Messages

Thank you for the comments and encouragement, I really appreciate anyone who reaches out with support, but please don't feel like you need to respond, unless you really want to. I'm mostly writing here for my own process, to consolidate my story and to dig up and work through old, painful feelings.

~~~~~~~~

Private journaling has been a tool I've used my whole life, well through most of my life, apart from the 13+ years I was taking antidepressants. Those are what I think of as my numbed out, crushed, compliant years. When I was 30 something I asked my doctor if I could try antidepressants because after being exposed to some advertising, thinly veiled as a documentary, I believed that I had an anxiety disorder, caused by defective brain chemistry. Of course I know now that wasn't true, my brain was working just fine, doing the best it could to protect me and help me survive in difficult circumstances, but it was too late, I got on the drugs and couldn't get off them, no matter how many times I tried. I didn't like what they did to me, my personality changed, my creativity, passion, values and optimism disappeared, along with the overwhelming anxiety I sometimes felt. I was still anxious though, it had just been turned down a few notches I was still programmed with a lot of dysfunction, not at all fixed, but I no longer cared, that's what changed, I just didn't care much about anything any more. Self discovery stopped, hope stopped, growth stopped and I became the complacent, compliant, robotic blob, playing my role silently, like it seemed everyone wanted me to do, especially my abusive husband who's personality was like a clone of D, but even worse, he wasn't only narcissistic, but at times his behavior was sociopathic, he once boasted about how he could easily make women cry, especially his own mother and he seemed to enjoy making me cry too, and once I figured that out, promised myself I would never let him see me cry again. It was like my childhood repeating itself all over again, but in a weird, twisted kind of way. At that point, I hadn't yet learned about narcissism and personality disorders, I was still stumbling around in the dark with a paper bag over my head.

I was an attractive child, well, I started out that way, cute, blond curls, dark blue eyes and a baby face, which has remained baby-like. But I was overfed, that was the way M showed love. Food stopped complaining, treats were bribes for good behavior, cakes and chocolate were medicine for everything from headaches to scraped knees. So I got fat and learned how to soothe myself with food. Its something I struggle with to this day, I gain weight very easily and have to work very hard to lose it, even a little bit and while being on antidepressants, it got worse. I packed on the pounds and no amount of dieting or exercise would shift them. So my self esteem plummeted lower than it already was, giving my husband even more fuel for his cruelty and justification for his many affairs.

When I was about 12, I fell off my bike and chipped my front tooth. For some reason, my parents decided not to get it fixed, I was self conscious about my broken tooth and stopped smiling. I had previously only been teased and bullied about my weight, but now I got called 'chippy'. My hair had grown darker, becoming a kind of mouse brown, I had inherited those prominent freckles, or moles, from D's side of the family, and had a lot of them on my face and I was short, very short. I stopped growing at 10, probably because I was overweight and puberty hit early.

I was so miserable during my early teens. I think a lot of kids are. I didn't fit in anywhere, I had a few friends, but I wasn't close to anyone, I was being bullied by one of my friends, that's the kind of friends I had. Since our move across the world, I had pretty much fallen off my parent's radar mostly. I stopped trying to get help from them and learned how to lie in order to get some of my needs met outside of the home. They had weird ideas about most things and believed that if children were not exposed to any information about something, then it wouldn't be real, wouldn't have to be dealt with. So when I suddenly became a woman, at age 10, I thought I had injured myself, was shocked, frightened and had no idea what was going on. I guess M was a bit surprised too, not expecting to have to deal with it so early. I remember being overwhelmed, embarrassed, in denial and in pain as I was bundled up with one of those horse saddle like things, a tight elastic belt and told to stop complaining about my stomach ache because I was making a fuss, it wasn't that bad. Maybe not for her, but I was in agony, the pain was bad, really bad, close to child birth pains and I can say that now after giving birth to my daughter, but there was no compassion, no celebration, only shame and embarrassment and being shoved in my bedroom and told not to tell anyone about it, especially not my father.

