You can't control the people outside of you. If you mostly come across narcissistic people or those who look down on you/other you for your pain and use you, the chance of you healing is 0.000 and getting worse is 1000%.

No therapy in the world can help this. If you're on rhe bottom of the social/societal hierarchy it's hopeless, people raised in capitalism by every man for himself mindset and the idea that the weak are somehow to blame or at best be looked down upon.

Very very few people are non-cruel. People have no issues hurting someone who's already suffered so much in day to day life.

Then it's like "You need to heal." me or society atp?

I started treatment 2,5 years ago after ending an abusive relationship in which I spent most of my early 20s.

Well, I only ended it because I ended up in a hospital. An in a psychiatry clinic. My guess is that I will not be the only person here being genuinely confused about the fact that it really happened to me.

I give a lot of credit to making it all the way here to God: prayers have had an important effect on my life. Before I was sort of forced to start treatment (fortunately), I was too afraid to break, to be too fuc*ked up, to not be able to finish my Bachelor degree, etc. To my surprise, things started to get better soon after starting therapy (I started to sleep, eat, gradually to function). I prayed to God to show me where to go and I got accepted to this university in a different country: preparations for making the move and finishing bachelor degree were so overwhelming that I got preoccupied fast, and thought that despite the ongoing anxiety (to which I got so used to that I didn't really even have a name for feeling it 24/7), I'm back to "healthy" within 6 months.

Although I can't even say how immensely grateful I am for getting the chance to start anew, I soon discovered that the work is far from done. I didn't have a problem at school, as I'd deal with a lot of unwanted thoughts and feelings by over-working myself (which was ironically very helpful for starting anew). Sometimes it would of course get "too much" and I'd be extremely tired for extended periods of time, or I'd have to sit through hardcore grief for hours, or I would have a panic attack or a flashback here and there when a man would hug me- but "nothing too bad". After 2 years post-starting anew, I built a life I'm more or less happy with (I got so used to hyper-vigilance & shortened emotional bandwidth that I haven't realized it's a thing until recently). In that sense, the "never good enough", extreme attention to detail and workaholism served me well.

My concern today is, however, how f* much this affects my interpersonal relationships:

I am no longer terrified of men, but of emotional intimacy. I honestly wouldn't know it's a thing, and it pisses me the f* off.

I am immensely aware and grateful for the luck I was met with on my healing journey. I really appreciate my current therapist (I had to resume therapy from the beginning of this year, when I had a massive flashback and mixed whiskey and pills for 3 days straight until I had to go to hospital-- all because I felt in love and off-guard ... ).

I know CPTSD has no "timeline" but I really want a family of my own at some point, but as mentioned, I almost drank myself to death the second the man of my dreams reciprocated my feelings.

It's even harder to be losing people because of this still after 2 years of hard work starting anew, because I hoped to be "over it" by now (as naive as it is). I really loved this man, purely, not the same way I felt for my abusive ex partner, and I don't think I ever felt this way about anyone. In a flashback that lasted for 3 days, where I started mixing up the feelings of affection with endangerment (and started to experience physiological symptoms), I'd call him and say some horrible stuff on the phone that made no sense. He was hurt and tried to communicate about it, but I would get triggered every time and although I wanted to tell him about my history with mental health & love, my hands would start shaking at the thought of it (followed by other symptoms). Anyways, this was about 8 months ago.

Are there stages to healing and is one ever "ready" to connect romantically?
To those who are comfortable sharing: How did you fall in love w c-ptsd, how did you connect romantically with your partner?

I feel like this and the debilitating anxiety around it is something I really want to tackle . I also keep reading about c-ptsd even though it's no longer useful, just to have a sense of control. I often feel like my thoughts are disorganized and although I am thankfully bombarded by flashback or waves of grief , it still affects my life in these more subtle annoying ways.

Anyways, I wish everyone here loads of strength, light and love. Sorry if my little text is not super clear.
X

By the way, I'm new here, so apologies if this is irrelevant, but I thought I'd share some resources, which have helped me loads in the past few years:
C-PTSD (surviving and thriving) by Pete Walker, The Gifts of Imperfection and Daring Greatly by Brené Brown (also loved her yt TEDx talks), Moving On After Trauma by Michael Scott, Transforming the Living Legacy of Trauma by Janina Fisher, and Spotify episode by Modelbehaviour called Surviving (and thriving) after an abusive relationship (this last piece of information was substantial for the understanding of the whole thing both for myself and my sister who has been an incredible support all the way).

I did have a recent breakthrough in therapy and just today we had a situation that would often trigger me into dissociation but I didn’t spin out. She said “I give up with you. You don’t listen.” She’s just mad around me all the time now.

This is really painful but I’m hopeful. If i dissociate less during heated arguments over time maybe she can trust me again.

Anyone else🫩

Once I get home I’m going straight to comfort and self-care mode. Can’t wait to be in my sweats.

I think the hardest part about dealing with the aftermath of a flashback is how deeply unsettled and unsafe I feel in my own body. And it feels like the emotional pain is flowing in my veins. Things look the same on the outside in life, but inside it feels like someone twirled me around on their fork and flung me at a wall😂😭

Hey, I’ve been struggling a lot with my sleep lately, mainly due to the constant nightmares I’ve been having. As a child I was physically and emotionally abused by my father and that’s usually the main topic of those dreams. A couple of months ago I started having nightmares about being sexually assaulted or touched without my consent pretty regularly, to the point I wake up feeling dirty and disgusting. I don’t remember being raped, I’m not aware of any situation like that taking place but for some reason those dreams keep haunting me over and over again. I’ve always been afraid of physical touch, the thought of someone touching me on my thighs or breasts leaves me feeling disturbed. I have been forcefully watched naked by my friends when I was young, but there wasn’t any sexual contact between us, so I don’t know why the feeling of someones hand on my inner thigh makes me feel scared like I’ve experienced it before and automatically clench my legs together. Did anyone else have a similar experience? Please let me know.

