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I was feeling quite calm before therapy. In fact, I didn't think there was all that much to discuss and had gone back over some old topics I had kept back to visit on days like these. I've made some really good progress recently and my T agrees. So it should have been a fairly comfortable session.

Wrong.

All started out fine as I reported on the progress, thoughts current issues with health and FOO.

I reported news that a colleague I used to work with has advanced throat cancer. I had not particularly planned to share this news with T. We got onto the subject because of some comments another ex-colleague had made about the ill one, which had some relevance to some fears I had about my recent health diagnosis.

I am not close to the ill colleague. It is 12 years since I last saw her. She blows hot and cold (mostly cold) and is very private and closed. That's fine. I contacted her to ask about her health because I was not sure the news I had received was accurate. She confirmed the bad diagnosis and somewhat to my surprise indicated she might welcome a visit from me. I am happy to do that if she would like.

And then I got really upset. Not about the ill colleague as such. I am sad about that as I would be sad for anyone who is terminally ill and has a teenage child. So sad. So tough for all concerned. But I got to revisiting all sorts of issues surrounding death, people who I have visited before they died, putting my dogs to sleep etc. And it wasn't the fact of the deaths, it was more about my willingness to show up at a death bed (if I am wanted).

T picked up on my distress very fast - sessions are online and I was trying to hide it because it did not make sense and I was feeling uncomfortable. That, too, is unusual as I have not felt this uncomfortable in therapy since the early days when I was getting used to it. It didn't help that we were already into the last 20 minutes.

I clearly have a lot of unresolved issues around death. My upset did not seem related to the deaths as such, but to my mother's attitude towards the sick and dying.

T and I realised this needs a lot more work. Which is a good thing to know and I will think on it more.

But I have been totally out of sorts ever since my session. Really edgy. Getting very, very stressed by the slightest thing going wrong.

It's weird and new to me. When this has happened before it has usually been obvious to me what the cause of upset is and I have been able to settle down quite quickly after the session.

I don't really know what to do with this horrible, uncomfortable feeling. Hence why I am writing it down here.

Wouldn't be so bad except we are going out tonight for a nice dinner at my favourite restaurant and all I really want to do is throw their glasses and crockery all over the stone floor and storm out. And that's before we've even got there! God help anyone who annoys me... 

I've been undergoing a lot of medical investigations recently. I am in the UK. Our NHS is creaking badly. However, I am lucky enough to have private medical insurance through my husband's job, so at least I am getting the investigations/scans etc done. Had I been at the mercy of the NHS I would have been told to keep a food diary and come back in five years if I hadn't died in the meantime. I jest - but only very slightly.

Nevertheless, I could write a novel about the shoddy treatment and attitudes I have encountered even in the private sector.

But this is what is currently making me steaming furious, and I want to record it here in case I am being unreasonable. Please feel free to say if you think I am!

After miscellaneous investigations that came to nothing, my GI consultant referred me to a liver consultant.

I saw Liver Man and had a long and productive conversation with him. I thought he was friendly, helpful, competent and reassuring.

At the initial appointment with Liver Man he told me what further investigations he would be ordering (bloods and a scan). When we got the results we would be speaking again to work out where to go from here.

Liver Man then wrote a letter to GI Man (who had referred me to Liver Man), with a copy to my GP and a copy to me, reporting on the consultation and next steps. All fine by me.

I got a phone call this week from Liver Man's secretary. She was alerting me that she had sent an email which said I needed to get more bloods done. She wanted to make sure her email did not get lost in my junk folder. I was out at the time and said I would sort it out when I got home. All fine by me.

I got home and found the email. It contained details of who I should contact to get the bloods done.

It also contained a copy of a letter from Liver Man to my GP.

This letter said that my initial bloods had revealed Hepatitis C. The further blood test was needed to see whether it is from a past infection, now cleared, or from an active infection that would need treatment. If an active infection then I would have to get treatment on the NHS.

The following day my GP emailed to me a copy of the letter she had received from Liver Man (I suppose in case I had not already seen it) with no comment whatsoever.

And the more I think about it, the angrier I get.

Hep C was never really discussed as a possibility when I saw Liver Man. He did say the bloods would include tests for all Hep variations just to exclude them. I have never engaged in any of the behaviours typically associated with Hep C. I have always felt there to be something of a stigma around Hep C. It is certainly not a pleasant diagnosis to be grappling with, even if the infection is cleared.

