Neglect

My birthday came and went and not a member of my immediate family wished me a happy birthday. And its not the first time. I confronted my dad and told him how much it hurts. I got so worked up that I started crying to him about the many times where I felt so destroyed by the vicious cycle of neglect from the family. The effect over the years on my self esteem and self worth has been extremely negative. I have committed myself to a journey of self healing and learning to forgive myself for my shortcomings. I have learned a lot from therapy and it’s helped me feel courageous and thats why I think I let my dad know how I felt. I feel awful for having to set boundaries and tell him at such a later time in our lives especially because its my dad. I will apologize but I know that our relationship will never be the same. I don’t know how I should feel or what to do next. I have been praying and doing my best to stay positive. I am angry because I feel disappointed that I allowed someone to have such a big influence over my life and to realize that you have been lied to about most of your life; its so disappointing. I don’t have a relationship with any family members, due to similar and worse issues. I thought at least my dad respected me. To think I have been wrong and my presence has just been tolerated is heartbreaking. This is the first time where I have confirmation in my head that I have been prolonging the inevitable about the truth about how messed up my family really is. The guilt to want to make everything better but I know I need to take of myself; is eating me up inside. #ADHD #PTSD #MentalHealth #Trauma #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder

She met depression about eighteen years ago. She said she wanted to be my homie, my I will never leave your side, if I can’t have you no one will. Memorized by the attraction of what is displayed fun and laughter, but she hides behind the mask of her illusions of happiness

This was a tragedy. It was a grip that she could not break from the stronghold, but when she ducked for the low blows, everyday woes being birthed from the abuse and neglect of constant ramifications of her faults unknown to her…to this very day

She looked like you, me, and your, and when she was ignored & mad, there was nothing that you or I could do

Could not sleep, eat, or do too much of both. Sleep took over, three to five days in a room, you would think she would be well rested, but she still could hardly get one foot out of the door

She dragged her weary self, sometimes she seemed to be out of her mind, crying, smiling, tears cascading down her face

Depression even introduced her to suicide and they thought that they could extinguish her without a trace

But that was just another opportunity for her to find herself again, the razor cuts and popping pills, never eased her pain

The sleepless nights from revolving doors of men never fulfilled her empty space, but she did it again and again

See you have to see past the pain of my sistah wanting, needing love from MOM, who was there, well her shadow existed even if she was not, but when she realized that she could never be daddy’s lil gurl, cuz her daddy, father, sperm donor, no good piece of ….shhh

You know he is not even worth your rhyme or reasons

Depression met bi-polar and they became one, it was like she did not resemble herself to know one, deteriorating under clouded dreams, the reality of wanting to be someone, I think they called it “Normal” was the word they used

How do you unthread a tragedy of woven pain, that seems never to go away

If you know someone who has met Depression or bi-polar I or II, try to get them some help, even if they don’t seem blue

Depression can be your enemy and can claim your life

I was saved and I will continue to be someone’s beacon of light

-Japonica Kearney

I read in a scientific study that being a parent to a disabled child is as stressful as being a war vet who saw regular combat during their tour. I believe it. In fact, it helps me get thru my day and take it a little easier on myself. But guys, I am burnt out. I’m like the menorah on miracle crack lmao Every couple of hours I’m convinced I have nothing left to give, but then I sit next to my daughter. Eventually we laugh at something, and for a moment everything’s ok. Until I get up from the couch she only leaves once or twice a day (sleeps there, too), and I recall my mountain of tasks, and I look around and see my mom and brother going through their struggles unwilling or unable to help. I swear it feels like a tiny piece of my soul dies every time. I get it, my bro doesn’t like kids, my mom is disabled… that should be enough. But then I get criticized or gaslighted on top of it. The other day my mom was trying to offer verbal support and casually said, “I don’t know how you do it. If I was in your situation, I would’ve killed myself. But then again, I also wouldn’t have gotten pregnant by such a loser.” Pretty sure I froze up so hard I stopped breathing. My daughter is well within ear shot, looking at me apologetically. My mom notices my startled reaction and says, “what? It’s the truth,” shrugs her shoulders, then walks off. She was right about one thing. I have absolutely no clue how I’ve managed to stay sane in this house. The good news (I think) is that my psychiatrist has put moving out as equally important to my mental health as taking my meds regularly is. She said it’s “half of your plan.” But I can barely shower. How am I supposed to move not only myself, but my daughter, as well? God answered and Medicaid deemed me “an overburdened caregiver,” and 32 hours of assistance a week! If only the provider could find an attendant… in the meantime, I’m living moment to moment. Chore to chore. Clinging for my life from one silver lining to the next. Finding comfort in sugar. I’m losing my grip. Suicide isn’t an option. I’m the only human being my daughter has. And as long as we can still laugh, I will persevere. I just wish it didn’t hurt so damn much.
#MajorDepressiveDisorder #ComplexPosttraumaticStressDisorder #SuicidalIdeation #MentalHealth #Addiction #OccipitalNeuralgia #GeneralParenting #AutismSpectrumDisorder #neglect #Abuse