A couple of years later, when notes came home from school, requesting parental permission for sex education classes, my note was sent back with a no. My pleas for reasonableness were ignored and so once a week I suffered the shame and humiliation of sitting alone, outside my classroom as my classmates learned the basics of human reproduction and safe sexual practices. The irony of this wasn't lost on me, even at that early age. Here, I was probably one of the few kids who had actually reached that vulnerable age, needing the information, and yet I was the only one denied what I needed. And it wasn't that I was given any alternative information at home. There was nothing, I was an object, a thing, a non-human, non-sexual, non-emotional nothing, to be controlled and manipulated into whatever they wanted. I didn't exist. But I did... and eventually my anger and rebellious spirit exploded enough, as it often does in adolescence, when there isn't enough respect, consideration and sensible encouragement towards individuation.

I starved myself, exercised like a maniac and dyed my hair blond. Started wearing skirts that were too short and shoes that were too high. I started getting the attention and affection that I so desperately needed, for the first time in my life I had a little bit of power to get something which looked like what I needed. But the price I paid was awful, I wasn't getting loved, I was being used, but I didn't know any different. Sure, I met some nice guys, they bought me flowers and wanted to take me to expensive restaurants, wanted to hold my hand and introduce me to their parents, but guys like that made be feel strange, uncomfortable and physically sick. Being disrespected, used and abused was what felt right, striving to be good enough to get noticed, was what I was used to. I knew I was worthless, broken, damaged, and that my new, pretty exterior was just a facade, so I couldn't let anyone get too close, even though that's what I desperately needed, to be seen, to be known and understood. But if anyone saw the real me, they would run away, screaming in horror and disgust. That's what I was inside, a shameful, horrible, disgusting worthless nothing with a pretty exterior which I now had to keep patching up and improving so that my insides wouldn't show through. For years after that, my only value laid in my appearance and most of my energy went into maintaining my normal weight, my hair, skin and make-up. It was all never good enough, because I compared myself with the cultural icons in magazines and on TV, so I was never able to relax and feel good about myself, not even my appearance. I was one big flaw, inside and out.  When I was 17, my parents decided to get my chipped tooth fixed, they found a dentist who would do it cheaply, D always liked getting a bargain. I got a cap, it didn't quite match the color of my other teeth, was too white and it wasn't a great fit, so there was a gap between it and my gum, which over the years turned black.... so I still couldn't smile without being self conscious about it. But it was better than it was, at least I had all my teeth again.

After the fiasco with not being allowed to take sex-ed classed, and the reality that being denied information doesn't stop normal human development, I realized that I needed to get some information from somewhere. I was curious, it was normal, even though my curiosity added to my shame, along with being denied the information I needed I was told I was bad for even wanting it or needing it. But there it was, curiosity grows until its satisfied, so I bought a book about sex from my local book store and hid it under my bed. It was an educational book, not porn, so I thought it wouldn't be too much of a problem if found, but I underestimated the dysfunction of my parents. It was found, because one day it was just gone.  I remember suddenly feeling ashamed, again, ashamed that I had bought it, ashamed that I was curious about sex, ashamed that they had found it, ashamed for having feelings, ashamed for even existing. Everything bad which happened was a reflection of my own intrinsic badness. Nothing was ever mentioned about that book, and I didn't say anything. But years later, many years later that book appeared on their book shelves along with all the other books they had collected over the years. It's probably still there right now. 

Hi, I think you write so eloquently here. Recognising your responses to your order are a replay of childhood pain is so insightful. I recognise much of what you write as there are so many similarities to my own childhood.

Thank you SharpAndBlunt for visiting my journal, and for your encouragement, I'm sorry you're childhood was like mine, but glad you are here, recovering. 

