Time heals all wounds🕉

Today is the day where the truth unfolds and true healing begins. A story that could never truly be replicated. But may in return help the other physical and/or sexual abuse survivors out there who may feel as hopeless as I once did, relate and find peace. It has been said that the more openly you can discuss your trauma, the less power it holds. That is what I wish for us all . To conjur the strength and courage to overcome.

My name is Tambara. I was born in Maine September 7th 1992. My brothers name is Michael and he was born in Georgia on June 13th, the previous year. In the first years of his life he was diagnosed with quadriplegic Cerebral Palsy. The greater part of my childhood was dedicated to making him feel as comfortable and safe as possible. We were as close as siblings could possibly get. My father’s name was Douglas. Although he was a hard worker, charmer and friend; he was more importantly an alcoholic and a predator. My mother’s name is Carolann. She was always my best friend and confidant. However, as time passed, we became strangers. Present day we have reunited and i’m continuously learning who she was and is. I’m confident she is attempting to do the same. I refer to Douglas as a ‘was,’ because although he may still be breathing, he is dead to me. 

I’ll explain that if you met our family, we would look just like any other at first glance. I have supressed most of those times. But what I remember vividly is tragedy, torture and world class manipulation. It wasn’t every day, but a majority of the time. The rest of our days were spent trying to create as much of a normal childhood as possible. On the days he didn’t drink, it was as if he’d completely snap out of being the monster that he was. Those transitions fucked with my psyche more than I’ll ever be able to explain.

My mother worked second shift so she didn’t get home until late most days. I wished so much that she was there. But in all reality even when she was around,  she never really could stop him. Doug worked first shift as a plumber but was also working after-hours with a life-long friend building houses on the side. Those were the nights my brother and I cherished. 

Today, I’ve learned to manage my anxieties. However, I still struggle to focus and be vulnerable. For years I even questioned if I had ADD or ADHD. Now that I’m older and understand my PTSD, I understand how ‘normal’ the Fight or Flight response is. Somehow no one is ever educated on the ‘Freeze’ factor. – that becomes important later.

In addition to learning how to maintain a healthy relationship with my life partner, I am a mom now. I believe that has lead me onto this path to share my story. And I sincerely hope that there WILL be hope for our future generations to not only find help, but to seek it. Although it is completely out of our control, there is so much shame in abuse. For reasons I may never comprehend.

The blogs that follow will hopefully be a complete story including, but not limited to addiction, sexual encounters, the possible struggles of social interactions, relationships, and the discovery of a better life.

Thank you for following me and my journey. 🙃

Namaste 🕉

 

Poetic Justice

 

I always imagined myself in a smokey underground bar participating in an open mic night. I craved to absorb other’s emotions, maybe to validate my own. With this imagery, I was always writing what I thought would be empowering to my younger self.

When I started this blog, I briefly searched through some of the passages I’d written over the years. In the mix, I found this poem from when I was 18. I consider it now, a coming of age. I supposed I had just begun to understand who I was becoming, and who I wanted to be. It was a message of being a victim, to becoming a survivor.

Poetic Justice 

We’re all petrified of love, yet fearless of mistakes,
It isn’t until we learn to trust our instincts that our spirit awakes.

Thou shall not seek likeness in success, our stories aren’t the same,
We have the power to achieve once we find our own inner flame.

There is solace to be found in our chaos and past intrusions,
When we finally recognize perfection is only an illusion.

In a generation of lost hope and broken dreams,
We’re amongst an evolution where nothings’ as it seems.

When you think you’ve seen it all, you’ve only just gotten started,
Happiness is a journey, not a destination.. yet we leave it so uncharted.

Say no more to living vicarious and blind,
Give yourself the freedom to leave the past behind.

Leave a legacy, don’t just simply wander,
Be present, make love, discover, ponder.

Say cheers to the forks in the road and the pavements that you’re no longer chasing,
Now live only for the moments that keeps your heart racing.

There is no more time to be spent incarcerated by your own demise,
Stitch your wings back together, rise.

There is beauty in misery when it no longer loves its guests,
Breathe child, you can put your mind to rest.

 

 

Take Me Home

One of the hardest battles to win after abuse, is the one you have with yourself. There is a stigma that you are no longer living society’s picture of a “normal,” lifestyle. Every morning that you wake up, is another effort to peel yourself off the sheets, look in the mirror and say, “I got this,” and hope that you really do. The reflection of yourself is daunting and may even distort the image of yourself for a long time, if not always.

I remember developing into my pre-teens which is when the abuse started most frequently. I remember how much I struggled with my appearances. There is that saying, “when you look good, you feel good,” but self worth was a thing of the past. I always felt as if me trying to improve myself would be too encouraging for my father. Maybe he would think that I was doing it for him. That idea to this day still makes my skin crawl. I also remember wearing a lot of black. Not in the way that kid’s used to consider, “Emo” with chunky black heels and chains hanging off my clothes. Just black. And I never really minded if I had a few extra pounds than most of the girls I knew either. The goal was to be unattractive, but even after years of self destruction, his urges never subsided.

I didn’t have a lot of friends throughout those times. I was a bit of a rebel, and I didn’t necessarily have a click to fit into. Or maybe I just didn’t want to be put into a box. I wasn’t a jock, I wasn’t interested in school clubs, and I had no interest in dating. I was the girl smoking a pack of cigarettes by age 14, wandering in the woods looking for the answers to life’s riddles and planning my escape. But I always stayed because I knew I couldn’t leave my brother; No child left behind.

There were many times I’d steal my father’s alcohol out and replace it with water. Except one day, I got sloppy and drank too much. He pulled it out of the freezer and noticed after he taking a swig of it’s slushy contents. I cringed thinking maybe he would beat me, but instead he shook his head and walked away. He also seemed to ignore the few Twisted Tea bottles left in the Crisper Drawer below. It was obvious he was on the hunt for something hard to take the edge off. As much as it was a relief to watch him walk away, I was always scared shitless for when he’d return. I knew he’d be coming for me.

Being a survivor is a weight on your shoulders that can never be removed, and no one is innocent. Even if the world is drawn to you, we can go a lifetime not creating meaningful relationships. It’s  mentally exhausting to have such a lack of faith in humanity. Your instincts will constantly remind you that those looking to build bonds with you most likely have an ulterior motive. Or worse, will build with you and then disappear.

Sometimes as survivors, we have the ability to hand pick those who have also lived through their fair share of trials and tribulations. Their kindred spirits are seemingly rare, but noticeable. It’s relieving to know that you are not alone. I supposed it’s the hunch on their shoulders; the occasional happy-sad smiles even when life is in a positive direction; OR being the vigilante who always saves the underdog, that gives them away.

 The curse of it all is that you are nearly fearless to anything that is not too intimately requiring. You have already lived through a nightmare, why be afraid of anything else?  All of a sudden you’re bare feet, running into the unknown. Although there is something exhilarating about living a life with no filter it can be extremely dangerous, and so can the choices you make because of it.