Part 1 of 3 Do you recognize the person staring back at you in the mirror? Do you realize your reflection? The physique, facial features, and your unique body? As the thought sinks deep into your eyes, mind, soul, and body, can you begin to define the human you are? This typically starts from early infancy through adulthood. As children and adolescents age, they may struggle with discovering who they are. Their physical body changes as they attempt to identify themselves in this world. They may end up changing their sexual orientation, physical appearance, and/or names.

Those who don’t experience trauma are more in tune with their bodies and minds. Most humans can pick their faces from pictures, books, or magazines. Their body knows who they are, and they know who their body is. However, if you experienced early childhood trauma, the identification of who you are as a person is more likely to shatter and become fragmented.

My story is filled with exponential early childhood trauma and loss. For most of the beginning of my life, I couldn’t even identify that I survived horrific early childhood traumatic experiences. Somehow, my body and mind blocked and stored it all away. One way I do this is by not looking at my body.

As an adult, I avoid the mirror at all costs. I don’t wish to glance at whichever stranger reflects on me. The longer I stare into the mirror’s abyss, the fuzzier the picture of some unrecognizable human-ish form I become. As my legs become weak, my head begins to spin, and my hands shake with intensity; I feel myself fading in and out of some form of consciousness as my heart sinks deeper into my chest. My head begins to pound with an explicit booming headache sound of rockets blasting off into space. Boom… Boom…Boom… And then… Nothing but deafening silence. Complete detachment.

There I am again, standing unrecognizably, tripping over nothing but the bare floor. I had already forgotten what was on my list to accomplish today. It was nearly 10 a.m., and yet, last I knew, I was staring into the mirror at 8 a.m. I was wearing blue jeans, a red T-shirt, and barefoot. Yet, I couldn’t remember why; I had changed out of my black slacks and button-down blouse curled up into the fetal position on the bathroom floor. A grocery list of junk food sat beside me, although I preferred healthier food, such as salads, nuts, and poultry. This wasn’t an abnormality in my life. I figured I had become sleepy, so my handwriting had become sloppy again. My face and eyelids were red and puffy, but I ignored the fact that I didn’t know why I had been crying. Who would want to know, after all?

As I looked down at my hands again, I felt the panic set in again. “Those aren’t my hands, I know it.” I could feel it in my bones. But as she stood up and glanced into the mirror again, there she was. A stranger to her own body, a forgery, a foreigner, and a sham of a human. I didn’t know why I felt this way; it was just how it was. “Am I crazy? I must be crazy!” I thought to myself. “What is wrong with me?” I screamed silently.

Nothing around me felt natural, not the floor I was standing on, the clothes on my body, or my hands. But this was just my life. I had to accept it. The longer I stared, the more chaotic sounds of murmuring internal voices kept me feeling woozy at night and throughout the day. Most nights, I hardly slept due to the nightmares from hell and the inability to wake my body from body paralysis.

It didn’t take long for the dark clouds of never-ending doom to settle into my mind and make themselves at home. They didn’t pay rent, and I couldn’t evict them no matter how hard I tried. These dark thoughts had lived with me from a very young age.

The only escape I knew was to self-harm. It gave me relief, even if for just a second. If I didn’t want to self-harm. I desired nothing but to leave this world. I couldn’t live with the fact that I didn’t feel like a whole person. Those dark thoughts soon spiraled out of control, leaving me with nothing but numbness and panic. Feeling those two at the same time seems ironic, doesn’t it?

This blackness was where I felt safe, though. And somehow, it was also my own worst enemy.

