I feel so sickly lonely

HeartSupport General
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So, getting rid of pain can be painful. Although it seems counterintuitive, I get it. In fact, it seems closely related to the kind of reaction I had when finally receiving good news.

My feeling is that “hardening” decreases resilience because the hard shell tends to be brittle, fragile, and always under threat. That’s why it’s usually accompanied by anxiety, and perhaps exchanging vulnerability for fragility.

It is absolutely true that a person needs to reduce vulnerability to the extent possible. Once someone hurts you, the best option is to take measures to avoid being hurt by that individual again. Minimizing vulnerability is most effectively accomplished by nurturing strength, resilience, and wisdom. Hardness creates a barrier, partially or completely preventing perception of positive attributes in others, and maybe even in ourselves.

You can set appropriate boundaries, ensure your own safety, say “no” to others without regret, resist manipulation and require that others respect you, all without being “hardened.”

Using logic, critical thinking and common sense is very wise, and as far as I can tell, useful in any situation. Even if you make a heart motivated decision, knowing the facts to the extent possible, is important. There have been times when I was virtually certain that my trust would be betrayed, but I made a conscious choice to be vulnerable to that betrayal. Surprisingly, sometimes those kinds of decisions end up having a net positive effect.

I guess you would call it “conscious vulnerability.” Among other things, it’s a way of determining to what extent another person can be trusted. However, there is no reason to allow yourself to become physically vulnerable. The net positive effect I’m talking about is when after days, weeks, months or years, it dawns on a person that someone cared enough about them to trust them, even while being aware that it was likely to lead to disappointment. At times, it’s enough to convince a person to rethink their philosophy on life and become far less likely to betray someone else in the future.

The inner child is there, for better or worse. This child wreaks the greatest amount of havoc when someone tries to deny it, or convince themselves that they have it completely subdued. It’s best to acknowledge what the child is trying to communicate, usually through impulsive triggers, and weigh those impulses against logic, critical thinking, etc.

Acknowledging the inner child is evidence of maturity.

So, you wish to be appreciated and feel close to others, but without physical affection. I hope you find a way to accomplish that. You very much deserve to be loved.

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I always have such strange dreams in the morning.

I was in a city and this group of people were following me. I didn’t know what they wanted until later. But I remember running through around 8 lanes of traffic just to get to the other side and sprinting down the very narrow sidewalk while people yelled at me in a bad part of town. I found myself in this kind of hotel-esque mall sort of thing. I became weary and depressed yet still panicked because they were still following me. I went through each giant floor of the hotel and climbed up the stairs and would notice one individual from the group each time. I distinctly remember these twins, one in blue, one in yellow, hiding behind a clothes rack and me giving them the middle finger. Ahah. And then I bumped into this unnaturally tall man who followed me in an obvious way and then I didn’t see him after that. It was around this time that I figured out what they wanted with me. Each one would talk to me, they wanted me to kill myself. I don’t have any recollection about what each individual would say to me, but they had made me actually want to kill myself mixed with them following me around. I thought about jumping to an earlier floor, but I would’ve survived. They had some acronym I can’t remember since everything was and is a mess. I had made it up to the top of the building where there was a pool and a lady sunbathing with her freakish looking small dog with sharp pointy teeth. She was kind to me and allowed me to go up the rest of the building since there was a tower thing. She gave me a room in the tower place thing and took care of me. But when she left, the abnormally tall man from before came through the door. He had a face like an owl. Not literally an owl, but large eyes. I wasn’t wearing anything while I was looking up at him numbly with my heels on the chair as if I knew what was going to happen and was used to it. Everything that happened after that were flashes of images, quite literally, and he had raped me. I was next to him and the lady in bed after that but it was a third person view and it wasn’t me anymore.

And then I was woken up before I could jump off the top of building.

I’ve had this dream before except only with the sunbathing lady. She had secret tunnels in the tower. That dream was focused on her. She’s odd, but kind.

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I think that “getting rid of pain is painful” is because it’s been around for a long time. It’s something familiar and familiarity always feels best. I think it’s natural to be a bit cautious of the unknown, but I try not to be. In the end, the worst thing that could happen to me has already happened. Likewise, I can’t allow myself to be afraid of death. No one can control it so I see no reason to be fearful. It’s a process like any other bodily function.

Anyways, pain is familiar to me. In some way, it’s satisfactory. For me, it was almost made into something I should enjoy. That’s the best way I can describe it. With my abuser, pain = attention/affection/praise. And with my cutting, it’s hard to not associate that pain with pleasure (not sexual) or feeling whole. Taking away something that “makes me feel good” is depressing. Especially if it’s a way I’ve found to cope, like cutting, since then I’d feel even more helpless. But relieving pain in a healthy way takes away that familiarity. I wouldn’t know what to do since it’s been a lurking companion for years. I just realized that it’s been more than half a decade. Ahah, ah.

