I feel so sickly lonely

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Are you hovering over a pyramid or looking into a hole? Perhaps one “me” sees the hole while the other “me” sees the pyramid. One “me” acknowledges your basic decency, while the other one takes an inverted view of you. Whichever belief is chosen, perception will align itself to discovering “evidence” to confirm it, while filtering out conflicting evidence. Scientists are always wrestling with such “confirmation bias.”

If science, with all manner of statistical analysis and empiric observation struggling to maintain objectivity, how much more difficult is it to understand our emotions, and those of others? To make the issue even more complicated, belief itself actually changes a person’s nature, or maybe more accurately, increases manifestation of attributes that a person believes themselves to have.

So, you have a couple of voices within that don’t agree with each other. The options are to let them keep pulling you one way or the other (or struggle to listen to both the cartoon angel and devil at the same time), or choose which voice serves your best interest, choosing to both nurture beliefs and discover evidence to support the validity of that voice.

What if I choose to believe I’m okay when I’m actually not? In this case, belief actually influences reality. It’s at least in part because belief calls forth inner resources we may not realize we had. It often works even if pretending to believe something. We can engage in a process of reinventing ourselves through a variety of means.

While watching “The Dog Whisperer,” Caesar was working with an especially timid dog. By manually raising the dog’s head and tail (a posture of doggy confidence), the dog actually began behaving more confidently around other dogs. I think the human equivalent of that is “fake it till you make it.” However, if the potential for making it doesn’t exist within, it’s impossible to fake it.

Have you noticed that people tend to be more articulate, empathetic, insightful and polite when they’re especially well dressed and groomed? That’s kind of the human equivalent of raising their head and tail.

When different parts of you are arguing over who you are and your worth, you have the authority to say to them, “you will support me as the person I choose to be.”

The “I can’t” chorus can be diminished by asking “why not?”

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I apologize, but I’m unable to respond much right now.

The back of my head feels numb, tingly, and heavy. I’m brutally tired, nauseous, hot and cold, and dizzy. My parent asked if I needed to go to the emergency room, but I don’t know. I don’t know what the issue is. I’ve been having the numb tingling for a day or two now but it’s worse now. It happens initially near the base of my neck. It feels as though I “change” somehow in a way I cannot describe.

Anyways. Here’s something I wrote down earlier today-

I realize I didn’t answer your question pertaining to how I would treat someone with similar experiences of mine.
I’d listen. I don’t have any advice to give. “It’s not your fault.” “You’re not gross.” “You don’t need to be ashamed.” None of that is useful. It’s a bunch of generic garbage that’s virtually useless.
Telling me to not feel disgusting does not make me feel less disgusting. I understand that people want to help and want to comfort me, but it changes nothing. No one can change my mind about such things. I get to define myself, no one else.
The most I could do is listen and share my experiences. I find comfort in numbers. Not that someone else had to suffer, but that I’m not alone in that regard. That we can actually understand each other’s pain.

Things like abuse or trauma can’t be understood by someone who has never experienced it. Not deeply and not much of anything such as mindsets or logic. I often see people say, “why don’t you just leave [insert person]?”
It isn’t so simple. There’s emotional attachment, platonic or romantic, or just feeling empathy and feeling as though the person needs you. And without you, they would crumble. There’s such emotional and mental strain that makes “just leaving” utterly impossible.

I digress, but my main point is that I would treat someone kindly. Not be pushy, not be invalidating.

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Sounds like a miserable state to be in. I hope you get better soon.

I think listening and sharing experience is the most important thing.

“It’s not your fault.” “You’re not gross.” “You don’t need to be ashamed.” None of that is useful. It’s a bunch of generic garbage that’s virtually useless.

It may not be useful in the moment, and you may be tired of hearing such things, but maybe after hearing it ten thousand times, on the 1001st time, a spark of intuition occurs and the reality of such comments will feel more real. I understand it’s not likely anyone can nag you into changing your mind, and I’m not sure it’d be a positive thing if they could. It’s better that motivation and subsequent change originates internally. If other people can talk you into feeling one way or another, you’re subject to manipulation and external approval.

There is however, a difference between giving advice and providing statements of fact, even if you can’t agree with them at the moment. I have no way of knowing how much trauma you can legitimately take responsibility for, but I doubt that you invited the cruelty you encountered. I’d stake my life on the truth of the statement that “you’re not gross.” Shame is a choice, as evidenced by so many who commit atrocities shamelessly. The irony is that those who feel ashamed have a conscience, therefore have far less to be ashamed of than those who act shamelessly.

It really isn’t useful or appropriate to tell a person what they should or should not be feeling. Whatever the feelings are, they’re part of the process. I do want to comfort you, through sharing my insights and experience, and at times, talking about how I worked through my own trauma. I really would love to talk you into being as fair to yourself as you are with others.

No one can change my mind about such things. I get to define myself, no one else.

That’s progress. Earlier in our discussion, I got the impression that your abuser got under your skin by defining you in negative ways. Now you’re on your way towards freedom from negative emotional entanglements.

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I had to label cadavers for different muscles and such. I feel as though I was a cadaver- skinned, preserved, eyes closed, and moved into different positions and poses by him. I was just meat with no protection, or skin. Literally naked.