I scrambled to find one of the many journals I kept, praying I could make sense out of my day and these terrifying thoughts. But the one that I needed, for life in me, I couldn’t remember where I had put it. During the scrambling, there it was again. Those whispering voices told me this wasn’t who we were and that we needed to stay in this world. It felt like a moment of déjà vu that felt unrecognizably recognizable. Like, I had lived this moment, time and time again, and couldn’t re

Part 2 of 3 member it. Remembering anything felt impossible.

This is just a glimpse of my life. I survived more significant traumas during the next few years, and these mental health symptoms worsened and my crises grew. My childhood traumas that had been kept under lock and key critically underground resurfaced. I could no longer function, work, or care for my family.

It felt debilitating. I felt like a complete failure and that there was something irrevocably wrong with who I was as a human being. I felt shattered to my core, unable to identify any part of who I was.

After more suicide attempts and psychiatric hospitalizations than I can count or remember. I became locked away within myself, more depressed, hopeless, and shattered. It was like my life was no longer worth living, and I believed I would never get better (like many professionals told me) than I have ever been.

After seeing many unhelpful professionals and getting more incorrect diagnoses than I needed, my family and I decided that an out-of-state treatment recovery center was best. I was at that treatment center for 9 months. However, I was finally diagnosed with a “dissociative disorder.” I had never heard of it. However, eventually, some of my life began to make sense.

Almost 4 years later and 25 years of traumatic experiences, I have now been diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID).

In my recovery journey, I am beginning to heal and feel safe. I have learned that I am a survivor. In the most vulnerable, traumatic childhood moments, my DID kept me safe when none of the people or places in my childhood or young adulthood were safe.

Dissociative Identity Disorder is developed as a coping skill for chronic early childhood trauma. DID is typically formed from regular young sexual, physical, or emotional abuse or neglect. Other natural disasters and early related combat can cause DID as well.

DID can mimic other comorbid disorders such as PTSD, Bipolar, Depression, etc. Creating a cycle causing survivors to be misdiagnosed. Most individuals spend 6-12 years in the mental health system before receiving a proper DID diagnosis.

Survivors who develop DID have involuntarily built amnesic walls to protect and survive the horrific trauma. Thus creating “differentiated parts of self,” interrupting the psychological growth of the mind, created by a process called “dissociation.”

Dissociation is the mental capacity to shut off one’s thoughts, feelings, memories, and identity.

In DID, dissociation creates “parts” or “alters” with different ages, likes, dislikes, triggers, names, personalities, etc.

The survivor of DID experiences “switching” when one’s body and mind jump from one part to another. This can occur in years, months, days, hours, or even seconds. When constant switching frequently occurs from one part to another, it is called “rapid switching.” Experiencing rapid or long-term switching can leave the survivor feeling disorientation, detachment from body and surroundings, memory loss, and time loss.

There are many myths, stigmas, and biases about DID.

The media’s violent portrayal of survivors diagnosed with DID hasn’t helped the community’s or professionals’ stigmas regarding the diagnosis.

However, I want to clear the air: survivors with symptoms or a DID diagnosis aren’t typically violent. They are not mass murderers or serial killers. They don’t want to injure you or your family, just like any survivor diagnosed with a mental health disorder. They are human beings and should be met with kindness, compassion, and empathy.

DID isn’t RARE. Nearly 1-2% of the population has been diagnosed with DID (and that is only those diagnosed). DID is a complex diagnosis because of this disorder’s stigmas, biases, and hidden nature.

DID survivors aren’t attention-seeking. Most survivors with DID have a 70% higher chance of attempting suicide than individuals without the disorder. Survivors don’t want attention. Typically, they are trying to make sense of themselves, their body, their mind, and their place in this world. Most with DID attempt suicide multiple times and have a higher percentage of self-harming and/or self-destructing behaviors.

Those seeking treatment for DID are not attention-seeking and cannot “just stop dissociating.” This is a disorder which is characterized by amnesic gaps. Most survivors who have DID initially don’t even know they have their parts because the DID system and components are created to stay hidden to keep the survivor safe.

