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Growing up: zero validation. All my feelings, needs, memories. They all got invalidated and mocked.

My reaction: desperately trying to validate my memories. Thinking about everything all the time to make sure things are okay. Constantly having to revalidate everything. Cause nothing I felt went unchallenged.

Me: “so miss Therapist. I really like this girl I’ve been seeing for a couple of months. I want to be in a commited romantic relationship with her”

Therapist: “okay. You can talk to her about it.”

Me: “nooooooo. What if she doesn’t like me? What if she doesn’t like me enough to date me. What if Im a creep?…”

Therapist: “these are all the things she has said and done that makes it obvious she likes you. And idk. When two people like each other romantically. This is a very normal conversation to have.”

My first psych thought I had ADHD and maybe…. OCD but I never got diagnosed with OCD. So just sorta assumed I didn’t have it cause she said I displayed very few signs. And I don’t know. Media gave me an image of OCD that wasn’t exactly accurate.

My new psychiatrist suggested Lamotrigine cause she felt like OCD was a bigger concern for me. And I got put on Lamotrigine for it.

Truth is, I’ve always struggled a lot with moral OCD. Idk. It felt good to learn it’s a thing with a label and not a me thing.

Personally, I’m always paranoid about moral codes. What I’m “supposed to be doing” what the “right singular philosophy is.” Not even as a fun philosophy hobby. No. Most days I’m just obsessively thinking about what I feel. Why I feel it. Am I supposed to feel that way? What I should be feeling? What those things say about me? What has caused me to feel like that? Can other people clock what I’m feeling? Does this make me weird? Insane? Am I feeling things too fast? Too slow?

And just constantly seeking validation from others. Needing to be told that I am allowed to feel whatever I am feeling. And 9/10 times it’s simple things that on paper don’t need to be validated even??? Like recently, I’ve started to fall for this girl I’ve been seeing.

And my therapy sessions have just been running in circles about “what does it mean?”

What does it mean that I’m falling for this girl and not any body else? Why is she my type? Why do I feel like this about her in a way that’s different from how I feel about my exes? Is it attraction? Chemistry what? Is it too fast? Too slow? What does the pace of the relationship mean? Like is it morally better? Better for my mental health? A better healthier way to have relationships? Should everyone be doing this?

As I’m typing all of this. I’m realizing how easy it is for me to… fall into that trap. At the start I didn’t think I was gonna go into all that in my post. But once I hit that stream. The words come out like word vomit. Sometimes in a more positive phase. I feel like I have everything figured out.

The way I carry myself must be SOME MORAL TRUTH. Like I’m doing everything the right way. I have life’s mysteries figured out and everyone else is playing catchup.

I must comment on how everyone else is doing relationships wrong. There has to be some singular ideal way and I must be able to latch onto it.

Initially I’d assume that it’s not me. It’s them. Yknow? Like it’s bit me overthinking because it’s what I do. It had to be something inherent to that relationship. Then with time I started to realize that it’s just me. Doesn’t matter what situation I am in. I’ll find a way to overanalize it in search of some morally universal.

It’s at a point where I feel I need permission from people to say I like this girl a lot. Like if someone says I’m not allowed to. Then I’d know it was my fault and I was doing something wrong to feel this way.

I noticed that if I stare at any of my tats for too long, I notice all these tiny imperfections that drive me insane. I blame ink-master for this.

But… then I said “fuck it. Every tattoo is imperfect” and that’s what I see everyone says. So I went through every tattoo I had ever used as a potential reference. And just stared at them.

All these tats were perfect to me at one point. So good I wanted to take them to an artist as inspiration. And bam I now see all the imperfections in those pieces. To the point where I can’t see the image and see ANYTHING else about it.

Is it a healthy coping mechanism? I highly doubt it. I’m ruining art for myself. But it helps me just accept that no tattoo is perfect. They all have blemishes and flaws. Little spaces where the linework got bumpy on a curve. Lines that didn’t connect perfectly. That one line that looks just a little scratchy.

With my OCD brain, everything comes with… personal attacks. I forgot to lock the door. Im an idiot and my roommate hates me. I didn’t triple check my keys. I suck. I need to recheck the route 500 times cause im stupid and will fuck up the route I take once a week. My friend told me about how they had to cut off their abusive ex? “How long will it take for me to do something horrible and reprehensible before they realize that I suck too?” “Did I already do something?” “Am I a bad friend and refuse to accept it?”

