Recent posts
#1
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.
#2
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.
#3
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.
#4
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. 💛
#5
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.
#6
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.
#7
Recovery Journals / Re: Starting my journal
Last post by holidayay - February 24, 2026, 08:04:55 PMOne of the things I really, truly wonder about - is what it would be like to have a 'continuous' life. What I mean by that is, where life has felt generally OK, give or take a few fluctuations/peaks/troughs out of the baseline - and continued to build on each chapter. I'm not sure I can explain what I mean very well.
Maybe it would make more sense if I explain the other type of life, the one I have had. Where traumatic experiences pile on top of each other, and instead of building up neatly on top of each other to form a good sturdy house, instead they get throw haphazardly to form something of a ramshackle. The units making up the house - representing different areas of life such as relationship with the self, relationship with others, education, careers, one's emotional landscape, one's mental state....have not been put together thoughtfully. *, even the individual bricks making up each unit have not been meaningfully sourced to see if they are suitable.
I don't really have many continuous friendships, for example. A bitter regret of mine. My ideas of friendship were so complicated and confusing.
I had hardly any friends in early school years. We had just moved from the Middle East to the UK. I didn't understand the language. Then, when I did, I didn't understand...everything else. I remember feeling so utterly dazed and confused as a child. You know when they describe a deer caught in headlights, frozen in fear? It hurts to feel like that was my childhood. My experiences of 'other people' at home were that of cruelty, of unkindness, of mockery, of being shamed and degraded. Being at school...suddenly it felt like there was hundreds of potential sources of any number of these things to be dished out to me. I was scared, every day. Hiding and being invisible wasn't so easy. I would crawl under those outdoor tables in the school yard. The small space in the middle, wedged in between the criss-crossing table legs. It was so small, it hurt my body to crawl in there, as the legs pushed stubbornly against my skin. I don't know why I went in there so often. I guess something about an enclosed space perhaps offered some sense of safety and comfort.
It hurts to remember this. It hurts to realize how wrong I had gotten it, based on the viciousness I'd seen at home; the cruelty that had shaped my worldview to be warped and destructive at such a young age. I didn't know how to play. I feared retribution for even thinking I could allow myself to play.
My friendships in secondary school were somehow a bit better. I was part of a group of 4. 3 girls and a boy. I had by then developed humour a way to cope. Humour and studying. One of the few graces afforded to me by a family member back then...was my brother urging me to focus on education and pushing me to study. So, I laughed and studied my way through secondary school. Out of these two saving graces, I was...not much else. Out of this, came problematic behaviours. I didn't know how to trust, so I would test my friend's trust. I didn't know how to like or respect myself so I fawned for others and shamed myself. Other times I was frozen in anxiety. Then, when I saw troubled teens getting attention through behaving poorly, I copied them. I remember distinctly being envious that they were receiving attention. I wanted that attention - I didn't even care if it was bad - because it meant I was being recognised. Then other times, maladaptive daydreaming. Dreaming of being adopted by a teacher, or else developing completely inappropriate crushes on others.
My other 3 friends...they had issues of their own. One came from a strict household where it was understood she would be married off soon after finishing her schooling. Another one who struggled academically and was only in school because it would be illegal not to be; her parents did not care for female education and neither did she. And my male friend, the one I laughed with the most, we weren't allowed to be friends. My strict middle eastern mother would have punished me severely if she found out. As would his family. We had to hide our friendship. If we saw his cousin coming towards us, we would have to stand a distance apart and pretend not to know each other. One time my brother saw us walking in a supermarket together, innocently laughing and joking, and he told us both off and then went to tell my mother.
This was so confusing. We had the most sibling-like dynamic between us. And somehow I felt deep anxiety and fear and dread at our friendship becoming common knowledge.
None of that ended up mattering anyway, after another of my siblings died at the tail end of our schooling. Me and the male friend would go on to the same college for the next 2 years but the part in me that was capable of forming attachments had seemed to altogether wither and die. My brother's death changed my view of life from despair-but-with-some-glimmers to a darkness that I can't quite explain. Sometimes I'd try to hang out with that friend but we both knew it was never the same. I didn't know what to talk about anymore. I didn't know how to joke or laugh or find the silly in anything. My other 2 friends from school, they disappeared from my life. One of them did indeed marry not long after finishing her education, and the other just disappeared outright.
I don't know why I am typing all this.
I've had a pretty rough couple of days. Well, horrible to be honest. Horrible and lonely.
