Catching Up With Myself: A Short Bio


I have been struggling, the last few days, whether to continue writing my story or not. I almost voted for “not” but have somewhat changed my mind.

I won’t go into the reasons here. There are too many other details. Just that I would also like to do something with two other blogs I started as well. So in doing that, some editing, rearranging and changing is needed.

Edit Friday 10/27/17: At this point I don’t remember the details I refer to. I guess it doesn’t really matter. What matters is now and what’s going on for me. This is marked private right now but I’m putting back on public so I feel the need to edit and add some stuff.

The other day in therapy, it came to light that I am in a crisis. I am still very much going through a lot of the shit that is trauma and PTSD. So this explains a lot of the struggle I have with organizing my thoughts and going back and forth to the fence. Wanting to start other blogs to reorganize and to blog about other topics. I know that I still want that. And it will come eventually. It’s overwhelming because I’ve started many others also on what I wanted to be spin off topics…which are in the realm of healing. The things I want to refer to in my healing are online and so I need to have a place to hold onto them other than book marks because that is not organized at all. And if I lose the lap top then the book marks are gone.  I procrastinate though. All part of trauma. Eventually these kinds of posts, the ones that refer to my ambiguity on writing on this topic and wanting to blog about other things on other blogs ends. The fact that I fight myself so much is also telling. Self-doubt.  

One change is that I’m posting my long hidden ABOUT page here…as a post.

Below you’ll find what I wrote for the ABOUT page:


I am a “middle-aged” (if I live to be 100), single woman, with what I now know to be Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Also diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, GAD and major depression. Those came from one therapist and another therapist dx’d me with dysthemia.

I am dependent on a man who is a slave to his job. If not for him I would be homeless.

Healthy relationships have always eluded me. (In reality I know it is I that has eluded them.) This is part of my emotional issues, which resulted from a toxic environment as I grew up.

I became aware of difficulties with my emotions when I was 18 while in a relationship with my first age appropriate boyfriend. I have been in and out of therapy since I was twenty and hospitalized twice for depression in my early and mid-twenties. I had taken a variety of anti-depressants at different times, none of which worked for very long, if at all.

I have never attempted suicide but have felt that death would be better than life in my deepest, darkest, depths of depression. I have used alcohol, pot, sex and the company of others, as coping and escape mechanisms. I also used to sit in my bedroom in times of intense distress, writing or watching TV and chain smoking cigarettes.

Back then…in my 20s and even through my 30s, I was led to believe what I had was depression and nothing more. Not to belittle depression as a diagnosis. Not at all. Because I know the darkness, depression involves. There’s nothing small about it and not only a dark place, but also a scary and lonely place to be.

But the reality was  that it was (and remains) depression plus…Plus post traumatic stress disorder.Plus borderline symptoms. Plus anxiety.

I was already showing many symptoms, but there was no one to inform me of this, let alone to help me heal from it. Now that I know what I know, I feel as though I slipped through the cracks when I was young.

When the symptoms began to really surface in my late teens and early 20s and I was realizing something was seriously wrong, I began to distance myself from my family in general, which included my sister in particular.

Little did I know the chasm that was already there, because I just did not have the deep awareness of what was going on. The toxic dynamic of my family was my normal, although I also knew it wasn’t normal…or more accurately, I knew it wasn’t healthy…despite not always having the words to express that knowledge or the ability to put my finger on it.

I knew because of the way I felt much of the time around my family and particularly my father, because of his immature behavior and unpredictable moods. My father is the main culprit in causing my emotional issues and was the one whom we all walked on egg shells around as we kids grew up. There is so much more to tell here but much of it deserves and even requires their own posts. Lest this one be so much longer than it already is.

So for now, let me get back to my sister. She and I were close when we were young children, although we were almost six years apart. (I am the oldest of three, with a brother in the middle.) Once the depression and anger hit me, my sister and I grew apart quickly.

Looking back now, I realize the depression and other symptoms had manifested themselves in other ways long before I was even aware of what depression really is and I certainly never even entertained the possible diagnosis of PTSD, since I had no idea that you could acquire that via abuse and being bullied at home, school and in your own neighborhood.

