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Mental Health Board Index


I'm So Confused.
Feb 22, 2010
Without getting into any details, my childhood was bad. It'd take far too long to type it up, but just know that it was incredibly wearing on my mental well-being. During all of this I was incredibly depressed and stuff, you know, the normal things that come with a rough past. The times were harsh right up until college when I got to move away, but they had been getting gradually better since the start. I'd say that they were about seventy-five percent better when I turned eighteen from the time when I was, say, eleven. However, getting older also made it worse in that I began to understand or was told why certain things were. I began to realize at a young age that alcohol was a a huge factor in the trauma, and still is. That was obvious enough but, as I get older yet, I realize further the horribleness and complexity of what was. Looking back, I realize that drugs may or may not have been present in my life, even as an infant. Or that domestic violence happened right in front of my eyes, but I was too young to understand. Anyway, I'm now in college, living away from the mess even though my sister and my little brother still have to deal with it now. My grandparents have intervened somewhat so my sister and brother both have a back up plan, a shelter of sorts, to fall back on when times are too difficult, unlike I did, so recently my worries have subsided. In fact, my grandparents made it very clear to me that I should not be worrying about this anymore as it is not my burden and I should focus more on my studies.

The traumatic events that I had to deal with gave me an awkward sort of elitist complex about myself. I feel as if my mind has matured way farther past most people's usually go. A good explanation could be looking up Kohlberg's three stages for moral development. According to him everyone reaches the second tier, dubbed the conventional stage, but rarely anyd ione makes it to the third, the post-conventional. For years I have felt as if there were a huge gap in the complexity of the way my mind works and that of the others my age, and putting myself into that third stage fit well and serves as a good explanation of the way I feel. Part of the reason that I believe that this is true may be because I think a lot. I am a disgustingly deep thinker. In fact, that encompasses the majority of how I spend my time. In the recent years, since I was about, say, sixteen (I am now eighteen), I have always been researching anxiety disorders, depressive disorders, etc. as a way of coping or dealing with certain negative feelings I still have. Sometimes it would get extensive and almost obsessive, but I never once found anything that could be used to describe this awkward, mysterious way that I think and feel. I put on many facades and have many faces for different situations and different people, but I am the only one that knows the real me. I specifically act different towards different individuals for a reason because I have always been slow to agitate others. I've always only ever had one, maybe two, close friends, albeit I have always had numerous friends that I do not consider "close", and I always let them be the more, let's say, "dominant" one. They are always disillusioned that they have the control, power, and say. I allow this because I do not like to disappoint. Rather, I do not like [I]people [/I]when they are disappointed or angry because they devolve into disgusting, immature creatures that resemble not one trace of their old selves. They wonder how I am never wrong, how I've never, not once, lost an argument. The answer is so simple to me that it baffles me and makes be lose faith in the intelligence of my peers. I only argue or state a fact if I am one-hundred percent sure of its validity. Therefore, if someone disagrees with me I must always prove them wrong. I cannot stand ignorance, so I've always let them be the one "in charge", I let them be stupid without me having to see it. I marginally play into their wants and intentionally do not show sides of myself that fulfill their personal dislikes. Because of this, the close friends I have are often very different from each other.

I also have difficulty articulating my thoughts on the fly. Typing them or writing them down has always been so fluid and easy for me, but if I am not given ample time to think before I speak, what comes out of my mouth is either incoherent or generally misunderstood. Because of this, English and writing courses have been way too easy for me leading my declaration of English education to be typical. Motivation is a dire problem, though, and as a result I've never in my life been able to do anything other than simple math because I simply cannot devote my time thinking to learning such useless material. This is where many people will say that I have trouble focusing. Yes, that is very true, but it is so because I feel as if I have more important things to talk about. Being prescribed Adderall, which I can only feel the effects of if I take three times my prescribed dosage (yes, I will discuss this with my doctor), only makes me, in turn, focus harder on those thoughts which prevent me from paying my valuable attention to things I dislike. Put simply, it makes me love the subjects in which I've always found interest even more, and makes me hate classes in which I had no previous interest more as well.

In addition to those things, I have horrible habits. I always have had some sort of tic or thing that I do constantly and sometimes privately present since around the age of eight. Right now I have a tic in my face that makes me look like some sort of crystal meth tweaker. Yeah, nice. Also, I have to use anti-dandruff shampoo or I will literally spend two hours scratching and picking the flakes off of my head and collecting them on a surface before finally getting insanely angry at the wasted time and disposing of them. Same goes for picking or popping pimples in which I must use an acne prescription to keep the popping at bay or I will become too obsessed. Another annoying thing that is awkward to me is my ability to stair at a wall or some other object or area for as long as I please just thinking deeply to myself. It happens without me even knowing it most of the time. If I am by myself with nothing to do, this is usually what happens if I am not preoccupied either surfing the web or playing a computer game, etc. I am also incredibly fidgety in class unless the Adderall is taken.

Up until I left for college, I was anxious and so full to the brim of worry that it made regular life next to impossible. I don't know if this exists, but I had some sort of phobia of my mother, and only my mother, consuming alcohol. In the months that I was in a fraternity (which I left because of a conflict of interests), I had no problem seeing people, or myself, getting completely trashed. I stopped drinking in anything other than extreme moderation, though, because of the grudge I hold against it. When I came to college I seemingly abandoned all of my past for a few months. I'd rarely keep in touch with my mother, which is highly abnormal because even after all of the horribleness she bestowed upon me, she is still the person of whom I love the most. The anxiety seemed to dissipate a significant amount and my search for what was wrong with me also took a vacation. I wish it would have stayed longer. Over my Christmas vacation, more traumatic, awful things, unspeakable things happened.

