I am a person who thinks too much. Some might say that there's no such thing but any mentally ill person knows there's always such a thing as too much.
So, I've been thinking. I'm finally doing what I need to do, want to do, and what's best for me by disengaging from a horrid family that I do not belong in. I've finally come to admit some truths, and one of those truths is the observation of if this was anything other than a child interacting with their parents, it would be accepted as unacceptable!
Yet, because I am a child, and the abusers of my life are my own parents, it seems like the fault is mine. A child is hard to rear, and for that, if non-physical issues arise, then it must be the child's fault. A child should love their parents. A child should be happy they are not beaten. Pfft. If anything, the physical issues of passive neglect, emotional cruelty, and everything in those categories should be well enough proof of an abusive relationship. I don't work correctly, like a human being should! My body is faulty, beaten by invisible weapons.
I have to remember as I move on: my parents were like an abusive partner to me. Partner, parent—they're one letter off from being a perfect anagram! We could list off so many things our parents have done to us and remove the relationship details and they'd be no different from someone ranting about an abusive boyfriend or girlfriend.
Demeaning somebody and then turning around to gift them elaborate things.
Punishments that did not match the crime, that were exaggerated.
"It's your fault I'm in trouble, in pain, hurting, ill!"
"If you don't do this, you don't really love me."
"Who are you talking to? Give me the details. I'm your —, you have to tell me! You could be doing something bad!"
"Of course I love you, just don't do these things I don't like and change your entire personality for me!"
I'm tired of living a lie. I feel like I'm not choosing to be an orphan, I think it was thrust upon me. I've felt despondent and lonely things since I was a preteen, and even in my guilt and shame of having angry, rebellious thoughts in my teenage years, I did know there was something wrong. Even if I ended up still believing it was all me. That I was ill; that I was having the delusions of grandeur and I was better than them. Well, no, I was really just a fairly normal and mature child. My parents were no different than my fifth grade bullies. Worse, even.
If anyone asks, maybe I'll say: I left an abusive relationship. No more no less. It's not a lie.
Hi lowbudget. Welcome!
Here's the truth: I have to get through one last weekend with my M before I work with my T to decide the best way to never engage with my family ever again is. Which I will be doing. I am lucky to have supportive friends and a real family I have crafted.
But, as I had described to my T, I am picturing my final hurrah in my mind as if I was an adventurer--an anthropologist, a psychologist! I think and reflect. I consider it a way to practice my skills and being myself.
The first night has gone fine. I looked to my partner and said: that's the problem!
(I also told my partner that I love them for being able to navigate and deflect and control a conversation. They control my M so well. I am at peace.)
The problem: my M puts on a front when not alone with me. They behave. They don't go too far or make the sounds that trigger me. Which, you'd think, would be good! And it is to a degree; I am thankful for it. But it is also torturous. I feel crazy, like I am the problem. It feels all a lie, the trauma in my brain. It was fine and normal.
My partner confided in me that me feeling the conflict and being triggered by words not being just bad enough for others to note how terrible the reality is is from that trauma. I remember, and I can never be normal around them, therefore I know what I must do. Writing it here too, to some public degree, helps keep that promise accountable.
I thought about it more and I've realized I've begun to relate to that one screenshot people online (like us) tend to tout around. Its from the Good Place (I've never watched!) and its the main character who says: My mother had the capability to change, it's just that I wasn't worth changing for. Not exact wording at all, but that's the gist and what I think about.
With the threat of death and aging, my M has changed. But that small, young child who needed them to change wasn't worth the effort. Now that I'm grown, and now that they have the fears, change is present if even just a little bit. Well it's too late. A little child wasn't worth it? Well, then you're not worth it.
I will continue to be my authentic self, ask questions, set boundaries, and love all children. They deserve respect. I did too. I still do now.
Quote from: StartingHealing on August 16, 2025, 01:48:53 AMHi lowbudget. Welcome!
Thanks for the welcome--Sorry I was writing a whole word salad processing my nightly thoughts while you were doing it! :heythere:
Quote from: lowbudgetTV on August 16, 2025, 01:57:40 AMQuote from: StartingHealing on August 16, 2025, 01:48:53 AMHi lowbudget. Welcome!
