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BP *trigger warning*

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BP *trigger warning*

Postby Hayloft » Sat Oct 06, 2018 5:54 pm

This is not graphic, but may be upsetting/uncomfortable.

I have been diagnosed with BPd, Bipolar II, GAd, and have had other things thrown at me. I would like to be myself. But only a certain part of me. And at certain times. I struggle with chronic pain from vulvodyina, muscle pain, and other things. I’ve been trying to treat this with diet, but I have not been able to integrate PT in the last couple months. I am 17 years old and female. Throughout childhood I was aggressive. Loud. Willful. Hyperactive. I had sexual fantasies that involved sadism (around preschool, non-sexual, but sadistic, I also had fixation on men’s bodies, boiling people, and these type of fantasies continued till 7th grade I believe. I am averted to gore, and intense violence. I don’t fantasize about it, and I’m mostly into women now) I started masturbating at a young age. I would do it in public too. I had disturbing dreams that would leave me waking up with feelings that were not age appropriate. Kind of like how I used to feel. When I found someone “special”. Through my spine in my stomach, manifesting in my body. I would masturbate around family members, not out of arousal for the situation. In second grade I locked my daschund in a cooler and kicked it around in the backyard for a bit. I felt bad afterwards, but not during. In 4th grade my mom’s dog, Reese, (a terrier), was barking at me or something, and I grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. My family was around. I called him a mutt or something. This brings me guilt and shame to bring up. I feel bad even now. My mom was intensely religious. Bad at handling things, critical, and shaming. She was paranoid around 4–7th grade that nukes were going to hit us and that the biblical end was near. I see the correlation, and understand. But as a child that anxiety transferred to me. I would look outside and think I might see nukes in the sky. I talked about the world ending on halloween, in 6th grade. My Mom downplayed it without comforting me- somewhat perpetuating it through an unended comment- something like, you can’t control it just enjoy tonight- but phrased differently with emotions that were important but mixed. I was anxious about it. In 3rd grade I would repeat the words ###$ Jesus in my head (intrusively- kind of), but try not to, usually when I was scared or went to sleep. I felt if I said it he would hear it. I wet the bed up until 6th grade. You wouldn’t think any of this if you saw me now. I would always tell myself that I would grow up, and stop masturbating. Next year “4th graders don’t do that, next year, 6th graders don’t” and then shame knowing I probably wouldn’t. In 6th grade there was a hissing cockroach at the bottom of the stairs, I was also afraid of the Jeepers Creepers monster coming to get me; even though I knew it wasn’t real. My mom yelled at me when I woke her up. Real yelling, bared teeth. I was pure anxiety. I want to say that ######6 bitch. But I know that this sounds small but the amount of anger she had was bad. She’s all rage. I’ve also moved 11 times, I just moved, so 12 times now. I got kicked out by my mother’s boyfriend but I feel she perpetuated it, and used it to control my actions. That’s fine I guess. In her eyes I always do what I want. I feel like she emotionally hurt my sister into inaction. I see it in her personality, her attachment, her mannerisms, her self hate. I feel bad for her- I feel her pain, because I know she is really messed up. I can feel it. I can feel things in people. Over time, or when I meet them. I’m aware that sounds grandiose to people who are skeptical, but I mean that I gather the information through unconscious subtle cues, relate it to experience and compare it, and feel it in my chest; over and over and it collects. And then I don’t. I get memories and feel disgusted, ashamed- I make faces, or engage in a physical action to calm them/or negate the discomfort that is impulsive- but I could most likely