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Dr. Arbitrary posted:Did PJ's computer break again? I want to thank everyone who has participated in this thread so far, it has meant a great deal to me. In that vein, I feel I should explain myself a bit and beg forgiveness for my slow rate of participation in this thread of late. I have been thinking of making this post for some time, but it is kind of E/Nish and not quite on topic. And you guys have already been so supportive and kind, and it has been my desire to only put into this thread things directly related to Authoritarians. However, I feel a real explanation is owed. Moreover, this thread (and my earlier threads) has played a role in my personal healing journey, and I thought it might be neat to try and share that experience. Going back a few years to when I wrote my earlier threads, I was always very flattered and very grateful that they generated so much interest and positive feedback. I put a lot of effort into those threads, and it was deeply meaningful to me to be able to communicate my experiences. However, with each of those threads, I would suddenly just dry up one day and stop posting. I couldn’t explain it at the time, but as those threads played out a sense of anxiety about the whole thing would grow in me. I would do my best to ignore it at first, to power through it all, but it would keep growing. As this sense of dread grew a knot would form in my stomach at the very thought of the thread, and over the course of 2-3 days it would get harder and harder to ignore this pervasive sense of terror whenever I would look at or think about those threads. It would become too much and I would find myself unable to write, unable to participate. I would stare for hours with an open reply tab and not be able to find a way to get it all out. Even though I felt like there was still much I wanted to say, I would find myself unable to post anymore. I felt terribly during those times, like I was letting people down, moreso, like I was letting myself down. Here I was finally able to communicate my experiences to an interested audience, here was the chance to in some small way speak out about what I had experienced, and I wasn’t strong enough to follow through. And that hurt. I would sit and stare at those threads, longing to write more posts, to get out the words I felt rattling inside me. But I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. It was too terrifying, and I couldn’t explain why. I would sometimes stare for hours at one of those threads, with a reply tab open, and just not be able to get myself to write a word. In the end I would eventually (and very begrudgingly) abandon the project, surrendering to the fear I couldn’t conquer. In so doing I would experience a rush of relief, like a deep fear had abated. For some bizarre (and extremely frustrating) reason, giving up made me feel safe. It is an embarrassing thing to admit, but it is true. Giving up brought immense relief. (And an immense sense of shame) Fast forewords to about a month before I started this thread. At the time, my Mother had been reaching out to me, trying to reconnect. I had been out of touch with her (and frankly the rest of my family) for years. In fact, when I left Ohio to come to San Antonio seeking help for my mental condition in late 2012 (I had never been to a psychologist in my life at that point and never been diagnosed, but I had a recognition that I needed help) I did so without speaking a word to any of my family. I just up and left. It was a couple weeks before any of my family found out I had left. (From what I am told when they learned that I had gone to a homeless shelter in Texas to seek mental health treatment they thought for months it was just an elaborate hoax I had orchestrated.) I have in the course of my time living in a treatment center (for 7 months) been a part of the process of adult children re-connecting with parents, and deep down I really yearned to have a healthy relationship with my Mother. (Watching the forgiveness and healing that takes place between a parent and child when they reconcile over past abuse is a truly beautiful thing.) So when my Mother started to reach out to me, I was delighted. She called me to talk every couple weeks, and our relationship seemed to be finally showing promise. I had written her several extensive letters expressing my feelings as honestly as I could, and things seemed to be smoothing over between us. My Mother even seemed to be taking some tentative steps towards admitting that enrolling us in the cult school had been a mistake. Mostly though we tried to keep our conversations on neutral topics, things like music we mutually enjoyed. I was trying to find some common ground, and I believed my Mother was as well. Even though things did seem to be improving between us, I started to feel badly about it all for reasons I could not guess. After every conversation with my Mother, I always felt worse for some reason. Even more alarming, the sheer rage that I carried towards my Mother started to rear its ugly head again, dashing my hopes that I had left it behind. (One of the major parts of my healing path had been trying to let go of the rage I felt towards my Mother, and I had been hoping against hope that I had been successful.) As time and contact with my Mother wore on though, I felt more and more of my old animosity towards her, and I could not explain why. I started to despair that perhaps there was no way for me to let go of my rage, no way for my symptoms to allow me a relationship with my Mother. I felt terrible, for it seemed that finally as she was reaching out to me, I was finding it impossible to truly return the gesture. On our final conversation things went quite pleasantly, but rather than avoiding discussion of the past, this time I brought it up. Towards the end of the conversation I mentioned several incidents that had occurred in my childhood, and my Mother's response greatly dismayed me. She admitted that her actions were "not good" (which was a remarkable concession considering her "Mother of the Year" image she tried so hard to project), but then she followed it up with "back then I had alot of demons, but its okay now because I have cast all those demons out." I was stunned by her response. The childish way that her actions were being blamed on "demons" knocked the wind out of me. I told her that I could not accept that as an answer, and I mentioned that I had specifically stated in one of my letters that blaming things on demons was just an excuse to me. My Mother replied "Well, I didn't read *ALL* your letters *ALL* the way to the end". I ended the conversation very shortly after that. I thought about that conversation for weeks, and in the meantime, my anger towards my Mother was creeping back towards the surface. I was becoming easily agitated and my friends were noticing. After a long, hard conversation with myself, I decided that for my own sake, I had to cut ties with my Mother. After thinking it over I realized that in all the cases of parents re-connecting with adult children that I had been a party to in some form (most often in therapy and support groups) I had always seen the parent accept full responsibility for what had occurred during the child's years growing up under their roof. I had never seen an adult attempt such a childish dodge, and to me that meant that I could not trust that a relationship