DID isn’t a disorder created by a therapist

I have been going through assessments for suspected adhd and possible autism spectrum disorder. It’s been a long 6 months of talking with doctors, psychologists, therapists, nurses, psychiatrists and government services trying to get everything in order. I have been chronically burnt out for 11 months, causing me to drop out of school, quit my jobs and break up with my partner (but there was other reasons too). Months of emotional disregulation, impulsivity, self neglect and harm, skill regression and sensory overwhelmtion. I’m honestly not sure how I’m getting through this all but I’m really proud of myself that I am. I will say having being newly diagnosed with ADHD life has been easier in a way knowing why I do the things I do and why certain things happen and why they can be challenging for me. Even though ADHD does give some explanation it doesn’t explain it all. It feels like I have two mini me’s in my brain fighting for control, one is structured and organized and the other is chaotic and impulsive. Two little soldiers battling it out for their way but both equally as strong. I feel unsure of my future and how my life will look with this new information. I feel like I am grieving the person I once was or the person I was pretending to be for everyone else. I’m worried that if I start making the changes I need for me to be the person I am that I will lose the people I have because I’m different. I know this feeling will ease once I find out who I am behind my masking and start to honour that person and their abilities. However I’m just scared that the relationships with the people I love and care for will fall apart because I’m not able to play the part of the person I was trying to be before. But I know that I have to do what is right for me and be the person I can be for myself without worrying how I’m being perceived. It’s been a challenging year of navigating my life and trying to make changes that will support me in my day to day life. It hasn’t been easy it all there has been many ups and many downs but now that my assessments are almost complete I’m looking forward to having some mental down time so I can really connect all the dots together. I’m looking forward to discovering who I really am behind my mask and learning to love the unmasked version of me instead of the other one.

I have been dealing with a very unpleasant childhood.
Due to the many traumas, abuses and forms of neglect I developed CPTSD, DID and BPD along with the usual supporting illnesses you get from this.

I recently recovered a memory where I, at the age of 5, had gone catatonic due to a traumatic event and went through an existential crisis that consisted of a lot of existential terror. Due to this I developed an other. A personality that doesn't want to be alive.
Recovering that crisis has been a trial in itself. I didn't just remember it, like what happens when trauma is stored in the body, I relived it. Just imagine being dehumanized by your family of 8. Giving you mind breaking traumas over and over again since you were an infant. Spawning many different others. Leading up to the point were you just can't take existing anymore.
Now when this personality takes over, it does its best to stop me from breathing. That's how it happened when I was just months old. I couldn't take the beating anymore so I stopped breathing and stopped my heart. When I was shook back to life, the first eternal scream started in me head. Another one was from that existential crisis/terror. Which leaves me one more to discover. When I'm quiet and look inside I can hear three distinct eternal screams in me. Always screaming.

I hope the third one isn't like the one when I was five. I couldn't take it if it was. The terror of sitting in your own mind fighting a battle of existence caused by extreme trauma and abuse and losing the fight. I created an other to deal with that horrible pain and I ditched most of myself in order to get up again. That pain never went away. The betrayal. The loss of hope. Being trapped by life and tortured by it. Tortured into insanity.

I spent so many years knowing something was wrong. Having a feeling that if I could just discover who I was. That I could recover myself and be happy. I just keep finding out more and more of just how badly I was broken. Finding more and more damage. Feeling less and less secure in the idea that I can recover from this.

These past few weeks have been horrible. Not that any part of having CPTSD is easy. Just dealing with these awful parts that surfaced almost all of the time. Knowing just how bad it got and how much of me I had to lose to just keep breathing. Breathing as poorly as I do with part of me not wanting me to breath at all.

That and I recovered more memories of my eldest brothers sexually abusing me. Which strangely doesn't feel as bad as it should by comparison.
The good news is you don't feel bad about being sexual abused and beaten at the age of 5 as you should. The bad news is that's because your mind was torn apart. A silver lining in every cloud.

#ComplexPosttraumaticStressDisorder
#DissociativeIdentityDisorder
#BorderlinePersonalityDisorder

The American prison system, with its large incarcerated population and punitive approach, stands as a stark contrast to many other developed nations. One of its most glaring shortcomings is its contribution to the mental health crisis, particularly by denying adequate treatment to those who need it most. This issue becomes even more pronounced when juxtaposed with prison systems in other developed nations like Norway and Japan, for example, which prioritize rehabilitation over punishment.

The American Prison System: A Breeding Ground for Mental Health Issues
The U.S. has the highest incarceration rate in the world, with over 2 million individuals behind bars. A significant portion of these inmates enter the system with pre-existing mental health conditions. However, rather than receiving the necessary treatment and care, they often find themselves in environments that exacerbate their mental health issues.