Lots of kids went through being teased, bullied and even beat up. It was just part of some children’s childhoods…it’s just the way it was. And you grew up, went on with your life, made a living and you just grew out of all that shit. Besides, I figured, so many kids had it worse than I did

That’s how I thought about it and when that didn’t happen for me, I blamed myself for not being able to be as tough as some other kids. Why couldn’t I just suck it up and stop feeling like I was trapped, like I didn’t belong (or fit in) anywhere and like I stuck out like a sore thumb?

When I started therapy back in those early days of my late teens and early 20s, and spent time in the hospital, I don’t even remember being told of a diagnosis. I remember hearing and using the word ‘depression’ and I remember getting and filling prescriptions for pharmaceuticals for it.

I do know and remember though, that when all the symptoms began and while I was in therapy and in the hospital, I never heard the words ‘post traumatic stress’ in context with my diagnosis or me at all. I didn’t hear those words until I started therapy after a particularly nasty break up in 2011/2012 with someone I would call an over-lapper.

An over-lapper though, is someone who needs to hook another person into a relationship with them before they can leave the one they are currently in. (I’ve been one myself too by the way.)

I admit it was an affair, since he was still married. But according to him things were bad and he was planning to divorce. That’s a story worth it’s own blog, (not post… blog) but I will perhaps go into it here, because having extra-marital affairs, (although something that is very much judged, tends to turn into a ‘burning at the stake’ and only blamed on the woman, which is utter bullshit) is a symptom of some real emotional issues and a toxic background.

Understand though, that I am not justifying it. I had a tough time with it. I fought with myself all the time. He may have been a narcissist. He was certainly narcissistic and I think, after reading about it in In Sheep’s Clothing I think he is also what Dr. George Simon refers to as a “Covert Aggressor.”

In addition, I was seriously addicted to him. It truly was a chemical addiction. If you’ve never heard of this, you can find out more in a book called, How to Break Your Addiction to a Person.

A probable cause for this and my very real arrested development, is that my direction in how to do life was non-existent when it was needed…in childhood, adolescence and my young adulthood.

I never finished college. I’ve gone to trade school at three different times for three different things and graduated, but then didn’t do much with those diplomas. I have had a series of jobs, none of which I’ve ever felt settled in.

Even as a pet-sitter I was miserable, especially during the busy times of year, like the Winter holidays and certain times during the summer. I would find myself so run-down from so much work, it would cause fatigue and a major depression.

So to call myself by a job title and actually identify with it, nothing has ever really resonated.

Unfortunately, I have always thought of and grew up believing that a person’s job/career is a major part of identity. So that’s been really difficult for me and moving around from job to job has made me feel as though I was always trying to find myself.

Speaking of identity, I don’t really know who I am. And since I grew up feeling like someone’s career is a big part of identity, I’ve been lost for all of my adult life.  So in addition, being so emotionally abused by my father as a child and emotionally neglected by both parents, I never had a chance to form much of an identity.

The dynamic in my family and the toxicity it bred, along with my temperament, set me up to be the scapegoat of the family. I’m not sure which one of my siblings is the golden child. My brother is pretty admired by my mother (last I knew) for his accomplishments, but as kids my brother and I used to actually joke that my sister was the favorite of my mother.

My father became ill about a year after the end of the aforementioned affair and I still wasn’t fully recovered from the break up. I was apprehensive about getting involved in helping out with my father’s care because of some fairly recent blow ups and blow outs as a result of an email I sent to each of my family members.  So I had fears of being around my siblings, figuring certain things would be brought up and used against me.  I also felt uncomfortable about being around my father in such an intimate manner as the email was about his past behavior and my feelings about that. (I also mention this in the ABOUT page in this blog. (To be posted)

I knew there would be a humongous elephant in my father’s apartment whenever I was around.

Having no car at the time, I tried to manipulate my way out of it with silence. But then their manipulations and guilt trips began along with the same ultimatum from three family members: mother, sister, brother.

I eventually did give in to their manipulations and the situation was a nightmare, becoming a secondary trauma. And I am still struggling with the trauma their behavior caused me. It’s frustrating.

I have already talked about this and I am sorry to repeat it. This is something I originally wrote on March 17, 2016.

It’s so sad to think that my parents, my family didn’t like me. Perhaps didn’t love me either despite my being told they do/did.

It’s difficult to accept. Since it keeps coming up and I still think about it, still get angry about it, I know I have not fully accepted it. I can actually physically feel the block sometimes to the acceptance of it. Actions do speak much louder than any words. People who love you don’t repeatedly abuse, hurt, manipulate, triangulate and gaslight you. They just don’t.

