LostintheDark
New Here
July 2015 - I have my first Nervous Breakdown
Up until this point I have had some depression, some anxiety and OCD ... or so I thought.
At the age of 10, I knew I was a victim of child abuse.
The following diagnosis are done by me as a survivor and the research I have done trying to find answers.
My stepFather - The Wolf - Narcissistic Personality Disorder - Neglect, Physical and Mental Abuse
My Mother - The Cruel - Borderline Personality - Pathological (Neglect, Blinding Rage, Emasculation), Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Shaming
My Sister - The Princess - Borderline and Narcissistic - Empowered, Parentification, Grandiose
My biological father is hardly worth mentioning. He knocked up my mother and presented her with a phony marriage certificate, she's dyslexic, then told her to abort me.
I still lay at night wondering why she didn't.
When I was ten I had to live with my grandparents for a year while my parents moved ahead to a new assignment. The biggest reason we were left with my grandparents was because my parents didn't want to interrupt the school year.
I was having a rough time that year, nothing was right in my world. My grandparents were wonderful people, but I wasn't getting hit several times a day. I wasn't getting any of my normal treatment and I was very confused.
I remember my grandmother couldn't handle me anymore, as I was acting out constantly looking for the form of love my parents visited on me. So my grandfather had to take me into the camper while helping me with my studies one evening.
I was having a particularly hard time with fractions and I was frustrated. While we were working at the problems, my grandfather and myself, I kept flipping a switch to the water pump in the camper. My grandfather was patient with me and asked me to stop. Which I didn't.
Eventually I muttered the question that would change my life forever, but not for the better, "Grandpa, am I abused?"
To his credit, he attempted not to answer that question. I say credit, because how do you explain that to a ten year old? I was relentless. Eventually he sighed, "Yes, <myname>, you're abused." This didn't surprise me as I recall my answer being, "Oh, ok."
A year later I advocated for myself and showed the bruises from the middle of my back to my lower thighs to my teacher. Imagine an eleven year old, unashamedly dropping his trousers in the boys bathroom to show his teacher what was happening to him at night.
My teacher asked me to pull my trousers up, and I could tell by the look in his face that he was disturbed by what he saw, but said little.
Being a Christian school, my teacher showed up one evening at my home with a youth pastor. I should take a moment to mention that my parents weren't devout, they simply wanted the best education from a school system which used the same books. All the schools I went to used books printed by a christian academy and therefor every time we moved, due to fathers job, we only missed the little bit of travel time. So these two gentleman came to call on my parents, to confront them.
Visitors: "Mr. and Mrs. Parents, we had a disturbing encounter with your son..."
My heart started pounding, my thoughts were racing,
Me: "They're going to do this here, right here with me right here, no no no no no ... oh god what have I done .... "
they continued,
Visitors: "... We have reason to believe that you are abusing your son ..."
I just knew I was going to die right there, that night. My parents looked shocked, dismayed and played their parts to perfection.
Parents: "We what? How could someone think we would beat our son? <MyName> where did this come from?"
Now I wasn't just an observer of the scariest day in my life, but a participant, my mouth was dry, my rational, irrational and wise mind were shouting the same thing
Me: "Play dead/dumb, no one will force you"
Parents: "<MyName> we asked you a question"
I knew this tone, I knew what it meant if I didn't answer. I also knew what was coming if my gamble didn't pay off.
Me: in a timid voice ... "My grandparents, I asked if I was abused and they said yes"
Deflection, momentary respite, I thought, "they'll mention the bruises"
Parents: "We should have known leaving you in their care would lead to this..."
My mind started screaming in sheer panic.
Me: "What about the bruises, why aren't they asking about the bruises I showed them?"
Parents: "Thank you for bringing this to our attention. We're terribly sorry this has ruined your evening..."
Visitors: "We're sorry we had to interrupt your evening, we'll see you in school tomorrow <MyName>"
Visitors exit.
My mind raced
Me: "What just happened? I did all the right things"
That evening the questions started, my parents continued their facade, with one exception.
Parents: "If you ever tell anyone you're abused again, we'll show you want abuse is really like"
I felt like I was struck harder than any physical blow I ever felt. I immediately thought
Me: "If this isn't abuse, what is real abuse?"