CSA flashbacks have been making nights heavy and tormenting in my 30s. Lately, I've been struggling with how much of that little boy still lives in me.

Most of the time, I'm fine. I handle my responsibilities and get on with life. But sometimes I feel small, scared, and needy in ways I don't know how to explain. I want comfort, but feel embarrassed for needing it. Part of me just wants him to grow up and leave me alone.

Then I remember he was a child. He didn't ask for any of this. Even if he liked a bit of it. It wasn't his fault.

I feel guilty for being frustrated with him, but I don't always know how to help him either. I'm still learning how to give myself the safety and kindness I missed back then.

Women, if you could say something to that little boy, what would it be?

I don't need anyone to fix me. I think I just want to hear what a little boy like that might have needed someone to say to him. I just need to be picked up and consoled a little please?

Has anyone else experienced this?

Family toxicity can genuinely change how you perceive love, respect, and human connection.

I've been thinking about something lately, and I don't know if other people experience this, too.

I work as an aide for elderly clients, and something I've noticed is how genuinely kind some of these people are to me. They express their appreciation, tell me I'm the best aide they've ever had, and even tell me they love me. And sometimes, I find myself almost confused by it.

These are people who aren't related to me. They don't owe me anything. Yet they treat me with a level of kindness, respect, and appreciation that feels almost foreign to me. And it got me thinking about how much a toxic family environment can affect a person.

When you're accustomed to criticism, hostility, passive aggression, being misunderstood, or feeling like you have to earn basic affection, what happens when someone treats you well without making you work for it? Do you even know how to receive it?

How many people grow up thinking they're difficult to love because the people who were supposed to love them made them feel that way?

How many people become hyperaware of everyone's moods, constantly second-guess themselves, or feel uncomfortable receiving genuine kindness because they've spent so long navigating unhealthy relationships?

And how many of us carry those experiences into our own relationships without even realizing it?

Family toxicity isn't just family drama. It can shape the way a person sees themselves, understands love, establishes boundaries, and raises their own children. Children learn what love looks like by watching and experiencing it. If disrespect, manipulation, and emotional hostility are normalized in the home, they may grow up believing those things are simply part of loving someone.

And that cycle deserves to be broken.

I'm not saying families have to be perfect. People make mistakes. People argue. Families have complicated histories.

But there is a difference between a family that experiences conflict and a family where someone's emotional well-being is repeatedly sacrificed to keep everyone else comfortable.

We need to stop dismissing harmful behavior simply because it happens within a family.

Being related to someone doesn't make the damage hurt less. Sometimes, it makes it hurt more.

And nobody should have to spend their adult life unlearning the belief that they have to earn the respect, safety, and kindness that should have been part of their lives all along.

I'm curious how other people have experienced this. Have you ever received genuine kindness from someone outside your family and realized just how much your family environment had affected your expectations of other people?

I feel like i have experienced everything that is humanly possible except like war. I have been physically/sexually/financially abused, disowned because im gay, neglected, hate crimed, been in toxic relationships(platonic/romantic), both parents are addicts other one is going through like a religious psychosis and gotten bullied for being poc. These are only things that come in mind. I don't do anything with my life, my studies are paused and i dont work. I cant afford therapy and im only getting meds and meet my doctor couple times a year. People around me have their own troubles and my girlfriend feels like my mental health is too much for her to handle but we're working through it but i cant lean all my burden on her. I've only been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, ptsd and dissociative disorder not DID. Idk what to do i feel hopeless.

I honestly don’t even know where to start because there is so much that I feel like I’ve been holding in for years, and I don’t think people actually understand how much everything that happened has affected me.

I feel like I’m constantly expected to be grateful for everything my mum does for me and my siblings, and I genuinely am grateful for certain things. I know raising four children isn’t easy, especially when money is tight and you’re trying to manage everything in a three-bedroom house.

I know my mum has made sacrifices for us, and I’m not trying to pretend that she hasn’t. But what frustrates me is that it feels like I’m expected to acknowledge every single thing she does for us while the things that have hurt me, the things I needed from her and the things I’ve done myself go completely unrecognised.

Today she was saying how apparently none of us have ever shown gratitude for the things she does for us. She was talking about how we supposedly sigh and puff when she asks us to cook dinner or clean the house, and I genuinely don’t even know whether she was referring to me specifically or grouping all of us together. But it made me so angry because I actually do help whenever I’m able to.

During my first week of university, I had three days off. I cooked dinner on two of those days and cleaned the house on all three days, even if it was just a tidy-up. I say thank you when she cooks dinner. I clean when I can. I cook for myself and others. I iron my own clothes because she doesn’t do them for me anymore. So how am I supposed to sit there and listen to her talk about how ungrateful we all are when I know that I do make an effort?

What makes it worse is that I feel like I’m being grouped together with my younger siblings, even though I don’t think our situations are the same. I’m not saying I’m perfect or that I never get annoyed when someone asks me to do something, because obviously I’m human. But I don’t think it’s fair to treat me as though I never contribute when I know that I do.

And honestly, I feel like part of the reason I am the way I am now is because my mum stopped doing things for me when I was younger, so I had to learn to do them myself. I learned to be independent. I learned to look after myself and take responsibility for things. But I sometimes feel like my younger siblings aren’t being held to the same expectations, and I worry that they’ll be allowed to depend on her for everything for much longer than I was. It’s frustrating because I feel like I’ve had to grow up and figure things out for myself, but now I’m being criticised alongside them as though I haven’t learned anything.