My perception on my trauma responsibility is probably warped. To start out at the very beginning-

I’m the one who didn’t tell the neighbor kid to stop.
I’m the one who downloaded the app.
I’m the one who met him(1) through her(1).
I’m the one who clung into him(1).
I’m the one who offered myself up.
I’m the one who didn’t say no to her(2) and her(3) and him(2).
I’m the one who never stopped them.
I’m the one who continued to hang around him(3) even though he made sexual comments towards me.
I’m the one who let the nurse take the picture. I’m the one who agreed.
I’m the one who stood too far out which resulted in my waist being grabbed.
I’m the one who willingly shared myself (not getting into specifics, too embarrassing and guilty).

It’s all my fault and it makes me gross. Doing inappropriate things with random fuckers online and giving no half-ass thought about it. How much further do I have to cut my fingers off to not feel so dirty. I could have acted different. If I need would have found myself on that game, then none of this would’ve ever happened. If I wasn’t vulnerable, then people wouldn’t keep spitting on me. But being vulnerable feeds into my desire to continue getting hurt.

I believe it stems from me wanting to validate my trauma. Since it isn’t “enough” for other people, I want to make it “enough.” Whatever that means. I dream about being raped or watching someone else be raped because it’s one of my greatest fears. I often have intrusive and spiraling thoughts of it happening.
I can’t speak for myself right now, but there was a time in the past where I wanted it to happen to “get it over with.” It sounds bad and I wasn’t trying to glorify it or anything. But from my own fear and desensitization, it seemed to be the most logical. “At least you weren’t raped,” well, what if I was? That would fulfil the validation part of my inferiority. It sounds sick, I’m sorry.

I suppose it seems rude of me to be regarding everyone’s attempts as futile. I appreciate the efforts that people give. But they’re useless to me. I like your approach more. If I’m stuck in my own ways, no one can get me out besides myself. I guess I’m the futile one. Anyways, as I was saying, I find more use in your approach. It gives me different angles to view from, sometimes hope. And then it gets shot down and annihilated by none other than me.

Then again, I’m strong in my opinions when it comes to myself. Right now, it is difficult to change because of both myself and the past. I find it impossible to be kind to myself or treat myself how I treat others. I’m sacrificial, pushing myself to the limit to help others instead of myself.

There’s a character of mine that’s similar. They have no name currently. Their father is the priest for a cultish church where they’re the one everyone worships. But their father also “sells their tears as diamonds, blood as rubies, and blonde hair as gold.” They hate it but it’s for the sake of “religion,” although false. There’s more, but my point in bringing this up is that I’m the same. I “sell” aspects of myself for those around me. And though painful at times, it seems necessary.

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Hence my mention of being fair to yourself. There’s also something to be said for helping yourself in order to be more effective at helping others.

Although people try to do it all the time, and with the Dunning Krueger effect in full bloom, believe themselves competent at it, quantifying good, evil, validity, worth and related attributes of fellow humans, is a bit like driving while blindfolded.

For an ally or friend, would you rather have someone who’s been born “nice” and in good circumstances and hasn’t had to struggle for or overcome anything, or someone who’s been through some kind of hell and struggling to make sense of it?

Who has earned more respect and appreciation, one who’s done a lot of things wrong and has been hurt a lot and still tries to be decent, or someone who’s “nice,” but has never faced such issues?

Consider that a person can do a ton of bad stuff and just one good thing, which was just the thing needing done to change the course of human history in a positive way. Think of another person who has always been “nice” and with the best of intentions, and performed thousands of altruistic acts, but one of those acts led to some severely negative event, thereby negatively affecting the course of human or maybe even planetary history. How would you determine the value of each person? Which person should disapprove of themselves more? My opinion is that there’s no sense in trying to.

It gives me different angles to view from, sometimes hope. And then it gets shot down and annihilated by none other than me.

Such candor made me smile. I think if such angles have value, they’ll resurface again, maybe sometime in the future after you’ve forgotten where the ideas came from, and they’ll feel like your own.

I don’t remember what I’ve told you about my family, but I believe it’s been mostly fragments, but your reference to a “cultish” church reminds me of my situation in childhood. The dominant force in my family was my mom. My dad was a depressed, withdrawn and intolerant alcoholic. My mom had features of bipolar, schizophrenia, narcissism and BPD. She was also hyper hyper religious. She believed threats of demon possession was a valid instrument of discipline. She’s also the reason I believed I deserved all the molestation and bullying I received. There’s a lot more to that story, but maybe I’ll talk about it at another time.

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I believe I mentioned this before, but a good past friend of mine once told me, “in order to make people happy, you have to be happy yourself.” It kind of fits with what you said about being fair to myself first. I think about him often. To be quite frank, I loved him (platonically).
It saddens me that I’m not in contact with him anymore. Maybe it’s for the best, I’m unsure. He was a kind person that I needed in the moment. I enjoyed his company though he wasn’t present all the time. I hope he’s doing well.

I don’t know why knowing that my comment made you smile makes me feel as though I want to cry. Maybe it’s the realization, that I’ve been hiding from myself, that I can be a product of positive things. It hurts. But it’s a good hurt, a positive one.
It’s a contradictory battle with myself to accept things or change my mind about the “facts” I believe to be true. I’d like to mention that I’m not like that with everything. I don’t want it to sound like I’m so headstrong that I can’t decipher what is true versus what I’m selectively hearing.

The character I referred to- I’ll call em’ Yarrow for the time being. Yarrow is similar to an angel except they’ve been corrupted by the selfishness of humans. And yet, they give back according to the needs of the human’s selfishness and envy. Yarrow’s actions are a product of the other individuals. They’re pure and don’t know how to cope otherwise. Their kind intentions have been manipulated for the priest’s own personal intentions and desires.

