Ticking Time Bomb (digital collage)

Replacing Self-Defeating Statements with Positive Affirmations

Over the years, as a result of being in an abusive relationship, I've adopted many "beliefs" that now serve no purpose.  In fact, some of these beliefs are actually harmful and crippling.  I know that as part of my healing process I will need to change these beliefs into more positive ones.  For now, though, I'll just list them as a way of acknowledging how twisted my belief system has become as a result of the trauma.  Then, I will ATTEMPT to rewrite the old beliefs as a new list of positive affirmations.   Here goes!

My Self-Defeating Statements:

• I cannot take risks. If I do, something bad will happen for sure.
• I should not be seen or heard. I need my thoughts and feelings to myself.
• I am invisible. Nobody knows what I'm going through.
• It's okay to do things I don't want to do if it will keep worse things from happening.
• Other people are better than I am.
• I am a bad person and deserve to be punished.
• I must be perfect.
• I am a disappointment to my parents, my children, God, and myself.
• My interests, choices, wants, and needs are not of value to anyone.
• If something goes wrong, it is my fault.
• I don't deserve to be happy.
• I am not worth loving; nobody could possibly love me now.
• I am weak and worthless.

My Positive Affirmations:

• It is okay to take some risks.  I can ask people that I trust to advise me about which risks are worth taking. 
• My thoughts and feelings are important and I shouldn't be afraid to express how I feel in appropriate circumstances. 
• There are people who know what I am going through and care about me.
• It's okay for me to refuse to do things I don't want to do.
• I am no better or worse than anybody else.
• I don't need to be perfect.
• My parents, my children, and God are proud of me.  I  am proud of myself.
• My interests, choices, wants, and needs are important.
• If something goes wrong, it is not necessarily my fault.
• I deserve to be happy.
• I am a lovable human being.
• I am stronger than I give myself credit for being.
• I am a child of God and therefore have worth.

There . . . that wasn't so hard to WRITE . . . now I just have to work on BELIEVING what I've written . . . something tells me that will be a bit more difficult.  However, I am determined not to stayed "stuck" in the cycle of negative thinking and feeling.  I will break free . . . maybe not today or tomorrow, but each day I can move closer and closer toward a more positive way of thinking and feeling. 

I See Some Light (sonnet)

Ugly demons from the past, running wild,
Tear at the very fibers of my soul.
Although I am grown, I feel like a child,
Trapped alone at the bottom of a hole.
Bags of crap are falling down around me --
The old and new, they scatter on the ground.
I close my eyes so that I will not see
The horror that is piling up around.
Determined not to drown beneath this shit,
I grasp at some roots and begin to climb.
More's raining down, but I just ignore it.
I will not lose this battle of the mind.
I see some light shining down from the top,
And until I reach it, I will not stop.

A Journey Just Begun (sonnet)

Eenie, meenie, miney, mo -- just pick one.
The good, the bad, the ugly; all are there.
Nobody said this process would be fun,
But without pain, I won't get anywhere.
Don't want therapy to be my career.
I will do the work that needs to be done,
Break the bonds of trauma that hold me here,
Won't hide from anything or anyone.
Life is too short to live in yesterday,
Far too precious to wallow in sorrow.
No matter what, I'll try to find a way
To always keep focused on tomorrow.
This journey may be one I've just begun,
But I will not give up until I'm done.

Purging My Soul (sonnet)

Greeting memories of days now gone by,
Embracing emotions I could not feel.
Questions remain, and I still don't know why
The pain inside feels so real.
Releasing judgment and giving up blame,
I try to find a way to understand.
There's no reason for me to own this shame.
Letting go, I find a way to stand.
Purging my soul of the trauma within,
White-washing the walls of my heart with peace,
Believing that each trauma had an end,
I can fin'lly find some form of release.
From chaos to cathartic expression,
There's healing in each honest confession.

I'll See You in the Funny Papers!

I've learned recently that one of the secrets to surviving in difficult situations is learning to laugh at what sometimes isn't funny.  Laughing decreases tension and releases endorphins (natural chemicals in your brain that help you feel better) -- and truthfully, it's often more socially acceptable to have yourself a quiet little chuckle than to curl up in a fetal position and ball your freaking eyes out.  Additionally, cartoons and comics have traditionally been a way for certain groups of people to communicate information.  So, in the spirit of that . . . here are my choices for today (February 11, 2011) . . .  See you in the funny papers!

