Who Am I Really?

What is said in this video always sets me to ‘verge of tears.’ I don’t usually cry when I listen to or read things like this,  because there is a wall up to the idea. My psyche doesn’t want to see or feel that I…that the human is me, doesn’t even know what that means. It (my psyche) knows that the work is hard to come to such an understanding of who I actually am. I don’t know, perhaps crying would mean admitting that I’d better get to work somehow. And the freeze response kicks in because I have no idea where to start with that.

I am lost and don’t remember when the last time was that I didn’t feel that way. It may have even still been in the womb where I lost who I am, which means that I actually never had the opportunity for a self identity.

This is dark. No wonder the world has been dark for so long.

I know only from a couple audio recordings from when I was about three that I did have some semblance of a self. My voice, it’s so happy. It’s so…well…it’s child like. I can tell that I’m not worried about anyone’s judgment of me. At the time the recordings were done, I would have still been an only child and had my parents to myself.

One part of the recording is me jumping around in the tub. Both parents are there. My dad is talking to me to get me to talk and it seems that I am standing up, as it is the end of the bath. My dad tells me (jokingly) that I’m a nitpicker, in response to something I’d said. And I apparently liked that word and I start to jump up and down in the tub repeating, “Nitpicker mommy, nitpicker.” Over and over again I repeat it.

I wasn’t thinking about whether my mom would be mad at me for splashing around. (She wasn’t and neither was my father.) I wasn’t thinking about how someday the baby that was in my mom’s belly would one day rage at me or that I would bully him for years. I wasn’t thinking about being bullied at school by a nasty nun/teacher or other students. I wasn’t even thinking about how my father had yelled at me on days prior to that.

I was simply doing what I felt.

I don’t have that in me anymore. It was a somewhat gradual loss but at the same time, my self stayed hidden in certain situations and circumstances as I grew up.

Now at 52 I still play small. I have no idea who I am and each day I wake up feeling like I’m living a nightmare. That happy little three year old is so buried, I barely feel her as part of me anymore.
Sure, my circumstances play a part in that. (But who got me here?)

I’m not satisfied in my main relationship. I’ve separated myself from people I used to call my friends. Most of them still live a lifestyle I don’t feel is a good idea for me. I can’t seem to do anything in moderation, let alone discipline myself.

I don’t work, I’m isolated and I breathe cigarette smoke from the apartment below. But all those things don’t contribute half as much to my loneliness and feelings of being trapped as the fact that I have no clue as to who I really am.


Depression or Narcissism: Life is Like Groundhog Day

I am really having a hard time of things. I’m feeling like I’ve made no progress at best, or worse regressed.

I’m such a child emotionally and the more time goes on the more I think I might be a narcissist.

I’m so disgusted with my situation yet what I am doing to change it is miniscule and feels like I will never get anywhere. I will never be able to live on my own.

Almost everything Mr. B does gets on my nerves and I don’t hide that too well, so he’s quite aware of it.

I’m (very obviously) angry these days and have been angry chronically for decades. People irritate the shit out of me and I see so much stupidity around me I just want to quit society.

I understand that some of that is my own cloudy mind because of the anger but other things are genuinely a problem. There’s a lot of feelings of entitlement out there and it makes me sick how self centered people are for the most ridiculous things.

Again, I’m feeling scattered and like I want to leave this blog and start over. When I look at this thing, I just think it’s a big mess. I want to organize it but it’s so damn messy, I don’t know where to start. But if I start over, I am still having the same issues so I will probably get to the same point again eventually.

I have other topics I want to write about so I keep going back and forth with setting up a string of blogs or just writing all topics on the same one and just categorizing things.

I guess it depends on what my intention is and I’m torn on that as well. To earn money from blogging, a niche is probably important. And I’m not saying I necessarily want to make money on my misery (but then why not) but there are other things I’m knowledgeable about that might work to monetize.

Of course I don’t know til I try. But I get paralyzed because I have one idea, then another idea and then another idea. I make a list and I have five things I could have blogs for. Do I do a separate blog for all these things?

I think PTSD has something to do with the procrastination of starting. I do think separate blogs is the right answer. It’s the way the internet works. But it’s not easy for me to work that way. So I think, “No, you know, I’ll just do one blog and write about everything I want to write about.”

And two minutes later I change my mind back again. And then I think about how difficult it will be for me to keep up with so many blogs and go back to the decision of one, change my mind AGAIN, get overwhelmed, feel disorganized and get so frustrated I do nothing.

Isn’t this what narcs do?

I’m watching videos on YT by other people talking about their experiences with narcs, but they seem to have success at least enough to live on their own, care for their children if they have them, go out to work each day and earn a living, plus be organized enough to utilize a platform like Youtube, or even blogs, to say and write what they want to write.

But me, I’ve been reading and watching for over 6 years, started a bunch of shit and have not finished or continued much of anything. Even books…I used to finish books all the time but now, I lose interest and have taken quite a few books back to the library or stuck them back on the shelf unfinished and I’m pretty disinterested in everything now.

I know my disorganized and scattered feelings are an old topic. I revisit it every so often on one blog or another of my own. So it’s probably annoying to anyone who’s read it before. Same old song and dance. Here I am feeling sorry for myself again. I’m afraid to do something in the direction of getting something accomplished because I’m paralyzed with fear it will be the wrong decision.