Thanks for the welcome--Sorry I was writing a whole word salad processing my nightly thoughts while you were doing it! :heythere:
You're welcome lowbudget.
I forgot to mention it in my last post/entry, which makes sense because that was a very stream of consciousness scrawl (+I just wanted to make sure I wrote my main thought), but I had also had another concept come to me.
It was like a flashback, or, well, more so me trying to reflect on my past. I realized a thought I've had before and currently was thinking about after the fine outing with my M. Sometimes, I wish it would just go south. Sometimes, I wish it was worse.
I know it's a common thought, I really do. But, because it's a common thought just goes to show how abusive cycles happen. We aren't really abused—(it's not that bad / people have it worse / at least I'm...)—but we're in pain. We want the pain to stop. So, we wish that the abusive person would finally cross THAT LINE and do something we settled as unforgivable so that we could finally say it: I am abused and I can run and everyone will understand. The water has breached the wall. It can finally flow free.
But it never happens. It never ever happens. We never feel the release we need.
I remember feeling the... lack of that needed release in an innocuous way: I barely passed a driving test. I got what I needed (the license) but I didn't get what I wanted (enthusiastic success). I felt a traumatic pang of disappointment from the instructor. But, she said, I'll give it to you. I'm sure that might be something to be said about them saying "you barely passed" as a positive psychological thing but it wasn't what I needed. I had enough disappointed sighs directly at me! I wanted support. I got, instead, a look of resignation.
(I felt a little better watching someone break a traffic law in front of me on my first licensed drive right out of the driving school parking lot, telling myself that I knew I was a very diligent, careful driver. Wow, I feel terrible remembering this. Moving on...)
It's important to feel success, not just reach it. My M acting tolerable is not a success. I never got the sweet release of airing my grievances on behalf of that poor, innocent child who was tortured. I never got the sweet release of rage. I just got... loneliness.
The child was told they did not deserve the sense of feeling they were valid.
So I sit here as an adult today and write out cathartic things. I am telling that child that they were valid. Their art will be the sweet release and it is so powerful and worth it, because it is for them and nothing more.
Something serendipitous happened.
There was one of those animatronic fortune teller machines that prints a fortune ticket at the mall. My partner and I did it.
I began to cry. It read: A dark haired person who is trying to harm you will soon disappear from your life and you will be extremely happy.
My M has dark hair.
Hello lowbudgetTV, Reading your journal was serendipitous for me too. I'm pondering the recent atrocities of my mother and thinking that there really is no hope with her. She does not see herself, she does not know herself. She is torn-out pages of a human. The face comes from one place and the heart from another. She has disguised herself so well no one recognizes her either. I am perhaps the only person who sees her completely for what she is. And I struggle horribly still to reconcile that person with the one I so desperately needed as a child.
Some deaths occur long long before the internement. I've just been in too much denial to see it.
Sending support and welcome to the forum.
-chart
The last few nights while sleeping have been weird. I found myself having those emotional-type of dreams, where they don't make you feel anything when you wake up, but they bring out truths through their stories.
I suppose I should TW: car accidents for the rest of the post.
For example, I dreamt of a frequent theme in my dreams: car accidents. I don't really know why... Eh, nevermind, I think I really do. My parents were/are horrid drivers. They'd taunt me with how they'd drive. They'd insult--berate me for how I drove when I was learning! I fear cars for obvious reasons. I oft have dreams of accidents or the brakes being broken.
This weekend though, I had a dream in which I was in a car accident that was really bad. I lived, but my M did not. In the dream, all I could think about when exiting the wreck was having to deal with logistical things like insurance and paperwork... This is quite true to reality.
I thought about how many things I've read had talked about interpreting our intense thoughts as the body warning you, rather than you actually wanting to do that thing. My dreams and my thoughts signal to me that I want to be rid of my M very badly, and I'm stressed, and I have no love in my heart for her so it's like she's not even really a consideration. So, stop considering her! It's easier said than done when you've been conditioned to think of family in such certain ways.
Another dream I had was really inconsequential but it made me awoke crying and despairing. I predict it was a feverish dream of sorts, considering I took the day off today feeling slightly with cold. Still, I thought it odd that a simple dream could make me feel so terrible. I haven't felt that bad from a dream in forever!
