by Band Back Together | Mar 1, 2016 | Compulsive Lying, Depression, Fear, Psychological Manipulation, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, Therapy |
Well…at least I thought I was the normal one.
The thing is, I’m a nice guy. A great guy. Everyone loves to tell me so. The big 300 lbs gorilla in the room is that fact that I am deeply NOT OK. I don’t really know if I can remember ever being ok. I just fake it. I lie. I tell everyone, everything is just fine. And then I lie about myself….my self-esteem is so low that its a new degree of low. Low’s lower cousin…
And then…when confronted by anger, or judgement or fear, I lie about STUPID stuff. Defense mechanisms at work here…move along.
It didn’t really hit me between the eyes till my relationships started falling apart. Badly. And now I’m at the point where I feel the rug being pulled from under me and am starting to have severe panic attacks. Like…I’m realizing my whole world is a lie
and it is.
So today….I decided to start step 1
I looked at myself…after getting caught in yet another bad…STUPID AND MEANINGLESS lie. I realize that I have a problem. Not like I have a problem that can easily be fixed, NO, I have a serious condition and I need help.
and…I started step 2
I called my health insurance and made a call to a therapist. They had to do the whole insurance dance and told me they would get back to me after they talked with my insurance…yadda yadda yadda.
But at least I called. I have a list of doctors if the one I called doesn’t get back to me
Its not just that I want to change.
I need to.
I want to get off this roller coaster called MY PATHETIC life.
Either my significant other is going to join with me on my journey or cast me aside like the garbage I feel like right now.
That will be up to her.
I’m not doing this for her.
I’m not doing this for anyone but me.
I’m not going to blame her, my parents or anyone else for this genetic mental mistake I call my head
This one’s on me. But if it IS on me….then its up to me to get off my arse and fix it (if i can). I’ve taken the first step.
(raising my right hand) I (state your name) am a compulsive liar. I don’t do this to manipulate others, to hurt others or to be dominate to others. I do this because of low self-esteem and to avoid conflict. I don’t do it with any thought involved…and it is akin to a self-defense mechanism for protection.
I beg your forgiveness, and hope that with therapy I can not only get to a point where I do not lie anymore…but that I become a better person who feels as though I can finally be myself and be accepted as such.
I hope to someday be at the end of this journey and have acceptance
Right now all I have is a big ol’ bucket of depression, sadness and fear
But tomorrow is another day
I hope this new therapist calls me soon
I have to promise myself is he/she does not that I will call the next one on the list
And that even if my significant other decides to give up on me….that I will NOT
Because just as I stated at the beginning of this. I am a good person. A nice guy.
That’s gotta mean something…
by Band Back Together | Feb 29, 2016 | Dermatillomania, Self Loathing, Shame |
I’m 21 years old with dermatillomania. I’ve had the habit for as long as I can remember, and it was when I was around 16 that it began to get severe. Since then my life has been a roller coaster because of my skin picking. I am thankful for the times when my problem has been under control and manageable. But the good times seem to always come to an end when I let myself down again and again by covering my face, arms, back, chest, and shoulders with sores, scabs, and scars.
I love the beach. I love to surf, and play around in the sun and salt water. I’ve lived half my life in Hawaii and now I live in California. But I’m so disgusted with myself most the time that I can’t even look at my back in the mirror, let alone wear a bikini in public. I wish I could do what I love without having this burden…
I’m running out of excuses to friends and boyfriends of why I can’t hang out, go surfing, or hookup, and I know I’m losing most, if not all of them because of it. It’s so frustrating, time after time… I wish I could just hibernate until my skin heals. It’s really causing me to hate life right now when I should be enjoying it like a normal 21 year old.
It’s really my one and only problem.. Besides dermatillomania, I have a lot going for me. I’m young, pretty, athletic, loving parents, a dog, friends and cute boys that like me (for now until we drift apart), school, a good job, but this problem is SO prominent that it is destroying every single aspect of my life. I really want to overcome this, but each time I relapse into picking again I lose more and more hope that I ever will.
by Band Back Together | Dec 29, 2015 | Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents, Alcohol Addiction, Bullying, Child Abuse, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem |
This has actually hit me like a ton of bricks, and I thought I had it sorted.
My mum is a Narcissist of the proper, fully paid up, type.
I knew it – I had heard it said and had agreed and listened but, it never, ever really sunk in. I don’t think I would allow it to. She also has a whole host of other mental health issues but, none of that really had the impact that the Narcissistic Personality Disorder did; not on me anyway…and we are talking major, major Psychotic breaks.
They were easier than when she was ‘well’.
I looked it up last night in bed and came across this site and read about having a Narcissist for a Mum and I was like…Oh – My – God (with the proper shocked face and everything). I knew I had been feeling ‘out of sorts’ for days now. I knew that my unavoidable interactions with her lately were taking me back and putting me in touch with a time from long ago. I knew I felt more off kilter than I do generally – and that’s saying something as I don’t think I’ve ever been ‘on’ kilter.
