broken brain
Bronze Member
I found this forum a few weeks ago. I made a couple posts (ran into a few not so helpful people) ,but I was thinking maybe it's not too late to formally introduce myself. Hey my name is Shauna and I'm not afraid anymore to say I'm sick, and I have been for a long time.
BPD was what they called me, when I was 17, but no one knew about the trauma, abuse, and the shame. It didn't even occur to me until recently that there was something wrong with how I grew up because it was all I knew. The mental breakdown I suffered in my teens created even more trauma and shame, having spent about a year total in adult mental hospitals. I was by all measures, crazy.
Released by my 18th birthday, pregnant by my 19th. That child is the only reason I get out of bed every morning and I know without a doubt, the only reason I don't kill myself.
But I cut. I have that. I've curled up with that for 16 years. It's hard to explain to loved ones why a 30 year old would do that, but it's what I want to do, on good days and on bad.
My brother committed suicide 4 years ago on Valentines Day. He was the cause of most of my trauma and shame, but it took a few years to even be able to think in those terms. Survival guilt is a funny thing. When he died, the nightmares stopped, but now since I've entered therapy a month ago, they've returned.
I've skipped 3 weeks of therapy. I'm chicken shit to continue. I know I will text her, I just can't seem to dial the number.
So. There are some of the finer details of my life. I really like it here.
BPD was what they called me, when I was 17, but no one knew about the trauma, abuse, and the shame. It didn't even occur to me until recently that there was something wrong with how I grew up because it was all I knew. The mental breakdown I suffered in my teens created even more trauma and shame, having spent about a year total in adult mental hospitals. I was by all measures, crazy.
Released by my 18th birthday, pregnant by my 19th. That child is the only reason I get out of bed every morning and I know without a doubt, the only reason I don't kill myself.
But I cut. I have that. I've curled up with that for 16 years. It's hard to explain to loved ones why a 30 year old would do that, but it's what I want to do, on good days and on bad.
My brother committed suicide 4 years ago on Valentines Day. He was the cause of most of my trauma and shame, but it took a few years to even be able to think in those terms. Survival guilt is a funny thing. When he died, the nightmares stopped, but now since I've entered therapy a month ago, they've returned.
I've skipped 3 weeks of therapy. I'm chicken shit to continue. I know I will text her, I just can't seem to dial the number.
So. There are some of the finer details of my life. I really like it here.