It wasn't until my September 2000 suicide attempt that I learned about gaslighting. Until my hospitalization, my therapy was observed and critiqued by my abusers.
What's worse than feeling all the things too much? Feeling nothing.
My colleagues invite me to lunch, or to go for a walk, but I decline. This little quiet corner of the office is just fine with me. My partner has been doing the shopping. I'm overwhelmed in public spaces.
The first few years, I convinced myself that I had somehow become the nightmare momster that many children of a parent with BPD have written about escaping.
It's no surprise I sometimes don't recognize myself in mirrors. I'm trying to focus on sharing my story, but I'm dissociating and having a hard time remembering those people inside.
I'm functional, but dissociating. I go to work and do work and go home. It's nearly impossible to go to the store or visit friends. I have the need to exist solely in well-known safe and quiet places. My throat begins to close if I think about any variance from a well-worn path.
Sometimes I don't realize I've been avoiding my own reflection until I catch a glimpse of it.
Since I was little, I've been called picky. When I was old enough to try new things — I didn't.
Most people with mental illness are not violent and only 3-5% of violent acts can be attributed to individuals living with a serious mental illness. People with severe mental illnesses are over 10 times more likely to be victims of violent crime than the general population.
Six. I’m up to six sexual assaults — or instances of serious harassment or exploitation — that I’ve only recalled in the past few years. Nope, seven.