The best I could describe it was that the dream was me getting shut down from expressing my opinion and thoughts. The details don't matter--(it was dream nonsense)--but that made it stranger. My parents were there, and a third party was rebuffing me, so maybe it was an emotional flashback to feeling so outnumbered and alone and being made to feel as if my opinions and thinking were evil, wrong, bad...
A mix of all the above: flashback, fever, stress, etc... that probably made me wake up sobbing. Still, it's strange.
I've informed my therapist of the happenings of the weekend, and now I am tasked with the consideration: how do I fully estrange from my family?
I was fully prepared to ghost them. Run away, metaphorically, even though I am far from them. But there are benefits to sending one, final letter. For me. I only must think about myself and my interests because doing anything else would be keeping to the same mindset of the past twenty odd years.
Oh, and if you're reading this, feel free to add your advice on how you "broke up". What was the safest for you?
Hi TV.
This is what I did as a person who survived infant adoption to genetic strangers. I do appreciate the roof, food, clothes, that was provided. thing is IMO children need more than just that to thrive. This covers a dozen or more years.
I moved for work related reasons. About 2000 some miles away. I only forwarded the physical mail that I needed to instead of a general mail forwarding. Different #. At that time it was still land lines and long distance was a thing. Different email address. I basically went incognito from the adopter family. Then I moved for work again. And followed the same process. I retained the data of #'s for them, mailing addresses, emails, etc. Just in case.
I didn't worry about a letter because I knew that the person in the role of mother wouldn't have "got it" even if she actually did. Yeah, there was some mental / personality "things" about her. She played stupid real good. She also played the professional victim real good as well.
I don't remember exactly when ... anyway I had set up a specific email to communicate with certain members, a person in the role of sister who was cool, a person in the role of 1st cousin, etc. was 5-6 years maybe a tick more after I went incognito that I set this up. Then I waited. Not much action on their part even after emails sent. No surprise.
Got word that the person in the role of mother had gave up the ghost. The freedom I felt from that knowledge. Hard to describe. Twas as if a curse had been lifted from my soul actually. That sparked some emails from them to me and over time it's gotten decent in regards to the relationships I currently have with them.
With what I had been through with the pwBPD, no F's given any more in regards to concern of what other people {might} feel / think etc. Sure as Hades not going to pander to them or take any toxic BS either. Not going to be an a--hole either. If there isn't a certain level of respect twixt me and the others.. Cool don't need ya. You know?
And that also played into the current relationships I enjoy with certain members. Toxic people are toxic people and to me it doesn't matter what kind of connection there is, genetic, legal, etc. I as a self-determining individual have the right to not put myself in harms way.
One thing I did learn that helped me a great deal is that no matter what actions I do, there are people that are going to cast me as a villain in the story that they are telling themselves about themselves. Not a single thing I can do about that. Even if there was absolutely 0 things on my side for them to go there. To me, I don't want to be around those types of people. Since they already consider me to be a villain, then it's no skin off my back to not have any interactions with them. They usually let me know based off of behavior of what going on in their thinking meat / verbiage.
Hopefully you can glean something useful TV. Wishing you all the best
Wishing you all the best
Quote from: StartingHealing on August 20, 2025, 11:16:26 AMHopefully you can glean something useful TV. Wishing you all the best
Thanks SH, this is helpful.
I've been thinking of the pros and cons and I have to tell myself one of my affirmations: having conflicting feelings and changing my mind means I am processing.
I think I have an idea of what I might do. My issue is I feel like I've been so hurt that I learned to stop trying very early, so I don't know the best option or how my M truly is. But saying that... I know it's not on a child to try and get their own parents to not be cruel to them or act appropriately.
In this vein, I think I am on the path of writing an email to her and sending it on an email address that I'm retiring. A final send off that's important in multiple ways. It'll be a final kindness, but it will still not be very... Nice for her. But niceness is not kindness, and I must be kind to myself more now. My body is hurt enough and I must learn kindness for everyone. I think that's a rebellious act enough given the details of my dysfunctional upbringing: being kind instead of more hate.
I wrote a whole thing in preparation for my next therapy appointment in which I will finalize my decision on breaking away from my abusive family. It's so long so I'm still editing it down, but I figure it's nice to send it here and yell out my truth. It felt really correct to say this.