with my Mother was a good idea. Perhaps her motives were genuine, but even if they were, the only explanation for her responses was that she was still in denial, still refusing to accept responsibility for her own actions. I realized that with her still in denial, any relationship between us would almost certainly resume old patterns of abuse. I decided that for my own health, I had to cut off ties with my Mother. It was a decision I agonized over for a solid week, seeking any way I could find to have a relationship with my Mother without putting myself at risk of abuse returning, but I could think of none. Complicating the matter was the thought that cutting ties with her would surely come as a massive blow and how could I do that to here when she was just finally reaching out to me. (I had no desire to hurt her) In the end though, I concluded that I had to value myself enough to put my own needs first, and though cutting ties would hurt her that was really a consequence of her own actions. I did not trust her, and in thinking it over I concluded that I had very good reasons for not trusting her. The truth was she needed to find a way to earn my trust before I could ever let her back into my life, and after thinking it over I realized the only way I would ever trust her is if I saw real proof that she was getting help, and even then it would take a long time before I felt safe enough to let her back in my life. I called my parents one final time. I laid out simple terms, I said wanted a relationship with them both, but going forwards it would only ever be on my terms. I simply stated that I did not feel that I could trust my Mother, and that I had no desire to speak to her until I was shown proof that she had been getting professional help. I set the boundary at my Mother seeing a licensed therapist weekly for at least a year (with documentation shown to me proving such) before I would speak to her again. I then told my Father that I found his financial exploitation of my siblings despicable, and until he and my Mother were living on their own (they currently mooch off my three younger siblings rather than applying for benefits) I never wanted to speak to him again either. In the course of the conversation, I at one point told me Mother very plainly "I am not your son, I am your victim. You are not my mother, you are my abuser". Those words were harsh, but I really meant them.( I did not say them lightly, I had spent hours planning what I would say very carefully.) The whole conversation was brief and to the point. I was polite, but direct. I didn’t attempt to rehash out old grievances or insult my parents, but I did not back down from saying what I meant. The conversation was short, less than two minutes. For days afterwards the phrase "I am not your son" played over and over in my head, making me feel strangely proud and defiant. This tormented me. On the one hand I recognized what a hurtful thing that is to say to your own Mother, and I questioned what sort of a maniac would feel pride at saying "I am not your Son" to his own Mother? On the other hand, I did feel genuinely proud of myself, and I really did savor the memory of that moment. I found myself very torn, while what I had done was arguably proper and necessary, I saw no reason to gloat over having caused my own Mother pain by saying such a hurtful (though true) thing. After about four days of trying to puzzle this odd conundrum out, something clicked. I am NOT Your Son I thought to myself, because I am your daughter. All of a sudden my long interest in reading personal accounts of MtF transitioning came into sharp focus. Oh my God, I'm Trans! So I'll skip the whole confusing period after I first came out to myself and head right to the relevant part of this wandering story, (I promise, this is all going somewhere.) the part where I started to accept that I was Trans. Coming out to myself was, needless to say, a very confusing shock. But as I accepted it and started to make the very earliest steps of transitioning (mostly just changing my style of dress, wearing my hair in a feminine way, and thinking of myself as female) I started to experience a tremendous release, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying. On the one hand I was a 220 pound (fairly masculine) dude who suddenly discovered his love of lavender bubble baths and scented candles (which is not what I had ever pictured myself doing). On the other hand, the first time I walked out my front door wearing the most feminine attire my limited wardrobe had with my hair worn in long flowing locks, I felt such a surge of easy self confidence and happiness that I cannot even describe. I felt so comfortable, so happy. It all just felt like....... me. As I experimented with my own feminine side I rapidly discovered a decrease in my overall anxiety level as well as a significant increase in my motivation and my desire to be sociable. My whole outlook on life started to change for the better. I started to write again after not having written anything since the A.C.E. thread. About a month after I came out to myself is when I started this thread, and I entered into this thread consciously hoping that by addressing my previously unrecognized Gender Dysphoria, that I might avoid the rise of the particular anxiety that meant the inevitable end of this project. (I felt so much better in so many ways, Perhaps it was the anxiety of interacting as a man that caused the anxiety in the past threads? I reasoned to myself.) Initially my efforts were rewarded, as I was able to write more and more without feeling that old sinking sense of despair creeping up. As time passed I was beside myself with delight. About the same time I started this thread I also entered into therapy. I have been working with therapists on and off for three years now, and it has become my accustomed habit to work with a therapist whenever I felt that I was facing issues that were so painful that I wanted the comfort and assistance of professional help. (I generally have had specific issues in mind that I wanted to work on with a therapist and would set out milestones for myself.) I would always end my therapy sessions once I had met any milestones I had set for that particular series of therapy sessions. I would then continue my work on myself alone until I encountered another issue (or set of issues really) that I felt that a therapist would be of great benefit as I worked through it (them) and then I would resume weekly therapy sessions. After thinking it over, I had decided that it would be best to go back into therapy to work through my Gender Dysphopria. (Thankfully the Center for Healthcare Services here in San Antonio offers free counseling/therapy sessions for anyone interested. All I had to do to set up with a new therapist was to tell my Case Manager that I wanted one during our weekly visit*.) *The program that pays for my rent/utilities also provides weekly in-patient visits with a case manager, which is frankly an amazing service that I am beyond grateful for. For the past three years now (ever since becoming homeless) my primary focus (almost a job really) has been my recovery, (I haven’t worked since August 2012) and during this time I have participated in quite literally the better part of 1,000 hours worth of therapy, the majority of that having been group therapy of one form or another. I have been blessed to have personally