#i hallucinated my dead grandpa was talking to me from ages 12-15

[damianwaynerocks]

haven’t been keeping up with comics, is alfred still dead or is damian still hallucinating his ghost because heaven forbid bruce sends that child to therapy

[omniseurs-blog]

My YouTube comment reposted - mental illness, schizospec, psychosis, ADHD, distrust of doctors, rage/anger vent, loss of childhood, drug use

I was diagnosed with emotional behavioral disorder NOS and ADHD at 4, depression at 10, schizophrenia at 14, changed to schizoaffective bipolar and PTSD at 15. Here's my (and my family's) story.

Before any of my immediate family was born, my paternal great grandpa was... "Quirky", aka delusional and had hallucinations, and my great grandma refused to get him help, because it meant institutionalization or lobotomy. She never told her kids (my paternal grandpa) about it, they simply divorced when the kids were old enough to work. This is still all I will ever know about my great grandpa. My grandpa had his first psychotic break in his 20s or 30s (all I know is my grandma saying he's been insane for a long time, which is why she divorced him) and hid it well enough until his 50s where he was institutionalized and diagnosed "early onset dementia without Alzheimer's features" or something along those lines, he used to call my dad up all the time talking about the mafia and how my mother was poisoning him. My father had his first break in his 20s as well after the birth of my older brother and the death of his brother, but he didn't get treatment until his 30s well after my mother divorced him when I was 3. For a long time I didn't know a single thing about him besides what my mother told me, "he's abusive, he's evil, he's crazy, he's a terrible person" (my mother got diagnosed with BPD recently, so I don't even know if those were lies or not), but one thing she did teach us was that he was schizophrenic.

And then there's me. I was a shy kid, never trusted anybody, didn't play, didn't socialize, took a long time to start speaking, and... Held a very negative view of schizophrenia all the way until I was diagnosed. I was put on ADHD meds at 4, 20mg of adderall, the same age I was diagnosed. I began hallucinating full visible dead and bleeding people because of them and I had paranoia of being followed and watched. My mother did warn the psychiatrist that schizophrenia ran in the family, but my psychiatrist just raised the dose higher, this time 30mg of Ritalin, and put me on risperidone, 5mg... I hallucinated even worse, had crying fits from the delusions, but I was completely and utterly zombified. Why was I zombified on "such a low/starter dose"? Because I was a maybe 60lb F O U R (4) year old. Since the hallucinations and delusions didn't stop, and my mother insisting that I had schizophrenia, the doctor ensured my mother "children can't have schizophrenia" and diagnosed me emotional behavioral disorder NOS, switched me to Vyvanse at 25mg, and switched my risperidone to a common antidepressant I can't remember the name of (Prozac?). Of course, I was perfectly happy then, absolutely off the walls running around, wandering around, all that, so the SCHOOL system said they were going to call CPS because they didn't believe my parents were giving me my medications... Which meant they were the ones dishing out my medications to me and I missed the doses I was supposed to take before bed.

Thankfully, we ended up moving when I turned 10, and the new school never threatened CPS or demanded proof I'm taking my meds, so on my own account, I quit my own meds. I went unmedicated aside from taking a different antidepressant (genuinely can't begin to guess the name) around 12-13. I completely forgot I had any mental illness other than obviously having attention problems, fidgeting more than everyone else, severe anxiety that I thought was normal, and frequent nightmares and bedwetting, and a lack of awareness that I didn't fit in with others (mostly because I didn't have the urge to socialize with anyone). Then... the teenage years hit. My brother was experimenting with dr*gs, weed, LSD, computer duster, m*th, all of the dr*gs that were said to be bad in dare, and I did them too. We got past computer duster and weed, my brother got into worse drugs, new years swung around at 14 and they had some "high quality acid" that turned out to be NBOME, or fake bitter acid that makes even the most mentally stable freak out.

