Recent posts
#1
Recovery Journals / Re: the next step
Last post by sanmagic7 - Today at 02:03:31 PMthanks, NK. the luncheon was not exactly what i thought it would be. One woman, who i didn't know, seemed to have a need to be heard about hers and her husbands physical problems. i was already too tired to stay, yet i didn't want to seem rude, so i waited till she had to go. then i left, but had a difficult time staying alert while driving home. guess that teaches me something. 
#2
Please Introduce Yourself Here / Re: New here - I want to ackno...
Last post by NarcKiddo - Today at 01:14:48 PMHello, Doug, and welcome from another UK resident.
Childhood neglect is certainly not innocuous. I'm glad you have had some good therapy and are getting to grips with the cause of your suffering. I'm also glad you are now able to study for your PhD and I hope membership of this forum might help you as you navigate the difficulties you are facing.
Childhood neglect is certainly not innocuous. I'm glad you have had some good therapy and are getting to grips with the cause of your suffering. I'm also glad you are now able to study for your PhD and I hope membership of this forum might help you as you navigate the difficulties you are facing.
#3
Recovery Journals / Re: The ramblings of an abused...
Last post by HannahOne - Today at 12:12:11 PMSlashy, it was good to read how you found a more tenable path. Becoming a parent saved your life. Eric Maisel writes about high IQ people, his book about depression is particularly good I thought, and he has one called Why Smart People Hurt. I grew up in the 70s/80s at the height of the gifted kid BS and yeah, it was toxic. How can we take over the world, when we can't even hide our bruises or get a sandwich for lunch? Glad you're here.
#4
Please Introduce Yourself Here / New here - I want to acknowled...
Last post by Dougm - Today at 09:50:49 AMHi all,
Thank-you for this free, impartial and non-judgemental website and forum. I want to join to have a place to talk openly about myself, to learn to express myself, and hopefully receive some encouragement and feedback.
My first post is to introduce myself, but also to acknowledge to myself that trauma affects me every day. I want to say to myself, this is me, this is what I must consider to acknowledge my daily struggles. Because, for some reason, it is so easy to pretend that I dont struggle, or I am not hurting.
I am a 49yr old man, I live in the UK and am studying towards a PhD in conservation and ecology. This PhD in and work in academia is something I have wanted to do since I left undergrad university in 1996, aged 20. But at that time I developed a psychosis (it was called schizoaffective disorder or schizophrenia) that became quite debilitating and I was deteriorating in terms of my general functioning. I did not hear voices or believe I was someone I was not, but I had severe thought disorders. I would describe my mind as haywire, it was packed full with continuous racing thoughts (many negative ones about myself). But when I would try to describe my thoughts, my mind would go completely blank. It felt like a trapdoor opened in my mind, into which the thoughts disappeared. Emotionally I was in a permanent panic mode, like a deer in the headlights, 24 hours a day, and getting worse by the day.
In 1997 I was put on risperidone, an anti-psychotic medication. It seemed to really work for me at the time, it drew me out of the psychosis and my racing thoughts subsided. I felt like myself again. However I was only just beginning to learn about myself. The medication only functioned in stabilising my thoughts. It of course did not address the underlying causes of the psychosis, of which I knew absolutely nothing about at the time, thinking I grew up in a totally normal and loving family.
Over the years I worked as a waiter, a teaching assistant and then in the pharmaceutical industry. I stopped taking risperidone in 2010 and have not needed it since. I had some good therapy that helped me understand the causes of my psychosis.
It has taken me 27 years to get to the point where I can do the thing I love, however I am still finding it so difficult. I'm regularly paralysed with fear at my desk. I struggle to ask for help. I struggle to interact with my peers (most of whom are half my age) and I am incredibly lonely throughout it all. There are lots of positives in some of the relationships I am slowly building, but it is a long and slow process.
This is about seeing myself as a person whose personal development, personal relationships and sense of identity has been impaired and stunted due to simple and seemingly innocuous neglect during childhood. But it childhood neglect is far from innocuous. I want to post more about my upbringing next.
Thanks for reading this.
Thank-you for this free, impartial and non-judgemental website and forum. I want to join to have a place to talk openly about myself, to learn to express myself, and hopefully receive some encouragement and feedback.
My first post is to introduce myself, but also to acknowledge to myself that trauma affects me every day. I want to say to myself, this is me, this is what I must consider to acknowledge my daily struggles. Because, for some reason, it is so easy to pretend that I dont struggle, or I am not hurting.
