Reading these posts from 10 years ago, I want to cry. I want to go hug myself and tell myself it will be okay, things will work out - but they won't. They don't. Things suck, and then they suck more. Reading through 10 years of loneliness and self-hatred and pain is enough to make me rage. When I can disconnect from younger me for a moment, when I imagine her as someone else, a friend in that much pain - I would do so much to help her. And it makes me unbearably angry and sad that no one did that for me. That I fell through the cracks for so long.
I don't want this to happen to anyone else, ever.
I feel horrible when I say things like "some people shouldn't have children", but it's an unfortunate truth. I feel even worse saying it about my own parents. Because I know they tried their very best. I know they believe they did alright. On paper, they were perfect. They supported me physically and financially. They put me through more school than strictly required. They fed me and clothed me and loved me, they were never intentionally cruel.
It's easy to say someone is bad for physically abusing a child, for intentionally causing them pain, for physically neglecting or withholding things necessary for that child to survive. Physical hurt is visible, tangible, leaves evidence one can point at and say THERE. THAT'S WHY. Emotional abuse has become much more openly recognized problem, even if the effects aren't physical. The intent to harm is clear, to all involved, to bystanders.
Emotional neglect, though, is something that's hardly recognized, that doesn't show up in scholarly articles or studies. The most comprehensive review I've seen of it (here) is a single woman's lifelong study. It isn't in the DSM ("neglect of a child" listed there is treated as malignant, not benign).
The idea that I'd been emotionally neglected as a child never even occurred to me until one day, at the end of our session, after hesitating over it for a good five minutes, my therapist finally said that it sounded like my parents had been benignly emotionally neglectful.
I threw a shit fit. I defended them backwards and forwards, up and down and sideways. They've always supported me, I argued. I still argue. They've financially supported me far longer than they ever had to. I left that therapist months later after leaving her facility, and she never brought it up again, not once.
I didn't really consider it again until years later, when I found the above website. And reading through the testimonials, the lists of symptoms and thought-patterns that so pervade my life - I started crying harder than I had in a long time. I've felt, for so long, that there's something wrong with me. Something that no one has ever been to completely explain. I have a myriad diagnoses, but none of them ever got to me like this one. None of them ever hit home so hard. I've always felt like such a fraud, a faker, because I'm not a trauma victim, or an abuse victim. My childhood was stable. I've never had a reason to be as screwed up as I am. I think emotional neglect usually gets swept up in other labels, seen as a part of the abuse or the trauma. On its own, it's never recognized. It's never treated. It isn't really even seen as a problem; were I to face my parents on this, they'd probably just stare at me blankly. My current therapist has never broached the topic, although my parents are definitely a major topic of discussion.
The problem as I see it lies in that it's not an action that causes the harm, but rather a lack of action. And that is so, so much harder to pinpoint. It's easy to tell a parent not to hit a child, but how do you tell them to show more emotion to their child? My parents don't believe in emotions. Discussing feelings was never something we did, was something ridiculed by my father especially. It was "girly", god forbid. It was weak. One therapist had to give me a feelings wheel, and had me write down with every meal how I was feeling, because I truly had no idea how to differentiate the emotions inside me. I'd never been taught how to express them, not to others, and not to myself.
This post got rather sidetracked. I've tried for so long to pinpoint where things went "wrong", what made me so broken. I know part of it is genetic; my parents both have their own host of psychological problems they largely refuse to admit to. But it's partially environmental as well, and given my lack of trauma, I was always stumped. I'm still stumped, in many ways. So many times, I've wished I HAD gone through a trauma. Not in a masochistic way, but because then I could have a reason. Then I could tell myself and everyone else why I am the way I am. I'd have something to "work on" in therapy other than "I'm depressed and suicidal and I have no idea why." It frustrates me and it frustrates everyone around me.
I still don't understand how I got so far, so lost, with no one noticing, or doing anything. My parents were truly shocked when they finally found out about my eating disorder, despite my emaciated frame. My friends were probably not as oblivious (my parents have disordered eating problems of their own), but none of them ever said anything to me. It became a game to me, to see how far I could go before someone called me out. And in the end, it became clearly apparent to me that I could kill myself before someone would say a thing. And I came so, so close to getting there.
This is why I think emotional neglect is so, so dangerous. I never learned how to communicate my emotions, how to ask for support or help, and so I withdrew. I withdrew, from such an early age, that people stopped trying to connect with me. I never even knew that was something I should want. But humans are social creatures, and whether I knew it or not, I needed connection. But I didn't know how to ask, how to communicate, how to be an emotional human being, and so that need festered inside me. It broke through in horrible, self-destructive ways that no one in my life could understand, that I didn't understand, that no one wanted to understand.
