I decided to write a year recap to clear my mind. As always, remembering things is hard for me, so writing is really useful.
I’ll start with the end of last year, cause that’s really where this past “cycle” started. I had recovered from a lot of my mental health symptoms and I was really proud of that, since I did it with a lot of hard work, and on my own (treatment is not easy to get where I live).
However, as time went by, I still wasn’t feeling okay. Then I realized something: is not about me. I feel okay, I’m okay with my life. It’s the things that are outside of me are the ones that make me unhappy. And one of those main things was my family.
I realized that my family made me feel a lot of pain. At the beginning, I didn’t understand why, but I started thinking. And realizing things. I started reading my old diaries from when I was 13 to 18, since it was really hard for me to remember my life up to that point clearly. Then I started remembering things.
And that’s when I started seeing the truth: my family is filled with crazy motherfuckers, and I’ve been abused. It all made sense. My life made sense for the first time ever. So did all my mental illness, which up until then I couldn’t understand why I was ill.
(I accidentally found out that I have ADD too, which was also depressing).
So what so I do now? I guess I have to move out as soon as possible. I was desperate for money, but I hated the idea of going back to the type of jobs that I had had in the past. (I had a horrible experience, I’ll talk about it some other time). Luckily I came up with the idea of working online, as a freelancer, and LUCKILY it worked. So during those two months where I was setting things up for my new job, I pushed the “abuse thing” to the back of my head.
Then December came around, and I started to feel unwell. I didn’t make the connection, I kinda forgot about the abuse. I just got really depressed in only a couple of days. It was brutal. All my BPD symptoms came up so hard. All day long (and I mean all. day. long) I only thought about is how much I wanted to be raped, and beaten, and murdered. Hated by all the people I care about. I couldn’t sleep, and I had no energy. Standing up or going to the kitchen was physically painful. I was barely eating. My stomach problems were at their worst, so I had to go to the hospital for medication.
I saw abuser B during those weeks, but I barely remember anything from it. I do remember that their asked me why I didn’t want to see their family, since they “miss me” and “don’t understand why I’m so distant.” Fucking hilarious. I said I just didn’t feel comfortable around them. “We have very different personalities, we just don’t click.” Of course that’s not the truth, I don’t want to see them because they treat me like I’m worse than trash, but they would tear me apart if I ever said something like that.
I was so nervous when we had that conversation, I was shaking. Later on, I saw their family only for a couple of minutes. They asked me if there’s anything going on, if they did something wrong. “Is it about the things that we said about [family member]?”
That’s it. That’s the only thing they could think of. Something that is not even related to me. They can’t think of any occasion in which they were a piece of shit to me. And the funny thing is, [family member] is also my abuser, so I couldn’t care less about the shit that they’ve got to say about them.
Anyway, December passed, and during January and February I was just as depressed. I was feeling really suicidal too. In one occasion, after something that happened with abuser A, I actually considered doing it. I was waiting to cross the street in a corner, cars were coming, and I considered to just keep walking. I didn’t.