So to be told about it in this manner feels demeaning. Liver Man has not told me directly. This is not a report of a consultation at which I was present. Liver Man has got a test result, not told me directly (perhaps in a nice way, given the result) but has just written to my GP. Not only with the result, but with a statement that I will have to go to the NHS for treatment if the infection remains active. No explanation why.

GP has compounded my annoyance by sending me a copy of the letter with no explanation or reassurance either.

I am the patient, now dealing with the emotional impact of an unexpected and perplexing test result, and yet nobody has addressed me directly. These medics are communicating about my condition over my head, as if I were - I don't know. A child? An incompetent? A medical case with no human attached?

TW - some references to sexual behaviour, and miscellaneous levels of "ewwwww" inducing behaviour.

I've noticed a few references to physical touch on the forum lately.

Chaos rains started a thread about memories which also mentions aversion to mother's touch. Others (me included) said they had an aversion too. There was a reference somewhere else to a dislike of physical touch.

For myself, I have a huge personal space zone. I do not like people standing too close to me. I do not like them touching me. I can handle social hugs, oddly, but anyone reaching out to me unbidden, even just to tap my arm, makes me cringe inwardly. I can deal with medical touch but have realised I just do that by dissociating. My fitness coach is very respectful and I am happy enough for him to touch me - but if he does so unexpectedly I feel an anger reaction. One of my boxing coaches started tapping me back with the focus pads. Not hard, but the fury it provoked was quite surprising to me. It was hard to control, though I did. I was too unsure of myself back then to tell him to stop but he used to be in the army and I think he knows a fight reaction when he sees one so he stopped anyway.

My mother trained me that all men want is sex and women must be obliging and enthusiastic. I thought for the longest time that I enjoy sex but actually I do not enjoy it at all. Especially not if there is any danger of it veering into tender, romantic, loving territory. Energetic exercise is all that is tolerable.

Weirdly, I enjoy a sports massage. I have had very tight shoulders and back since my early teens and massage really helps with that.

Touch from my mother repulses me. From my father not so much but he is not at all touchy-feely.

Now for the ewww factor. Some while ago I visited my mother who presented me with a small ball of what looked like felted wool. I asked her what it was. Turns out she had picked the old hair out of her hairbrush and made it into a ball which apparently I could use as a pincushion!

On a recent visit I discovered she has been saving hair from my sister when she cuts it for her, and has been making these fur balls out of my sister's hair too. I find these hair balls utterly repellant. Also, I would never give her my hair. For some reason it feels really dangerous to do so. I would not even give her my toenail clippings. I find it interesting why I should have such a visceral reaction to the notion of giving her my hair. It's even worse than being given hers.

So, there's the random musings on touch that I felt the need to unburden onto the forum. Feel free to add your own thoughts on the subject.

I would really like to have somewhere I feel safe. Somewhere that is totally, 100% mine. The problem is that I am married.

I have been gradually working towards that and it mostly works OK. However, there are practical issues which mean that we have to share all our space to some extent. (Tofu - if you should happen to come across this post I honestly do not know how you cope with sharing a room with your sociopaths.) We are very lucky to have a large house so, for instance, we can mostly each use our own bathroom. Except the one he uses does not have a walk-in shower. He has bad knees so on days we do not go to the gym he will use "my" shower. That is accessed through my bedroom, so the bedroom is not any kind of sanctuary, though he is very respectful about when he uses the shower. I do realise that we could change our living arrangements, or re-do his bathroom or whatever but all these things feel like a sledgehammer to crack a nut.

My study is one place where he has no reason to come, most of the time. I have removed from it anything he used to use, but the one thing I cannot move easily (without making drama) is the printer. He does not often need to use the printer and when he does I am generally in that room and can take the printing to him or hand it to him as he hovers in the doorway. The room is tiny and he is vast, so I don't really like him coming in here as he is lumbering and clumsy. But that's not really even it. I just don't like him coming in here.

Today my exercise coach was here and when we had finished I went upstairs. I knew he had a printing job for work. He had (helpfully in his eyes) decided to do it while I was otherwise engaged so the printer would not be noisily spewing out pages while I was in here doing something else. So I came upstairs to find him in my study. Sitting in my chair (which is too small for him and his weight means that he regularly busts office chairs so that was added annoyance). I am in the middle of making a birthday card for my friend, so the card was out, and he was admiring it. He said it was nice and a good idea. All well and good but I don't like people looking at my art until I am ready for them to see it. And he was using my pencil sharpener.