I can barely remember what it was about. But I was anxious and scared and the brain was telling me mean things about myself. And I was diving deep into the rabbit hole. As I was trying to justify myself and find my footing in the midst of an identity crisis. I forgot what MY feelings were and what I wanted.

Then it suddenly hit me. That wasn’t my thought. It was my persecutors attacks against me. And I was just defending myself from her. And trying to justify myself to her.

It felt like having a conversation with a girl at a bar; only for to admit to being the Trickster god Loki playing a prank.

Or rather it is HEAVILY MISUNDERSTOOD. I WILL STAND ON THAT.

It often seems like people see a favorite person being a Favorite person because of who THEY are as a person. Like… their traits or how they make you feel. I fucking disagree.

After a whole deep dive into my brain (no substances FWIW). Just good ol radical acceptance. It’s fucking bullshit.

I’ve had FPs I didn’t even like. Or I hated. Or just barely knew.

Why? Because a FP has nothing to do with them. It’s not about who they are what they are like. Not about what they make you feel as an individual.

It is all about externalizing your brain trauma onto them.

If you are fucking lonely. ANYONE who represents proof that the little voice in your head; your history; were wrong. You will gobble that shit up.

Oh you wish you had… yeah. Now this person is that thing. You aren’t actually even looking at a person. You are looking at a concept in your head.

If you had shitty unavailable parents. You aren’t loving the person who IS available. You are just trying to prove to yourself that you didn’t deserve unavailability. “Yay…. There’s tangible proof that my parents were bad and I didn’t deserve any of it.”

Cause it’s BORDERLINE. BPD. BORDERLINE.

There is no “IM SO HAPPY MY LIFE IS BETTER THAN IT WAS.” Nope. “We are fixed. Look! People like us. We are fixed.” I promise you that shit will happen outside of “people” you “know”.

A hookup that felt safe? Yeah. Sorry look at this sign that you didn’t desereve the abuse you dealt with. HAHAHAHAHHAHH BRAIN. You were so wrong.

You’ll do it with non-people too.

Cats. Fucking cats.

“My cat sat with my roommate today. He got bored of me.” Nah. That’s a fucking cat. Bitch doesn’t speak. Just says meow. “She doesn’t like me. My room just has a view of birds” oi. What are are you on about. That’s not a person.

When you are miserable in your job. Your hobbies will become your personality.

Anything to self-soothe and tell yourself you are okay.

Cause there can only be one. Only one thing.

If something loves you neverendingly. If you love one thing non stop?

That’s your proof. You have proved whatever it is wrong.

Instead of obsessing over just the symptoms. Ask yourself why.

“Why can’t I placate myself?”

“Why can’t I be happy when people aren’t available 24/7?”

“What can I do to love myself better?”

Nothing and no one can fix you. Make you not hate yourself.

Im sorry love. I really am. I don’t want to break your bubble.

It’s not about “people leave”. That’s defeatist and sad. Nihilistic even.

But you can’t keep papering over cracks your whole life. You can’t stay stuck fixing symptoms when a route cause exists.

Instead of asking “why that person.” Ask “why that behavior.”

The person is just a person who cares for you. That’s it. There is NO DEEPER MEANING TO EXPLORE. They love you. So they support you.

So why is it you can’t accept it?

Why can’t you trust it?

Why can’t you be that person for yourself?

Make peace with the fact that no one can meet those BPD needs for you. No one but you. It will take support from community and therapists and whatever.

But putting in the legwork is on you.

You have to be willing to grow.

And if you can’t do it for yourself? Do it for people around you. No amount of people can force you to love yourself.

I say that as someone surrounded by love.

No amount of sex can make you feel attractive. Deep in your bones. Doesn’t matter how many hot women find me pretty. If I hate myself I hate myself.

Your goal can’t be to not see a “favorite person” as that anymore. Cause you will make someone else that person later.

It has to be to move past having them. Past the obsession over having your needs met. It’s okay to say “thanks for meeting me needs. Talk to you later.” It ain’t that deep. Everyone has their needs met by people they care about.

I’m sorry that you didn’t growing up. But yeah…

Im out of shit to say.

This was either deeply profound.

Or extremely benign.

Or worse. Preachy.

Or I am completely faking it. Who knows.

#ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #fuckmethisshitmakesnosenseatall

I’ve like always had this voice in my brain. It told me that I suck. Everyone hates me. If they don’t yet; they will soon. I don’t remember the voice always being there. But it showed up. Then I was convinced it was real. Eventually realized it’s full of shit.

Reason I’m not sure it’s a plurality thing is: what if it’s a trauma response like depression/BPD? Thinking of *that* scene from BoJack.

