Starting my journal

[holidayay]

I've been thinking of starting a journal for a while now. It seems like a neat way to sort of...consolidate all the fragmented parts of myself? And a good way to get things out of my head where the space feels so crammed, that the back of my head feels like its bulging with too much content. It has to be worth a shot anyway...

So I turned 30 this year. And graduated medical school, before moving cities to start my first job as a junior doctor. I remembered in my 20s, after leaving home at 18, being so unhappy and with such little self-esteem, that I just couldn't understand why life never seemed to be 'worth it' to me. It seemed to be full of so much pain. I was experiencing constant flashbacks, shame, guilt, over-responsibility for others, and deep self-loathing.

I escaped home at 18 by getting into Law school in a city far away from home. I had met a guy online at the time who lived in that city and he was of the same religious background as myself. I'd being raised to believe that marriage was a woman's happy ever after. I had no idea that my childhood was abusive, or completely wrong. I knew on some level it was defective and had felt completely miserable but...it was all I knew. I thought moving to be close to this guy I'd met online would answer all my questions when we got married and looking back, I was very excited about the idea of being accepted into a family, and forging a bond with his mother. I guess I was desperately searching for a surrogate mother as part of the package of being with 'him'.

So, aged 18, I stood up to my mum and told her I would be moving away to university and she could like it or lump it. My mother is controlling, narcissistic, abusive...to name a few. But I had seen with my older sisters that she would bow down to being threatened with the police, as she had attempted to deprive them of their freedom a few years previously and they had called the police to help them escape. I knew the shame of this would stop her from trying to control me physically. So she didn't. Instead, she stopped talking to me for months. It was so tense in the lead up to me leaving - there were months of utter silence. I decided I simply didn't care anymore, after years of a miserable existence under her roof. My sister encouraged me to give an apology - even a fake one - just before leaving to stop the tension. So with gritted teeth, I did that but stood firm in my decision to leave. I had already arranged for my own train tickets to my new city, but she then insisted my brother would drive me and she would come, too. I felt so guilty at this point. Why was she now being so nice?
Had I been too harsh all along?

Regardless, I shoved those horrible feelings of guilt and shame down and tried to focus on my fantasy of salvation that was about to start. I thought the start of this salvation would cure me of all those questions that plagued me. After all, I was finally close to getting married - every girl's happy ever after, surely? (A cocktail of disney movies + religious and cultural abuse towards females had resulted in this deeply-held, but equally deeply-flawed belief).


I've just realised I'm working my way backwards in my story. I feel like this would be more helpful for me, as it helps to 'uncover' things as I work my way retrospectively.

[sunflower38]

Hi and welcome! I know starting a journal can be really hard, but I'm really proud of you for wanting to take those steps for yourself!

[Not Alone]

I think all parts of your story are significant. In what you wrote, I see tremendous strength in you, breaking away from your mom and moving to a different city. I feel like I'm left at a cliff-hanger. Did you marry that guy?

[holidayay]

I think all parts of your story are significant. In what you wrote, I see tremendous strength in you, breaking away from your mom and moving to a different city. I feel like I'm left at a cliff-hanger. Did you marry that guy?

Thank you 
Sorry, I felt a bit overtaken with emotions that I ended it there to take a break and go for a walk.

I didn't end up marrying that guy, no - thank goodness.
When I was dropped off in my new city, the full extent of my flawed programming really came into play - there was no longer the conditions that necessitated it (i.e. a controlling mother who wanted me as an extension of herself, and only for her use). I struggled with people pleasing. I became depressed.

But for some reason - I always had a fire to fight for myself. This is what stopped me going further with that guy.
My fantasy, happy ever after was not that at all. He was controlling, abusive and horrible. I didn't understand it fully at the time - I guess his behaviour didn't seem too different to the horrible treatment I got at home - but I did know that I felt miserable and this was not normal. I didn't see the other students in my halls of residence putting up with what I did.
He would do bizarre things like rile me up then when I fought back and defended myself, he would say 'now I won't talk to you for 3 days. If you carry on arguing, I will extend this.'

Or he would beg and plead with me to be set up with his friend as he didn't like me anymore and 'wants both me and his friend to find happiness'. I said no countless times until out of frustration, I told him 'fine, ok, I will' at which point he exploded and called me all sorts of names and put me on his silent treatment punishment programme.