All of the above sounds totally petty, I know. Which makes everything 100 times worse, because I just got into the worst EF I have had for a long time and I just went into my bathroom and ugly cried for about 15 minutes.

I've spoken about this sort of thing with my T before. How I feel selfish for wanting to have my own stuff/area that nobody touches or enters. Ever, unless they specifically ask. I mean, him using my pencil sharpener is so mild and yet I actually found myself wanting to throw it away. I found myself wanting to clean my chair. Dear God. This is my husband. He is a safe person. He loves me. This is our house.

This sort of thing has happened before over the years. At least now I know where it is coming from. Nothing was mine as a child, not even my emotions. My mother seeped into everything. I could not argue, because it would always be met with an entitled "I am your mother". So I know that finding a large, loud person helping themselves to my stuff in an area mostly designated as mine put me right back into childhood, with all the terror and impotent rage that entailed. Living in boarding school felt more private and that was hardly what most people would think of as privacy.

And now I don't know what to do. Will I ever learn to ride the EFs without wanting to do something drastic? Do I re-site the printer somehow and make a big thing out of it? That doesn't feel proportionate or sensible and does not mean I will necessarily feel safer. Yes, I could put a lock on my study door, but that does not feel proportionate or safer either.

I don't want to forbid my husband from areas of our house. I would not like it if he forbade me. I rarely go into "his" areas but sometimes I need to in order to vacuum or put laundry away or whatever. Living in our own little trenches seems stupid and is not something I want to enforce. If I did that I may as well divorce and live alone.

How do I feel safe when I am safe?

(Of course I will take this to my T but she is away at the moment and in any case I am supposing that someone here may have experience or insight to share.)

A UK store has a tradition of putting out a rather nice Christmas advert.

This year's is really speaking to me for some reason.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5y0fGsQU5zg

I'm seeing a bit of a theme lately, which is the problems of social interactions and the difficulties with making friends. This is something I am actively addressing at the moment, in consultation with my therapist. I have a lot of thoughts on the subject so this post may be rather long. I thought maybe we could share our thoughts but also our efforts and results in this field, in case we can all learn something useful.

My thoughts thus far:

The internet has made a huge difference to me. I do not think online friends are less than real ones, although they are different and you cannot do physical things with them like go out for a coffee. Still, with Covid we had to get creative. There is no reason not to set a Zoom coffee date. I see that some streaming platforms allow you to watch a movie with a friend even if you are in different places. I have never tried it because I hate chatting during movies but I think you can start it at the same time and then have a face to face or text chat function on at the same time.

I have made proper friends (some of whom I have met in real life and who have always been exactly as I expected them to be - no nasty surprises) via online forums dedicated to purposes other than making friends. This started when I had lovebirds and needed some advice on how to care for them. A mutual interest (whether online or in person) is a good place to start. Neither of you is in the spotlight because you are sharing information about the interest.

Internet forums and the people on them tend to be quite predictable. A well-moderated forum is generally a happy place to be. People like us tend to hang out on these forums a lot. By which I mean people who are somewhat wary of face to face for whatever reason. Those people really value the online connection and tend to stay for years even if they no longer pursue the activity in question. However internet forums mean you have to be willing to stick around and take things very slow. And sometimes they end through lack of funding which is really frustrating. But by that time people who want to stick together have usually set up other means of contact.

I don't think fast on my feet in social situations. There is too much hyper vigilance. I am trying to work out what they want. For me the way to make that easier is for me to initiate the interaction. That sounds hideously scary, I know. So I started a policy of making comments to women in the gym changing room. Really basic stuff like "Do you know what time XYZ class is?" even if I already know the answer. Or "That trainer looked like they were working you really hard." Or "I like your dress" which for me serves a double purpose. I don't much know what to do with compliments and always think I must return them at once, when normal people don't actually seem to do this. Giving someone a compliment gives me a chance to see what others do. And sometimes this results in a bit of a conversation. Sometimes it does not. If I start feeling uncomfortable I can end it easily by saying I am in a bit of a rush and going to the shower or whatever. But just being the first to say something makes me feel more in control and not being attacked by some random wanting information.

If I receive a friendly approach which I bungle because I am scared I think about whether I can salvage the situation. I might look out for the person and next time I see them say something like "You were telling me about your dog last time I saw you. Sorry I had to dash off, but how is your dog?" People generally like it if you remember what they were telling you. I am really bad at remembering due to the hyper vigilance and this is where journalling can pay off. The details of a slightly stressy situation will normally stick around long enough for me to journal them. Then I can refer back to details.