witnessed dozens of occasions where people had massive breakthroughs in therapy, tearful meltdowns as they finally accepted a bitter personal truth. I have also participated in about a half dozen individuals experiencing the emergence of repressed memories. But I had never experienced either of those things myself. I used to wonder why that was, why had I managed to keep a clear memory of everything despite how terrible it all was? Now I don’t wonder that anymore. In therapy long forgotten memories started to emerge, memories of shockingly severe abuse when I was three or four years old, abuse related to my childish attempts to express my Gender Dysphoria. Coming out to myself had opened an internal Pandora’s Box, as long repressed memories started to force their way to the surface. Memories of episodes of crossdressing, and an intense fascination with being a girl when I was very young. I started to remember I had gotten into my Mother’s makeup and clothing a number of times, as well as expressing an interest in everything female. The reaction from my parents……… how do I even describe? My Father lead the worship at the Fundie church we attended at the time, my Mother was an organizer for the local Right To Life chapter. And my parents owned a copy of “To Train Up a Child”. And their eldest son was experiencing Gender Dysphoria. I have a vivid memory of being about three and a half, I was riding around the kitchen on my little toy tryke. The stairs to the basement were in the kitchen, and the basement door was open. I was turned half to the side to the basement door, talking to my Mother, who was seated at the table. I remember asking Mother if I prayed hard enough could Jesus turn me into a girl?, My Mother got up from the table, looked at me silently, and calmly kicked me sideways down the stairs. After I stopped crying she told me that it was demons that had pushed me, and demons could attack little boys that said they wanted to be girls. There was another incident I remembered, one when I was about four. I had gone into my Mother’s bedroom and investigated her makeup box. It had long been a forbidden object of fascination for me. Then I started playing with the makeup, and all of a sudden I realized I had done it again. I had played with the makeup again, and I was in big trouble. Terrified I hid under my Mother’s desk. When I was discovered, I clung for dear life to the desk legs. My Father forcefully ripped me out from under the desk, hefted me upside down by my legs, dangled me over the banister with one hand, and delivered a brutal spanking with the other while I was so suspended. I never touched the makeup again. Looking back now I can see that I was simply traumatized into suppressing my gender identity. I can see now that I was constantly scrutinized for signs of feminine behavior by my parents until well into my teenage years, and as a result I had learned to associate being perceived as feminine with mortal threat. I had learned to suppress every outward sign of femininity at a deep level as a survival instinct. A number of times during my teenage years my mother had icily accused me of being gay seemingly out of the blue. I think now my Mother was constantly scrutinizing me for any signs of my interest in being a girl re-emerging, and for whatever reason at the time she was suspicious. The emergence of these memories (and many more like them) was profoundly painful, for many reasons. But one of the most painful was how it shattered my image of my childhood. For a long time I had always cherished many happy memories from my very young years, and I had believed that the abuse in my family had not really started until we got involved with the cult school when I was five and a half. Even then, I did not remember the abuse becoming really pronounced until I was about nine, and I had thought it was years of involvement with the cult that had brought about the worst of it. The emergence of these memories though made me realize that there had been brutal abuse all along. Slowly, memories of the bizarro-world that existed behind closed doors in my childhood started to emerge. Memories of abuse not tied to my gender dysphoria emerged as well. I started to realize that as bad as the cult school had been, my homelife as a child, (and especially the years when I and my siblings were homeschooled), were much much worse. The cult school had not been a cause of the abuse, it had been a symptom of an already deeply abusive environment. I started to have memories of long lonely hours spent in the pitch dark, inventing games out of flipping shoes to pass the time. (I was locked in the closet frequently as a punishment until I got big enough to start kicking down the flimsy door.) I remembered the time that all four of us were given “The Corner” for a month as punishment for disobedience. From the moment we got up in the morning, until the moment we went to sleep at night, we all sat facing the corner. We were given occasional bathroom breaks, but that was it. Meals were eaten sitting facing the corner. Silence was strictly enforced. For a month. For the whole loving month of June. Just four kids, sitting facing the corner while our mother sat in the room and watched us. The slightest sign that we had snuck a toy to help pass the time, or were looking away from the center of the corner, or any number of other unimaginably small infractions would bring a blow from a wooden paddle down on our shoulders or backs without warning. One moment there was silence and the smells of summer wafting in through the open window, and the next moment the wet slap of oak on flesh, and then the screaming. I can remember just feeling grateful whenever it wasn’t me getting hit. So in the background of writing this thread I have been working my way through these memories. About six weeks ago I started to get that old intense anxiety, and I started to falter. It became difficult to participate in this thread, or even think about it. (This time though I was determined to understand the source o this anxiety and confront it.) I explored this anxiety in my therapy and discovered that the source of my anxiety was positive validation. (Or rather, receiving positive validation.) Specifically, I was terrified of being liked and accepted by strangers, and I was especially terrified of people taking notice of my efforts. As bizarre as it sounds, receiving positive feedback, having my efforts and ideas and experiences validated, made me terribly afraid. I felt like it would all be ripped away at any moment, like the sword of Damocles was hanging over my head and I was just so sick of the anxiety I wished it would drop and get it over with already. At the suggestion of my therapist, I started reading extensively about child abuse and in particular the effects of abusive mothers. And then, about a month ago, in a therapy session, I finally put it all together. It all sort of hit me like a ton of bricks, and the memories came flooding mess. And then I experienced a big break through, and I turned into a mushy pile of tears as I accepted a bitter personal truth. My mother is a no poo poo full blown narcissist. The abuse, it wasn't just abuse. It was deliberate, calculated, torture. My mother is incapable of loving, she is a predator, and myself and my siblings, we were her narcissistic supply. Her abuse dolls that she could amuse herself by tormenting. The cult school was