Random new data to fit in

Level of stress about same (although might not be totally free from meds yet), so still have to decide something here. I will probably cave in when the pain returns, but will see.
Was amazed at being unable to talk today at miss therapist, I really wanted to say something, but just couldn't form any thought or sentence. Rocked back and forth with empty mind, froze, tried to calm down, no dice. I couldn't get myself out of that for I think about 15mins. But since time is such an evil entity I'm not sure about that. But eventually we managed to get past the blocks and the things I apparently can't say under stress.
Cute new flashy insight about why my memory works this way, never really had thought about it. Whenever I'm in bed sober I run the past day (or days) through my head, evaluating every event, labeling it, connecting it to whatever appropriate and fit it in. I actually do that in mornings too (after going to sleep not sober), I go recall what I have done, what I have dreamed. I think I can trace back about any trivial fact from as long a short term memory is and fit it in a long term memory. Totally automated and integrated in my system.
Almost each day my mother asked me: What did you do today? Nothing was a totally bad answer. And I had to dig in my memory to tell her everything I had done, so she could punish me for something I had done wrong that day. In her world (and hence also in mine) the possibility of me having done nothing wrong didn't exist. So each day I searched frantically for something that was maybe wrong but wouldn't get her too angry. Trial and error. She could basically explode over anything that seemed harmless. During the periods that we had started with a clean slate (oh, how I loathe that expression), I had to be able to recall everything from start till the moment she had accumulated enough wrongdoings from me to be able to claim I apparently didn't want us all to be one happy family.
And another cute new insight. The thought I ever have to encounter my mother again makes my level of stress rise to an almost new dimension. Maybe it's because I feel very unstable right now and not up to any encounter with her at this moment. Maybe this is something lasting so I can keep a grip on the last remains of my sanity. I tried for 14 years to pretend everything was all fine and collapsed when kiddo reached the age my memory says the world is a scary place. I thought I could be neutral whenever I would see her again, but the thought in itself renders me immobile almost instantly. I can't fit in the broken me (and yes, I am broken, that I have made bypasses to be able to function and survive up till today doesn't mean I am unbroken) and kiddo and my mother in the same system.
Nobody should ever be like me. Nobody should ever be made like me.

Back to our own normality.

I guess.
Quit meds yesterday, since I need to test if I get same stress reactions from therapist without. Suffering bitsy from withdrawal, temp rising (back to normal now though). Our latest conclusion about going panic about this whole child abuse is mainly because whenever someone claims it is, I think I have to do something with it. And I know I'm not capable of dealing with that. I can talk about it, ignore it most the time, but I don't think I want to do something with the core. I have bypasses for most the symptoms (I think), but sometimes I just fall back. I wasn't ready for my reaction to therapists reactions, and the logical next questions about it.
So my major stress from past days was how to fit the new data in, since I really thought I had the bypasses to handle it. Apparently I never made a bypass for someone claiming this all to be child abuse, since I never heard it like that. It's like, hum, if I can call my x nuts, that doesn't give you right to do same. Not sure about that mechanism, except it exists.
Also these past days have made some other points clear, we are relating sorta positive to both shrink and creative therapist and not sure how to handle that right now. I also have worked out ways to get past certain imprints, but we still fall back under severe stress. So I need ways to not fall back when major changes happen. I can totally not start any new relations, but that will only reduce the chance of major changes, it won't change my reaction to them.
So have to get back tomorrow talking to miss therapist about my mother and check stresslevel, if no real stress (except the part about the relating to therapist and whatnot) I can safely conclude stress from past week is from not anticipating enough towards my reactions. Also have to exclude the overreacting since we don't want therapist meetings to stop (which is inherent to starting to relate to it).

On a total sidenote, I don't think I will regret having no contact with my parents. Not sure yet how to fit in the siblings/family, but contact with my parents that refuse a part of our history will not help me in any way and will only make me feel more bad. I'm just wondering if I will feel anything if they would die. I don't think I will feel anything since I shut off that part years ago, but then again can't be sure about those things ever till they happen. I've been dwelling in my past for a few days now and I felt absolutely nothing (not counting the constant high stress level during past days), maybe if we can fix this connection between events and feelings. Not sure if we should go there even.

