Sad but hopeful... (warning:contender for longest post ever)

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Hello. How do you do? I've never posted anything anywhere before.
I'm going to be evaluated next month for Asperger's at the Autism Center of one of the local hospitals in my area. I've already filled out the questionaires and received my appointment date.
I'm 43. Life isn't so great, although I'm very hopeful that an official diagnosis will help set some things right in my life, and give me a weapon to protect myself against people who have hurt me. I've had to deal with an avalanche of misfortune. I feel like an anomaly people don't want to deal with. Maybe people here will. I apologize ahead of time-this is a very, very long account, and most of it is a terrible downer. But I'm desperate to get it out if there's a chance someone out there can relate to it. You might want to skim it first.
I love the name of this site. I've always felt like I was dropped off on this planet by mistake.

My memories go back to when I was a baby, but it was at some point in nursery school
that I began to see how other children reacted to me. I wanted to socialize but other children in general, even if they were kind, didn't want to be friends with me. I withdraw and became very shy. From then on I learned to play-act, to try to be "normal." I hid the full scope of my intelligence from everyone, though my parents had already witnessed several accomplishments, such as my teaching myself to read at a very young age.
I still made lots and lots of mistakes with children and adults.

None of the adults in my life saw anything unusual in my behavior beyond signs of "giftedness," until I was 8 or 9. I started reacting to the way my mother pronounces several consonants: as tics, then wordless sounds of distress. It became a major disruption in our family.
On somebody's recommendation, my parents took me to a psychiatrist. He did some preliminary testing, but for the rest of our sessions he sat across from me at his desk and said nothing. I remember wondering how this was treatment. He tried putting me on a drug-I don't know what kind. One time, I came in at the start of a session crying. My parents and I had a fight in the waiting room. He still didn't say anything. He just looked annoyed.

Eventually my parents stopped taking me to him. I don't know why, but there was no reason to continue, since he seemed to serve no actual purpose while still getting paid.

Life went on. I continued to hide my intelligence, my real interests, my bewilderment at human behavior in general. As a teenager I started having more emotional problems: psychological, hormonal, etc. In my early teens I briefly developed problems processing music. I love classical music and orchestral film scores. For two finite periods of time, I couldn't fully take in the music of my favorite soundtrack at the time: The Empire Strikes Back. I heard the music but something was blocking my ability to take it in and appreciate it like I could before. Then the blockage would go away. Back then I tried to explain this to my mother but I couldn't find the words.

I had friends but friendship was difficult. I think I was getting more and more frustrated with being unable to share my genuine interests with most people, especially other girls. I drove some friends away because of my behavior while other friends with issues of their own didn't treat me very well. Guess it doesn't matter. None of them saw the real me in my entirety.
At 18 I was severely bullied at college and had to be taken home. I was traumatized but my parents didn't fully see how much. I was given a choice: work or school, so I tried to work, and couldn't. They also took me back to the psychiatrist i'd seen as a child, which turned out to be a
terrible mistake.

He misdiagnosed "social anxiety disorder," except he never told my parents this (I asked my Mom), and for more than twenty years he put me on a succession of antidepressants and antipsychotics. He never asked me about my experiences at colleges. He dealt with my evolving emotional problems only in sessions with my parents, and then only to spew pop culture-derived interpretations, such as that my spending habits and reactions to frustration were typical of my generation, that I expected instant gratification of my desires. I knew he was wrong but couldn't completely voice my thoughts.

In 1991 I was determined to be disabled and put on federal disability, which I still receive.
The drugs were a destructive yoke. They all gave me varying degrees of uncomfortable side effects, especially the antipsychotics. They made me lethargic and affected my memory. I would complain of one drug's side effects; he would wean me off that one and prescribe another. Eventually we stopped with the antipsychotics altogether, because they made me the most uncomfortable. I was used to doing what other people told me to do. I thought, for many years, that the adults in my life knew what was best for me. As I became relatively more of an adult myself, and more and more frustrated, I understood that wasn't the case.