My feeling of the back of my head being numb has gone. But today, I had a brief numbness in my left hand for a second. My parent things I may have a pinched nerve. I don’t know what it is. Sometimes when I have symptoms like this, I tell myself I’m dying. I doubt that’s true but then the thought scares me.
I know a few months ago, I tried to kill myself. Even a few weeks ago or so, I mentioned about waiting until spring. But in all truth, I’m scared. If God is real, then I don’t want to go to hell. I don’t want to be in eternal suffering with the people who hurt me. I want my pain to be over, not continued 10x over.

Besides. My dumb little Momo makes me happy. Whenever I hold her close or get to hug her, I feel warm. She’s comforting to me and I love her. I like when she sleeps on me and I get to look at her ugly little face and feel her fur between my fingers. It’s soothing.

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That’s what unconditional love feels like. Between humans, it’s in ridiculously short supply. Referring back to what I said about learning about one’s self by looking for things to admire in others, the kind of love that you sense in Momo gives evidence that you’re also capable of being a source of such love.

Some would equate unconditional love with unconditional people pleasing, but the two things are very often opposites. People pleasing enables and fuels exploitive behavior in unscrupulous others. In other words, it invites such people to take unfair advantage, use and discard the pleaser. In that way, they’re encouraging the user’s bad behavior.

On the other hand, one practicing unconditional love will not help another person do bad things, including allowing themselves to be used and exploited.

Similarly, unconditional self-love can evoke self-discipline, self-empathy and compassion. I also believe it’s the foundation for the ability to love anyone in such a way. That doesn’t mean never getting angry, discouraged, or disgusted with one’s own actions, but such feelings exist in a different context. It’s not like “I suck and I always will,” instead, it’s like, “I fucked up, and I’m pissed at myself, but the core of my being remains a source of love for myself and others, therefore I’ll do better next time.”

But today, I had a brief numbness in my left hand for a second. My parent things I may have a pinched nerve.

That has happened to me as a stress response, but it’s rare. It has to feel like an immediate life or death situation. More often it happens when my shoulder is in one position for too long. I’ll feel the tingling, then move my arms a bit and the feeling goes away.

I don’t want it to sound like I’m so headstrong that I can’t decipher what is true versus what I’m selectively hearing.

Referring back to the objectivity problem among scientists, it’s not just scientists, I think just about everyone has a strong tendency to “selective” perception. So, to be genuinely objective is an ongoing goal. Hence deciphering is an art.

There’s an author Byron Katie who talks about “the four questions.”

  1. Is it true?
  2. Can you absolutely know that it’s true?
  3. How do you react when you believe that thought?
  4. Who would you be without the thought?

"After answering these questions, respondents are asked to come up with a “turnaround,” a sentence expressing the opposite of what one believes. So, for instance, “He doesn’t understand me,” could become, “I don’t understand him,” or, “I don’t understand myself.”

You might want to check her out:

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I had a thought.
“I’m not a bad person, I just have bad habits/flaws.” I focus on the flaws so I become miserable and blind.

I don’t know if unconditional love applies to animals. I’m honestly not fond of pets. It’s just an animal that you’ll get attached to then become heartbroken when they inevitably die. Besides that, she’s probably the only one I can actually feel my love for. That sounds pathetic, but I don’t know what love feels like, platonic or romantic.
I think it has to do with my trauma since my apparent love was used against me. So now I’ve completely shut off my “love” emotion, whatever you’d like to call it. “Since you love me, you’d do [insert action] for me, right?” Things along those lines.

I hate relationships because they scare me. Everyone seems so fond of sex, for instance. I find there are other, if not better ways to be close to someone. Spend time with me if you like me. Otherwise, leave me alone. Everything seems to turn sexual. Even in the past, “the one I used to love” talked about wanting to “see me.” Of course I did it since I’m a little [insert all the obscenities]. I never loved them and I don’t love them. I got ahead of myself- emotion over logic.
I want someone to love me for me, not anything physical. I will die, this body will wrinkle and rot once deceased and everything will be nothing behind that.

Back to my point before I rambled about some other nonsense. I hate relationships. I don’t often crave connections with people. I’m scared of letting myself be vulnerable enough for someone to see the real me. Like surgically cutting myself open to expose my organs, it’s painful.
I think my fear prevents me from feeling any sort of love. Or maybe I feel things that I can’t decipher as love. It’s complicated and I’m too daft to figure it out.

This has been on my mind lately. It seems random in a way but y’know. It’s either going to come out as thoughts or as some action I’ll regret.

I’m very self conscious of myself because I don’t fit a lot of the societal norms for gender. I have short hair (usually cut near my jawbone), a deepish voice at times, I don’t wear makeup, etc. Sometimes I want to fit that mold and let myself be feminine. But because of my image, it seems like an orange trying to be an apple except I’m a plum. Then the desire fades away because I feel too “boyish” to wear anything of the like. I’ve mentioned before how people have commented on my apparently neutral looking face.
I’ve become hateful of my gender. I’ve tried both and they were still too vulnerable. So now I’m in the middle, or at least I try to stay that way. I understand that everyone has “feminine” and “masculine” aspects of themselves. A lot of it seems societal. I’m lucky enough that my genes allow me to present either way or neither at the same time.
However, I think my perception of myself and how I feel is skewed because of my trauma. I’m looking for a way to not be vulnerable and so changing myself gender wise is a way I can cope. At least the way people will see me. I won’t label myself as to what I am. In the end, I’m just a person. If I’m cut, I bleed the same blood as anyone else would (I of all people know that best. Haha, funny joke). Anyways, I just try to live day to day and see how I feel. But it always falls in the middle somewhere. I prefer it anyways.

