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the real reasons

I don’t know the feeling of satisfaction that comes with controling my thoughts in order to come out of a painful or disatisfactory situation. the gain is the liberation of action.

The liberation of accomplishment seems to be the addiction i am aloud to have. not the thinking process – the peace, and thinking of the right things. This feels like conditioning, I have a powerful resistance against that type of manipulation. When I was alone in my room as a kid, I didn’t have stimulation and I drove myself crazy. I got addicted to the freedom of using my mind, because I *COULD not do anything about where I was, and I could not change the shock and anxiety and physical violence, and I couldn’t control being put back into my room for reasons I could not predict.

I developped a thinking ability that did not require actions to feel good – i began to entertain myself in over analising everything until the process became interesting. I held on to my ability to over think as the only freedom I had and the only thing that could make me who I was, for it was the only thing I could control. I don’t identify with proper thinking. I identify with the freedom of thinking freely. I never conditioned this thinking in a way that would function in my favor. I let it run wild in all directions. What else did I have to do in my room? Didn’t play with toys. Got too bored too often. I was the only kid who didn’t care that she had a bunch of toys, not if there wasn’t someone else around. I am addicted to thinking whatever I feel like thinking about. I should be thinking about what I chose to think… no? No. No that’s not true either.

I’m doing it right now.

And forgetting everything.
No that is not true, I am panicking. There is a diffefrence between over thinking and panicking. Maybe I have a panic association with not predicting things. It’s true, I could not predict when dad would do those things to me. I could not control anything. I got addicted to panic, I think. I think I got addicted to predicting everything, being completely conscious, because if I didn’t expect what my dad would do, it would keep devastating me every time. Instead of accepting that I was an abused child, I faught it by trying to understand everything about life from within that bedroom. Yet I could not.

I still don’t understand where this comes from. This associating panic to acceptance. Why would I associate panic to acceptance?

Because I could not accept that my dad was hurting me. I tried to, and I tried to get him to stop. None of it would stop, regardless. PTSD – always being on your feet.

If I was to be isolated, I was to be different. If I was to be beaten, I was to be appreciated more so in concequence.

I felt like I needed more love than others because I was lacking in it. I became so obsessed with comfort – having no sustainable access to it – that I began a calculation that never stopped, ever, and that has been seperating me from others this entire time. Obsessing on the comfort that other people provided.

Why did other people provide comfort to me? They were consistancy, to me. Because as a child, a beaten child, I did not have access to any form of security unless I was in the arms of a person. Being far from a person didn’t even necesserily guarentee it – because my dad could bring me to another room for a “talk”. Being in a person’s arm made him terrified of the people who’s arms I was in. They were the only way I could ever possibly fight him. Litterally.

They were, but this is no longer the case. I can understand that now. I can use my mind to see that I am running away from something. I am running away from being cought by my dad by surprise. I am running away from him all the time. I am always afraid of the sensation of being taken away from people or away from people. It’s when he has control over me, or had.

But this is not the case any more. I am capable of being safe. My reality is in fact very much predictable. I can stop running so fast.

Why did I begin thinking so quickly at such a young age? why did I develop obsessive impatience? the need to control my own thoughts?

I developped the need to control my own thoughts out of self-maternal-ness. I needed to not feel helpless and sad and shocked. I had to hurry in another direction to distract myself from the shock I was in. I was litterally panicking. LITERALLY PANICKING KICKING THE DOOR SCREAMING IN FEAR

HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
someone help meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

it got worse and worse. This is not a reflection of life, the evolution of a person, or any typical circumstances. This is a result of my dad’s increasing violence and spontaneity. No patterns. No reasons.

There were reasons why I was being punished. I simply wasn’t being explaned the reason at all until after my dad hurt me. He would first hurt me, then my mom would come and explain. This is not the way experience is supposed to work. Is it? – I should have learned life by being explained something before suffering, alone in my room, shocked. You’re supposed to punish a child in a way where the child can have an opportunity to reflect on a situation in order to understand it. I was tought that I am to fear situations. Dad enstored that fear. I could not predict. I was tought that when a situation is to be learned or experiencd for the first time, that the first step is terror. And if I am to avoid this terror, I must be aware of everything, because nothing was explained to me precisely. Instead of feeling like situations could be overcome individually, I felt as if I had to learn to predict every every everything, in order to become so smart, I would have less chances of being beatten by my dad for something, and that, without warning. Without being warned that I am about to go through trauma for a reason. The trauma, once begun, had no interruption option, with my thoughts. It was forced on me. The trauma was forced on me. I could not chose not to be traumatised. I did not appreciate this at all. I was very scared. This is a threat to my mental health.