I worked a bit too much last week and this seems to always happen when I do that. I begin to feel tired, and weak, and then horrible, and lonely, and stuff from the past comes up....
The present feels too hard. I don't know how to look after myself when I feel weak; the table with the criss-crossing legs is no longer here to encase me. And even if it were, I have outgrown it. I no longer get safety from enclosures like that anymore; physical or mental. Hiding away, distracting myself, any of these ways in which that proverbial table manifested itself in my adult self....they long since stopped working. Since 2018. And yet, the excruciating experience of the reality that I needed shielding from hasn't.
Who knows if I'm even making sense anymore. A big mind dump today. I feel the urge to apologise for not having more clarity, or wisdom or humour, but I won't. I'll just hold on, for now.
Maybe it would make more sense if I explain the other type of life, the one I have had. Where traumatic experiences pile on top of each other, and instead of building up neatly on top of each other to form a good sturdy house, instead they get throw haphazardly to form something of a ramshackle. The units making up the house - representing different areas of life such as relationship with the self, relationship with others, education, careers, one's emotional landscape, one's mental state....have not been put together thoughtfully. *, even the individual bricks making up each unit have not been meaningfully sourced to see if they are suitable.
I don't really have many continuous friendships, for example. A bitter regret of mine. My ideas of friendship were so complicated and confusing.
I had hardly any friends in early school years. We had just moved from the Middle East to the UK. I didn't understand the language. Then, when I did, I didn't understand...everything else. I remember feeling so utterly dazed and confused as a child. You know when they describe a deer caught in headlights, frozen in fear? It hurts to feel like that was my childhood. My experiences of 'other people' at home were that of cruelty, of unkindness, of mockery, of being shamed and degraded. Being at school...suddenly it felt like there was hundreds of potential sources of any number of these things to be dished out to me. I was scared, every day. Hiding and being invisible wasn't so easy. I would crawl under those outdoor tables in the school yard. The small space in the middle, wedged in between the criss-crossing table legs. It was so small, it hurt my body to crawl in there, as the legs pushed stubbornly against my skin. I don't know why I went in there so often. I guess something about an enclosed space perhaps offered some sense of safety and comfort.
It hurts to remember this. It hurts to realize how wrong I had gotten it, based on the viciousness I'd seen at home; the cruelty that had shaped my worldview to be warped and destructive at such a young age. I didn't know how to play. I feared retribution for even thinking I could allow myself to play.
My friendships in secondary school were somehow a bit better. I was part of a group of 4. 3 girls and a boy. I had by then developed humour a way to cope. Humour and studying. One of the few graces afforded to me by a family member back then...was my brother urging me to focus on education and pushing me to study. So, I laughed and studied my way through secondary school. Out of these two saving graces, I was...not much else. Out of this, came problematic behaviours. I didn't know how to trust, so I would test my friend's trust. I didn't know how to like or respect myself so I fawned for others and shamed myself. Other times I was frozen in anxiety. Then, when I saw troubled teens getting attention through behaving poorly, I copied them. I remember distinctly being envious that they were receiving attention. I wanted that attention - I didn't even care if it was bad - because it meant I was being recognised. Then other times, maladaptive daydreaming. Dreaming of being adopted by a teacher, or else developing completely inappropriate crushes on others.
My other 3 friends...they had issues of their own. One came from a strict household where it was understood she would be married off soon after finishing her schooling. Another one who struggled academically and was only in school because it would be illegal not to be; her parents did not care for female education and neither did she. And my male friend, the one I laughed with the most, we weren't allowed to be friends. My strict middle eastern mother would have punished me severely if she found out. As would his family. We had to hide our friendship. If we saw his cousin coming towards us, we would have to stand a distance apart and pretend not to know each other. One time my brother saw us walking in a supermarket together, innocently laughing and joking, and he told us both off and then went to tell my mother.
This was so confusing. We had the most sibling-like dynamic between us. And somehow I felt deep anxiety and fear and dread at our friendship becoming common knowledge.
None of that ended up mattering anyway, after another of my siblings died at the tail end of our schooling. Me and the male friend would go on to the same college for the next 2 years but the part in me that was capable of forming attachments had seemed to altogether wither and die. My brother's death changed my view of life from despair-but-with-some-glimmers to a darkness that I can't quite explain. Sometimes I'd try to hang out with that friend but we both knew it was never the same. I didn't know what to talk about anymore. I didn't know how to joke or laugh or find the silly in anything. My other 2 friends from school, they disappeared from my life. One of them did indeed marry not long after finishing her education, and the other just disappeared outright.