I went to the doctor today. They said that my evaluation as of right now is not concerning. I got a referral for a neurologist. I don’t think it’s a stress response since it happens throughout the day when I’m not stressed. Or maybe I’m perpetually stressed. Mh. Dunno.

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Some will disapprove of the real you. Others will find you relatable. Some will taunt you or worse. Some will respect and comfort you, or at least try. There may not be a better way to find out who your friends are.

Which is painful, exposing organs or fear of doing that? Imagine a scene in which someone sees your exposed organs. What can they say? It could be, “I don’t like your organs.” It could be, “we’re a bit alike.” It could be, “Wow, I wish I had the courage to show my organs.”

Everybody has organs. Some of them contain poop. Everyone is potentially embarrassed by their poop containing organs. Someone may point their finger and say, “you have poop in there and I don’t like it.” One response could be, “that’s me, poop and all, and you don’t have to like it.” Another response can be, “and your point is?” You could say, “I’m sorry you don’t like my poop, but it’s part of me and I’m okay with it.”

I’d like to think you’ll end up in a situation in which you can be “up front” and express your authentic self, even if that authenticity includes changing your mind regarding who and how you wish to be in any given moment. After all, any change in mood makes us a different person for a period of time.

Once your organs are “out there” for a while, you tend to get used to it, and when someone points at them, it has an impact similar to saying, “you’ve got brown hair!,” or you’re short!"

Once you’re okay with allowing your organs to be seen, and can accept yourself at the same time, the judgment of others loses relevance, and the fear of exposure runs out of fuel. That doesn’t mean you should set yourself up for a confrontation with prejudicial people, but their prejudice has less of a sting when you’re okay with yourself as you are.

“I’m not a bad person, I just have bad habits/flaws.”

That’s it! You’re a people and contain both positive and negative attributes, but you are inherently decent.

Anyways, I just try to live day to day and see how I feel.

Excellent idea!

Do you think your thoughts regarding gender might become more clear if the issue of vulnerability can be set aside?

I’m not feeling the greatest right now so this may be short. My body has decided to rip itself apart inside out in a bloody clawing punch. I feel like vomiting but I always feel like having my guts come up my throat. Nothing new except I hope it’d actually happen now.

I don’t like looking at my organs myself. My lungs are weak and my heart is small (and I didn’t realize how big the liver was until recently). I think I have more fear of doing it. Especially if I get hurt from being vulnerable, it’ll take time to heal. That part is repulsive to me.
I know I’m contradicting myself. Before I’ve said how I want more bad things to happen to me and for people to hurt me. How I want to be in pain. But then now I’m saying how I’m afraid of being hurt. I think I’m afraid of rejection and invalidation.

I feel so separated from other people for many reasons, some I’ve already talked about. I believe it’s normal to want to be accepted. But I have a fear of even attempting to let people observe me before they accept or reject.

I don’t know. The subject seems to have turned political so I have a difficult time figuring out how to talk about it. So I don’t. People like to argue over politics. I fear that I may be told to stop being political or that the way I’m only feeling this way because of the current standings in the world.
I don’t see how it matters much, though. Like I said before, I’m going to die in the end. I just wish I’d be able to not feel as though I’m a stranger in my own skin. I also wish I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with myself.
I’m so detached from my identity that my name doesn’t feel like mine anymore, for instance.

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I think accepting vulnerability is one thing, and overtly expressing gender or other politicized views when there’s a chance of a political confrontation is another.

I just wish I’d be able to not feel as though I’m a stranger in my own skin. I also wish I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with myself.
I’m so detached from my identity that my name doesn’t feel like mine anymore, for instance.

I think it’ll be a process, maybe a very gradual one in which you more self-aware and comfortable in your own skin. I suspect you “forgot” your identity as you sought acceptance from those who abused you. This occurred at a time in your life when you were (and as you previously indicated, still are) going through significant developmental changes. It’s hard enough to deal with the transitional changes that occur in young adulthood, but at the same time, you were losing yourself to the abuse.

Now you’re dealing with a blurred self-image. That’s why I believe your best approach to gaining clarity is to identify with your present moment feelings and at times, more importantly, your intentions.

I believe it’s normal to want to be accepted. But I have a fear of even attempting to let people observe me before they accept or reject.

I agree, it’s nice to be accepted. Ironically, very often those who don’t seem to care about being accepted, end up attracting others who seek their acceptance. To put it more bluntly, if you really don’t give a damn about being accepted, there’ll be others who will suck up to you. There’ll also be others who’ll respect you. I think there’s a DNA component involved. Maybe in pre-history, the most confident appearing individuals seemed most likely to keep the tribe alive, hence they attracted followers.

Sometimes I think it helps to consider the worst case scenario.

If you’re accepted, fine. Then all you have to worry about is how to remain accepted.

If you’re not accepted, what will happen? Will you get ignored, yelled at, gossiped about, or something else? If you’re not accepted, what will change in your daily life? Will it physically change anything? I think it’s like stepping into manure. It’s not pleasant. It stinks. Yet one remains whole and basically undamaged.

Fear of non-acceptance is like an inflatable monster. The more you fear, the bigger it gets. Letting go of the fear deflates it.