I knew I felt weepy and angry in turns, and hurt and wanting to run away. I feel repulsed by her – in every sense of the word and that was unusual because – normally I would feel…numb. My grown adult stance was – numb. Don’t react, don’t show weakness, NEVER share (I learnt very quickly that ‘Anything I said could, and would, be used against me in a court of mum).
So – to be weepy and grumpy and just…unusual feeling, wasn’t my norm. So I came here and…BANG.
The article, the Narcissistic Parent one – felt like a smack in the mouth. It felt like reading a scarily accurate slice of my life. Like someone had just divided me up like a birthday cake – took one slice and read it back to me. Everything was there. Everything.
Why did I not accept it before..? Because, I could see it and hear it and even nod in wise agreement but, nothing was shifting or moving or sinking in. My Therapist had all but told me! I had all but told others, I just can’t explain it…
…only – I can. I didn’t believe it and I deleted it from my knowledge base or ‘truths’ about myself because, deep down, I still believe her.
It’s still all my fault. I am still ugly and unlovable and blameworthy. There is still something wrong with me which made her not love me. It’s still all me; my fault. She hates me and then ‘they’ hated me. My sibling and her. I am hated and the reason is – just me, being me. Born bad, I am still bad – defective. I can cause stuff without even being near or ever involved. I believe this. I truly do.
I – still – do. THAT’S why I had nodded my head and made all the right noises and hadn’t believed a word anybody had ever said or anything, to date, I had read.
But, there was me in Black and White. The Scapegoat.
How I wished I was the Golden One. I used to dress up in their clothes, in private when they weren’t around, so I could pretend to be them. I used to study them to try and be more like them – and less like me.
They had lovely clothes, colourful and swishy. Beautiful things that were bright and warm and smelled nice and looked nice. I had…track suits; androgynous and bland. Not a boy – not a girl – not anything you could describe. Nothing to give identity or personality.
I got caught once – red handed and guilty. Golden One cornered me against my bedroom door and punched me, full on, in the face and I screamed. This alerted mum, who rushed up the stairs and without even stopping for a breath or asking what had happened, she rushed on to me and punched me too – full on – in the face.
I think I was about 10 years old then.
I also remember a time when I was cowering in the corner of my bed while they both scratched and hit and clawed at me. I don’t know how old I was then – or even what I had done. I just remember being in the corner with no way out and being hit.
Golden One had an awesome bedroom that was age and sex appropriate, it was full and warm and lovely. Mine was sparse and bloody cold and – empty.
My love was ‘him’. And that made me bad too because ‘he’ was bad. And he was.
But, whilst I’m writing this I’m buzzing about and carrying on with life and a thought occurred..
To me – ‘he’ was safe.
A violent, alcoholic bully was SAFE – for me.
This used to confirm to me (ok, still does), how ‘bad’ I was. And it definitely confirmed to them how bad I was. He was ‘BAD’ (and he was – no dispute there) but…
…he liked me. He thought I was funny and strong and intelligent. He felt sorry for me and I knew that because I overheard a conversation once…hanging over the banister…
‘…why do you do it?’
‘Because no one else does…’
That was me. The question was ‘Why do you favour her?’ He tried to champion me and – he failed – because he was a bullying alcoholic, a violent person, horrible, despicable – and then he died.
by Band Back Together | Dec 12, 2015 | Anxiety, Body Acceptance, Body Image, Eating Disorders, Family, Fear, Feelings, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Obesity, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, Shame |
So I have recently started this “lifestyle change.”
If I call it a “diet,” I will fail miserably as I have a thousand other times. I try really hard to watch what I eat. Most days I keep a nifty online journal that tells me how many calories I can have and how many I’ve consumed. It’s really been helpful. Tonight, I even walked two and a half miles, which is awesome for me. I’m still sitting here sweatin’ my balls off!
It’s HARD not to get discouraged. The last three weeks I have pretty much stuck to eating 1600 calories, which means that I should lose about two pounds a week. I have only lost two pounds altogether and depending on the time of day that I weigh myself, I haven’t even lost that.
I know everyone is different and all that jazz. I know I shouldn’t weigh myself all the time. I know I have been drinking almost a gallon of water a day to fight hunger. I know I should walk more. I know what I should know.
I know I will lose the weight. I know I need to. I have gained almost 100 pounds since high school and there’s no reason for that. Yes, I had three children, I have a stressful job and a hard marriage. Still, not a good excuse. I really think I’m more disappointed in myself for listening to all the excuses and letting my weight get so out of control.
I have a constant fight with my reasoning. If I eat just one more bite, it won’t hurt. I have to finish my whole plate or I will be wasting money.
