Trapped In Between: My Victory Over Abuse & PTSD

By Marilyn Elaine Lundberg

An inspirational true story of my life as an only child; and my HEALING from years of sexual abuse, anxiety, major depression, suicidal thoughts, multiple personalities, panic attacks, agoraphobia, PTSD, and essential tremor.

Did you know that there are over 99 different after-effects of sexual abuse?

I dealt with approximately 75% of those after-effects throughout my life.

I have carefully outlined and detailed the keys and tools I used to unlock all the trauma.

The first symptom that grabbed me was fear, when I was under age five. I became shy and withdrawn and only wanted to wrap my arms around my mothers legs and hide in her full skirt. Sucking my thumb was my only comfort when I was alone. Unfortunately, sucking my thumb caused buck teeth that brought on bullying and taunting by the other kids in the neighborhood and in school.

The bullying and taunting made me want to be invisible. The shyness was so extreme that I didn't want to raise my hand in school even when I knew the answer because I would blush and then the teasing from other kids followed. The night terrors began in the fifth grade which included a big black bear which would chase me every night and devour me.

The urge to be invisible brought on suicidal thoughts in junior high which I knew was wrong but life was just too hard. I obsessively worried about any social interaction especially going to school. I lived for Fridays which would give me at least two days rest. However, the worry returned Saturday night and was with me all Sunday thinking about Monday and returning to school again.

Life as a teenager was difficult at home because Mom was displaying odd behaviors. She believed that people were watching her through the television and heat ducts. I wanted to help my mom but I didn't know how. Dad was my buddy.

In the tenth grade an extreme explosion happened inside of me in the school lunchroom . I later learned that the correct terminology was panic attack. I rarely took lunches again around other people for fear of another panic attack.

After high school graduation I moved out on my own still suffering from panic attacks, anxiety, obsessive worry, and major depression. Every year my problems got worse and worse and worse and I didn't know why.

Finally I gathered all my courage together and sought help. After many unsuccessful sessions with doctors and counselors, I found one who actually helped me. He taught me tools and tips to deal with all my present issues. The healing didn't start until repressed memories revealed themselves to me at the age of 37. Confronting my abusers started me on a path of true healing.

Today I live a life filled with Peace and Joy and Happiness, and I want everyone that has ever suffered from trauma to feel the way I do now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Aug 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781456626938

Book preview

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Chapter Two – DON’T EVEN WHISPER THE WORDS ORAL BOOK REPORT

Here is a short synopsis regarding my parents. My mom and dad were both from Iowa, they met in Minneapolis, got married in 1949 and there I was two years later, their first and only child, me Marilyn.

Dad was forty years old when he married my mom, and she was thirty. They had both grown up on farms in Iowa during the rough times of the great depression in the 1930s. Their education was limited because they were farm kids, and they were needed to do labor on the homestead. Dad was the oldest of five children, and mom was the youngest of five. There wasn’t a lot of money and times were very tough for both of them growing up, but there was always enough food because they grew their own.

Mom was raised by her older sister Olga, because their parents were so busy milking the cows and plowing the fields. Growing up Mom always wanted to get married and have a family, but as she got closer to thirty, she thought maybe she would be an old maid the rest of her life, but that was not the case. She was very excited when she met my dad and he asked her to be his wife.

Dad was an auto mechanic and Mom was a stay at home housewife and mother to me. When I began the third grade Mom was able to find full-time employment assembling thermostats at Honeywell.

I was sent to the babysitters from the start of third grade until the beginning of fifth grade. I cried every morning as my dad dropped me off at the sitters, I hated it there. I was so thankful when fifth grade came and I didn’t have to go to the babysitter’s house anymore because the oldest daughter would hit me in the head with her hairbrush when her mom wasn’t looking. I was always afraid to say anything to anybody because I felt this girl would increase her bullying tactics toward me if I squealed. For two years I begged my parents to let me stay at home, and I finally got my wish a few weeks before fifth grade began.

I was responsible and mature for my age so I was given permission to stay home by myself, and no longer needed someone to take care of me, I was eleven years old. We practiced a few weeks before school started, to make sure that I was comfortable with the new situation, and to see if I could prepare my own lunch. My mom set up the electric skillet and I made myself a hamburger patty with great success. I enjoyed the peace and quiet of my home so much better than the old babysitters’ house.

