S
Sven
have a history of extreme insomnia and the effects of extreme stress are now revealing themselves in my body. I cannot relax because of signals from my body that I am going to die of cardiovascular disease. My insomnia/hypersomnia started around age 13 or 14. Trazadone no longer has an effect, and I am experiencing dementia. At 36. When I close my eyes and try to rest, my brain just starts generating insane word salad, sentences that make no sense. It sounds like a schizophrenic talking.
Part of me knows I need to be institutionalized but I do not present as being crazy enough, other than my suicidal ideation for which I am held for a couple days in isolation and released.
When I had a partner, I slept well. I was able to regulate my nervous system with her normal rhythms of sleep to a large degree. But that way years ago, now I am homeless in a shelter and have no way to mitigate the stress like that soon I may be sleeping rough again.
All this is the cumulative effects of my maladaptive coping strategies to deal with a dysfunctional home and toxic family environment. I was the scapegoat for my family, the one they could focus on "helping" so they could continue to deny their own pain and trauma. I willingly accepted this role, the extreme rage I felt for being for used and violated never found a voice. And I grew up with so much love, it makes no sense. I believe in my case i was genetically programmed to be vulnerable to extreme emotional dysregulation. I was never hit or sexually molested, and my family were very close and loving. I witnessed domestic violence several times and many fights, as well as my mother's occasional explosive rage. That plus a large dose of body dysmorphia was all it took to send me over the edge. I think most people would have adapted healthy responses but I was unable to separate and "launch" from my mother because I was unconsciously taught that to do so would be betrayal. I sacrificed myself to care for her fragile emotional self hiding behind a wall of narcissistic defences. Early on I became aware that I was insincere and wearing a mask, fronting depending on who was around. I learned how to perform what I thought others wanted from me instead of being myself. When I saw others being their genuine selves without complications I realized that I was lacking something essential, a personality. This knowledge was
Anyway, back to the present, I am unable to care for myself any longer. I am homeless and do not clean myself or brush teeth. I haven't brushed my teeth in years. I am repulsive. I was good looking and smart with the world at my fingertips and I ended up dying as a bum, completely alone and in intolerable emotional and psychic and physical distress.
I wished that I had been able to act on my anger, to listen to my instinct. It told me that in order to become a person, I needed to leave home. But at 14 that's not so much of an option. My parents did send me to boarding school where I experienced further emotional trauma. I wanted to come home so bad but they said no. I became a delinquent and truant, all outward signs of my internal distress at never having experienced the normal emotional stages of identity formation, which was forfeited to care for my sick parents. But, I'm so confused because it wasn't a drastic case of it, they held jobs, sent me and my brother to summer camp, we had money and a nice, warm home. I struggle to be angry with them, they got me therapy and tried to help but I was too sick already. Compulsively lying and stealing, using drugs, all the external signs of my inwards feeling of being out of control. I was out of control and they did everything they could to help me but it wasn't enough. I was made to feel special, narcissistic instincts were encouraged but I suffered a failure to become a grandiose narcissist like my mother, instead I became a vulnerable narcissist. This was largely due to a birth defect of my genitals that I kept a close secret. This was the nail. In the coffin for me, if that hadn't occurred I think I would have succeeded in developing healthy narcissism. My disorder of sex development became body dysmorphia due to not being able to talk about such a tabboo subject, even with my therapist. In retrospect I wish I would have reached out for help with it instead of drowning in silence. But I was too ashamed to say anything and I wasn't educated about my condition, I found out much later. I didn't even know the name of hypospadias until I was 23, and that there were other men like me. The lonliness this created in me was so great that I understandably began to use drugs to cope with how I felt.
