perverted reasons.
Both me and my brother were scared of telling because my stepbrother was so much older and bigger than us and lived in the same house.
For the year the abuse went on life was hell for me and my little brother because since my mom worked we were home alone after school with my step brother. I remember hating to come home after school.
The abuse went on for at least a year. I dont know exactly how long because much of my childhood memories have been blocked out.
I remember that my brother and I got kind of chunky that year because we ate out of nervousness. I remember hating my stepbrother and praying that he would die. I know that sounds terrible but it was true.
I know that people say you have to forgive for your own good. But I never will be able to use the word forgive. I will hate my stepbrother until the day I die.
I wish someone would hurt him as much as he hurt me and my family. To think of that puts a smile on my face.