~~~~~~~

When I was very young, before my sister came along, I was often left with other people, while my parents went out at night, or away on vacations. I remember feeling very anxious and unsettled when this happened. I especially didn't like  being taken care of by strangers, who M would find through an agency. For a while she had an older girl come over to watch me/play with me while she did housework. This girl was mean to me and would hurt me physically, but when I told M, this girl lied and denied doing anything wrong. I was scared a lot of the time, I don't think my parents protected me in the way they should have done. I was left with a loud, violent aunt one year, D's sister, she was physically abusive to her daughters, my cousins, but I was left there for 2 weeks while my parents went away on vacation to Morocco. I liked being with my cousins, but was terrified a lot of the time when my aunt would start screaming and beating my cousin with a hair brush. I thought I was going to be beaten. I think I'm particularly sensitive, but this wasn't taken into consideration and there was no one in my life who seemed to understand or care enough to get to know me and treat me appropriately, to help and answer my questions.

There was one aunt who I liked staying with, she was M's sister, unfortunately, she died fairly young, but she had a gentle personality and was kind, quite different from M, she laughed often and wasn't overwhelmed with stress, well, early on anyway, she developed problems later in life too, her husband, D's brother, was rather narcissistic too. I think all the siblings in that family turned out with some kind of personality disorder, they are a bunch of cluster Bs, some worse than others. Although one of D's sisters was a bit different, not hostile or abusive, but she married someone with a gambling addiction and her son became an alcoholic.

One of my first memories is staying with my favorite aunt, M's sister, and being taken out in a stroller by my cousins, who were quite a bit older than me. We were walking down the street and suddenly came to the burned out shell of a house that had caught fire. I remember being shocked at the sight of it and frightened. One of my cousins was a lot older than me and was dating a boy who rode a motorbike, I remember being frightened of the sound of it, probably because whenever he came in the house, he would grab me and pretend to hang me on a hook in the ceiling. Everyone thought that was funny, except me, but no one seemed to notice or care.

As a young child, I remember being scared of almost everyone, the man who delivered eggs, the vicar and his wife who lived next door, my pre-school teacher, the school gardener, my parents friends. I think I may have experienced some physical abuse very early,  before I have memories. I was left with enough strangers and harmful family members, so its quite possible. I remember being particularly frightened at night, alone, in the dark. I couldn't sleep if my closet door was open. I had a hard time soothing myself enough so I could sleep. D used to read me frightening stories about witches and monsters at bed time, that book was kept in a long book case in the hallway and I was scared every time I had to walk past that book, I knew there was all kinds of evil lurking within those pages, and it was going to get me if I let my guard down. I sucked my thumb until I was 8, I just wasn't able to soothe myself any other way, enough so that I was able to sleep at night.

Both of my parents had experienced lots of trauma while growing up, they were both children during WW2. D had been sent away to the country because they lived in London and it wasn't safe for children. I remember saying that he preferred the family he stayed with, because they were nice to him. M had stayed at home, because they lived a bit further out, but she lived through bomb raids, having to run down to shelters at all hours, fearing for their lives. Hearing bombs dropping close by.  Neither of their parents fought in the war, for various reasons, but D joined the army as soon as he was old enough, I think it was probably a way to escape from the family. M's escape from her family was marrying D. She openly admits it, along with admitting that my sister was a mistake, and that she tried to induce an abortion with alcohol and rolling down a hill.

My paternal grandfather had been an alcoholic, prone to violent rages, D claims to have been scared of him most of the time, never knowing when he was going to explode. From what I've been told, he seems to fit the narcissistic profile. He had a kind of mental breakdown at one time and was hospitalized. He died in his 60's from a heart attack, my paternal grandmother was nice, kind and lived into her 90's. Unfortunately, our family moved to Australia when I was 9 and I never saw her again, along with most of my extended family.