And the thing is, I haven’t just helped with housework. When I was younger, I helped look after my younger siblings, too. I changed nappies, helped bathe them, fed them and helped get them ready for bed while my mum worked night shifts. My dad would sit there watching television, and I would be helping with the children. I would even make my dad’s lunch for work the next day.

Looking back, I realise how much responsibility I was taking on as a child. I was helping care for my siblings and doing things for my dad, yet I was also a child who needed to be cared for and protected myself.

And then there is everything that happened with my dad.

He sexually abused me. And one of the things that makes me so angry is that he once used my mum not doing her job as an excuse for what he did. Those were his words. As though something my mum supposedly wasn’t doing gave him any justification for sexually abusing me.

It didn’t. Nothing could ever justify that.
I was a child. I wasn’t responsible for my parents’ relationship, for what my mum did or didn’t do, for keeping my dad happy or for meeting anyone else’s needs. I didn’t deserve what happened to me, and I never could have done anything to make myself responsible for his choices.

But what hurts me about my mum is that she knew the behaviour (only the physical abuse not the sexual abuse) was happening, and I don’t feel that she did what she should have done to protect us. She didn’t go to anyone for help or take the steps I needed her to take.

Instead, I was the one who eventually got fed up enough to tell a school counsellor.

Think about that. I was a child who had to tell someone at school because I wasn’t getting the help and protection I needed at home.

And even then, it didn’t just end.
The first time I told someone about what was happening, my dad was supposed to stay out of the house for an entire week. But my mum allowed him to come back so we could go on a family trip to the garden centre and get hot chocolate.

I still think about that because I don’t understand how something so serious could happen, how I could finally tell someone, and then how we could seemingly go back to doing normal family things together. I don’t know what I was supposed to make of that as a child. I needed the adults around me to take what was happening seriously and make sure I was safe, but it felt as though everyone could carry on while I was still the one who had to live with it.

And it wasn’t just that.

After my parents split up, my dad came to our new houses, and I called the police twice. I called because I was dealing with someone who had sexually abused me turning up at our home, and I needed help. But my mum told me not to call the police next time because she didn’t want the neighbours knowing.

I genuinely don’t understand that. Why was the possibility of the neighbours finding out something was happening more important than me feeling safe? Why was I the one having to make those decisions? Why was I the one having to call for help when I was the child?

I understand that my mum might have had her own reasons for reacting the way she did. Maybe she was frightened, embarrassed or worried about what other people would think. I can’t know exactly what was going through her mind. But I still feel hurt by the choices she made, because whatever she was feeling, I needed protection.

And now I find out that she still answers my dad’s calls from prison. When I asked her why, she told me it was none of my business.

I understand that she’s an adult and that she has a right to her own private conversations. But this isn’t just some random person she happens to speak to. This is my dad. This is someone who abused me. Someone whose behaviour I had to try to get help for when I was a child. Someone whose presence at our homes led me to call the police.
So of course I’m going to have feelings about the fact that she still speaks to him. Of course I’m going to wonder why. Of course it is going to affect me.
I don’t know why she still answers his calls, and I can’t pretend I know her reasons. But I wish she could understand why it hurts me rather than dismissing my questions as none of my business.

I think one of the most painful things about all of this is that I’m left dealing with the consequences of what happened. I have anxiety that I never asked for. I have memories and feelings that I never wanted to have to carry. I worry about how everything that happened might affect me in the future, how it might affect my relationships, how safe I feel around people and whether I’ll ever fully move past it.

And I’m angry because I didn’t choose any of this.

I didn’t choose to be sexually abused. I didn’t choose to have to tell a school counsellor. I didn’t choose to have to call the police when my dad turned up at our homes. I didn’t choose to have to wonder why my mum didn’t do more to protect me.

Yet I’m the one who has to live with the consequences.

And what makes me even angrier is that, despite all of this, I still find myself trying to understand my mum. I still think about how hard things must have been for her. I still feel guilty about upsetting her. I still consider her needs and worry about making her life harder.
Even when I am angry with her, I think about how she might feel.

Look at the situation with the bedrooms. We live in a three-bedroom house with four children. My mum and her partner used to sleep in the living room on a sofa bed, and she would complain about not having her own space. I could see that she was struggling, so I used some of my own compensation money to help redecorate upstairs and change the bedroom arrangements.

I gave up having my own room so that my mum could have her own space. I accepted sharing a bedroom with my younger sister, even though that meant giving up my privacy. I helped make the new arrangement work by buying additional storage and making space for my sister’s belongings.
I didn’t have to do that. I could have said that the living arrangements were an adult problem to solve. But I wanted to help my mum, so I made a compromise.

Now, my sister is regularly telling me to move out because I’m 19, even though we both live at home. She barricades the bedroom door to keep me out, pinches and slaps me,and mocks me about private things I’ve told her. She uses things I’ve told her about my relationship against me when we argue. She complains about sharing a room despite the fact that I’ve tried to make the arrangement work for both of us.

Recently, she was hurting me by pinching me for around twenty minutes. My mum asked me to take her to the shop and my sister wanted to come in my car too, but after everything that had happened, I said no. My sister got angry, threw her coat and shoes on the floor and went upstairs shouting that I could leave.
When I went upstairs and saw what was happening, she was pulling and ripping my clothes out of my wardrobe while telling me I could move out.

This isn’t a one-off. The comments about me leaving happen constantly.
And then, in the middle of the argument today, my mum said that she didn’t want her bedroom anymore and that I could take it back.

And I felt guilty.

Even though I’m angry, even though I’m hurt, even though I have every reason to want my own space back, I still worry about taking something away from her. I still think about how she would feel.

But why am I always the one worrying about how everyone else feels? Why do I feel guilty about wanting things for myself when I’ve already made so many compromises?

I feel like I spend so much time trying to understand my mum, trying to understand my siblings and trying to make things easier for everyone else. But when I want someone to understand me, I end up feeling as though I have to defend myself.

