Hello,
I am Divello.
I have PSTD. At least thats what the doctors said. I understand it comes from a traumatic experience but I have a hard time singling one out as the root cause. I want to talk about it but I dont know what to say really. I feel like I have been hit in the head and I am not sure if any of this is real or just a dream. But then I have always felt this way. I am afriad of what I might do if I become convinced that people around me are not real.

If this is a mess its because my mind is a mess. I cannot keep my thoughts straight. I dont know if it is because I am ignorant and uneducated or just a whackjob. Some part of me hopes I am just a whackjob. Something comforting in insanity. I am having a hard time focusing here as my mood darkens.

I suppose I should mention my past. I am the son of an alcoholic father. Not that I blame him for my problems. I learned early on that my parents would not be on my side. Would not protect me or stand up for me. Nor even tell me it wasnt my fault. So I learned to deal with things myself.... or so I thought. My mom.....I really dont know what to think of my mom. Altho she wasnt a drunk or anything like that she was indifferent most of the time. Quick to punish and not very affectionate.

I guess I should get to it.
I had a cubscout master when I was a kid who always tried to fondle me. sometimes I woke in the night to him with his hand in my pajama pants. At first he invited me to stay at his house on the weekend and would take me to the movies and other events including church and camping with the scouts. Not just myself but other kids from the neighborhood too. But at night he insisted that I sleep in his bed. The fondlings got more routine as time went on. Finally I had had enough of trying to fend him off and told him I did not want to visit him any more. I was terrified and it took all my courage to stand up to this man. He dragged me before my mother and told her what I had said. She screamed at me that I was a selfish ungrateful bastard even as I stood crying (age 10) and in obvious distress. She forced me to continue visiting.

Oh well it didnt really matter. I can handle it. By this time my mother had married a man who made it his highest priority to make me understand how worthless and undeserving I am/was. He beat me everyday for one reason or another. If I smiled he made sure I unsderstood I had nothing to smile about. I learned not to show any emotion. To hide my feelings. To be void. He made sure I understood he hated me. I guess what tipped me off was how he used to scream at the top of his lungs "I hate that bastard!". He was talking to my mom. So I spent my weekdays being beaten and my weekends being groped by some pedo. Oh well, enough on that.

So by the time I was 13 I was drinking beer and smoking weed. At 16 I could drink a 5th of whatever by myself almost nightly. This went on for the next 12 or 13 years and included many more drugs. Altho I did do a little stealing it was never really my bag. I prefered to work for a living. Besides work took me across the country to better places to drown and drug my sorrows away.

By 18 I lived 1500 miles away from home right across the river from NYC. Altho I was happy with my work, as I was making way more money than any of the people back home, I was in hell. One day in hell (age 21) I met this kid (16 or 17) who had it really bad at home. Instead of being home he was hangin out with this guy who was molesting him (Neither admitted it but I know thats what was going on. Everyone knew.) and giving him drugs. We were all getting high when the kid looks at me and says "This is way better than being at home. Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys". I thought "How horrific" and said "No problem kid". I will never forget that kid. He made me so aware of how screwed up my life had been and how poorly I was handling it because if there was ever someone who needed help it was him. And there wasnt anything I could do because I couldnt even help myself. Something scarey in insanity.

Fast forward to 25 years of age. I was laying in the hospital ER and someone had their finger in my ass and was telling me to squeeze it. I said "You have your finger in where?!" I was paralyzed from the waist down. By this time I was so messed up I couldnt even tell you how old I was. A month later I was in a rehab facility and some doctor was telling me I was in the late stages of alcoholism. I felt fine. I felt fine.
I felt fine.

All I wanted to do was go back to work.

Well... it took a few years but I learned to walk again and I get around ok altho I am not long on my feet. I dont have anything to do with drugs anymore but I still drink a beer now and then. Not really very often. I have self control where drinking is concerened now. I might have 1-3 beers a month if I drink at all. I have no real desire for it anymore. I am (41) on my second marriage which doesnt look like its going to last a whole lot longer. When its done I think I will move out to the desert so I can watch the stars at night. I have no real plans or hopes or dreams. Only PTSD. Intense depression and feelings of guilt and anxiety that drive me to the brink of suicide at times. I cant count how many times I have put my pistol to my head and pulled the trigger hard hoping that today was the day I forgot to put the safety on. Obviously I am not that lucky.

Death isnt really for me anyhow. Not yet anyway. I do still want to travel some. There are some places I would like to see. Nothing too far away. Just some parks and stuff. Some mountains. The snow.

Well thats my story. I admit I kind of brushed over a lot of it. I dont know what to do about any of it. I guess what I want is to know where a good website is to buy some books on dealing with this mess and to ask why does it seem like this is someone elses life. This is not who I am. Sometimes I hope this is all just a dream and I am really sitting in a hospital somewhere lobotomized and drooling while staring out the window or at the wall. Doesnt really matter I guess. I am out of strength. My heart is utterly broken.