Sociopath Community

Khepri said: 

Blanc said:

All three of these are related to childhood stories that i heard growing up, so it makes sense. My sister used to tell me about a woman with dark hair named “moaning Martha” who lived in our bath tub. Saying she had died in the house. I guess, maybe in order to conquer my fear of this imaginary horror story she told me to freak me out, i would have conversations with her when I was in the bath alone, to feel less scared and. Now she’s always around, if I’m scared. Like, I can talk to her.

 This is literally Harry Potters Moaning Myrtle and there's a scene where she's in the bathtub i just shdkdhdnd

 Yeah it’s so weird that my sister’s story she told me when i was young is eerily similar to the moaning Myrtle thing from Harry Potter but, this is before i knew that Harry Potter existed. O.o 

(Cont.) 

they uh, did a lot of things physically to me. And they couldn’t like, agree on anything like. They just, hated me. 

And uh... yeah so i was just trying to get out at this point, they thought that holding me against my will in a fucking box was going to somehow help me. They just, were used to that, control and liked the idea of me being on a completely tight leash with, absolutely no, control over my own life. No outlet. Locked bullet proof windows, i couldn’t throw a chair at it to get out. Bolted doors, padlocks. With hidden keys. No phone, no computer. Just the clothes on my back, and a mattress they left me in the room. They stripped me, of everything. And, brought me down to, nothing. 

This is how i was punished growing up too, they had a militaristic approach to, punishment or “shaping your character”.... “it’s for your own good.” Sort of thing. Or disowning me emotionally, financially. because, “you don’t deserve to see the kindness of gods kingdom.” They uh, yeah. Beat me with baseball bats, wrenches, their fists, they kicked me repeadetly, or took my head and bashed it into the floor or, into the wall. They threw me, into the wall or into the floor. They beat me with a hammer, they forced my head under water, or would dump buckets of water on me. They locked me in rooms and would force me to do tasks, while i was in there. For hours, alone. 

I remember tallying on the walls how many fucking days went by in there in that room until eventually i just stopped making tally’s because i lost track of, days and nights blurring all together. I really didn’t know how long it’d been anymore. 

My mom would choke me. Threaten me. They would, threaten me with, anything they could. When i was growing up they’d threaten to send me into foster care. Because they didn’t want me. They’d tell me, that i was better off dead. Or that i might as well kill myself. They said really horrible things to me, on repeat. 

And, so when i finally got out, i just like, burst out the front door and started screaming for help and said “someone help me” or something like that but, just silence. And then my father came up behind me and grabbed me with his hand over my mouth and dragged me back inside. I kicked and screamed and bit him. As i always did. He would drag me a long the floor and my fingernails would scratch along the terrazzo and make indents in the door frames as i held onto them with all of my will. 

It was no use. He threw me down onto the ground and told me to stay down or else. I started to get up, he threw me down again. And i said, “give me the fucking keys!” And he kicked me and i just started laughing and said, “you’re kicking my ass hahahah, literally” {i laugh in response to pain normally, because ive just been pushed beyond my limit this is how I’ve learned not to feel it} 

and i said, ‘go ahead beat me up some more, prove what a great fucking dad you are. Is this what you want? You can’t control me forever. Let me GO. IF YOU DON’T LET ME GO, I’M GOING TO MAKE THE REST OF YOUR LIFE A LIVING HELL. EVERY MINUTE OF IT. YOU’LL REGRET KEEPING ME HERE.” 

(He was threatening to hold me there against my will for a year and making me “work for him”) 

and he called me the spawn of Satan. And then, i acted like i was going to give in, and he could take me inside, and i was like “yeah.... alright.. i give up- you win....” looking to the side. And i got up and walked toward him like i was going to go inside. And he turned around, and then i jumped toward him and got the keys out of his pocket. Because i noticed they were probably in there, I saw like, a bit of a shape of something in there and i just realized like, that’s where they were this whole time. 

And yeah i grabbed them out of his pocket and i said, ‘FUCK YOU.” As i got in the car door. I slammed it shut before he could get to me and pushed that in reversed outta there so fast lol 

and then i went to live with my aunt for a bit. 