The fact that the trauma was forced on me and not predictable made me develop a survival mechanism that relied on 1- not wasting any time thinking in one place. The quicker my thoughts impressed people, the quicker I’d be safe. I developped an association of safety with impressing people, because it leterally was safety.

This all did make sense. I was a smart kid. Just not smart enough to understand that the way I was trying to react to the situation was PTSD-like and did not account for having a future escape, regaining control of my safety. Not having to be potentially traumatised at all moments.

All and any moments.

Bed time was scary. No people around. The bedroom felt like a bad place. I did not enjoy doing things like other kids – only relational activities that kept me safe (survival mechanism) or developping thoughts that would either make it less likely my dad would hurt me or…

I did misbehave. I did push his limits.

I did insist on being myself. I “misbehaved” in order to do what I wanted to do. I brought it on myself allot. I wonder what that has to do with it.

What made me feel good in life, was thinking my way out of misery, and I became obsessed with thinking myself out of misery. Being obsessed with thinking your way out of misery puts you in a place of trying very hard. Too hard. And going too far.

I wanted to be fascinating like my mom. And the people that she enjoyed. My mom only liked “smart” stuff. Smart people stuff. I was only interesting if I did “smart people stuff”.

As a matter of fact, my mom stopped giving me hugs and things like this. She stopped paying attention to me and only me when my sister was born. Before my sister was born, the attention on me was only on me, not shared, and it protected me. My mom was always paying attention to me. She would notice things I did without me having to show her, she would try and help me through things, she would raise me. Explain things. She took the time. When my sister was born, though, she stopped.

It scared me allot. Made me angry. When my sister was born, I felt completely abandoned. And the entire time my sister was being made, I didn’t care to have her be born. I didn’t undestand how to love her. I didn’t, because I saw her as a threat to my safety and mental health. So I pretended to like the baby – and this made everyone like me. The more I pretended to like her, the more people liked me. But I despised her for years. It was a competition for parental attention.

I created the competition. I always knew I was the source of that competition aspect. It may have been reinforcd by my parents’ countless arguments.

I saw my sister as a threat to my survival because my mom was my entire world. She was the world in which I was safe. The outside world promissed nothing, and I was always raised to know that they would always be there for me if something went wrong. That I could always go back home. I was raised selfishly by my mom up to a certain point then abandoned. She always wanted my full attention, too. She craved mine like I craved hers’, we were best friends because we were the only two with the same fears. Fear of abandonment. In her case, it’s with being in a relationship with my dad in the first place. we sought comfort in each other

The fear of abandonment is the force that bonded my mother and I to each other – our victimisation made us best friends. We were constantly making up for our fears, because we were constantly looking for acceptance from each other. We were addicted to the safety that came with receiving attention from each other. My mom cried allot because of my dad. She screamed and was suicidal. The threat that is my dad was very real to me. He threatened to take my mom away from me in being who he was. I could not control that situation either. I hated it allot. I despised when my dad had driven my mom into a suicidal state. This started happening early in my life, it scared me allot. I was a toddler, sometimes. My dad was the unpredictable threat that threatened not only me, but the only figure of safety I had – my mom. And the only identity I had. We were very much like one. I was the mini-her, I was the pre-her. We looked exactly alike. I didn’t mind being like my mom. I thought that the only difference between us was mostly age. Some part of me felt like life would show me a life exactly like hers. It did present alternative choices, but of course, I didn’t believe in them. I didn’t understand them. My mom is what I understood about all of life.

When I was with other kids, I was dissatisfied by playing any games at all. They had many game suggestions, but I was only interested in games that made me feel nurtured.

Addicted to the threat being real, and addicted to finding ways to escape it.

But I did test my dad. Why did I test my dad? I tested my dad out of the beliefs my mom put in me. She fed my individuality, they fed my individuality. I faught my dad because they tought me to be my own person, but they were threatening my growth – I didn’t want to allow him to threaten my growth. I thought I was stronger. This is the strength still in me today. But it was never proven to be anything but theoretical. It never came to any ends. He’d still punish me and scare me. It scared me, I hated it and pushed limits allot. I was a devil-like child. Saying very much “no” and testing limits, so that I may obtain what I want. This desire to persist and obtain what I wanted was shot down every time. I guess I percieved this as a threat to who I would like to be. I didn’t appreciate it. I didn’t understand that it was wrong, I very much felt that freedom was right. It felt good. But because my freedom was so violently tested – I developped a tendancy to test it – and that created a cicle.