The moral of the story is: feelings are important, bitches. Expressing them may seem silly and cheesy, but it keeps us from turning into cesspools of ten thousand indistinguishable emotions that claw their way out at inconvenient times, in horrific ways. Every time I see parents tell their children to buck up or not to cry I want to shake them. I want to hug their kids. I want to hug past me, little baby me who had parental interaction on a set schedule, who held hands with her father once a day when he walked her into school
If every post is as long and draining as this one I might not survive the month, holy shit. Sorry about that. I got carried away. I'm incredibly, hilariously uncertain about posting this. Especially the pictures. I'm about to give myself a panic attack over this, even though I know no one will actually read or see it. I'd like to think it might make a difference, somewhere, somehow. Maybe I can shock one person into getting help, or helping a friend.
And for myself, note: never, never go back to this. Never. Remember how much binging sucked? Yeah? Yeah. Let's never, ever do that again.
I'm writing now just to procrastinate posting. This comes with a massive ginormous TRIGGER WARNING. And pictures with partial nudity & photoshop-covered boobies. I'm probably going to regret this, but. HERE GOES.
February 14th:
I don't want this to happen to anyone else, ever.
I feel horrible when I say things like "some people shouldn't have children", but it's an unfortunate truth. I feel even worse saying it about my own parents. Because I know they tried their very best. I know they believe they did alright. On paper, they were perfect. They supported me physically and financially. They put me through more school than strictly required. They fed me and clothed me and loved me, they were never intentionally cruel.
It's easy to say someone is bad for physically abusing a child, for intentionally causing them pain, for physically neglecting or withholding things necessary for that child to survive. Physical hurt is visible, tangible, leaves evidence one can point at and say THERE. THAT'S WHY. Emotional abuse has become much more openly recognized problem, even if the effects aren't physical. The intent to harm is clear, to all involved, to bystanders.
Emotional neglect, though, is something that's hardly recognized, that doesn't show up in scholarly articles or studies. The most comprehensive review I've seen of it (here) is a single woman's lifelong study. It isn't in the DSM ("neglect of a child" listed there is treated as malignant, not benign).
The idea that I'd been emotionally neglected as a child never even occurred to me until one day, at the end of our session, after hesitating over it for a good five minutes, my therapist finally said that it sounded like my parents had been benignly emotionally neglectful.
I threw a shit fit. I defended them backwards and forwards, up and down and sideways. They've always supported me, I argued. I still argue. They've financially supported me far longer than they ever had to. I left that therapist months later after leaving her facility, and she never brought it up again, not once.
I didn't really consider it again until years later, when I found the above website. And reading through the testimonials, the lists of symptoms and thought-patterns that so pervade my life - I started crying harder than I had in a long time. I've felt, for so long, that there's something wrong with me. Something that no one has ever been to completely explain. I have a myriad diagnoses, but none of them ever got to me like this one. None of them ever hit home so hard. I've always felt like such a fraud, a faker, because I'm not a trauma victim, or an abuse victim. My childhood was stable. I've never had a reason to be as screwed up as I am. I think emotional neglect usually gets swept up in other labels, seen as a part of the abuse or the trauma. On its own, it's never recognized. It's never treated. It isn't really even seen as a problem; were I to face my parents on this, they'd probably just stare at me blankly. My current therapist has never broached the topic, although my parents are definitely a major topic of discussion.
The problem as I see it lies in that it's not an action that causes the harm, but rather a lack of action. And that is so, so much harder to pinpoint. It's easy to tell a parent not to hit a child, but how do you tell them to show more emotion to their child? My parents don't believe in emotions. Discussing feelings was never something we did, was something ridiculed by my father especially. It was "girly", god forbid. It was weak. One therapist had to give me a feelings wheel, and had me write down with every meal how I was feeling, because I truly had no idea how to differentiate the emotions inside me. I'd never been taught how to express them, not to others, and not to myself.
This post got rather sidetracked. I've tried for so long to pinpoint where things went "wrong", what made me so broken. I know part of it is genetic; my parents both have their own host of psychological problems they largely refuse to admit to. But it's partially environmental as well, and given my lack of trauma, I was always stumped. I'm still stumped, in many ways. So many times, I've wished I HAD gone through a trauma. Not in a masochistic way, but because then I could have a reason. Then I could tell myself and everyone else why I am the way I am. I'd have something to "work on" in therapy other than "I'm depressed and suicidal and I have no idea why." It frustrates me and it frustrates everyone around me.
I still don't understand how I got so far, so lost, with no one noticing, or doing anything. My parents were truly shocked when they finally found out about my eating disorder, despite my emaciated frame. My friends were probably not as oblivious (my parents have disordered eating problems of their own), but none of them ever said anything to me. It became a game to me, to see how far I could go before someone called me out. And in the end, it became clearly apparent to me that I could kill myself before someone would say a thing. And I came so, so close to getting there.
This is why I think emotional neglect is so, so dangerous. I never learned how to communicate my emotions, how to ask for support or help, and so I withdrew. I withdrew, from such an early age, that people stopped trying to connect with me. I never even knew that was something I should want. But humans are social creatures, and whether I knew it or not, I needed connection. But I didn't know how to ask, how to communicate, how to be an emotional human being, and so that need festered inside me. It broke through in horrible, self-destructive ways that no one in my life could understand, that I didn't understand, that no one wanted to understand.