TW for a few sentences about death/dying/tragedy.
__
It was hard to choose what was the best thing to do. I feel as if I am I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't. The truth of the matter is I do not love my mother, and haven't for many years. I think about that a lot. As a teenager, you think that there must be something wrong with you or you're just being stereotypical when you think that, but the feeling only got worse and never went away. I was very physically ill when I was around them. I felt like a child again when I had some modicum of freedom in University.
When I think about my mother, I recall how she has dismissed my health needs, so I feel complicated when I am made to care about hers, especially when forced upon me out of family obligation. The hypocritical truth is she does not truly care for me and I think is unable to learn how to in a way that doesn't re-traumatize me and continue to make my muscles too tense to function as a human. She cares for a concept of me. And I, in turn, care for the concept of a Mother, one that does not exist in my birthmother.
Despite all that, I would say I do appeal to her humanity. I have done this many times in my life. I have often felt I cared more about my parents' humanity than my own, considering that I often don't feel like a person, instead feeling as if I'm watching the world move around me. So, in my childhood, all the world I had was watching two miserable people go through life, which made me very sad considering I was powerless to do anything, and if I tried to do anything as an innocent, ignorant child, I would be snapped at and retract further away from being able to express my true feelings. I understand both my parents, and I feel for them as humans. However, I think what is truly best for everyone is that I stop, to some degree, thinking of them and instead focus on myself, which at the state I feel I'm in, does require drastic action of disengaging entirely from my family.
It felt most realistic and kind to my true self to write a letter. My younger self would've loved to write out her thoughts in a letter, but she never did out of fear, having no escape from the consequences of writing out her thoughts, and knowing that nothing would change. There is evidence enough of that. As I've written out my memories to feel like I am less crazy, I see that very traumatic events were the result of adult people with no regulation over their emotions taking out pain on a helpless child. I remember, with the help of a previous therapist, telling my mother that what she did to me once was wrong. She had accused me of trying to hurt her on purpose because I hated her and wanted her to feel pain. What I actually did was fail to not hit a pothole while learning how to drive. She then tried to rationalize her actions and I said no, I don't want to hear it, you were wrong. The first time in my life, at the age of 19, I was rebuking my mother, and she could not accept that what she had done was simply wrong. She retreated to her room and loudly sobbed, and as my room was near to hers, I heard it all the rest of the day. In truth, I felt nothing regarding it. All I could think of was the many times in my life where I was alone, crying as silent as I could, because I feared receiving false care from people who failed to truly love me in a way that felt real and safe. The truth is I wonder how it got to the point where being valid and respectful to my needs caused a grown woman to break down as if someone close to her died. It did hurt me. I continued to fear. I didn't want her to cry anymore.
As I sit here now writing and reading this, I think of my fears in doing what I know I must do. As a child, I do admit, one of the reasons I didn't kill myself in a deep depression was many fears of how my parents would react. I felt their despair, and sadness, and anger, and grief. Then, I grew a bit older, and I feared death because I was afraid of my parents controlling my story after I was gone. I feared control over my true self, and in turn, they controlled me through fear. Even now, thinking about doing this act of setting the final boundary: never seeing them again—I feel their sadness. The sad fact is, though, that I know how many times I have sat inches away from them, myself feeling so strongly of despair and sadness and terror and emptiness, and they went on living as if the dreadful presence wasn't there, as if they had nothing to do with why their child was so off. I don't know when it happened—I do not remember when it was—but clearly at some point in my life I gave up being open and safe around my parents, and nothing they've done or I've tried has rectified this. I have nothing left for them. It's all gone, used up.
So my decision is that I have crafted the best letter I could, one that is kind to both me and my mother. Previously, I had felt fear in sending something due to what I had to say. I suppose I also felt empathy for how I knew to some degree my mother would feel inside, and I've acknowledged that I've somehow developed a fear and repulsion to the thought of my mother feeling so despairing. But it is sadly, a necessary thing, because while I've protect them from the truth, I have despaired for two decades.
