After an excited but lengthy discussion yesterday it was suggested to me that I start a blog about overcoming trauma and intrapersonal relationships. In the very least I should like to begin chronicalling my learning because it has been immensely positive for me. I should not like to lose this information because I thought callously that I could not create knowledge and forgot it.
This blog will be twofold. One, to help me lay out my thoughts and record them so that I can go back through my writings and publish something out of it. Two, should there be readers; I desire to share this information in hopes that my plight is not unique and that my methods of solving my issues might be replicable for benefits in others.
Who am I? I am a person with multiple complex traumas. I am an outsider and a friend. My name is Amie and this clued me into irony at a very young age because I was bullied very severely. I remember wanting a different name because I knew I had no friends.
What I knew I knew when I was five is perhaps a different thing than what I know I know now. But five year old Amie is a different beast than twenty eight year old Amie.
I am a person who truly believes that I died when I was eleven years old. This is the year my mother took me out of school because the changes in my personality due to the bullying I was and had been experiencing for years at that point were scaring her. Lets put a pin in my mother. Because it is through her that I have learned almost everything that is of deep value to me. I love her fiercely and for all the negative things that have wrought me I have experienced a wonderful relationship with my mother that has kept me going. She inspires me and you will hear a lot about her. Hopefully she won’t get mad at me for talking about her. Mother has always said I am too much an open book. I think I’ve reached a happy medium now.
I am a person who didn’t really rationalize the true meaning of “dad may have gone a little overboard in my childhood. And definitely in my younger brother’s.” as I said it when I was in my early twenties. I am a person who experienced such a terrible experience of school life that I really looked back on my family life more favourably than almost anyone else in my family.
I am a person who did not realize how badly the other members of my family had been treated by my father until the effects of that treatment came full circle and there was nothing that I could do. I had always intended to talk to my father about how I figured he had gone “a little overboard” but the time never seemed right to bring up the idea that my father had abused his family “a little” over the years and when I did… we’ll get to that. Suffice to say… he diagnosed himself with autism as an excuse for his behaviour and why he couldn’t (wouldn’t) be changing any time soon.
Fun fact: I work with autistic kids now. Its a really rad quotient of my life and they are some of my inspirations. These kids are so so SO cool and you’ll hear about them and their amazing mother too.
I worked extensively in my early twenties to overcome the issues I had that were caused by bullying. And really as I worked through the issues I had with others I found that most of the things that caused me true problems started at home. This was all the seeds for everything that blew up in my face last year. This time (time of writing, july 2015) I was living with my parents, fully had realized that there was no saving their relationship because my father could not be bothered to acknowledge anything truly or try at all. I was attempting to get onto welfare so that I had the funds to move out of their house. Because the only reason I had moved in with them was to save money to do massage schooling. This did not go how I planned.
I am a person who spent the better part of my life trying to figure out what had made my wonderful, magical mother so distrustful. My mother had worked very hard and very successfully to keep from passing what she considers ‘her issues’ onto her children. Without ever having had counselling after any one of the many things she should have received counselling and time to heal and therapy and understanding afterwards. I think I know them now and can focus on learning all the ways my mother is amazing (she keeps surprising me). But the one that she didn’t tell me was told to me by my father. Almost gleefully as he explained what the big hairy deal was all about. So that he could hopefully get me to say “Dear god?! That’s ALL?”. He was surprised when I burst into tears and I will never forgive him for not at that point understanding that he had dun fucked up bad. And been been fucking up real bad his whole marriage almost.
I am a person who basically got married when I was 19 to the first handsome gentleman that I figured would never yell at me. My ex-husband and I were together for six years. We weren’t technically married but we owned a property and filed a paper with the government when we split. So I just calls ’em like I sees ’em. Peter was a wonderful human and I truly needed that time to be safe and secure and figure out my shit. This is a process that hasn’t actually stopped but the six years I spent with him were amazingly stable years despite our recurring issues that we excessively communicated until we figured we worked it out each time. I needed that time. I tell people only half jokingly that I wasn’t a fully fledged human when I got to university. And I really am not even half joking: I was wandering around the world, working under a reality that wasn’t real but instead made by trauma. I moved through the world with no personal boundaries. I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I shudder to think where I would have gone if I didn’t have that wonderful safety blanket covering me. I believe that Peter saved my life. And I will always love him dearly for it.
I have amassed some knowledge in my time here. I am not done yet.