My whole life I thought that I was fat because family always said I was. Once, I asked for a snack and my mom replied “and you wonder why you’re so fat.” I was only 10. But looking back at pictures, I see I wasn’t fat, I was beautiful. Maybe if my family and kids at school hadn’t been cruel, I would have cared about how I looked. Then maybe I wouldn’t have been so discouraged. Now that I have friends who encourage me, I know that I can do it. I can lose this weight.
It’s up to me now. I have to get myself out of this mess. It’s going to be a long, hard journey. I will probably fail – I usually do. I’m going to try really hard not to. I have awesome support group this time. I will exercise my self-control. This will be a journey of hits and misses. I cannot and will not get discouraged.
I really need to get hot for Aunt Becky’s cruise (ed note: WOO-HOO!). I need to be able to wear a swimsuit in the Bahamas and not look like a beached whale.
100 lbs. That’s all.
I cannot wait to know what it feels like 100 pounds lighter. That’s a whole person. Somewhere, I will find the willpower.
And I will do it!
by Band Back Together | Oct 27, 2015 | Divorce, Economic Abuse, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem |
Has anyone else experienced a feeling of extreme dissatisfaction with the society in which we live in? I’m sure most, if not all of you, have. I get really sick of paying my taxes when they’re spent to fight countries. We buy guns and our kids get substandard food and education. People starve, have no home or prospects for finding a suitable job.
Our culture is draining; it puts the emphasis on all the wrong things; status, money, possessions. It’s no wonder that depression and anxiety are on the rise in the Western cultures.
I fantasize about getting a van, refitting it to be a little rolling house and just traveling. I’d take my acoustic instruments, books, and yes, my laptop. I’d seek odd jobs to get just enough money to buy simple food and fuel. I would chase the spring and summertime, leaving the cold and icy winters behind.
I’d get in contact with my higher self by shedding all these damn possessions, objects that thirty years ago we didn’t even know we needed. I’d go to Burning Man. I’d seek out music and art festivals.
The only thing that really keeps me from doing this is my kids. There is so much I still have to teach them. I hold no degrees but there isn’t much I haven’t thought about. I don’t think that they would understand that I have not been living the life I want.
I work because my children need clothes, money for their activities, food, school. I don’t work to attain higher status. In fact, I’d say that although my occupation involves being the leader of several men, my job is humble.
We make the products that make soils more fertile through natural means. It’s just above farming as far as humble goes. My employer is generous, giving production bonuses of a significant amount, above and beyond the wage we make.
When my wife left, my mortgage was nearly two thousand dollars in the red along with several other bills that hadn’t been paid. She’d hidden this from me and denied it when I asked about it.
My boss was the one who helped me.
I know in my heart that there aren’t many people who would have done this. Most employers would have said, tough titty, kitty. Of course, I paid the money back but it remains: I’d have been evicted and my house repossessed without his generosity.
Still, I feel that the life that I live is far from genuine.
I don’t know.
I just want to have some kind of change in my life, yet I just cannot seem to summon the strength to change anything. I want a companion, but that fucker low self-esteem, whom I call Benny, keeps the litany of insults going.
You’re a loser. How could anyone want a weak and pathetic animal like you around? Didn’t you learn anything from your marriage? You’re a useless unlovable creep.
It’s time for a huge change.
– See more at: https://web.archive.org/web/20151228102447/https://bandbacktogether.com:80/all-posts/page/7#sthash.NeSQ2fNp.dpuf
by Band Back Together | Oct 8, 2015 | Abuse, Bullying, Fear, Loneliness, Self Loathing |
First, let me share some things I’ve learned from several sources.
According to some sources, as children, our brains are extraordinary at forming new connections. We are more able to learn any number of skills as children than as adults. We retain a certain amount of neuroplasticity into adulthood, but most of our neural circuitry becomes fixed.
According to some sources, in childhood we are mirrors. That is, especially in childhood, we are prone to taking what others give us in regard to our self-image. This may explain why some of us grow up with decent self-esteem levels and others have little to none. Certainly, we still are mirrors as adults, but we don’t usually morph ourselves to conform to what others say or do as often.
Bullied kids tend to take on the names that their bullies give them.
Children who encounter abuse of any kind tend to shape themselves according to that abuse. We become the”‘ugly” or the “stupid” or the unwanted” that we’re told we are. We become desperate ones, seeking the approval or protection we never got as kids.
So, I must ask the question if it is truly possible to recover from childhood trauma and abuse?
How do we replace the experiences we were deprived of as children when we become adults? It’s not possible to delete our bad memories like some corrupted file and replace it with an error-free one. This is something our machines have the advantage in; when their parts and pieces break or fail, they are easy to replace. The myriad experiences that make up an individual personality are unique and irreplaceable.
But how many people wish that certain things would have been different?