New years 2015, I was 14 years old, we took the fake acid, all 6 of us. People became manifestations of my mental illness, my brother was ADHD, his friends sister was depression, his best friend was anxiety, his best friends gf was PTSD... And his friend was schizophrenia. I was only diagnosed with ADHD, anxiety, and depression. The TV was talking to me, the music was about me, the universe was going to collapse if I made the wrong move. Sure, a bad trip is a bad trip, but the bad trip didn't end after 12, 24, 48 hours, a week, 2 weeks, a month, 5 months, a year, 2 years, 4 years. 4 years is what it took to START recovering, dozens of different combinations of meds, 20 hospitalizations, 4 different hospitals, 3 different states, countless amounts of doctors, and 3, going on 4, disability applications. From 10th to 12th grade, I missed an average of 100 days per year, had a 0.0gpa, and just barely graduated through GED while experiencing active psychosis

What could've been diagnosed at age 4, what I could've been properly medicated for, what didn't take a genius to figure out. 14 to roughly 18 were all a delusional mess, I'm 23 now. I still act like a 14 year old because... I'm still there. I should still be a kid.

[fuckignvehk]

So, because I have officially gotten away from my family permanently, I'm going to sit down and write a post about why I have acted the way I have over the years. Not as an excuse, but hopefully to give an explanation. I'm going to preface this with a trigger warning for:

Rape Incest Pedophilia Abuse (of SEVERAL varieties, ranging from manipulation, gaslighting, and mind control, to sexual abuse, and physical abuse as well as several other things) Neglect Poverty Possibly others?

I am also going to preface this again, as, I'm going to list off the mental illnesses I know I have, which are the following:

C-PTSD, which stands for Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is caused by repetitive and intense emotional, physical, mental, or sexual abuse, usually a mixture of them.

Bi-polar, which is a disorder associated with episodes of mood swings ranging from depressive lows to manic highs, of which will result in severe paranoia, anxiety, inflated ego, and hallucinations among other things

BPD, which stands for Borderline Personality Disorder, which  is a personality disorder that typically includes the following symptoms to name a few:

Inappropriate or extreme emotional reactions. Highly impulsive behaviors. A history of unstable relationships.

Depression, anxiety, and paranoia, which I will not bother to explain because they are common enough that you should know at least enough about them to understand

DID, which stands for Disassociative Identity Disorder, previously known as multiple personality disorder, which is a mental disorder characterized by at least two distinct and relatively enduring personality states. This is accompanied by memory gaps, beyond what would be explained by ordinary forgetfulness. One of these alternate personalities is a traumatized 3 year old girl.

Now that all of that is out of the way and explained, I'm going to start pretty much from the beginning.

I am unfortunately one of those people that can genuinely say that my trauma started almost at birth. I was born a month early, due to one of the valves in my umbilical cord having not developed, resulting in me after a certain point, to rapidly lose weight in the womb. I weighed 4 pounds and 14 ounces. About half the size I SHOULD have been being born. After that, I had an allergic reaction to a medication my mother was taking while breast feeding, resulting in me ceasing to breath for a good while and almost died. By the age of 3 or so, something happened, assumably incestuous rape, which resulted in my personality to fracture so heavily that the one originally in this body retreated, and was locked away while someone else came to the front, for the rest of her life. From that point on, the only time she came out, to my recollection, was doing extreme times of fear, paranoia, and danger, which resulted in her either hurting me, or someone around us. Her name is Amber. My birth name, my dead name. The last time she came out she asked for her mom and dad, and asked why her mom hates her. Most of my life is a blur, and the few things I can remember are not fantastic.

By the age of four I promised myself I'd never forget my age again after accidentally holding up five fingers only to be ridiculed for it and jeered at the whole party. There were no children at any of my birthday parties save one or two later on in life. It was always adults, usually my mother's friends. As such, after cake and presents, my presence was ignored and shaken off. This is an ordeal I deal with throughout my whole life. From a frighteningly young age I have been plagued with chronic nightmares so aggressive that I would wake up as a toddler having panic attacks, running through the dark of the house to my parents room, begging to sleep there that night. Only to be told to go back to my room, and not wake up my mother again lest I have my ass beat red. I still have these chronic nightmares to this day. Even medication doesn't help, all it does is trap me in these nightmares until morning, back to back to back. After 2nd grade, my mother and father got a divorce. I went with my mother, and lived in this small town named Millen(sp?) for the extent of 3rd grade. In this time. I was traumatized in many ways. One of which was by an upperclasswoman of 5th year, who promised to be my first friend if I let her do something 'special'. This was the first time I was ever raped. Not long after that we got a kitten whos back legs had been snapped at our doorstep. I instisted my mother let me nurse it back to health. She refused, and instead told me she was going to take it over to my grandparents, who lived right next to us, so that my grandpa could kill it. I can still hear the kitten mewling as she took it away, and I can still hear the sound of the 2-by-4 crushing it's skull with a single hard hit. I can also remember the cousin my family would talk about me allegidly crushing on, and talk of us getting married one day. My cousin.