Z's are important things.  Take good care of them.  I've been told there aren't too many genuine Z's left! And hey, who said being last was the worst.  Maybe the last is the best.  After all, I recall hearing something about "the first shall be last and the last shall be first" or something along those lines.   

Friends are like keys -- pretty tough to get through life without them.  Keep them close by!

The world has woken up.  It smells the coffee.  The question is, now what the hell do we do?

ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS save your receipts . . . it's like the 11th commandment!

If you can't learn from others' mistakes, you'd better at least be able to learn from your own.

In my case, sometimes it takes a great deal of mistakes before the whole "learning" thing takes place. 

Doesn't matter whether it's Mom, Dad, or Uncle Sam, sooner or later the truth will be made known.
Be sure your sin will find you out . . . so why DO we spend so much time talking about the weather?

A diploma is just a piece of paper that says you put in your time in an institution of some sort.  It doesn't prove that you actually learned anything.  I've known homeless bums with 3rd grade educations that had a better handle on life than the most highly-educated PhDs.  There's smart, and then there's "street smart."  And for most, to one degree or another, there is simply SURVIVAL . . . survival of the fittest . . . and in general, those who are "fit to survive" are the ones who can balance common sense with formal education. 

How come when people get stuck in a rotten situation they stand around waiting for someone to magically rescue them?  News flash people -- unless you have a filthy stinkin' rich family that can pay your way out of trouble, you better learn how to dig your own way out of the holes you get yourself into.  Lassie's pretty busy these days -- and not all that reliable anyhow!

• Rule numero uno: You can't help anybody else until you help yourself.  So don't go throwing your shoulder out in your next snowball fight.  You might need that arm for something -- like giving a hurting person a hug!

• Rule numero dos: Even counsellors need counselling.  Everybody has to have somebody to dump on.  That's what makes the world go around . . . that and money . . . and I suppose some people would say love . . . I say phooey to THAT!  Love, shmove . . .

Is it Over Yet? (Dealing with Complex PTSD)

You and I may have our own opinions about which kinds of trauma impact survivors the most, have the most lasting effects, or are the most difficult to deal with. What types of injuries take the longest to heal -- physical or emotional? Sorry ... I'm not going to even ATTEMPT to answer that question at the moment. There's no doubt, however, that even once a wound heals, it can still cause pain (whether physical OR emotional). Interestingly enough, even the US military recognizes that just because a traumatic event may be "over" doesn't mean the effects of that trauma are "over."

(Quotes from articles in blue, my comments in black & any bold added by me for emphasis):

In an article by Sarah Williams Volf,  I read:

"For many military personnel the fighting does not end in the combat zone. Many returning service members face increased anxiety, sleepless nights, and rapid flashbacks that can immediately take them back to the combat field. It is also a fact that many individuals will not seek help out of fear of being stigmatized. Some may not be diagnosed until 10-20 years after their time in the Army; this can be particularly true for those serving in Vietnam. The symptoms of PTSD can arise suddenly, gradually or may come and go over time. It is imperative to get help. Avoidance will ultimately harm your relationship and quality of life. There are many professional and organizations that will provide excellent resources for you."

She's right.  PTSD can wreak havoc on one's life, both literally and figuratively.  And soldiers aren't the only ones who don't want to seek help out of fear of being stigmatized.  Who wants the label of  "mentally ill"  being applied to them? I know I sure don't!  The military has gradually provided more support to veterans that suffer from PTSD over the years, but even within the military, physical trauma still trumps emotional trauma when it comes to veterans being taken seriously and receiving the vital treatment and support services that they need. In fact, according to an article by Conn Hallinan, the Pentagon went so far as to decide not to award the purple heart to veterans who were "only" suffering from PTSD.  Hallinan goes on to explain:

"The official rationale for refusing to honor what is widely considered the "signature wound" of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan is that PTSD, according to Pentagon spokeswoman Eileen Lainez, is "an anxiety disorder caused by experiencing or witnessing a traumatic event," not "a wound intentionally caused by the enemy."

So, following that "logic," if a bomb is "accidentally" dropped in the wrong place and wounds or kills someone "unintentionally," then those wounds or deaths wouldn't be all that important?!

