TW Living with the consequences of long-term childhood sex abuse

Hey everyone. I don’t normally post on Reddit (and often I end up deleting personal posts later, when I do make them, because I often end up feeling weird about over-sharing).

But I need to… vent, I guess?

Context:

Well. Never mind context.

I deleted a few paragraphs detailing a timeline of the abuse, but the gist is… I spent basically 7 years, that I remember/know of, being sexually exploited by adults when I was a teenager (11/12-19; I fled the last perpetrator when I was turning 19 and I moved out of his house.). There was some other stuff but that’s the takeaway I guess.

And I spent my life as a pre-teen/teenager abusing drugs, ending up in increasingly unsafe situations with different adult men… you get the picture.

And now, I… I think I’m doing well. But I have all of these weird feelings that I don’t know what to do with. And “weird” isn’t even the word, because it all makes sense; I regularly have very typical, normal responses to prolonged child abuse. But it feels absurd and foreign for some reason, like I can never wrap my head around all the ways the abuse is still affecting me.

I’m in my 20s, in college (part-time because I’m severely mentally ill and disabled by chronic pain). And I’ve been in therapy for, like, at least 5 consecutive years. This summer I’m going to get a job after years of poverty and unemployment; I finally feel ready. I’m over 900 days sober (almost 2.5 years) from alcohol, haven’t used hard drugs since I was 15 (though I’ve often missed drug abuse and wanted to relapse), and I’ve barely been smoking weed (I abstained from weed for like 5-6 years until November, when I started getting high everyday to cope with a breakup). I also went 5-6 years without self-harming and now I’m 2 months out from my last relapse.

So… all things considered, I’m doing okay, right? But I always feel like I should be doing better. Like I’m just doing everything wrong, like I’m bad at being alive. I feel like I’m going to start crying as I’m typing this and I feel like I shouldn’t be so sensitive because I’m tough, right? And I am.

I take things in stride, I’m a good man in a storm (figuratively lmao—25F). I cry easily when I’m tired but that’s okay; I know very well that there’s no shame in expressing feelings (and I used to dissociate too hard to cry, so it’s cool that I can finally have a good, cathartic sob).

I’m extremely motivated to learn new things, and learn them well; I write, draw and paint well because I really care about pursuing things I’m interested in; I love puzzles of all sorts, especially word/math/logic puzzles. I can solve a Rubik’s cube. I’m a good friend—at least I always try to be. I know how to speak clearly and loudly when I’m talking in a group, despite years of anxiety. And I’m generally very objective, thoughtful, and level-headed when I’m processing situations and making decisions or problem-solving…

My point isn’t to brag; my point is that I… somehow have confidence. Therein lies the issue; I know all of these things about myself. I know (I mean, I think, most of the time) that I’m an intelligent, ambitious, interesting person. Plenty of people have said so.

In many ways I feel like I’m more sure of myself than most people are; or, I mean, my confidence is more robust, because I’ve spent so long growing and tending it myself. But…

But every single day, lately, I feel… shitty, and pathetic, and incompetent. Like I’m not good at anything. Objectively, my grades are often much better than my peer’s grades (not that it’s a competition), but I always feel like my instructors are giving me handouts because they feel bad for me because there’s so obviously something wrong with me. And I have received a lot of really kind feedback in my classes, from peers or instructors who like my work or my artwork, butI feel like everyone just feels bad for me because they can tell there’s something wrong with me and I don’t even know what that could possibly be, except… the internalized, deeply rooted feeling of disgust that was born in me when I started understanding and processing my trauma.

I have good friends. But it’s lonely during the week because I rarely speak to my classmates at school. Lately I have minimal energy or faith in myself to, like, have normal interactions with peers. Being at school is super triggering because of previous experiences so I have a hard time socializing with other students (which feels very rude). But I have a lot of people in my corner outside of school.

And I think, usually, that I’m attractive. Not conventionally, but like… “big eyes, small face, short, goth-y white chick…” though I have a weird, big-ish nose. And I like my waist, I have a nice hourglass. Not that any of this is, like, important, but it’s nice to feel like I look nice, I guess.

