Q: You are not truly a cptsd case. You mention a list of symptoms but relate no real events that equal ptsd (sic).
Ok Rob, you asked for it.
List of traumas I have experienced so that Rob can diagnose me as ‘truly’ having C-PTSD (because hey, who needs psychiatrists?):
- Was emotionally and physically abused by my parents and sibling throughout my childhood. Was told I was screwed up in the head, fat, ugly, unlovable, pointless and wrong in every single way. Repeatedly.
- Was chased out of the house with a carving knife by my mother who had just ripped out handfuls of my hair while screaming in my face that she should’ve torn my head off at birth. I was 12. I was too scared to go back so my mother told everyone I’d run away for no reason.
- Was encouraged to invite my first boyfriend over for dinner only to have my mother and sibling make snorting noises at me throughout and try to get him to agree what a pig I was.
- Being told by my mother that she couldn’t love me and she didn’t want me as her daughter. Countless times.
- Having the same mother flat out deny all of it and tell me I was a troublemaking bitch.
- Being raped when I was 18 by a ‘family friend’ who had been there for me since I was 6. Not telling a soul for years because I felt so disgusting. Finally plucking up the courage to tell my mother years later only to hear ‘Oh, but we saw a lot of them. I’m glad you didn’t tell me, it might have made things awkward.’
- Having sex with any man who would have me so I could enjoy the brief period afterwards with their arms around me.
- Falling hopelessly in love with countless abusive narcs & sociopaths because I couldn’t believe my luck that they wanted me back.
- A cancer diagnosis separating me from my newborn and being forced to stop breastfeeding because of the cytotoxic chemicals they had to pump into me so I didn’t die.
- Having my husband leave me just after my first remission was declared. Having the other woman torment, harass and abuse me for the entirety of their few months together.
- My cancer returning and being told I was going to die. Wanting to die because my life was so fucking difficult but knowing I had a kid who wasn’t even properly bonded to me at the time, so forcing myself to continue with treatment. Being told on a further occasion that it was game over and my time was up.
- Planning my own funeral and writing letters to my kid trying to imagine what they would need or want to hear from me at all the milestones in their life I wouldn’t be there for.
- Having my sibling visit on my ‘deathbed’ to tell me how selfish and attention-seeking I was.
- Having my ‘friend’ conspire with my spineless husband to drug me on multiple occasions so they could shag each other’s brains out beside my sleeping body. Taking an overdose when I found out and then having social services crawling all over me telling me all of my failures as a parent.
- Being bullied and harassed out of my property because a corrupt copper was friends with the instigators. Having the door kicked in and a coked-up ex squaddy threatening to batter us all to death just because I took a stand against racism.
Can I stop yet or do you need more? Because trust me, this barely scratches the surface.
Read, digest and never question anybody’s trauma again you absolute fuckwit.