PTSD

Disclaimer: I'm warning you now, this is going to be a rambling and painful post.

If you know me in real life, perhaps you don't want to read this, and if you choose to continue, you may want to pretend that you didn't the next time you see me.

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I've had a rough week.

And thankfully (?) it isn't IF related.

Having Halloween at the end of a school week isn't helping either. My normally good class has been INSANE because of all of the build up to candy-fest. I cannot wait until I put all of the decorations away in my classroom.

Cannot wait.

For those of you that aren't Canadian, our country has had a rough week too.

Two soldiers were killed senselessly on our soil and it brought so much sadness. The younger of the two soldiers, who was a reservist, was laid to rest earlier this week. I will never forget the sad face of his little boy. I can't think of their families without crying. If you have a prayer to spare, please pray for their families.

And seemingly, more trivially, my beloved public broadcaster, has been mired in some controversy.

I don't want to get into details about what has transpired, all of you have G.oogle and social media, but the question of violence towards women has come up (I know this is an over-simplification, but it's late, I'm not a journalist and I'm spent).

I was wondering why I was getting more and more upset, more than usual, about this situation.

Then it hit me.

Like a ton of bricks.

I have PTSD.

All of this business has brought up horrible memories that I have tried to block out for the past twelve years.

I have mentioned my history on this blog -- if you're one of the lucky (?) people to have read me for a long time, you may recall the post from WAY back in 2011.

I try to forget that there was a life before Mr. JB. That there were no previous relationships before him.

But there were.

And this particular one was bad.

I know that I was not at fault. I know that I didn't deserve to be physically abused. I know that I have come out the other side better for it.

I remember thinking, "If I stay he's going to kill me."

But I stayed, I can't remember how much longer I did, but I didn't leave that same day that I had that thought.

But I am so sad and so angry that this is a part of my history, that this is part of the pain that I have buried deep within my heart.

I, like so many of the women that are involved in this particular situation, did not speak up. Did not report it. Did not tell anyone.

I'm educated. I come from a good, albeit crazy, family.

I knew better.

And here it stays, my secret.

Don't worry, I've told Mr. JB in vague detail, but I don't feel like he needs to carry my pain.

So, for the past week since the sordid details have come out about this particular Canadian celebrity, my shame has returned.

My anger and frustration that I have tried to deal with on my own has bubbled up to the surface. I feel like I've been on the brink of tears at all hours of the day.

(It also doesn't help that my thyroid meds are messed up. Stupid thyroid.)

I wish I was brave enough to post something on my FB wall about not blaming the victims. Or even to admit that I have suffered abuse at the hand of a so-called loved one, but I can't.

I'm staying silent to the public.

And it feels like the pain is growing.

I know I need professional help. I've done IF counselling and therapy before.

I know that this is a wake-up call to get my head checked again.

I am just so angry right now.

I wish that I didn't have this as a part of my story.

I wish that I didn't relate to these poor women.

I wish that I didn't carry these invisible scars on my soul.

I thought that IF was hard enough to deal with. At least with IF, I have a husband and a circle of friends that supports me through it.

I'm not really sure where I go from here, but I'm thinking this blog post is a start.

St. Jude, pray for me.