just another part of the conditioning we were put through to normalize the abuse. My entire childhood I was just a thing for a sick gently caress to get her jollies off by loving with. And my Father, he was her co-dependent enabler. He taught us kids to accept it all and blame ourselves, while he stayed away from the house as much as he could arrange on endless "business". When he was home he acted the part of enforcer, when our mother was away he made elaborate excuses for her, even pantomiming her Narcissistic rages (She would scream things like "FUCKMYSHITFUCKMYSHITFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!" at the top of her lungs at the slightest provocation, often while striking us kids with various implements.). This in conjunction with witnessing similar behaviors from the parents of our friends on our rare sleepovers lead us to believe that this was how good parents raised their children. Only bad parents did not practice godly discipline, and that is why "worldly" children grew up to be drug addicts and gangsters. Or worse, gay. As these memories have flooded back I have gained a new understanding of my childhood. My bizarre, hosed up, upside down fantasyland, childhood. I was the eldest of fours, and when I was young it was clear that I was very intelligent. I was my mother's favored son, her golden child. In families with a narcissistic parent there is always a golden child who can do no wrong, and that was me, at first. My talents and intelligence brought me recognition, my first few years in the cult school I ran circles around the other children. Then when I was nine things changed, and the teacher in charge of my room that year singled me out for special harassment. I was burdened with extra work, and my flag was often left unanswered for long periods of time. (In an A.C.E. school this is debilitating and leaves the student unable to do anything but sit silently and wait.) I was also targeted. Without warning months worth of my accumulated work would be gathered and inspected with a fine tooth comb. Every single scoring error that I had made over the course of month would be found in an afternoon, and I would be slammed suddenly with 40 or so demerits. (Any demerit past six meant "whacks", or vicious beatings.) I was the only one to ever receive this special scrutiny. Inwardly, I started to rebel. My 6th, 7th, and 8th grade years my siblings and I were all homeschooled. And it was during those three years that things became completely, completely loving bonkers. I rebelled, and my rebellion cost me golden child status. I became the scapegoat, but I didn't care. I just couldn't loving stand the way my mother was treating my younger siblings. (In particular my 2nd brother was a very sensitive child and my mother tormented him ruthlessly. Often narcissists will pick the weakest child as the scapegoat and bully them endlessly.) But at the same time we were so loving isolated from the outside world, we had no concept of normalcy. For a transwoman, male puberty is painful and terrifying. (As is female puberty for transmen) Many have described the experience as feeling as though the world is ending. And that was my experience, I felt like the world was ending. But on top of that, we were so isolated, and our information so tightly controlled, I had no idea what even boy puberty was supposed to entail. I had only been told that my voice would deepen, and I would become a man. I had heard the word testosterone once or twice, and that was pretty much it. I'm being quite serious, that was all the information I had. So I had no idea how baby was made or that penis went into vagina. So when I started having erections, my gender dysphoria kicked in and I experienced a profound sense of dread. With no knowledge that erections were a normal thing I concluded that what I was experiencing was a mark of some sort, a curse from God. I had associated erections with my "impure thoughts" and I thought the dread the sensation caused was because if my mark were ever discovered, I would be killed. (The mark was because I could not control my impure thoughts) I literally spent two years terrified ever time I had an erection in public that if it showed somehow I might be executed on the spot. I was just about to turn fourteen when a neighborhood kid, with his jaw on the ground, explained how sex worked to me. Just everything about those years was so hosed up. Homeschooling was little more than a cover for my mother's bizarre power fantasies and re-enactments of her own childhood traumas. In addition to generally using A.C.E. materials, my mother constantly devised elaborate systems of tracking and grading our chores and cooperation as if they were a part of the curriculum. Being a narcissist, my Mother designed these systems purposefully to make it impossible for us to succeed in adhering to them. Inevitably there would be a protracted period where the flaws of the system left us kids finding ourselves constantly in violation of some rule or other, and then suddenly one day our mother would just cease acknowledging our existence. We would wake up, file into the schoolroom, ready to start school, except there was no school that day. We would sit there nervously while our Mother simply ignored us and occupied herself with some sort of personal activity(panting, organizing right to life events, etc). No amount of pleading could get her to speak a single word to us or even look at us. So homeschooling would suddenly be over until further notice. It could be days, weeks, or months, where we were treated as if we barely existed. We were ignored completely and outside of a near daily verbal brawl between my mother and I, nothing happened. And then one day homeschooling would suddenly be back in session, and there would be a whole new obtuse system of rules and charts, and this new system would also prove impossible to adhere to. And the cycle would repeat. I will detail one series of events to demonstrate just how bizarre things were and to just what lengths my mother's psychosis would drive her too. Towards the winter of my 8th grade year I had been in a full time rebellion battle of wills with my mother for years. I constantly fought with my mother, often defying her abuse of my siblings. (I believe she would purposefully abuse my siblings in front of me to provoke me) Our screaming matches were legendary and long, schizophrenic transwoman versus narcissist. My mother would often provoke massive fights, then retire to her room where she would pass into a deep sleep for 3-4 hours. (When she awoke, we never knew what sort of person was going to walk back down the stairs.) I still believed in Jesus at the time and used to beg him often to "fix mommy", and for a while I really believed my prayers had been answered. At the time it was late November and my constant fighting with my mother had paid off. I had united my siblings against her and forced my father to finally start showing some backbone and challenging her irrational behavior. I had also secretly taped some of her narcissistic rages, and though I had hidden the tape well, I had left the camera I had used to be found. The holidays were coming up and during a private but very heated argument I was begging my mother to please not pick fights with my siblings during the upcoming holidays. In the middle of my mother's usual screaming tirade she suddenly calmed down and fixed me with a sweet