Kiddo and me, how so symbiotic?

Yes I think I have to consider my level of stress is correlated to the level of stress from kiddo. I don't know the other way around.
Looking back to everything regarding my attachment to kiddo is basically fear to repeat mistakes of my parents (in other words, we have to watch carefully about not breaking it). So stress, anxiety, frustration from kiddo goes 1:1 directly to me. Specially if I can't seem to fix it or soothe her in some way. I'm not sure this hyperdrive stress I am in works her way through kiddo and she goes more waa from it. But I try to restrain it in every possible way I know. Which in return means I'm totally incapable of doing anything or make decisions not related to kiddo.
At this moment I think being around me isn't the most healthy for anyone unstable, yet I also think that with me is the only place kiddo can be right now. Which makes up for a lot of stress, since I feel I'm not competent enough, while also knowing there is no frecking place for her to go.
I don't think kiddo is ready to be without me yet. Not really willing to explore the possibilities of me alone. So thoughts of me killing us both once in a while are entering again. Indeed that would end it all while I still have fulfilled my obligation to look after her till the end.
I can't handle not being able to fix her very visible pains, I have to keep reminding myself this is probably a phase connected to her change in hormone levels while she's growing up. Tiring. Also if she is somewhere a bit autistic (unacceptable from her point of view though, but still open for me) the whole hormone/body change might need more care and attention than I can give her. Since we're basically clueless. I work from my memories and detached feelings how I should relate to her but it goes harder the more stress I have and the less references I have.
And yes, apparently I am very stressed right now. I am trying to control this, getting heartbeat lowered each time I notice we're back in hyperdrive, but going through all these memories and trying to fit in feelings isn't making it less stressful either. I do feel however I have to get past this to be able to be around functioning for kiddo till she is ready to live on her own.

If I had known pondering things regarding my parents with miss therapist would cause this much panic I would have skipped it for now. Since I also can't handle not understanding my own reactions, so I have to rethink, reponder, refigure it out to fit everything back in the whole picture. I honestly thought I was past some points and could actually talk about it and see it neutrally. Going in a state of panic (and to be honest, never really left it after past thursday) makes me wonder. Either I just buried it, or I went in stress because relation with miss therapist develops so I feel less need to control everything or I'm regressing in a badly pace. I know I am broken in some ways. But I also thought I had bypasses for most and just went frantic because of last relation that was eating me up. We hate change. It takes so much time to adjust, but we get there. I thought I was getting out of it, but the panic and stress from last two weeks have proved me wrong somehow (I don't like it!).

Can I has fix please?

Is this really what it all boils down to? Trauma, brain altering, fixed patterns, broken connection.
Fight, flight, freeze.
There has to be a way to change it. Also how did this manage to go so unnoticed by everyone. Also have to evaluate the meds, again.
They keep me soothed (I guess that's the right phrase here), which in itself isn't so bad. Yet I still panic when I have to consider certain things, like finding work, fitting the real role of my parents in. If! (unacceptable though) this is just the way it is, then I don't think I want to swallow pills the rest of my life, since it just won't change anything. Knowing what part is broken, how it got broken will have to do then, which I consider a huge bonus already after all these years of guessing what was wrong (or different! let's not judge this) with me. So if, I will cut down meds again and see how that works.
Hum, either way meds seem to be useless.
So now we have to figure out how to repair or bypass this. Back to reading about brains I guess.

Broken

There is nothing where there should be at least something. Anger, frustration, fear, sadness. Just plain nothing (and well course, the vague amusement there is nothing).
Yes, I can talk about my past, but apparently only in a neutral form, like it didn't happen to me. Not even like I was even present, just stories I heard. I thought that because I could be that neutral I was past it. Had fit it in the proper place, it's in the past, we can move on. That the only reason I felt frustration (or anger or both) about it was because my parents refused to talk to me about it, explain things that I didn't and don't understand. The how and why. But apparently I just detached it (or got detached?).
Did that happen when I gave up fighting? When I stopped caring? Or was it actually the other way around. Did I stop caring because I had killed the connection between me and what happened to me. It wasn't something conscious. I can remember the fear and panic and then nothing.
Why did I do that. How do I undo that.