I’d write more, but my brain feels like it’s shutting down. Goodnight!

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I think I worry about acceptance because in my experience, if my behavior was not acceptable, then I would be punished. If I act a certain way, which gains acceptance, I’ll be praised. However, if I act in the opposite, I fear I’ll be hurt. That’s the logic, at least.
I don’t think I’ve ever really learned how to accept myself. Or how to validate myself. I know the first 3 years of life of so are the most important development wise when compared to other times. But emotionally, I feel inept at times. Sometimes I revert to something similar to that of a toddler.

Anyways, in my subconscious, I think my need for acceptance stems from my insecurities and fears. He made me insecure yet he also provided me some security. I was living to his expectations, desires, and needs then praised for it. Well, for all of them. If I objected, then I’d be harassed and verbally put down for it. Or in other words, not accepted. I think I’m still somewhat in a state of “fight or flight,” but I believe I’ve mentioned that multiple times. Not being accepted leads to pain which short circuits in my brain and leads to “not surviving,” as dramatic as it sounds.
From an outside perspective, if I view it away from myself, it seems very illogical. If someone tells me, “I don’t like your shoes,” I’m not going to instantly combust and have my guts and brains splatter and be a wall accent. I understand that I won’t die or not survive if someone does not accept me. But that subconsciously whispering fear still lingers.

I realize my descriptions have been quite gory recently. My old writing style is coming out, I suppose. Maybe I have pent up anger again. But I also like expressing myself in that way.

Actually, I became quite angry today. I thought about how my abuser probably wants me dead. So I feel like giving the middle finger and staying alive. I’m tired of letting someone else tell me how to live and tell me if I should or not. It pisses me off. Right now, as of this moment in time, I am motivated to keep on living. At least I haven’t completely lost that drive, though sometimes it’s difficult.

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I don’t remember much about those early years either. I think there’s a good chance that my parents hadn’t gone quite so far off the deep end at that time. I do think self-validation is an ongoing challenge for perhaps the majority of us. I think without realizing it, our parents say and do things that make us feel insecure, then use that insecurity as an instrument of discipline. Such treatment conveys the message, “I’m always valid and you never are.” Such early conditioning will last a lifetime unless a person works to overcome it.

I realize my descriptions have been quite gory recently. My old writing style is coming out, I suppose. Maybe I have pent up anger again. But I also like expressing myself in that way.

What does it say about me that I got a kick out of it, also took the ball and ran with it? :upside_down_face:

Apparently we both don’t mind communicating with extreme metaphors. BTW, the subconscious whispering fear might hang around, but if all goes well, eventually it’ll be a little twinge rather than an overbearing feeling.

Back to the validation thing. I don’t remember feeling valid, and spent most of my childhood alone, feeling dejected and rejected. However, one year, I “leaned into” the rejection, by becoming a very disruptive class clown. I felt as though if I was a reject, I might as well have a hell of a time with it. They made me class president! Sadly, it didn’t last very long. Our family was evicted a lot, and I attended 13 schools in 9 years, so in this case, I was only in that school for a few more months. After the move, I reverted back to being the lonely outcast again. I really didn’t find being a class clown to be much fun, and I remained lonely even in that role.

Anyway, the point is, I kind of faced rejection down. I was saying, “okay rejection, do your worst! C’mon, I dare ya!” It didn’t lead to happiness, but I took ownership of rejection and was at peace with it. Later on, I did become more popular as an adult, then rejection was a big deal again. Still, I think it was easier to come to terms with it after having embraced it as a kid.

I’m tired of letting someone else tell me how to live and tell me if I should or not. It pisses me off. Right now, as of this moment in time, I am motivated to keep on living.

Glad to hear it. Along with the hardship and frustration, there’s opportunity for a LOT of fun and pleasure.

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Both my parents were present and active with me up around until I was 5 when my parents went into nursing school, I believe.
My therapist explained it in a way like this before: My parents don’t want me to be in pain so they try to minimize it but their attempts end up invalidating me. I don’t think they realize that it hurts me further.

I never had many friends in school. I was always quiet, hid in the back, and never wanted to be involved. Unless someone had pissed me off… I was never a class clown. I was never anything. It constantly felt like no one liked me and I was being rejected. I used to come home crying but I still stayed at the middle school.
I used to take out my anger on my classmates. It wasn’t like I was a delinquent, I had straight A’s. My jokes were violent, my actions were violent, I was angry and didn’t know how to express myself in any other way.

I transfered to another school but there were around 100 kids in my grade all in the same room. I hated myself, my identity. So I decided to try and act like one of my friends who had moved away. I went back to the original school and was told how one of the kids was “happy I was gone.” From there on, I observed another person’s behavior and did my best to mirror them. Even little things such as their handwriting and the way they sat. They’re the one that got me into drawing. I hated my art, too. So I’d watch if they threw their paper away in the trashcan then take the same ball of paper out later. Then I’d hold the paper(s) in my pockets and hide them in my locker.

That was in 5-6th grade. Although I’m ahead of grades for my age, it’s been 4-5 years I’ve hated myself. The only way I could be happy with myself if observing and copying someone I admired. The other me is that old, unattractive part of me I’ve come to reject and forget. They’re the insecure little one with a mirror for skin.

Perhaps my fear of rejection is something regarding society and gender? By society I mean societal norms and stereotypes. Or maybe pressure. It’s something to look into, but I’m tired.
Stereotypes suck man. That’s one reason why I feel so odd about myself. Because I don’t have long hair and wear frilly dresses. Ah, it’s a real pain. And it’s another reason why I’m insecure.