"The military has made little effort to deal with PTSD and MTBI (Mild Traumatic Brain Injury, a condition caused by being near where a bomb goes off. Its symptoms are virtually indistinguishable from PTSD).

Soldiers suffering from PTSD outnumber amputees at Walter Reed Hospital 43 to 1, but there is no PTSD center (yet they opened a multi-million dollar amputee center there  in 2007).

After diagnosis, PTSD sufferers usually go to the hospital's psych ward, where they are housed with bipolar and schizophrenic patients and tanked up with drugs. A study by Veterans for America (VFA) found that some soldiers were taking up to 20 different medications at once, some of which canceled out others."

PTSD and MTBI both result from deployment in combat zones. Large numbers of these soldiers were exposed to IEDs - but many didn't suffer visible injuries. To make "shedding blood" the only criterion for being awarded a Purple Heart (and the benefits that go with it) is to deny the nature of the wars the United States is currently fighting."
-------------------------------------------------------
Why am I even bringing this up?  Because I feel that it's unfair to expect someone who has survived over a decade of extreme emotional and sexual trauma to be able to simply "bounce back" immediately and function at a "normal" level.  Although the military may not deal with emotional trauma as effectively as it deals with physical injuries, soldiers returning from even one year in combat are still expected to need intensive counseling and are given a considerable period of time for recovery and readjustment. 

How is it then, that after nearly 15 years in a horrifyingly abusive relationship, I am somehow expected to simply set aside the flashbacks, the body memories, the nightmares, and just "get on with my life?"  Why can't people understand how crippling it is for a woman to endure an abusive relationship for years on end, with no hope of there being any end in sight?

In the army, at least you know who the enemy is and they don't switch sides.  In an abusive relationship, however, a woman must often rely on "the enemy" for sustenance.  Just to survive, she must learn to read her partner's every cue (both verbal and non-verbal), anticipate his responses, meet his every need, and obey his every command.  She constantly tiptoes across a tenuous tightrope, never sure if today is the day her partner will bring home flowers or ambush her by bringing home another woman and expect her to cooperate in some twisted sexual fantasy that he has conjured up.

Women in abusive relationships live in a combat zone every day . . . and must sleep with the enemy every night. 

There is no rest.  There is no hope.  There is no help.

There is only SURVIVAL.

They are constantly threatened -- threatened with physical harm, threatened with financial abandonment, threatened with embarrassment, threatened with annihilation, threatened with humiliation, and, perhaps worst of all, threatened with harm to or separation from their children.  They are ridiculed, tormented, and tortured.  They rarely know when an attack will occur, how severe it will be, or how long it will last. In the back of their minds, they often wonder, "will this be the time he finally kills me?"  And for some, the thought of death at his hands almost sounds like a blessed reprieve from the hell they endure day in and day out. 

What makes domestic abuse that much more damaging and painful is that, quite frequently, an abuser may treat his partner rather nicely on occasion.  He's not a "monster" 100% of the time.  If that were the case, it might be easier for women caught in the crippling cycle of domestic abuse to seek help.   However, men who are sadistically abusive at home can often behave as the "perfect gentleman" when in public.  They may be described by friends and coworkers as "such a nice guy."  And if a woman dares to disclose even a portion of what is going on at home, she is frequently dismissed as yet another "disgruntled housewife" who is just "looking for attention."

Strangers aren't the only ones who fall for abusers' "nice guy routines."  My ex-husband could be very charming when he wanted to be.  He'd buy me flowers, offer to fix supper, bring me breakfast in bed, etc.  Sometimes all it would take was an insincere "I'm sorry" from him or a small trinket he'd grab on his way home from work and I'd allow myself to believe that perhaps he had really changed for the better. 

From speaking with other domestic violence survivors, I know that I am definitely not alone in this.  Even the slightest acts of kindness from the abuser give a woman a false sense of hope that maybe things will be alright from now on.  She lets herself think that maybe the war is over and may "come out of hiding" for a minute.  Exhausted, she lets down her guard and dares to trust just a little.  Just when she thinks it might be safe, she is blind-sided by another wave of abuse -- and this cycle is repeated over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.  For years and years. Until the days and weeks and months all blend together into a discombobulated blur of nothingness.  There is no one to tell her that there might be a way of escape. No one to tell her that what is happening is not her fault. The only thing she can do is try to survive.