This story doesn't end there because that summer my parents conspired with my grandmother's sister to confront my grandparents during their summer vacation.
I was unaware of this, and we drove up to the site of what would become the worst day of my young life. We rounded the bend to see the motorhome belonging to my grandparents. My sisters screamed with glee as my heart sank. I knew exactly what was going to happen here, and it was my fault. If I had just suffered in silence ...
That summer, I attempted to defend my mother to my grandmother. I can only assume I was looking for some for of absolution or maybe leniency.
Chaos ensued, and it would take me 30 years before I would understand the truth of what that weekend cost me.
First, it was the last time I would see my grandmother alive. She died the next year.
Second, the entire family blamed me for the rift between my mother and grandmother and would remind me for years to come.
Third, my words to my grandmother hurt her so badly that I had earned the ire of my mother's sister and was chased through a corn field.
Lastly, after 30 years, I realize that everyone, about 25 to 30 people who were visiting that year, knew I was abused and sat around for the show but no one advocated for me. Not even my grandparents.
I had finally accepted that I was meant to have the life I was living. Later till, at 18, I would find out that maybe 200 people, friends and family, knew what was happening and turned a blind eye. This happened when I visited my Aunt for Christmas and one of her oldest friends turned to me and said, "I am sorry you had to live the life you did, its always bothered me that we couldn't do more"
I felt like I was struck once again, but by this time no one had laid a hand on me in four years. I remember thinking.
Me: "More? You wish you could have done more? What exactly did you do? What did any of you do?"
I forgave her, on the surface, but all my childhood resentments flared to life again.
That was 24 years ago, and up until very recently, I thought that my past was resolved.
All my parents predictions had turned out true.
I was lazy, I was fat, I lived off my grandfather, I dropped out of high school and while I would eventually get my GED and a BS. I never was "Successful"
I have been supporting myself, if you can call it that, working in help desks. Taking calls from irate customers.
My breakdown came after a series of extreme circumstances and being told that the outcome was my own fault. Then I watched three people abandon me, and my existential crisis began.
How does one become whole, when they were never whole in the first place?
I understand my codependence now. I understand why I am driven by conflict. I understand why I can't categorize because perfectionism was quite literally beaten into me, while love and tenderness were beaten out.
I can't go back to the work I have done for years, because I can no longer handle irate tones. Fight or Flight is always triggered, and since I am on a phone Flight is unnecessary, so Fight kicks in.
How do you learn to not need a "Slave Driver" to thrive?
The latest stressor is trying to look to the future. I can't think beyond an hour without feeling like I am in crisis mode. I am safe, as I have no desire to hurt myself. Everyone else is safe because that part of my spirit was broken when I was a child and attempted to enact my fathers style of justice on a schoolmate, and was beaten severely for it. I realized that I was the only one who was beaten, that there was something fundamentally wrong with me.
I don't know where to take this thread from here. The story will never be fully told because I either hit a wall, or I am stopped by those who just don't want to hear it.
All I want to do is stand on my own. I want to never have to rely on another person again. I don't know how.
I tried going to a PTSD chatroom this evening, and posted what I was feeling to the full room, and was ignored. I can't be in group every waking hour of every day and I can't do the same with my therapist.
I know there's a light at the end of the tunnel, but I think I hit a bend because I can't see the light anymore, and I am terrified.
My only support are my oldest friends, and after this summer, that relationship feels threadbare.
If I go back to my grandfather, I will be living under the same roof as my mother. When last I saw her, she activated me, angrily, a little but was mostly tolerable. Right now, I can't stop bring triggered when I sent something to her to relay to my grandfather because he doesn't know how to use his smartphone and really isn't even interested in it anyway.
A recent fight with one of my two roommates has left me considering cleaning out my van and going out to some rest area and do my sleeping there and take up showering at a truck stop or something.
I am lost, and I don't know what to do next. Everyone seems to be able to tell me whats wrong with me, but no one seems to want to tell me how to change it.
While I enjoy my sessions, which sounds odd, with my therapist, the elation I feel is later replaced with severe depression because I feel like I am paying someone to listen to me. Because no one will.
I feel like the dog everyone kicks and eventually sits on the outside waiting to be called over only to be kicked again.