This kind of nonsense went on for months. I was very, very depressed at Law school and stopped attending. I got a job working in a coffee shop full time instead, as I was terrified at the thought of ever having to go back home. Finally, at the end of that year, I found out my 'fantasy guy' had been organising a wedding in an arranged marriage set-up....for himself. He didn't even tell me. He was still behaving normally (well, what was normal for him) with him. I found out through snooping on his social media. That day was the day I promised myself I would get away from him and never, ever put up with anything like this again. I felt so sorry for his bride, who had no idea what she was in for.

My sister had come to stay with me at this point, as she had gotten into University into a city not too far from mine and the plan was for her to move there after. I didn't know it at the time, but my answer to everything emotional was: flight. I decided to up sticks and move with her, and transfer to the same University she was going to, to continue studying Law. So, I blocked him, finished up with my job at the coffee shop, and moved cities away from all the mess. The idea that I could stay somewhere when bad things had happened and process them and move on from them was completely novel to me. I remember at various times during that year calling home, crying, begging for support only to be told:

'It's your fault you moved away so far'
'What do you expect ME to do about your problems?'
'You have to just get on with it'
'You make such a fuss, you're depressing us'

Before the conversation would automatically move back to hearing about their problems - my mum and siblings. The way it had always been and always should be. I was second to youngest out of 7 siblings and for some reason, I had assumed the role of parent, of the listener and care-taker. It didn't matter how much I gave, if for one moment, it turned back to me, it became a HUGE problem. I'd feel worse, I'd feel guilty for making THEM feel bad and felt like my problems were increased tenfold. So I simply didn't bother. I had no idea about mental health..anything back then. So I internalised everything. I was the problem, I had to be perfect and happy and strong always otherwise my world would fall apart and so would my family's and it would all be my fault.

So I just ran to the next city, vowing to start afresh. I didn't realise my emotions would follow me. I was still highly depressed, confused, and now my flashbacks, nightmares and anxiety was in full swing. That day I entered the classroom of the law school I had transferred to, I had a sinking feeling I had made a huge mistake. I didn't want to be there. I HATED Law. I could no longer blame it on myself as I did with everything else - I hated studying law, and that was that. No matter how much I tried to force myself to sit at my desk and read through my assignments, I couldn't last 10 minutes without getting bored, frustrated and impatient.
So I stopped studying and instead decided to focus on figuring out why I seemed to hate myself more than others around me. Intuitively, I felt something was wrong. I still didn't know about abuse or c-ptsd or anything like that, but I could feel that it just wasn't normal to live the way I did.
I remember thinking to myself 'if this is normal, humans would not have continued living for as long as they have done, nobody would strive for life if this is it' - I just knew that something was malfunctioning and needed to be fixed.

So I started listening to my intuition.

[Not Alone]

I remember thinking to myself 'if this is normal, humans would not have continued living for as long as they have done, nobody would strive for life if this is it' - I just knew that something was malfunctioning and needed to be fixed.

So I started listening to my intuition.

Difficult, brave, strong.

[Jazzy]

Great job getting started here. Things have a way of revealing themselves out of chronological order, but that's totally fine.

[holidayay]

Did anybody else use fantasies as a way of coping through the difficult times? And dreaming of another life that could be, which could take away all the pain and hurt and finally life could be happy? And whereas this worked as a coping strategy to survive through the crazy * during childhood, out in the real world, it didn't work at all because I actually needed to be present and taking notice of reality and what was going on around me, noticing people's true selves and intentions, not fantasies I'd projected onto them.

I'm realising recently I did that a lot. It makes me feel so uncomfortable to realise this. I guess I have to be easy on myself, since this strategy helped me to survive the unthinkable and what no child should ever have to go through.

But the sheer naivety that living in those fantasies made me have makes me cringe and feel embarrassed.

To continue where I left off yesterday....in my new city (let's call it 's-town'), after deciding Law made me miserable, I started spending time on myself. Or what I thought that looked like. I would try out new things - and by that, I mean, give anybody who wanted to be my friend, a chance. I met a new guy in my new shared accommodation. He was my age and seemed quite nice. We got together quite quickly. I was very cautious and developed a sort of 'sass' to try to prove that I wasn't easily hurt and fooled. Of course, it was just a front. It did mean I played silly games to try to prove how untouchable to being hurt I was. I pretended not to care when actually I did. I realised I was only working on myself within the parameters that narcissistic abuse had enclosed my emotions into.