Just try to survive. 

I'm reminded of the stories of Japanese soldiers that didn't know World War II was over (from an article by Cecil Adams):

"In early 1945 Japan had about three million troops overseas, about a third of them dug in on islands throughout the Pacific. These men were thoroughly indoctrinated in the warrior's code of Bushido, which held that it was better to die than to surrender — and by God, that's what they did. Of 23,000 Japanese soldiers on Iwo Jima, for example, 21,000 were killed and just 200 captured. Only after Emperor Hirohito ordered his forces to surrender following the dropping of the atom bomb did Japanese troops give themselves up in massive numbers.

In an era before the pocket pager, however, not everybody got the message. Many Japanese soldiers had been cut off from the main army during the Allies' island-hopping campaign and continued to resist. Sporadic fighting continued for months and in some cases years after the formal surrender. Two hundred Japanese soldiers were captured on the island of Mindanao in the Philippines in 1948, some others surrendered on an island north of Saipan in 1951, and a few hard-core types didn't surface until the 1970s and later.

One much-publicized case was Lieutenant Hiroo Onoda. He had been stationed on Lubang Island in the Philippines when it was overrun by U.S. forces in February 1945. Most of the Japanese troops were slain or captured, but Onoda and several other men holed up in the jungle. The others were eventually killed, but Onoda held out for 29 years, dismissing every attempt to coax him out as a ruse. Finally the Japanese government located his commanding officer, who went to Lubang in 1974 to order Onoda to give up. The lieutenant stepped out of the jungle to accept the order of surrender in his dress uniform and sword, with his rifle still in operating condition.

Onoda was hailed as a hero in Japan, as was another holdout, Shoichi Yokoi, who surrendered in 1972 after decades in the jungles of Guam. Yokoi's comment to his countrymen: "It is with much embarrassment that I return." He felt he'd let down the side! That's Japan for you: good on stick-to-itiveness, maybe not so good on midcourse corrections. Not to encourage slackers, but there's such a thing as knowing when to quit."

So . . .  here I am.  The war is over, but I don't fully know it just yet.  I'm still "wandering around in the jungle," so to speak.  Sort of.  On an intellectual level, I suppose, I realize that the abuse isn't happening anymore. However, my bodily response to external stimuli (or internal for that matter), doesn't always reflect that realization and still sometimes "does its own thing" without warning (i.e. heart races, hyperventilate, stop breathing, urinate, cold sweat, shaking, etc).  My emotions don't always realize that it's over either -- especially when my abuser is still able to manipulate and harass me from afar via the phone and internet/email (not to mention toying with my children's emotions during & between visitations as well as continuing to torment us all via the legal system). 
 
Maybe there are simply gallons of tears "stored up" somewhere that I never got to cry & I've simply "stashed it all away" for safe-keeping.  They have to come out sometime, and I can't always predict when that's going to be.  Every now and then I'll just start bawling for no apparent reason and gush like a freaking baby.  Really, it's quite pathetic!  Other times I'm able to hold back my emotional & physical responses to stressors, but that containment process requires such an enormous amount of energy that I don't have any brain cells left to process all of the basic daily information I'm bombarded with at work & at home (sometimes leaving me a virtual vegetable, intellectually speaking). 

How do I cope?  I write myself notes.  Lots and lots of notes.  :o)

People sometimes get irritated with me for emailing them (they say, "Why can't you just pick up the phone and call me?").  But honestly, sometimes email is the only way I can keep track of who I've talked to, when I talked to them last, and what we have and have not spoken about.  I can't always remember telephone conversations or times when I speak to someone in person. Verbal conversations often simply float right out of my head (especially if I'm doing several things at once when someone speaks to me; and chances are, if I'm awake, I'm doing at least 3-4 things at once).  But if a "conversation" is written down, I can read it several times and/or refer to it later and remind myself of what was said, to whom, and when. 

I'm terrified to tell anyone that I'm having this much difficulty concentrating, though.  I don't want anybody thinking I've "lost it" and shipping me off to the "loony bin."  So I write my adorable little post-it notes, I work my 50 hours a week, I scramble to fit a therapy session in every now & then when I can, and I do my best to "function normally."

Deep down, I can't help but wonder, though . . . if my arm or leg were mangled, would someone expect me to run a marathon? 