And I think I treat myself with respect, in many ways. I don’t have casual sex anymore, I don’t dress for anyone else’s gaze, I try to be honest to/with myself and others.

And I can live alone… I love living alone. When I was like 19/20 I couldn’t be alone without trying to hurt or kill myself. My family helps with rent because I’m living on student loans, which isn’t ideal but I love my private little home and I’m thankful for it.

And I’ve now had two really good relationships, back to back. They’ve been short-ish but I think I’m finally done accepting abuse or bullying. I also recently “broke up” with a friend who wasn’t a healthy person for me to be friends with

But. But! All of these good things and there’s the but:

I used to feel like I was a lightning rod for rape, for exploitation… and now I understand that I wasn’t, I was just a vulnerable kid, and it was their fault for exploiting that, but it’s like that feeling turned into… some other sense that what happened to me is, like, attached to me somehow, still. Like, I no longer feel like I’m walking around with a target on my back, because I’ve been working really hard on my PTSD and I usually feel quite safe and stable, but… at the same time, on some level, I now feel like that target has turned into a giant, neon yellow discount price tag. Something that marks me, immediately, as damaged goods or something that’s nearing its expiration date.

I’ve been depressed lately. But I’ve been doing what I usually do when the depression hits; I get tired of feeling shitty and helpless, so I remind myself that exercising helps, and I start doing a lot of yoga or weightlifting, and then I feel better after a while. But tonight I’m tired because today was a pretty long day for me, and I haven’t really exercised today, and I guess I’m just having a bad night.

Also, depression feels different now that I’m not longer like “hey I should ruin my life with drugs and risky sex and alcohol and shoplifting.” So I guess it feels… more helpless, less exciting than it did when I’d cope with all sorts of chaotic bullshit. Even though I’m clearly healthier now. Every time the depression hits I’m like “what the hell is this” and then I realize, right, this is what depression is like now that I’m less insane and chaotic

I’m just so confused. Not just tonight, but often; since starting college and becoming, like, functional, I just… I feel all of this shit all the time. Even after years of therapy and everything. Growing pains, I guess. I hope.

Sometimes I feel like this is all good, because it means I’m still growing and healing. Like, I’m getting through the rough stuff and someday… I’ll be through it, the same way I’ve gotten through so many other symptoms and experiences that are basically non-issues now.

But other times, like tonight, I feel like… I’ve done so much work and healed so much and I’m still fucked. Like there’s nothing left for anyone to do for me, to help me with; like there’s nowhere else for me to go. Like I’ve peaked because I’ve achieved so many things, but I’m so tired and still, somehow, incompetent; too incompetent to go anywhere from here. Except, maybe, to climb back down into insanity and addiction. But I don’t want that.

Sometimes I’m scared I won’t be able to keep getting better and, by omission, I’ll have to get worse or, like, stop living.

I feel like a walking contradiction. Like every single win or silver lining comes with a “gotcha!”… such is life, I guess. It’s all a two-way street. Nature abhors a vacuum, right?

I don’t need anything. I’ll be okay. I appreciate it if anyone’s read this far, but I understand if none of you have. Writing this has helped.

I have therapy every Friday, I’m excellent at self-soothing when I’m upset, I go to AA sometimes (I just got my two-month chip at over 900 days sober, lol; I started going late in my sobriety when being sober got really hard again, just a little while ago). blah blah blah.

I might not respond to comments because I get shy when people actually read these things and respond to me… but I’d appreciate any kind words, I promise. I’m sorry if I’ve wasted anyone’s time.

I took a nice bubble bath tonight, did a face mask, and had some tea. I’m going to smoke a cigarette and go to bed soon.

I’m grateful for this forum and so many wonderful things about my life. I’m lucky to be relatively safe and healthy for someone who, by all accounts, should not have survived til 25. My cats are both sleeping comfortably nearby and I’ll follow suit soon.

I think that’s it. I hope the formatting isn’t weird from typing this on mobile.

Goodnight