After 3rd grade, on the way to my dad's house for the summer, my dad went into cardiac arrest on the freeway, and we ran into a semi truck 6 or 7 times before veering off the road into a tree. My mom and I moved back in with my dad after that, my mom taking up our cat at the time, along with her litter of kittens who were no older than 2 or 3 months, gunny sacked them, and dropped them on the side of the road during the move. While we had these cats, she also got a dog. She took care of the dog, and bought cat food, but she never bought litter. The cats lived in my bedroom. It eventually got to the point that I had to move to the living room, leaving all of my things in the bedroom, because so much cat piss and shit had piled up in there that it was making me deathly ill. I ended up getting strep for the first time not long after that. Not long after that is when I started abusing the kittens, mixed with anger at them, as well as having learned that if an animal is not wanted, to just kill it, which, for my already traumatized brain, resulted in torture. The dog she had, always got more attention than me, so I ended up hating her, resutling in frequent abuse towars her on my end. This didn't stop until around the time that I was 11 or 12, when what I believe was another mental break happened, and my personality was once again reformed into someone new. Realizing what I had done, I forced her to puke up toxic paint I had force fed her, and never spoke of it. That dog, who's name was sweetpea, died last year, just before I'd moved out. I was the only one with her when she died, after my brother had strangled her, irriparibly damaging her throat, causing her to starve to death.

After moving back in with my dad the first time, my mom and dad fought, all the time, until one day my mom grabbed me up from my room, dragged me to the door, paused, looked at my dad, and told him 'take a good look, because it'll be the last time you ever see your daughter. I hope you drink yourself to death.' and left with me. A month or two later my mom got a call my dad is in the hospital. He tried drinking himself to death. When he woke up, he asked where his mother was, who had been dead since he was a young adult. He had developed aggressive Altzimers and Dimensia. We moved in with my dad again, along with my uncle, his girlfriend, and their daughter moving in. Each person in the house abused me in different ways, save my dad, who was also abused. Through the years my family brainwashed me into hating my father, along with harassing, bullying, and poisoning him, as well as traumatizing him for their pleasure. After a falling out between my mom and her brother, he, and his girlfriend and daughter are kicked out, and my brother moved in, along with a guy named Ken. I was around 14 or 15 or so at this point. Through the whole time Ken lived with us, he sexually harassed and aggressed me, which to everyone else was deemed a girl crush on my part, which I got in trouble for. During a camping trip, while everyone else was making sexually charged jokes, I made one towards him, only to get punched full on in the jaw. My mother looked at me and told me I deserved it for being so disrespectful to an adult. I never did so again.