smile and asked if I wanted a sweet family Christmas. I told her yes, of course. She then with the biggest smile told me that just for me, we would have a happy family holidays, but it would "just be pretend". Nearly overnight she became a kind and loving mother. We went from being starved for attention to being showered with it. there were no massive fights, no bizarre fits over small infractions. Arguments were resolved peaably. The house calmed down. During this time, every so often, when it was just me and her, my mother would say bizarre things to me. "Remember Prester, this is just Pretend Mommy". She would say as I cleared the dinner table. "Pretend Mommy is just for you Prestor, I hope you enjoy her while she is visiting" she remarked to me during a private moment of my birthday party. I didn't know what she meant, I was just so happy that my prayers had been answered and mommy was fixed. I remember that Christmas, we were awoken to a special candlelight breakfast. My mother waited on us all hand and foot the entire day, and everyone was so happy. My father kept us laughing, we sang carols and shared three gigantic meals together. I thanked Jesus over and over again in my heart. That night I received as many presents as my siblings (the first time since I had become the scapegoat, my gifts were often small, unwrapped, or sometimes I was simply overlooked without an explanation.) I was included in the family Christmas photo (I was often forgotten when it came time to take family photo's and many of the family pictures on the walls were without. me) I was so happy, the day passed so peaceably and so pleasantly. Right before bed my mother caught me alone and once again reminded me "This is only pretend". But aside from her strange remark I was so happy, I felt so safe and protected. I remember sitting up on the couch late that night, after everyone had gone to sleep. I was siping eggnog and watching the light from scented candles dance on the wall. I remember thanking Jesus over and over for fixing Mommy, for making our family happy. I really felt like a loving creator existed and really would answer prayers. About a week later, just before bedtime, I was sitting aone in the living room reading a novel. My Mother walked in, and grinning widely, told me "Pretend Mommy is leaving now Prester, I hope you enjoyed her." The next morning homeschool was suddenly back in session. The four of us kids were awoken at 5:30 in the morning with shouting. We were told that we had been bad and school had been out of session because we were bad, so now school was starting special at 6:30 this morning to make up for it. Soon the entire family was sitting in the schoolroom under the watchful glare of my mother. Even my father was there. (At the time he was self employed and used that as an excuse to stay away from home as much as possible. This morning my mother had forced him to sit there in the school room as her on call enforcer, and he quietly called his customers and handled business while we all worked. At the same time a new system of tracking our chores and behavior was introduced, and it was the most insane one yet. Chores for example were literally impossible to complete. The entire house had been divided into tiny sections, each intended to take fifteen minutes to clean. Because we had all been so bad, us kids were not allowed to be in the same room with each other when doing chores. There was a complicated rotation system in place where each of us had to perform a specific chore at a specific time in order to avoid ever being in the same room together. If someone fell behind, then the next person who was supposed to go into the room had to wait in the hallway. Not all the chores were possible to do "correctly" in fifteen minutes, so snags were constant, and we were constantly being disciplined as a result. There was literally no way to win, just none. No matter how hard you worked something would happen and you would get behind and wind up either spanked or verbally assaulted. Every loving day. And then suddenly one day homeschool was no longer in session, and our existence was once again ignored. This bizarre environment was all we knew. Coming to grips with this has been painful, oh sweet Jesus this hurts. I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone, not even the people who did these things to me when I was a child. I understand now too why positive validation is so triggering for me. When I was in public school, despite the bizarre hellstorm at home and despite how woefully behind my education was in certain areas, I still managed a number of significant achievements. I was on local television several times, and was interviewed by the local paper twice for things related to my activities in school. Publicly my mother celebrated my achievements, but behind closed doors it was a different story. I was the scapegoat, I was not allowed to achieve. So the worst, nastiest, and most inventive abuses, those all occurred whenever I got positive validation from strangers. As a survival instinct, I have learned to associate being treated well with impending terror. I have cried a river of tears in the past month, and my therapist has been guiding me through re-parenting therapy. I can see now I made the right call cutting all ties with my mother, there never was any hope for a healthy relationship. Her reaching out to me, using the promise of her love as bait, was akin the light at the end of a lantern fish. It is just there to tempt me into a vulnerable position where I can be hurt. Accepting this has felt like mourning the death of the mother I yearn for, but honestly never had. I have cried a river of tears. But now me eyes are drying, and I feel like I finally have found something I have searched a long time for. Facing these memories (and I haven't even described the worst, I don't know if I ever will publicly) has been intensely painful. It feels like I have been through the psychological equivalent of one of those internet shock videos where a doctor opens an abscess and umps out half a liter of puss. I feel both like a weight that was eternally pressing down on me has started to lift, but at the same time, the agony of the experience has left me exhausted. Not depressed, not mired in despair, not contemplating ending it all, not confused, more like needing to catch my breath. My symptoms have not flared up in this process, and I am very proud of that. And through this all I have gained an insight I treasure. I know what I really want from life. I want to have my own income and not depend on Disability (which I am still waiting on after nearly 3 years) I want to wake up on Christmas morning next to a person I am in a committed relationship with. I want to spend all Christmas with a family that accepts me as a part of it. It doesn't matter what we do or what form that family takes, just as long as it is a loving family. I have experienced pretend Christmas. I want to experience real Christmas now. And I will endure any amount of pain to reach that goal. It doesn't matter how much it hurts anymore, I know who I really am, and I know what I really want. I feel like I have spent my entire life struggling futilely pinned face down in the muck. And now, after so many years, I have finally gotten my legs beneath me. And despite the pain (and there is quite a lot of that) I am going to find a way to stand. The gently caress. Up.