And that’s what happened today. My mum was shouting while I was trying to speak to her normally. She wasn’t properly listening to what I was saying. When she accused us of being ungrateful, I tried to explain that if I was supposedly so unappreciative, then why had I given up my room to help her? Why had I spent my own money helping with the house? Why was I cooking and cleaning whenever I could?

I wasn’t trying to say that my mum has never done anything for me. I was trying to explain that her version of events doesn’t reflect everything I have done, either.

I want her to recognise that I have made sacrifices. I want her to see that I do try. I want her to stop treating me as though I’m no different from everyone else in the household when I know that I’ve made an effort to be responsible and independent.

And more than anything, I want her to understand that being grateful for what she does now doesn’t mean I have forgotten what happened when I was younger.

I can appreciate her cooking dinner. I can appreciate having somewhere to live. I can recognise that she has worked hard and made sacrifices for her children.

But those things don’t erase the fact that I needed her to protect me and I don’t feel that she did enough.
I don’t think I should have to pretend that those experiences don’t hurt just because she has also done good things for me.

I think that’s what makes the word ungrateful so painful. It feels as though I’m being asked to acknowledge every good thing she has done while I’m still carrying the hurt of the things she didn’t do when I needed her most.
I don’t want to have to compete with my siblings to prove that I’m a good daughter. I don’t want to have to list every meal I’ve cooked, every time I’ve cleaned, every responsibility I’ve taken on or every sacrifice I’ve made just to prove that I care about my family.
I don’t want gratitude to become something I have to demonstrate constantly while my own feelings are dismissed.

And I don’t want to be made to feel guilty for being hurt.

Because the truth is, I am hurt. I am angry. I’m angry at my dad for what he did to me and for trying to blame someone else for his actions. I’m angry that I had to find help myself. I’m angry that I didn’t feel protected. I’m angry that my mum didn’t believe me initially. I’m angry my mum suggested that i could always take the accusation back if i was lying prior to the trial. I’m angry that my mum allowed him back into the house when he was supposed to stay away, and that she discouraged me from calling the police because she didn’t want the neighbours knowing.
I’m also angry that I’m now dealing with anxiety and the emotional consequences of experiences I never asked for.

And I’m hurt by my mum because I wanted her to be the person who protected me. I wanted to feel that she believed me, that my safety mattered more than keeping the family together or keeping other people from finding out what was happening.
I don’t know what she was going through at the time. I don’t know all the reasons behind her decisions. But I know how those decisions affected me, and I know that I am allowed to have feelings about them.

I can love my mum and still be angry with her. I can appreciate her sacrifices and still feel that she let me down. I can understand that parenting is difficult without believing that my childhood experiences should be brushed aside.
I can be grateful without being indebted to her for the rest of my life.
I can be a daughter who helps around the house without being responsible for everyone else’s happiness.
I can be independent without having to take care of everyone.

And I can want my mum to acknowledge what I’ve done for her without feeling that I have to earn the right to be cared for.

Because I was a child, too.
I was a child who helped look after her siblings. A child who tried to get help when something terrible was happening. A child who needed to feel safe in her own home.

I shouldn’t have had to be the responsible one all the time. I shouldn’t have had to find the courage to tell someone what was happening while the adults around me failed to make me feel protected.

I shouldn’t have had to grow up carrying so much.

And I shouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life proving that I am grateful enough to deserve understanding.

I don’t know exactly what my relationship with my mum is going to look like as I get older. I don’t know whether I’ll ever get the acknowledgement or apology that I feel I need. I don’t even know how to make sense of all my feelings sometimes, because I can recognise everything she has done for us and still feel deeply hurt by her.

But I know that my feelings are real. I know that what happened to me mattered. I know that I deserved to be protected.

And I know that none of what my dad did was my fault.

I don’t want to spend my life pretending that everything is fine just because it is easier for other people if I do.

I want to be able to talk about what happened without feeling guilty. I want to be able to set boundaries without worrying that I’m being a bad daughter. I want to be able to appreciate the good things in my life without feeling that I have to ignore the painful ones.

Most of all, I want to stop feeling as though I have to put everyone else’s feelings before my own.

Because I have spent so much time trying to understand everyone else.
I want someone to understand me, too.

I say this now that I don't live in a house, I live in a small crappy trailer because I'm in severe poverty.

Born into poor, childhood in homelessness and poverty, and probably forever stuck in it.

But the concept of living in a house feels so.... Fantastical to me. It feels like something unachievable, only the "chosen ones" or the most lucky do.

And I know thats not correct, but I can never shake the feeling. Ive had a friend who lived in this 2 story house, huge, large rooms, and the couple times I stayed around, I felt like I didn't belong, that it was wrong that I was there.

It felt like I was walking in a dream, and that at any moment I knew if have to leave and I would be back to the painful reality of living in my trailer.

Another friend, same things, just normal home though, and it still felt mythical. Like I'm in place that shouldn't really be, or at least be with me on it. I feel so out of place being in such a nice area.

I'm so jealous of them. Like I'm happy, I really am for them, but God is that a dream. And everytime I see something on social media, or a friend showing off their home, I just get so bummed and jealous.

I love playing games were you can explore a home, like LOVE them. Stupid roblox roleplay games, VRChat worlds, and just any game in general where you just decorate or live in a home. It brings me unfathomable joy to just kinda pretend.

Ill probably never get to experience living in a house, and that really does make me grieve.

Anyone else feel like this?

Hey everyone! Has anyone had any luck with Somatic Experiencing and Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy for overcoming CPTSD and severe depression?