I am a 49yr old man, I live in the UK and am studying towards a PhD in conservation and ecology. This PhD in and work in academia is something I have wanted to do since I left undergrad university in 1996, aged 20. But at that time I developed a psychosis (it was called schizoaffective disorder or schizophrenia) that became quite debilitating and I was deteriorating in terms of my general functioning. I did not hear voices or believe I was someone I was not, but I had severe thought disorders. I would describe my mind as haywire, it was packed full with continuous racing thoughts (many negative ones about myself). But when I would try to describe my thoughts, my mind would go completely blank. It felt like a trapdoor opened in my mind, into which the thoughts disappeared. Emotionally I was in a permanent panic mode, like a deer in the headlights, 24 hours a day, and getting worse by the day.
In 1997 I was put on risperidone, an anti-psychotic medication. It seemed to really work for me at the time, it drew me out of the psychosis and my racing thoughts subsided. I felt like myself again. However I was only just beginning to learn about myself. The medication only functioned in stabilising my thoughts. It of course did not address the underlying causes of the psychosis, of which I knew absolutely nothing about at the time, thinking I grew up in a totally normal and loving family.
Over the years I worked as a waiter, a teaching assistant and then in the pharmaceutical industry. I stopped taking risperidone in 2010 and have not needed it since. I had some good therapy that helped me understand the causes of my psychosis.
It has taken me 27 years to get to the point where I can do the thing I love, however I am still finding it so difficult. I'm regularly paralysed with fear at my desk. I struggle to ask for help. I struggle to interact with my peers (most of whom are half my age) and I am incredibly lonely throughout it all. There are lots of positives in some of the relationships I am slowly building, but it is a long and slow process.
This is about seeing myself as a person whose personal development, personal relationships and sense of identity has been impaired and stunted due to simple and seemingly innocuous neglect during childhood. But it childhood neglect is far from innocuous. I want to post more about my upbringing next.
Thanks for reading this.
#5
Recovery Journals / Re: The ramblings of an abused...
Last post by GoSlash27 - Today at 06:06:31 AM The two factors that frustrated my investigation most:
#1 Grownups never tell kids anything.
#2 kids grow up not realizing that anything needs investigating until it's far too late to question principal witnesses.
This odyssey was the culmination of a 50+ year old forensic investigator doggedly pursuing leads based solely on the random observations of an uninformed toddler. Observations that shouldn't even have been retained in the first place. There will never be a "Perry Mason" climax where I triumphantly slam the folder full of damning evidence down in front of the defendant. The guilty parties are dead and gone.
Immunity to infantile amnesia is the world's dumbest superpower.
#1 Grownups never tell kids anything.
#2 kids grow up not realizing that anything needs investigating until it's far too late to question principal witnesses.
This odyssey was the culmination of a 50+ year old forensic investigator doggedly pursuing leads based solely on the random observations of an uninformed toddler. Observations that shouldn't even have been retained in the first place. There will never be a "Perry Mason" climax where I triumphantly slam the folder full of damning evidence down in front of the defendant. The guilty parties are dead and gone.
Immunity to infantile amnesia is the world's dumbest superpower.
#6
Recovery Journals / Re: The ramblings of an abused...
Last post by GoSlash27 - Today at 03:18:03 AM I realize in hindsight that my entire childhood from roughly age 2 on was formed by my relationships with my baby sister, mother, and grandmother in that order and my mother was the overarching factor.
I spent most of my time as a 2 year old with my baby sister because my brother really didn't want to play with me despite a similar age gap between me and my sister. He wanted to play with the big kids and always seemed like he kinda resented us.
And so I was always playing with my baby sister before she could even walk. I'd play with her in playpen like a prison visit. we'd toss toys, make faces, and laugh... And mom would chase me away.
That progressed to me climbing into the playpen with her... and mom would chase me away.
After a while when she could stand mom would banish both of us. I'd climb out of the playpen and wrestle her out like an oversized "my buddy" doll and lug her off to go play in the next room.
As she learned to walk we'd explore "Hingepin Manor" together and explore more remote parts of the house.
Always with mom not wanting us making too much noise near her and grandma taking the role of a proper mother.
When we were with the abusive babysitter, what really hurt was when she went after my baby sister.
When CYS showed up and ripped us apart, what *really* hurt was watching them take away my baby sister.