She was really kind to me, first person who really listened to to me when I talked. And like, heard me out, and at least pretended to understand or have empathy even if, she didnt. She like, tried. And like, just hugged me. First like, mother figure that ever showed me motherly love in that way. Even though it was just, consolation for my situation. 

Like, everyone in the family knows the way they treat me is unfair.... is the way they put it. But no one does anything about it. Um.... they’re just kinda like, “sorry.... thats, shitty. Anyways- back to my life. Cya later.” And just, they figure I can’t handle it, or maybe don’t understand how difficult it is to handle or the damage it did and the hurt i felt. 

I started doing some classes in the summer, just to keep up with the degree program and, i took an art class. Because i was interested in it. And, this teacher was like. Helping me process some of my trauma, she was also gay and like, was understanding or supportive about, my situation. Being unwanted because of being gay or whatever and. Like, i would express myself through art and. It was a good time I guess but. 

I uh.... was still suffering from the effects of ptsd like pretty bad so like. I was taking pills to cope. When i was in college i had, coped with stimulants and alcohol but i hadn’t touched opiates. Because of this girl i was with she helped me like “stay clean” even though i wasn’t totally clean i at least, didn’t touch any heroin. But uh, yeah. 

I dunno I just, i dunno what the fuck happened... i started dating this girl cuz me and the other girl that kept me off the opiates, we broke up during the summer classes. And yeah.. so this new girl i was with, she liked to party and... you know. Put me around drugs and alcohol again. And, yeah. I just didn’t recognize myself at this time as an “addict” i just, did what i wanted and wasn’t thinking of it as a problem or an addiction but. I spiraled out of control. 

She told me, “k at this party, these guys do dope but promise you won’t do dope with them.” And i was like nahhhh i won’t do dope. I’ll be fine. But then. Next the thing you know, i went upstairs to see where they were. Found them, doing drugs. And they offered some to me. I thought “meh, just a smidge.” And, yeah, the rest is history. Hah. I just, kept doing that like, every time we’d go out and party i was like, “meh, just tonight. Just for the weekend.” Thought i had it under control you know. But i didn’t. 

Spiraled face first hard to heroin addiction like, so fucking quick it swept me off my feet before i even knew what hit me. Next thing you know, I’m nodding out on the beach so hard i literally am getting sun burnt. I’m dropping in weight. Withering away. All i wanted to do, was get high. That’s all i did, with my life. By a year went by. My girlfriend was like, “let me hold your dope for you” because she was convinced i would OD with it (after i had already done so on accident once). 

She was there for me but, wasn’t a good influence like, she just thought it was kinda funny when i was high. She didn’t understand that it was because i had deep underlying issues or, that i couldn’t stop. She just called it my “little habit.” And i just kept it with me wherever went, my pills and my dope. 

Eventually though, you know my depression got so bad, and the dissociation, panic attacks, derealization. It all became too much, coupled with suicidal ideation. And i just, decided to fucking kill myself one morning lol. Overdosed on purpose. Luckily my friend found me like that in the bathroom and, i woke up in a hospital. He just “sensed something wasn’t right” with me that morning, because i guess he’d been trying to get into contact and i wasn’t responding. This guy was like my guardian angel, he was my best friend. He, cared. He was always there for me when i needed it. 

I was put into hospitalization and detox for a while, and just trying to get my head right. Put me on meds. Lived that psych ward life for a while. I called my friend a lot. My girlfriend however, wasn’t around. When i got out she, was mad at me. She said i needed to stay longer and get better, worry about myself not her. And.... i dunno. I inevitably relapsed, like she said I would. Pretty shortly after release. The same pattern, “oh I’ll just do it once a month.” “Once a week.” “Once every three days.” Lol.... yep. Problem. 

And i was right back at it. And she was like, “you need help... until you like get better i can’t be with you like this you are an addict.” And like, she was right but. I was pissed at her for breaking up with me. She said it was for my own good or some shit and I’m just like whatever. Smh. So i went to live with my friends on the west coast, and they were like yeah sure we’ll take you in! But it was a set up. Like, they let me stay but, once they realized how bad my addiction was, they staged a fucking intervention and were like um, detox here, in our guest house, and then you can stay aight. But you gotta be clean. And I’m like aight.... so i tried. Third day in, i hopped out the window to live with a meth head Stripper/prostitute down the street, who i had a thing for. I mean, the relationship was meaningless between me and her, we were far too lost in our addictions. We just, supported each other let’s put it that way. Um.. coughs. 