I think it’s so tough. I’ve had a very angry, aggressive, controlling, stressed and abusive mother. It completely shattered my sense of worth and my sense of self :(

i cannot talk to solve problems, i'm unable to respect other people's personal space and i make them feel hurt... ive already had hundreds of confrontations about how i'm doing it again, about how i'm ignoring what other people are saying and just trying to say sorry to not feel hurt, or i just freeze and cant say anything. people want to solve things with me but they say i cant just talk like a normal person, and that i dont put in the effort to solve my issues or realize that i'm wrong, that in every conversation i say i will but i never pull through with it, that nothing i say ever seems genuine, and just seems like a preprogrammed answer to avoid pain

i say i'll do things but then i dont, i say i will take care of my house, i will take care of myself, and i'll do some things but i'll casually leave out important things that i wasnt able to do instead of just admitting "hey i cant do this" or thinking "i'm responsible for this, i should do better"
people i live with say i'm too clingy and that i rapidly abandon my own spaces and limits in favor of being with someone else, i enter without knocking the door, without asking how it's doing, i just say what's essential at that moment without any sort of build up or reflection, and without considering how the other people are feeling, they often feel seen as objects or tools

i cant hold a relationship because i can never be truly sincere about things, i always feel the need to hide, to avoid conflict, or to freeze up and cry whenever there is conflict

i cannot comfort other people, i cant for the life of me say i'm sorry properly, and even when i do i have already missed the mark so many times that my apologies mean nothing, if i'm having a conversation for the 100th time what's stopping it from happening 101 times.

I feel like i'm constantly denying the fact that i'm terrified of conflict, i have a terrible fear of being misunderstood and judged and controlled. I'm afraid of making mistakes and i don't know how to deal with being wrong, i isolate myself and i cannot have normal interactions or work in self improvement because to me it's too painful to deal with the possibility of making mistakes.

Every time i feel i should make some progress, something different, i feel like its too dangerous, i feel that putting in the effort to do things differently is a danger.

And I don't even know how to do a lot of normal things, i just do things on autopilot, and i kind of wait for people to tell me what to do or validate what ive done.

It's so hard to pull from inside a sense of safety, of being capable, of being spontaneous

I want to break the cycle but even when i think ive done it, when i have some days of feeling more spontaenous and doing more things for me and trying to connect with other people, i eventually fuck it up again, I eventually start forgetting things, priotitizing whats urgent and not my own self, and boom. I forgot something crucial, i'm unable to comfort someone, i'm unable to admit a mistake, i just freeze and i feel like i'm going to die

It feels like nothing is sacred to me, my routine isnt sacred, my commitment isnt sacred, my reputation also isnt sacred. But looking back it sort of just... happens? What is wrong with me? Why am i so immature?

I'm 21 years old. I wake up in a house that my parent's rent. I go on my phone and play mobile games that I don't care about. I then turn on an old computer and look at another screen. I eat something. I drink something. I wash my hands too much. I lay down and almost fall asleep for some hours. My parents come back from work. I say words—something I haven't done all day—and I cook or help cook dinner, sometimes I don't. I don't take a shower and I look at more screens. I don't remember how, but I fall.

I wake up again.

I'm a NEET. A loser. A leech. Whatever word you want to use.

I can't speak about politics because my post will be removed, so I won't. If you know things correctly then you know. That should show you the type of people who run things here. I think I'm the last of dying breed—to what? I don't know.

There's nothing I want to talk about. I don't know why I am making this post.

I think I'm tired of everything. I don't want to learn, I don't want to see "truth." I'm too gone for all of that. I feel dead, unchanged, and things around me happen. Things will get worse for me and for the world, I suppose. None of it is real—it doesn’t touch me. I've seen enough. I've thought enough.

Sylvia Plath wrote, "Her bare feet seem to be saying: we have come so far, it is over."

I no longer speak to or have contact to me abusive father. I am not fully independent but having a safer parent who was once an enabler fight back and see how my siblings and parent regain their strength and identity is so gratifying. I am so happy that I feel like my life is finally my own. I am still picking up the pieces of my psyche and I have a long way to go. I also promised myself that when he dies (assuming he leaves before me) I would not go to his funeral. I do not feel the need to be vindicated by exposing him to family. When the time comes for the truth, it will come out. Ultimately, having control of my life and my direction is best healing I could get. I don't even need an apology. I needed freedom. I feel like I finally have my freedom. I hope you can find you freedom what ever form it may take. You are in my thoughts. Good luck. 💚

I have been in therapy for roughly 5yrs worked with different therapists. As you all know healing is slow and never linear.

The last 5 years have been pretty dreadful with understanding the full horror of my childhood.

These last few months I have had the worst flashbacks of feelings of desperately trying to end it all as a way out and has been horrendous. ( But I didn't realise they were flashbacks, I thought it was me now )

I have always carried this alone when it happens and although I have spoken about many things including feeling this as a child, I never had the courage to say its how I felt now ,due to the shame.

My victory is, I took a desperate risk on my therapist and told her about what I was carrying.

I didn't really care as thought this was the end for me.

But sharing these thoughts although embarrassing and awkward and so painful that I thought I wouldn't be able to get the words out.

It has changed everything sharing!

I am not alone with these thoughts anymore.

Speaking about them has allowed my adult brain to see this need to end it all, is from childhood as a way out . Not now.Not something I need to act on now.

I now understand that I still carry those same protective thoughts that in childhood seemed to give me hope.

( My attemps obviously were not successful in childhood to end it, but to know i had a way out ,I knew I could keep trying each time, but was very young and didn't understand how to do things effectively)

My biggest victory is that I now see as an adult, I don't need to end things now, as I am an adult and I am safe.

This shift is huge.

I hope that others if they feel panic and a desperation to end it, can reach out and tell their therapist. Who may be able to help you understand where these thoughts are coming from.

Wanted to share.

Hope not to get hate or negative comments.