The vibrant blonde color of my hair was my best feature when it came to my looks. Most days that I was out and about, adults would give me sweet compliments regarding my hair color. Along with my blonde hair came blonde eyebrows, blue-green eyes and a very light Norwegian complexion. I was one of the tallest in my class and slim. My parents rarely had to scold me because I could see by the look in their eyes that they were upset. I would say I could read body language easily, and was always trying to please adults and my peers. My ugly teeth were my biggest concern as I readied myself for the new school year, which was just around the corner.

My parents and I were fortunate to take a two-week vacation right before school started, which we always looked forward to. We traveled by train and every minute of the trip was planned out so that we could take in as much as possible.

We left Tiger kitty with family friends that were in the neighborhood about three blocks away. When we returned from vacation to pick her up, the cat sitters told us that Tiger had broken out through their garage window and had run away. They said she had been gone for many days. I was distraught.

When we drove the three blocks home, guess who was sitting on our doorstep waiting for me, little Tiger kitty. She was starving and ate two large cans of cat food from me, but physically she was fine. No cuts from the broken window. She had walked three blocks to find me, and all she wanted to do was rub against me, purr and cuddle. I was so relieved that she hadn’t gotten lost or run over and killed.

Dad didn’t seem too happy; I know that he thought my cat was a nuisance. Every day when he pulled his car in and out of the garage, my kitty never tried to escape. He would purposely leave the big garage door open, but she was content to stay in her little paradise. She and I were best friends and she didn’t need to search for a better home.

On the first day of fifth grade I eyed my new teacher carefully. She wasn’t a friendly and happy person like my fourth grade teacher had been. This teacher rarely smiled. She seemed to be putting in the time, but would rather be somewhere else and not in my classroom. I am not even sure if she was fond of children, if I had to guess, I would say no. My desk was located on the back row, and I was as far to the left as you could get. The tall row of windows was right behind me, and every time I stood up, I would glance out and see my little white house with maroon windows across the street. I was uncomfortable in this fifth grade classroom, I didn’t like being confined in Miss S’s room, and I longed to be at home, by myself, where it was safe.

I may have blushed in the past years of school, but I have no memory of it. Blushing became an everyday annoyance for me in the fifth grade. I blushed when the teacher or any other student even glanced at me. I was fiercely self-conscious regarding my protruding teeth. I blushed brilliantly red when Miss S called on me to answer questions, especially if I didn’t get my mouth guard out in time to avoid the lisping. I would try and duck my head behind the classmate in front of me, so that there was no eye contact between the teacher, and me whenever possible.

I developed low self-esteem and felt subservient to my other classmates soon after the year began. The kids would harass me about my teeth, and I would blush, and then they would mock me for blushing. It was a never ending cycle of maltreatment.

Most of the time when Miss S asked a question of the class I knew the right answer, but was too timid to raise my hand. I wanted to excel and be like the other kids, but I just didn’t have it in me. I would watch my classmates talk freely and openly to the class with no observable nervousness at all, and I marveled at them. I wanted to be like them, but I felt odd. I instead kept all the right answers in my head, and forced myself to be invisible, in order to survive the long hours of the school day.

Miss S had a style of teaching that was foreign to me. She would say a sentence and leave out one or more of the words. She would then call on a student to fill in the omitted words. We all had to listen carefully because we never knew when the word would be left out. It wasn’t every sentence, and she may go on many paragraphs and then leave out a word. When she called on us we absolutely needed to know the correct answer. It was a style of teaching that got us students to pay strict attention, but it caused me great apprehension and nervousness. You could never drift off, because that’s when she would get you. I hated her teaching technique. Why scare us, just teach the information in a fun way, I thought.

One morning Miss S announced to the class that she expected us all to start giving oral book reports. We were supposed to read a book; I loved to read, and then go up in front of the class and tell everyone all about the book. OH MY GOSH! That was not what I wanted to do, me and my big teeth in front of all my schoolmates. How was I ever going to accomplish this new assignment? At that exact, precise moment in time, I began to obsessively worry about public speaking. How was I ever going to do what the teacher demanded of me, and survive the aftermath of humiliation from the other kids? I was sick to my stomach. Oh, and it wasn’t going to be just one oral report, she was requiring several speeches during the school year.