change that. I feel things at the base of my skull. And everywhere else too I guess. My sister hated me. I think. Or that’s what I’m told. She tried to feed me perfume, washed my hair with lysol, cut my hair off (I convinced her too and let her take the blame), and convinced me to eat her own fecal matter. I was young then. But I remember that well enough. In 3rd grade she prompted me to iniate oral sex, so that I could turn the fan off. I might have encouraged her. And a part of me was satisfied by it. I am ashamed. I kept having painful recalls to it. Shame. Shame. Shame. My mother and her boyfriend walked in (a different one). Not aroused. I don’t remember feeling aroused. Now there is a case investigation open, because I claimed my sister raped me, in the hospital- 3 years ago. I only elaborated in residential. I made a big deal out of it. I guess. But I sometimes feel like it holds significance, just not the same kind or amount as what I claim. I claim anger. But I feel shame. I was intensely angry my 3rd hospitalization. I had recently gained 40 pounds through binge eating and heavy medication. Throughout my childhood I was thin, except for 4th-6th grade. Then I was thin again. Most of my childhood I was underweight and you could see my ribs because I didn’t eat because of AdHd meds. I think I took it as a compliment. When I was fat in 4th-6th I was emotionally eating in 6th. And gaming. I use to game for 6–8 hours straight. I would always be online or reading during my childhood. Or watching movies. After I moved, after 2nd grade. I liked to be alone. I would become very distressed if I woke up and my Mom was gone. I would have to call her, get my sister to call her, this happened up to seventh grade. Sometimes when I wake up and people are gone, I get upset, but it’s milder. I always had to say drive safe, I love you, have a good day, to my mom, relatives, and teachers- or I might not see them again, they might die and not know I loved them. Up until 7th grade. For me it seemed like my age appropriate behavior, and understanding, social perception, etc were dampened, and somewhat still are. I was always better at school, reading, facts, math, drawing, reading, verbal skills. And not socializing- from quiet to not quiet (I talked so much if you let me). Visibily. I’m sure I was just “shy”. That was sarcasm. My mom would isolate me from other children because of my “AdHd”. That was self admitted. I imagine she has shame/guilt there, if she has to keep excusing it.
I have been abused emotionally, and now there is an investigation going on in my Mother’s household. She told me I ripped her heart out before I left. I can see the hurt. And I felt so bad. Sometimes I think of dying, or hurting myself to the extent of breaking a hand, or something. But she also hurt me. She did emotionally abuse me. She has laughed while I cried. Called me a narcissist. Accused me of being a manipulative little girl that’s smart (I am, but she believes that’s the only problem sometimes)- now that we are distanced she is acting nicer. And that is hard. Have someone accuse you. Tell you they don’t love you, you burned them out- knowing it’s the truth. That you make them want to die. And the next week or couple days they will act like an actual relatable person. I use to cry out for help when I was upset. Literally cry. So she would console me. Hours, loudly. When I was younger. Maybe up to 7th grade. I still do it now. But less so. And with more layers. She used to accuse me when I was little. She yells at me when I’m crying. They say because she can’t handle it but I don’t always believe that is the whole truth. It’s kind of weird to have someone hurt you over and over again that you feel disgust, pity, anger, rage, hatred, and guilt. You want to believe something is better but it is not. You know it’s not. You can only get what you can get from it. Even though you know they are trying, and hate life. It is so hard to feel. I guess. I imagine it is. And it is. But once things happen it’s just like another day in the life- even if it causes me to change my perspective abruptly and hurts me and impacts me for a while after.
