Withdrawn In Contempt

EmpathySucks wrote:I'd be more surprised if people never actually imagine other people dying. Maybe only out of minimal malice, but I've occasionally had quite antisocial or psychotic fantasies. Kill everyone you don't like, everyone else panics and runs away, then I have a nice cup of tea watching the blood fountains drain away.

Yes. Despite having a family that was by turns abusive and negligent, I'm fairly certain that my being bullied was a major cause of my PD.

naps wrote:Yes. Despite having a family that was by turns abusive and negligent, I'm fairly certain that my being bullied was a major cause of my PD.

The abuse thing kinda makes me really wonder: sometimes, it doesn't feel like my family was as abusive as you'd usually see on advertisements for abuse. My dad was never really around - in fact, I barely have any memories of him other than when he'd take me into a room, give me some lecture about "doing something great" for about three hours, and leaving when he figured out I was too quiet to answer. It was kind of torturious because I didn't really know how to reply other than "yes" or some other agreeable answer. That and the occasional violence.

My mom, which was maybe passive-abusive and was abused by my dad usually insisted on me attending social settings even when I was disinterested. She'd occasionally throw out stuff I liked (mainly clothes) because she deemed them too old.

I'm not sure if "neglient" is the right word; it felt more like my actions meant to put check marks rather than have any actual meanings.

It doesn't feel like quite abusive as other abuse stories I've heard, but maybe it's my lack of affect. Usually it seems people start crying or breaking down when they think about it. When I do, it's like.. it sucked, but that's it.

EmpathySucks wrote:The abuse thing kinda makes me really wonder: sometimes, it doesn't feel like my family was as abusive as you'd usually see on advertisements for abuse. My dad was never really around - in fact, I barely have any memories of him other than when he'd take me into a room, give me some lecture about "doing something great" for about three hours, and leaving when he figured out I was too quiet to answer. It was kind of torturious because I didn't really know how to reply other than "yes" or some other agreeable answer. That and the occasional violence.

That's neglect. Why didn't your dad take the time to try to reach you or at least find out why you were so quiet? My father was very similar. I remember that for a while he used to take me to this big park when I was very little. I used to play on the swings and slides and when ever I did that "Dad! Look! Look at me!" thing I'd look up to see him with his nose buried in a book. It was like playing alone. Thinking back, I wonder if having the impression that my mother made him take me ("Spend some time with your son!") is correct. He hit me once. It was out of character for him and I remember it vividly.

My mother did a number on me psychologically. She was a defeatist. I told her I wanted to be a zoologist: "Oh, that's an awful lot of school, isn't it?". I suspect she had narcissistic traits. Everything was about appearances. During my stay in a psych hospital in she called me during a family gathering. I was a bit of a mess and told her I didn't want to talk to my various uncles and cousins and she said quietly into the phone "you're going to make me look bad. And remember to tell them you're at your father's." (they were separated at the time.) She cataloged every lie I ever told her and used them against me. She'd punish me- apropos of nothing- for lies I told years ago. I had to walk on eggshells around her. If she broke a nail, she's find some convoluted way of punishing me for it.

Not exactly severe compared to the experience of others, but over time it digs in deep.

It doesn't feel like quite abusive as other abuse stories I've heard, but maybe it's my lack of affect. Usually it seems people start crying or breaking down when they think about it. When I do, it's like.. it sucked, but that's it.

I get angry. Probably because this carried on into adulthood, along with more gaslighting than I can describe if this post were 30,000 word long. Worse, I didn't really understand the extent of her (and my father's) shortcomings as parents until I was an adult, through a lot of self-reflection and therapy.

My parents had money. I wanted to confront them, especially my mother, but I knew how vindictive she was and I didn't want to jeopardize my inheritance. By then that was all my parents meant to me: die and give me what's left of you. Turns out I should have because they left me nothing.

Now I have all this anger and no outlet for it. How do you chastise your parents for being abhorrent when they're dead?

naps wrote:That's neglect. Why didn't your dad take the time to try to reach you or at least find out why you were so quiet?

No idea. My mom says he doesn't believe in psychologists.