I saw no possible way to get out of this assignment other than running away from home, but I was too little. I was cornered, and had to do this darn oral book report!

The first night after receiving the assignment, I had a horrible dream of a gigantic black bear looking at me, and then chasing after me. I had the same dream the next night, and then the next night, and the following night. Every single night the big black bear pursued me. First I would eye this huge creature, and he would look me straight in the eyes and I would start running! I would run swiftly away and the bear would track closely after me, my breath would be labored as I was running full out and then I would come to an area of swampy water and my feet would get bogged down deeper and deeper as I attempted to run! It was like running in slow motion and I would glance back and the humongous black bear would be getting closer and closer as I struggled to free myself from the mud. He was gaining on me! I would then spot a tree and jump, grabbing onto a lower branch swinging myself up into the safety of the tree, and for a second I thought that I was safe, but no, the bear jumped up and grabbed the bark and scurried right up behind me! I crawled from limb to limb to the very tip top of the tree, with the branches swaying dangerously to and fro from my weight, there was no place else to go and I turned my head and the bears eyes almost touched mine and the bear killed me and devoured me! I died in my sleep every night and woke up sweaty and crying!

I knew that those stupid oral book reports were giving me those bad dreams, and it was all because of Miss S. I hated her!

I now was terrified to go to sleep and I loathed school and my teacher. I wondered if all the other kids were feeling like me? Were they scared too? Were the others having horrible nightmares like me? Why was the teacher torturing me like this?

The day soon arrived in which I had to give the stupid oral book report. I volunteered to be one of the first so that I could put that dilemma behind me. I faced the challenge, went up there and just did it. It was so intimidating up in front of all the other students and my teacher; it all seemed unreal, like I was in a bad dream. I barely took a breath during my speech, didn’t look up much, and just said the words and walked back to my desk. I did it! I was glad that obstacle was over until the next time.

In the playground my friends said, Man, was your face red! It was almost crimson in color, even the part in your hair was red, and your ears were red! These were my friends. What do you say to that? It is bad enough when strangers make fun of you, but when it is your friends, it breaks your heart. They were supposed to have my back and lift me up, but that was not the case for me. It just made me want to be more inconspicuous.

Due to my new dread and hatred for school, I made a goal for myself, just make it through the week. I couldn’t wait for Friday night, because I knew that I had two safe days before I had to go back to school again. On Friday night I felt fantastic, Saturday was mediocre, but by Sunday morning I had that nauseated and sick stomach, that comes with anxiety, nervousness and worry. I dreaded returning to school on Monday morning. Each week was the same all through fifth grade; just make it to Friday night so I wasn’t trapped in her classroom.

A new anxiety began to unfold around this time, and that was an uneasiness of looking at myself in a mirror. I avoided all mirrors. I didn’t like when anyone looked at me and I also had a queasiness looking at myself. When I gazed upon my own reflection I would see the blush slowly creep into my cheeks, and then cover my face, ears, neck and hairline. The blush disgusted me. The times that I did quickly check my reflection, I used light from a faraway window or would crack open the door to catch light from the adjacent room. I chose to never illuminate my reflection at home, because in the dark you couldn’t see the red. In the school bathrooms I just looked down as I washed my hands. That shows you how serious the shyness and timidity had overtaken me.

My saving grace was still the wonderful school playground and my Tiger kitty. Evenings and weekends my two friends and I would play anything with a ball. Softball, whiffle ball, kickball, dodgeball or fly our kites. I was a natural at sports because it all came easy for me. The playground was my heaven on earth. I had no stress on the grassy fields, I was jubilant and free as a bird in that park-like setting.

My friend and her little sister never teased me; they were true friends and compassionate to me. If we were walking down the street together, and other kids were walking toward us they would say, Try and close your lips so that they won’t tease you, or quick let’s walk the other way. They were both kindhearted and gracious to me.

I also adored gym class. If teams were picked, I was the first girl to be chosen. This was the only time at school where I could be myself, free of anxiety and fear. I could run like the wind, nimbly climb a rope or throw a ball as far as any of the other boys. Sports handed me the confidence that I lacked during time spent in Miss S’s classroom, but unfortunately gym class was only an hour a day.