Years later when reunited, my baby sister and I rapidly became the "wonder twins". We dressed alike, did everything together, and developed a seemingly- psychic ability to communicate through body language and facial expressions. Same usual dynamic with mom and grandma. Mom wanted us anywhere but around bothering her. When she wasn't asleep or watching TV, she was out partying. Grandma did the "mothering" jobs.
As we rolled into the '80s and home life became more and more chaotic and dangerous, my sister began to reject and even resent me. I never understood that and I was deeply hurt by it. I had never done anything to her to deserve that treatment.
Grandma bailed when mom shacked up with her abusive boyfriend, so we were just left to fend for ourselves mainly by avoiding home as much as possible.
Mom never wanted to be a "mom". She would interact with us only when it was convenient for her; almost more like pets than kids. Trained pets who she could show off who were actually "trained" by our grandmother, then later self- taught. She was volatile, manipulative, occasionally irrational and violent. It's not that she didn't want kids or want us per se... She just didn't want to be a mom.
Grandma was a good mom. She taught me to read, how to read a clock, bible verses, manners, morality stories... everything. She cooked the meals, brought me mercurochrome for my scraped knees, and sometimes just told stories or engaged me in projects. She was kind, patient, and genuinely interested in our development.
She was also crazy as heck, but she was not mean or abusive.
When I skipped town to start a new life with my family I abandoned all of them, including my sister. I wanted nothing to do with anybody in my FOO. And that's how it stayed for the next quarter century.
I spent most of my time as a 2 year old with my baby sister because my brother really didn't want to play with me despite a similar age gap between me and my sister. He wanted to play with the big kids and always seemed like he kinda resented us.
And so I was always playing with my baby sister before she could even walk. I'd play with her in playpen like a prison visit. we'd toss toys, make faces, and laugh... And mom would chase me away.
That progressed to me climbing into the playpen with her... and mom would chase me away.
After a while when she could stand mom would banish both of us. I'd climb out of the playpen and wrestle her out like an oversized "my buddy" doll and lug her off to go play in the next room.
As she learned to walk we'd explore "Hingepin Manor" together and explore more remote parts of the house.
Always with mom not wanting us making too much noise near her and grandma taking the role of a proper mother.
When we were with the abusive babysitter, what really hurt was when she went after my baby sister.
When CYS showed up and ripped us apart, what *really* hurt was watching them take away my baby sister.
Years later when reunited, my baby sister and I rapidly became the "wonder twins". We dressed alike, did everything together, and developed a seemingly- psychic ability to communicate through body language and facial expressions. Same usual dynamic with mom and grandma. Mom wanted us anywhere but around bothering her. When she wasn't asleep or watching TV, she was out partying. Grandma did the "mothering" jobs.
As we rolled into the '80s and home life became more and more chaotic and dangerous, my sister began to reject and even resent me. I never understood that and I was deeply hurt by it. I had never done anything to her to deserve that treatment.
Grandma bailed when mom shacked up with her abusive boyfriend, so we were just left to fend for ourselves mainly by avoiding home as much as possible.
Mom never wanted to be a "mom". She would interact with us only when it was convenient for her; almost more like pets than kids. Trained pets who she could show off who were actually "trained" by our grandmother, then later self- taught. She was volatile, manipulative, occasionally irrational and violent. It's not that she didn't want kids or want us per se... She just didn't want to be a mom.
Grandma was a good mom. She taught me to read, how to read a clock, bible verses, manners, morality stories... everything. She cooked the meals, brought me mercurochrome for my scraped knees, and sometimes just told stories or engaged me in projects. She was kind, patient, and genuinely interested in our development.
She was also crazy as heck, but she was not mean or abusive.
When I skipped town to start a new life with my family I abandoned all of them, including my sister. I wanted nothing to do with anybody in my FOO. And that's how it stayed for the next quarter century.
#7
Neglect/Abandonment / Re: Others who's core trauma w...
Last post by Marcine - Today at 02:46:06 AMWith a fluke of fortune, today this thread showed up on my unread list for the forum, even though the last reply is from Chart almost 2 years ago.
I agree with you, Chart, it took time and a steady stomach to read through the heart-wrenching experiences shared on this thread. I feel profound connections with the others who posted. And who may never know how they touched my soul these years later.