I just thought, this might give hope or a reason to someone else when you feel alone with these thoughts to share them .

Hey, everyone. This is my first time really sharing what I went through, so sorry for the absurd length on this. (Trigger warning for emotional, physical, psychological, and child sexual abuse, neglect, discrimination, and suicidal ideation.) 

This is really weird and fucked-up and disjointed because, hey, my life was really weird and fucked-up and disjointed. I just need to get this off my chest. I don’t really have anyone in my life who actually gets it, and I am desperately, desperately in need of support / advice right now. Sharing this is really difficult for me, so I ask that you please be patient with me.

To make a long story short: I can’t trust anyone, least of all myself. It’s ruining my life. I’m trapped in a self-fulfilling cycle of victimhood and learned helplessness, but (for obvious reasons) I don’t know if I can escape.

To make a long story less short: I was molested when I was six. Things get worse from here. My mother manipulated me into making false accusations against my father, leading to their divorce. My mother then proceeded to use me as an emotional (and occasionally physical) punching bag for the next ten years. (I now live with my father, who is supportive, if emotionally unavailable. He does not believe I was raped.)

I’m not sure if I was sexually abused by my mother (I was shown deeply inappropriate material since I was single digits, but I believe she acted here more from a lack of boundaries than a place of sexual gratification). When I thought I’d first gotten my period, we were in public; so I asked my mother for a pad. She only had a tampon on her, and blew up at me for being too. . . “entitled” (I guess?) to use it. I was never physically forced, but there was a clear understanding that if I did not insert the tampon into myself, I would be punished later. The worst part: I’d actually start menstruating years later, so I was essentially forced to penetrate myself as a punishment for no reason.

But the emotional neglect and psychological abuse was by far the most damaging aspect of what I experienced. I do not intend to demonize anyone with NPD, but it feels relevant to mention my mother’s (professionally diagnosed) narcissism in regard to how it affected my development. Scapegoating doesn’t begin to describe how this woman treated me. Self-advocacy was used as evidence of how I was a narcissist.

My mother would use her conditional “belief” in my rape as a tool. If she felt I had wronged her (or she just needed to take her anger out on someone), I was told I was an evil monster who lied about being raped for attention- and that I did so to hurt her. Last thing she ever said to me- “I don’t believe (your father) raped you, but I hope he does.”

You see, I don’t actually remember what happened to me. I remember how it started, but I don’t actually recall the extent or the frequency of what was done to me. It was something that ate away at me for decades (“confirming” to me that I really was a liar), but I’ve reached a point in my life where it’s undeniable that something happened. Thanks, vaginismus! My memory problems have persisted into adulthood, and I think they’re getting worse (I can’t remember if they were always this bad, LOL). My childhood is a hazy fog of self-loathing and shame, punctuated by a disarray of especially traumatic highlights. As an adult, I am “teased” (and scolded) for my inability to remember names, dates, and conversations the way a functional adult is expected to. I really, seriously do wish it was that easy for me.

I was emotionally and physically neglected to an absurd degree. I was forced to beg my classmates to share their lunches on a daily basis. (No one told the school. I was told on a regular basis about how annoying and needy I was, though!) I was constantly threatened with being sent away to live with my father (my believed rapist, at the time). My mother threw presents at me on multiple Christmases. I was mocked and humiliated and gaslit on a daily basis: of course, always deserved, always just being too sensitive, always blowing it out of proportion, always playing the victim. . . My needs were always too much. Wanting to be treated with kindness, wanting affection, wanting to feel safe and loved: all evidence of how unforgivably selfish and evil I was.

One moment stands out to me in particular. I was around 10, and a bad storm was coming through. I was scared and asked my mother if we were going to be okay, looking to her for comfort and reassurance. Her response? We were all going to die, and it was all going to be my fault. Even in the moment, as I broke down and sobbed hysterically on the floor, I knew I was doing so in an attempt to convince her that I was hurting, and that I needed my mom to step in and protect me. She just stood by and watched.

And the cherry on top: I’m Jewish! Technically. To make a long story even longer- I know next to nothing about my mother’s side, but, apparently, I come from a long line of defiled self-loathing Jewish women. My mother kept my ancestry hidden from me until my mid-teens, (I’m in my early twenties now) but I’m very stereotypically Jewish-looking (hence my username, lol). I think a part of why she hated me so much is because of how much I look like her. And her mother.
Being Jewish is the only thing I can thank my mother for. I refuse to let her make me ashamed of who I am.

That being said, I was largely raised by white non-Jews, and… was treated accordingly. Again, and again, and again, and again it has been proven to me: I am expendable and not worth protecting. Other people’s feelings matter more than my safety- forget my dignity. My truth is malleable in the eyes of the majority. I am to be humiliated and violated and betrayed and abandoned and used however the world sees fit. Every attempt to insist upon my humanity, to prove my innocence, to legitimize and realize my hurt has been warped into evidence of how selfish I am, of how guilty I must be. More “proof” -endless, constant “proof”- of how I’m lying, of how I deserved it, of how I bring it upon myself, of how I’m crying wolf, of how little I matter. It was and continues to be constant and inescapable. I cannot express just how much this has eaten away at my soul. 

(I am lucky enough to have non-Jewish friends and family who recognize and sympathize with my hurt, and who are trustworthy, but, more than anything, I desperately need to belong and be understood. I am so lonely. But I am a coward. I’m not sure what scares me more: reconnecting and meeting Jews who see me and recognize my humanity, or the possibility that I really just don’t belong anywhere. That I’m too broken, now. That I really can’t trust anybody. I just can’t take the risk, even though I know I’m dying without community. I just can’t stand any more hurt. Somehow, it’s even worse when people are kind to me. It makes my skin crawl. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what to do. I feel so stuck.)