There was only one area of gym class that threw me for a loop. I was terrified to do summersaults. I had a bad experience once in which I pinched my neck and couldn’t breathe, and so now I had a fear of those nasty things. I always tried to wear a dress on summersault day so that I didn’t have to participate. I now had four big fears in my life, and those were being teased about my teeth, blushing, oral book reports and icky summersaults. My little mind worried about these four events continuously, always trying to figure out a way to escape them.

One sunny afternoon after school, I was playing in the schoolyard with my one friend, and two older girls came toward us and started teasing me about my teeth. They dragged us both by our arms to a quiet alley adjacent to the school and began with verbal insults which progressed to beating us up. Towards the end of the encounter, one of them took my arms and swung me around and around. They let go and I was tossed face first on to the pavement. I got away running home as fast as I could with my face and hands bleeding.

Through the blood and tears, I told my mom everything that happened to us and I showed her the damage that those mean bullies had done to me. I wanted mom to storm across the street into the alley, find those girls and punish them. She wiped away my tears, but she didn’t do anything at all. I was so frustrated at her; why didn’t she defend me?

It couldn’t have been more than a couple weeks later, and Mom and I were on the bus heading downtown. Wouldn’t you know, one of the girls that beat me up came and sat down right across from our seat. At first the girl look scared. I whispered to my mom, That’s the girl that beat me up in the schoolyard! Again, my mom didn’t do or say anything. After a bit the girl smiled an ugly smile at me. She knew that she could smack me again anytime she wanted to. I thought to myself, the playground is no longer a safe haven for me.

As the nasty girl continued looking at me and my mom, I was just sick and stared only at the floor. I longed for someone, anyone to protect me from all the pain in the world. The pain of getting beat up at school didn't hurt nearly as bad as the fact that mom didn’t defend me. Moms are always supposed to shield their children from harm. My mom didn’t do or say anything at all.

That was actually the second time something like that happened. I had a memory of an older boy that had lured me into his house when I was less than five years old. This happened in the first house that I had lived in on Colfax Avenue. I remembered being too little to reach the latch to get myself out, and was trapped in that house for a long time with that boy. When he finally released me I ran home crying and told mom, but she didn’t say or do anything to that boy either. I thought to myself when I was five, that it wasn’t safe to go outside. Who knows who is going to get you next?

Around the middle of the fifth grade I started to notice some changes in my mom, maybe they had always been there, but I had no memories of the past. As she would wash dishes she would start having a dialogue with herself in an extremely angry and loud voice. It was like she was having a big disagreement with someone in the kitchen, but there wasn’t anyone there with her. It frightened me when she would act this way. I would sit in the tan rocking chair and rock even harder when I would hear her fight. If my dad was in the living room with me, he would kind of wink at me as if to say, everything’s okay.

My way of controlling her outlandish dialogue would be to call out to her saying, Mom, did you say something to me? She would say, No, I am just singing. At that point she would begin humming a tune and then in a short moment the angry voice would again emerge. This event happened in our kitchen or other parts of the house multiple times each day. This behavior greatly upset me, and I just couldn’t stand the heated battles that she had with the invisible people in the kitchen. It made my stomach sick. I was only eleven years old and I wasn’t equipped to help her, but I wanted to. I rather wished that she would talk to ME, but she was usually very busy with her full-time job, all the housework that she needed to attend to, and those private angry conversations.

Mom was also educating me regarding facts that didn’t seem quite right to me. If I was on the phone, she would tell me to make my phone call short, because people were listening in on my phone conversations. There used to be a time when we had a party line, but those days were over so I wasn’t sure who she thought was listening. She also said that people were watching us through the heat ducts in the living room and from the television screen. She had extra locks installed on the two doors because she thought window peepers were watching her through our windows. I didn’t think that anyone was watching us, but there was no way for me to know for sure. She also told me to never trust anyone because it wasn’t safe, and not to share any of our personal business with others, it was all a secret.

Confusion surrounded me regarding Mom. She had two very distinct personalities. She could be the sweetest most loving person ever at church or when we visited someone. Sometimes she was sweet to me too, but mostly she ignored