My understanding of personal relationships has improved. Through lots, and lots of $#%^ experience. Embarrassing, attention-seeking, crying, over-talking, unsubtle-hinting then denial, coercion then rejection, manipulation, false affect, fabrication, over expression, yelling, screaming, physical violence (mild, in childhood), lying, ignoring boundaries, empty promiscuity, humor that covers everything else. But it is all so visibly childlike. I hate it. I hate it. I promise I hate it. It’s in-cohesive, loud, disorganized, shittily planned (if even planned), unconsciously executed, and gift giving. I’ve gone through multiple attachments and relationships with this, the most mature one happened over the internet, they just stopped talking to me because I was a gaming buddy and their life got busy. They use to effect my goals, and beliefs. They still do I guess. They were an alcoholic, thin (boney), nice jaw, pale, melancholically depressed (Sad and down alot), and artistic/fashionable. I suspect they had something like BPd or attachment based. definitely low self esteem. I felt like they hated them-self more than they felt shame. I feel shame. But I have reason to. I talked about loving them, when they left, and I built several characters and incorporated them into video games, fantasies, and stories. Focusing on their descent and region. I then begin to fantasize about becoming an alcoholic. At the time I was skipping school, binge eating, obsessively researching jaw surgery and development as well as other surgeries. I wanted to drop out of school to get my ged, and begin working 60-80 hours a week. I could barely function at school, was not brushing my hair, and wore pajama pants everyday. The surgeries would cost 220,000, at their peak. I emailed, with an emotional monologue, Jaw surgeons. Set up a phone consultation, etc. Would not stop talking about jaw surgery, human development, tongue posture. For a long time, I obsessively worked on, but was unable to maintain, the postures. This came with putting off and anxiety. The whole time, I knew it was delusional, deep down, and sometimes on the surface, but I would not believe it. Earlier in the year, I had so much body hate and self hate I idolized widowmaker and believed I could be a PMC/assassin. Afterwards I knew I was just being nutters. And in 9th grade I wanted to be a psychopath/sociopath, and made lists, read up on them, but not extensively. And tried mimicking behavior and affect. I wanted to be quiet, and cold. Visibily. Obeservant. Violent/Unhinged. Sexually disturbed. And I kind of am all those things now, except violent and sexually disturbed. I idolized it. I always new underneath it was #######4, but I never let myself believe it. It was all about an image, an outward look. In 9th grade I was a different mess. Falsely bigoted, attention-seeking, promiscuous, ######6 rude. Obsessed with self image. My idol was a mixture of Vi, Onision, and other stuff. It’s like I’m reaching for the same things in a way, giving the exception of change, but using the wrong details to obtain them. This all sounds odd, or just stupid. But I know it is significant because of the distressed cause, the life change, and the obsession. 7th grade I didn’t do these things, I wanted to be like Vi from league of legends but it wasn’t as bad. 8th grade it wasn’t bad. Towards 9th grade, with the homicidal ideation, suicidal ideation it got bad. I lied at the hospital. Thats where I gained weight. When I was hospitalized my third time I accused someone of lying about being raped, to show me their scars, and claimed I had thoughts of rape. I did. But I created them to fulfill my persona. I still had empathy during these times but It was not there. My mom got diagnosed with cancer and she told me the night I was put in the hospital. I was overtly attached to a girl there. I don’t want to list all the things I did. All of this is shameful, but I can’t say I feel bad. I was mocked, made fun of, and was lied to by the other girls at the hospital. There were 20 of us. I miss a friend I made there. I called him my borderline buddy. He was anorexic. I also had to move. I keep moving. Each grade. I was sent to a residential. It helped. It was tough as $#%^. I’ve been sent to that residential 3 times. By the 2nd time. It was the jaw surgery. And that girl- the gaming buddy. This pushed me into reality. The socializing, highschool. I think. Reading a lot of more relationship based and deep/emotionally analyzing literature. I got sent after binge drinking two nights in a row. I pissed myself, fell on a table, fell into my closet door, and kept saying I wanted to die, I vomited a bunch. I mixed the medication with seraquel. I read up on it, and intended to only take a couple shots the first night- the second day I ate nothing, when I