Sunshine and warmth's recovery journal

[Sunshineandwarmth]

Hello everyone.
I was doing okay throughout the day. I had this gnawing feeling in my chest, like my heart was sinking and there's this lump in my throat, I've been feeling that for years.
Something that happened today that made me go from laughing to needing to cry badly (I cannot cry infront of anyone after my father slapped me for crying in front of him and on other occassions, but always threatened to beat me up whenever I'd cry. So the tears don't come anymore). What happened was he told me you're the kind of person who'd get herself kidnapped just to extort money from her father.
He doesn't even have that kind of money, he just has a pathologically high sense of self.
He called me a "mountain of meat".
My weight back in December was 209lbs. I've been working on it really hard. I'm down to 171lbs. Previously he used to refer to me as a "fat cow"
He repetitively told me to shut the * up. When I told him to leave my room, he didn't.
This is hurting me. I don't know why is this hurting me, maybe it's because I wanted him to love me, but he didn't. He doesn't. And he most certainly won't. Sometimes I feel like crying so hard, I end up laughing. But lately, the tears have dried up. They didn't stay with me either.
I feel heartbroken because my mother lived all her life with him. She never got to know what safety, love and happiness mean. It is breaking my heart because all her life is, a nightmare. It's hard when I'm in agony, it's even harder when someone I love is in pain. I love her so much, I don't think I take care of her as much as I want to or would like to. She is my sky, my sun, my whole world. I can't see her in pain, it's killing me. It is killing me.

[Sunshineandwarmth]

16th August, 2024
I met my mentor at the college today. If we're going through a difficulty, we reach out to them.
As I was speaking to her about my family, I realized my father's behaviour to the child me was predatory. I remember one particular incident that stands out. As I was telling her, I remembered, and I can doubt my memory (although I remember exactly what happened this one time, I don't know if there were more because I just remember this one), but I can't doubt the sensations I feel in my body. I felt like crying, crying so hard. I couldn't. I couldn't. Instead I just talked to her and smiled a little. I did tell her though that I might look fine, but I'm absolutely broken inside. I am. I am shattered.
I still can't believe he would do something like that. Something sexual to his own daughter with his wife (my mother) right by his side and not saying anything at all. I knew life is hard, I just didn't know it was this hard.
Love and light

[Hope67]

Hi Sunshineandwarmth,
I am glad you have a mentor you can talk to at the college.  I hope you feel some support from her.  I'm glad you were able to tell her how you're feeling inside. 
Hope 

[dollyvee]

Hi Sunshineandwarmth,

Like Hope said, I'm glad you have a mentor at college that you can speak with. I remember when I was your age and I was trying to find my way and navigate what I knew growing up with my family, it was a very confusing and difficult time. You're probably coming to grips with years of abuse and gaslighting, so I hope you can find some space to deal with that. I remember being a ball of emotions and breaking down in the psychologists office, who wasn't especially able to deal with an NPD mother, and feeling like it was all me again. It wasn't until another school and another therapist who suggested that my mother was NPD that I felt a little bit of relief, but unfortunately, I was still enmeshed with my family and thinking it was all me. It's not easy, but you're trying to find some support and answers.

Keep going 
dolly

[Sunshineandwarmth]

Hello
I had a dream today. In it, someone—maybe me, I'm not sure—was telling me that I am in control of my life. I don't remember much, but one thing stuck: *I decide for myself*. I make my own choices. No matter what happens, I get to live my life because I exist, and I am in charge of my future.

Today, I'm consciously choosing to be okay. To accept people as they are, not as the illusions I've projected onto them. My tendency to see the best in others is a reflection of my own goodness, not necessarily of them. Recently, I've made a few friends after a long social media detox, and though part of me fears they might criticize me like my family does, I remind myself that someone as strong as I am—someone who's been through so much—can handle criticism. And truly, people who care about your growth offer feedback with kindness. The rest? They're not focused on me as much as I think they are. I'm simply living.

It feels incredible to embrace even small moments of self-love. I love mornings, sunrises, and sunsets. I haven't had the chance to enjoy them lately because I've been so busy, but I love parks, children, smiles, and uninhibited laughter. Most of all, I'm starting to fall in love with being *me*. It feels amazing, and I know it's here to stay.

