Living With Trauma
You probably heard of psychological traumas, abuse, toxic relationships, and Stockholm syndrome.
It’s hard to imagine a world without darkness and pain, or a person without any past trauma. Many of us have stories to tell, and if those stories still haunt and hurt you, it’s important to speak up, even if it feels like no one is listening.
Your trauma is not insignificant compared to others, and it’s worth sharing and being heard.
Traumas leave a lasting impact, thus, it is worth sharing and you are worth being heard. Well, that’s what I chose to do.
I thought I had moved past my trauma when I reconnected with my abuser and we had a relatively healthy and supportive relationship.
Unfortunately, it didn’t last long, and my traumatic memories gained their power back.
I couldn’t make sense of what was happening to me. I couldn’t accept it as normal, so I denied it in every way possible.
Without realizing it, I became addicted to the pain I was experiencing regularly.
It’s so hard to explain, be understood, and be heard even by people who were with me in this hell of a circus.
I wondered whether trauma could affect one’s capacity for empathy, leaving them cold and indifferent towards those around them.
In my case, this held some truth.
I will be honest, I am selfish and I probably always have been since I was a toddler. Jealousy and passive-aggressiveness were prevalent traits within me.
I needed attention quite a lot. I adored the feeling of being important and unique, equating it with being loved.
But the worst of all, my most detrimental quality was my unwavering stubbornness, which often led me down a path of self-destruction. Even if it meant jeopardizing my well-being, I clung tenaciously to my stubbornness. This was likely the primary reason for my frequent troubles.
I was furious and upset when my mother compared me unfavorably to Barbie, emphasizing her beauty and implying my jealousy towards a lifeless, cartoonish doll.
I was often jealous of any girl my mother seemed to adore: those who were pretty, smart, talented (so unlike me). I was constantly doubting myself, so I guess that’s where my journey of self-loathing and low self-esteem began.
I was never skinny and I will never be. I can be overweight, but I can never be skinny. Sad, but true.
I enrolled in various choreography and gymnastics classes, hoping they would alleviate my self-esteem issues. It did make me feel a little better about myself, but I still wasn’t good enough. I still despised myself.
My classmates would make fun of my first pimple. I was grossed out by myself.
I struggled to articulate myself and did things people did not like. I detested myself.
I couldn’t stand up for myself. I would scorn myself. I was pathetic.
I got assaulted and touched. Beaten up. I abhorred myself.
I was ugly. Stupid. Weak. Utterly repulsive. Disgusting in all ways. I contemplated this and decided that maybe I was made for this. Maybe I was a horrible person in my past life and that’s what I deserved.
I was just a punching bag.
And I believed that everybody else felt the way I did about myself, if not worse. Or maybe, they were simply indifferent.
On top of all that, I had a younger sibling, who happened to be, well… perfect? He was the most handsome, the smartest, the wittiest, the strongest. He had a perfect body shape. Rare and beautiful eye and hair color. He was cheerful and attractive.
Everyone loved him.
It felt like I was in a shadow of my younger brother. He was lucky, I was not. I could tell, my mom had more fun with him than with me and that’s why she preferred him over me. At least, that’s what it looked like.
I can’t blame anyone, that’s just how life happens. It’s full of accidents. Good and bad. It so happened, that I was on the bad side.
Would you believe me if I said that I felt like the ugliest in my family and friends? Maybe, you think I’m exaggerating. But that’s what I believed to be true in the past decade.
I wished I could wear a paper bag over my head so nobody had to see how disturbing I looked.
I thought people talked to me just because they felt sorry for me or wanted to make fun of me. I could not comprehend how could anyone just look at me without wanting to vomit.
And some would ask me why I didn’t have a boyfriend. That was an utter mockery to me.
My little brother — he was an angel in the eyes of everyone, every a girl or a guy friend. Gosh, even my therapist commented about how handsome he is after I told her all the traumatizing things he did to me.
But what did he do to me except for being born and making me jealous? That’s the reason I behaved the way, to be deserving of things he was doing to me for around 13 years. I was so jealous since he was born, I could not hold myself and so I frightened him or hurt him whenever he annoyed me and my parents were away.