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I want to again thank everyone for their assistance and patience. This has all meant so much to me, and you have helped me more in my healing journey than I could ever truly describe. I hope to be back to participating regularly. I hope you all will forgive me for missing out on all the things happening at this moment, I quite agree that there are a ton of things to discuss with regards to Dylan Roof and the Confederate Flag, and I eagerly await having the mental energy to write down my observations about all this.
Prester Jane fucked around with this message at 23:25 on Jun 29, 2015 |
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Jun 29, 2015 23:22
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That was very brave of you to share. Thank you. I wish you the best as your healing continues.
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Jun 30, 2015 00:46
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Go at your own pace, PJ. The thread will be here when you're ready for it. It's so good to hear you're getting the help you need and cutting away the people who hurt you so badly.
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Jun 30, 2015 01:05
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That was the single most terrifying thing I've ever read. Jesus Christ.
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Jun 30, 2015 01:16
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I hope the best for you, PJ. May you find greater peace as you continue to heal.
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Jun 30, 2015 01:21
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Prester John posted:Perhaps it was the anxiety of interacting as a man that caused the anxiety in the past threads? Do you want a gift certificate for a name change? You can be Prester Joan or whatever if that'll make it easier to write. You don't even have to write much. Just say hi and that you're thinking about stuff and taking it all in at your own pace.
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Jun 30, 2015 01:36
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Oh god. I've been thinking about this thread since everything went down in Charleston and the following SCOTUS ruling on gay marriage, but please don't hurt yourself for our sake.
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Jun 30, 2015 01:43
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Glad to see you're back Prester John, seriously. Feel free to post at your own pace, we'll be here whenever you're ready. 
fade5 fucked around with this message at 01:51 on Jun 30, 2015 |
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Jun 30, 2015 01:44
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There are no words to describe what you went though, but I can only hope that by writing this out and figuring out what makes these abusive cycles perpetuate, you can help people in similar situations how to heal. Do what you need to so you can cope with your own life stresses as well as managing this thread. Taking care of yourself comes before talking to internet strangers. And from one trans goon to another 
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Jun 30, 2015 01:49
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Just...drat...I almost cried reading that. PJ, if there is anything you need, ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING, let us know.
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Jun 30, 2015 02:05
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quote:The abuse, it wasn't just abuse. It was deliberate, calculated, torture. My mother is incapable of loving, she is a predator, and myself and my siblings, we were her narcissistic supply. Her abuse dolls that she could amuse herself by tormenting. The cult school was just another part of the conditioning we were put through to normalize the abuse. My entire childhood I was just a thing for a sick gently caress to get her jollies off by loving with. And my Father, he was her co-dependent enabler. He taught us kids to accept it all and blame ourselves, while he stayed away from the house as much as he could arrange on endless "business". When he was home he acted the part of enforcer, when our mother was away he made elaborate excuses for her, even pantomiming her Narcissistic rages (She would scream things like "FUCKMYSHITFUCKMYSHITFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!" at the top of her lungs at the slightest provocation, often while striking us kids with various implements.). This in conjunction with witnessing similar behaviors from the parents of our friends on our rare sleepovers lead us to believe that this was how good parents raised their children. Only bad parents did not practice godly discipline, and that is why "worldly" children grew up to be drug addicts and gangsters. Or worse, gay.  How are you still alive Prestor. Nobody should have to endure that kind of hosed child hood.
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Jun 30, 2015 02:23
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Xibanya posted:That was very brave of you to share. Thank you. I wish you the best as your healing continues. atomicgeek posted:Go at your own pace, PJ. The thread will be here when you're ready for it. It's so good to hear you're getting the help you need and cutting away the people who hurt you so badly. Jack Gladney posted:I hope the best for you, PJ. May you find greater peace as you continue to heal. fade5 posted:Glad to see you're back Prester John, seriously. What they said. Thank you for bravely sharing all this with us and I'm really happy to hear that you're making progress in your healing process.
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Jun 30, 2015 02:33
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Well, I now have a new and completely horrifying metric for evil. That fake-mom Christmas thing is the purest essence of evil. I mean, she knows how to run a family properly, was completely able to run a family properly, and made everyone happy, and then took it all away just so that its absence would be that much worse. There are no words for the level of hosed up that that is. Prester, you are a better person than I, and I respect your attitude. The best thing you can do to spite that woman is to be the best person that you can possibly be and to live a functioning life. If you have the time and the emotional energy, it might be worth it to reach out to your siblings; chances are they could use the help just as much as you did. Edit: If you don't mind my asking, why do you capitalize Mother? You mentioned earlier that that's something that schizophrenics do; what extra importance does Mother have over the non-capitalized form?
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Jun 30, 2015 03:10
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You are strong and brave and cool and smart and interesting and kind and valuable and I'm glad you are sharing with us.
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Jun 30, 2015 03:27
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You are such a strong willed person to be able to make those steps. I just want you to know that everyone here is rooting for you.
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Jun 30, 2015 03:37
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Just post at your own rate dude. You matter. Take all the time you need and respond when you feel comfortable. This thread probably isn't going anywhere. If you need a random internet stranger to listen and empathize with you, I've got private messaging. We're all pulling for ya, we're all in this world together.
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Jun 30, 2015 04:01
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Dirk the Average posted:Well, I now have a new and completely horrifying metric for evil. That fake-mom Christmas thing is the purest essence of evil. I mean, she knows how to run a family properly, was completely able to run a family properly, and made everyone happy, and then took it all away just so that its absence would be that much worse. There are no words for the level of hosed up that that is. Agreed. We're rooting for you PJ.
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Jun 30, 2015 04:28
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What the people above said. Best of luck, PJ.