My maternal grandmother was an agoraphobic, prone to violent rages, seemed to have OCD regarding housework and took out her anxiety and anger on M and her siblings. M remembers her mother leaving the the house one time in her whole life. She would send the kids out to do shopping and errands. All of her 9 children were born at home, so she never needed to leave the house. Both of my parents came from very large, very poor families. There was a lot of shame and nowhere near enough love to go around. So I don't blame them for becoming inadequate parents themselves, they were both just trying to survive and build something better than what they started out with.  But that doesn't change the reality that I was emotionally abused and neglected and it wounded me, preventing my normal development, causing a lifetime of struggle and suffering as I tried to live up to their impossible expectations. They provided materially, there was always food, clothes and an adequate house to live in, any extras were for their benefit, to make them appear like good parents, to make us look good, so that they looked good. I rarely got what I asked for. Where we were concerned, they lived like they were still poor, money was god, it was the basis of every decision. But when it came to D making himself look good, he would buy expensive things, status symbols, anything to increase his image of success. Sometimes M would get expensive clothes or jewellery. Me and sis were supposed to enhance his image of success, be part of his picture of a respectable and successful family. Compensating for the family he was born into. I understand it, but it doesn't repair the damage he caused by using me as an object in his own drama, for refusing to see me as an individual with needs of my own. With a life of my own, separate from his needs. He had no love to give me because he was still trying to fill his own unmet needs from his own deficient childhood, through me and anyone else who came his way.

I wish I knew then what I know now, then I wouldn't have taken it all so personally, blaming myself, believing I was not worthy of love or consideration. I grew up believing I had no value and didn't deserve anything good, so that's how I treated myself for years. I'm glad I stumbled onto the truth eventually, started putting the pieces together, before it was too late. I feel sad for all those who don't, who spend their whole lives running from the shame, fear, sadness and anger planted in them, never escaping or discovering the truth about who they really are.

It was something of a relief when I was thrown out of home at 16. That sounds pretty harsh, and it wasn't quite that bad. I was asked to leave and M did help me find somewhere else to live, I wasn't out on the streets. But she didn't let me take any of my things with me, well nothing they had bought for me anyway and they didn't help me move, I remember walking down the road to my new house with a few possessions in a cardboard box. She had talked the local butcher into letting me stay with him for some rent, he was needing some extra money to help with his mortgage. So I left school and found a job as a waitress. It was such a loss, I was an A student and could have become almost anything. But there was too much stress and trauma in my family for it to have worked out in my favor. So I dropped out of school at 16, moved in with a guy who was about 7 years older than me, who proceeded to attempt to seduce me, get me drunk and get me into his bed.

By this time I had already been raped once, when I was 15, by the friend of a boyfriend I was seeing, while my boyfriend was in another room. Well I thought he was my boyfriend, but it turns out he was married with a couple of kids, so was his friend. I was very naive, innocent and didn't think much of myself, I would do anything to get some affection and attention. I was emotionally starved, desperately trying to fill the void in my heart. I never told anyone about the rape, figuring it was my fault anyway.

I got a new boyfriend after that, he was nice, slightly older than me. I would go out in a group with my girlfriend and our boyfriends, who were cousins. They were all older than me, my friend was one year older. I had a very strict curfew, they all didn't, it made things hard, for all of us and sometimes I wasn't able to make it home in time for my curfew. I felt awful a lot of the time for restricting my friends fun because of my parents extreme control issues. So I caused more problems in my family when I came home a bit late at night. I was told I was going to give D a heart attack and that it would be best if I leave. It seemed like they were giving up on me, my sister was still being very compliant at that stage and maybe they figured she would fulfill their expectations, and no longer needed the inconvenience of me. So that's why I was thrown out at 16, because I sometimes broke my curfew.

I know this is an old topic, but wanted to reply anyway. My ACE score it either 3 or 4, depending on how I answer question 9 about mental illness in the family. I believe both of my parents would qualify for a mental illness if they were ever tested by today's standards, but both of them project all their stuff on to everyone else and think they are fine. Both of them would score high on the scale for a cluster B type personality disorder and they are both very anxious in different ways.

Another thing which bothers me about this test is there are so many other kinds of trauma which can effect a child, things not mentioned, like being moved across the world to a different country and culture, away from extended family and friends, with no emotional support or help, which is what happened to me.