After a year, he started taking his revenge. I wanted him to fear me, but it happened quite the opposite. I feared him even though he was born four years after me.
I was a 5-year-old stupid child with no moral sense, of course, I’d be jealous and do things to him.
But did that mean that the revenge for what I did for a year when I was four, cost me a 13-year suffering? I guess that’s how jail works. You do one stupid thing because you can’t control yourself, and boom! You’re in jail for 13 years.
I didn’t know when it was going to end, I always hoped it was going to end sooner. I got tired when it was 7–8 years already. I thought I couldn’t stand this anymore. Yet, I was tolerating this well enough to stay alive and endured 5–6 years more of suffering.
Yes, it was suffering. Life is. But that one was specifically damaging.
I managed to move to Turkey and I doubted ‘till the very day of my flight that I would get there after so many years.
It felt like a dream, a dream coming true. The feeling I had is hard to explain. I couldn’t believe it, I was happy I made it but I still was waiting for me to wake up in the same bed and it all turned out to be just a dream.
Well, it was kinda real, but it was too early to get excited.
Honestly, I hoped I would go to one of the best Istanbul beaches or any. It was a little bit disappointing that in 2 months of staying there, I didn’t get the chance. Because my siblings and I were mainly at my dad’s workplace.
I remember as I child I loved being at dad’s office, trying to do some “work”, acting like I was doing some serious business.
But at that time, that was the least I wanted to do.
I was dreaming of the relaxing sound of waves, of the warm feeling on my body.
My dreams just crashed, because instead of all that I got more stress.
Not only the stress at work (because I had to talk to people, I believed they hated me and I had social anxiety).
Instead of making good memories with my dad, we created more traumatic moments that added to my memory.
I met a person, who truly helped to get out of the rut I was in. He helped me to survive and to learn. For the first time in so long, I felt loved.
My father didn’t like knowing it, and that’s how his anger started to build up.
It hurt me so much. Our mom tried our best to look after us. She wasn’t perfect, but at least she was there. But where was he? He was living his own life, making a new family. It almost felt like we were his mistake, a failure, so he tried again.
He yelled at me for my mistakes.
But that’s what I knew.
I was offered something that could help me and I had no choice but to accept it.
That’s all I could do.
And he’s blaming me for it. He’s blaming my mom. Deep down he knows it’s his fault and he can’t accept it, he can’t forgive himself. He’s so mad with everything that has happened and he can’t stop yelling and hating on me for the littlest things.
I simply couldn’t carry this anymore. I knew I was going to break down.
You know it’s hard.
I’ve had panic attacks, severe anxiety, depression, and nightmares, I was getting beaten up almost every day, I barely had any friends I could talk to, I had a few sexual harassments going on and I couldn’t tell anyone. I was running away from everything.
Nobody will ever know how much it can hurt, everyone imagines and sees it differently. I don’t think anyone in my family could relate. They were strong enough to fight for themselves.
I wasn’t.
I was merely trying to disappear from the world.
So, here I am, looking back on the rollercoaster ride that’s been my life. Through all the ups and downs, I’ve learned a thing or two about resilience.
Sure, there were some pretty dark times. But you know what? I’ve also had my fair share of shining moments — those little victories that remind me I’m stronger than I ever imagined.
I’m holding onto a philosophical idea, my new daily routine, and challenges. Life’s too short to dwell on the past if you’re not doing it intentionally to heal.
To anyone out there who’s fighting their own battles, know you’re not alone.
Your struggles matter, your voice matters, and there’s strength in opening up.
So, here’s to leaving the shadows behind and stepping into the light. ’Cause even though the journey ahead might be bumpy, I’m ready to face it head-on.
I may have scars, but they’re just reminders of how far I’ve come. And hey, the story’s not over yet — there are still plenty of adventures waiting to unfold (or I might die earlier than expected, but honestly, I don’t expect anything anymore).
Embrace the messiness of life and find beauty in the chaos.