I know that I’m fragile, that’s why I break so often. Or I tend to become overwhelmed. I’ve gotten used to it, though. Unfortunately. But, I hate fragility. It feels feminine. Femininity has a negative connotation for me because of the abuse. It was twisted into something undesirable and “weak.” In theory, I think having a healthy amount of both femininity and masculinity isn’t bad, but it’s hard to have that balance in practice.

I don’t know how to set boundaries. I just let people do whatever they want with me. That sounds bad and it is bad. Sometimes it’s easier to let someone have their way. Or I run out of energy. Maybe I’m a people pleaser. I feel useful then if someone can get something out of me. Because of that and my unusual association with pain, I’m worried I’ll find myself in an abusive relationship again. And since I’m so desensitized to a lot of things, it’d be easier, too. I know right from wrong. But I also feel like I need someone to make me whole, that I’m only a hollow corpse that needs a heart, brain, lungs, blood, among other things.

Reminds me, I’ve seen two people from the school. I’m scared they’ll recognize me. I hide my face with a mask, though, and it helps my slight germophobic tendencies. My hair is also overgrown so maybe that helps, too. Except I struggle to see because of my bangs. I don’t want any of them to recognize me. I want to be dead in their minds.

As for being close to people, I struggle with that. I’m afraid of being touched. Even if someone is behind me, I become uncomfortable. Sometimes if I’m feeling well enough, I’ll let myself be hugged by my parent. I want to be loved in a different way than friends or family. But I find that unachievable. I’m repulsive it seems. I don’t know what I want, really. I just want someone to care for me even if it’s a lie. If I can delude myself, then that’s fine, too. I’m pathetic.

This is a little random, but I want to thank you. Well, simple words don’t amount to anything. Being able to see through different perspectives and talk/think through different things is beneficial in my opinion. It helps me to grasp a better understanding of myself and why I may do the things I do. And I don’t know. Having someone listen and even respond makes me feel as though I’m not worthless and that I’m valid and deserve positive things. It makes me feel less alone and that maybe there is hope to be better. Or just the fact that someone would take time out of their life to even look my direction is incredible. I have difficulties trying to comprehend that. I can’t describe it. I have such low self worth that I struggle believing I deserve good things which is why I turn away kindness. That doesn’t mean I cup my ears so I cannot hear. It just takes me longer to think over and accept things. So, thank you, again. I feel it’d be rude to not say anything when you’ve had a positive impact on me. Thank you.

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There is a quote by Groucho Marx, "“I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.” Similarly, I often rejected friendly overtures because I was convinced that anyone who would have me as a friend, either didn’t know the real me, or they were at least as messed up as I was. It took me quite a few years to reach the point you are at, where you take the time to think things over and accept them.

I am very deeply touched by your thank you. “Simple words” don’t amount to much until the person saying them demonstrates their character and integrity. Then such words are life-changing. The words are more meaningful with the knowledge that you had to reach beyond your pain to express them.

Many years ago, a person saw value in me that I could not see in myself. Even after spending days, telling her about my past trauma, failures, and deep-seated self-contempt, she still wanted me around. Not only that, but with her encouragement, I very, very slowly began to develop a fragile sense of self-worth. These days, I feel as though I have an adequate amount of self-confidence.

I still have baggage from the past. Some things can still shake me up and trigger a loss of confidence, but unlike in the past, now I can recover.

Perhaps the main reason her encouragement mattered to me was that she was intelligent and perceptive, and because of that, she couldn’t possibly be entirely wrong about me.

Similarly, I believe that I am smart enough to see the goodness and value in you through your writing. Over the decades, I have evolved no small amount of discernment in that regard. You might as well trust my ability to see your value.

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Sometimes all you can do is accept things. If you can’t change them, then you can’t change them. I see no point in wasting energy on something impossible. That’s very hypocritical of me, though. I’m not saying to give up and “whatever happens happens,” but some things are uncontrollable. The past is something I will never be able to alter and it haunts me horribly. Words are easy, they’re slick and twisty. Although I say things along the lines of, “focus on the future not the past since you can’t do anything about that,” I still linger in that shadow. It’s despairing but difficult to control. I still imitate a smile to satisfy those around me. I’m hypocritical, but isn’t everyone at some extent?

I consider myself a writer but even some things I struggle to describe. Not being able to express it is bothersome. “Thank you” happens to be one of them. I still feel as though it isn’t enough because there’s still more I’d like to say but don’t know how to. I’ll figure out a way.

On a side note, my imagination is freakishly bright. I can come up with stories in very little time so my brain is riddled with fantasies of false hope and pain. I wouldn’t say my skill of writing is a gift but more so a curse. Because how disturbed does someone have to be in order to produce work so horrifically creative?