I know I have every right to be angry at my parents. They adults, I child, blah. I know I don't need to feel guilty about that, I know I wasn't able to change the situation, I know I know I know. Yet, nothing. Except that I panic whenever I try to look at it the way I probably (really? why?) should. Which has no logical reason.

Hum was that when my background brain started to be. The always watching, always sober and neutral part of my brain.

My odd list or list of my oddness

Aligning light-switches - did since if aligned right I would not be woken by my mother in the middle of the night, still do, not sure why.
Counting certain street tiles on way to school - did since was always same amount so that was good.
Not stepping on broken tiles or stepping on lines between tiles - just had to be done to thwart evil.
Smacking back of head against walls - did to stop thoughts I think, also pretty movement.
Not sleeping in new places - scary, too many undefined sounds, varies still.
Most objects have own place and order - less odd, but pang of panic when it's in different place (and yes, I put everything back where it belongs).
Forming patterns from things - pretty!
Numbers on digital clocks - pretty!
Trying to find the start and end of patterns from everything that looks like it's randomly different.
Counting windows, wall, ceiling and floor-tiles, in buildings and not liking when it's not symmetric.

Repetitive things (does this deserve its own subgroup?) -
Rocking back and forth
Rocking on chairs
Teaspoon hitting on hand
Click pens
Twirling things
Clapping fingers
Moving one leg while sitting with toes pressed to ground
Listening to same piece of music
Playing repetitive comp-games

Doesn't look so bad! Maybe more to come.

Laundry! Somehow I got colored pegs, so we hang laundry with the pegs in same order of coloring always. Purple, pink, white, red and then we go odd if we have more laundry, since the remaining pegs are bad.

Utter failure.

I can't. I know how it is called. I can call it child abuse myself, but not out loud and not when talking to a therapist. It's wrong, it doesn't compute, it can't be. It can't be. I know it is but it also isn't. And my brain goes bad.
I don't want to say the proper expression for it, I don't want it acknowledged even, I simply refuse it. And I don't know why. Nothing really will change, the world won't explode, they're not coming to take me away anymore, just a slight shift in view. That's all. Yet I cannot. I will not. It is not. Not! Not! Not! Not!
The most far I can get is claiming they went too far. Maybe. I can't. I thought I could. I thought was just a matter of well changing sides or something. I'm not that bad, they're not that good, blah. But I can't. Apparently. Can't. And I don't know why I can't. I don't even know why I panic when I try. I don't want to act all confused and panicky, since there's nothing happening, there's nothing really wrong. I just want to curl up and run away. But I can't either.
Gaah! I have to, so I will.

Back to facts. Kiddo might be more or less like me. Kiddo will not accept any diagnosis that something is wrong in her brain. If, but we're threading on thin ice now, kiddo is an unbroken me, I should be able to filter out what part of my behavior is me and what part has become me. Theoretically. This is important why? Because I need to know how I have to react to not break kiddo. Knowing means I have something I can relate to. This is me, this is kiddo, this is the world, this is my relation to them all. Does this mean I actually have to think about how I got raised? Hum. Or is it enough if I can just filter me versus made-me. Or is this a cunning bypass to not name, judge or do anything else with it.
That I panic means something goes wrong. Hence I should at least get to the point I can get through the panic. Back to neutrality I guess.

Why do I need to know.

How things happened, why things happened, what I am, how I work.
The obsession with the process behind something. My brain won't rest till it has a plausible explanation, till new facts pop up that have to be fit in. Endless.
I think if I know the process I know how I can use it or understand it or change it. And I somehow never get there and get stuck all the time at the part that it's human. And humans do illogical things. It doesn't make more sense that way, but sometimes I can sorta let it rest after that. Whenever I react illogical I can usually trace it back to the start, unless I get all distracted by meta reasoning.
I never really wondered why my brain follows the patterns it does. But now I feel I have to. I need to sort out up to what point I might be slightly autistic or how my brain either found ways to compensate and hide autistic behavior or how my brain thinks now is about a good time to start having them. This is wrong. I'm either slightly (or a bit more) autistic or I have autistic behavior (for whatever reason). We will get back to this!
Up to what point is kiddo having the same. The idea never crossed my mind till a few days ago. No matter I stored up all semi odd (well, not that I recognize non odd, so everything I found funny I guess) behavior from kiddopast. And I'm not so sure if my interpretation now isn't colored too much by the idea she might be slightly autistic.
Why do I need to figure this out?