Casual social interaction can be satisfying. I would like to have closer friends (I think!) but actually I get a lot out of a bit of casual chit chat with people in the gym, or staff in our regular restaurants or coffee shops. I think regular friendly interaction could be at least as important as a close friendship. The lack of expectations on either side when you are having a laugh with a barista you often see can make things easier for us.

I have been seeing the same exercise coaches and massage therapist for years. Yes, I employ these people and yes, there is an external purpose to these appointments, but there is still social interaction and I find it very valuable.

My next step in seeing what it is like to be around other people is to join an art class. A woman I know from the gym is in the class. I have been on cordial terms with her for some years so it was a fairly easy step for me to show an interest and her to suggest I might like the class. Because it is a class it should be reasonably easy to withdraw into the art if I am feeling overwhelmed and don't want to chat but because I know someone there I will be forced into some level of interaction. Which is what I want because I need practice. Joining a class where I don't know anyone might not really work because it would be too easy to hide in the back and never talk to anyone, like I did at school. Class starts in a couple of weeks and I'll let you know how it goes.

I had to get some cases down from our attic today in preparation for an upcoming road trip.

My old schoolbag is up there, containing letters, photos etc from various periods of my life. I had decided some while ago that I would get it down and go through it next time I was in the attic. So today was the day.

There was loads of stuff in there from my boarding school years (age 11-17), letters from friends and family etc. That was interesting and did not trigger me at all. I didn't expect it to. Boarding school was intensely difficult for many reasons and I believed I missed my FOO. I probably did on some level due to enmeshment, but I was also safe from my FOO while at school.

But I found two school exercise books from when I was aged 8. The books themselves were not particularly interesting in terms of shedding light on me. One was a maths book and the other some sort of general studies book with bits and pieces of history, geography, science and what have you. The books were full of gold stars and 100% marks. That was no surprise - I knew what FOO expected of me.

However, the period from age 6 to 10 was the absolute worst of my life. As I went through the first book I suddenly felt a tightness in my chest and a sense of impending doom. I honestly thought I was about to have a heart attack so I put the book down and did some deep breathing. The feeling went away quite quickly. I was able to resume looking at the books with no further incident.

I did not feel emotionally triggered at any time, but I can only suppose that the feeling of doom was actually what it was like for me back then and those books reminded me.

Sinead O'Connor: "This is to mother you"


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tqt3YZ6gG2w


I have deliberately posted this YouTube rather than the official music video, which is also on You Tube, because the official video shows a couple in a romantic relationship but I think this song is way, way wider than that. Sinead was abused by her own mother.

In a conversation over the weekend a fellow C-PTSD survivor said she had told her husband about something she was doing that she had felt reluctant to reveal, though the reluctance seemed to make no sense. Someone else said they keep things secret, too. It wasn't the time or place to discuss further but I, too, can go to ridiculous lengths to keep my activities secret.

I understand where it may come from, in that the only thing safe from my mother was what she did not know about. Thoughts had to be hidden lest she take offence or use my feelings against me, and activities had to be hidden else she would either criticise or take over. Plus it was forbidden to tell outsiders anything when I was a child.

I keep everything a secret from my mother still, which makes ample sense. She has nothing to use against me plus I appear very boring so her interest in me is not constant and intrusive.

But I keep everything secret from everyone if I possibly can. If I go out, I hate telling my husband where I am going, even if it is just to the hairdresser or for a massage. I do tell him out of common courtesy, and so he knows when to send out a search party if I don't return home. But I hate, hate, hate telling him. I don't like him knowing when I am painting or colouring. I don't like discussing what I am reading. If I have cooked a meal (he does most of the cooking in our household) and he is complimentary about it that is great, but if he asks how I made it I feel like I don't want to tell him.

I don't have any particularly close friends, but as I don't like telling people anything that may be part of the explanation.I don't think it is necessarily a trust issue, though it might be, but it makes little sense to resist telling someone how I baked a cake. I hate going shopping with anyone else (always have, even as a teen) and if I buy something I never go to anyone and show off what I found. It gets quietly put away.

Does anyone else identify?