You reminded me of something. I’ve had many relationships where the person I was associating with had some kind of trouble. The way I see it, everyone is flawed in some way or another because the world we live in is imperfect and dirty. It seems that most people, including myself, focus so heavily on the negative. While I can acknowledge that, I think the good outweighs the bad.

The past doesn’t define a person but rather their characteristics, morals, and personality do, alongside other things. People hold many regrets and traumas. Things like that are never the core of the person, though it can become overwhelming and centered in the mind. But scars, both physical and mental, are only aspects of a person’s skin, not the skin itself, for example. Time cannot define a person so neither should the past. It’s a concept, not a trait.

I also don’t believe that most people are born bad. Again, an imperfect and dirty world that stains people in different ways. I don’t agree with everything my friends do or believe, but that doesn’t mean I treat them any different. I was once told before that I gave a specific individual a reason to live. I still don’t know how. I still don’t know how to respond. I was only present and extended my hand.

Another thing (I feel like I’m rambling). I’m seeing a psychiatrist tomorrow. I’ve never been so I’m slightly nervous. It was recommended I see one because my hallucinations became prominent again. They’ve gotten better over the week, but they’re still here. Ah, it should be fine.

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Welp. I’m getting medication. Yay. ): I shouldn’t be upset over it, though. I just thought I was fine without medications. And in the end, it’s a treatment, not a cure. Because of that, I find it hard seeing the practicality in doing something that won’t completely fix something else, but that’s just me. Like why try if you’re only going to do it half-heartedly? They think that my hallucinations come from anxiety. I guess it’s fine if the medication works. I really don’t want to but I agreed. Mmmh.

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Well done for continuously seeking support and taking active steps towards getting the help you need.

As for the medications, you can eventually try to see it as a crutch. At least, that’s personally how I approached it when taking antidepressants and medications for my anxiety, and I try to see it for meds that help me cope with physical conditions. As you said it doesn’t cure, so the work on ourselves still needs to be done somehow. There’s no magic pill when it comes to mental health - introspection, external support, coping, etc. still need to happen and be initiated by us. What medications do though, is to deal with symptoms that interfere too much with our life and prevent us from taking care of ourselves or taking steps towards healing. It sets better conditions for efforts that we may not be able to make when we are completely crushed by our struggles.

Just like when you have a broken leg and need a crutch: it’s not repairing your leg, but it’s helping you walk in the meantime. Without it, you are either stuck at home, or in any case extremely limited in your movements. It’s the same with medications that are meant to support your mental health - their primary function is to give more or less of what you need in order to take care of yourself or live the life you desire. For me it was feeling less apathy so I could start therapy, get back to doing daily tasks I couldn’t handle anymore, and exploring self-care without feeling physically overwhelmed before even starting. So I could emotionally and physically start doing the things I needed in order to work on the depression, anxiety, and traumas. This is just an example of course, and how it works/helps will always be unique to your situation.

A lot of people rely on medications at first as something that would solve their issues and not just reduce symptoms - which leads to feeling even more discouraged in the end. You have a good understanding and outlook regarding what you can expect from it, which is a good basis. If your end goal is to eventually not need medications anymore at some point, then you are likely to make the best of the time you’d have to use them. And if you do need them for your life and they actually serve you, then that’s a win. :heart:

Well done for trying and exploring. It’s the best way to learn and pave your own way towards healing.

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Thank you.

I’m hoping it’ll at least help me feel the least bit better. I’ve been having difficulties with things like self care recently. I don’t want to be dependent on medications my entire life. In a perfect world where I didn’t have trauma, then I most likely wouldn’t need anything supplemental. I wouldn’t be depressed or have anxiety, at least not to the extent I’m at currently. So I think it can be fixed once that trauma is healed. But that’ll take a long time, unfortunately. I’m not particularly excited about taking medication, though.

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I believe you have been a source of comfort and inspiration for many. A reason to live can manifest simply by knowing that someone cared enough to listen and understand. That alone is comforting, and provides evidence that there is a bit of light amidst the darkness.

I am deeply moved and impressed by your insight. Despite the pain you’ve been subjected to, you are still willing to look beyond the flaws in others and when possible, see some measure of good in them.

When it comes to writing, and expressing thoughts, sometimes 15 or 20 minutes pass between the lines that I write. I can’t seem to get past the compulsion to try and make my first draft be the final product. However, for as long as I’ve been writing, it never fails that if I read something that I have written, even a short time ago, I see a lot of room for improvement.

I believe there is magic in “horrific creativity.” The imagination does not need limits. It’s okay to write whatever you want, then decide how much of the writing you wish to retain or modify.

Speaking of flaws in people, yes we all have them, and some people have extreme manifestations of them.

Who deserves more credit for their efforts, a person who is struggling with significant flaws, and does the right thing, or the person who has minimal flaws and doing the right thing is easier for them?