I thought I'd get healthy by forcing myself to live upto narcissistic expectations and not get hurt. Afterall, I'd been told countless times I was 'too sensitive' whenever I had my normal, real reactions out loud.
So I stopped doing them, I convinced myself out of them as much as I could by parroting back to myself what I knew the narcissists in my life would say.
I was beginning to narcissistically abuse myself.

My friends around me at this time were incredibly selfish, of course. I was allowing all kinds of behaviours because to get upset and protest would be making it all my fault.
My 'best friends' at the time consisted of a girl I had got back in touch with from childhood - who had moved away from my home town but was now living not too far from my new city. If I could describe her in one word, it would be 'disapproving'. She loathed emotions. She was quiet, firm and no-nonsense. She mocked and belittled anyone who wasn't...'perfectly put together'....or whatever she would deem that to be. I felt terrified in her company. But hey, my feelings were always wrong (or so I thought) that I convinced myself over and over again that she knew how to do 'life', and I was the questionable one. I remember feeling panicked and scared every time we met up. Some days we'd just sit there in silence and I'd be putting in so much energy and effort into keeping the friendship alive, trying to impress her, trying to get any emotional bond going with her.
People around me commented that she felt intimidating and 'didn't know how to speak to her'. This surprised me, because people were daring to say how they really felt and....they were feeling the same as me? So I wasn't crazy, other people ALSO felt the same feelings? and they felt validated enough to say them OUT LOUD? This thought really boggled my mind.

Anyway, before this, the new boyfriend I had met, had suddenly found another girl way more exciting than me. He was also annoyed because I was spending time with another girl who lived with us, getting to know her, and he said 'I preferred to be with her than him'. I hated myself so much that I remember just feeling surprised that he would even care or be bothered by not spending time with me. He also didn't like that I said I wasn't yet sure about sex, and back then, still felt like it was a dirty sin thanks to my upbringing.
He moved his attention to the new girl he found exciting. She started coming round to our flat all the time. She was....blonde, blue-eyed, rich and wasted no time in telling us all about how successful her family were, and her life back home on a sunny island.

I felt like a stray dog in comparison. I didn't have blonde her or big blue eyes and I certainly did not come from a rich, successful family. My family was steeped in trauma, and weird behaviour and no-one in our community back home liked them. How could I compare to her?

I fell into a deep depression, convinced that I was way too 'damaged' and 'unworthy' and 'abnormal' to be loved or worth caring about. My housemate at the time was great, though, and we spent many hours talking. She was the type of person who could see behind the facade of people, could read between the lines. She did not like either the guy or the new girl he was interested in.

The guy and his new interest started going out of their way to make sure I saw them and heard them. They would invite me to join them, where they would be passive aggressive and showy-offy. I didn't understand what on earth was going on. I just remember feeling so utterly...beneath them.

I got fed up of feeling like this, and resumed 'working on myself'. I decided to look after myself - at least appearance-wise. For the first time in my life, I got professionally done haircuts. I started experimenting with piercings on my ears. And listening to new music. Trying new events. Reading about new things.

For a brief period, I felt incredibly happy. I woke up everyday feeling like there was a million things I could do with my day. My social skills improved. I started experiencing what it was like to have friends to share your feelings with and it felt so novel and great. I really did enjoy this period.
I found out that the new love interest was actually really into one of my law buddies, which took me by surprise. I learnt that things weren't always as they seemed. She hooked up with my law buddy, who would tell me that actually, she was crazy, jealous, smug and incredibly self-obsessed and materialistic. I was so shocked by this because I had it in my head that nobody else but me could be defective in any way. And this is the girl that of course, somebody would leave me for! How could she have flaws?
Through him, I got to know her personally. And we spoke about the the guy I'd previously dated. She told me she had never liked him and that he was weird. I was really confused because they had spent so much time together, going out of their way to show me how great a time they were having together. I ignored this, because, hey, I was always wrong about anything. But over time, spending more time with her, I grew to detest her nastiness. Her pettiness. She would brag to me how she enjoyed making other people jealous. She would say and do the most petty things to watch people feel jealous or hurt in some way.

Eventually, after hearing a comment she made about the tv in my new student house being far too small, or cheap or not impressive enough, I snapped at her and stood up for myself. I told her I was absolutely sick and tired of the materialistic obsessions she had and the petty things she did and said to people just to make herself feel like she was above them.