[Begin sarcasm] BUT, Since it's only my psyche that's mangled, though, I guess it's okay to expect me to not only solve my own problems, but to solve other people's problems as well.  It's not at all unreasonable to ask me to have it all figured out by now and to get on with my life as though nothing has happened.  After all, isn't it all about putting one's mind over matter?  Apparently, I'm just not trying hard enough. 
[End sarcasm]

Please don't judge me, my words, my thoughts, my feelings, my level of functioning, or the way I communicate based on your upbringing, your education, your life experience, and/or your belief system.

You were not in combat with me. 

You didn't lie beside me in a puddle of your own blood, urine, and/or vomit, trying to nurse and soothe a terrified infant while being raped. 

You didn't cringe in silence when he brought the butcher knife into the bedroom . . . and you didn't secretly wish he would finally use it to put you out of your misery.


You didn't barricade yourself and your children in the bedroom, desperately moving furniture in front of the door while he split it apart to force his way in.

You didn't have to provide sexual favors in order to procure money to provide for the basic needs of your family.

You didn't stay up for hours on end preparing your abuser a meal from scratch in the middle of the night because ravaging you had caused him to "work up an appetite" . . . and then have to clean up the broken glass and food when he threw it at you because he changed his mind and decided he "was in the mood for something else." You didn't have to stay up even longer to cook him something else, only to hand him the plate and be informed that the "something else" he really wanted is you.  You didn't have to stand there as it dawned on you that "round two" was on its way, whether you liked it or not . . . and maybe round three . . . or four.
Please don't take this to mean that I am discounting any part of your experience. You may have had a great deal of pain in your life as well.  You may have had your share of sorrow.  Your experiences might have been just as bad as mine . . . or maybe even worse.  I do not know.  I could not know, even if you told me . . . because: 

Your experience is yours, and my experience is mine. 

I can't begin to tell you what is right for you to feel or when it's right for you to feel it.
Likewise, I'd sincerely appreciate it if you would please stop telling me how I should feel or behave or how long I should feel or behave that way.  I "should myself to death" enough already.

I Forgot It All

How many yesterdays have come and gone
Since I first felt the burning sting of shame?
When did I find a shelf to place it on,
The things I couldn't face and couldn't name?
How many years have passed since I lost track
Of things I never thought that I'd forget?
When did I bury all my dreams out back,
Amidst the desert sand and my regret?
How many moons ago did I give up,
Convinced it was my lot in life to be
Content to sip this awful, bitter cup,
And never let the sorrow get to me?
Time doesn't heal all wounds, as I recall;
There was a reason I forgot it all.

Have I come this far in vain? (acrostic sonnet)

Some day on heaven's shore, I'll hold the key
That will unlock the meaning of it all.
Until that day, I'll try my best to be
Content to read the writing on the wall.
Keep thinking I should have a clue by now ...

How can so many years have passed me by?
Each time I go back home I feel somehow
Revisiting my youth will tell me why
Each path I walked was diff'rent, yet the same.

Am I condemned this hist'ry to repeat?
God, help me, have I come this far in vain?
Am I forever doomed to face defeat?
I cannot see beyond this awful mess,
No matter how I try, I do confess.

Another Memory (artwork; trigger warning)

One of these days my reserve of traumatic images will run low, WON'T IT?  I keep thinking there will come a day when I will finally have processed all of this shit. 

This particular image/memory is from early on in our relationship, before we were even married.  It started out almost romantic.  We had taken an old plaid blanket to a local state park and hiked quite a ways off the trail.  I knew he planned to have sex, and I was okay with that . . . in fact, there was a certain amount of "romance" and "excitement" to the whole idea of having sex in a semi-public place where we might get caught.

But then he started getting really rough and "weird." and I asked him to stop.  We heard some other people on the hiking trail nearby, and for a split second, I thought to myself, "maybe they could help me."  But then I felt really stupid.  Help me with WHAT?  This was my BOYFRIEND, who I had come there WILLINGLY with. . . what would I SAY to them?  The sex had started out consensually . . . I just hadn't been prepared for the change in his approach.  And when I say "change," I mean Dr.Jekyl/Mr. Hyde type transformation. 