I am on an antidepressant, and pretty much expect to be on it for the rest of my life. It’s just that things are going so well for me, I don’t want to take a chance on entering a downward spiral. I take after my dad quite a bit, and he was chronically depressed, as was I for as long as I can remember. I believe chronic depression was part of our DNA programming. My dad drank himself to death, but not before he pickled his mind to the extent that sometimes, he couldn’t remember who I was. I have some addictive traits myself, so I believe the antidepressant is preferable to other options I might be tempted by.

Thank you for writing back, and sharing your thoughts. We are each on our own journey, but sometimes, our paths are remarkably close.

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I don’t understand how I’d be able to be a support or inspiration for anyone. I’m quite a gloomy person. I see no reason to harass or discard someone because of their flaws or negative aspects when everyone has them. It’s hypocritical in a way. But flaws are no excuse to act idiotically or in a way that could intentionally harm others. Just because you have a hand doesn’t mean you should slap someone with it.

One of my favorite quotes by Edgar Allan Poe is: "Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.” Besides the fact that I like Poe, I think this quote has a rich meaning. It feels very true as well in a morbid sense. Without inspiration, there is no work. And without a thoughtful or deep topic, there is no “entertainment” or engagement. Going further than that, understanding only comes from knowledge and experience.

I’m a perfectionist. Oftentimes I become frustrated with myself because whatever I’m doing doesn’t fit my definition of “perfect.” But the thing about writing is that it’s art. Sometimes it doesn’t come out to be what was originally imagined. Art will never be perfect since it’s the product of imperfect people. But that’s the beauty of it. The horrific, depressing, or pure mixed with the flaws of humans which creates something incredibly universal and outright beautiful. By that I mean art, especially drawings, paintings, or music, can be universally shared even beyond language. Besides all that, there is much satisfaction seeing improvement in something enjoyable.

Ah, I could go on forever about writing. I love it so much. Too much.

For other people if medications benefit them for the better, then it’s best to take them. Especially if it’s genetic. However, for myself, I don’t wish to be on them my entire life. I don’t think depression or anxiety is a prominent issue in my family history. I have more physical genetic issues than mental such as allergies, occasional eczema, weak lungs, etc.

I’m already off to a bad start, though. I forgot to take it today and was told it’s too late now. It’s because we don’t know any side effects I’ll have so it’d be better in the day. Ahah. Oops. On a good note, I had a very good day. I binge watched anime for a few hours and played on my 3ds while lying on the ground. It sounds lazy but it was enjoyable. Euhh. It’s very lazy but I did schoolwork before so it balances everything out.

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I agree with Poe. However, the blessing involves at least two elements. The first is that if one isn’t aware of the blessings present in their lives, they suffer as much if not more than a person who had never come to know those blessings. Another element is the conscious decision to gain strength, resilience and other advantages from suffering.

I once got an A on a paper that drew parallels between Edgar Allan Poe and Mark Twain. Much of Twain’s writing was actually darker than anything written by Poe. The usual stuff attributed to Twain is just the tip of the iceberg. Neither of them was a stranger to dark humor. Both had mental health challenges, and suffered. It’s not a stretch to say that they both expressed “horrific creativity.”

I haven’t thought of you as a “gloomy person.” I understand that you have been feeling gloomy, but I believe that is based on your traumatic experience, rather than it being part of your nature.

I believe you are a good listener, compassionate and empathetic. It shows in your writing. You are sincere and have good intentions. In what universe would it be possible for you not to be supportive and inspiring? That doesn’t mean you are supportive and inspiring to all people all the time, after all, there is no shortage of people who can’t see the good in others.

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I hadn’t thought of that but it seems to be true. It’s something to think deeper about. I’ll mull it over in my head for a while. It’s interesting, really. I find different perspectives, ideas, or interpretations mentally stimulating so I appreciate this.

It seems that a lot of artists who struggle also have well recognized or unique work. I see it a lot in music. But it’s kind of a trap at the same time. If you become an image that represents your pain, then it feels as though you have to remain the same, at least for me. I have trouble with it and not wanting to “get better” out of fear my writing won’t be basically anything anymore. But, being able to express such raw emotion in an understandable way is relieving. Just the fact that it’s possible to make something out of destruction and hatred. Another quote that I love, “Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.” - Cesar A. Cruz.

I suppose I’m not necessarily a gloomy person. But I’ve been associated with the word “creepy” quite a few times. No one understands my humor or ideas. I also mostly feel hopeless, especially right now because my mental health is deteriorating further and further into an endless abyss. I’m not a very positive person, especially when it comes to myself or my humor. I can see both positive and negative, though. But, I wouldn’t say I’m an optimist or pessimist. I’m finding a lot of things to be pointless as well. I’m mostly tired physically and mentally.