I think this test needs updating to take into account other factors which are now known to be traumatic.

As title, how do you quote and multi-quote in this forum?   

I was going to start from the start, with my first memory, but have found myself triggered by a current situation so perhaps I will start with that instead.

Angry: annoyed, bitter, enraged, exasperated, furious, heated, and indignant. Add to that ignored, disregarded, and feeling small and too helpless to do anything to improve the situation, to get what I ordered and paid for. Yep, I ordered something over a week ago, paid for it and my order still hasn't been processed. When I checked the status of my order, expecting is was about to be delivered any day now, pure fury erupted in my body at the realization that it hadn't even been shipped.

Obviously an over reaction, very unpleasant, not something I want to be experiencing, but there it is, a remnant from my childhood when I was often disregarded, ignored, and silenced when I tried to get my wants or needs met.

Anger was a capital crime in my family, unless you were M, and D wasn't home. M frequently erupted into rages, especially during the early years of my life. She became angry at anything she considered to be disobedience, even if it was a natural expression of justified emotion. But she didn't always explode into a rage, sometimes she just ignored me, other times she would burst into song, singing at the top of her voice to drown me out. Often I would end up crying in frustration, my last ditch attempt to get some help for whatever I was struggling with, which would get me sent to my room, until I 'learned how to behave properly'.

The thing is, there was no one there to teach me how to behave properly, all I had was her, who really didn't teach me anything but how not to behave, how people really couldn't be trusted and how the world wasn't safe. That's what I learned. I also learned that the only person I could turn to for help was myself, and I wasn't to be trusted either.

It doesn't feel safe to be angry, that's the worst offense, bringing with it shame and the threat of all kinds of horrors. So allowing myself to feel angry now, is both frightening and relieving. I'm still not comfortable with this strange experience, and I don't feel confident with how to express it appropriately, but I'm learning.

I located the message/contact section of the website I ordered from and started the process of finding out why my product hadn't yet been sent. I was angry while I was typing, but restrained myself somewhat, trying to give them the benefit of the doubt, trying to be both polite and professional, but feeling a torrent of suppressed anger bubbling up from my past wasn't helping me to behave in a rational manner.

After my message had been sent, I was overwhelmed with feelings of helplessness, imagining I would be ignored, or gaslighted or that I would receive a hostile response, denying any accountability. My mind was replaying an old script, which I recognized. It was painful, I was re-living my emotionally abusive childhood in the present moment, trying desperately to stay afloat, not wanting to drown again.

As bad as my mother was, I don't believe she was the primary cause of damage as I was growing up. She neglected a huge part of her responsibility as a parent, and had anger issues, which leaked out onto me, but I do believe that she cared about me, in her own limited way, she tried to love me, in the only way she knew how. She also made occasional, weak attempts to protect me from my father and his pathological need for total control. It's taken me a while to come to this conclusion, but I now believe he's a narcissist, undiagnosed of course... and M is his co-dependent enabler. My role in the family evolved over time, but I think I roughly fall into the category of scapegoat. My sister came along when I was 5 and she became the golden child, somewhat, but not always. Sibling rivalry soon started to flourish, it was inevitable really, when parents use whatever means are easiest, to manipulate and control children, playing them off against each other,  using unhealthy competition and shame to effect behavior without having to enter into direct conflict. Conflict was bad, especially the emotional kind, especially if D was home. The rules changed when when D was at work. M had several personalities, depending on who was around, it was very confusing to me back then, and my personality developed based on that confusion and instability, I became insecure and developed abandonment issues. D had two personalities, his family one which was alternatively controlling or shut down and distant, and his outside personality which was full of energy, engagement, charm and enthusiasm. As a child, that was confusing to me also, I blamed myself for not being good enough or interesting enough to get his attention when we were at home, without company. But now I understand what was going on, its taken decades and lots of painful research and honesty to get to this place of realizing that there wasn't anything wrong with me, it was him and his inability to see me, to love me because he is a narcissist who sees all other people as objects to be used, to satisfy his own un-met childhood needs. Both of my parents were abused as children, worse than me, but neither of them has recognized this, acknowledged it or taken responsibility for its effect on them or their own parenting skills, and so the tragic legacy was passed on to another generation.... but stopped with me.