Up until this point I have had some depression, some anxiety and OCD ... or so I thought.
At the age of 10, I knew I was a victim of child abuse.
The following diagnosis are done by me as a survivor and the research I have done trying to find answers.
My stepFather - The Wolf - Narcissistic Personality Disorder - Neglect, Physical and Mental Abuse
My Mother - The Cruel - Borderline Personality - Pathological (Neglect, Blinding Rage, Emasculation), Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Shaming
My Sister - The Princess - Borderline and Narcissistic - Empowered, Parentification, Grandiose
My biological father is hardly worth mentioning. He knocked up my mother and presented her with a phony marriage certificate, she's dyslexic, then told her to abort me.
I still lay at night wondering why she didn't.
When I was ten I had to live with my grandparents for a year while my parents moved ahead to a new assignment. The biggest reason we were left with my grandparents was because my parents didn't want to interrupt the school year.
I was having a rough time that year, nothing was right in my world. My grandparents were wonderful people, but I wasn't getting hit several times a day. I wasn't getting any of my normal treatment and I was very confused.
I remember my grandmother couldn't handle me anymore, as I was acting out constantly looking for the form of love my parents visited on me. So my grandfather had to take me into the camper while helping me with my studies one evening.
I was having a particularly hard time with fractions and I was frustrated. While we were working at the problems, my grandfather and myself, I kept flipping a switch to the water pump in the camper. My grandfather was patient with me and asked me to stop. Which I didn't.
Eventually I muttered the question that would change my life forever, but not for the better, "Grandpa, am I abused?"
To his credit, he attempted not to answer that question. I say credit, because how do you explain that to a ten year old? I was relentless. Eventually he sighed, "Yes, <myname>, you're abused." This didn't surprise me as I recall my answer being, "Oh, ok."
A year later I advocated for myself and showed the bruises from the middle of my back to my lower thighs to my teacher. Imagine an eleven year old, unashamedly dropping his trousers in the boys bathroom to show his teacher what was happening to him at night.
My teacher asked me to pull my trousers up, and I could tell by the look in his face that he was disturbed by what he saw, but said little.
Being a Christian school, my teacher showed up one evening at my home with a youth pastor. I should take a moment to mention that my parents weren't devout, they simply wanted the best education from a school system which used the same books. All the schools I went to used books printed by a christian academy and therefor every time we moved, due to fathers job, we only missed the little bit of travel time. So these two gentleman came to call on my parents, to confront them.
Visitors: "Mr. and Mrs. Parents, we had a disturbing encounter with your son..."
My heart started pounding, my thoughts were racing,
Me: "They're going to do this here, right here with me right here, no no no no no ... oh god what have I done .... "
they continued,
Visitors: "... We have reason to believe that you are abusing your son ..."
I just knew I was going to die right there, that night. My parents looked shocked, dismayed and played their parts to perfection.
Parents: "We what? How could someone think we would beat our son? <MyName> where did this come from?"
Now I wasn't just an observer of the scariest day in my life, but a participant, my mouth was dry, my rational, irrational and wise mind were shouting the same thing
Me: "Play dead/dumb, no one will force you"
Parents: "<MyName> we asked you a question"
I knew this tone, I knew what it meant if I didn't answer. I also knew what was coming if my gamble didn't pay off.
Me: in a timid voice ... "My grandparents, I asked if I was abused and they said yes"
Deflection, momentary respite, I thought, "they'll mention the bruises"
Parents: "We should have known leaving you in their care would lead to this..."
My mind started screaming in sheer panic.
Me: "What about the bruises, why aren't they asking about the bruises I showed them?"
Parents: "Thank you for bringing this to our attention. We're terribly sorry this has ruined your evening..."
Visitors: "We're sorry we had to interrupt your evening, we'll see you in school tomorrow <MyName>"
Visitors exit.
My mind raced
Me: "What just happened? I did all the right things"
That evening the questions started, my parents continued their facade, with one exception.
Parents: "If you ever tell anyone you're abused again, we'll show you want abuse is really like"
I felt like I was struck harder than any physical blow I ever felt. I immediately thought
Me: "If this isn't abuse, what is real abuse?"