Looking back on this now, I realize that this psychiatrist's sole function, like many psychiatrist's, was to medicate patients. I did try going to other psychiatrists; they all wanted to medicate first and ask questions later. I knew he had diagnosed social anxiety disorder because it was written on the letters he provided me to send to Social Security to renew my disabled status over the years. I asked him about this, he confirmed his diagonosis, but didn't explain. I was confused. If he genuinely thought I had an anxiety disorder, then it was his responsibility to tell my parents and send me to a therapist to deal with the underlying cause of the anxiety, and the traumas associated with it. If that had happened maybe I would have found someone who could recognize some form of autism. Or maybe not.
I don't understand how people like this attain medical degrees. I think that he was so lacking in competency and perceptiveness that he was trying to medicate my "differentness" away without any real understanding of what he was seeing. I think he's a very stupid man. He did me great harm.

When I reached my late 30's I'd had enough. I'd begun to assert aspects of my true personality. I saw that the psychiatrist had done nothing to help me become an abled adult, that he, in fact, had put me on drugs I suspected I never needed to begin with. I began to suspect I'd been misdiagnosed.
By 2009 he allowed me to lower the dosage of the last antidepressant I was on-like many of its predecessors it was giving me the symptoms it's prescribed to relieve. At the lowest dosage I went off it and stopped seeing him altogether. My memory recovered and for the first time I started expressing myself in genuine ways, verbally and creatively. But my underlying state of being remained unrecognized by me or anyone else. And because I'd been treated solely with medication, my family and friends of my family believed that I needed medication to function, that I suffered from that mythical condition used to sell drugs called a "chemical imbalance."

In June of 2010 I had to end a long-term friendship. In my 20's I'd made friends with some men with very similar interests as mine but who were much more damaged than myself. I'm sure my problems were driving them crazy, but they took theirs out on me deliberately and in various cruel ways. My best friend saw he couldn't treat me the way he had anymore, so he found other ways to mistreat me and abandon me emotionally while pretending to maintain a relationship. I just made the break-up official. But I was despondent. I had another friend, a platonic male friend, but I didn't want to get back into contact with him at the time.

I was suffering emotional meltdowns. By late July my widowed mother called my older brother and sister, who live in other parts of the country. I should mention that I'm adopted. My siblings were out of the house by the time my parents adopted me.
My sister, a physician's assistant, and my brother, like everyone else, have never asked me abuot my life, my experiences. They don't even know my hobbies. Nevertheless my sister presumed to diagnose me, and I, stupidly, thought she could understand me. She couldn't.

They both determined that I had to return to a psychiatrist's care and go back on medication. I had no choice. I resisted. They lost patience. My sister erupted and yelled at me. She treated me like a criminal. I was very sad. I told them that I just wanted a friend. I was in shock and agony at how she was treating me, as though she hated me. I screamed once and starting crying.
She refused to believe that I'd ever been traumatized. She taunted me and accused me of various transgressions against our mother, of being selfish. She all but called me a spoiled child. She said things to me I will never forgive her for.
Finally I erupted and started throwing things on the kitchen floor. My sister whipped out her cell phone and called the hospital. They couldn't send an ambulance so she called the police. At the time all I heard was her calling the police. I cried and begged, but it made no difference. I knew what it was going to be iike.

I'd been to a psychiatric ward years earlier voluntarily, not understanding what it meant to go to the hospital for emotional problems, thinking it would be like a little vacation, thinking I would have a room to myself like any other hospital patient. I ended up spending most of the following day curled up on my bed. When my parents came to visit I begged them to take me home, and they did. I later found out that my sister told our mother that they should have just left me there. Until I was "regulated."