I was born gifted, but instead of being able to harness and cherish my gifts, they ended up being a liability. I was too much for my parents to handle, being so feisty and independent I was unable to play along in their denial. I realized early on that things in my family were not okay but I had no language or understanding to express this truth. Instead I was conditioned to believe that I was the sick one, when all I wanted was a healthy family. In reality I was sick, probably from the earliest years of my life I was displaying distress symptoms. This is clear in the many photographs of me as a child, I was performing for the camera even though I hated being photographed. My parents took thousands of pictures of me and my brother. I never spoke up and said "no." I never learned boundaries, I was so toxically enmeshed and triangulated into my parents warring marriage. I believe that I took on the role of identified patient in order to keep them from divorcing, the tension was displaced onto me, an innocent child. Only thing is I soon wasn't innocent anymore, I started committing petty crimes at a young age of 14. I feel so much guilt for not responding better, but the truth is that I had no tools to cope with my dysfunctional family dynamic.
The drugs and stress have delivered me to my current state of decay. I am just constantly stuck in fight or flight, unable to inhabit my body which is beginning to betray me. I was diagnosed as heaving hypochondria but the symptoms of traumatic stress and repression are very real. I am so far gone it's insane to me that I have endured this long. I am both too cowardly to end my life and refuse to do that to my family, or the fragments of what was once a family. We will never all be together as one again, in the same place. Part of me will always believe that it is my fault for the family shattering, such a devastating weight to carry. If only I had done better, gotten help sooner. But my distress was simply too overwhelming for me to make sense of as a child. I came to see myself as my mother, and father by complaisance, did, sick and bad. But they were the adults. They exposed me to domestic violence and codependency. It some senses I was destined to become an alcoholic, on the other hand I feel I should have known better. I should have told myself that emotions don't last and not let my life be dictated by them. But I had extreme difficulty regulating them and continue to be unable to regulate my nerves today. Upon giving up alcohol my symptoms immediately got worse, as alcohol was the only thing keeping them in check. Of course it ruined my life and health but that was easier than facing the reality of my life and childhood. I struggle to make sense of it even now. I am split between blaming my parents and myself, when in reality both of us contributed. I became the symptom bearer of my parents childhood traumas which they were unable to master. The price was my life, I died psychically and subsequently became extremely depressed at this loss of self, understandably. I think this occured in the earlier years of my life, the symptoms didn't really present themselves until adolescence but I remember always feeling different from my peers, I was antisocial from a very young age.
I just don't know what to do now. I am horrifically mentally ill and I am too old now to change course. I don't have resources except to continue to pathetically rely on my parents, I am unable to work due to my extreme social phobia. I look horrible, the attractive young man I was is gone and a vacant, slovenly alcoholic is now what's in the mirror. I am unable to mourn the loss of who I could have been, the loss is too intense. The entirety of my personality is my disorder. That's really what it is, a failure to organize a cohesive sense of myself. This is true of both my parents to a degree, but they functioned occupationally while I am disabled. I was never allowed to fail on my own, my parents were doing my homework for me. I was exceptionally capable of handling things, and intelligent, and now I am almost completely mute. Like my parents I don't have any relationships outside of my family.
I am compulsively addicted to my cell phone, scrolling over the same news stories again and again. Anything to avoid the present moment. I was introduced mindfulness and meditation by my parents and saw hope and relief there, but I went the opposite direction into dissociation and addiction. In reality the fantasy that if I had been a better Buddhist I would have been saved is just that: a fantasy. But mindfulness was so liberating when I experienced it young, it really could have helped me if I had stuck with it. But I always go the easy way, and that always leads to suffering. Mindfulness was unable to help me really see the truth of my repressed self. What I needed was therapy but I felt angry for being compelled to go. Now I wish I had spoken up to my therapist, but I reality I had no words to describe my situation.
So I have gained a high level of insight into myself and my family, all on my own through reading, specifically Alice Miller, Jane Middleton moz and John Bradshaw, and others. But no idea what to do with this terrible knowledge. I have no ability to change my fate it seems. Or is it entirely up to me and I am just too afraid, too frozen to help myself? My situation seems hopeless for sure. The only healing I experienced was in my last relationship, but of course I couldn't hold onto her. I destroyed the one loving, stable relationship I've ever had. She loved me for me, without the mask. I am stuck in greif seven years later, unable to move on from the fantasy of being rescued by this woman.
