SwiggitySwooty
New Here
I am in my late twenties and I've been working through my CPTSD diagnosis since February, which was the first time I successfully sought out help for my issues. I had no idea what was wrong with me, just that my body and life were falling apart together at the same time. Not that I wasn't used to my life falling apart; somehow this time my somatic symptoms and chronic stress, exhibited by severe hip and joint pain mixed with despair and anxiety attacks, that left me unable to cope any longer. My early life was filled with child abuse, abandonment from my father (NPD), neglect, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, and religious abuse. Honestly, I'm still trying to parse through it all because I never processed my experiences as "traumatic" or irregular...just endless additions of bad things that always happened to me.
Then, it got worse. I married into a cult-like family of abusive, radical doomsday preppers. While it was a short marriage barely lasting longer than a year, it was crazy. I mean, CRAZY. But of course I didn't know how crazy because I lost track of "normal" after he cut my contact to the world. I was held hostage, allowed to leave our remote, isolated house in the middle of nowhere once a week to get groceries. I was tracked at all times. Needless to say, I have safety and privacy issues. Death threats, physical violence, financial abuse, and a final exorcism (legally an ASSAULT, but couldn't get the local sheriff's department to even take pictures because they knew his family, who had told them I was crazy) by his crazy mother that left me physically injured to this day. After that crazy mess, I eventually moved in with my grandmother. I was raped by my uncle, but waited a month or two until I told her. She didn't believe me, and proceeded to say believed his story of me raping him instead. I left, feeling shattered to pieces, and the only place I had to stay was on my father's couch where I was raped. I slept on that couch for months. My NPD father suffered a medical issue at this time and was hospitalized, telling me it was my fault for stirring up so much disagreement and tension in the family and stressing him out.
After that, I escaped and started law school in a new state with no ties to anyone. Immediately fell in love, and had a miscarriage. I fell apart. I had worked so hard to keep it together for so long, but all I could think of were the words other people had told me: I was the common denominator in all of this. I was bad.
I don't think I'm bad anymore. But it's a daily struggle with my inner critic. Feelings of guilt and shame overwhelm me often, and it is a rare day that I'm not moderately nauseous. I feel like a baby, learning life all over from the beginning. Like self care? All I know is how to care for others. But I'm learning, and it's a truth I'm finally realizing...that it really is one day at a time and it's not a magical recovery.
Having typed this all out, maybe this is why I don't journal. I've barely scratched the surface and it feels like it's so much. I'm glad to see that there are other people out there with CPTSD, just for the sense of camaraderie and not feeling so alone in all this, though I hate that there might be other people who go through what I'm going through.
Then, it got worse. I married into a cult-like family of abusive, radical doomsday preppers. While it was a short marriage barely lasting longer than a year, it was crazy. I mean, CRAZY. But of course I didn't know how crazy because I lost track of "normal" after he cut my contact to the world. I was held hostage, allowed to leave our remote, isolated house in the middle of nowhere once a week to get groceries. I was tracked at all times. Needless to say, I have safety and privacy issues. Death threats, physical violence, financial abuse, and a final exorcism (legally an ASSAULT, but couldn't get the local sheriff's department to even take pictures because they knew his family, who had told them I was crazy) by his crazy mother that left me physically injured to this day. After that crazy mess, I eventually moved in with my grandmother. I was raped by my uncle, but waited a month or two until I told her. She didn't believe me, and proceeded to say believed his story of me raping him instead. I left, feeling shattered to pieces, and the only place I had to stay was on my father's couch where I was raped. I slept on that couch for months. My NPD father suffered a medical issue at this time and was hospitalized, telling me it was my fault for stirring up so much disagreement and tension in the family and stressing him out.
After that, I escaped and started law school in a new state with no ties to anyone. Immediately fell in love, and had a miscarriage. I fell apart. I had worked so hard to keep it together for so long, but all I could think of were the words other people had told me: I was the common denominator in all of this. I was bad.
I don't think I'm bad anymore. But it's a daily struggle with my inner critic. Feelings of guilt and shame overwhelm me often, and it is a rare day that I'm not moderately nauseous. I feel like a baby, learning life all over from the beginning. Like self care? All I know is how to care for others. But I'm learning, and it's a truth I'm finally realizing...that it really is one day at a time and it's not a magical recovery.
Having typed this all out, maybe this is why I don't journal. I've barely scratched the surface and it feels like it's so much. I'm glad to see that there are other people out there with CPTSD, just for the sense of camaraderie and not feeling so alone in all this, though I hate that there might be other people who go through what I'm going through.