I was traumatized, not from being beaten, starved or raped by my care givers, but by being ignored, disregarded, lied to, shamed, blamed, threatened, and being denied my basic human need for love, comfort, support, help, respect and consideration. I was an object, to serve their emotional needs at worst and at best, to not get in their way or be an inconvenience.... which I was, or seemed to be a lot of the time.

There were a few random incidences of physical abuse, mostly from M, she had been badly beaten by her own mother when she was a child. She tried to do things differently, I know she did, she knew it was wrong, because she controlled herself when D was around. But for me, the few times when she did attack me with various objects, it was preferable, the physical pain was welcome, the energy from her felt more honest, more vibrant, there was a more genuine connection. Being chased around the house and swiped at with a horse whip was better than being locked in my room and being ignored for hours.

I remember the solitary time when D had hit me. I was about 14 I think. I had reached an age when I was actively rebelling from the abitrary control and lack of consideration for my emotional needs. I had been shut in my room and grounded for several weeks for what I considered was a minor transgression, so I climbed out of my window and escaped. When I returned, D was angry, grabbed me and gave me a half hearted swipe on my bottom, I was shocked, he had never raised a hand towards me in my life. I was also filled with something I'd never felt before, it was a kind of victory, like as if I had finally been able to get an honest reaction out of him. I had moved him, connected with him in a genuine kind of way. But then he burst into tears and left me and I was engulfed in shame and guilt, which was later reinforced by M when she shamed me more for being so disobedient and making my father cry. That was the only time I had ever seen him cry, up until that point anyway. I felt bad, very bad, I had driven my father to tears and that was a very bad thing to do. I decided I would try harder to not cause trouble, to be what they wanted me to be. It was never spoken of again. But things got worse.... much worse, for me anyway.

Thank you so much everyone for your warm replies, understanding and helpful suggestions. It feels good to be here and today doesn't seem so daunting. I will start a journal so that I can share my story in bits and pieces at my own pace, that sounds like it might work.

I don't know how to quote from posts yet, so I apologize for not responding individually.

I've been a member here a while, and keep visiting the site with hopes of finding some help, maybe contributing and sharing my experiences, but I'm finding the whole site confusing, huge and overwhelming. I just don't know where to start or where to post.

A few times I have started reading posts in areas which seem relevant to my experiences, but I keep getting triggered because reading about other people being upset about the same things which I've been in denial about for so long, drags me into a frightening and hopeless feeling of reality about just how bad my childhood actually was.

Almost everything I read, I say to myself "yep, that happened to me".... or some similar version of it. But I've been in denial about it all, spent my life running away from my feelings because I was always told I was being silly or selfish or ... I can't even remember half the time because I'm triggered and my memory goes blank. But basically I was shamed out of expressing feelings, even the good ones. Neither of my parents could handle emotion, in themselves or anyone else and they used the easiest and fastest method of shutting down any emotion in me for their own comfort. So I learned that emotion was bad and I was bad and that there was something wrong with me for feeling stuff and for not being able to do life as well as it appeared other people were able to..... and it was all my fault.

I've just started learning how to have love and compassion for myself. I was taught that my needs aren't important and that my value lies in being of use to others, so I'm fighting my urges to ignore my own needs here, trying to figure out how to reach out for help, not wanting to hurt anyone else in the process. I'm not sure how it works, how the wounded are able to help the wounded, as we all need our love and compassion for ourselves.  I don't have much to give to anyone else right now, its taking all my focus and strength, remembering to love myself, to be kind to myself, to heal myself first, before I take care of anyone else.

This site has been recommended multiple times as the place for support for healing from CPTSD and I do want to get better. I'm willing to do the work, as long as I can take baby steps, but I don't know where to start really, or where to post things.