I don't know why I am typing all this.
I've had a pretty rough couple of days. Well, horrible to be honest. Horrible and lonely.
I worked a bit too much last week and this seems to always happen when I do that. I begin to feel tired, and weak, and then horrible, and lonely, and stuff from the past comes up....
The present feels too hard. I don't know how to look after myself when I feel weak; the table with the criss-crossing legs is no longer here to encase me. And even if it were, I have outgrown it. I no longer get safety from enclosures like that anymore; physical or mental. Hiding away, distracting myself, any of these ways in which that proverbial table manifested itself in my adult self....they long since stopped working. Since 2018. And yet, the excruciating experience of the reality that I needed shielding from hasn't.
Who knows if I'm even making sense anymore. A big mind dump today. I feel the urge to apologise for not having more clarity, or wisdom or humour, but I won't. I'll just hold on, for now.
#8
Recovery Journals / Re: The ramblings of an abused...
Last post by GoSlash27 - February 24, 2026, 06:44:28 PMQuote from: GoSlash27 on February 24, 2026, 12:46:21 PMMom brought me down to the school and urged them to take me in at age 4. She demonstrated that I was far too precocious to be sitting at home. She had me demonstrate mastery of all the things they teach in kindergarten. Numbers, shapes, colors, etc. I knew my street address, home phone number, My mom and grandmother's full names, etc. Then she pulled off her favorite party trick: She'd pull out a book from her purse, open it to a random page, and have me read it aloud.
On this day it was "A Day No Pigs Would Die".
The school relented on the grounds that while I was too young to enroll, I technically would be old enough before the end of the school year.
Actually, upon further reflection this is not quite correct. She took me down there at the age of 3, not 4. They refused to enroll me that year, but relented on enrolling me that fall when I was 4.
#9
AV - Avoidance / Re: Dissociation, depression a...
Last post by Kizzie - February 24, 2026, 06:05:33 PMHi Erik - Sorry to hear you are feeling so numb and exhausted right now, CPTSD and recovery can take so much out of us. Are you in therapy at the moment? If so, you might want to speak to you therapist about how you're feeling.
If not, I found what helped me (and please know we're all different so these may not be right for you), was to take what I like to call "trauma breaks." I would put down the books about trauma, read and post less here, take naps, try and do some fun things which could include just binge watching a good TV show if that's all you're up for, take short walks in the fresh air, or go for a ride in the car.
I hope this is helpful!
If not, I found what helped me (and please know we're all different so these may not be right for you), was to take what I like to call "trauma breaks." I would put down the books about trauma, read and post less here, take naps, try and do some fun things which could include just binge watching a good TV show if that's all you're up for, take short walks in the fresh air, or go for a ride in the car.
I hope this is helpful!
#10
AV - Avoidance / Re: Dissociation, depression a...
Last post by NarcKiddo - February 24, 2026, 06:04:41 PMI'm sorry you're struggling with exhaustion.
For myself art or exercise can often help - but with exercise it is a very fine judgement as to whether I need physical rest or should start moving a little to see if I can push myself out of it. Given you describe how you are feeling as "really bad exhaustion" it does not sound to me as if exercise is likely to help. That said, some sort of movement is important and if you can get out into the fresh air for a short walk that is probably worth trying to do.
The main thing I get from your post is your statement that it is hard to do anything productive. That sounds as if you are being a bit hard on yourself. Perhaps you are thinking that you "should" do something productive. But looking after yourself is of itself productive and the goal is a very important one. So my main suggestion is to take as much pressure off yourself as possible. Use as much time as you can to take care of you, whatever that looks like.
Wishing you well.
For myself art or exercise can often help - but with exercise it is a very fine judgement as to whether I need physical rest or should start moving a little to see if I can push myself out of it. Given you describe how you are feeling as "really bad exhaustion" it does not sound to me as if exercise is likely to help. That said, some sort of movement is important and if you can get out into the fresh air for a short walk that is probably worth trying to do.
The main thing I get from your post is your statement that it is hard to do anything productive. That sounds as if you are being a bit hard on yourself. Perhaps you are thinking that you "should" do something productive. But looking after yourself is of itself productive and the goal is a very important one. So my main suggestion is to take as much pressure off yourself as possible. Use as much time as you can to take care of you, whatever that looks like.
Wishing you well.