[Papa Coco]

Sunshine

I know this post was sent three weeks ago, so I don't know if you still feel the warmth you were feeling the day you wrote it, but it is a wonderful post.

Happiness is an inside job. It's not an easy job in a world filled with trigger-traps, surprise attacks and a long-arc for our memories to stay with us, but ultimately these days when we feel like the world really is beautiful are wonderful days.

Have you had more of those dreams? It sounds like some part of you, one of your IFS parts, or your higher self, or maybe even a message from beyond, was ready to remind you of your own power.

What a GREAT dream.

Again, I realize I'm 3 weeks late in responding to this post, so I hope some of that joy is still with you today.

[Sunshineandwarmth]

Hi
It's 6th October, 2024.
Trigger Warning
I tried to kill myself today, I opened my mother's medical box, took out a couple leaflets of metformin, and another medication that I now don't remember the name of. Took it in my left hand, contemplating whether to ingest it, I had a glass of water right infront of me. All of this would be over, I thought to myself.
My sister must have heard me somehow, and appeared out of nowhere, screamed to wake our mom up, and they took the pills from me. Apparently, they saved my life, but they also contributed to me ending up in a situation where I wanted to end my life.
My father always says, I'm just manipulating him to get him to raise my monthly allowance. And all this while, I am thinking, maybe I wouldn't have taken the pills, maybe I was just being manipulative like he said I was. Maybe I am what he says I am.
I recently realized he has been behaving incestuously.
I told my mother to either leave him, or be prepared if I leave. She didn't say anything. Her silence was answer enough.
Why is it that there's no one to turn to when we need someone to desparately hold onto? Not even your own mother?
I think I'm losing everything I have held dear.
Love and loss, seem so synonymous to me.
Sometimes I wonder, if I had to choose between this version of me that loves people endlessly, to someone who has never loved at all, which one would I choose?
Thank God, I don't have to make that decision. I'm pretty unreasonable when it comes to love. Or should I say, as the quote goes, where there is love, there is no reason.
I have no idea what I am saying. Anyway, I would like it if anyone replied.
Thanks for reading.

[Chart]

Hello Sunshineandwarmth, I'm here, I'm reading. And I'm confident others will follow. I'm so sorry to hear of your attempt to end your life. And I'm distressed that it is so difficult for you to get help. I believe you must try to reach out to your school officials, therapist, trusted friends, trusted doctor, to try and get help. The abuse you are experiencing is not your fault or responsibility. But to face this abuse you are in great difficulty and clearly danger of taking rash steps. Please, if you can, try to get help. I wish I could do more. Know that you are not alone, your words are heard and we understand your struggle. This should not be happening to you. You are beautiful and have value. You deserve love. Please reach out to professional help around you.
Thinking of you and sending love and support, Chart
 

[Chart]

Sunshineandwarmth, the following is taken from the forum's Suicide Ideation/Self Harm page. See full link at the bottom.

One way of helping yourself if you are having thoughts of suicide is to visit Staying Safe from Suicidal Thoughts.  This online help site offers "easy to print / online templates and guidance video tutorials purposefully designed to help people through the process of writing their own Safety Plan to build hope, identify actions and strategies to resist suicidal thoughts and develop positive ways to cope with stress and emotional distress."

https://www.cptsd.org/forum/index.php?topic=5897.0

[Sunshineandwarmth]

6th October, 2024
This is what I wrote a while ago.
The moor stretches endlessly, a desolate, wind-swept expanse of earth, bristling with the wild and the uncontained. The sky, smudged with muted hues of dawn, hangs heavy with clouds that seem reluctant to break apart. The sun, a pale, hazy disk, offers no warmth, only a dull reminder that a new day has begun. Dust eddies swirl around, stinging the skin like tiny needles. You stand in the midst of this barren wasteland, eyes closed against the assault of the wind, as if guarding yourself from the world that has bruised you over and over.

But you're not just standing—you're suspended between two worlds: one where pain has silently festered within, and one where release teeters on the edge of a scream.