I've been reading Pete Walkers books and have just started with the 'Focusing Method' for connecting with feelings. I've had a few significant spiritual shifts over the years, which have changed my perceptions and views about things. Externally, my life is great now. For the first time in my life I have a safe, stable home, no financial problems and I'm not being abused by anyone. But inside, I'm a mess, the patterns from my childhood are still playing out through my mind and nervous system, but at least now I can see them and understand where they started.

Is getting triggered, feeling overwhelmed, anxious and hopeless part of the recovery process? I'm not sure what I should be reading here on the site, or if I should stop if I become triggered.

I was just reading about people who had their toys given away and then about someone who's dog was given away. My dog was given away when I was 5 and I was lied to about the reason, made to feel ashamed because I was sad about it. He had been my best friend, then suddenly he was gone and I never saw him again. Most of my toys were given away when I was 9 because we were moving to another country, there was no kindness, compassion or understanding about it. I just had to choose 2 toys to keep and the rest were thrown away I think, don't know what happened to them. I remember being shocked, in disbelief and devastated. The awful thing about it was that my parents kept lots of their stuff and brought it with them, they spent thousands shipping a car, and things which were important to them across the world, but I couldn't bring my toys with me. There was no emotional support for me about that whole move across the world, into a different culture and environment. I was basically left to my own devices, ignored and had to figure it out alone. I never did regain a feeling of anywhere being home after that, never knew where I belonged.

Having my stuff disposed of by them happened to me a second time when I was an adult, when I was sick and unable to deal with it myself. My teenage daughter and I had lost our home after a divorce and were storing some of our possessions in an unused part of my parents house while we were staying with a friend,  until I found somewhere else for us to live. But before I had a chance to deal with our things, I became very sick.  While I was recovering from my illness my father decided he wanted his room back, said he wanted the space to have parties in, which was ridiculous, but I was so sick at the time I wasn't able to deal with it and had to watch helplessly as he slowly went through all my stuff and sold it. My daughter was able to rescue what she wanted to keep, but I was unable to.  I could tell he was having a great time with it all, he loves selling stuff, anything to make money.

The truth is, he didn't want to use that space in his house, its still empty with nothing going on, but dirt and dust, but its his house and if he didn't want my things taking up his space, what could I do. I think the real reason he wanted to get rid of my things is because he was bored and wanted a project and I was sick and vulnerable at the time so he took advantage of the situation. He did give me the money he got for selling my things though, so that's something, but I didn't need money, I needed my health back and some consideration and compassion.

Anyway, I've written a bit about myself and my past, there's so much more though, I've been through a lot of trauma in my life, with no emotional support and no compassion, from anyone, including myself.  I had the idea that anything bad which happened to me was my own fault, that I deserved it, because that's what I was told as a child. I remember going to my parents whenever I was upset, because someone had hurt me or I'd had an accident or something. My father especially would always find a way to blame me for what had happened, saying that I had done something wrong or that I had misunderstood the other person or responded to them inappropriately. I don't ever remember being comforted by either of them when I was upset. When I was about 12 I was sexually abused by a man in a local store, I ran home, very confused and upset and told my mother, she asked me what I wanted her to do about it, told me not to tell my father because he would be angry. I remember that it left me feeling even more confused and ashamed, like as if I had done something wrong. Nothing happened about the man who had abused me, I guess he went on to do the same to other kids.

I remember being hit a few times, but most of the harm was caused by the constant emotional abuse and neglect which began at birth I assume. My parents should never had brought children into the world, neither of them were cut out for being parents, having been abused in their own childhoods and both of them believing they were fine, while unconsciously passing all their dysfunction onto me and my sister.