looked in the mirror my face looked different, better- I wondered why I wanted surgery or was drinking. Maybe I didn’t need it. I also struggled with dysmorphia I guess. I was taken to the ER. The anxiety, the alcohol. I kept ruminating over when I had to use the bathroom. At this time my shy bladder was bad, that I could not pee and I would skip school to avoid using even the single room school bathrooms. The ER made it worse. I also am afraid of mental hospitals. My body kept tensing up, and my arms would move up out of my control because of the anxiety. None of my attention seeking traits showed. My mom was still a bitch; that year was characterized by a transistion from passive attention seeking to crying, loss of functioning, intense anxiety, constant ativan use, jaw obsession,body obession and a shift from unrealistic idolizing to skewed/distorted but still realistic and better interpersonal function. I had a way of wording things that made me seem not crazy. That residential focused on anxiety, and self positvity with an empahsis on CBT, and elements of dbt. But I was not very honest. I was more honest than I had ever been though. I became even more realistic. Realizing I could not get thousands of dollars of plastic surgery. But uncharacteristically, obsessively positive. But I had a throw back to 8th grade remembering. I came back and acted on what I liked in 8th grade. It didn’t work out the same. I met a boy (Trans) at PHP. I became attached to him when I saw him in group. But also afraid of his judgement. distant. I ignored his presence and saw him as female, because I wanted him to be, because that’s what I attached to at the time. I left and started at an alternative school with few people. He then started attending. We began to sit together. Be friends. I was very attached. I thought of him romantically, and sexually, but denied myself. He was promiscuous, had “daddies” and did things sexually online for money. He was also insulting, and that was his sense of humor- but the type where you feel it is not humor. These things were significantly hurtful and confusing for me. I clung to him. I told him how I felt. But he had issues. I believe it was dId (my computer keys are messed up), anorexia, an attachment disorder, gender dysphoria. It was weird to see someone as a boy and a girl. Ultimately genderless. I would talk about how much I hated myself. He would tell me he loved me, that I mattered. That I wasn’t ugly. Genuinely. But then later he would insult me. At the beginning and towards the end he would hold my hand, touch me, etc. Things that confused me. Be promiscuous. I tried to be there for him. I was new with him in a way. Kind of the same but new. I looked in the mirror and my face would stay the same more frequently. I didn’t feel as undesirable. But the relationship was rocky. I held in my attachment/neediness for a long time. But I became angry, resentful, jealous, and bitter. Before I left for residential again, the night before I got on the plane. I was at his house. I was not acting well. I’ve been typing a while and feel too tired to explain. It’s been almost 2 hours now. I was under the covers. And he doesn’t like it when I do that I guess, so I did it. I imagine it feels like being abandoned or the need to console. I couldn’t see. He straddled me, I guess. And began to asphyxiate me. I was okay with this. It was my intention. I wanted it to happen. It gets fuzzier on reason. Minimally persona. But mostly because I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to be close to him. I was craving contact but so utterly ashamed of it. I wanted him to hurt me. Or anything that was intense that avoided him actually having to be sexual/romantic. He took a call from a friend. It was an ex-boyfriend. He ignored me completely. I left. Took a walk. Considered hurting myself. Considered running away. Killing myself. I came back. I yelled at him. I unloaded. I was crying. Clenching my fist. Bearing my teeth. My brow was furrowed. He got upset. I was upset. His mom made us sit outside together. I apologized but I know it wasn’t good enough. He cried about his trauma and that he couldn’t hold it together. He hugged me. And it was the realest hug I’ve ever felt. It made me want to cry. But then I was disingenuous, afterwards I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted it to happen again. So I told him I wished that it never happened, over anything, that’s what I wished. And it was a lie. You could hear it. I could hear it. What I want is myself to feel better over all. To compensate I would think about if I had to choose between killing myself and killing him I would choose me. And I know I would now. And that is a strong feeling, admist the “numbness” and evasion. Even though, I can’t feel how strong it is. I just know