How did I miss this

The whole reading part in my histories.
I once had that fully theorized as the cause of everything. Something that was stronger than my mother. The impossibility to obey her on that.
Maybe because it was too obvious for me that reading is, hum dunno word, part of me doesn't cover it. My gravestone should probably just have: Reader.
At one point I was so scared of ever going blind that I spend time to get into a braille course. I'm still angry that they didn't allow me to learn that being not blind. Whenever I can't read or focus enough to read I feel something is wrong with me. Something deep inside. Waa! I can't read. Why I know something is still not right, since I can't bury myself in a book anymore. I have to read in intervals. Or maybe that's just part of being old.
And I'm rambling. How did I miss this? Does it all make more sense if I had added that? I'm not sure. Is having something so strong inside you as a child common? I have no reference. I know other children had hobbies (I guess you can call them that), but those were accepted by their parents as being a good way to waste time with. Was my reading so consuming it had to be suppressed instead of motivated? It might be. I didn't really weigh the consequences or rebel with that on purpose. I just had to read. If I had nothing to read, yes I would steal something to read. I would put it back after I had read it though. But I had to read. Something, anything.
I hid books everywhere. The hiding places in my room were quite limited and my mother used to find each book, but still I tried.
Hum.
You are not allowed to read in your room.
- I did.
We take away everything readable in your room.
- I bring readable things to my room. I try to hide them. I deny I have anything.
Not only did I do something that was forbidden, I lie and steal for it too. And I do it on purpose too, well knowing it's bad. Hum hum. Since my mother didn't count that huge drive to needing to read. She couldn't or she didn't want to recognize it. Does that make my mothers fighting any better?

From waa to nothing.

That basically says it all.
Can't do anything. I think the waawaa oddness has left me sorta. We're now fogged. No, wrong word. Slow. Can't grasp any coherent thought, different than yesterday when I couldn't keep up with the stream, now they just vanish before it is a thought.
Numb. Distracted by everything and nothing. Just stopping randomly with whatever I do. And then noticing again I'm stuck into some repetitive thing (besides the rocking back and forth).
Trying to understand what's happening with me. Or well, that's the background reasoning for trying to describe this frozen state, even my backgroundbrainpart is slow.

What am I?

Or rather what defines me.

What do I really think I am. I don't think I have that clear. Depends on mood, who I talk with, where I am. There are people that claim things about masks. But I'm not so sure a mask isn't part of you. If you can show some sort of facade to the world, what makes you think it's a facade and not part of being you.
Certainties of my life. I was born. I am not a robot. I bleed. Let's not get into the possibility of bleeding robots. I look like the others that call themselves human. Hence the probability of me being human is high. There is however no proof I was born. No gory vids or pics about that. If I am human there are some certainties that go along with that. You are born, at one point you die. Hum, that is about it really. Reflexes? Things that work without me doing anything for that like pumping heart, hum.
Distracted.

Letting go or simply losing it

Am I in control still?
Am I deliberately letting go of the remains of my sanity for not yet known reasons or is something eating it away.
Is this the day after something very exhausting. Did I notice how easy it was to just say everything, move freely without the burden of keeping it within socially accepted levels and not get punished for it.
Was it because most the people there were a bit odd or was it just me not coping and falling back into something that I hid for a lifetime. Or is it just breaking through again after slowly creeping to conclusions about the past. Meeting people that somehow are broken too, but looking like they managed better.
Urge to take more meds. I gots pills that keep or make me normal! Let's have more!

Do I have to stop this. What if! What if!

Nothing fits

Too much. Yesterday was odd and too much. Thoughts come and go, unsorted, unorganized. Too many, too fast.
Too early to write about something limited while the thoughts are still free. The need to curl up but unable to.
Can't focus. How autistic can you be. I stop mid sentence, mid action. Short, sharp, fast.
Can't stop. Can't start.

The fine line between correcting and abuse.

Or how it came to be.