After a bit, my mom, brother, dad and I, moved to texas for 4 years, which is where I met someone else that would abuse me through my life, up until recently, along with being abused by an online friend and love interest, of whom would abuse me until the age of 18 or so. After those 4 or so years, we moved back to oregon. While we had left our house, my mom moved my uncle, aunt, grandma, and grandpa in. By the time we got home, my childhood home was destroyed. I lived then, in a garage, for the next 4 years, with no insilation in the ceiling, with an abusive older brother and mom, later being left with ONLY my brother. I took showers maybe once or twice a month, when we weren't having water problems. I was rediculed for my weight, had my disabilities denied, being gaslit into beliving I was making it all up, and had my food restricted by my aunt from any food in the house. Needless to say, moldy and spoiled food is not a stranger to me. Near the end, before I'd moved out, we had several people move in and out. I had my bank account back in oregon irriparibly messedup and locked due to being pressured into allowing my uncle's girlfriend, both of which did and still to this day do have warrents out for their arrest, to use my account to cash a check that turned out to be a fraud. I never got that account fixed. We also had a couple with a 13 year old move up for a bit, both parents doing heroine until they were kicked out for theft and threats. After that, another couple moved up in a trailer, along with a 3rd person with a larger trailer. The male of the couple one day came up with a gun, looking for his girlfriend, telling us that he just wanted her so he could blow her brains out for cheating on him with my uncle. After that ordeal, she started sneaking him up onto our property. I warned my mom about it, only for her to tell me I was making it up and hallucinating. I reconnect with my abuser from highschool not long after this, as well as having lost MULTIPLE friends during this time. He buys me a bus ticket up to portland, to live with him, and the moment I get there, I am cleaning the whole house save his roommates room. I'm also cooking and doing laundry that had piled up long before I got there, all of which was saturated in cat urin. I took care of his 6 rats and dog as well while I lived there. If I did not clean the dishes, make him lunches, and wash the laundry (in several cases having to fold and put it away as well), I was guilt tripped as he sat and cried, telling me how tired he was from taking calls all day at his work. Or guilted with the phrase of 'so I had 2 cigarettes for lunch again today'. At night, every night, he told me how much he missed his ex girlfriend, who was someone who claimed to have DID, and integrated, as well as the fact that he was in love with this new personality as well. I was also informed of how she had replaced me as his best friend, and been better to him than I had the whole time we'd known each other, that I'd never live up to her. When told to stop, and that I didn't want to listen to it anymore, I was once again gaslit and guilted into being a venting tool. 2 weeks in to living there he jumped off a building trying to kill himself, knowing full well that he left me in an apartment whose lease was up at the end of THAT month, leaving me less than 2 more weeks to find a job, and somehow get enough money for a down payment on an apartment with a roommate, while also figuring out how to pay for transportation, and food. His boyfriend did not help me pack ANY of my abuser's items, and the one time I blew up on him about it, he guilted me and told me to walk, in the dead of night, to the McDonalds so that he could just pack it all up himself, only for him to never come over at all, because my abuser woke up. I asked to go see him too, and I was told I was not allowed to. The only time he contacted me was to see how packing was going, or to have me walk to his work, (as well as having to take a trimet train, with no money to get a pass to do so, resulting me on riding it illegally) just to buy him cigarettes because he was to young to do so still as he was not yet 21. I was rewarded with sandwiches that hadn't been sold that day, and a coffee with some cakepops. Through all this time, he, as well as my abuser's other partner, and been complaining about me, and claiming that I was being abusive and inconsiderate.

By the end of it I ended up having to move at the end of the month to Wisconsin, with someone I had never met in my life, on a whim, because my other option was to live on the streets of portland in the middle of winter. I lived in Wisconsin for a month, where once again I did a good portion of the cleaning, and all of the cooking, save dishes most of the time. 2 times I had been left there completely alone and isolated, taking care of his 2 cats, because he checked himself into a mental hospital. I spent thanks giving (a holiday I don't celebrate anyways regardless) alone, as well as that entire week. After all was said and done, he forced me to get onto a plane back to my abusive family, where I lived for the month of december up until the 22nd of January, where I once again ran away from him, to a stranger I met online no more than a month before hand, to get away from my family.

Despite everything here, I have left a MAJORITY of my abuse details and major points out of this. In that time of trying and failing and trying again to move out, I lost everything. Literally everything. I have cut contact with ALL of my family, I lost my family childhood home, and will never get to go back because even if it wasn't for association, my family can no longer hold onto it, I've lost all of my clothing, my books, etc. I am now at the point where, while I am in a much better situation, I am now having to deal with processing 21 years of nonstop abuse through my whole life, and can only sit and hope that a box that I was harrassed about the whole time after moving away from portland, is eventually shipped to me with my remaning belongings, including my herbal books, a few religious items, clothes, a mortar and pestel, and my computer as well as drawing tablet.

As of now, I am still looking for a doctor to get my first checkup, as well as a dentist to deal with cavities, the beginnings of gum disease, and all of my wisdom teeth forcing themselves out of my jaw into my mouth, which does not have enough room for them, resulting in a severely crooked top one, and two impacted bottoms. I also need to find a therapist, and psychologist to help me process my trauma, and a gynacologist, which I have never seen either, as the only benifit I've gotten from hospitals is emergency room care, and my vaccinations that were REQUIRED as a child.