it is, if I were to be able to reach it. If it were provoked. That it would be more. I have a hard time feeling things until I do, and then I still don’t. I often rationalize, analyze, notice and narrate what I do, how I’m acting, what I’m thinking, and how I feel. I miss him. I’m so stupid. And I miss him. At this residential reality, understanding, and insight developed much faster. I was having issues with sensory problems, intense agitation, irritation, anger, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, obsessive thoughts, avoidance. Crying. A bunch. The beginning of my understanding of lack of self. And unhealthy anxieties that manifest in daily life, such as brushing my teeth, or making lunch. Changing my bed sheets. My clumsiness, my deficits, my lack of functioning, everyone being full of $#%^, and realization about relationships. Things I’ve known- but never really knew. Or applied. There was a girl there. She was thin, tall, was quiet, and had a resting expression that conveyed enough for me to attach to her when I first saw her. She was consistent. I kept my distance, even though there were 6 of us. I observed, and engaged at certain times. My expression around these times tended towards disorganized- and my thoughts analyzing. I called things orange, things grey, I filled up my notebook with disorganized pages, sentences written over each other, inconsistent hand writing. But rereading afterwards. Color coding. So much was let out, and realized. I would write about grayness, being a girl, thinness, smiles, lies, #######4, etc. And the orange. The orange was lies, smiles, behaviors and agitation and light and heat. The grey was melancholic depression, coldness, and memories like the girl that I gamed with. Sadness but something more long than that. Just grey. Unagitated, understanding, grounded. I was normal I understood. It was quiet. I tried to convey, disorganized inner dialogue, that was forceful (I feel it was the opposite of opposite action), perpetuating, narcissistic, changing in tones, age, gender, repeating/borrowing from past experience, media. Phrases I had heard before would repeat in my head. It was delusional and racing at times. Overtly fast. I think quickly, so when my thoughts race, it is bad. I do not believe I am a narcissist I believe I am selfish. And I also believe I am delusional. I also believe I tend towards it when I am overwhelmed, stressed, and extremely ashamed. But I have empathy, and am not always that way. The narcissism is like an inner dialogue, not who I am. A narrator I fight. A narrator I hate, but allow because I don’t have the energy to hate it, effectively fight it, deal with the constant worry my new dialogue I’ve self-employed is not using the correct words or is ######6 it up, and the shame. No one wants to feel shame. I feel better with guilt. Relieved when I feel guilt in a way. It makes me feel like I feel. Like I am not selfish. But then it becomes too much and I will try to soothe it. By avoiding or appeasing it. I try to let myself feel things, but when I do people stop me because I become dysregulated. Or I am silent and it hurts too much. Feels too uncomfortable. I feel like I have to do something and my body will act it out through facial expression, hand motion, fidgeting- it will start before I can stop. But it makes me feel exaggerated and attention seeking. But that’s because I know it’s partly social. It’s just not for the people around me. It’s for the memory causing the shame.
I very strongly tried to change my affect, thoughts, and behaviors when I came back from residential. I don’t smile as much, in fact I maintain a blank face sometimes, or an intense one- but that feels natural- but also persona based, I am quiet, I am straight forward and my boundaries are better. But. I show very little response socially with my parents, and that is because I do not feel it. I ramble about stressors, repeating things, not always wording things right. I kind of disconnect. I have so much on my mind that, aside from the anxiety, at the gynecologist, I would not scoot down enough, and I sat up afterwards cross legged and the other time cradling my legs, just trying to maintain soothing I think. Unaware that its revealing and socially unacceptable until too late. I keep remembering this and feeling ashamed, upset, embarrassed. My reactions aren’t good lately. I have writhed in my bed in intense agitation, moving abruptly, cradled in fetal position. Move, keep moving, twisting turning. Some of it is extra- or maybe at this point I’m so doubting I believe it is. But I can feel the difference in things. I fight myself and hurt myself mentally about it. Beat myself up, criticize myself, psychoanalyze- attack- then explain/excuse with a sob story narrative. Very quickly, over and over again.