She was my first lesson in the BIG naiive belief I'd had that nobody but me could be defective. My law buddy told me later how she constantly threatened to kill herself every time he stood up for himself. Makes me wonder now whether she had emotionally unstable personality disorder.

[holidayay]

I didn't pass my law exams that year. The university told me I could sit them externally, at the next sitting, which would happen next summer.
That meant I no longer was eligible for student loans. I panicked - my biggest fear was that I would end up back home, in my mum's house. Where the abuse would just continue.

I'd visited home a few times since I'd left. Things hadn't gotten better. My eldest sister had had a kid just before I left. The thought made my blood run cold because even though I didn't have a name for it, I knew she was a horrible person. I knew she wouldn't make a good mother. I knew she would treat her child like an object. I'd already heard her say many times how she could be eligible for 'a free house' if she had children. She was violent, incredibly selfish, and treated every human being as a means to an end, using them to serve her own needs. She'd smoked heavily during her pregnancy.
Whenever I visited home, I bore witness to her being impatient, screaming and negligent. If the child cried in the car, she would blast up the music to drown him out. She would scream and swear at him. I can't explain the pain that would explode in me when I saw this. The sadness I felt for him felt like it would suffocate me. I couldn't keep quiet when it was another innocent being - I would take him, soothe him and stand up to her. She didn't like that and told us 'nobody can tell me how to raise my child' as if he BELONGED to her. This would make my blood boil. We got into screaming matches over it - I felt at a loss because I didn't want the child to see this, but was adamant that abuse would not occur under my watch. But him witnessing screaming, and making his mum even angrier...I knew she would just take it out on him, so I thought it best to leave. I felt damned either way.

I'd go home hoping to get respite from the big wide world I'd joined where things felt so confusing, new and inexperienced. I wanted breaks from what felt like....having to play catch up. As if I was having to go through childhood, adolescence and adhulthood all at the same time. Trying to learn all the skills I never learnt at home.
I'd come back from 'home' more exhausted and traumatised.

And now I had failed my law exams and wouldn't be within the safety blanket of living as a student, with some source of income from student loans, I felt like the ground was slipping beneath my feet.
I felt disgusted with myself. All those dreams and fantasies I'd had of working hard to leave home and THIS was all I had achieved? Going back home with my tail between my legs?
I was adamant that wouldn't happen.
For the first few weeks, I stayed with my sister. I felt so guilty because I felt like I was impeding on her freedom - she was a student herself and here I was, staying in her room, depressed. I felt so terrible that I could be affecting her experience to be young, free and without obligations.

I knew I had to get a job fast. I knew there were places in the city I had just moved from, where I could get a job pretty much within days. I really didn't want to go back, but I couldn't face the guilt of having to stay an extended period of time with my sister whilst I found a job in S-town.

So I took a cheap bus ride back there for an interview and got a job quickly. In another coffee/sandwich shop. I took an early AM train for my first shift. I had nowhere to stay, but figured I'd sort that out...somehow. I remember reading a book on the train - it pretty much saved my sanity at that time - it was a heavy, thick book that engrossed me away from not only my current problems in trying to survive, but in distracting me away from my trauma, which was always lurking around, heavy on my mind.
My first shift went quite well. The team were really nice. There was a lovely girl from Brazil, about my age, very smiley and kind. I felt reassured and peace for the first time in ages. Then the shift ended and I realised  had nowhere to stay.

I was so scared. I'd had a bit of money, and my sister had given me some money. I felt horribly guilty I had taken money from her, it made me feel repulsed to think I was burdening her with such big problems of a sister who was...homeless? When she deserved to be enjoying herself like all her other friends. But I was desperate, I vowed to pay her back when I got back on my feet. I rang her in tears, telling her I didn't know what to do. She told me to get any hotel and not even worry about the money. She was so protective back then.

It brings tears to my eyes because we no longer talk. Most days, I wake up and still can't believe how we ever got to this point. I don't think I can ever reach a point where I can accept where we are now. Apart and no contact. 

[holidayay]

I eventually came across a cheap hotel after walking up and down a busy road after work that night. It was cheap and utterly horrendous, but it did the job. I didn't want to touch anything - the sheets were old and looked unwashed, and the bathrooms were foul. I lay my coat on the bed and slept on that, praying morning would come quickly and the start of a new day would bring something different.