But like… it’s always felt like a voice. And now it feels like a voice that isn’t me? It’s been described as “my father’s voice in my head”, “my BPD”. A lot of things.

And this voice acts like a chip on my shoulder. I NEED to prove this bastard wrong.

You think everyone hates me? Then why is it that every time I go out; people enjoy my company. Huh!

You think people will suddenly start hating me? Then why do they tell me that they already know my flaws intimately?

Maybe it's not a headmate. but it feels like an entity that I fight against.

it unfortunately has no personality beyond the nastiness. i dont fucking know.

maybe it's all made up.

i've described the bastard as "the void before".

but the reason I say it's not just a trauma response is because I have some semblance of control even when it gets overwhelmingly loud in my head.

I've realized that a lot of my friends get worried when they see me in those headspaces. they get worried about the big S word; or just my sanity. try to tell me to breathe and be kind to myself.

but to me? i actually need it. and I feel like I have *some control*.

eventually, processing the mean thoughts about me just leads me to understand myself better. "oh… so that's what I do as a trauma response."

I need to get into the ugly; grimy;icky;dirty. I need to bask in it. stare her in the face unflinchingly. not afraid of what I may learn. then walk away unscathed with an epiphany. better understandings of me.

like I usually just have to ride it out when I have less control. Then I get bored "staying at home all day doing nothing is nit fun at all. let's like do ANYTHING. time to go out drinking yknow. go meet people. have sex with someone new. why are we so… adamant on giving in? this shit is boring me senseless. i'm ready to be myself"

and that's part of it. I don't feel like I am struggling. cause either I'm in control and choosing the process. or I'm out of control but I'm not feeling like me. not that I am not who I want to be. but that me, the primary headmate or whatever. is gone. she ain't home. someone else is.

I guess this persecutor challenges me in a way I genuinely love. the meanness day to day can be hard. but I love it.

it's that chip on my shoulder. i don't want the slow progress that people crave. or even a sense of "we are so normal bestie."

nah. i'm not normal. i have flaws. i hate them. i know I can overcome them as long as I look internally at who I am. The more I grow from that; the happier I get.

it's why I call it a headmate. cause I see it as something more than trauma. it has an identity of its own. It kept me sane as a child.

knowing I could sleep at night understanding that I was better than my abusers. had to prove the negative voice wrong. still do.

maybe it can grow to be a healthy rivalry. challenge my ass. call me out on my bullshit.

In the past; I saw it as being scary for the person I was splitting on. Id be “threatening” and hurt them. So they needed to fear me; their comeuppance.

Like oh no. The native New Yorker had never considered the fact that NYC is expensive and crowded.

And why the fuck do I care whether or not you wanna live here? We have PLENTY of cool people. And unlike you they don’t waste my time with boring bullshit cause they are desperate for human contact.

Fuckers try talking to me when they get on the elavator with me. Nah. Just nod your head. I do not need more. We aren’t friends. Don’t force it. You aren’t cute and I’m not going out of my way for you.

To be clear I’m not talking about growth coming from painful experiences of heartbreak. No. It’s not about how your ex made you learn something about yourself. Or how you snapped at your favorite person; lost closeness to them. Then felt horrible.

I’m talking about how the results of growth themselves cause a unique kind of pain.

I still remember being a kid. I was so depressed. So hollow. So empty. My friends couldn’t hurt me. Why? Because I didn’t open up to them. The closest thing to being hurt by people I got was being bullied and abused. So I told myself that loving someone would be perfect. Only a perfect person could ever care about me. If someone was good to me; were unlike those that attacked me. They must be an angel.

But then I found myself in a trap. Every time I interacted with nice people? I started to feel shitty. I got so jealous of other people. Got so scared of losing them. That as fast as I met them; I’d lose them. I’d get too obsessive. So our relationship never grew. I thought that was painful. It was worse.

Being hollow sucked. But it was the weirdest form of safety. I could assure myself no one would ever like a horrible person like me.

I thought the obsession I had in the past was real care and love. But it wasn’t. I loved the idea of them. I never knew THEM so it never was a lost of someone I truly KNEW. That’s when I started having more real relationships with people and that brings a brand you brand of pain.

You know love someone for who they are. But it means learning to find peace with flaws. But more importantly conflict and bad moments.

“I know she loves me. She’s just busy.” Hurts way more than “she doesn’t love me anymore.”