Maybe such extreme metaphors aren’t the most eloquent, but they get my point across easily.

I feel like my personality changes often. Or maybe different sides of me are turning and one part is in the front more than others. You can probably tell, I assume. Right now, I feel sort of nonchalant, blunt, a bit standoffish, but also sporadic and free. I’ll find a better way to describe it.

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Flip a coin, I guess. Mood changes personality, as does amount of sleep, stress level, blood sugar, thyroid function, etc. My vote would be in favor of “different sides.”

The only way I could be happy with myself if observing and copying someone I admired.

Remember what I said earlier, something to the effect that it’s not possible to recognize traits to admire in another person unless those traits exist, at least in potential within you. Hence, you can learn a lot about yourself by looking for things to admire in others.

Kids copying others is a natural foundation of learning, and the practice usually doesn’t stop for some time after becoming an adult. It’s like trying on shoes or clothing styles, or which behavior makes functioning in the circumstances most workable. I decided being a class clown was a role that was unhelpful. One might say I was “faking” being a class clown, but while I was doing it, I actually was the class clown.

Prejudice and stereotyping really does suck. I resist any kind of judgment by appearances, even though I’ve also been guilty of doing it. I didn’t like rejection, but I knew it so intimately, I didn’t fear it very much. When it comes to society, it’s important to avoid circumstances of potential confrontation. For an absurd example, it wouldn’t be a good idea to enter a biker bar with a flower in your lapel. In that case, insecurity would be well founded.

Sadly, I suspect that for every person who is “out,” twenty more are hiding behind a socially acceptable facade. All I can say is hang tight and do what’s needed to stay safe until you can be in a place where it’s safe to be yourself.

It just occurred to me that I stereotyped myself as a loser. I was short, fat, malnourished in spite of that, forced to wear ridiculously embarrassing clothes, an emotional train wreck and chronically ill. Because of being convinced I deserved whatever happened to me, the more I suffered, the more guilty I felt about it.

When feeling “odd,” and conformity is a lost cause, the default choice is to become a more free and independent thinker. From the outside looking in, society looks a helluva lot different than it does for those who succeed in “fitting in.” An outsider will see the vanity, shallowness, useless materialism and misguided values so common in the mainstream. An outsider can see stereotyping as a glaring malignancy.

All things considered, I’m deeply grateful to be a misfit. Self-possessed and self-reliant misfits often attract admirers and become leaders. While the popular folks are having fun, the misfits are observing, learning, and cultivating a decent future. Then, it’s not unknown for the popular folks to try and copy the actions of the misfits.

Despite having done a lot of stuff I’m not proud of, I can look back and love the screwed up kid I used to be. We are a combination of “nature and nurture,” DNA and circumstances. I’m okay with who I am now. Who knows, maybe if I’d been raised in an ideal environment, I’d have ended up being a real jerk or monster.

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I might sound loopy, I don’t know. I’m tired but maybe that’s because I’ve only eaten a lemon bar and 2 pieces of chocolate today.

Now I’m different again. It’s like a diamond. It has many different sides and geometric shapes. I feel more shut off emotionally. There’s a stark difference between living and feeling alive. I am alive but I don’t feel as though I’m living. Just a husk that’s void of anything similar to a human.
I hang my head low hoping it’ll fall off and roll to someone else’s feet. But it won’t. I feel lost. Do I ask for help? Do I stay alone? Do I hide myself? I just want to stand alone with my head hung low in a black space. Lonely, yet safe. Sad, but unhurt. Sacrifices have to be made, I suppose. I’ll take my safety over anything. For right now, at least.

I know I shouldn’t judge anyone based on appearance. No one should. But it is difficult not to. When you don’t know a person, the first thing you can decipher about them is how they look. Regardless if someone is the nicest person in the world, if they have unwashed and unbrushed hair, clothes with dirt and stains on them, or filth on their skin, I’ll be a bit weary of them. It’s hard to help for.

I’m complex, I guess you could say. Depending on the context, I don’t mind rejection. Also how I’m feeling in the moment changes any reaction I may have. That’s why I take time to reflect and so I can see a situation from different angles.
Kind of similar (not really), sometimes I like to imagine myself as if I was out of my body. As though I was someone else watching me.
Anyways, discussion also helps me find different meanings and such.

I’d enjoy to find someone like me. Someone who was as happy to be around me as I am around them. It doesn’t often get reciprocated. So in turn, I completely shut off and then my motivation to cultivate a relationship dwindles. Like I’ve mentioned previous times, if you like me, then spend time with me. Otherwise, leave me the hell alone.

I would say that I’m someone who doesn’t necessarily “fit in.” I feel that even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to anyways. It just isn’t me. I think it’s more important to live for yourself (as long as youre not hurting yourself or others) rather than for other people.

I have noticed a lot of that. Especially in my peers since that’s the group I relate to the most because of my age. I don’t really relate in any other way. For example, I’ve had my music taste judged before but then be expected to like theirs. Everyone seems so obsessed with materialistic things. I think knowledge is one of the best and most important things. But I feel like that’s overshadowed by money and items, at least in my peer group.
But, hey, I’m Asian. That’s another stereotype.