I went to work the next day happy to be out of the hotel. The good thing about working in a coffee shop was the free food. I definitely took advantage of that since I barely had any money. At least it was one less need to worry about.
That day was better. I got talking to one of my colleagues who was friendly, jovial and kind. He asked me where I was staying. I felt really embarrassed and couldn't think quickly enough to make up a story to hide the fact that I was pretty much homeless.

I mumbled something about a temporary hotel. He looked at me and said directly, 'you don't have anywhere to stay, do you?' He promised to call his friend who had a flat not too far away who would be able to help me. I didn't even have time to think about whether I could trust this. I just felt so grateful for a bit of help.

His friend came by at the end of the shift. Turned out, he shared a flat with his pregnant girlfriend. Hearing he had a pregnant girlfriend made me relieved. I'd had some experiences when I'd gone flat-hunting the previous year, where a landlord had told me he could 'make the rent lower if I could be his special friend'. So I was somewhat wary of men and accommodation set-ups.
That night at their flat - I'd never enjoyed a shower so much. I'd refused to shower in the hotel the previous shift as it was so dirty, that I felt sticky and gross. They had a palmolive almond shower wash. It felt so lush. They were extremely hospitable - told me I could use whatever products I wanted. Then we sat up playing poker and watching TV before I slept very well on the sofa.
I stayed there for a few nights before he found me a spare single room in his friend's house.

His friend was an odd Portugese lady, whose daughter had been a delinquent and sent to some kind of youth programme. She had a strange boyfriend. It was awkward encountering them so I mostly stayed in my room. But at least the rent was cheap. I spent ages cleaning the whole room and making it look as cosy as possible so it'd be somewhere I'd feel safe. There was no internet, though. This was a big problem for me at the time because I wanted no time whatsoever to myself to think about anything back then. It was too much. I just wanted to drown everything out - and coming home to a place where there wasn't an internet to distract me from myself would be *. So I'd go to the guy's flat - the one with the pregnant girlfriend - we would play games whilst I streamed videos to watch for later on my laptop - then I'd watch them before bed in my single room, which still felt somewhat sticky even after I scrubbed it from top to bottom. Everything in that flat felt sticky.

Sometimes her daughter came to visit and it felt so awkward. The atmosphere was so strained. I felt like they had a difficult mother-daughter relationship and perhaps me taking over what I presumed to be her room made her feel like I was trying to take her place. It was awkward to say the least. They must have felt it too because not long after, the mother told me she'd changed her mind about letting the room.

I was back to being homeless again.

[holidayay]

I was starting to earn a bit of money to feel like I could begin to build my life, slowly. I treated myself to some ankle boots that had a heel. I'd had my eye on them for ages. I remember I'd put them on, even though I had nowhere to go, and walk on the balcony outside the flat, just enjoying feeling like I was strolling down a catwalk in my new, beautiful heels. They were - relative to my budget back then - quite pricey. I'd decided I didn't care and deserved to have something nice.
I returned them a few weeks later when I realised I needed the money more than I needed nice boots.

Meanwhile, work had been great for a while, but now the manager had come back. Apparently he'd been on leave when I'd started. So I'd only experienced work so far without him overseeing everybody. When they introduced him to me, I felt a trickle of unease. Something about him seemed off.
And my instincts proved correct. He was the micro-managing type, the sort who loved to feel powerful. He would hover over everybody and nit-pick at the smallest things. Nobody really liked him. I was beginning to get protective over my Brazilian friend and other friends I'd now made, who were from difficult backgrounds, and needed this job. I felt like he knew they were desperate and this made him feel more powerful that he could treat them how he wanted. It was made obvious to us that we were disposable if we didn't like it.
I began to resent him for it. I'd purposely ignore him because I felt done being nice to horrible people. He would say hello to me, smirk, whilst making a horrible remark. I'd ignore him, then he would have a go at me later for 'not being friendly and saying hi'. I'd protest my innocence and claim it was because I was softly spoken and perhaps he didn't hear me. I started to feel very vengeful towards people who treated vulnerable people badly, and wanted to play them at their own game.

I knew I was putting my job in jeopardy but I started to care less.
After the Portugese landlady had told me to leave, I'd ended up in a worse place. It was a horrible flat share with an old, cranky woman and very strange housemates. The appliances in the kitchen wouldn't even work and if I thought my previous place was sticky, that was nothing in comparison to the new place. If you put your hand on the tabletop, you'd feel it stick and get greasy. I wanted out of here, and of my job with the overbearing manager.