Three police cars came. The police were among the only people throughout the whole experience to be kind to me. They let my family take me to the hospital. I was admitted as a possible paranoid-schizophrenic, based on an opinion about my biological mother. When I tried to tell the man at Admissions that I'd never been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia, he snapped at me to "be quiet!" There was no room at the ward that day, so I spent the night in a temporary examination room in the emergency wing. It wasn't a proper bed-the "mattress" was only 3'' thick or so. I was in shock, frightened, cold and shaking. I wasn't given any food, and I'm diabetic. My blood sugar was in the 170s. At least I had a T.V. I'd brought a literary anthology with me, but I couldn't concentrate on reading. I got just 3-4 hours sleep.
The next morning I was tranferred to what they call the C-Pep to wait to speak with several staff members. It was a tiny, antiseptic hellhole. All the patients are assumed to be irrational, so they're treated exactly the same, and told nothing, until it's time to speak to someone. I had to wait hours for a staff member to tell me what was going to happen to me. Two of the patients were kind to me. The staff were patronizing.
In the end, I was told a family member wouldn't let me come home unless I agreed to go on an antipsychotic. I was told this by a psychiatrist who struck me as a borderline sadist. Some of the worst people I've ever met have been doctors. I later asked my Mom about this. She said that my sister had told her it was the psychiatrist that had set this condition for my release. A few months ago, at my insistence, my mother asked my sister about this. She said she didn't remember what she had said at the time. Right.
It took me two weeks to stop shaking and I still haven't fully recovered. It was only a weekend, but it was the worst thing to ever happen to me. The antipsychotic, resperidone, gave me intolerable sensations in my facial muscles; we went back to the C-Pep to lower the dosage. In the outer corridor, where you have to take off your shoes and socks, I was exposed to a guard with a foot fetish, who made an appreciative sound as he stared at my feet. Once again, I had to wait hours in the ward for a staff member to tell me anything. I was frightened that they thought I was there for the night, or longer.

Not long after, with my Mom's permission, I took myself off the drug to pursue other answers. My Mom has problems of her own that have contributed to my suffering at the hands of other people. She thought the hospitalization was necessary at the time, but she changed her mind when she saw what it had done to me. I started investigating all the possible causes of my symptoms, which had varied so widely as to contradict the symptoms of a specific mental disorder. Three times I came up with the wrong answer: food additives, my diabetes, social anxiety disorder, as the original psychiatrist had diagnosed.

From June 2010 to May 2011 I had end all contact with both my friends, my biological half-sister, my sister and brother, a married couple- longtime friends of my parents, who are both psychologists, and the lawyer in charge of my disability trust. He's only a stranger, but I've determined never to have any dealings with him.

My former friends and my half-sister all suffered various kinds of abuse in childhood, and adulthood, that destroyed the people they could have been, because they never received the help they needed. I discovered, one event after another, that they were completely untrustworthy. They each, separately, saw I was vulnerable and took the opportunity to abandon me when I needed them most, without explaining why or what I was doing to offend them. My half-sister outright scares me. I think she may have a personality disorder. But all three are narcissists who feel no responsibility for their own behavior because of their own traumatic experiences.

I no longer have anything to do with my adopted sister and brother. According to our Mom, they feel no guilt over what they did to me. Earlier this year I tried to reconcile with my brother, because we'd had a much more friendly relationship in the past; my sister and I never had a relationship to salvage. She appeared to resent me, for reasons I don't understand. My brother is no better. He dismissed my calling the hospitalization cruel; they did what they thought was necessary at the time, end of story. It was like the last phone conversations with my former best friend and half-sister; total indifference to my pain in the tone of voice, like, "well, that's the way it goes, funny weather we've been having." I sent a letter to each of my siblings. Reportedly my sister was upset over the letter I sent to her.
(A few months ago, I discovered part of the rough draft of the letter my mother sent to her in reply-I knew she'd sent one. I thought it read almost like an apology. I had another in a long line of meltdowns).

I discovered years ago that I should never have sought comfort from the psychologist couple. They always infuriated me, and the wife, who can be a very difficult and rigid person in her personal life, has always upset me the few times she spoken to me alone-as a supposed friend, not a patient. Now I'm convinced she's demented. I tried to speak to her years ago about the casual cruelty and name-calling I've been subjected to from strangers as an adult, starting at college. The wife, who knows very little about me and the course of my life, has preconceived notions that she wouldn't allow me to contradict, and she felt perfectly comfortable describing events and experiences I've had that she never witnessed.

After my hospitalization I called them. Before I could describe what it was like I had to listen to the wife gushing about my wonderful experience with all the kind doctors and staff members. I got upset but I couldn't verbalize how upset they were making me. I tried to explain that it was a nightmare, but they wouldn't accept that. The husband is a kinder person but not very bright.