The obsessive thoughts and anxieties are bad as well. I become anxious about most things. Have been hospitalized from an intense episode of constant, chronic anxiety that lasted for a week. It was rough. I felt it all over my body, heavily in my chest- it was painful physically. The medications they gave me did not help. I also took 8mg of ativan and my mother exaggerated the significance. I would exaggerate/fabricate my behaviors that involve drugs, sex, alcohol, self harm- I would convince myself too. I don't do that now I guess I wanted to feel valid; I also wanted to be seen as mentally ill. In reality I become too anxious over drugs and plan them out. It's a sign of self expression probably too. I'll hide small instances of self-harm but hope people notice, until I'm questioned. I feel shame and hate myself for these behaviors. I have dealt with significant social anxieties; sexually disturbing, and violent intrusive thoughts; and feeling like people can read my mind as a response, the thoughts intensifying- then outward action. Freezing in place, facial expressions. At times crying, rocking back and forth- mixed with a fear of abandonment. I also have a persistent shy bladder, and needing to use the restroom multiple times but not actually peeing. This caused more distress than you would think. My inner dialogue intensifies in social situations, becoming excusing, narcissistic, attacking, or defensive. I feel picked apart. And begin trying to "read minds". My thoughts are overtly fast. I also dull these out with a dismissive/opposing inner dialogue. I believe it is just a way of feeling less ashamed and less guilty for the claims of the original dialogue. I can remember the dialogue back to 2nd grade. In childhood I would pull out my eyelashes, pick small scars into my skin, and pulled out the hair in the middle of my head until I had a large bald spot. They believed it was my focalin. The obsessive thoughts, are fast repeating thoughts, realization- hours and hours of rumination and fixation; on people, interests, body, personality/psychology, and health focused. I've made lists, pie charts, drawings, stories, financial plans, unrealistic life plans, and pressure others around me to adhere. Recently, I have been experiencing chronic pain and health issues exacerbated by inconsistent/fluctuating sensory issues and hypersensitivity to light, tactile sensation, heat, and sound. This became the focus of obsession. It remolded my perception and thoughts. It has improved my health. But the rigidity of it, uncertainty, and anxiety has affected me and my family. I became so anxious about showering, and brushing my teeth but it also physically hurt. I would be come intensely frustrated with selfcare and dread it. I have to push for things like proper therapy and the doctor in my life, and healthy groceries far. I am anxious about money (I have been momentarily "homeless" before- I lived in a tent in Florida in 6th grade for a couple days and then a hotel.) I have resentment for this. I have had episodes of dissociation/depersonalizing. "Mania" that is delusional and grandiose/narcissistic. I have felt footsteps, and like something was in the kitchen, I felt frozen. Until I ran into the bathroom I turned up the shower water because I felt like it was outside the door, and wanted to drown it out. I could not hear clear sounds, but felt like I could hear/feel sounds in the background noises of the house. They sounded organic- not like a house. I felt like there were different parts of me inside of me. I saw pictures in my mind, took on different mannerisms, and "voices". It was like an intense inner dialogue personified. I yelled, I cried, I pleaded. I couldn't feel the irritation in my skin- or the shower water hitting it. I looked at my body and it wasn't mine. But it was. I hated it. How could I let "them" do this to my body. I talked in we and I's. I walked around. I was aware. I'm always aware. But none of it mattered. I didn't care. It was comforting. Empty. Painful. Intense. It rose new questions but made sense. After that I was semi-paranoid, had ideas of reference, delusion, believed (with some doubt) there was a demon with me, controlling things. It caused real anxiety, even If I knew it was kind of impossible. I displayed a sloppy interest in Goetic magic and the occult. I experienced constant in goosebumps, shudders, and chills, in my body, in warm weather, together or alone when I "talked" with it. I have cradled myself, asking it to take me away, and believing something was coming to take me away. I believe this is emotionally based. I now get chills, shudders, and goosebumps when upset, or "manic". My teeth chatter now when I cry.

I'm not sure what's wrong with me. What parts are real, what parts I've created, and what parts are me. I don't really know anymore. But I do. I feel so sane right now. But I know I won't. Or I will feel whatever I feel. I also struggle with executive functioning, vestibular sense, and motor skills. I have become so frustrated with these inadequacies, I have had a mental breakdown from making my bed. I try to mimic and regulate my physical actions/mannerisms to others that I admire.
Last edited by seabreezeblue on Tue Oct 09, 2018 7:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Reason: added trigger warning to title, no further changes..
Hayloft
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