I started spending more of my free time in the library. Looking up job application and interview tips. I put my all into applying for an admin job in a very fancy hospital. And I'd got an interview! I thought I'd give this my very best shot and if it didn't work out, I was ready to leave and apply for social security benefits. I felt drained and exhausted of all my resources and my trauma wasn't even getting a look in - though ever present of course.

I went for the interview and loved every minute of it. The ladies who interviewed me were lovely. They were warm, kind, funny and it felt more like a chat with friends than an interview. I felt really positive coming out of it.

Work at the coffee shop was getting worse. I'd had enough of the manager and felt sick of his controlling and demeaning ways. He'd told me off for 'not singing and dancing happily' when he'd asked me to sweep the floor, as apparently that showed I wasn't a good team player. I asked him to give me his decision on my probation period early, as we were allowed to do that. He said he wanted more time to assess me but I insisted.
So he took me aside and gave me a run-down on all the reasons why I wasn't suitable. That I answer back and am not diligent.
I saw red and told him I disagreed with all of that, but that was the side of me he saw as a consequence of dealing with his controlling ways.
I then told him I would not be working the mandatory 2 weeks I'd need to, and now that he had given me feedback, I'd like to give him feedback. I told him the first few weeks he wasn't here, were wonderful.
I told him everybody worked well, everyone was happy and it made me want to work harder when everybody was nice and helpful to one another. But that the minute he got back and even before that, when there were whispers of his imminent return - people started changing. They became nervous, unhappy, made more mistakes and became less helpful to each other and more two-faced in an attempt to win favour with him. I told him his micro-managing was unbearable and that it was really unfair of him to rely on the fact that vulnerable people who came from poor backgrounds who felt they had no choice but to put up with his behaviour - in order to treat them badly and get away with it.

He was speechless. I left the room with him gaping at me, mouth wide open and walked out, feeling pretty amazing, even if I had lost my damned job.
I rang home to tell them (god knows why) - one of my older sisters who lived close to my mum (not the one I'd moved to S-town with) started on the usual spiel: about how it was all my fault blah blah blah and for the first time, I didn't care. I had stood up for myself and my friends and felt powerful. I truly didn't care what life would throw at me then and there and somehow knew within my bones I'd be ok.

[holidayay]

Something about standing up for myself made me feel stronger, and made me start caring about myself more. Truly caring about myself.

I heard back from the lovely ladies at the fancy hospital I'd had an interview at for the admin job. They told me they had really enjoyed chatting to me, and were ready to give me the job but somebody had come in after me with hospital experience which they were bound to give the job to, as that automatically made them fill the person specification. They told me to please continue applying for jobs with them whenever opportunities popped up, as they could see me fitting in well. I didn't feel too disappointed, as they seemed genuine in their praise.

I decided to go back to S-town (running...again.....). I thought to myself 'no-one can say I didn't try now, no-one can accuse me of having done nothing...'. All I wanted to do was rest. I thought I had to prove I needed rest before I could give myself permission to give myself it. Because the chorus of narcissistic replies would play over and over in my head. How everything is always my fault. How I am worthless.

So I went to S-town, and applied for government support whilst I could get my head together. It wasn't much, but it was enough, whilst I rested and looked for jobs at my own pace. At first, I felt disgusted with myself. I felt like a failure. I watched all my law buddies pass and progress, whilst I would go to the job centre where the people looked dishevelled and downtrodden. But after a while, it started to feel....safe somewhat. I could be around these dishevelled-looking people and be one of them and it was OK, because we were all struggling in one way or another.
I found a room sharing a house with a medical student close to where my sister was living. The time was coming closer towards the second sitting of my law exams, as an external student. I was applying for jobs left, right and centre and contemplating whether or not I should study for this degree which I hated so much. So I attempted to do both.

I got 2 job offers come through on the same day (typical....). One at a department store, working within their offices. Another, in a hospital, as an assistant. I was so excited about both, I couldn't choose.
I sat my re-sit law exams, and failed...again. There was one more opportunity to sit them, that summer. I'd have to apply for mitigating circumstances to prove I should be given the opportunity to sit them. I really, really didn't want to. But what else would I do? My mum was harpering on endlessly, bragging about having both a law student and a medical student (my sister) as daughters. I knew it gave her so much pride. I felt guilty, somewhat, to crush her dreams of living through...us, I guess.
So I applied for the mitigating circumstances and got them.

