Dear Inner Teen — when I was a liar. Trigger Warning***

[DecimalRocket]

I usually try to avoid more than 1 long post for me today so others can get more of a turn, but I just can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about it.

Dear Inner Teen,

I'm angry at you. I'm not supposed to if I want to heal. But I am.

It's easier for people to care when you have problems like "being too nice" which allows some likability. It's easier to sympathize when you couldn't have possibly chosen your situation at all — like poverty. I know those are pretty horrible but I can't stop feeling it . . . , I had to end up with the situation that made people turn away from me — get disgusted at me.

Before I knew that what people did to me was emotional abuse and what people did not do to me was emotional neglect — I thought I was pathetic, because I had no clear external signs of unhappiness at all. My family was financially well off and sent me to one of the most expensive schools in the country but I didn't have the motivation to use it.

Well, thanks mom and dad for making me the archetype of the rich kid who gets what they materially want and barely enough love or guidance whatsoever. And my high status making my own suicidal thoughts look petty to me and some of the people I reached out to.

You had friends who clearly cared for you— but you could not feel any connection or trust in them and withdrew. You had intelligence but you couldn't be proud of it at all — it was never enough to be accepted. You had hard work but you worked so hard, you physically collapsed regularly. You had great humor with others — but you could never have made yourself genuinely laugh. You secretly despised others as much as yourself.

Most of all, you lied in a way that looked so much much much better.

And most of all, you lied about being better than you were. It was so convincing — you believed it yourself.

And it was breaking you. Because you've been working on treating yourself in mental health for years often with hours a day and it never seemed enough.

To believe no one in the world would sympathize with you because of all this. . . to believe you were just pathetic — because why would someone with so many opportunities be so damn broken? That was the worst thing — the utter isolation of your own years long suffering never seemed justified enough before finding out about CPTSD.

You only got really better when someone bothered to listen to your own problems and treated them as valid.

Sigh. . . I can't be angry at you anymore. . .

[Three Roses]

I'm not rich but I can easily see how you could feel invalidated and so alone for having this pain in the midst of material comfort. After all, doesn't money solve everything in our culture? No, it does not.

Just because one has nice things does not mean one has enough love.

Big hugs to you, dear DR.

[DecimalRocket]

Thanks Three Roses for the kind words and hug. I appreciate it. I used to feel that people listening aren't enough but now it seems, even one person responding is enough to make me feel heard.

The stereotype for the rich is to be discriminating, apathetic to society and spoiled. But I preferred if I broke that way of doing things here. The more you're given, the more you have to give back after all.

I'll promise to spread around the kindness you people give me after all. Well, see you.

[LittleBird]

Just wanted to send you a 

Your making great steps.