My life has been about struggling and surviving, while being unaware of why I found life so difficult compared with other people. I put other peoples needs, desires and comfort before my own, believing I was worthless and didn't deserve love or happiness or anything good for myself. When my daughter came along, I lived for her, wanting her to have a better life than I did. Unfortunately, I had unconsciously chosen a man very similar to my own father, to marry, to be the father of my child. It wasn't until my daughter was about 6 that I started learning about narcissism and the real reason behind all the dysfunction in my family. I was able to protect her from a lot of the harm I had received, during my childhood, but I wasn't able to fix myself. 

It took about 7 years, to recover from my illness, half of that time I was bed-bound most of the day, unable to do much of anything but survive. I had agoraphobia from being sensitized to light, sound and movement, so I became very isolated, only able to go out once a week to buy a few groceries.  My daughter grew up, graduated from college, started work, bought her own house and moved out. She's doing fine, has a nice relationship and a great career, she seems normal and happy. I'm grateful I was able to protect her from the legacy of my abusive past, but now I'm left here with just myself, my inner child and my dog, ready to deal with the truth, my feelings and heal, so I can hopefully one day have a healthy relationship with myself and someone else and maybe even enjoy what remains of my life.

Welcome! Wanted to respond to some specifics in your post if that's okay - if not please disregard. 

Thank you Three Roses, I'm still finding my way around this forum and trying to figure out how to quote etc.  Your welcome and comments are much appreciated.

Hi,
I know this is an old thread, but I'm new here and this caught my attention.

There was a small amount of physical and emotional abuse in my family, m had anger issues and occasionally shout and hit, when d wasn't around,  but most of my damage, I think has come from the consistent emotional neglect, and invalidation from both my parents. For whatever reason, neither of them was able to handle anything emotional, in themselves or anyone else.

Emotions were not allowed, not really even the good ones. I remember being told I was silly and to stop making a fuss if I went to either of them for comfort or support when something bad had happened to me. There were never any hugs or loving words, and if I cried, I would be sent to my room until I learned how to 'behave properly'.

I experienced normal kinds of childhood events, like mild verbal bullying, being rejected by friends temporarily, minor accidents, fear of new situations, bad teachers, but there was never anyone I could turn to for validation or support, because I would be ridiculed and shamed for my feelings, so I quickly learned that there was something wrong with my feelings, that I didn't matter and learned to keep everything to myself, which led to me feeling completely alone and isolated my whole life, because I was too scared to get close to anyone for fear of rejection.

When I was 10, my family moved half way around the world, I was taken away from everything I knew, my friends, school, community. But there wasn't any discussion about it, I wasn't allowed to talk about it, not to my family or my friends. I remember being confused and scared, not knowing what to expect. And when we did arrive in the new country I was abandoned even more, left to my own devices a lot as my parents dealt with the stress of the move themselves. I was in shock, because everything was so different, I didn't fit in, but there was no support from anyone. We moved several times before settling down somewhere, but I never developed a sense of belonging.

I've subsequently experienced physical and sexual violence in my adult life and haven't sought help for any of it, believing it just didn't matter, that it was my fault and I needed to deal with it and move on.

I developed extreme social anxiety, dropped out of school struggled through life, wasted my potential and spent years searching for love and acceptance in all the wrong places.

I've had some counseling and therapy, but no one mentioned emotional neglect, or CPTSD, my problems were blamed on my brain chemistry or my beliefs and choices.

Now in my 50's I finally realize why I've never had a close friendship with anyone or a normal, loving intimate relationship. I've had a string of relationships with emotionally unavailable men and married an N type who is much like my father, only worse. I got a bunch of misdiagnoses and further damaged by long term use of psyche meds, which were extremely difficult to stop. Now I'm divorced, alone, no friends and newly woken up to the truth of why my life has been so difficult.  Sometimes I wish my abuse had been physical and obvious, because then at least it might not have taken so long to recognize where my problems have come from.

Yep! I feel like a fraud for trying to be part of this community, because I only had emotional neglect from my parents, but it set me up for unconsciously neglecting and abusing myself, for bringing further trauma into my life and making it impossible for me to seek help and support from anyone, no matter how bad it got.