I have thought about the consequences and I feel the pain they will feel—but the saddest fact of all is that it had reached this point. They could have made the choice to care for me. They could have made the choice not to torture a child by forcefeeding her eggs she accidentally broke bringing the groceries in. They could have made the choice to be curious about me instead of controlling me and assuming things about me that weren't true. They could have tried to listen when I wanted to talk about deep, emotional things I cared about. They could have learned my innate personality and wants instead of saying everything I was was because I hated them. They had the adult mind to make the choice not to scream at a child who was asking the definition of one of her elementary school spelling list words. They had the choice to not call me stupid, weak, a brat, lazy, difficult, and worst of all, [ableist r-slur]. They had the choice not to gang up on a child to make fun of her for wanting to watch a children's movie she got from Netflix. They had the choice not to say that black children deserved to be murdered because they had been suspended from school, not realizing I still remembered playing with him on the playground. They had the choice to show humanity to a man who had recently killed himself in town, not knowing that I was friends with his daughter, not knowing that I had gladly lent that child twenty dollars to have a fun day at a school fair and then they had gotten mad at me for wasting money on someone else, despite the fact I enjoyed the act of watching someone else smile, none of us knowing that the next day her dad would shoot himself. They could have been a bit more kind. I asked that of them. They made fun of me for not being tough enough. They could have made the choice to listen.
In short, they had the choice to act like an adult to a receptive, sensitive, smart child. In turn, it feels like instead I am now an adult and they are still forever children. And I am so confused about it, for I never really got to learn how to be one. So here we are.
I have felt most powerful when I am in control of my words and I thought it might be healing to actually go through with properly preparing my thoughts, sending them, and then blocking all possible easy ways to respond. I don't know what will happen, but that's fine. I'm fine with being vigilant for one last time to achieve true freedom. I am okay with the unknown and I think that's good practice for my anxious tendencies.
I considered the "humanity" of my mother, as you have previously mentioned. I have thought long about the humanity of my mother. I decided that I am done being considerate towards someone who has not been considerate towards me. I have decided that the letter is for me more than it is her. It is to set my final boundary. It is for closure, in hopes she will finally respect it and abandon me. I expect a lot. I hope for the best. I feel as if I have run out of supply. I can't do it any longer because being an adult has taught me that I have a choice and a personhood to respect. This letter is the best I can give with what I was given.
When I was younger, I was not shown or modelled kindness. I love kindness; my parents love being cruel and bitter and mean to others. In a way, it is a final act of rebellion: to be kind to them, sending them this letter.
I have reflected today upon a fundamental fear I've had: no escape. Which is obviously very common in CPTSD as far as I know.
My mother would say uncomfortable things. She would say that she would never leave me. It's comforting, albeit a lie, if coming from someone supportive, but she was anything but. She would say how she'd move to wherever I would (can't much do that now with how she is, ha!) or haunt me if she died to protect me. And, I am an Only Child, so I feel the fear and obligation of making the choice of abandoning them.
The truth is that they have abandoned me so long ago through their repeated actions. I must accept this. If I do not hold any love left for her, then the apprehension is my kindness and empathy for the Human Being itself, but I know how little she has of that for innocent children and innocent souls different than her. I shall not mourn for someone who has laughed when I mourned.
They have brought this upon themselves.
It has been sent. I can focus on myself now rather than deciding on minute details regarding my "escape".
I am currently very happy, I think. I just want to figure out who I truly am now. I've been answering journal prompts about random questions, doing some discovery book work, and I've found myself growing more confident and reflective of myself and others while in conversations. I think I'm developing goals and aspirations for the rest of my life--or at least for now.
It's been a good week. Fun, relaxing, a sense of nostalgia has washed over me. 'Cept... I am experiencing the joy of freedom that child-me had not had. Wow, how pleasant.
:hug:
I haven't had much thoughts to write in here since I've sent it. I can say it has arrived a while ago according to the postal tracking, and I haven't heard anything. The sky did not fall. I am alone and happy--blood relation-wise, at least. I've got good friends and community. I've only reflected a little bit on how my mother had treated me since the last interactions... I think deep-down, she knows the truth and doesn't want to work for me anymore. Hopefully--I'd be grateful for that! It's still sad. I'd like a nice mother one day.
