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Always great to read your updates to your journal SH, glad your doing okay.

Fellow 25y/o here! Welcome. Glad you're pursuing something you enjoy. I think that's really important after cutting off the unhelpful parent(s).

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...

Welcome to the forum! 

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.

Sometimes we can only make progress when times are going well, but that doesn't make it any less necessary to make things great! Congrats on the apartment.

Your words sound very similar to what I wish/had said to my own mother. You are not alone in this. When you're able, leaving will be so healing. I wish you the best Yaya

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.

[TW for a few sentences about death/dying/tragedy.]

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.

Hopefully 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'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?

[TW: car accidents]

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.

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.

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.

Hi lowbudget.  Welcome! 

Thanks for the welcome--Sorry I was writing a whole word salad processing my nightly thoughts while you were doing it!