This past May i got desperate enough to call them again. The wife intermingled her annoyance at my having called with her usual approach, which was to invalidate everything I told her. I tried to tell her about my former friends, how I still haven't recovered from the hospitalization. She barely let me speak and told me I was paranoid, that I needed to be on medication, that my sister and brother had helped me, that she was a professional and she knew her business, that the psychiatrist had given me therapy. I finally yelled at her that she was sick, and she hung up on me. I cried, and my mother comforted me, just as she had to comfort me after I spoke to my brother.

These are all people who have never asked questions, refused to listen, believe in the status quo, and that doctors rarely, if ever, make mistakes, insisted on my submission to their venerable knowledge, yet treated me like a subhuman thing they could speak to however they wanted, without any sense of kindness or compassion. Apparently I didn't merit any such consideration in their eyes.

Around the same time, my mother and I went to revise her will, again, to place my trust in the hands of my niece. The lawyer, who I'd met before and didn't like, who specializes in disability trusts, spoke to me like I was a child instead of a grown woman and was determined to force his advice about my relationship with my sister and brother. Another person who knows almost nothing about me and insisted that I should listen to his wisdom. I resisted and he became, obnoxious, a soft-spoken bully. It was all about his ego. My mother just sat by and let him tear into me for not listening. As though he had the right to treat a vulnerable person any way he wanted. This is a trait of my mother's that I find very difficult to understand.

One day, not long ago, I went back to a local hobby shop for gamers and kit builders. I don't have those hobbies. I just like going there and looking at the books and magazines, which do have fascinating information. And the owner was always kind and friendly to me, never looking at me like he sees something wrong. He always seemed eccentric to me. This time, we got into a long discussion about the Steig Larsson books and Lisbeth Salander, the main character. He and his wife read all three books. I told him my mother and I had seen the Swedish film adaptations and enjoyed them. He mentioned that his wife has Asperger's Syndrome, although she was never diagnosed, and that Larsson's character does too. We talked for a while longer, then I went home and thought about the encounter. I wondered if he saw something in me he recognized. I told my Mom; she said that Asperger's had occurred to her. She'd never mentioned it before then, though.

Something would always resonate for a few seconds whenever I'd pass books on autism at a bookstore. I'd wondered my whole life why I never fit in anywhere, why noone else seemed to think like me, why I was so sensitive, emotionally and physically, why I didn't understand people's reactions to me, or each other, and why I didn't know how to behave in so many situations. I'd been going along assuming I could interpret people's facial expressions like anyone else. I started looking at my reactions to other people objectively, and realized I often can't. I misread people a lot; with everything I've experienced I often automatically interpret negative responses from strangers. Still, I don't think I've misread other people's inappropriate responses, like a smirk or a sadistic smile in reaction to my obvious distress. Sometimes context alone is very informative.

So I called the nearest Autism Center. I filled out the questionaires and was given an appointment. I was euphoric for a while. I realized I could drop the "normal" act. As it never worked very well to begin with-people thought I was weird anyway-I figured I might as well just be myself. My anxiety-I do have anxiety issues-has lessened considerably. My mother has even told me that if I don't know if I've offended a stranger, then who cares? That's not worth worrying about. But it's hard dealing with everything that's happened alone much of the time. This is a terrible burden on my mother. She's had to deal with my meltdowns alone. But she's adapted to these changing circumstances. She listens to me and believes. And I recently started speaking to another close family friend-a good one-who's been very kind and compassionate. So now I have another ally.

A lot of my outrage stems from what I've encountered trying to find help from mental health professionals and various mental health resources. It's an inherently corrupt system that tolerates unqualified, incompetent individuals unable to deal with anything outside their personal experience, who think they've learned everything they need to know in life and their practice (this applies to most of the doctors of other medical disciplines who I stopped seeing). Not a single psychiatrist, psychologist, or social worker anywhere, anytime, could see what was really going on with me. I've had to figure things out on my own.

I submitted complaints against my sister and the psychiatrist who saw me for so long to their respective medical boards. These were rejected outright. Whoever read the complaint against the psychiatrist barely skimmed it, judging from the rejection letter.