Testing my freedom, being beaten. Testing it more, being beaten more. Testing it still, beaten more. The beatings got worse with time. Punishments went to being in the dark with my dad on the other side of the door, pulling on the handle and ready to attack me if I tried to escape. He did many times.

Being in the basement, screaming in the dark.AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH HELP ME IM SCARED NOO NONONONONONO COME NOW HELP AH HELP ME (holly shit… its the same exact type of panic talk I have today)(holy shit)

He would be on the other side. Ready to attack me if I tried to escape the fear of being in the basement in the dark. I feared spirits and demons, without being able to identifiy what souch a thing even is. Ghosts. Evil spirits. I thought my fear made me volnurable to them – and that the more I was afraid, the more these monsters as I called them at the time, would try to terrorise me. This is not even necesserily true, but I amplified it as such.

My parents didn’t understand they were feeding me to them and that my screams were reacting to a threat that was real to me in this moment of panic. It wasn’t real to me, it was a what-if. But a scary what-if. My dad was on the other side, making sure.

I have amnesia-like feelings also because there was no point in thinking of the situation and the hurt. I didn’t want to be manipulated, so I would not give into the idea that I was wrong, ever. I never accepted the blame unless it was in my mothers’ arms. Only she made me accept the blame. I didn’t do this. I applied amnesia to myself at that age, too. Forget the whole situation.

I did have amnesia. Because if I forgot the situation, rather than coming to a false conclusion which was what was expected out of me, then… I would stop hyperventilating and crying in one shot. And it felt really, really good. And I could put a smile on my face and say I was ready to come out now. They didn’t always believe me.

The more I used amnesia, or rather, the more efficiant my amnesia, the more efficiant the actual recovery. It was my key to going out of my room.

I didn’t actually change my point of view by being punished. They asked me every time, do you understand now? Are you goin to do it again? I would say yes I understand, no I’m not going to do it again, but I was lying. Every child does this. I had to do it very quickly and efficiantly in order to escape trauma and isolation. I had to learn to pseudo-learn.

Learning to pseudo-learn.
Learning to pseudo-learn.

Learning to learn to deviate away from a thought instead of experiencing change from a changed perception. I didn’t want my personality to be comprimised at all. I felt that it was very much threatened. Threatened by force. If I was to conserve who I was, I was to learn to pretend to learn, but to actually believe a whole world of other things on the inside.

It was the way that I could escape things I wanted to reject in my parents’ teachings or their abuse. I most certainly did not at all have faith in their opinions – I was aware from a very young age that my parents were wrong. Not entirely, but just enough for it to make the difference. I was at least aware that they weren’t very good parents – because they parented me very differently from my environment. I trusted my friends’ families completely.

(completely)

I mean look at my friends. They were able to function. They were tought everything. Organisation, playing, they were fed food they liked…

I prefered others’ parenting over my parents’ parenting. I became aware of this very quickly.

When I lost my trust in my parents I fought the assimilation by learning to pretend to learn.

And learning whatever the fuck I actually wanted on the inside.

Giving into emotions. Feeding the addictions of life that need be tamed. Always, secretly on the inside.

School

Life

It’s the idea that I am different. Or that I must be aloud to be whoever I am, otherwise I will be the same as my parents’, or I will be what they want me to be, and that would be a terrible mistake. My environment was less and less appropriate for me. My parents were less and less predictable, they gave up more and more. I knew.

It’s the idea that I can’t trust my parents’ logic. Which at the time meant I couldn’t trust anything in the whole world, unless I internalised it and refused to listen to teachings that didn’t resonate with what I wanted – nurture. Freedom.

Freedom

I wanted freedom

And now I am my own cage.

I always felt like if I accepted the teachings of the people who were supposed to teach me (my parents) – that it would be me losing the battle, and being assimilated, and the same as them. I didn’t want to be like them – I didn’t see sustainable happiness in who they were. I concluded that happiness was the freedom not to listen to the information you are given and to question everything. I concluded that freedom could only exist in evaluating everything yourself. I was too young to think of life and the world so theoretically all by myself. Of course I amplified everything. I wasn’t accepting teachings – I was creating my own sense.

I was creating my own sense. I should have been aided in breaking that sense down, realistically. I didn’t know how to hold back.

And I very much felt that the more thoughts I had, or rather, the smarter I was in my brain, the safer my brain was from the world.

The world was the threat, allot of the time. Of course it was. I was a child who did not want to grow up. I wanted to stay with mom. Mom was my world. Because in this world, the ego was fed.

I wanted to be a princess. Dizney princesses were victims, just like me, except they were saved, by princes. The prince would kill any god damn thing for the lady. The prince was fascinated to the point that he would risk his life, with the lady. This was the ultimate happiness to me – because this world that my mom and I created – this false world – was taken to the next level with princes. Princesses were supposed to live with princes one day.