It's been lovely weather recently and I've been really nostalgic still. I feel joy and openness for things a bit more again. I've started with my therapist on discussing my inability to feel fully present and open about my emotions, and she's taught me about the types of voices we have. It's kind of helpful. I've also just been doing artistic journaling, though, since my life's purpose is really relegated to doing something creative. (That's kind of why it's important to fully feel!)
It's time to focus on me now I guess. No worries and dread about the obligations. I am virtually an orphan, as I have been for years and years. How nice, and how sad that it is so nice...
I started my workday off with a notification on LinkedIn that my mother was attempting to add me! Man, I hate LinkedIn. If only I didn't need to use it for my job. It sucks there! All business speak that feels AI-generated (or it's just so standardized and jargony that it feels machine made...) and cringe posts that are somehow trying to relate to career. Yuck.
Anyways, it did give me a "shock" but if anything it felt like a nice dosage of caffeine pills. I've been having a rough time at night. It might be because my partner is off on a trip and I'm alone in the big city... But it's also just subconscious things like my dreams being depressing. At least they weren't related to my family!
The best I could describe the situation as is "cringe." I like having no contact with my family. I have power now. I blocked the account. I tried to report it, but it seems like there's not a "this person is harassing me" option on the there, which I think would be nice... I still did it though. Not a real person, I chose, and hopefully it'll make her have to do stupid authentication she's too tired to do. There's nothing on her account anyways, so it'll probably trigger something. But hey, gives me a good story to say why I still hate the darn website.
I'm focusing on myself recently and forgoing caring about a "presentable career" anyways. By that, I mean I still am doing art and projects, but they're for me. The world can get them later on, when the dust settles.
That's my update. First signs of life from my estranged family I guess.
Ugh. I am still in contact with my mother but I remember when she tried to friend me on Facebook. The feeling was utterly awful. I'm glad you blocked and also made that report.
lowbudgetTV
"I am virtually an orphan, as I have been for years and years. How nice, and how sad that it is so nice."
that hit me in the feels.
I personally have exited from all socials. My cost/benefit ratio of decent to garbage finally got to the point that the decent/good to garbage was such that they were not worth the time and effort. If I want to share something with someone there is text, calls, etc.
I'm seriously considering doing the same with linkedin because it's turned into a very very crappy copy of FB. Not to mention my tolerance to propaganda and corp speak is gone.
Wishing you all the best
Thanks, you two, for your words!
SH - I agree. LinkedIn feels useless for what it wants to be. Alas, I do use it lightly for work, only to pog in and manage a few things. If I catch a glimpse of some corpo-speak sounds-no-different-than-pure-AI post, my brain gets weird. I can tell when something's so fake and pathetic nowadays, and I don't know if its part brain fog or brain damage from slight trauma I've had before. Either way, I think of it as a weird superpower in this age of fakery.
Modern social media is all corpo now, almost. Few small things remain. I'm creative so I've retreated to old style forums like this where it feels a bit more personable and expressive + handmade websites. I have to go on an adventure to look for pretty art I want sometimes, but that's a fun adventure at least.
I stay on things where the costs/benefits are still in favor of creativity. Having nerds with cartoon avatars cohabitate with, say, public figures on a website was a mistake.
Another bonus to creativity is I've never been the person to subscribe to being my IRL self on the internet, you know, disregarding the disassociation anyways. LinkedIn requires it, and I only have a FB to try and sell random furniture sometimes... (And meta hasn't yelled at me for the fact that the fake name I use isn't a real person yet, ha!)... But otherwise, I am not getting paid for these corps to have my data.
lowbudgetTV, personally I think that is one killer superpower! Perhaps has nothing to do with any type of damage at all. I agree that most of the 'net is corpo crap. For a hot take on the current state of the net, look into the dead internet theory. I don't remember exactly where I read it, however the claim is that a traffic analysis of all internet traffic, 51% is bot activity with the % predicted to hit something like 90% within a few years.
Going on an adventure to find good art is a worthwhile thing. I appreciate the makers, those that roll their own site, or paint, dance, sculpt or whatever. Art, true art, crafted by humans feeds other humans souls. The slew of AI generated pap don't, and the corpo crapola don't either.