In my own life, I wish that my childhood was different. That certain things never happened. I have no idea this would differ among us. What would that man be like? Would things have been the same yet better?
I can’t have an affectionate father. I can’t have a healthy mother.
I live in another town, away from the abuse. I can’t have it any other way than it is now. It is what it is.
How do I heal this gaping hole in my heart where self-confidence is supposed to be, when the experiences are long gone?
Self-care goes a long way.
Flipping all the negative over and telling yourself good things can go a long way.
But there are times that all of it seems so hollow. That little boy can’t be protected. The damage was done long ago. The boy is now a man, all the wounds are scarred over. Permanently.
When I imagine the future, it’s one in which I’m alone, friendless, without comfort. I feel like a dumbass when I daydream a better future. Companions and friends who actually visit. Maybe even a significant other.
I KNOW it’s because I had shitty experiences growing up. People who have had a healthy childhood EXPECT more of the same from the future. They have no problem imagining nice futures.
After all, their inner children feel happy and safe. They aren’t disbelieving when someone misses them or expresses their admiration. They probably think “Yeah, I am pretty great!” I don’t believe compliments. I attribute them as ignorance or politeness. I’ve made a conscious effort to be gracious when I receive a compliment lately, but my initial reaction, is always, at the core, negative.
So, since these experiences are fixed, can we ameliorate the past by adding new experiences? I don’t know.
At the end of even a great day, I still feel ready for the other shoe to drop. The few fun dates I’ve had as a single man don’t engender any hopeful attitude for me. I just give up on these relationships, believing I’m just getting to the inevitable conclusion. These past few years have been hard.
I’m alone half the time. I don’t have a ‘circle.’ The friends I had are no more. They have lives. I don’t have anywhere to fit in. Everywhere I go, I feel like an interloper. Permanently sidelined. Wallflower. I want to move, yet I cannot imagine what would be different. After all, no matter where you go, there YOU are.
Sometimes I fantasize about a new life. Friends who visit and invite me to things, self-confidence, a real relationship with someone who is my best friend AND lover. I want so desperately to have this new life, where I’m not ashamed of myself in public. Where I make eye contact with people and put my best foot forward. Where I’m not embarrassed by ME. In this new life, I’m not scared of rejection. After all, in this fantasy, I actually love myself, so rejection doesn’t affect me as much as in real life. In this fantasy, I live in a place where I have lots of friends who share my interests. We go out and play music on weekends. We talk about the books we’re reading and the ideas we’re thinking of. We have FUN.
Then I wake up. Yep. Still the same life. No friends. Little fun.
I give people great advice that I cannot follow. I’m quite sure that everyone except me has a great future ahead of them. I try to get them to see if they don’t like their situation, they can change it. I tell them that there isn’t anything they cannot have if they are willing to work toward it. Why in the hell can’t I believe that for myself?! It’s that little boy, cringing away from a world that didn’t accept him for who he was. The world that took his innocence and left only self-loathing behind. The little boy who escapes into books to hide his big, goofy teeth and glasses. The little boy who was told by his peers how geeky, nerdy and weird he was till the little boy wouldn’t even make eye contact with them any more. The young man who played hundreds (probably thousands) of hours of video games to escape from a world that seemed to have no place for him. The little boy who would become the man that now wishes everything were different.
I’m so careful with my children’s self-image. I don’t allow name-calling, even in jest. I don’t allow angry harsh tones of voice. I don’t allow them to call themselves names. I make sure that they treat others with respect. I play with them and make sure they get to do the things they want to do. I suppose, in the end, they deserve to have what I could not. Compared to them, my matters don’t add up to much.
I’m dead scared of what I’m going to do when they’re adults. I know I need to get something going for myself, but I have no idea where to begin. Bars and churches hold no hope for me. I cannot imagine any possiblities for the man I am. I don’t mean to sound like a complete downer, it’s just how I feel.
I know! Those blokes in bowflex ads seem to have it figured out. Just get in shape and your world will right itself! That’s what I should do, right? A tight bod and a convertible will fix everything! Sarcasm off… I’m not at all ignorant to the fact that I just need to take my own advice and pursue my desires. I just can’t really believe in a good life. It may seem like very small potatoes but I can’t summon the effort to try because I don’t believe it will do any good!
This is what I mean about these formative experiences: they have me so quagmired that I all I can do is maintain some kind of routine. The positives I’ve accumulated in my life fade into the darkness that I’ve carried from childhood. All that’s left is….nothing. No hope, no reason to plan more than a couple days to a week ahead other than for the kids. I don’t even know what it means to be excited anymore. The only kind of anticipation I know about lately is anxiety. The skills I do have for coping only do so much. The past is still there, just around the corner, shading and tainting everything in the present. All because of a crappy childhood. All because of events that occurred more than twenty years ago.