Recently, I’ve been more overwhelming. I have a difficult time falling asleep since my mind doesn’t stop. I have to really try hard to not let my mind wander like that.
I’ve also been more upset and having my pain come to mind. Thinking about what it’s like to have your identity stripped, your innocence, anything that can be altered. To be nothing but a corpse following the direction of some bastard. To indulge in the needs of others because you’re scared of the consequences of not doing so. And to hate yourself into oblivion and destroy yourself out of fear.

I’m tired now.

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My birthday is soon and I’m actually having a “party” since I haven’t had one since covid. The most I would do for my birthday is Chinese takeout (I loved the one in Florida). I had no friends. Hah…

Two of them can’t make it. I’m starting to feel overwhelmed by the idea of there being so many people and seeing my friends. I felt that way before they said they couldn’t make it.

I don’t really feel as though I have friends anymore. They’re people I talk to rarely. I feel lonely but at the same time, I don’t want to talk to anyone. Sometimes I get tired of being the one to make all the effort, at least it seems that way.
Ever since I left the school, things haven’t been the same. My one friend, the one that I never loved, things are awkward with them. I’m ashamed. I hate myself for it and then that morphs into hate towards them. Love is a complicated subject for me, especially as my early sense of it was twisted, used against me, and sexualized. In my experience, it’s not a good thing. “Love” is something you can use to swindle someone into doing something.

If you love me, then you’ll do [insert whatever], right? You love me, don’t you? If you love me so much then do this for me.

I’m not used to 100/100 relationships. I’m used to giving and taking- like parasitism. I’ve never had any mutualism esque relationships with anyone other than my parents, but that’s a given. I’m used to being the one to do everything, even in my own family sometimes.
No one ever steps up to do shit so I’m the one that has to do it otherwise nothing will ever be done. I don’t think I have ever been invited somewhere. I am always the one to schedule and coordinate with everyone else when we can get together. No one ever does the same for me. I’m sick of it. If you like me, then act like it. I want to be treated and asked when my availability is. Now I feel like I’m crying, “oh, life is just so unfair!” It’s pathetic, isn’t it. I’ll just do what I always do then- shut myself the hell up and act like everything’s dandy.

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I might sound loopy, I don’t know. I’m tired but maybe that’s because I’ve only eaten a lemon bar and 2 pieces of chocolate today.

Sugar will do that to you. It’ll spike blood sugar and give a short burst of energy, then you end up with lower blood sugar than when you started out.

I just want to stand alone with my head hung low in a black space. Lonely, yet safe. Sad, but unhurt. Sacrifices have to be made, I suppose. I’ll take my safety over anything. For right now, at least.

I can relate to that. I lived that way for years, choosing safe despondency and despair over risk and potential disappointment. In a way, it’s like choosing full time pain in order to avoid intermittent pain. It makes perfect sense while in that state of mind. Somewhere along the line, I began to question the value of being afraid of pain or fear. I’d experienced enough of both to to realize that IF I was going to experience such things, there might as well be some potential payoff in the form of a minute or two of happiness every now and then. Such moments are beyond reach without taking risks.

Regardless if someone is the nicest person in the world, if they have unwashed and unbrushed hair, clothes with dirt and stains on them, or filth on their skin, I’ll be a bit weary of them.

It really does take some getting used to, but a significant percentage of the people I cared for as a nurse were indigent. After a while, I didn’t matter much to me how such people appeared, but I was put off by the smell sometimes. Also, a “self-care deficit” is a common symptom of mental illness.

sometimes I like to imagine myself as if I was out of my body. As though I was someone else watching me.

Me too. I actually think it’s a good idea at times. It’s also worth keeping in mind, despite our best efforts, it’s not likely that we’ll ever see ourselves as others see us.

I hope you do find someone like you, but different enough to make it interesting. So, if your interest in another isn’t reciprocated, motivation to cultivate something with them really should dwindle. It’s better for mental health that way. If you and an introvert become interested in spending time with each other, it’s likely that one of the other of you will not want to spend as much time together, even if you do want to spend a lot of time with each other. Introverts often feel the need to withdraw and do their own thing for a while, regardless of how much they value the friendship.

I’ve had my music taste judged before but then be expected to like theirs.

During the rock and roll era, I was totally taken by classical music. I was okay with rock and roll, but usually chose to listen to laid back instrumental stuff. My peers thought I was strange. Later on, I embraced all forms of music except for really abrasive metal or cry in your beer redneck stuff. When I was a kid, the only record player in the house for years was a wind up job. The only records were turn of the century 78’s. All that was lost in one of our many evictions, but sometimes I still go on Youtube and listen to that old stuff.

After being in poverty for so long, I became obsessed with materialistic things for a while, but I got over it pretty quickly. I still like having a few nice things, but these days, spending money feels like a chore. I haven’t been clothes shopping for years.

To indulge in the needs of others because you’re scared of the consequences of not doing so.

I wonder, are you scared out of habit, or do you still really feel the need to be scared? There’s a difference. In one way, it’s like, “I’m scared because I’m always scared and I’m used to it.” Or the other way, it’s “I’m scared because I have a absolute reason to be that way.”

It’s worth questioning once in a while, are the reasons for fear or self-hatred still valid? Were they ever? Maybe they served the purpose of convincing you of the need for change, but what good are those things doing for you now?

Happy Birthday!!! :tada:

I don’t do birthdays any more. It’s less complicated that way. Besides, my next milestone is when I’m all done getting older.

I don’t really feel as though I have friends anymore. They’re people I talk to rarely. I feel lonely but at the same time, I don’t want to talk to anyone. Sometimes I get tired of being the one to make all the effort, at least it seems that way.