I like the title of this blog and want to continue with this one, but when I think about cleaning it up, I get so overwhelmed I don’t even know where or how to start. The thought of starting over somewhere else makes me feel like not even bothering.

Posting this, it’s like Groundhog day. The difference though is that I’m not really learning, I’m not changing. I’m the same person I’ve been since I was 13. I continue to feel the same way about things, I make the same mistakes. Even if I learn something from them, it’s like I’m stuck in the same hole so I can’t even help but to do the same shit on different days.

It just seems useless.

Who the fuck am I? And what the fuck should I do? (Other than kill myself that is.)

Edit Thursday 9/14/17: I still struggle with self-identity, but don’t think I’m a narc anymore. But I also have not made a whole lot of progress. The reason I believe is having little help with healing complex PTSD. I am in DBT now but don’t think it’s the end all be all. I do hope it will help in areas of my life to progress instead of staying stagnant. As for what to do with this blog, I’ve kept it as is. I’ve done some sporadic posts about my cat. But I want to save him for his own platform. This is a blog about the shitty way I grew up and the shitty decisions I made because of it. I am more settled in my blame for my parents but still struggling to take responsibility for my life.

Stolen Self, Lost Self

on the rocks black and white sleeping tigerIf you let others define you, you will lose who you really are.

I don’t know if someone else said that. It ran through my head though some time ago and I wrote it down.
And that’s because it’s exactly what has happened to me.

In my family, it snuck up on me through the years without me knowing it was happening. It was covert and insidious. There were mixed messages and double standards. And sometimes I didn’t see them or notice them. Sometimes I knew something was wrong but couldn’t put words to it so it was (I thought) easier and better to “let it go.”

I was also taught that I made too big a deal of things. I was programmed to believe that drawing boundaries is selfish.

I didn’t truly let shit go though. I may have kept my mouth shut, I may have decided not to ‘rock the boat.’ But I would come back to it when another incident would happen. Or I would ruminate on what happened and what I should’ve said and how unfair the outcome was when I wasn’t permitted to ‘rehash’ things.

Sometimes I would think about how so-called experts on relationships would say how you shouldn’t bring up past arguments while arguing about a present issue.

Those experts were likely talking about ‘normal’ people who didn’t fight dirty, who didn’t already have a toxic dynamic between them, who were seen as equals by each other. But not all relationships are like that. And now that I know that, I don’t feel like such an awful person for ‘holding onto certain issues’ that were never resolved. Now I know why that happened.

My relationships outside the family were also a source of sucking my ‘self’ out of me, although I had no idea this is what was going on. I myself ruined friendships because I had no idea how to handle conflict and the feelings that conflict brought up.

I got into drinking and hung out with others who wanted to do the same. And even though I’m so far into my life, that behavior has only stopped recently. Thing is, I’ve felt the need to separate myself from people I had called friends. Many of them weren’t what I would call true friends and I wouldn’t label myself a true friend either.
I wasn’t a true friend because the conditions weren’t healthy between my friend(s).  I did not have the right models to teach me and show me how to have healthy relationships.

I wasn’t doing a lot of this consciously, at least not originally. I wanted to get together specifically to drink and sometimes to smoke. So of course I sought out those who drank and smoked.

I compromised myself and values to stay with significant others and even friends.

The family toxicity became absolutely undeniable a few years ago and it was then I knew the process of stealing my self, my identity, had begun at birth and continued through my life. Their behavior caused me trauma but with some help I was able to see the manipulations and know that the dynamic was poison.

I’m still recovering from it all. In fact I’ve been in a state of depression and fear since this time a few years ago and much before that. I’ve been in a constant mode of waiting for permission to be me, to live my life, to think what I want, do what I want, have what I want.

I don’t know what or who I would have been, had I been raised by healthy parents. It’s sad that I will never know. I think I had some athletic ability that if nurtured and harnessed into the right sport with a good coach, I could have excelled at that. Maybe not a paid athlete, but at the very least, it would’ve been better than getting into alcohol and shitty boyfriends. It would’ve been a way to build a healthy mind and body as well as relationships.

I like to write, so if nurtured properly I may have taken classes in high school that challenged me, rather than the ones I knew I could easily pass. By the time I was in high school, my parents completely neglected what I was doing in school. Except to look at my report card.

So as long as I passed on the report card, I was golden.

The classes I chose, were up to me in many areas and the requirements became lighter with each year. For example, I only had to take English, Social Studies and gym. I had to take other elective type stuff, but that was up to me as was what the level of learning was.

They had no idea I was choosing C level English classes when I should have been selecting at least B level. That being said, if I’d been nurtured from the beginning throughout school and not conditioned to fear not being smart enough, I probably would’ve been capable enough for A level English classes.

I don’t know about any other class. I struggled with the rest, although I finally did OK in geometry when the teacher decided he wasn’t going to included teaching theorems. I’d dropped that class the year before because those things were too difficult for me to understand. i took it again to get through it because I believed I would go onto college. And there were certain requirements needed for that, as far as I knew.

But what I knew were only tiny and fractional pieces of information.

I do believe that the early stress/trauma I was put through via my father’s impatience and lack of tolerance for child-like behaviors, which resulted in verbal and emotional abuse, my first grade teacher who pulled my ears and hair in first grade, and my mother’s apathy, all contributed to my difficulty with learning. Stress effects all parts of the body including the brain.