Kintsugi
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I'm not sure this is in the right place. It's not quite about symptoms and it's not quite about relationships. And I'm really frustrated so I don't care enough to debate where to post this for twenty minutes.
Okay. Has anyone ever experienced this irritation?
Every time I talk to my parents (sometimes friends, but mostly this is something between my parents and I) about my symptoms, they are 1) shocked and 2) insanely worried. They act like this is totally new news to them, like they've never f*cking heard of PTSD or that I have it, like they're not housing my f*cking abuser, like everything is usually hunky-dory and I've suddenly developed these symptoms out of nowhere. WTF. :mad:
The most frustrating part is that I have emphasized again and again that this is something I deal with every day. Where the f*ck was their concern for me while I was literally dying in my room because I was scared to come out to eat? I was scared to sleep? I was dissociating for 4-7 hours? Where was their worry then? Why is it always a f*cking SHOCKER whenever I share anything about my symptoms? They freak out, thinking my death is imminent, while when I was 15 or 16 I would stay awake all night planning my suicide? Or when I was starving myself? Or cutting? They knew about these things! Even if I didn't share a TON, my mother at least had seen me during flashbacks before (induced by her behaviors), smashing my skull into walls and raking my skin as best I could, rocking in fetal position, screaming wildly at people who didn't exist.
HOW IS THIS NEWS?
My mother emailed me TWICE today after I very patiently tried to tell her about what Annie could help me with as a service dog (dissociation, suicidal ideation, flashbacks) through doing tasks that would ground me safely (humans grounding me ends up pretty poorly usually, but Annie is effective and safe). I was just trying to tell her as clearly as possible why I want Annie to be trained in some service dog tasks and why Annie truly was better than my meds and better than just having people support me. Her emails were frantic. I could just imagine her worrying herself sick. She clearly thought I was about to jump off of a roof. When I was sixteen, I regularly attempted to kill myself. My boyfriend was with me almost 24/7, though, and he was ever-vigilant in putting flashbacks to bed, warding off dissociation, making sure I ate something every day, and watching me to the point of making me very angry when he knew I was suicidal. And thank god. I truly believe he saved my life.
I just don't understand why after so many years of such intense symptoms, now that I am getting down and dirty with my issues and trying to clean up some of this crap, I am arousing excessive concern in my parents. I truly appreciate that they care about my well-being, but they only pay attention to the fact that I'm struggling with these things when I mention suicide or self-mutilation. Who the f*ck cares if I am suffering quietly from flashbacks, dissociation, nightmares, depression, loss of appetite, isolation... as long as I am not trying to kill myself or cutting? Or as long as I'm not acknowledging the urges of suicide and self-mutilation, perhaps?
AGHHH. This was poorly written and a huge VENT, but thanks for reading. I am wondering if anyone else is frustrated by people acting like this is the first time you have had symptoms ever even when they know that you deal with this day-to-day.
Okay. Has anyone ever experienced this irritation?
Every time I talk to my parents (sometimes friends, but mostly this is something between my parents and I) about my symptoms, they are 1) shocked and 2) insanely worried. They act like this is totally new news to them, like they've never f*cking heard of PTSD or that I have it, like they're not housing my f*cking abuser, like everything is usually hunky-dory and I've suddenly developed these symptoms out of nowhere. WTF. :mad:
The most frustrating part is that I have emphasized again and again that this is something I deal with every day. Where the f*ck was their concern for me while I was literally dying in my room because I was scared to come out to eat? I was scared to sleep? I was dissociating for 4-7 hours? Where was their worry then? Why is it always a f*cking SHOCKER whenever I share anything about my symptoms? They freak out, thinking my death is imminent, while when I was 15 or 16 I would stay awake all night planning my suicide? Or when I was starving myself? Or cutting? They knew about these things! Even if I didn't share a TON, my mother at least had seen me during flashbacks before (induced by her behaviors), smashing my skull into walls and raking my skin as best I could, rocking in fetal position, screaming wildly at people who didn't exist.
HOW IS THIS NEWS?
My mother emailed me TWICE today after I very patiently tried to tell her about what Annie could help me with as a service dog (dissociation, suicidal ideation, flashbacks) through doing tasks that would ground me safely (humans grounding me ends up pretty poorly usually, but Annie is effective and safe). I was just trying to tell her as clearly as possible why I want Annie to be trained in some service dog tasks and why Annie truly was better than my meds and better than just having people support me. Her emails were frantic. I could just imagine her worrying herself sick. She clearly thought I was about to jump off of a roof. When I was sixteen, I regularly attempted to kill myself. My boyfriend was with me almost 24/7, though, and he was ever-vigilant in putting flashbacks to bed, warding off dissociation, making sure I ate something every day, and watching me to the point of making me very angry when he knew I was suicidal. And thank god. I truly believe he saved my life.
I just don't understand why after so many years of such intense symptoms, now that I am getting down and dirty with my issues and trying to clean up some of this crap, I am arousing excessive concern in my parents. I truly appreciate that they care about my well-being, but they only pay attention to the fact that I'm struggling with these things when I mention suicide or self-mutilation. Who the f*ck cares if I am suffering quietly from flashbacks, dissociation, nightmares, depression, loss of appetite, isolation... as long as I am not trying to kill myself or cutting? Or as long as I'm not acknowledging the urges of suicide and self-mutilation, perhaps?
AGHHH. This was poorly written and a huge VENT, but thanks for reading. I am wondering if anyone else is frustrated by people acting like this is the first time you have had symptoms ever even when they know that you deal with this day-to-day.