I realise that a startle response is often part of CPTSD. Mine is very sensitive and these days I also hate really loud noise even if it is not sudden and has not startled me. My husband likes to whistle, and does so very tunefully, but he is a large man and it is LOUD. I have had to ask him to stop doing so if I am nearby. Sometimes he forgets and at time I have put on the decibel measuring function of my watch to prove to him that I am not just making a fuss.

But, going back to the startle response, I've been thinking about it recently. Because I don't remember always having had it. My symptoms generally have got worse over the last few years. Possibly not helped by hormonal menopause changes and by lockdown. But I also wonder if it might actually be an improvement? It doesn't feel like an improvement because the symptoms are distressing, but I wonder if they are surfacing because I feel more able to allow them to surface. Maybe I just squashed them all before, and dissociated. As a child I was so constantly primed for danger that maybe it came as no surprise. I have never been in a war, thankfully, but I wonder whether soldiers flinch every time they hear an explosion. My startle response is mainly triggered by noise. Touch would trigger it hugely but I keep an enormous personal space zone for this reason and if I am forced to be somewhere crowded I dissociate. Sudden movement will also trigger it but then the startle response mostly stays internal and I don't often have an obvious reaction bar an immediate turn of my attention to the movement.

Or maybe it is a mixture of me feeling more able to feel/display a symptom coupled with my system having been in overdrive for so long now that my ability to hide/ignore a reaction is getting dulled.

I'd be interested what others think about this.

TW...I think it probably is SI in some form or other.

Last year I had surgery to remove my gallbladder. It was the first time I have been in hospital and under anaesthetic as an adult. (I had some eye operations as a child).

I found myself wondering if the surgeon or anaesthetist would ask me about resuscitation should the need arise. They didn't. I'm in my 50s and fit, so why would they, I guess? The thing is, my answer would have been that I did not wish to be resuscitated. I didn't dare to bring up the subject myself in case this made them send me post-haste to a mental hospital. (OK, I jest, but only a bit.)

This made me think about how my husband's fast driving terrifies me. He has tamed it a bit but he jokes about it and says "Oh no, we're all going to die." I just reply by saying "You speak the truth. We are all going to die one day." But what I really want to say is that I am not scared of dying. I am scared of being in an accident and thus dependent on other people, temporarily or permanently. If somebody said to me "You can be guaranteed a quick and painless death. Just close your eyes and that's it. The catch is that it has to be tonight." I would take that offer.

I've never mentioned this to my therapist and don't think I will, for the same reason I did not bring up the DNR at the hospital.

It's a strange sort of limbo, really. I don't actively want to harm myself or die. My life, currently, is pretty good on many levels. And yet I would have no qualms about walking away.

I journal most things and discuss much with my therapist, so this journal will be sporadic, I expect. It is likely to contain bits and pieces that I would like to think more on and I invite comment as I process whatever it is I write about.

I've been thinking about starting a journal here for a while. Several topics have popped up but none that made me want to take the plunge.

However, one thing that was very new to me when starting therapy was the inner child concept. As I get to grips with it I've had some interesting experiences. Mostly little NK stays hidden, or plays up emotionally but won't let me near her.

Several weeks ago I had an interesting encounter with her. My father was in hospital for a cancer operation and my mother happened to say to me that she missed him. This surprised her as much as it surprised me and for some reason that statement made little NK very sad. I thought about it and journaled it and ultimately discussed with my T at the next session. But the interesting encounter was during the night when I woke in the early hours remembering my mother's statement. Little NK got out of control sad and I found myself crying. Really, properly, majorly crying. And yet, for the first time ever, big NK was still there, just a little. So big NK spoke to little NK and tried to soothe her. Big NK tried saying "It's OK, I'm here." That made no difference. Then Big NK said "Tell me why you're so sad." That was completely the wrong thing to say as Little NK had a total meltdown. (Having discussed with T, I realise this is because my mother is emotionally engulfing. She snoops and pries. Telling her anything is dangerous. Even saying you don't want to discuss something indicates a weak point she will then work at. So asking Little NK to divulge anything about her emotions is not the way to go at this stage.) Thankfully Big NK was still there enough to try saying "It's OK. You don't have to tell me anything." At which point Little NK calmed down very quickly and I was able to go back to sleep.

However, what prompted me to start this journal was another encounter with Little NK that I had yesterday. I had dental appointments for a check up and the hygienist. I particularly hate hygienist appointments. This one was long because they could only fit me in with the student hygienists, who were very gentle and thorough but took absolutely ages as there were two of them and they both had to confer at each stage.