This story doesn't end there because that summer my parents conspired with my grandmother's sister to confront my grandparents during their summer vacation.
I was unaware of this, and we drove up to the site of what would become the worst day of my young life. We rounded the bend to see the motorhome belonging to my grandparents. My sisters screamed with glee as my heart sank. I knew exactly what was going to happen here, and it was my fault. If I had just suffered in silence ...
That summer, I attempted to defend my mother to my grandmother. I can only assume I was looking for some for of absolution or maybe leniency.
Chaos ensued, and it would take me 30 years before I would understand the truth of what that weekend cost me.
First, it was the last time I would see my grandmother alive. She died the next year.
Second, the entire family blamed me for the rift between my mother and grandmother and would remind me for years to come.
Third, my words to my grandmother hurt her so badly that I had earned the ire of my mother's sister and was chased through a corn field.
Lastly, after 30 years, I realize that everyone, about 25 to 30 people who were visiting that year, knew I was abused and sat around for the show but no one advocated for me. Not even my grandparents.
I had finally accepted that I was meant to have the life I was living. Later till, at 18, I would find out that maybe 200 people, friends and family, knew what was happening and turned a blind eye. This happened when I visited my Aunt for Christmas and one of her oldest friends turned to me and said, "I am sorry you had to live the life you did, its always bothered me that we couldn't do more"
I felt like I was struck once again, but by this time no one had laid a hand on me in four years. I remember thinking.
Me: "More? You wish you could have done more? What exactly did you do? What did any of you do?"
I forgave her, on the surface, but all my childhood resentments flared to life again.
That was 24 years ago, and up until very recently, I thought that my past was resolved.
All my parents predictions had turned out true.
I was lazy, I was fat, I lived off my grandfather, I dropped out of high school and while I would eventually get my GED and a BS. I never was "Successful"
I have been supporting myself, if you can call it that, working in help desks. Taking calls from irate customers.
My breakdown came after a series of extreme circumstances and being told that the outcome was my own fault. Then I watched three people abandon me, and my existential crisis began.
How does one become whole, when they were never whole in the first place?
I understand my codependence now. I understand why I am driven by conflict. I understand why I can't categorize because perfectionism was quite literally beaten into me, while love and tenderness were beaten out.
I can't go back to the work I have done for years, because I can no longer handle irate tones. Fight or Flight is always triggered, and since I am on a phone Flight is unnecessary, so Fight kicks in.
How do you learn to not need a "Slave Driver" to thrive?
The latest stressor is trying to look to the future. I can't think beyond an hour without feeling like I am in crisis mode. I am safe, as I have no desire to hurt myself. Everyone else is safe because that part of my spirit was broken when I was a child and attempted to enact my fathers style of justice on a schoolmate, and was beaten severely for it. I realized that I was the only one who was beaten, that there was something fundamentally wrong with me.
I don't know where to take this thread from here. The story will never be fully told because I either hit a wall, or I am stopped by those who just don't want to hear it.
All I want to do is stand on my own. I want to never have to rely on another person again. I don't know how.
I tried going to a PTSD chatroom this evening, and posted what I was feeling to the full room, and was ignored. I can't be in group every waking hour of every day and I can't do the same with my therapist.
I know there's a light at the end of the tunnel, but I think I hit a bend because I can't see the light anymore, and I am terrified.
My only support are my oldest friends, and after this summer, that relationship feels threadbare.
If I go back to my grandfather, I will be living under the same roof as my mother. When last I saw her, she activated me, angrily, a little but was mostly tolerable. Right now, I can't stop bring triggered when I sent something to her to relay to my grandfather because he doesn't know how to use his smartphone and really isn't even interested in it anyway.
A recent fight with one of my two roommates has left me considering cleaning out my van and going out to some rest area and do my sleeping there and take up showering at a truck stop or something.
I am lost, and I don't know what to do next. Everyone seems to be able to tell me whats wrong with me, but no one seems to want to tell me how to change it.
While I enjoy my sessions, which sounds odd, with my therapist, the elation I feel is later replaced with severe depression because I feel like I am paying someone to listen to me. Because no one will.
I feel like the dog everyone kicks and eventually sits on the outside waiting to be called over only to be kicked again.