I don’t understand how me being a good listener, compassionate, or empathetic can be seen in my writing. For the most part, it is all true. It depends on the situation. I don’t want anyone to have bad feelings, though. I really want to make people happy but that’d be at my own expense. The solution I’ve come up with is writing- writing that can comfort people or make them feel as though they’re not alone. I’m not the best at knowing exactly what to say. I draw a lot of my responses from my experiences or ideas. I’m also the kind of person to just stare at someone that’s crying, for example, because I don’t know what to do besides listen. Or sometimes I say nothing at all. I have a habit of ramble and find myself going off on tangents. I have so many thoughts and everything is so interconnected that it’s hard to stay on the same exact topic. Anyways anyways. Maybe I don’t see it because I’m only following my own nature. I don’t think I’m a very perceptive person, though. But thank you.

Edit: I don’t think my body particularly likes the medication. I’ve been slightly nauseous since I took it and I’m sort of dizzy and can’t focus my eyes. Just my luck.

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In order to understand pain, it must always be present? Perhaps, but like grief, it becomes part of life, but not the entirety of it. I don’t believe you will forget the pain that influenced you to become who you are, therefore, I believe the inner resources you draw upon in your writing will remain with you. “Getting better” isn’t the same as getting perfect, and separated from life experiences that have affected us in ways we’ll need to manage for the rest of our lives.

The skill you have developed in writing is not the product of past pain. It’s a gift that has given voice to it. Much of what you express, others are feeling as well, but unable to express because they don’t have your gift. Self understanding is an essential step towards recovery, even if much of that understanding relates to pain. So, if 95% of people think of you or your writing as “weird,” 5% will benefit (which is actually a huge number) because they will feel less alone in the world.

Many times, when someone is crying, words are not helpful, in fact they may be quite the opposite. In hospice work, I spent a great deal of time sitting quietly with a grieving person.

Think of the times when you could see the good in others they couldn’t see in themselves. I see good in you that you have yet to see in yourself. I am perceptive, and I perceive the perceptiveness and you. :slightly_smiling_face:

Sometimes it takes the body a bit of time to adjust to a medication, but if you don’t feel better in a day or two, let the doctor know. But dosage can be adjusted or maybe something else tried.

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I struggle with genuineness. By that I mean I feel as though there’s no point in doing something if it’s not genuine. I wouldn’t say the things I say if I didn’t mean them. Otherwise, it’s a waste of time. In order for me to feel satisfied, everything I do has to be genuine. It can’t be half-assed, to put it bluntly. Because of this, if I got rid of the raw pain then it wouldn’t fit my definition of “genuine” anymore. Or it’d be fake, a replica. I also worry because my memory isn’t the best. It’s blurry, especially the past.

On occasion I struggle to regulate my emotions. When I was a toddler, I would have hideous bursts and tantrums to the point where my parent had to leave because it was too much. “I can’t handle this, I have to leave, you take care of _____.” I’ve improved since I’m not a toddler anymore, but sometimes I regress, embarrassingly enough. Most of the time, I end up bruised. I wouldn’t say I’m an emotional person, I only have a few moments. But a lot of my writing comes from bursts of those negative emotions. If I didn’t have that burst, then I wouldn’t have that motivator and source. “Life” in regards to it producing inspiration and genuineness.

Often times I was told my writing was “too dark.” It was gorey because I was angry. Now it’s more horrifically disgusting. I write of my experiences. Even the ones I consider “light” that do not contain any of my main trauma are apparently dark, too. People take things too literally. Everything might as well be a metaphor.

There are only a few times I can remember someone crying, particularly my parent. I think I hugged them. Sometimes they vent to me or talk about their frustrations. Or about their mental health. Ah, I could talk for a while about how they unintentionally stress me. Anyways, I’ve done the same things for my friends. My love language isn’t physical but I had no clue what else to do. Besides, hugs seem to make most people happy. Often times I find myself extending support to those around me. It sounds dumb, but it’s as if I have no control over it. I just do it, it just happens.

This might be an odd question, but why do people become saddened by death? For context, the kind of death I’m talking about is a natural one- not murder or suicide or sickness. It shouldn’t be a sad thing. It’s the departure from an imperfect body in an imperfect world to the arrival into a better place. In fancy words, the freedom from the impurities of the world. Shouldn’t people be happy for them? That they don’t have to suffer in a filthy world anymore? That they won’t be in pain, that they’ll be free? And while there are definitely positives in the world, there’s also a lot of pain, genetics or harm from others. It’s a natural process just as birth is. I’m unable to see death as a bad thing.

I’m taking half of one tablet already. I’ll have to try it out for a few days and then determine the verdict, in a dramatic sense. If it doesn’t get any better, I’ll have to try another one. My body tends to overreact over every little thing. I have multiple allergies and sensitivities. Perfume and cologne, for example, makes me wheezy.