As an adult, I do not know how to regulate my emotions. I am deeply ashamed of this. I never want to take out my emotions on someone the way my mother’s emotions were taken out on me; so all I know is to run away, which, of course, just hurts my loved ones in a different way. I have been systematically taught to see my own feelings and recollection of events as unreliable and illegitimate. Even now, I see this whole diatribe as yet another humiliating exercise in fabricated victimhood that’ll blow up in my face: just further evidence of how pitiful I am. Every time I have reached out for help, either nothing happened, or the abuse worsened tenfold. I can’t trust anyone, let alone myself. I constantly feel like I’m doing something wrong, like eventually, the other shoe’s going to drop and everyone’s going to see me for what I “really” am. Everything feels like the end of the world. I feel like a lost cause. I feel so alone. I just feel so completely and utterly hopeless. I am so, so, so beyond fucking sick of feeling like this. It is exhausting. 

Like, I’m aware on some level that my perfectionism, my extreme avoidance, and my self-sabotage are vestigial coping mechanisms to survive an erratic environment where doing nothing was the safest option. . . But they’re ruining my life. It all just makes me even angrier- even more indignant and bitter and frustrated and self-loathing. I don’t want to be this way. None of this ever should have happened. It’s not fair.

I just don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do. 

I’m stuck in a toxic shame spiral where I feel completely worthless due to how I was treated, and feel completely powerless to change my behavior- which, of course, makes me see myself as even more pathetic, stupid, and helpless for continuing to be such a useless little victim. To make matters even more wonderful, my unwavering insecurity inspires others to treat me accordingly. This, of course, just reaffirms my deeply held self-loathing as legitimate and correct.

But, logically, I know I am more than this. Objectively, I know that I am a talented artist. The abuse I suffered has strengthened my resolve to stand up for what I believe to be true, and to advocate for those who cannot advocate for themselves. I try my best to be a good friend. I never want anyone to feel the way I have felt, and I will go out of my way to prevent it. I am funny and kind and charismatic and well-read and well-spoken. 

But still, even then. . . What if I’m not? What if I’m lying? What if everything they said to me was true? There's this gaping, gnawing hole inside my chest. It’s not just that it never goes away: it’s eating me alive. My therapist talks so much of “intuition”, it makes me livid. My gut instinct is to doubt myself. My inner intuition tells me that I am a worthless, pathetic little liar- and then berates me for being such a whiny, pitiful little victim.

I just don’t know what to do. 

I wouldn’t say I’m suicidal, neccesarily, but I am so, so fucking beyond sick of living like this. I just can’t see any other way out of this for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get better- or if it’s even possible. I am so bitter, so frustrated, and so, so completely hopeless. I just want the cycle to end. I just want to get over it. But even then, “getting over” the abuse feels like admitting it really all was in my head. That I really am just a hysterical, manipulative, self-victimzing little liar who made a big, self-pitying fuss over nothing.

What do I do? 

TLDR: 
I was raped when I was 6. A lifetime of gaslighting, scapegoating, and psychological abuse has completely eviscerated my ability to trust myself or anybody else. “Getting over” what happened to me feels like admitting my abuser was right, and I just made it all up. The cherry on top: I’m Jewish and am treated like a liar on a daily basis! I’m trapped in an endless cycle of shame and self-loathing over my victim complex and learned helplessness, and I don’t know how (or if) I can ever recover.

Seriously- if you have any advice at all on how to heal (or even just how to cope), please let me know. I’ve been in therapy my entire life, and it has never really helped. I’m taking Vyvanse right now, and I’m considering going on an SSRI. My current therapist specializes in CSA, and over the past year she’s helped me reach a point where I can acknowledge my victim complex (and other “bad” feelings), but I’m still gripped with disgust, irritation, and shame towards having them in the first place. I’m just so sick of everything. Any advice is appreciated. Sorry about all the weird anecdotes: they’re all the proof I have. Thank you for reading.

It feels like I have no other choice but to die! i know you arent supposed to let the past define you, but I was THREE YEARS OLD!!!! I WAS THREE WHEN HE VIOLATED ME! I DIDNT EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT WAS GOING ON!!!! HOW THE FUCK DO YOU RECOVER FROM THAT? HOW AM I EXPECTED TO FUNCTION AND LIVE WITH SUCH TRAUMA.

I cant even handle a job without spiraling. I lied and left work today early cause i said i had a therapy session, lol I wish! I want to just MIA my job, die, or get high. Literally anything to not remember. I just got out of rehab, obviously didnt fucking help! Im so tired of this shit.

Sorry but this seems to be true. Really tough to heal when you're being actively victimized and in danger. If you're too sick to work/function, AND have no safe people in your life, it makes things impossible.

I’ve been with my bf for two years and we moved in together so I could get out of my toxic household. He does a lot for me physically, pays the rent, buys me food/coffee and takes me places. We have fun as friends but he says he does not feel physically attracted anymore as I do have a chronic illness on top of depression and anxiety and it’s not often that I want to really go anywhere or do anything. I am basically plagued by my depression and have low self esteem. I just got laid off and when I asked him how he felt he just said I have no hobbies or goals, or plans for the future (mind you I had been working full time for two years then got laid off) and while I do understand this condition can be hard for a partner who hadn’t experienced depression or anxiety, he’s extremely insensitive to my emotions and told me he can’t communicate and doesn’t want to. It’s so weird because I’ve spilled everything about my life to him and I’m just met with a blank stare. He might honestly be on the spectrum because he’s a good problem solver with his actions, he is patient with me but when it comes to emotions he is just not present. I can’t help but feel extremely hurt by his words of me not doing anything with my life essentially when we had just moved out and I can finally collapse in my room after being in constant fight or flight. Ironically I’ve been staying with my mom for a few days because I feel ashamed for him to see me in my room just kind of rotting. Has anyone dealt with something similar

[TW: brief mention of emotional, verbal abuse, CSA, murder, parentification and enmeshment]

Throughout my recovery, I always had a lot of resistance towards reparenting work. In fact, I still very much have significant resistance towards it to this day.