I think both my parents got raised in a time where it was still considered normal to correct unwanted behavior with physical punishments, rather than showing children where they went wrong and please don't do it again because it makes daddy sad. And where the authority of adults towards minors was unquestioned. And since most people repeat the mistakes of their parents there is nothing wrong there really (except for it being bad!). But I can't blame people for not knowing better. I dislike it, but I can't blame them.
But! There's only two reasons to punish someone, actually there is only one. You want someone to pay for their sins. The reason that gets used is a lie, a filthy one even. We punish you so you won't do x again or start doing y.
I think most parents want their children to be happy (well one can hope no?), but most parents seem to forget that happiness is personal. And you have to balance your own personality versus their personality. Your dreams aren't their dreams. It's very hard to stop forcing your opinions on someone that basically needed that at first.
From crossing a line and getting called back to asking why the line can't be crossed to crossing it again because that line is not your line. Somewhere in that whole process of testing boundaries and figuring out personal preferences a parent has to stop interfering or punishing. Since children are stupid and they will continue to try pleasing parents even if that means destroying themselves. Even those rare moments they realize they are killing themselves, they will. Since nature is a bitch.

I read. I can't actually say I like reading. I just do.
I learned to read when I was 2 or 3 (or so they claim), I know for sure I could read in kindergarten, the first book there I remember is from Margaret Mahy - The Boy Who Was Followed Home. Pure genius.
From the moment I could read whole sentences I have read. Everything. I cannot not read. I tried, oh dear, I so tried. Since I wasn't allowed to read all the time. The claim was I didn't listen when I was reading, which is true. That urge to finish a chapter first or the whole book was so strong. I honestly tried for real. To only read when allowed. But there's so much to read, everywhere. Signs, packaging, pieces of paper, magazines, books! It was impossible to not read something. And it kept distracting me. I was too young to have the sense of stopping, I had to finish reading something fully. All. And it drove my mother nuts.
I don't know if it was because I didn't listen right away or because I didn't get the highest grade at school (so many books in the back of the room, free for anyone to read once your work was done) or because she hated me having all those special worlds that weren't real. I really have no clue, except the freedom to read got limited rapidly.
By the time I was 8 (ya where my memories really start), I was allowed to walk to the library every day and then read the four books in the living room. Which I did. Outside that living room I was not allowed to read, except for schoolbooks. I couldn't obey.
At what point did that start into a personal crusade to make me stop reading. To control that one thing that I couldn't let go of. Kiddo draws. She cannot not draw. Teachers gave up on trying to stop her from drawing during classes. Which is good. The moment where you realize that nothing will stop someone from doing something (well, something semi harmless at least) is the moment where you have to stop trying that. And that is the line you should never cross as a parent.

The jury is still out.

I guess.

To be able to change my idea of what I am I have to change my view of other people. I can't claim being sorta an okay person, made, molded, formed and very much forced into certain roles, if I excuse the roles other people had in that process.
But that might raise more questions I can't answer. Guilt. Responsibility.
At what point is a child responsible for the actions of his parents? You make me punish you. You do this to me. You drive me to my death. You force me to hit you till you stop crying.
At what age? I was made to believe that it was me. And I have to call it belief since there is no valid, reasonable arguments to proof that it was me. Yet belief is always more strong than facts. I know when my mother hit me, nobody forced her to do that, certainly not me, since well, I don't really enjoy getting smacked.
Hit me baby one more time. I know, but still I can't believe it.

Back to being depressed or not. Did I want to die when I was 12? I don't think so. I can remember the panic after I failed to die. Oh god, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, let me be able to destroy all evidence I tried this, she will kill me if she finds out. Which is hilarious in a very disturbing way.
Did I want to die when I tried it again when I was 16? I'm not sure there. I was mad when I woke up and noticed I was still alive. Because I should have died. I was so sure I would make it. My last two coherent thoughts before the overdose of meds took over were: It's silly to spend my last moment alive reading this stupid trashcomic. I should climb on the roof so they will never get me down in time. Hum, is wanting to end something so badly you want to die the same as wanting to die? I'm not sure.
When I was 12 there was no visible other way out for me. I cared enough to want it to end. It was the thought that the future would not get better. It would probably go worse, it could only go worse. Realizing you have no control, that there is nothing you can do to change anything for the better is the key here. I was not depressed at that point. I think noticing that there really was no way out, since death wasn't for me either, could be called depressed. The point where I stopped caring about what happened to me. I can't fight this, I can't change this, I can't end this, why bother.
And I guess I have that ever since. Looking ahead in futures that will not be better and no matter how hard I try I can't make it right. Be it because I'm a failure and no good, be it because I'm insane in a confusing world, be it that everything will always be the same, in the end it doesn't matter. Since that's how it is.
Taking these meds actually keep me going on in a sorta vague depressed state, since I can't be bothered really to change something. Wanting to end life as it is, is that last spasm of a fighting organism. And anything alive and kicking is not depressed.