Very little surprises me anymore. I see corruption in every aspect of human civilization. But I can't comprehend how medical professionals so easily disregard the Hippocratic Oath, or why these family members and family friends who still think I'm mentally ill treated me however they liked, as something to be emotionally abused. My sister taunted me and held me responsible for my behavior, which she completely misinterpreted, and then took away my right to be considered a responsible adult. These people may feel no guilt even after I'm diagnosed. They don't know I'm being evaluated. Some people aren't worth knowing, even family members.

I miss having friends-human friends. But it's better to be alone than be stuck with people who hurt you. Someday maybe I'll make new friends. I'm starting my life over, so I have to try to be patient (scrolling down my own post is a good way to learn patience). Life is getting better, but I still get upset every now and then.

I do have a guinea pig. His name is William. His conversation is limited, but we get along great. When I bought him he was damaged, too. He hadn't been socialized properly and I don't think he was treated very well at the pet store. Now he's almost fearless.

For those who've reached the end of this post, I congratulate you and sincerely thank you for your interest and patience.
My favorite score at the moment is "Batman Begins." I love incorruptible characters.
There's a really great quote from the attorney/author Andrew Vachss: "Children know.... love is not a word. It's a behavior."

Last edited by albaemme on 29 Jun 2011, 1:40 pm, edited 9 times in total.

Welcome to WrongPlanet, albaemme!

Forgive me for not reading your post in its entireity, but I read parts of it.
Hope you enjoy your stay here

Good lord.

Anyways, welcome

I read all of your post, and identify with some of it, minus the drugs. I hope some kind people come into your life soon. Meanwhile, hurray for William, and welcome to the forum!

Welkome to WrongPlanet.

The WP Kink

Hi Albaemme,
I read your whole post. It was quite sad at the start. I think your main problem is you've been told who you are instead of being asked. In fact it sounds like you've never been listened to in your life, just spoken down to. I hope getting all of this out helps you to know that people have listened and can even relate to some of it (even if most of our experiences have not been as tragic as yours). As for people who used to be a part of your life I would hope in time you come to realise it doesn't matter what they would think or feel about your diagnosis. They had a chance to empathise, care and understand and they failed. Big time. It sounds like you're better off starting over.
As the nickname suggests I'm still not diagnosed but I can relate to spending time in a shop with someone and forming a bond with them over what may have been AS. I thought the guy in the local comic book shop showed signs of AS and we clicked and talked about comics and stuff. Then one day I was in there while he was talking to another customer and mentioned he'd been told he might be on the spectrum. So yeah I think people on the spectrum and NT's who are similar in some ways get along and even recognise each other
Say hi to William and I wish you all the best for your future. Good luck!! !

Thank you. Positive and caring reactions make a big difference. It's great to be here.

Hello there. That certainly was a long post. If you don't mind, you know when you say your 'normal act'', are you meaning a sort of mask you put on, as in you act as normal as you can, whilst inside, you feel like a scared child, confused and feeling it is wrong to have to act how everyone expects you to but you have no choice? Sorry if it is too personal, I've only just started out on this forum tonight!

Yes, that's exactly what I meant.
Nowadays I'm learning to just be myself. And also to stand up for myself. Thanks for asking.

Lately I've been thinking about how easy it is to feel like you are coming from some unassailable position, without actively realizing the other person you are interacting with must also feel that way. I'm imagining how your sister will describe that event to her friends. "...And yeah she just freaked out and was throwing s**t all over the place, it was crazy, Christ what a lunatic."

I'm not trying to side with her, I'm just offering a thought. I hope this doesn't come across as mean.

To clarify: I'd begun to have meltdowns my mother didn't know how to deal with.
My sister's actions were not only unnecessary but unethical, since she intermingled her professional influence over a family member's hospitalization with emotional abuse.

What kind of human being brings a deeply sad person, sitting on the floor, to tears, then escalates the verbal assault? While another person stands by and lets her do it.

She's a licensed physician's assistant. She's not a mental health professional, although she's been granted the authority to prescribe psychotropic medication by the doctor she works for.

She didn't bother to ask about my past or what was wrong; I volunteered a lot of information, thinking she was capable of understanding. Not long after, I became even more depressed when I realized I was being forced back into the same impersonal, destructive "treatment" I'd been trapped in for over 20 years. I already knew I didn't need to be on drugs. And a doctor is not a friend.
Obviously, in my case, she was completely wrong. A chainsaw for a scalpel.