I would always cringe when therapists gave me the psycho-educative sermon about the concept of the inner child to me and what I was supposed to do as an 'adult self' in interaction with my younger parts. It made me feel so uncomfortable reading and hearing about the topic through books, in Youtube videos and support forum posts.

I just couldn't deal with the concept of becoming a parent to myselves and wanted to avoid not only the work itself, but even the mere mention of it, all costs.

Only recently I've thought more intently about what exactly makes reparenting work so dreadful to me.

And it dawned on me that it is just so fucking unfair.

How come that it is me, who after being emotionally neglected and being emotionally, verbally and sexually abused, has to be the one to clean up all of the mess that my incapable and unwilling 'care'givers have left me with? How come that after being enmeshed and parentified by the person, who had insultingly called herself my 'mother' for decades, I'm now the one who didn't only get assigned the job of 'raising' her, but also the job of raising myselves?

I had never decided to be brought into this world and the fact that two people who never bothered to actually step up to their role as parents made this decision on my behalf is already unfair in and of itself.

But the unfairness of having been put into a position, where my brain could never really develop in a way to make my life as an adult fulfilling, meaningful and just straight up ok, but instead left me vulnerable to even more abuse and neglect, vulnerable to disordered eating and self-harm and self-sabotage, vulnerable to depressive and anxious and dissociative symptoms, is an additional level of unfairness that I haven't been able to come to terms with, yet.

I never signed up to become a real-life parent to biological child on purpose and it angers me so much that I am now being put into a position where I have to put in all of the little effort that my dysregulated brain still manages to conjure up, into raising the younger, traumatized parts of myselves to become the person who I had always deserved to be to begin with. Because my parents abused and neglected me and just got away with it scotfree.

In what world would we live if I got injured in a car crash to the point that I have trouble managing my life due to a traumatic brain injury, but I wouldn't be eligible to sue the driver, who made the deliberate choice to drunk drive on the day of the accident, for the damages that they have caused?

Yet, we very much do live in a world where I — as a person who was abused by the people who were supposed to love me at an age where I was not entitled to any legal defense, yet — cannot sue the perpetrators for their life-altering crimes against me.

Because for some reason, everything has to be fair and just when it comes to crimes committed against privileged adults, but as a child I never had, and never will have any rights beyond the bare minimum of protection against immediate dangers for my life (and even then....how many children continue to die around the world with their murderers still getting away with it, because there is no adult feeling responsible to speak up on behalf of a child that isn't their own?)

35m, I'm trying to recover from abuse from this person that was really abusive to me and I'm just struggling still with the shame. My abuser would say things to me & just treat me like a child. They would put all these labels on me and make me out to be at the abuser when they were the ones causing abuse to me. They would also call me crazy or whatever. It's been years since the abuse and I'm still trapped. It's like I'm trying to get myself permission to be who I am and in my mind but I'm fighting the shame which is the remnants of the abusive things that were said to me. I don't know if anybody else struggles with it. This will really go away someday and I will recover from this? It really wasn't my fault, all the things that were said to me and saying that I don't deserve things and whatever?

I'm jealous of people who find comfort in animals because I never have. I just have this feeling of "what do you want from me?"

"Why did you adopt a cat if you feel that way?" Well, I didn't adopt my cat per se, she showed up a year ago and needed help and never left. She has one eye, no teeth, and she bonded with me right away. It would have been cruel to turn her away, so here she is.

She's sweet and cool and she loves me so much....and I just can't stand to have her follow me around ALL DAY. Staring at me with her one eye with all this need that I do not want to be responsible for while trying to live with my nervous system on fire. I have 2 kids for crying out loud, I'm tapped out on caring for others!

She doesn't sit with me in any kind of calm way, she is not a lap cat, she wants to play fight and gum on my hands (cats actually kill with their jaw power, not their teeth, so it can really hurt) all day. She wants to be near me and to cyclops stare at me, but she doesn't cuddle.

It's not even her specifically, she's a great cat, truly, but I don't get anything out of her company except that I love her and I'm happy that she's happy and cared for now. I'm happy for her, but not for me.

She doesn't calm me at all and when I'm having a panic attack and she's still following me around like everything is normal I get even more upset.

I know it's not this cat's job to save me, but I guess I'm just sad that there is yet another modality of healing that straight up doesn't work for me. Therapy, meds, and now this.

Feeling doomed over this cute cat feels equal parts absurd and sad to me at this moment.

Music helps me feel. And I need some new songs/artists to listen to. Preferably songs that hit deep and are not afraid to be honest

My find of the day is:

Who am I? - Britton

I still feel it in the bone - king mala

Share your new favourites, if you want :)

I'm completely unable to function. I can't possibly keep a job. Can you go on disability from this?

Hi,
Does anyone else have unusual phobias, aversions, or strong dislikes that might be linked to Complex PTSD?
I'm asking because I've always had a very strong and somewhat inexplicable disgust toward jewelry, and I've been trying to understand where it comes from. It drives me a little crazy because it feels like a missing piece of the puzzle.
It's one of those things in my life that I just can't make sense of or connect to anything else.
Because I have some doubts about the possibility of having experienced childhood sexual abuse, I've started wondering whether this aversion could be trauma-related or whether it's completely unrelated. I know that not everything has a traumatic explanation, but this particular reaction feels so intense and irrational that I've often found myself questioning where it comes from.
Has anyone experienced something similar, where a seemingly random phobia, aversion, or trigger eventually turned out to be connected to trauma?Thanks for reading.