For a old school type of site, what about craigslist for buying / selling ? No need for FB marketplace which is mainly bots anyway. The local craigslist is where I got a lead on a really good used car for really decent $$ that I ended up getting. I tried FB marketplace and .. the results were not good. Even on simple stuff. I was trying to find like a back of the couch table and .. I finally gave up, went to craigslist, and boom, done deal that day, where I had spent like 5 days on FB marketplace.
I know a little bit about cyber security and having a "avatar" with a made up name is actually good security policy out on the web. Just like having an alias email, or a alias CC# or even a web based # that forwards to your real #, or using a VPN as standard practice. Unfortunately it has gotten to the point that we do need to be aware of the digital footprint that is created by us. Well, the data that is collected is then fed into a model and then that is used to deliver targeted ads to us. I'm right there with you. I haven't gotten a check from ___________________ yet for the revenues they got from my data. As such, F them. Go Galt. That's what I'm doing.
My partner is the one who posts on Craigslist when we need to, so I probably will just use that... But I also remembered as I was thinking about this: I also have to have a FB account for an old VR headset I use. Which sucks anyways, so maybe I can hack it up and put something else that doesn't require that stuff on there. Then I could truly be free of that old stupid website and company, haha.
lowbudgetTV,
I'm sure that there is a group out there that has found other purposes for VR headsets besides being connected to FB. Finding that group could be a interesting quest. Well, you know that they will be working on keeping things on the dl so meta won't get itchy about it. lawyers you know?
Hi TV
I just read through your journal as you worked through the process of going No Contact with your family. I apologize for not being on the forum for a few months and missing all those posts: At one point you asked if others had gone NC with their FOOs and I just wonder if you are still curious about how some others have done this.
I went full NC with my FOO in 2010. It's been 15 years since I've technically not heard from any of them. (Technically meaning: Occasionally, I receive anonymous hateful birthday cards with no return address and I feel pretty sure I know which mentally ill narcissistic psychopath sibling is sending them to me. My wife and I laugh about them and we put them in a box in case we ever need to prove she's never stopped harassing me. I am only EF'd for about a week each time I receive one of those hate cards, but all in all, I feel REALLY GOOD that I don't care enough to let the EF get too serious anymore). I went NC without leaving a note. During a phone call with my aging dad who was screaming at me over one of the lies my sister had told him, I knew it was time to stop putting it off. In a calm, sober tone, I gently said, "I love you very much dad. Goodbye." I hung up, and after about a week of ignoring his phone calls, I simply changed my phone numbers and email addresses. I put mirror film on the front windows of my house so I could see out but they couldn't see in (just in case ANY family friend or relative might come to harass me, I could pretend I wasn't home). In my particular family, a goodbye letter would have only given them something to bash me with. I took the advice of the authors that teach how to deal with narcissists, and I didn't announce my departure. I just hung up. Like that old joke, "I didn't go away mad. I just went away."
The first thing that happened to surprise me was: I've always wanted to write the story of my life, sharing the abuse I took for 50 years, but no matter how hard I tried, I could never get past the writer's block. A few days after going full NC with my entire family, including nephews, nieces, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and any family friend who ever knew my family, my writer's block crumbled like an overflowing dam. My creativity suddenly exploded into reality. It turns out that my fear of those miserable, judgmental monsters (aka; my family) were the source of my writer's block. I spent the next several years writing. I wrote three novels. My family had been my curse all along and I just didn't realize how deep their boney fingers could reach into my soul. The true depths of their abuse on my life became obvious when they were no longer a part of my life. That's when I finally began to flourish. It was a shock. A good shock.
The second thing I noticed about finally going NC, was my recurring nightmares of not being able to escape or keep up...ended. Ended. For 50 years I had recurring dreams that my legs were too heavy to move and a vicious animal was coming at me, OR my legs were too heavy to move and all the people I loved were leaving me and I couldn't keep up. (My trauma is defined by my sense of abandonment. I always feel unprotected and unwanted). Those dreams which were almost nightly for 50 years simply ended when I went NC with my FOO.
After 15 years of Full NC I have not experienced so much as ONE single thought of ever reconnecting with anyone. I have not only been glad I walked away, but I've been sorry I didn't do it sooner. I was 50 in 2010. I spent 50 years being their whipping post. I couldn't go to college because my traumas were so intense I couldn't complete a course. My life turned out okay, but it felt like it wasn't my life. I've retired from a lucrative factory job, but I never wanted to be a factory worker. I can't complain, because things turned out okay, but I'll always wonder what life would have been like had my FOO not dictated every moment of it for me. To me. At me.