I've worried for a long time that she's resented me for some reason, that she's been uncomfortable with me, even when I've tried to reach out to her. She always seemed very insecure. That's fertile ground for mean-spiritedness. She'd been unkind to me long before this. But sometimes she would be kind in a limited way. I don't know what's been simmering in her all these years. I have theories, but I'll never know. I don't know what's going on with my brother either.

I don't think my sister and brother are evil. But I don't want to know people like them. In the past my sister would condemn other people's behavior without bothering to consider the origin of it, long before she turned this attitude on me.

I believe there's a lot of cruel hypocrisy in mental healthcare, based on my personal experience and observations. The person thought to be mentally ill may be treated as subhuman and denied what they need most: kindness and compassion. And people think nothing of it.

My sister showed little sign of recognizing or caring that she was causing the agony that precipitated my eruption, which was the first time I'd ever reacted like that. The last thing a person who's been bullied and mistreated needs is someone insisting that their experiences weren't real.

I've never physically hurt another human being in my life. I don't allow living things of any kind to be killed in the house: ants, spiders, silverfish, beetles, lost bees....(I might suspend that policy in the event of an infestation). I thought my siblings were aware of this.
You find out what people are really like when things go wrong. Guess we're totally incompatible.

Hi albaemme,

This is a little late, but welcome to WP! Yup, read your entire post! Wow, you've been through a lot! Sorry to hear that your family is so hardheaded towards you & not listening to your POV. I am just now getting tested though I went through extensive testing some 10 years ago, my shrink at the time couldn't give me a DX. I am pretty sure I have AS too. I can sure relate to parts of your story. Mine is a bit different, but still there are some similarities too. There are some very nice people here...hope you get to meet at least some of them.

Like you, I was adopted (horribly abusive couple who even told me they owned me). Sucks to study about slavery in school & hear it's been abolished only to go home & be told to do something "because we paid a lot of money for you, & you owe us." I even got that attitude from my parents well into my 40s. I grew up as an only child though I do have 2 biological siblings. One of whom says I think I'm better than her. I don't...I'm not even sure why she'd think such a thing. She knows nothing of my past though, I never had the chance to tell her before she started making such hurtful statements about me & I stopped talking to her. It's a really long drawn out story that will have to wait.

Here's to Wrong Planet, a place to feel welcomed & accepted even if others including family members think you're a misfit.


Tomboy

I'm sorry you went through that with your adopted parents. They sound psychotic. Or just plain evil. You sound very strong for having survived cruelty of this magnitude. Thank you for reading my entire post. I had the attention span to type it out but I don't think I could read it myself in one sitting!
I can relate to having a troubled biological sister. Twisted and disturbed, actually, in my case.
My half-sister found me through a private investigator years ago, and I wish she hadn't. I also hope she never finds our half-brother. She's been on medication and in therapy for years and she's still the same person. Which may be why she had to keep changing doctors. Some of them may have recognized what's really wrong with her, and what's wrong with her, I think, can never be fixed. It's too late.

My two former friends mistreated me because they've got serious issues with women. And serious issues in general. They never treated their male friends badly, as far as I know. Can't really blame any of them for being exasperated with me-the three of them couldn't deal with my newly-emerging symptoms. But that's not an excuse for what they did to me, each on his or her own.
It seemed like a sadistic game, deliberately abandoning me when I needed help or someone to listen. What they all have in common is traumatic abuse that started in childhood.

I didn't know until recently how pervasive child abuse is around the world. Andrew Vachss-the attorney/author I quoted- represents exclusively in his practice child victims of sexual abuse. He writes in his fiction and nonfiction about real-life subjects most journalists and fiction writers, even crime authors, won't touch. That's one reason I respect him so much. He doesn't tolerate BS or euphemisms or self-censorship within the popular media. He seems like a very difficult man, but he doesn't compromise his integrity to get along with others. I hope I can be as difficult someday.