Part of me knows I need to be institutionalized but I do not present as being crazy enough, other than my suicidal ideation for which I am held for a couple days in isolation and released.
When I had a partner, I slept well. I was able to regulate my nervous system with her normal rhythms of sleep to a large degree. But that way years ago, now I am homeless in a shelter and have no way to mitigate the stress like that soon I may be sleeping rough again.
All this is the cumulative effects of my maladaptive coping strategies to deal with a dysfunctional home and toxic family environment. I was the scapegoat for my family, the one they could focus on "helping" so they could continue to deny their own pain and trauma. I willingly accepted this role, the extreme rage I felt for being for used and violated never found a voice. And I grew up with so much love, it makes no sense. I believe in my case i was genetically programmed to be vulnerable to extreme emotional dysregulation. I was never hit or sexually molested, and my family were very close and loving. I witnessed domestic violence several times and many fights, as well as my mother's occasional explosive rage. That plus a large dose of body dysmorphia was all it took to send me over the edge. I think most people would have adapted healthy responses but I was unable to separate and "launch" from my mother because I was unconsciously taught that to do so would be betrayal. I sacrificed myself to care for her fragile emotional self hiding behind a wall of narcissistic defences. Early on I became aware that I was insincere and wearing a mask, fronting depending on who was around. I learned how to perform what I thought others wanted from me instead of being myself. When I saw others being their genuine selves without complications I realized that I was lacking something essential, a personality. This knowledge was
Anyway, back to the present, I am unable to care for myself any longer. I am homeless and do not clean myself or brush teeth. I haven't brushed my teeth in years. I am repulsive. I was good looking and smart with the world at my fingertips and I ended up dying as a bum, completely alone and in intolerable emotional and psychic and physical distress.
I wished that I had been able to act on my anger, to listen to my instinct. It told me that in order to become a person, I needed to leave home. But at 14 that's not so much of an option. My parents did send me to boarding school where I experienced further emotional trauma. I wanted to come home so bad but they said no. I became a delinquent and truant, all outward signs of my internal distress at never having experienced the normal emotional stages of identity formation, which was forfeited to care for my sick parents. But, I'm so confused because it wasn't a drastic case of it, they held jobs, sent me and my brother to summer camp, we had money and a nice, warm home. I struggle to be angry with them, they got me therapy and tried to help but I was too sick already. Compulsively lying and stealing, using drugs, all the external signs of my inwards feeling of being out of control. I was out of control and they did everything they could to help me but it wasn't enough. I was made to feel special, narcissistic instincts were encouraged but I suffered a failure to become a grandiose narcissist like my mother, instead I became a vulnerable narcissist. This was largely due to a birth defect of my genitals that I kept a close secret. This was the nail. In the coffin for me, if that hadn't occurred I think I would have succeeded in developing healthy narcissism. My disorder of sex development became body dysmorphia due to not being able to talk about such a tabboo subject, even with my therapist. In retrospect I wish I would have reached out for help with it instead of drowning in silence. But I was too ashamed to say anything and I wasn't educated about my condition, I found out much later. I didn't even know the name of hypospadias until I was 23, and that there were other men like me. The lonliness this created in me was so great that I understandably began to use drugs to cope with how I felt.
I was born gifted, but instead of being able to harness and cherish my gifts, they ended up being a liability. I was too much for my parents to handle, being so feisty and independent I was unable to play along in their denial. I realized early on that things in my family were not okay but I had no language or understanding to express this truth. Instead I was conditioned to believe that I was the sick one, when all I wanted was a healthy family. In reality I was sick, probably from the earliest years of my life I was displaying distress symptoms. This is clear in the many photographs of me as a child, I was performing for the camera even though I hated being photographed. My parents took thousands of pictures of me and my brother. I never spoke up and said "no." I never learned boundaries, I was so toxically enmeshed and triangulated into my parents warring marriage. I believe that I took on the role of identified patient in order to keep them from divorcing, the tension was displaced onto me, an innocent child. Only thing is I soon wasn't innocent anymore, I started committing petty crimes at a young age of 14. I feel so much guilt for not responding better, but the truth is that I had no tools to cope with my dysfunctional family dynamic.