I was terrified and did what most young women would probably do - screamed at him to get off me.  He threw the blanket over me and started choking me, telling me to "shut the fuck up" and saying "you know you want it" and that I was such a tease and he "knew" I liked it rough.  Since WHEN?  His grip on my throat got so tight I started seeing stars and thought I was going to pass out.  I maybe did for a second or two, because I vaguely remember him leaning over me looking kind of scared and saying, "oh my God!" I guess maybe he thought he killed me?

Anyhow, yeah, this was such a "fun" memory to revisit/relive.  This is going on 15 years ago and it's only just coming up.  When is this going to end?  Just when I think I must be almost done with this crap, there's always MORE and MORE and MORE.  I'm so sick of it.  I just want to get on with my life and be "NORMAL!"  Is there such a thing?

I don't want to be one of those people who spends their whole life in therapy whining about their past and using it as an excuse for never doing anything with their life.  I have dreams, goals, and aspirations (or at least I'm pretty sure that I USED TO).  I don't have time for this insanity.

And yet, I'm afraid if I don't let all this crap out now and deal with it thoroughly, that it will just come back to "haunt" me at some point in the future.  But I SO want to get on with my life, to leave these ugly chapters behind me FOREVER.  When will this end?

Standing Tall (sonnet)

I did not give up, did not cease to fight.
I chose to find a way I could survive.
I weighed the risk, did what I felt was right;
I saved myself and vowed to stay alive.
I held onto my "self" as best I could.
I fought to stay in touch with what was real.
I lived through things that no one ever should,
Experienced feelings none should have to feel.
I lost some battles, but I won the war.
I'm still not whole, but I am standing tall.
I may not understand the reasons for
The pain he caused or why I took it all.
I cannot blame myself for giving in;
By letting go, I found a way to win.

New Artwork - Shadow Girl

This one is about how even though I'm a grown woman, I still sometimes feel like a frightened little girl that's all alone.  I get so tired of being "strong" and telling my kids that "everything's gonna be okay" when I don't know if it ever will be.   Sometimes I just wish there was somebody there to hold me and tell ME that everything's gonna be okay.  Is it?  Will it EVER be okay?

7-7 New artwork (trigger warning)

I've been having such trouble with nightmares lately.  And what I call "daymares" LOL . . . I'm awake, but it feels like when you're trapped in a nightmare and you KNOW it's a dream, but you can't wake up.  Anyhow, there's a lot of stuff that I can't really talk about yet, but I've been able to "draw about it."  I can't even really say much about these except that each one took several hours to complete. 

Anyhow, I hope you didn't find these too disturbing.  I'll post one in a new post that's a little bit more conventional that I've just finished today (Shadow Girl).

I Wish I Knew (Acrostic Sonnet)

Why did my tears escape the concrete dam?
How could I just relax and let them fall?
Am I so out of touch with who I am
That I don't know the things I feel at all?
Do I believe I'll never see the end
Of all this pain that's turned my heart to stone?
If I could have one wish, I'd like a friend,
Lest I forever live my life alone.
Of course, this wasn't how my life was planned.
No matter what I fear, I know I must
Go forth and grasp tomorrow by the hand,
Forget the past, and somehow learn to trust.
Of all the things I wish that I could feel,
Right now I wish I knew that love was real.

Little Me (Acrostic Sonnet)

Today I wandered way down in my soul.
How strange it felt to look at that again,
Allow no one to know, that was my goal,
To stash it deep inside til who knows when.
I somehow lost my childish innocence
Somewhere along the way, I don't know how.
Left on my own to try to make some sense,
I thought no one would understand me now.
The questions went unanswered that I had,
There was no one to rescue me from that.
Life taught me I was dirty, I was bad.
Each time I tried to rise, fate knocked me flat.
Maybe someday I'll dance with little me,
Earn her respect, and help her to be free.

My Private Hell (Acrostic Sonnet)

Can water flowing to the sea be still?
Are birds in flight allowed to take a rest?
Neither shall I of torment have my fill
Til every woe of mine with blood is blessed.
So many years with crimson I've shut out
The demons all around that had no name.
Obeying rules I didn't know about,
Put under some odd spell, I drowned in shame.
More comforting than Mother's loving kiss,
Yet somehow still as poison to my soul.
Surrender to the call, while knowing this,
Each healing wound is far beyond control.
Let no one enter in my private Hell,
For I have hidden all the scars too well.