Edit: I don’t know if it’s something I ate, but I’m nauseous again. I’ve been slightly nauseous the entire day but it gets worse when I eat. My stomach feels hollow but not in a hungry way. It somewhat hurts. I don’t feel hungry, really, more so sick. Noticeable enough to be uncomfortable but not extreme to where it’s unbearable. I don’t just want to give up if it’ll go away but I also don’t want to cause damage to my body.

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Well, the first thing that comes to mind is that loved ones will miss the person who has departed. Even while realizing that the person who died is free of suffering or worry, those who were close can be sad because of the sense of loss in their own life.

Not all deaths bring on sadness. Sometimes, those who are close feel a sense of relief. Some deaths are celebrated because suffering has ended. More often than not, emotions are intense and often conflicting. I’ve attended a lot of deaths. Sometimes there are explosions of grief, with screaming and crying. Other times, the passing is accompanied by silence and bowed heads.

My role was to provide as much comfort as possible to the dying person and their family. That included helping them understand the process, managing pain and other symptoms for the patient, and just being present to listen compassionately.

Conventional advice among nurses is to avoid emotional attachment, because losing someone is too painful. I did just the opposite. I fully engaged, cared for and connected with my patients. I realized that I would experience a lot more pain if I realized that due to “professional detachment,” my patient did not receive the very best of myself I had to offer.

After finishing up with a patient, I often felt as though the universe was giving me a hug. In nursing, there is a lot of talk about “compassion fatigue.” However, I found that my capacity to express compassion increased the more I did it.

I also feel that death is a friend who accentuates the value of life. It also invites the question, “what in life really matters?”

I dreamed of death a lot when I was growing up. I never perceived it as a negative thing.

As far as getting rid of the raw pain, I suspect that it will remain accessible, but I don’t believe it needs to be constant. When I was five years old, the tip of my finger was cut off. That was decades ago. I still remember the pain very clearly. I also remember emotional events in much the same way. I think the brain is wired in such a way that it retains traumatic memories, as they are instrumental in helping a person to survive. Have you written your story? If your past is written down, would that help?

Finding comfort is also a survival strategy.

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I understand that people miss their loved ones, but they’re not gone forever. Maybe not physically there anymore, but memories will persist. I suppose it’s not the same. Eventually memories will fade, too, or die along with the person with them. I don’t understand why people get sad for the reasons they get sad. Death is a concept. Death is like a bodily function except a deterioration one. It’s the opposite of the bodily functions and systems since it’s not maintaining life. We all accept death will come for us one day. So why grieve what we already know? That is what I don’t understand.

I’m not scared of death. I’m scared of the pain I might experience.

I’ve never written my story. I’ve written metaphors or through the eyes of other characters. I have a main one, the one that saved me during the abuse because I could rely on him. It sounds stupid and childish. I was able to love myself through an extension of myself. I’ll refer to myself as “Wyn” for the time being- Oleander, who is me, loves Wyn. But Wyn does not love Wyn. A me who is not me but is also fully me. He was “everything I wanted to be” in the beginning. Call him Oleander. Oleander as in Nerium Oleander since it’s toxic to consume. He’s the most awful parts of me now mixed with the part of myself that I hide. That kindness he trades for harshness as a means for survival and to minimize vulnerability. We’re lonely.

If you’re talking about my personal story without any creative adaptation, then no. I’ve restated it so many times that it feels like a script now. Whenever my therapist asks about it, I start laughing, and my accent comes out to where I can hear it. Now I have to restate it fully to my therapist. And the psychiatrist. People can feel sorry but they cannot fix the past. No one can. I don’t want people to pity me, to feel bad for me. I’m tired of being filthy and invalidated. What do you want me to do, apologize for not being abused enough? It’s the same lifelessly hollow words over and over again. “How old were you?” “What game was it?” It’s a script for a play I’ve tied my wrists and ankles to. I’m just a puppet in the end, retelling a woeful tale until it’s all I can speak of. People say the same things over and over. “I’m so sorry that happened to you!” “I can’t believe that happened to you!” People never know what to say so they come across as insensitive. It’s the same words over and over for both them and me. I see it as futile. Words only have meaning as long as the person accepts them. I’m tired of people who can’t understand trying to understand. For context, the “people” I’m talking about is my family and friends.

So no, I haven’t written my story. Because my story isn’t entertaining or creative. I’m rather embarrassed and disgusted of myself, anyways. It doesn’t matter anymore. People will forget me one day and I’d prefer that.

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Anymore, I only write my story in fragments. Like you, I have found myself getting really tired of telling it. Sometimes I tell it as though I’m talking about someone else. I have never written the entirety of my story. Instead, I describe events or conditions at certain times of life.

Actually, I wasn’t thinking about writing your story as something you would have to keep repeating to others. I was thinking of it more as a way to retain the memories while at the same time not using pain as a means to reinforce them. I thought about this in response to your comment that your memory isn’t the best, and is “blurry,” especially the past.