In the meantime, I chose the hospital job.
Why?
I remembered back to my father, when I was younger, before he passed away when I was 10. He had cancer, and was always in and out of hospitals. I remembered the feeling of being in hospitals made me feel closer to him. I remembered how exciting it was to go to the gift shop to buy sweets. To sit in the lounge and read magazines and play with toys, waiting to see him. I'd read those crazy stories that some magazines told aimed towards middle-aged women. The sorts of real-life stories where insane things happened. They gave me comfort, because they made my home life feel less insane and isolating - those stories were more like how life at home was for me than my friends'.

I yearned for the feelings I felt visiting my Dad in hospital. We'd listen to Britney Spears songs on our journey there. Those were probably the few times I felt happy as a child. Even though it sounds morbid, I know. I loved my Dad, and him and hospitals came together, in my mind.

Plus - and this feels embarrassing to admit - I had seen beautiful, elegant women who were young doctors. They seemed to have partners who loved them, and people who admired them. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to be seen as worthy, as elegant, as.....acceptable. Maybe that's slightly narcissistic of me? All I knew was I wanted to be anything other than the horrible self I had inside of me.

So I accepted that job. I felt so guilty at turning down the other job that I couldn't face telling them. I feared they would yell at me for disappointing them. So I ignored their offer. I'd feel so guilty when they kept calling me, but I just couldn't face the risk that they would scream at me for wasting their time. I still feel guilty about that to this day, somehow.

Regardless, life moved on. I started my new job. It was a commute to get to, in a nearby small city that was wonderful. Picturesque, medieval little town. I loved the commute in the summer.
I found I fit in very well in this job. For the first time in ages, I felt like I fitted in. At first, I didn't know how to talk to patients. What was appropriate and what wasn't. Over time, I found confidence in myself and found that my natural responses made me fit right in. I had an overabundance of empathy and oddly enough - it wasn't being abused in the setting where it was actually needed. I found myself flourishing. So much so, that the day for my resit law exams came and went and I decided not to go. I was confident and simply did not want to do what I didn't want to do. I felt no qualms whatsoever about forfeiting from Law once and for all.

I stayed in that job and it paid pretty well. I started enjoying life. I moved in with some friends, and started partying more. I stopped thinking so much about everything and let loose (maybe a bit too much!). I had money, my new friends were supportive, and I felt young and free.

[holidayay]

I had a horrible dream yesterday.

I dreamt everybody had found this journal and more, that they knew all my emotions and deepest fears. They spread it around and it went viral. I was heartbroken and decided not to delete it, but felt such shame. My housemate in my dream stuck up for me.

I feel so triggered and awful now, as if I shouldn't be journalling afterall. Its like my mind wants to go against my new coping mechanisms. 

[Snowdrop]

Its like my mind wants to go against my new coping mechanisms.

That's what it sounds like to me. We developed a set of coping strategies and beliefs that kept us alive, and these mechanisms became deeply ingrained habits. Acting against these habits can make our minds go  . You're also doing a lot, dredging through your memories and emotions, and that can be hard, vulnerable, scary work. But baby steps. You're doing so well with your journalling, and I hope you're finding it helpful. 

[holidayay]

Its like my mind wants to go against my new coping mechanisms.

That's what it sounds like to me. We developed a set of coping strategies and beliefs that kept us alive, and these mechanisms became deeply ingrained habits. Acting against these habits can make our minds go  . You're also doing a lot, dredging through your memories and emotions, and that can be hard, vulnerable, scary work. But baby steps. You're doing so well with your journalling, and I hope you're finding it helpful. 

Thanks for the validation there. 
Gosh, it seems like a lot of the antidote for c-ptsd seems to be around receiving validation. Its like we are validation-deficient.

Feeling much better now. Just finished my first on-call shift ever and it went rather well!

[Jazzy]

Yeah, you've written an awful lot here in a short amount of time. Its really good that you are able to do so, but it can be difficult. I've had similar feelings all day after writing out my history for the first time. I think its just a part of the process. Hopefully it will pass soon, for both of us.

I'm really glad you have your own place to live now. It is so difficult to heal or accomplish much of anything when you don't have somewhere safe to retreat to. Keep up the good work. Take care!