Something I haven’t talked about publicly because I’m scared someone in my family will see it:
In trying to heal my #BPD and #cPTSD I’ve had to dig deep into my childhood and look for the roots of my #trauma.
And this time… I found them. Or rather - “it”. There is just one root for all of my many many many mental health troubles and life issues for as long as I remember.
It’s my mother.
My mother, who I still maintain contact with. She was my abuser.
How do you process that the person who you thought was your “good” parent actually controlled, manipulated, and punished you into a completely distorted worldview where you saw everything as evil, broken, and abhorrent other than her?
How can you go on knowing your mother actively starved, physically tortured, mentally devastated, and broken you for every year of your existence?
How can you live when your own mother repeated you don’t deserve to exist? #BPD#cPTSD#trauma
I have been realizing over the course of the past 5 months, with more and more certainty, that my mother hated me.
That my mother never loved me or saw me as a human.
That I was treated as a doll, dragged around as a prop and punished whenever I dared to peep about my humanity. Discarded and tossed aside whenever I became inconvenient.
I genuinely don’t know how I survived that neglect and abuse. #BPD#cPTSD#trauma
She lied to make me believe it was the rest of the world that hated me. To make sure I didn’t run from her. To make me feel trapped in a scary terrifying universe where the only safety came from the woman who would hurt and torture me.
She told me my friends hated me. That my teachers laughed at me behind my back. That other family members couldn’t wait to get rid of me.
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