One advantage to reviewing or writing a story about the past is, although the facts may not change, how a person interprets them changes significantly. I find myself at intervals, remembering time periods in my past, and surprisingly, remembering details I had long forgotten. I am pretty good with sensory memory, which is a mixed blessing. It gives context to my past emotional life, especially as associated with pain. I can also remember time spent alone in the woods, the feel of snow blowing and stinging my skin, the color and pattern of the linoleum on the kitchen floor when I was four years old, picking loose threads off the seat of a blue 54 Dodge, stuff like that.

Developmentally, small children perceive themselves to be the absolute center of the universe. Everything that happens is viewed with the question, “how will this affect me?” The young mind’s focus is primarily on what is or isn’t fair to them, while not considering the experience of those around them. For example, I was molested, abused, terrified, sick and without medical care, bullied, a misfit and a loner. My parents weren’t good at paying bills or the rent, and we were evicted repeatedly. As a result, I attended 13 schools in nine years, before dropping out and leaving home at age 15.

For years, when I thought about my past, all that came to mind related to how I struggled, suffered, and survived. In other words, my past was all about me and my experience. It isn’t like that anymore. Now, when I look back, I see the suffering of everyone in the family. I see the huge role ignorance played in my parents inability to manage their lives, their desperation and unhappiness.

I have a feral cat. For 10 years, he acted schizophrenic, scratching and biting unexpectedly, giving no warning of his mood change. I didn’t sense hostility in him. Instead, I thought it could be overstimulation or perhaps even a kind of brain seizure. I didn’t feel anger towards him, as I felt as though he either couldn’t help himself, or he was acting according to his nature. Dad was a chronically depressed alcoholic who abandoned me. Mom was bipolar, schizophrenic, narcissistic, delusional, and had BPD. My oldest brother had a lot of mental health issues. He also molested and abused me.

Yes, I suffered. Taking the long view, I believe they suffered even more than I did, because I’ve done a lot of recovering, but they did not. Like my crazy cat and abusive, perverted brother, they were acting according to their nature.

Having worked as a psych nurse, I realized that it’s entirely possible, in fact probable that they couldn’t help but to behave as they did.

I am still sad about it, but no longer angry.

The good news is, my cat, now going on 12 years old, has changed a lot. He has actually become affectionate. Sometimes, he still goes through the motions of scratching and biting, but he is holding his claws back, and his nips are very gentle.

I’m okay with people trying to understand and failing to do so. At least it’s a kind gesture.

I think it’s preferable to be forgotten. I would rather not have people moping around about my departure.

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My brain hasn’t forgotten about the trauma. It’s just in an unaccessible place and I remember things on occasion. The more I remember, the more sick I become with myself. It doesn’t feel like it happened to me anymore. Or maybe I’m so disconnected. I know the facts, I know the details of what happened, but it doesn’t feel like me. It feels like a whispering nightmare stalking me in the shadows.

I think part of the fear I have is being seen as disgusting. I often have contrasting feelings. I remember mentioning how I want to be seen as repulsive but now I’m saying I don’t want to be seen as disgusting. Both are true and both are contextual or situational. I think if someone knew everything then they’d be horrified at how dirty my fingers are. They wouldn’t want to touch them then because I’m disgusting. I deeply regret my actions in regards to everything. I did bad things. I let bad things happen. That was the outcome of not being strong enough. I hate the thought of being weak and vulnerable.

I still let him fester inside me. Control me in other words. It’s like I’ve duplicated him in my mind since I torment myself like he did. I don’t know why I’m still holding on then. Well, I was “in love” with him. Based on religion, that aspect makes me become even more guilty. Grotesque memories are swelling.

I have a confession, quite a bad one. I think about going back to him on occasion and I don’t know why. I feel so guilty because of it. Guilty, sick, disgusting, horrible. When someone treats me kindly, it feels unnatural which is why it takes me a while to accept it. Getting hurt is an addiction. I suppose I was conditioned into it. I can’t describe how good it feels to be built back up. More than good, euphoric, pleasurable, and satisfying. To be bandaged after being slaughtered. It’s so sweet, sweet like saccharine- impure, sick, but delicious.

I hate myself. I’m angry, I’m saddened, I’m everything at once.

I can appreciate people’s efforts. But it doesn’t fulfil me or what I am looking for. I want to be told “it’s okay” even though I disregard it. My entire sense of self is contradictory.

Regarding medication, my therapist said the side effects are worst in the beginning and that they should get better. I’m conflicted on whether or not to continue taking them. I’ve been slightly nauseous since I started taking it and my appetite has been warped into nothing. I don’t feel hungry. When I eat I don’t feel full or hungry, but rather more nauseous. I don’t know how long it’ll take for the side effects to go away, if they do, but I don’t want to lose a significant amount of weight. It’s not particularly healthy.

