moop

I haven't been posting much on here because my mood disorder has been difficult to deal with. Lots of rapid ups and downs. Addressing my trauma in therapy has been very difficult because when I get triggered badly it usually makes my mood shift into hypomania (which feels fun and euphoric for about a day or two, then turns into agitation, restlessness, and severe sensory issues). I'm trying meds again and it's been tough. I found one that helps me sleep. But TBH I'm not getting frequent enough appointments with my psychiatrist, haven't been able to find a new one, and it's been making thi

Periodically my dad sends me photos from when I was a little kid. It's always hard for me to receive these things since my childhood was traumatic, but it's also kind of nice because it makes me feel loved. A few weeks ago my dad sent me a bunch of photos of a book I "wrote" and illustrated at school in first grade. I think it was in Fall, so I'd just turned 6. It's the type of book where the teacher gave us typed prompts to fill in and illustrate (ex: "there are _____ people in my family" with a drawing of my family, "My favorite thing to do is ______" with a drawing of the activity

I've felt really gross and contaminated since yesterday. I've been going back and forth between complete denial and overwhelming disgust. Thinking about what my grandfather did to me makes me feel physically sick. I was diagnosed with bipolar this week. My brain is twisting this in ugly ways. Like, "Maybe the bipolar gene never would have been activated if the CSA didn't happen. Maybe you shouldn't have let him do those things to you. Maybe you shouldn't have been born at all if this is how it's going to be." I'm starting to acknowledge that my relationship with my mom probably

I've been on an especially intense isolation streak lately. Usually I can try to get support online even though I have very little human interaction in real life. But lately, it feels too overwhelming and pointless. Talking to people online is hugely helpful, but the problem is that I'm lacking deeper relationships (especially offline) that feel satisfying. This has always been my pattern and it's becoming worse as I get older. Human connection is scary. It is so, so fucking scary. Because it is unpredictable. And I perceive it as uncontrollable because I'm afraid of doing the basic thing

My hypersexuality is a sneaky, hidden trait. To most people I come across as very modest and sex averse. I'm afraid of wearing anything that shows skin because I'm insecure about my body and don't want people to pay attention to it. I have the body language of someone who is ashamed to exist. It's rare for me to talk about sex. But privately, I'm obsessed with sex. Or at least obsessed with performing sexual behaviors to control the feelings I have from being raped. I've been compulsively masturbating 3-4 times per day. Sometimes more. I don't really want to. It's to the point

I feel swallowed by shame. I don't understand how I have managed to survive for this long. I don't mean that in a bad way, the amount of trauma I've had is just hitting me hard. A lot of the time I feel numb to how bad things really were. It doesn't feel real. That kid getting yelled at, watching holes get punched in walls, getting raped... I know her, but she doesn't feel like me. I don't know how to process how violated and dehumanized I feel. I feel like trash. Worthless. I want to cry, but I don't feel real enough to make it happen. I feel repulsive. Disgusting. I want

I am in a dark place right now. Winter is always challenging. It feels dark, cold, and bleak. Some of my normal coping skills, like hiking, aren't accessible. Every year I fall apart more than usual when the daylight decreases. But things have been worse than usual, because my PTSD symptoms feel out of control. Sleeping, moving, eating, drinking, showering... it all feels so fucking challenging. It is painful to exist. I'm doing my best to go through the motions but I'm not really sleeping. My partner's sleep apnea is making it so much worse, I'm afraid to even try to sleep

Trauma has created a bizarre relationship between reality and my internal world. I'm familiar with reality. I know the facts— that I am not unusual, these things happen to a lot of people, it was not caused by anything I did,.etc. But I don't truly feel any of that. In my heart, what I feel is that I'm a stupid w**re. That I deserved everything that has happened to me. My bones feel full of dirt and coated in mud. I have done a lot of disgusting, dehumanizing things that I didn't want to do. I have sought out partners who treated me like dog shit, then desperately clung to them