Funny you mention Andrew Vachss. I wrote to him several years ago about sexual abuse I endured as a child. I got an answer from one of his associates who basically said I should be able to get info on the man who abused me just based upon the memories I have (I only knew him by a nickname & when & where the abuse took place). I just spoke to a sheriff (unrelated issues regarding my dad) earlier this summer who basically said the same thing that I have enough info to go by. So I contacted the local agencies where this all took place & was told I needed names (full names plus case numbers), & because I can't provide any of that, got hung up on. I feel that they just really didn't care...didn't believe me, or something. It's frustrating. All I want to know is, if the b@st@rd is still alive, & if so, what can I do to get him locked up for the remainder of his life, maybe even along with his then spouse who was also involved. They were sick sick people...not unlike the Garridos in the Jaycee Dugard case. I was lucky that I actually somehow got the courage to stand up to him 3 years or so after it all started, when I was 12.

My parents have been very unfeeling & uncaring, & often made me feel like an intruder in their home. I'm not sure why they adopted me, although I suspect mom was a narcissist, dad I am positive has Aspergers too. They really weren't the type to have kids. Mom even admitted to me that she hated children, & adopting me had been a big mistake. Conversations with dad are all one sided (about him & what he's going through...if he asks me about me or his only grandkids, he really doesn't want an answer, & interrupts & moves on before I can respond). Mom is gone now...so at least I no longer have the drama of dealing with her. I grew up without hugs or love I survived it by living in my own head, making up my own fictional friends & family who loved me. Had I not lived like that, I probably would have not survived since there were no actual people who even liked me (family, peers, etc). It was pretty painful. I also read & drew a lot to keep myself sane. I started writing about what I went through in early June, but for the life of me I can't remember some names of some of the individuals, & due to that frustration, my writing stalled out just a few weeks into it.

I've been thrown under the bus so many times over the years, I've lost count. People who were supposed to take care of me were most guilty. People I trusted. What can one do? I grew up bullied from my earliest memories, & have been bullied just recently at 49. My shrink 10 years ago could not believe all the stuff I'd been through, & even asked me how I had managed to survive so much. Other people just feel that I must be making stuff up, or maybe exaggerating what really happened. All I know is that my experiences have left an indelible mark upon my memories, & I cannot forget any of the craziness that happened (I may not remember names, but the actual experiences are still as haunting today as the day they happened). I know the truth even if others don't want to hear it or believe it happened. Even my mother said that I lied about everything & she told everyone within reach that I was a liar. This from a person who never protected me from danger, even though that's what moms are supposed to do.

Sorry, I digress...stuff like this really upsets me as I cannot understand how people can be so cruel to one another. It astonishes me that more people are not helpful, & are more likely to stab a person in the back than offer help. I never cease to be amazed by how much cruelty exists in this world. I'm doing ok these days...I have good days & bad ones too. Hope to have more good days ahead. I'm so sorry that you've been through so much pain too. It's not right. Glad you found WP. It's been a good place to get validation for past experiences, even if they have been bad. Many here have gone through abuse too. Hope you find healing through your time here.


Tomboy

The world is filled with predatory people-not necessarily criminals, just people who have to hurt others in one way or another. I feel the same way about people. I get so outraged. Why are so many people so cruel and uncaring? Sometimes I think about just staying around other animals, and staying away from my own species as much as possible. I wish I could get a job on a farm or something-this is without having suffered nearly as much as lot of other members here have, like yourself.

I'm called names, still, too by strangers on the street. I've been bullied by staff members at doctor's offices, at a local pizza parlor, at the mall. Bullying doesn't happen anymore-I look and usually feel more confident, and that's enough to deter a coward's attack. It's the most difficult thing in the world when life and the world has treated you like s**t, but it's important to build self-esteem and a strong sense of self, somehow. Then the predators wil be less likely to read you as "prey." I get name-called still-but usually after I've passed the name-callers by. Women have been my worst tormentors, and sometimes a girl or woman with her boyfriend or husband will start in on me, figuring she's safe with her male companion right there.

Vachss' assistants run his website. He doesn't seem to maintain a presence himself online. At least that's what his assistants say at the site. He doesn't use email. While I admire this-I'm a bit of a throwback, despite using the internet- I am concerned that his assistants list human resources for visitors to contact that aren't necessarily competent or legitimate. I followed some of their links looking for therapists and found gimmicks and people advertising patented techniques, more interested in self-aggrandizement than describing how they actually care for people and what they do for patients.