Thank you again. I’m unsure of what else to say other than I hope you have peace and satisfaction in your life.

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I often call that being multifaceted. As you mentioned, feelings are contextual or situational. That is the human experience.

I suspect that the “whispering nightmare” you feel is stalking you, relates both to the contradiction of thoughts, and as we both mentioned earlier, fearing loss of identity in the absence of pain. At the same time, pain itself interferes with self-concept. It’s no wonder that your sense of self is contradictory.

I do have a theory of mind, at least partially backed up by science. I’d like to create a graphic representation, but I don’t think of myself as having enough talent to do it justice. It has to do with the brain/mind existing in layers. I thought about describing those layers as present inside an inverted cone, with the smallest part being the brainstem, which forms the network of connections between the brain and the body. Just about that would be what is often referred to as the “reptilian brain,” which functions as a very rudimentary mechanism of survival. It deals with things such as fight or flight, attraction to or rejection of stimulus, fear of the unknown, etc. That level of mind has no moral consciousness. It simply reacts according to DNA programming as it has evolved to optimize the possibility of survival. In subsequent layers, ever increasing amounts of surface area and complexity exist, with each layer more advanced in the ability to process thoughts and emotions. The uppermost layers are most concerned with advanced thinking, morality and emotional maturity.

I guess that’s a pretty good way to assemble a brain, but because the layers are connected, and there are different functional regions within each layer, they all influence our conscious thinking. The conflicting and contrasting feelings manifest when one layer of mind has a different “opinion” than another.

I believe that impulses coming from the “reptilian” level of the brain are probably most responsible for things such as tribalism and prejudice, while ideally, higher levels of brain and thought override those impulses.

Trauma and abuse also engage the lower level of mind, triggering stress response, and fight or flight, among other things. I believe it entrains and myriad of other thoughts, impulses and feelings, which end up in conflict with the higher levels of mind. Hence, it is completely understandable that a traumatized person ends up having a lot of conflicting thoughts and feelings. To be sure, when it comes to safety and self-protection, the basic responses like fight or flight, and other survival oriented feelings are totally appropriate and as useful now as they were at the dawn of time.

It’s also why it’s possible to feel anger, hate, and love a for person simultaneously, or even one’s self.

I do have a question, whether or not this is relatable. During the time all those bad things were happening to me, my mom told me “whatever has happened to you, you deserve it.” I didn’t even question the validity of that comment until I was an adult. Even now, my initial reaction to misfortune is guilt or shame.

I think you are ahead of where I was when I was young, when it comes to acknowledging attraction to an abusive person. I didn’t fully understand it until the end of an 18 year relationship.

I appreciate your hope for my future. Indeed, I believe it is coming to pass. I wish for you the same thing.

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I think it’s important for me to mention that I acknowledge the hideousness of what he did to me. I’m not trying to glorify abuse by saying it’s “so sweet” but more so artificial, hence saccharine. I had heard terms like Stockholm syndrome before and while I’m not sure if my case fits that, I can at least understand it.

For me, love was a big part of how he abused me. He used love as a means to force me into sexual acts. Because, well, normally you do not behave sexually with someone you do not love. But if you do love someone, it seems almost expected. I didn’t want to do it.

I’m a twisted person or maybe my vision of love has been distorted. Sometimes I want to hurt the people and things I love. I felt the same way with my abuser. “I love you so much that I want to kill you.” “I want your skin in my teeth and your blood in my mouth.” Things along those lines. I’m so stupid. I often fantasized about biting gouges out of his skin or him using my body for his own sexual pleasure. I don’t know how else to word it. I know that I am self-sacrificing but it’s embarrassing and so shameful. It’s weird and sick and it makes me feel so guilty. Because not only am/was I disgustingly charmed by him, but I also have abnormal behaviors. It’s not normal and I feel strange for it, that there’s something wrong with me which causes my ill behavior.

My assumption is that I unknowingly became desensitized or conditioned to pain that it is now comforting and a “good thing.” Or it’s a way my brain has found to cope. Anyways, the current me right now is the outcome of manipulation and destruction.

If you’re asking whether or not my abuser told me I deserved it, I don’t remember as it’s blurry. Most likely since he said I was worthless mixed with some obscenities. If he never said it directly, then he implied it. For example, quite often he would mention how he would either hurt or kill himself because of me. And so because I apparently upset him, I deserved to feel bad about doing so. My family has never told me that, though, but they have stated “it could’ve been worse” as you know. Everyone that is not him has never said that I deserved it. Instead, they all felt bad for me.

I’m ahead in some aspects and behind in others. I’ve had a lot of time to think since afterwards, I was still basically alone. And artistically, I’ve been able to process thoughts and feelings through creative mediums. I don’t think it matters much, though. The beauty of being human is that everyone is different. The end goal is relatively similar.

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