Does this mean I have to change my view of the world?

Again?
And the way I look at myself?
Again?

The world went from a scary place to a confusing place to a saddening mistake-repeating place. Which might not be really weird steps or end conclusion.

No, I have to get back. I started (or well, for what my memory is worth) trying to be good, to do things that would make my parents happy (I guess) and kept failing. I ended that whole episode knowing I was no good. Also not caring anymore, since apparently that's what I was.
And while I didn't care anymore I slightly changed to knowing I was insane, nuts, mental. Since it was me in a psychiatric hospital and not the others I thought who were a bit not sane. So I could actually fill in the weird missing pieces of the puzzle. Of always talking to fast, remembering insignificant details nobody knew anymore, different lines of conversations I kept track of and people kinda looking odd at me since they lost those tracks ages ago. All the things that somehow other people didn't have (excluding course me being bad and everyone else being good). I was insane! Joy to the world. And to me, since clearly insanity was something I couldn't help being. Also being no good perfectly fit in, since well, they can.

I really wasn't unhappy with being insane. It certainly made life more easy.

And then the stupid one time relation therapy session. Hum, I was 24 I think? And the therapist (which I knew from the hospital before) dropped the odd remark about my iq (which I think is a totally odd thing to label people with). And feck it. So I went through all literature I could find about iq, tests, scales and whatsnot (why I can still claim it's an odd label).
So, no good and insane wasn't covering it all any more. I had to add in being well a bit too smart (on some scales at least). And that was troubling enough. Some of the weird things did fit better now, but I had nobody who I could discuss this with. I tried, but usually ended up with them calling me arrogant or something similar. Apparently it's a bad thing to compare talking to 'normally' smart people with how 'normally' smart people relate/talk to a bit retarded people. While I still think it's like sorta how I view most other people. I certainly don't think I'm better, just most people confuse me very much, by not following my logic or not understanding things that to me look very clear.

But I managed to add it in. And sorta function and keep up with the world. Also it helps being less smart! Booze and the natural decay are good factors.

But. Always that but. Through the years I did manage to form a sorta neutral stance about the role of my parents. Varying from well they did with best intentions, they didn't know how to change the bad spiral down, they overworked, tired, I wasn't easy and any other excuse I could conjure for them. And so far most the people around me kinda strengthened that idea of well, it wasn't all nice for you, but look it wasn't easy for them either. And you managed quite well, so it's all good. Shouldn't live in the past. It happened so long ago.
Which kept me knowing still that I am no good, insane and a bit too smart for the world.

We're back to either accepting we're depressed or not. And I might have to accept that according to the med testing I have done so far. Yes my mood or stance or whatever changes dramatically whenever I haven't taken meds for about 3 days. Not that I have personal objections to just cocooning my time away with souvlaki or bejeweled, but things still have to be done and it's just not going to happen when I'm without meds.
Sooooo, if I have to accept I am depressed, I might have to accept I'm depressed since, err well as long as I can remember, having tried to commit suicide when I was 12 or so. And accepting that I am all that I should maybe change my neutral stance towards my parents.
I managed to drag out of shrink yesterday that I maybe need anti depressants the rest of my life. Which I wasn't ready for! And also, shrink wasn't very neutral or nuanced when I mentioned a bit of the role of my parents. Which kinda struck me bad, since somehow my whole stance on that is totally excused out. And he didn't follow those rules I had secretly set. So mentioning child abuse, physically and mentally, struck a bad nerve and I been waawaa ever since.
Being not good in whatever way is so engraved in my being that I don't know how to get out of it. Since it IS more easy to accept that you are no good than that your parents are no good.