**Trigger warning for SA and birth violence**
Woodsgnome's post is the first time I have encountered anyone else who knows about, and names, "crib molestation." I barely know how to react to the complex feelings I'm having right now— the rage and sadness at anyone else experiencing sexual abuse in the crib... and at the same time I feel split open with my own previously sealed memories magnetically drawn out into the light. That's all I wanna say on this at this time.
My mother told me she was given Twilight Sleep (doses of morphine and scopolamine) during my birth. It was an archaic, potent chemical combination intended to reduce pain and induce amnesia during labor, with oftentimes intense side effects for mother and infant.
(I won't go into a rant about the politics of childbirth.)
My parents were told I was supposed to be a boy, according to the statistics of the 1960's.
I was born a girl and they would not have known to expect a birth defect (club foot) that required surgery right after birth.
Suffice to say, my parents were utterly ill-equipped and unmotivated for the job. They had disdain, unwillingness to learn basic necessary caretaking skills, rage, denial, zero bonding, and disconnection from reality, themselves, and me. A recipe for abuse.
They thought it made sense to take me at 6 months old and in a full leg cast and metal-pinned ankle to live for several months in Calcutta, India.
As many have noted on this thread, it may seem illogical that an infant could remember such early memories of pain, abandonment, disdain, and wrongness. But I add my voice to the other truth-speakers and attest that I do remember. I know.
I am so sorry that too many of us know.
I agree with you, Chart, it took time and a steady stomach to read through the heart-wrenching experiences shared on this thread. I feel profound connections with the others who posted. And who may never know how they touched my soul these years later.
**Trigger warning for SA and birth violence**
Woodsgnome's post is the first time I have encountered anyone else who knows about, and names, "crib molestation." I barely know how to react to the complex feelings I'm having right now— the rage and sadness at anyone else experiencing sexual abuse in the crib... and at the same time I feel split open with my own previously sealed memories magnetically drawn out into the light. That's all I wanna say on this at this time.
My mother told me she was given Twilight Sleep (doses of morphine and scopolamine) during my birth. It was an archaic, potent chemical combination intended to reduce pain and induce amnesia during labor, with oftentimes intense side effects for mother and infant.
(I won't go into a rant about the politics of childbirth.)
My parents were told I was supposed to be a boy, according to the statistics of the 1960's.
I was born a girl and they would not have known to expect a birth defect (club foot) that required surgery right after birth.
Suffice to say, my parents were utterly ill-equipped and unmotivated for the job. They had disdain, unwillingness to learn basic necessary caretaking skills, rage, denial, zero bonding, and disconnection from reality, themselves, and me. A recipe for abuse.
They thought it made sense to take me at 6 months old and in a full leg cast and metal-pinned ankle to live for several months in Calcutta, India.
As many have noted on this thread, it may seem illogical that an infant could remember such early memories of pain, abandonment, disdain, and wrongness. But I add my voice to the other truth-speakers and attest that I do remember. I know.
I am so sorry that too many of us know.
#8
Recovery Journals / Re: Starting my journal
Last post by TheBigBlue - February 24, 2026, 10:28:41 PMThis resonates deeply with me. That in-between place where old ways of finding safety no longer work, but nothing new has taken their place yet. The loss of enclosure, the absence of joy or silliness, and the way exhaustion opens the door to old pain all feel very familiar. There's such a deep loneliness in realizing you're exposed without shelter, still carrying hurt that hasn't eased, and not knowing yet how to care for yourself in this new terrain. I'm really glad you wrote this - it helped me feel less alone in that space. 💛
#9
Memory/Cognitive Issues / Re: Repressed memories without...
Last post by Armee - February 24, 2026, 10:00:54 PMHi...
When my memories come up they are very very very fragmented. I may only first feel the physical pain. At another period of time (like much much later) I may feel a single emotional aspect, and then another time another emotional aspect. None of these are tied together or accompany any other part of the memory. They have just been busted apart and float up one fragment of a fragment at a time.
When my memories come up they are very very very fragmented. I may only first feel the physical pain. At another period of time (like much much later) I may feel a single emotional aspect, and then another time another emotional aspect. None of these are tied together or accompany any other part of the memory. They have just been busted apart and float up one fragment of a fragment at a time.
#10
Recovery Journals / Re: The ramblings of an abused...
Last post by dollyvee - February 24, 2026, 08:38:24 PMI'm sorry Slashy. This is a lot to go through at such a young age.
Sending you support.
Sending you support.