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Jun 30, 2015 08:57
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I'm not going to join the outpouring of praise and positive validation after reading that post. All I wish to remark on is one thing you said (phone posting so not gonna mess about with quotes) which, paraphrased, was that you wouldn't wish this on anyone, even your abusers. This is key. It means you possess the one thing that means you won't turn out like your parents: empathy. You're in a unique position to turn your nightmare into a positive force in the world by helping others escape and recover from similar situations. While you're under no obligation to do this, and no-one would blame you for running as far away from those kind of people as you can and never looking back, I think the satisfaction and healing you would derive for yourself would make it worth looking into. And besides, running away doesn't strike me as being part of your MO, the way you face up to things in your posts. Good luck.
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Jun 30, 2015 12:46
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PJ, both me and my girlfriend struggle or have struggled with narcistic mothers and gender dysphoria. Thankfully it was nowhere as extreme as what you've experienced. So while I can't say that I know how you feel, some parts of your post were very recognizable. I couldn't read it all in one go as I was reminded by negative (but also some positive) experiences of my own or my girlfriend's. It must have been so much harder to write that. But you did, and both you and I know that sharing experiences with each other is how we learn about these things, and can find some peace in ourselves. You're a very brave woman, PJ. You have a sharp mind but you're also very emphatic. You've gone through hell on earth but you still survived. Please, never feel pressured to post here if you don't want to, what you want is most important. I wish you best of luck on your journey.
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Jun 30, 2015 13:26
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All of the best, PJ. Here's hoping that the hardest part of all of this is behind you and you'll have a smoother road from now on. Your point about being terrified by positive validation made me remember something that might make sense to you. Back when I was a teenager I'd go play soccer with friends at a building that had a small soccer field. Afterwards, we'd often go to a nearby bakery for a snack. On day, I'd forgotten to brinf money and wasn't that hungry anyway, so I sat outside in the sun while they went in. An old guy walked along and also sat on the bench. Then saw the numbers tattooed on his arm. He saw my eyes going huge, of course, and laughed. We started talking (mostly just him telling me about it all), and he was a thoroughly understanding, calm guy regarding my clumsy questions. The thing I remember most, though, was what he said at the end. "you know what was the most terrifying thing about it all? The day after. When I was outside the fences and it was all behind me. What would I do? What -could- I do? The world was a huge, scary thing now." As a captive, there had been fear, but it was so much a part of the routine of survival it barely even registered: fear of being caught with a cigarette, or fear that the shift guard would be in a bad mood. It was just a blip in the radar of daily survival. We are creatures of habit and pattern, and we can adjust to the most harrowing and shameful things. And then that system that he had become to apt at navigating was no more, overnight. He'd have to find another life, another role. Another whole identity, in a way, because so much of who he was had perished in that camp and that war. Family, friends, hometowns, expectations , trust in others. So yes, things finally improving can be more painful and terrifying than the cage ever was. But not for long.
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Jun 30, 2015 16:27
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 This sort of experience is so alien to me. It makes me profoundly grateful that my parents were good people. Good luck PJ, I've got loads of respect for you.
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Jun 30, 2015 16:44
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I'm so glad you had your breakthrough moment. I agree that you are in a fantastic position to turn all of this crazy abuse into a positive. You can help others while continuing to heal yourself. You are obviously one strong mutha.
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Jun 30, 2015 20:09
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You aren't indebted to us PJ, there's no need to apologize. No child deserves what you suffered. We all wish you happiness. What strikes me about your mother isn't just the inhumanity, but the almost child-like approach to it. "Tee-hee i'm only pretending to be nice", "it was, uh, demons that hurt you". I'm also kind of curious about the social dynamics that allowed this catastrophe of yours to continue. Could/Should others in that community have known or suspected?
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Jul 1, 2015 06:23
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Now that I think about. PJ, do these new revelations about your mom change your theories about Authoritarians at all?
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Jul 1, 2015 12:53
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BigRed0427 posted:Now that I think about. PJ, do these new revelations about your mom change your theories about Authoritarians at all? Seconding this question, though it will probably take time to fit the pieces into place seeing as you seem to be in a bit of a turbulent spot right now. And reading about what you're going through I don't think anybody can blame you for being as batty as you turned out to be. Hopefully the insights you're gaining will enable you to more consistently kick rear end, because what I've seen from you in the past has been impressive up until you hit your limit and split. snorch fucked around with this message at 15:38 on Jul 1, 2015 |
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Jul 1, 2015 15:32
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I don't think it needs to be said, but take as much time as you need, P.J. No project is worth more than your health and well-being.
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Jul 1, 2015 16:01
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This doesn't require a response from PJ or anything, but the black churches being burned has me thinking of this isn't a minor authoritarian event in response to Roof forcing a shift in the status quo. "The confederate flag represents heritage " narrative seems to have fallen apart.
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Jul 1, 2015 17:40
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Well, the black churches burning haven't been called out as domestic terrorism yet. Unless you're specifically paying attention it seems to be pretty on the downlow. The people who are behind it (I'm going to assume white dudes, but it could be white ladies) are going to cause major problems if they get taken alive though. The harder it is to downplay why people are doing what they're doing, the less control the Authoritarians have over the narrative and the more likely they are to let the Inner Narrative out into the open. You can see it in the fruitless attempts to convince people that Roof was an anti-religion extremist that they tried to get started right after the shootings.
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Jul 1, 2015 20:19
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I stop reading this thread for a couple weeks and come back to one of the most horrifyingly depressing and depressingly horrifying things I have ever read. Good luck PJ, you're way stronger and more together than I could even pretend that I'd be if I were in your shoes. I think I need to hug my mother next time I see her and thank her for being normal.