Overcrowding is a pervasive problem in American prisons. Many facilities are filled beyond their intended capacity, leading to stressful and unhealthy living conditions. This overcrowding can intensify feelings of claustrophobia, anxiety, and hopelessness among inmates.

Solitary confinement, a punitive measure frequently employed in the U.S., can have devastating psychological effects. Extended periods in isolation can lead to a range of mental health issues, from anxiety and depression to hallucinations and severe emotional distress.

Moreover, the lack of proper medical care in many American prisons is alarming. Mental health services are often understaffed, underfunded, or entirely absent. This systemic neglect means that countless inmates, many of whom desperately need psychiatric care, are left untreated.

Violence, both physical and sexual, is another grim reality of the American prison landscape. Exposure to such violence, whether as a victim or a witness, can lead to trauma, PTSD, and a host of other psychological issues.

Rehabilitation vs. Punishment: Insights from Norway and Japan
In stark contrast to the American system, countries like Norway and Japan have prison systems that emphasize rehabilitation and the reduction of repeat offenses. Norway’s prison system operates on the principle of restorative justice. Rather than focusing solely on punishment, the Norwegian approach seeks to repair the harm caused by crime. Inmates in Norway live in conditions that closely resemble life outside prison walls. They have access to educational programs, vocational training, and therapy sessions. This emphasis on rehabilitation and reintegration has led Norway to boast one of the lowest recidivism rates globally. Japan, on the other hand, maintains a strict prison system. However, it balances this strictness with a significant emphasis on discipline and rehabilitation. Inmates in Japanese prisons undergo rigorous training programs, which include vocational training, to prepare them for a productive life post-incarceration. Additionally, mental health care is provided, with a focus on understanding and addressing the root causes of criminal behavior.

The Way Forward for America
The disparities between the American prison system and those of countries like Norway and Japan underscore the urgent need for reform in the U.S. By emphasizing punishment at the expense of rehabilitation, the American system not only fails to address the root causes of criminal behavior but also compounds the nation’s mental health crisis. To forge a path forward, the U.S. must invest heavily in mental health services within the prison system. Every inmate should have access to quality mental health care, tailored to their individual needs. The widespread use of solitary confinement, especially for those with pre-existing mental health conditions, must be re-evaluated and limited. Rehabilitation programs, focusing on education, vocational training, and therapy, should be the cornerstone of the prison experience, preparing inmates for successful reintegration into society. Lastly, a shift in the judicial paradigm is necessary, moving from purely punitive measures to approaches rooted in restorative justice.

In conclusion, the American prison system’s current approach to mental health is both inhumane and ineffective. By drawing inspiration from countries that prioritize rehabilitation and mental well-being, the U.S. can create a prison system that truly serves its citizens and addresses the root causes of crime.

So, I have pretty severe cPTSD. My early childhood was full of parentification and emotional neglect. Due to other needs in the family and mine being less obvious- I always had to be ok on my own. I've recently learned so much about what childhood should be like and some of the reasons I struggled so much. I'm a single mom to an amazing teenager. Thankfully, I have been able to break the cycle for him. He has a healthy sense of self and doesn't question his worth- even though I still struggle.
My dad died 3 years ago, about a year after a terminal cancer diagnosis. My mom followed a year ago from a COPD associated heart attack.
Despite all I know about what was wrong in our relationships- I had established healthy boundaries with them more than a decade ago. They didn't accept much of what I know to be true, but we managed to connect and enjoy one another. It's so hard to miss them, while also being relieved that I don't have to fight so hard to keep my boundaries. Love is complex.

Hi, my name is Alyssa. I'm looking for community and a safe space where there is relatability, acceptance, trust, and support. I'd love to learn from others' experiences and knowledge in the realm of wellness. I want to feel "gotten" and seen, and I want to connect with others who really get the challenges (and triumphs) in dealing with mental health issues. My life's journey has been deeply impacted by depression, grief, trauma, abuse, neglect, anxiety, ADD, disordered eating, compulsions, suicide loss, sexual assault, C-PTSD, addiction (in self and loved ones), and so on, BUT this is not all of who I am, and I will not let these horrors and issues define me fully. My story is also one of strength, hope, healing, wisdom, integration, and becoming my own hero. I'm honored to connect with you all!

#MightyTogether #Anxiety #Depression #PTSD #ADHD #EatingDisorder #Grief