My mother is psychotic. That is the [I]only [/I]way of putting it and alcohol only intensifies this. She's seen things, heard things, tried to kill herself, has INSANE, random, disgusting bouts of uncontrollable anger that she releases when she drinks and sometimes when she doesn't, she lies about drinking (she admits to being an alcoholic, but lies about the steps she's taken to drop the bottle), she's pointed a gun at her boyfriend (my brother's dad), in addition to many, many other things that I, and everyone else in my family have to deal with (dealing with this from an immensely young age is something that drives my elitist complex). One night during Christmas break, all hell broke loose. And, without going into much detail, it involved its fair amount of domestic abuse which I led me to phoning my grandparents to come over to the house. She was so out of control, and he (her boyfriend) was so hammered that nothing could be done. To put it into perspective, her angry (this word does not do it justice) actions caused my grandmother to fall on the ground in convulsions. I thought for a fact that she was going to die right there in my arms, that my one shining ray of truth and clarity was going to be taken from me. She was fine, but no thanks to my mother. Not even the sight of her mother next to what appeared to be death from a heart attack could stop her relentless anger. In the end, everything went back to normal. As these things happen so often, the time it takes to recover from such is less than a day. The next day, after my sister, my brother, and I stayed at my grandparents house, we were back with my mother and her boyfriend like nothing happened. Never in my life has any traumatic event led me to be able to convince my mother to change. Ever. Even though I know exactly what will happen to her in the future, she'll have none of it.

Anyway, sorry for going off on that tangent, but I returned to my dormitories shortly afterwords and all returned to normal. I was blind to what was going on at home, and I preferred it to stay that way. Sometimes I'd worry about what could happen to my brother and sister, but I disregard it because I know that my sister can take of things herself now (she is fifteen and my brother is almost five). I kept in contact with my mother more though. This brings me to where I am today. Recently, three days ago to be exact, my mother came to my dorm to drop something of mine off and I decided to drive around with her and have a conversation or two because we both enjoyed doing so. It did not turn the way in which I had hoped. She was abnormal and, while I could usually place my finger on what was wrong, I couldn't at first. I know, though, that there was alcohol involved, but it wasn't her normal state of drunkenness. It was some sort of emotion that she was giving off that I had not seen out of her for years. The same emotion that planted such mixed, unexplainable emotions of my own inside of me. I did not tell her that I knew she had been drinking because I knew that she would have gone berserk. When she dropped me back off, I phoned my sister and grandmother to tell them to be on the watch.

Ever since then I have felt a level of uneasiness that I did not think could possibly ever exist. The feeling is what I felt years ago and my hunt for what is wrong with me, that obsession, started again. It's horrible. It's overwhelming and it's hard to control. In addition to the unbearable uneasiness, the sense that something, or that everything is not well which I had years ago has returned with a vengeance. I have been having uncontrollable, undesired memories from when I was as young as three up to around eight or nine. They are of things I have not recalled for upwards of eight years and of certain things which I haven't thought about since they happened. For example, a short memory that I used to have but haven't thought about for oh so long that involves me crawling on the floor of our apartment at the time (when my parents were still together, we moved out of the apartment when I was four, so these flashbacks are old) and seeing someone on our couch with a frying pan of some sorts and something going from this figures face to the pan has surfaced. I now know that this could be many things, including the cooking of cocaine into crack form, which is likely. Another that I recall vividly again is one that also happened in the apartment. I was being shoved against the wall by my mother demanding I tell her the truth about something and to stop lying, although I had not been. And the last thing I want to share with you that might sound implausible is that I've been recalling words, or short sentences, that I heard but obviously did not understand as a child.

So many memories are surfacing and I do not want them to. I do not want to feel this way, it is awful and unexplainable and I've never found anything that fits its description. The only thing that is somewhat close is dissociative identity disorder, but I find that unlikely. Also, equally as peculiar, I took the autism spectrum quotient test and scored a thirty-seven where a score of thirty-two or more is generally what people who have been diagnosed with Asperger's receive. This isn't to be used as a diagnosis, I know, and I find it highly unlikely myself that this would be possible, but it does indeed describe a few things like, if I did have it, why I lined up and sorted my toys in a specific order, why, even in third grade, I was chewing holes through the collars of my shirts, why I couldn't tie my shoes until third grade, why I couldn't ride a bike until fourth, why my handwriting is worse than a second grader's, why I have those tics and habits, why I take immense, insatiable interest in topics that aren't relevant to anything at all, and why I'm physically clumsy, etc. I still don't believe it'd be possible for me to have this disorder as I've met Aspies and my behavior does not outwardly, not even remotely, resemble theirs. Of course, on the other side of the spectrum, I may have met people who are diagnosed and that I can relate to but I do not know have it.

Anyway, this got wayyyyy too long so read it if you like. Any insight or words of encouragement or ideas are highly welcome.

Thanks in advance.

Oh, and one more problem of mine that I left out... a large one actually. I talk to people, two in specific, in my head. It's not your normal type of deal, though. I literally hold lengthy conversations with these two and they both have well developed and different thoughts. Sometimes I ask them for advice but most of the time we are just discussing things that I've seen or read or heard. Also, this is the weirdest, when I think about my planned courses of action, a lot of time, if not most of the time I refer to myself as "we" or "us". When I'm sitting at the computer and I am hungry I'll think to myself, "We should go eat".

I'm so sad. I just want to cry everything away...





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