I feel as though you’re in a state of transition. I suspect that in a few years, you’ll be in a different set of circumstances and perhaps spending your time with an entirely different group of people. By that time, you may have redefined your perspective on love into a more fulfilling ideal. As it stands, you’re feeling about love much the same as I was while growing up. I defined “love” as nothing more than a tool used for manipulation. I didn’t have a clue about genuine love till I was around twenty years old.

I’m not used to 100/100 relationships.

I don’t believe they exist. Maybe they do in the sense that both partners can do their best to be decent to each other, but I don’t think the amount each one contributes to the relationship is quantifiable. How do you establish percentages when it take one person 90% of their effort just to get out of bed, while the other needs only 50% effort to run a mile?

No one ever steps up to do shit so I’m the one that has to do it otherwise nothing will ever be done.

Hopefully, that won’t always be the case for you. It was like that in my family too. I cooked for my older brothers, cleaned house, did dishes, laundry - not always very well or consistently, but it was rare that anyone else did shit.

Yeah, life was unfair, but as far as I knew, that’s how it was supposed to be. Even when I saw examples of less dysfunctional families, I still felt locked into a well deserved role within mine.

Now I’m getting loopy. G’night!

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A lot of bad things have happened on or near my birthday. I’m bitter about it now. Besides, a year older is a year closer to death. So is a second. There are times like these where I really despise myself for remaining so miserable when there really isn’t much time. It frustrates me. I like having exact dates and times but death is unforeseeable. Perhaps it’s better that way.

I’ve come to hate my birthday in a way. I knew I would regret what I did at the time. Let me explain instead of leaving it off at an edgy cliffhanger. It’s uncomfortable to explain and I feel embarrassed. Like I’m naked. It’s too vulnerable and the only way I see fit to protect myself is to rip all my skin off and be nothing but muscle and blood.

I had my phone taken away a bit before my birthday while I was still in contact with him. Because it was my birthday, I asked to have my phone back. A day after my birthday, I was talking with him again and officially asked him to “be mine.”
Close to my half birthday, a day before my half birthday was when I got out of it. I won’t forget that date. It’s a date of mourning for me. Thinking about it makes me sad. It was painful but the realization was also painful. Finally waking up was like having wires pulled out from underneath my skin and in my veins. I was so scared. I was yelling. Crying. It’s blurry.

A part of me craves love yet the other one rejects it. I don’t see how anyone could love me beyond my superficial mirage of cleanliness. But I feel like if anyone knew or saw all my scars, both internal and external, they’d be disgusted. Why would they want to touch my disgustingly scarred shoulder? Why would they want to sit next to my scar streaked thighs? My knees, my wrists, my ankles, my stomach, my hips. What’s worse is internal. I feel that would scare people off, that I’m borderline unstable. Maybe things will change by the time I’m older. But even then, I feel it’d be gross for them to know my past.

I’m scared of love. I end up pushing the people I think I love away and end up losing that feeling. I’ll trust someone too much or trust someone too little that I push them away. My brain self consciously tremors and freaks out. Apparently, according to some online test I took ages ago (the most accurate of tests) I have an anxious avoidant love style, something along those lines. If someone gets too close, then I malfunction, shut off, and terminate any feelings related to them. I don’t feel a lot of things, love is one of those.
I’ve always been kind of loveless. I stick by myself and make do with that. I wrote a poem with the concept and metaphor of cannibalism towards myself. “Me, myself I am supplemental, I’m afraid that I’ve gone mental,” (sheesh not the best rhyme and it’s killing me). “Loveless goon” is what I’ve formally named myself. I need a name tag now.

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Yeah, and the older you get, the faster time goes by. I’ve gotten around to feeling as though death is like a close friend who reminds me of every moment’s value. Despite that, I still find myself wasting more time than I’d like. I guess that’s just a very human thing to do. Considering the value of time, despising self wastes lots of it. That’s because perceptions that reduce confidence also interfere with a person’s ability to function efficiently, hence they waste time.

The “superficial mirage of cleanliness” isn’t where love is possible. There might be an element of physical attraction, but love doesn’t evolve into a relationship until a deeper connection exists. When it comes to love, internal and external scars aren’t necessarily a deal breaker. In fact, scars can make individuals even more compatible with each other.

For years, I believed that if anyone knew the “real me,” and my history, they’d want nothing to do with me. Then it came to pass that some people wanted to hang around me. I reasoned, that if they really knew me, they wouldn’t keep hanging around. I was never much on self-disclosure, so I just let them assume I came from a decent family and there was no history of trauma and sexual abuse. I decided that I was no longer the person I used to be, so there was no need for my past to remain relevant. That didn’t mean I was free of some continued effects of PTSD, but I was generally able to keep those issues under control to the extent that I could be okay around “normal” people.

I’ve always been kind of loveless.

That you were so devastated and still sometimes wanted to go back to your abuser, suggests to me that you weren’t always loveless. You might not have been able to identify feelings of love at the time, but your reaction to the separation indicates there were definitely some strong feelings there. It’s just really unfortunate that you hooked up with the wrong person.

At the same time, I felt pretty loveless in my family. I didn’t begin to have a decent concept of love (except for animals) until I was around 20 years old.

I’m not surprised that you’re scared of love, considering how your love has been abused, and rejected. However, actual love remains wonderful, nurturing and healing. The trick is to avoid “fake love,” which is just the opposite. I think we gradually get better at discerning between who’s offering “fake love” and who is willing to share the real thing.

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