When your eyes slowly open, there's a moment of stillness—a breath that catches in your chest as if your lungs are unsure whether to expand or collapse. The air tastes like grit and earth, sharp and unfamiliar. Yet, as you take in that first deliberate breath, something changes. The sensation is not just of air filling your lungs, but of something far more alive—like petals unfurling within the hollow of your ribcage. The metaphor of a garden blooming isn't simply poetic; it's visceral. Each inhalation is a careful, hesitant sprouting of life where once there was only the suffocating weight of emptiness. Flowers you never knew existed in the barren soil of your soul push through the cracks, desperate and beautiful, turning your lungs into a landscape of fragile hope.

When you exhale, it's not a release—it's a reckoning. The air that rushes out isn't just expelled breath; it's a torrent of emotions that have been trapped, knotted tight and strangling inside. It's anger, grief, sorrow, and a thousand unnamed agonies—emotions that were never allowed to breathe, now tearing their way out of your chest in a rush. The sound that escapes isn't a simple sigh but a tremor, a quaking of your entire being as though the very foundation of who you are is shaking loose. The lump in your throat, that wretched mass of everything you've swallowed down, melts not like a gentle thaw but like a glacier cracking apart, collapsing under its own unbearable weight.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up—legs trembling, muscles giving way. The ground rushes up to meet you as if it's been waiting for this moment. Knees slam into the dirt, and pain shoots up through your bones, grounding you, rooting you to this forsaken earth. Your fingers claw at the mud, curling into the gritty, unyielding soil as if you could tear through to the center of the world. It's not just dirt beneath your nails; it's the weight of the past, the heaviness of years of suppressed cries and shattered dreams, clumping between your fingers, weighing down your hands.

The scream comes next—a jagged, raw sound that feels foreign in your throat. It isn't a cry for help; it's a roar of despair, a howl of grief that rips through the air, shattering the silence. It's as though your soul has found its voice, a voice that had been gagged and bound for years, now tearing free. The sound is primal, guttural—a wounded animal's cry of agony and defiance, a declaration that you are here. That despite everything, despite the world's attempts to silence you, you exist. And in that moment, you are nothing but sound and sensation—a creature of pain and release, emptying out everything that has been festering and rotting inside.

The scream echoes back at you, not diminishing but amplifying, reverberating through the air like a shockwave. The moor takes it in, absorbs it, and throws it back at you, a twisted mirror of your own suffering. For the first time, you can hear yourself. Your pain has a voice, and it rings out across the desolation, fierce and unbroken. It is both terrifying and exhilarating, the realization that you can scream and the world will not shatter around you. You scream again, louder this time, and it's as if the universe itself is answering, acknowledging your anguish, your rage.

The world around you shifts. The wind, once biting and cold, softens. The trees, stoic sentinels in the distance, lean closer, branches whispering in a language only your grief can understand. They do not judge, do not flinch at the sight of your tears. They sway and murmur as if in sympathy, their leaves trembling in response to your sobs. It's as though they, too, have known pain, loss, and loneliness. And in their rustling, you hear acceptance. The trees breathe with you, their presence wrapping around you like a shroud, like arms that would hold you if they could. They are old, ancient, and wise, and their silence is not the silence of indifference, but the silence of a mother holding her weeping child, absorbing each sob and tremor.

You feel them intertwining with you—not just in imagination, but in reality. The earth beneath your knees pulses softly, responding to your touch. It's not dirt anymore, but something alive, something that embraces your fingers as if it, too, knows what it is to be broken. The wind that once cut at your skin now feels like a lover's caress, gentle and consoling. It whispers through your hair, brushing away the tears on your cheeks, drawing you in closer, promising that here, in this wild, untamed place, there is no need to hide. There is no shame in being raw and bleeding, in breaking apart. The moor, the trees, the wind—they are part of you now, and you are part of them.

And then comes the stillness. The sobs subside into soft whimpers, your body heavy and spent, collapsed against the earth. "It is safe," you murmur to yourself, voice trembling. "It is safe here." It's not a statement—it's a plea, a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, you've found a place where the pain cannot follow, where your secrets can lie buried in the soil and be kept by the trees, who will never speak of them.

"It is safe," you say again, louder this time, as if the very earth needs to hear it. "Safe." The word hangs in the air, fragile, trembling like a bird poised to take flight. You close your eyes, feeling the wind brush against your face, the ground steady beneath your knees. For the first time in a long time, you feel solid. Not whole, but not hollow either. Just there. The presence of pain has not left, but here, in this sacred solitude, it feels manageable—like you can finally sit with it, breathe through it, without the fear of being destroyed by it.