I hope your experience with NC gives you the peace that you hope it does, or, like with me, I hope it even exceeds your hopes. My writer's block breakthrough and the end to my chronic nightmares were bonuses for me. I hoped I'd feel free from their lies. I got that and so much more.
When anyone asks why I went NC, I say "Because my family finally got so ugly that even I couldn't love them anymore."
Thanks Papa, it is always good to share our stories, if even just for our own benefit. I like telling tales of my experiences to deal with them, and in turn I always love to hear other's thoughts.
I agree; I have no regrets abandoning those who have hurt me.
:hug:
I just finished up another monthly therapy session. It was very helpful and I think I am slowly doing better about things I want to be better about.
(Content warning for tragic death in this entry, nothing graphic, but be good to yourself!)
Sadly, I found out on thanksgiving that a good and dear friend passed. I do not recall if I mentioned it here so I'll re-explain, but it was even more shocking and... interesting (in a fate-of-the-world type of way) because she was the daughter of my grandmother-figure who recently also passed of natural causes. Last time I saw my "M" before I became a self-imposed orphan, she had just causally isolated me and told me this grandmother figure was in hospice. At least I knew to keep an eye on things and know when she passed, which I did by following and keeping up with my old dear friend, her daughter.
But, alas, I found when wanting to give her some thanksgiving/holiday joy, that she had recently tragically died in a car accident. It was so shocking. It was like a dream. It was so strange to me that she passed so soon (in the grand scheme) to her mother in an unrelated way! It wasn't even her fault in the accident; it was mere chance.
I was sad, as anyone would be with tragedy, but I didn't really feel anything until I talked about it with my therapist. I thought it'd just be a footnote, saying things like "oh yeah, this terrible thing happened, (and also I've had some related dreams about my "M" dying recently too; definitely related)" but it was so connective to other thoughts I've been having, as it turns out.
For instance, I noted that one of my first thoughts when looking into the tragic death of my old friend was that "oh good, it wasn't her fault". I don't care, someone died! It's tragic no matter what! But I knew it was my "M" in my brain. I remembered her heartless words about the people I loved. I remembered how she insulted this person before. She insulted my adoptive grandmother too. She didn't like that her daughter was poor and asked for help and blah, blah, blah. But here's the truth, as I sit here and mourn a family that was never mine and yet was more a family than my blood relatives were to me: they didn't care about money or status or anything. They lived such beautiful and rich lives, whether rich (the grandmother) or poor (the daughter). They helped each other. The daughter died in the accident going to help someone. She was so giving, as was her mother. That's all that really matters. They were filled with love. They lived a good life, albeit that the daughter should've had some more time to live--but with the good amount she had, she lived a good one, despite being poor and different and difficult.
My "M" still lives, and as far as I know from the last I've heard of her, she is alone and miserable. And the woman she disliked is beloved and mourned by all who knew her, and there are smiles and celebrating in her honor because that's what she asked for after her death. And here I am: I know the difference between those two women.
I am very overwhelmed and scared and confused in my life. According to my therapist, I'm normal: I'm going through a quarter-life crisis and I'm traumatized. I am not alone. I am trying to feel less alone by talking to others. I still am lost and confused and I don't know what I'm doing. I'm overwhelmed because there's so much I want to do and I don't know who I am and I don't know how to get there. Yet, I take everything in, and I see it through my eyes. I always have seen a lot through my eyes, being that I am a quiet person who thinks too much. I think I'm getting there in what I have to do.
I remember thinking of a long-ago memory while my Therapist was talking about EMDR things (she's not certified or whatever, but her mentor was and gave her some advice; it's helpful!)... I remember how nice it felt to receive messages during a bad time--to interact with all and everyone even if sometimes they were imperfect or bothered me a little. I miss it. It feels so lonely how I am now. I want to find people again and be so open and free to let them in and try. I want to give to the world unabashedly. I think I might try to do that more. I think I should begin to be more like a child again, as if the next stage of life was a rebirth. In a way, it is.