The moral of the story is: feelings are important, bitches. Expressing them may seem silly and cheesy, but it keeps us from turning into cesspools of ten thousand indistinguishable emotions that claw their way out at inconvenient times, in horrific ways. Every time I see parents tell their children to buck up or not to cry I want to shake them. I want to hug their kids. I want to hug past me, little baby me who had parental interaction on a set schedule, who held hands with her father once a day when he walked her into school
If every post is as long and draining as this one I might not survive the month, holy shit. Sorry about that. I got carried away. I'm incredibly, hilariously uncertain about posting this. Especially the pictures. I'm about to give myself a panic attack over this, even though I know no one will actually read or see it. I'd like to think it might make a difference, somewhere, somehow. Maybe I can shock one person into getting help, or helping a friend.
And for myself, note: never, never go back to this. Never. Remember how much binging sucked? Yeah? Yeah. Let's never, ever do that again.
I'm writing now just to procrastinate posting. This comes with a massive ginormous TRIGGER WARNING. And pictures with partial nudity & photoshop-covered boobies. I'm probably going to regret this, but. HERE GOES.
February 14th:
2005
04:57 pm - Gross people won all the grammys...
Norah Jones? John Mayor? EW. Green Day good though ^_^
mm omg. celery with peanut butter. childhood memories -_- SOGOOD!!
Today was boring. Nothing happened. Sigh. But it could have been worse :lol:
Almost no homework! YES! That means I can watch the last farscape :wee:
See, this is what happens when Siri gets left home alone. She starts eating peanut butter and jelly out of the jar. :mellow: YUM
06:57 pm - Cut open my stomach and take it all out
ok. Do I have to have every single problem in the world?! Is it necessary for some reason?!
Food. Fat. Bloated. I just can't get over it. I constantly want to be skinnier, I always want to eat less and feel that nice flat feeling. But for some reason now I always always feel bloated, I'm not happy till I go in the morning and gaaaaaaah it drives me insane. Why can't I just be normal?
And then this binging. I can't stand it. I looked up binge eating and it sounds *exactly* the same. I can't control it. I'm happy while I'm eating even when I know I'm going to hate myself after. And I do. I let my stomach out and I look at it and just. It makes me sick. I eat when I'm not hungry. I eat just simply cause I want to eat. And then that translates into feeling full the next day and it just keeps going. I try to control it, I try to tell myself what to eat and when to eat. I set up a nice little schedule, which works up until the point I get home. Today I ate a roll, then celery with peanut butter and strawberries, then peanut butter and jelly, then crackers, then more celery... I just can't stop. Then candy. Then cake. I CAN'T CONTROL IT AND I HATE IT. I want to be skinny, I want to feel not bloated for once. Even when I haven't eaten all day I still feel bloated. It's what I hate the most, the feeling of being starving because I haven't eaten in so long and yet feeling so fucking bloated.
I want to be normal. God I want to be normal.
08:54 pm - Don't worry about me... I've never felt better.
omg
that was the saddest tv episode i've ever seen in my life
can i bawl now?
09:39 pm - I don't... hurt. I... I did some good things. I'm proud of my life. And I'm with you.
gah. Because I'm just. Dead. ew. I had to do SOMETHING:
2006
12:10 am - sick of it
I AM SO SICK OF BEING INVISIBLE
I AM SO SICK OF FEELING SO CRAPPY ALL THE TIME
I AM SO SICK OF THINKING ABOUT FOOD ALL THE TIME
I AM SO SICK OF FEELING FAT
I AM SO SICK OF HURTING MYSELF
I AM SO SICK OF BEING DEPRESSED
I AM SO SICK OF LIFE
I AM SO SICK OF EVERYONE NOT CARING
I AM SO SICK OF MYSELF
09:08 pm - AHHH
WTFFFFF WHEN DID I START SAYING >.< INSTEAD OF >_< ?!?!?!?!?! *is really freaked out*
2009
07:53 am - (no subject)
BMI is finally finally F.I.N.A.L.L.Y. back in the sixteens. Of course, I'd prefer back in the thirteens... but I'll take sixteens for now.
08:40 am - (no subject)
Oh no =(
11:27 am - (no subject)
Y'know, if you don't want to read this you don't have to.
And if you've moved on with your life then I'm happy for you.
I just wish you'd clue me in on wtf I'm supposed to think. Cause I've tried several times, and the ball is in your court, and I really hate not knowing.
12:42 pm - (no subject)
I can't fucking think about anything but fucking food.
I can't deal with my schedule getting messed up. I just can't. FUCK.
04:45 pm - (no subject)
I really didn't want to binge wiht my parents here.
k;jaherk;awjer
i need someone to tell me how much ir eally dont want to be oing this
06:56 pm - i'm going fucking insane.
( From earlier today. I'm trying to convince myself that the food I ate can't have made fat layers cover all of this in 2 hours. )
2010
08:42 am - (no subject)
So I was totally not expecting a new low this morning but 107.2 yay?!?
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