And in this place, this wild, desolate, beautiful place, you realize that maybe, just maybe, the safety you've been searching for has always been within you. Hidden beneath the scars and the screams, buried deep in the soil of your being, waiting for the moment when you could finally let it take root and bloom into something that looks a lot like hope.
Listening to: Dandelions by Ruth B.

[Papa Coco]

Sunshine,

I feel like this nice post is placed in my path today because my therapist left our last session saying, "I believe you have a scream still inside you that needs to come out." I'd told him how much I hate people who tell me to "scream into a pillow" because I have to fake the scream, and it feels stupid and only embarrasses me. He said he always feels exactly the same way. BUT that if a scream really is inside of us, we can work to create a safe path for it to organically finally release.

I guess I could say that I now realize, CBT therapists work backwards. They know it is good to scream so they tell me to scream.  Good trauma therapists also know that it is good to scream when needed, but instead of just telling me to do it, they help me find a way to let it come out when it's ready. Again: that's the difference between a common therapist and a gifted healer.

What you've posted here is beautifully written and timely for me. I think I'll read it again tomorrow and then again on Tuesday just before my next Therapy session. It's a good overview of the benefits of letting out the storms that live within us.

Thanks for posting this very well written poetry about letting out the pain and how good it can feel once it's out.

PC

[Chart]

Sunshineandwarmth, I found what you wrote extraordinarily beautiful. Thank you for sharing that. You are a very talented writer. Please continue.
Love and hugs, Chart

[Sunshineandwarmth]

7th October, 2024
Writing:
I couldn't tell them. I just couldn't bring myself to say I was hurting. I was bleeding from the inside, and the harder I tried to stop it, the worse it got. Every attempt to apply pressure only made the hemorrhage deeper, more agonizing. My resolve was leaking out in vivid colors, pooling beneath my ribs, trapped within the fragile cage of my own body. I knew I was on the edge, but only I saw it—no one else noticed how close I was to falling, to tipping over an abyss I couldn't climb back from.

Sometimes, I think I'm not someone capable of being loved. People like me aren't made for love; we're made to give. We give everything we have, praying that someone, someday, will love us back. We mistake charity, pity, and fleeting sympathy for love because we've never truly known what it feels like. Because the hands meant to cradle me choked the breath out of my lungs until I gagged them away. Until they made sure that whatever trace of humanity I once held was smothered. Until they made sure I was broken. Until they took every last shred of my honor and crushed it beneath their fingers. Until they hollowed me out from the inside.

Now, when someone wipes my tears, I flinch, because all I can think is that they're just getting their hands dirty. Because who would willingly touch something as tainted as me? Who would lay a gentle hand on something rancid, something that reeks of ruin, something that radiates a kind of destruction so potent it must have been beautiful, once? Something so raw it can never be touched enough, something so dangerous it could give life—or just as easily take it away.

I hate it. I hate this festering wound inside me that makes me crave love like an addict. I hate how I keep loving people so fiercely, despite knowing they'll never love me back. For once, just once, I want to be loved the way I love. For a single fleeting moment, I want to be cherished. I want to be held when I cry. I want to be looked at as if I'm something worth treasuring. I want to feel the warmth of a kiss on my hand or the soft press of a palm against my cheek.

For once in my life. Is that really too much to ask?

But it is. It always has been.

For once, I want my sins to find their * in someone's arms and be burned away. I want my shadows to cower at the light of someone's love. I want my wounds to be tended to by hands that don't recoil. I want to be held when I shatter. I want to be held when I cry.

I want to be held.

[Chart]

 
You deserve to be held, Sunshineandwarmth... You deserve love...
The pervasive wisdom with Cptsd is that now we have to do for ourselves what our parents never did... We have to love ourselves without ever having known what love is. No map, no instructions, no guide... Blind fumbling in the corners and shadows. But we're not alone in these somber places, there are many like us in here. I've always found it small consolation that others suffer like me. But at least I know I'm not alone. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, but for once I'm glad I'm not special.

[Desert Flower]

It's not too much to ask Sunshineandwarmth. I hope you can feel us holding you and each other here through the screen.