CPTSD/Disorders of extreme stress not otherwise specified

Surviving is weakness.

It tears at your soul, at your vulnerability.

It shatters the core essence of who you are.

Like broken pieces of glass

I wish I could move somewhere peaceful, have an isolated room, write fiction books.

I don’t feel happy, nor sad.

I feel like I’m stuck. Amazingly, seeing how my brain has changed has made my recent ex reconsider his past mistakes.

He loved me. I loved him. But I couldn’t connect with him in a romantic way because of the CPTSD.

The fact my family are covertly attacking me makes me think about Hemingway’s quote: “Even when you have learned not to look at families nor listen to them and have learned not to answer letters, families have many ways of being dangerous”.

He was right wasn’t he?

I’ve finally realised my mother had undiagnosed bipolar disorder. She wasn’t aware. That was never her fault.

Except I’m now a trigger for both parents.

Go me. The child who should have been put up straight for adoption. But never was.