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Jul 1, 2015 22:36
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This is a good validation of my critiques on this thread. While JP's thesis is compelling, she is way too close to the source material and that is influencing her analysis. For example, her views on RWA and homosexuality seems more like an example of grandiose thinking relating to her situation, as opposed to a strong predictive analysis. America has always been much more racist than it is homophobic, so the Charleston shooting and black church burning seems a better example of Crisis than the gnashing of teeth happening over gay marriage. But she's not black so it doesn't apply to her, so "Great Disappointment" style, she peaces out for a minute. I could talk about my Suburban Childhood and how that has influenced my Political Perception. I'll make it agree with the various biases of most vocal D&D posters by keeping my Theory vague but I'll make sure to include some Capitalization Derrida-style so you can make what I am saying Mean whatever you want it to. As long as I keep it ill-defined but broadly against a hated subset of the American populace, people will dig it. I'm terribly sorry you had a poo poo childhood, JP. I'm sorry you've had a lovely life (up until recently, hopefully-ish?). I wish you all the best. But your thesis should be true irrespective of that experience. Make no mistake, the thesis you are presenting has clear promise of being independent of your experience. But retreating into your own world isn't going to help you. Process your poo poo, it sounds pretty intense. This thread will wait.
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Jul 1, 2015 22:53
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I don't think it's able to predict what's going to happen at a national level, but I think it's been useful to me in understanding the dynamics in small Facebook discussions. I saw one recently with two people who believe in big bad external manipulative forces. I would have been pretty lost without PJ's explanations.
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Jul 2, 2015 02:23
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I agree, it is a very useful, compelling thesis. It's just immature right now. A lot of that immaturity comes from how close JP is to the issues at hand. That's both totally understandable and a big part of why JP has insight into these issues. As someone who also doesn't thrive in hugbox environments, "Good idea, get well" is nice but fundamentally insincere. Put up or shut up and make it your best. I hope she gets well, in the meantime, there are some issues that need to be addressed. If she's serious, those issues can be a welcome distraction during her convalescence. If not, well, that's fine too. I just think she's up to the challenge.
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Jul 2, 2015 02:44
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Shbobdb posted:I agree, it is a very useful, compelling thesis. It's just immature right now. A lot of that immaturity comes from how close JP is to the issues at hand. That's both totally understandable and a big part of why JP has insight into these issues. Nobody cares what kind of environments you thrive in. Shut up and stop being an intentionally contrarian "voice of reason" shithead. A victim of abuse needs support. Be supportive or stop posting.
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Jul 2, 2015 05:00
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Shbobdb posted:This is a good validation of my critiques on this thread. While JP's thesis is compelling, she is way too close to the source material and that is influencing her analysis. For example, her views on RWA and homosexuality seems more like an example of grandiose thinking relating to her situation, as opposed to a strong predictive analysis. I normally appreciate the contrarian bullshit schtick when you pull it in threads that deserve it, but don't bring it here. Don't you dare.
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Jul 2, 2015 06:08
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Shbobdb posted:I'm terribly sorry you had a poo poo childhood, JP. I'm sorry you've had a lovely life (up until recently, hopefully-ish?). I wish you all the best. But your thesis should be true irrespective of that experience. Make no mistake, the thesis you are presenting has clear promise of being independent of your experience. But retreating into your own world isn't going to help you. Motherfucker does any of the poo poo PJ is facing up to right now sound like "retreating"?
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Jul 2, 2015 06:33
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SedanChair posted:Motherfucker does any of the poo poo PJ is facing up to right now sound like "retreating"? Shbobdb does this bullshit contrarian schtick, ignore it or call him a motherfucker and tell him to eat poo poo, but don't feed into it by thinking he's real
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Jul 2, 2015 06:39
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I agree with Shbobdb. Which isn't to say I don't sympathize with Prester John's plight, or feel frustrated at her childhood and her treatment. But this thread was started as a crucible for her analysis of a subset of American culture, and if the thread is going to be effective in that regard it needs to progress beyond Prester John's personal experiences. So in service of that, let's keep talking. The response to both Roof and the SCOTUS ruling have even separated by personal and government responses. Roof, and the resulting reevaluation of the confederate flag, has made more changes in the actions of government and business than some of us realty expected. In contrast, the SCOTUS ruling has caused various districts to ignore the ruling, or stop issuing marriage licenses altogether. I think it's a reflection on these types' preoccupation with violence. The SCOTUS ruling was a nonviolent decision, the product of months of deliberation and discussion. Thus, it was a betrayal in their eyes, something that happened without the glorious battle they dreamed of. It was change brought about by means they don't really see as legitimate, and as such they and their representatives did not accept it. Dylan Roof's attack, in contrast, was a violent attack, and moreover one that was answered with pacifism. Any of the soft types, the kind of people pushed out in Prester John's contraction periods, would respond with revulsion. Moreover, whatever other labels they call the objects of their ire, there is social pressure in most authoritarian groups to not blame black people directly, particularly religious and libertarian groups. Roof tried to start the climactic fight they were all thinking, and suddenly they realize they never really wanted to shoot people over it. At least, this is in a larger context, according to the people in power who suddenly find the confederate flag something to drop like a hot potato. It is no longer a power and money maker. Smaller groups are certainly picking this hill to die on, witness the spate of church arson and that fistfight in front of the SC state house. I think Prester John is still correct, the gay marriage decision will cause a larger response among authoritarians in power. The thing to watch for is among economic authoritarians and conspiracy theorists. If they start pulling against this decision, this would be a further 'convergence', which would lead to further radicalization and growth of this community. After that? I'm not sure, and the theory hasn't really covered that yet.
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Jul 2, 2015 07:09
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M.c.P posted:I agree with Shbobdb. You really shouldn't. Dude defended Pol Pot in another thread for shits and giggles.
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Jul 2, 2015 07:12
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