The belief that someone has stopped liking you. But more importantly that good ol’ rage. “I hate her. She sucks. We were never friends. She abandoned me.” It’s a fucking cocoon. You aren’t feeling a single thing grounded in reality.

Learning that your friends can love you to bits? But still have a life outside of you. That hurts like hell. No one is coming to fix you. No one can save you but yourself.

You wish your friend texted more? Or made more plans? Maybe it’s just not her style of communication. Or maybe she has a lot going on emotionally. Dafuq you gonna do? Stop loving her?

Nah. You are gonna have to sit with that pain. No hiding behind externalization. No ignoring what you feel. You aren’t going to pretend it is a comment on you.

SIT THERE

BREATH IN THE DIALECTICAL THOUGHT

OH! YOU GOT INTO A FIGHT?

IS SHE A TERRIBLE PERSON?

DO YOU REALLY HATE HER?

WAS SHE ACTUALLY TOXIC?

no…

DO YOU STILL LOVE HER?

ARE YOU HAVING A TRAUMA RESPONSE?

IS SHE TO BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR TRAUMA?

IS SHE ACTUALLY EVIL? OR ARE YOU JUST UPSET

DO YOU STILL CARE ABOUT HER AND LIKE HER AND WANT HER IN YOUR LIFE?

WOULD YOU REGRET BURNING YOUR BRIDGE WITH HER?

Yes

THEN LIVE WITH THAT HURT MOTHER FUCKER.

DO WHAT YOU CAN TO STABILIZE

DONT LET YOUR LACK OF EMOTIONAL REGULATION HURT HER

DONT LET IT HURT YOU

Fine

WANNA HEAR THE REAL KICKER?

IF YOU CAN LOVE HER EVEN THROUGH A FIGHT?

MAYBE SHE CAN TOO.

MAYBE SHE DOES.

Your ass isn’t gonna get abandoned for not being perfect.

Not because she is perfect. You dumb shit.

If you. The person who vilifies yourself. Hates yourself. Is always terrified. Always worried they’ll burn bridges.

If your dumbass can do it.

SHE CAN

YOU WERE THE ONE WHO SAID SHES BETTER THAN YOU. NOT ME

If her imperfections don’t make you hate her. Than your imperfections don’t make her hate you.

DUMBASS

I am not allowing you to mask your own pain and trauma behind hurting your loved ones.

I am telling you to sit with and process that pain on your own.

DO NOT LET IT RUIN SOMETHING THAT BRINGS VALUE TO YOUR LIFE.

DUMFUCK

That’s the thing. Growing means learning to sit with that pain. Learning to trust things. Learning to have things that you value and fear losing them.

You don’t trust them because they are perfect. You trust them because it’s all you can do.

Eventually. People will realize I suck. Being seen by people who care about me isn’t fun. It’s an audience to gawk at my next spiral and so they judge me. Then cut ties with me forever because Im not worth the effort.

Loving people is not a celebration. It’s just a collection of folks who will then get bored of me. It’s this waiting game of wondering when I will abandoned again. A cruel and wicked game. A prank.

Growth is no big deal. It’s just phase 1 of my next backslide. “I am doing better.” “Am I?” “Fuck it. Let’s do worse.” I let my guard down. Only to backslide really fucking hard. It terrifies me.

Happiness only exists to salt the wound that is pain. “Didn’t you enjoy the peek into joy? It was never yours to claim!”

My asshole friends keep refuting all of it. I get told that they are very aware of my flaws. Trauma responses. Or whatever. And they don’t care. So anything insane I do will only be seen as “she’s having a rough time with her BPD.” They won’t see it as a sign of me being horrid. Just aware that I am struggling with something. And maybe feel bad about it.

Fuckers keep telling me how they can tell how hard I try to be better. The chip I have on my shoulder feeds families. They tell me how even when a messy situation happens:They know me well enough to know I am trying. They know I will introspect on it. Apologize. Then try to be better.

I talked about someone who abused me? Took advantage of my drunken state. And that got tied into being told “you are not like that person. I can see you doing a lot of things wrong. But nothing abusive. I know you well enough to know it isn’t you.”

I’ve gotten into dumbass fights with my closest friends when my abandonment issues have gone off. Only to just. Idk. Get to move on and still be close.

“I know we grew up together. And moving countries put strain on our relationship. But you suck for not calling me more.” Only for them to UNDERSTAND I am dealing with loneliness and isolation :/

Fine us Dommes got together and have made a decision:

1. Cat girls.

2. Snake Girls.

3. Fox Girls.

4. Horse Girls.

5. Werewolves.