My father was very similar. I remember that for a while he used to take me to this big park when I was very little. I used to play on the swings and slides and when ever I did that "Dad! Look! Look at me!" thing I'd look up to see him with his nose buried in a book. It was like playing alone. Thinking back, I wonder if having the impression that my mother made him take me ("Spend some time with your son!") is correct. He hit me once. It was out of character for him and I remember it vividly.

I don't think I've ever had an activity exclusively with my dad. I've cut contact off recently; he put me into another lecture and decided to call me worthless for sitting at the computer all the time. After ten minutes I had enough and finally got over my passivity and I can't remember what I said to him, all I remember is that I left and he yelled at me to never come back. Then he slammed the door shut and gave it a kick.

I didn't want to actually talk to him again after my parents divorced but my mom made me and still insists I re-establish contact.

But there was a certain amount of incompatibility there; I wanted to learn about electronics and my dad knew about electronics, but when I asked him to teach me (even came with a book and bought my own equipment) he told me nobody does that by hand and there's no point. He'd always like doing things outside, and I never quite see the point of just going outside for no reason.

Other than that, another memory from long ago is that when I got a good grade on a test and probably wanted some childhood attention/respect/recognition/compliment/something and he said "You're doing this for yourself." It just wasn't what I wanted to hear.

My mother did a number on me psychologically. She was a defeatist. I told her I wanted to be a zoologist: "Oh, that's an awful lot of school, isn't it?". I suspect she had narcissistic traits. Everything was about appearances. During my stay in a psych hospital in she called me during a family gathering. I was a bit of a mess and told her I didn't want to talk to my various uncles and cousins and she said quietly into the phone "you're going to make me look bad. And remember to tell them you're at your father's." (they were separated at the time.) She cataloged every lie I ever told her and used them against me. She'd punish me- apropos of nothing- for lies I told years ago. I had to walk on eggshells around her. If she broke a nail, she's find some convoluted way of punishing me for it.

My mom can be intrusive. I vaguely remember at age 7/8 when I asked not to go to school, maybe it was because of the bullies or maybe it was because I just wanted to stay at home, but she became quite inquisitive about it. I didn't want to tell her why, and ended up going to school rather than telling. If I'd ever lie, she'd try to get me to tell the truth rather than figure out why I was lying.

These days I think she's somewhat depressive. Her life mostly consists of going to work -> coming home and lying in her bed watching TV. I've occasionally tried getting her to help me with me with learning how to cook but she barely gets motivation.

I'm not sure what her problem is, honestly.

Not exactly severe compared to the experience of others, but over time it digs in deep.

I think it was conductive to developing SPD. I can't really remember the age I really became schizoid, because in retrospect it was always there.

The abuse always felt bad, but it's just not something I can actually compare with others. It sometimes feels like I'm not actually an abuse victim at all.

Personally, I've always been a bit jealous about people who were more assertive with their life from a young age. In retrosepct, it kind of feels like I was abusing myself.

I get angry. Probably because this carried on into adulthood, along with more gaslighting than I can describe if this post were 30,000 word long. Worse, I didn't really understand the extent of her (and my father's) shortcomings as parents until I was an adult, through a lot of self-reflection and therapy.

I've always wanted better parents. Okay, maybe not better parents, but a better environment. Feels like it could've gone a lot better if I did.

My parents had money. I wanted to confront them, especially my mother, but I knew how vindictive she was and I didn't want to jeopardize my inheritance. By then that was all my parents meant to me: die and give me what's left of you. Turns out I should have because they left me nothing.

Now I have all this anger and no outlet for it. How do you chastise your parents for being abhorrent when they're dead?

Think that's the issue here: you were too invested in the possibility of getting your inheritence that you didn't consider ways in which it could fail. You thought you'll get it, and it was secured in your mind, and when it failed you couldn't believe it.

I can understand the feeling of not getting something you feel like deserving though. In elementary school, I occasionally had a question so I walked up to my teacher, and she never payed attention. When I decided to be a bit more assertive/provocative, she'd tell me there are other kids there too, but then she'd completely ignore me later when she was done with them. Now that you mention it, that's quite neglectful. Can't dwell too much about the past, though. Ending this here because it's getting too long.

I don't hate people. I don't think about them much. Sometimes I notice the hole in my psyche where relationships would go.