The drugs and stress have delivered me to my current state of decay. I am just constantly stuck in fight or flight, unable to inhabit my body which is beginning to betray me. I was diagnosed as heaving hypochondria but the symptoms of traumatic stress and repression are very real. I am so far gone it's insane to me that I have endured this long. I am both too cowardly to end my life and refuse to do that to my family, or the fragments of what was once a family. We will never all be together as one again, in the same place. Part of me will always believe that it is my fault for the family shattering, such a devastating weight to carry. If only I had done better, gotten help sooner. But my distress was simply too overwhelming for me to make sense of as a child. I came to see myself as my mother, and father by complaisance, did, sick and bad. But they were the adults. They exposed me to domestic violence and codependency. It some senses I was destined to become an alcoholic, on the other hand I feel I should have known better. I should have told myself that emotions don't last and not let my life be dictated by them. But I had extreme difficulty regulating them and continue to be unable to regulate my nerves today. Upon giving up alcohol my symptoms immediately got worse, as alcohol was the only thing keeping them in check. Of course it ruined my life and health but that was easier than facing the reality of my life and childhood. I struggle to make sense of it even now. I am split between blaming my parents and myself, when in reality both of us contributed. I became the symptom bearer of my parents childhood traumas which they were unable to master. The price was my life, I died psychically and subsequently became extremely depressed at this loss of self, understandably. I think this occured in the earlier years of my life, the symptoms didn't really present themselves until adolescence but I remember always feeling different from my peers, I was antisocial from a very young age.
I just don't know what to do now. I am horrifically mentally ill and I am too old now to change course. I don't have resources except to continue to pathetically rely on my parents, I am unable to work due to my extreme social phobia. I look horrible, the attractive young man I was is gone and a vacant, slovenly alcoholic is now what's in the mirror. I am unable to mourn the loss of who I could have been, the loss is too intense. The entirety of my personality is my disorder. That's really what it is, a failure to organize a cohesive sense of myself. This is true of both my parents to a degree, but they functioned occupationally while I am disabled. I was never allowed to fail on my own, my parents were doing my homework for me. I was exceptionally capable of handling things, and intelligent, and now I am almost completely mute. Like my parents I don't have any relationships outside of my family.
I am compulsively addicted to my cell phone, scrolling over the same news stories again and again. Anything to avoid the present moment. I was introduced mindfulness and meditation by my parents and saw hope and relief there, but I went the opposite direction into dissociation and addiction. In reality the fantasy that if I had been a better Buddhist I would have been saved is just that: a fantasy. But mindfulness was so liberating when I experienced it young, it really could have helped me if I had stuck with it. But I always go the easy way, and that always leads to suffering. Mindfulness was unable to help me really see the truth of my repressed self. What I needed was therapy but I felt angry for being compelled to go. Now I wish I had spoken up to my therapist, but I reality I had no words to describe my situation.
So I have gained a high level of insight into myself and my family, all on my own through reading, specifically Alice Miller, Jane Middleton moz and John Bradshaw, and others. But no idea what to do with this terrible knowledge. I have no ability to change my fate it seems. Or is it entirely up to me and I am just too afraid, too frozen to help myself? My situation seems hopeless for sure. The only healing I experienced was in my last relationship, but of course I couldn't hold onto her. I destroyed the one loving, stable relationship I've ever had. She loved me for me, without the mask. I am stuck in greif seven years later, unable to move on from the fantasy of being rescued by this woman.