Women, supposed to live with a man one day.

I was tought to want to be married to someone who would have safety and attention to give me. I was tought to see my ideal other as a prince that would save me from my troubles. At no time in any dizney movie is that love – or nurture – or looking after – broken, from the point of view of the prince. The princess was always, to him, the most important thing he had ever discovered.

I found a false safety with my mom. The prince idea was the plan B for if I would have to set off in the world one day. I didn’t understand how that would happen, either. I very much imagined it as either a desire that would “happen” in me eventually because that’s what they said would happen. A desire to push myself out into the world never really occured.

It occured, but in the last several years it has been opressed. My fears have been fought the same way I faught the teachings of my parents – with secretive thinking (>secret>never actually tought anything> uncontrollable)(secretive thinking = uncontrollable introverted thinking). I’ve been fighting my fears and the world the same way I fought the fear of being supressed or beaten. By seeking nurtur, secretly seeking nurtur, and secretly always plotting to have it in maximum quantities.

This was something that made sense when I was a kid.

What a smart kid. I always knew I’d owe my strength to the way I thought as a kid. I always knew this. Especially at the time. I still do think this – but… that strength, the strength to persist, is being mis-directed. It’s aimed at protecting a self that lives in a world she cannot control. It’s the only form of safety I ever understood. Of protecting myself.

The world was scary because it reminded me of my dad. My social anxieties were pretty bad because my parents’ opinions of me was fluctuating and not regular. I felt the need to make the output I gave regularly more noticeable than others – so that I may be safe from everything. So that I may exist. This is how I learned to exist. Safely. Because there was very much a threat.

Other people were scary because if they rejected me, they would look away. If they aren’t looking, my dad could hurt me. But worse – if they weren’t looking at me, there was no more victimisation world to feel safe in.

I am addicted to self victimisation, nurtur and the attention of others. I misunderstood the idea that actual safety is what it is. I placed all my idea of safety in relationships. I did so secretly and I fed it allot.

****** actually
allot of my social anxiety comes from my dad forcing me to be adequate with people. Yes, when I tried to be myself with a kid, I’d be surprised – by my dad – shaking his finger. It meant pain and violence would come. And fear. And trauma. That’s it – I must have said something wrong. Being myself with others very much did result in me being beaten for it.

My dad didn’t allow me to be me. And my mom wanted me to be like her.

My mom only gave me love because she saw herself in me. Or she saw a doll in me. I was her princess and doll and everything. But if I tried to be too much like myself, she was aware and allowed for dad to supress it traumatically. She only gave me safety at home, away from others. She even disregarded anything I had to say if I was around other people and she was there too. She would laugh at me instead of help me. She was prioritising them. She would betray me. I hated it.

When around other people – my mom would not care about me. And my dad would always be watching -I could be beaten at any time.

Fuck man, I was conditioned to be afraid of people.

I don’t have a self. I am survival: nurture, for relativity and safety. impulsivity – for escaping reality and conserving my own mind. (which ended up destroying it) – I secretly never bothered to be a person. I secretly moved closer and closer to being the idea of a person with my image and connections – when the person i was inside was secretly being conserved as a rightfully volnurable and dependant person. rightfully.

I didn’t have anything. I do now. What I have now – is choice. I never tought myself to want something for me. I never tought myself to want to d something for myself. I was never tought that it was safe to just be. I was running away from conditioning, abandonment, and violence.

2 out of 3 of these threats are still real.
Conditioning – ADD is my self conditioning. meanwhile I fight the world asking me to stay in a habit or in one place. And I am very much fighting the “bad parents” that are, well, anything that reminds me of a triangle. (the system, the government, it’s endlessly complicated and I do not trust it)

I don’t trust any reality without understanding it all myself, because my parents were wrong too much, or I was too defensive of their reign on my brain. Rightfully. I don’t trust thoughts because I didn’t have reason to trust my parents, which meant I couldn’t trust myself. Only the data I would encounter.

The thoughts expanding was my only hope into finding any trust.  If it can be proven, it is now a reality. If it cannot be proven – even if it is likely – do not trust it. You don’ have to. You can look for nurtur instead. Find people to trust. People who can interpret reality better for you. People you can trust, who can teach you life in a way that you can finally allow yourself to trust yourself, via trusting them. I am today always looking for an adequate pair of parents to trust in raising me.

Not having an adequate upbringing made me not trust any of myself. I didn’t trust I was raised properly. And I started not trsuting that I was even raising myself properly. That’s when the crazies really settle in.