When I was a child I had many dental appointments. My teeth were not great, I was not all that diligent about cleaning them, and I needed a lot of orthodontic work. Little NK was never scared of the dentist as such, since mother had decreed she must go; I think she just dissociated. Especially at the orthodontist who was a really horrid man. As I was being treated by the hygienists yesterday I had the strongest feeling that Little NK had taken charge. She was taking the view that neither she nor I was enjoying the experience, but she has long experience of being in that chair and knew it would all be fine. While I am not scared I do always clutch the arms of the chair in case of a sudden pain but on this occasion I was able to relax and just let Little NK take care of it.

Whenever I have thought of the inner child concept I have assumed that Big NK should be the one looking after Little NK. It never occurred to me that Little NK might want to help sometimes. I was horribly parentified by my mother as I grew older so I am not sure if Little NK is still trying to do that now. But the experience at the hygienist did not feel bad or wrong.

I still find this concept really strange to try to wrap my head around, but now that I have consciously experienced the presence of Little NK I find it easier to contemplate and work with.

I feel like I've made a bit of a breakthrough.

I've been having therapy for about 9 months. I started doing written therapy as I could not face anything else. But I came to trust my therapist and now do zoom calls with her. The face to face aspect was pretty scary for me at first but I like it now. The first few times I cried in front of her were excruciating, but that was to be expected. Showing emotion in front of my N mother was very dangerous and I was not surprised to be triggered.

It's been tough, of course, and progress is slow. Sometimes it feels like I am going backwards but when I look at the big picture I can see progress. I started therapy at a time when my personal life was reasonably stable. I expected to find it very emotionally draining and did not really want to have other major emotional issues going on. That was a wise decision. And I am glad I started when I did because my father was recently diagnosed with cancer and that is causing all manner of issues within my FOO. I am still in contact. I am now truly seeing the benefits of the therapy I have had so far as I navigate the latest family ghastliness.

The specific breakthrough? I journal all my therapy sessions. When I was journalling the one before last I was reporting verbatim some of the things I had said to my T when recounting some childhood experiences. And I realised I had been lapsing out of first person to describe these things. I would be saying things like "You could never win. If you said x she said y. If you did x she did y." I noticed myself doing it again in the first part of the session I had yesterday. I tried to pull myself out of doing it and get back into first person. And when I had finished with that particular topic I mentioned the avoidance of first person speech to my T, and said I suspect she may have noticed this tendency already. She confirmed she had, and whenever I do it she has been gently trying to get me to explore more about my feelings on the issue at hand.

She asked what I thought it signified and I said I think it is me subconsciously trying to distance myself from the scenario or the emotion. We need to work on it a lot more, but I know it is not just me using a figure of speech. I am very conscious of the words I use and how I construct my speech, especially in therapy, or any situation that may arouse strong emotions. I think  I will be able to look out for this tendency and use it as an indicator that I am in difficult territory. I may be close to past traumas that need working through. If I am feeling strong then I can explore that territory further with my T, and if I am not then I can journal it, think about it and maybe come back to it. My T said she agrees with me, although we both need to be aware that my subconscious may be pulling me away for a good reason, so care is needed. She was really happy I noticed this and I said to her now that I have I will have no problem with her saying something like "you have moved away from first person when you talk about this. Do you feel we should explore why?" If she had pointed it out before I noticed the tendency myself I would probably have taken it as a sign I was doing something 'wrong' and then I would have clammed up.

All conditions I refer to in this post have not been formally diagnosed, in case that makes a difference.

I'm in my mid 50s. Some years ago I suspected my mother may be a narc. Started processing that and everything I read confirmed my suspicions.

The more I read the worse everything became. Not in terms of my own feelings because at last I realised something was actually wrong. I wasn't imagining it, and maybe something could be done to make me feel better. But the more I read the more lightbulbs came on and the true grimness of my upbringing and coping mechanisms and health ramifications became clearer and larger. Realising my mother is a narc was the tip of the iceberg, I guess.

I saw people on the Out Of The Fog site, where I have been for a while, refer to CPTSD so I did some research about that. More lightbulbs came on. And here I am!

I started therapy a couple of months ago. This was a massive step for me, since my defence mechanisms include trusting nobody and never confiding anything. But I'd reached the end of what I could do by myself. Therapy is basically a last resort, because I'm tired of being scared and angry. I'm sick of the slightest thing setting off an increasingly hair-trigger fight/flight response.