It's probably a good idea to be a little wary of medical professionals who advertise online. I've been to a lot of sites where I could tell the person was more into exploiting their clients than being of help.

I went through some ordeals trying to find help, like people refusing to believe me.
Before I figured out my symptoms i tried "therapy" with 3 different psychologists. Sorry if anyone reading this already knows about what I'm about to discuss. It's still pretty new to me, and it's what I'm looking for.

First off, none of them were therapists. They can call themselves that, but all they did was listen and make superficial comments at the end. Much like the psychiatrist I was trapped into going to for so long. The 1st didn't understand why anyone would bully me. I think he just dismissed my accounts of bullying and name-calling from complete strangers. I tried to explain what bullying is, and that it often isn't personal. He didn't get it. The 2nd had memory problems and was even less bright. She couldn't keep my history straight. By the 4th and last session she pretty much blamed me for my problems and suggested I return to a psychiatrist and go back on an antipsychotic. Number 3 was smarter but still had trouble keeping my chronology straight. All of these people said they dealt with trauma.

"Therapy" is a widely-used, generic term. Hospitals and crisis hotlines would give me referrals for "therapists" without being able to tell me exactly what the person's approach was, and I'd get screwed. A psychologist actually hung up on me after I explained some of my problems over the phone. I stumbled onto a mental health advocacy site and found out what genuine therapy really is: psychotherapy or psychoanalysis. Something most psychiatrists don't do anymore.

Years ago I briefly saw a young, female psychiatrist, very arrogant, who interpreted the trances i would go into as an infant, as described to her by my mother, as a symptom-yet again-of a chemical imbalance in my brain-proof that I required medication to function. Like every other psychiatrist she would not speak to me unless I was medicated first. She kept going on about "clarity of thinking, referring to my obviously defective brain that was the source of all my troubles, which could not possibly originate from my traumas, or from some as-of-yet undiagnosed disorder. Like every other psychiatrist she didn't want to hear about my life so far before I was doped up.
Like everyone else she couldn't see what she was really looking at. Her head was too far up her ass.
I hate psychiatrists. I really and truly hate them.

Genuine therapy is an organized, structured interaction between the therapist and the patient in which the patient is made to feel totally safe and never judged, never threatened, ideally, in a specific physical environment-soundproof, with a separate entrance and exit. The therapist directs the flow of the session without being dominant, and at the same time doesn't force the patient to do all the speaking. It sounds as though the job requires a high degree of intelligence by definition. Apparently intelligence isn't a requirement in mental healthcare overall.

Last edited by albaemme on 16 Aug 2011, 4:59 pm, edited 3 times in total.

Hi albaemme, I'm not going to quote all of your text, but I so agree with you! I had my only real run in with a psychiatrist last year. At least of what I can remember...there may have been another years before. I still can't believe how stupid she was! She wanted to dope me up on bi-polar medications (this was within a few minutes of our very 1st meeting). I flat out refused to go along with her without her agreeing to have me tested 1st. I left her office after about 45 minutes due to the fact she refused to listen to what I had been going through, & had insulted me on top of everything else. I think the pharmceuticals (also in other postings of mine) love the profits they make by doctors (some just medical) doling out prescription medications like they are candy. Some of them, well many really, can do a lot more harm than good if they aren't properly prescibed. I refuse to be a guinea pig.

So good for you for having the presence of mind to stand up for yourself! It can be tough, but I have also experienced times where I am my sole advocate. If we don't stand up for ourselves, who else will? I get sick & tired of having to fight for stuff I believe in, but it seems the only thing a lot of people understand. I am glad that things are getting a bit better for you.

Wish that Vachss was more involved in the internet stuff. I really doubt he has any clue what his assistants are telling people. I sure found out the hard way trying to track down the guy who used to molest me. I just want peace of mind...I am truly hoping he has long since expired since he was a very evil person. But I am at a loss as to getting his real name (my dad doesn't remember now), & I have no clue where to look on my own. I know the dates, & locations only of what happened. I also don't have time to pour over old archives, even if the court system or sheriff's dept would let me (which I doubt being that I do not have a degree in law).