I have trust issues.

Trust issues because my parents could not be trusted, thus I could not be trusted.

I look for trust in others who make enough sense to me that they can both protect me and give me reason to trust my own self. Because I trust them.

I’m always looking for better parents.

Right now, I feel sad. And scared. And anxious. And I feel as though I am wasting my time and that the darkness is taking my freedom away. I feel as though I wasted my time.

Oh, but false! No, I am tempted to feel this way. However, I understand that I don’t need to nurtur myself. Laying in bed under the covers would indeed make me warmer. But now I understand. Now I understand that this is the threat. Flase comfort. They really do have me if they teach me to do this to myself.

No, I will not soothe myself. I will do what I want to do. The more things I do – the more they become me. I must become a person.

The threat to me is not the absense of people – I do have people. People are there and they come and go. They are not my parents. I am very much a result of my environment – we all are – but I have control over my environment. I have creativity, the great gift for humanity. Creativity will change my environment. Creativity will change who I am. Understanding will hold this together. Sensible, logical decision to reach for fruitful creativity.

A life without passion is simply existance

People can abandon me but if they do I will still be safe and I will still have the option to find more people to be around. The people around me do not define me, either – I have to stop thinking that if they are not around, I will stop learning. I have the capacity to chose what I learn.

I will chose what I learn. I will learn to do things for myself. Why? So I can be a person.

If I am alone in a room thinking that I pitty myself, it is because I remember pittying myself when I was alone in my room playing something rather than fighting the assimilation or taking the feelings I had seriously. The fear was very real.

Being alone and playing with something is okay. It doesn’t mean I’m not being myself. It’s okay to put your attention on things and not try to internally regulate your teachings in a false direction or punishing yourself.

Punishing myself creates allot of fear. My relationship with punishment is almost hypnotically mended with fear. Fear causes concentration to demnish.

If I stop punishing myself, I will feel less fear. If I focus my attention to reality instead, I will stop being inadequate, and I will have reason to feel safe, because aknowledging and dealing with reality is where real safety is at.

Proof?

Reality has been pretty scary to you lately hasn’t it. This fear is the proof that my reality has been the fallse one. And this is the explanation that will help me redirect my emotions.

And I will learn to make choices and see the difference between thinking fast and being afraid to remain in a thought. The fear of my mind being conditioned.

It’s okay to trust something even if it doesn’t feel right. I never learned that. I will show myself.

Show. Do. But most importantly – understand.

Understanding is what has been missing. When they tell me what to do, I feel traumatised. I don’t understand.

Now I understand.

Now I will learn.

I will re-associate my emotional reactions. Emotionas are necessary – if they are to be in me, they best be proportionate to the right things. If I create the wrong paralell, it will be equally disastrous. That* is not okay.

Thinking, deciding and doing for myself is literally okay.

Try discovering people from a different angle. By understanding the relationships between people differently. Why not.

Anyway. Tired. Here’s to finishing this.

I’m going to force myself into doing the things in the living room, but it’s not force, it’s my decision. So I will learn to enjoy it. Or at least, to accept it. If it becomes unpleasant – don’t run. Just keep doing it. This will be  very difficult.

There are strong chances I may not be able to do Vipassana yet… I’ll have to see, I won’t ask myself this question again tonight. I can’t trust my mind.

Or can I trust my mind? I am exausted. Exaustion is real. Especailly from over thinking. It’s alright I think, to tend to that. Mental exaustion is indeed real. It’s not an excuse and.,..

It is an excuse. The excuse is not accepting it.

I never accepted these things. It is my strong brain reflex to reject staying still. I want to change that.

I want to discover staying stilll and what it can do to me. I don’t want to but I understand that I need to. I will create the want. The want will come from the replacement for what is lacking. I must replace the absense of self with an actual self. Lack of ambition with ambition. Lack of social skills with implementation of social skills or acceptances and transparencies. I will acccept that I am not interesting because I am not even doing anything for myself. I will beocme endlessly interesting anyway, as soon as I start being a person for myself.

In my mind this is for other people to tend to me. I must understand that this is okay but that it mut not be the ultimate goal. I must understand that I am a singular person who needs to take care of herself. This understanding must not make sense in depression – it must make even MORE sense in my mind. More. Replacement. Not taking away – replacing.

Not taking away from the feeligns – not making feelings disapeer – replacing them with thoughts.

Distraction is a form of control. Thinking in one place is also a form of control. But it’s me controling me. And it’s okay for me to control me. This is a form of supression that is okay. Because it is not supression – it is freedom. I must learn that.

“Balance is not something that is found, it is something that is created.”

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