But when you grow up being slammed with messages that you’re less than, that you’re not worthy of being loved and you’re not all that intelligent, you grow up to think something is wrong with you, that you deserve all that adverse treatment. At least I believed it.

There’s no self love and I don’t think I’ve ever really even liked myself.

Here’s the link to my About page.


The More I Learn the Bigger the Puzzle

Preface Note:
I can see where this could get a bit confusing. So I will explain a bit.

I’m moving posts from another blog (that’s been marked private) over here to this one. I’m doing some editing, but not changing the gist of the original post. This post here, (below) was written back in March of 2014.

There’s a part where I talk about “my last therapist” but later, I saw two more therapists after her. But it took me awhile to get back to therapy. Turned out though that neither of those therapists were helpful.  I’m in therapy now with a man but I’m reaching that feeling of futility once again. So this post is pretty fitting for that reason.

I also felt like I should clear that piece of the post up because of the fact that I just posted earlier today about my present therapist.

Puzzled Jinjer

Originally written in March 2014
I’ve been trying to pigeon hole…classify my life experience of abuse or the people who have impeded it upon me, my family dynamic and the toxic sludge that is my DNA. In addition I am pretty sure that every single relationship I’ve had outside my family has also been unhealthy and most were also toxic.

I’ve read so much about narcissism, borderlines and quite a few other mental disorders. I’ve experienced my own depression most of my life and I’ve had a few other diagnoses as well.

The last therapist I went to gave me one diagnosis after the first session then diagnosed me again with something else a few weeks later claiming to “only want to help me.”

She seemed to speak in circles and I found myself explaining things to her over again, which showed me she hadn’t listened, twisted facts or simply forgot that I had told her something at all.

I’d swear I was being gas-lighted in therapy.

Another therapist didn’t seem to get the seriousness of the toxicity in my family  and I felt she took things entirely too lightly. And chalked everything up to “problems with relationships.”

Now that I think about it, that’s a ‘blame the victim’ diagnosis.

So my trust in therapists at the moment is absolutely nil.

So, I cannot put any of it into a nice neat box, small or otherwise.

I’ve been trying to think too much in black and white maybe, put it all together like some logical math problem.

It seems to me that mental illnesses and personality disorders and pathologies and the names given them and the behaviors that go along with them are not cut and dry. It seems that maybe not everyone who is narcissistic does the exact same things in every example, although many behaviors are indeed identical.

And I think different people get to see different traits too, depending on the role you play in the life of the disordered one.

Some shit fits and some shit doesn’t. It leaves me confused some days and even a bit paralyzed in writing my tales. Just when I think I’ve got my father pegged or my sister too, I read something that contradicts my original thought…that was formed by something else I’d read before in the first place.

There’s no question of the abuse and the toxicity now and the damage caused. In fact I think it was even more cruel in some ways as it was covert, emotional, verbally manipulative and insidious.

It left no physical bruising for the world to see.  Or for me to see either. I even believed for a long time that I was wrong, I had no reason to be depressed. I was the problem. It’s all in the past.  And I wasn’t beaten to a bloody pulp or sexually molested.

Unless you count my father sitting around on the couch. Foot up legs spread and his “junk” hanging out.

At the moment I don’t know whether an exact label is necessary. I mean my father’s dead so no doctor or therapist will ever diagnose him. Hell, the chance of that happening when he was alive was on the negative side of the number line.

Is it essential to have every piece to the puzzle to heal?

I certainly hope not.

But no matter what behavior or exchange or dynamic I’m analyzing I only have my own experience,  what I’ve read and my own deductions to go by.

And that being said, my experience with abuse has been at the hands of family, so called friends, bosses, a teacher and significant others. Plus some bitch who called (and likely still calls)herself a healer.

It was the last significant other that woke me up and bowled me over at the same time.

It was a blessing and a curse.

If I’d been a healthy individual myself I would have never been with him.

If I hadn’t been with him I may never have come to realize how toxic most relationships in my life were.

If I had been raised to be a healthy individual without abuse… so much time would not have been wasted in my life,  in destructive relationships, taking even more abuse, would not be a factor. And there would be no need for this type of wake up call.

A direction for my life would’ve been easier to figure out for myself. I also probably would’ve had help in that area of my life.

But instead here I am. With a big puzzle to piece together.