But yeah uh... eventually i ran out of money and i was like, fuck I need, something. So i went for a walk on the beach trying to think of a way to get money, and like, thinking about just, giving up and going home and getting clean honestly. I was hungry. Had no food. And yeah, was hitting rock bottom. And my mom just called me outta the blue. And i just started crying on the phone and was like “i can’t do this anymore” and she’s like “i know, come home, go to rehab, we’ll take care of it.” And I’m like aight...... :/ 

so i went. Woo hoo. It was not fun. But yeah uh... i mean. It sorta helped get in my head a bit. But it didn’t really all click until i overdosed one more time. That i was like oh shit, I’m really gonna fucking die, and i think i don’t want to? 

And so then i started taking it more serious after that. Recovery. And uh, getting help and shit. And, with therapy... been able to like, slowly be more open with my family about it. And, our relationship has improved since i stopped using drugs and, i just like put myself back in the closet so they would stop hating me. 

It’s not totally healthy but, it has gotten better... being on meds helped.. um. Yeah. Got help. So uh. That worked, somewhat. And then i studied phlebotomy, i went to the gym a lot because swimming helps me like, stay clean like working out and stuff... and i got the idea to be a life guard from that gym. and so i did life guarding for a while and, then i moved out and started working in a coffee shop. Once my parents started to trust i had my head on more straight. It had been a year of them seeing me on good behavior. 

And now yeah, I’m out here on my own. Uh.... met a girl, at the coffee shop. Or whatever. But right now like, all the people around me have a substance abuse problem so, that’s depressing to me. And i started smoking weed again (not a good sign) so. I’ve been depressed lately is why i started. Because i got fired from the coffee shop. And idk.... 

so yeah just been, dealing with depression a bit and, probably should, continue like, getting mental help with that i guess. So that’s where I’m at right now. I do consider relapsing, because when I want to die it’s like who cares, do drugs and die what’s the fucking point of being fucking alive but uh, 

yeah i guess. Yeah, that’s where I’m at right now but uh, if i tell a therapist this they will try to fix me up again. If i... go to one. 

I currently only have a few days left before i move home... :’( so.... that’s going to be... rough on me but uh.... hey. 

I’ll figure something out... been trying to get another job. 

I wish I could trigger them out so you could see I'm not bull shitting, or trigger a dissociative episode but they're really not fun like, I have to have panic attacks and like, go through nauseating symptoms that make me want to fucking vomit, I might just lay there and rock back and forth. 

I don't know.... um. I don't understand how people have communication between their alters perfectly like they're playings sims in their head, I don't know.... how they "trigger them out" for a "meet my alters" video. 

For me this process would be *day ruining* first of all, its extremely difficult, and exhausting. I couldn't imagine how they control, "which one" comes out, when. I don't.... understand that. Because mine are all triggered by high stress and traumatic/dangerous and like, panic-inducing environments 

It would be really horrible and scary for me, and sucky like... yikes. 

Any day that this sort of things happens for me, is a *really fucking bad time* and a "bad day" for me. 

So I don't get how people are just switching around and doing this sort of thing all day or multiple times a week etc. Like, for me it's not like that. 

So that's why I'm uncertain I even have it because it doesn't look like the way most people's do, or whatever... like. I'm not Pete on Tuesday and Sally later in the evening for dinner and then I can play a video game and turn into some dude named Braxton. I don't turn into a wild sex maniac for a night or, go on a shopping binge around town and then "wake up" and drop my shopping bags and go oh shit where am I! 

It just, only happens like, if I am genuinely feeling a sense of, my rights as a human being like, infringed upon in a really toxic and unhealthy like abusive way or,.. if I feel I am in a dangerous situation.... 

I have panic attacks when I travel. I don't know why. Like, long stretches of road with nothing but trees on the side. Or, being in the middle of a wide open forest- or, like, one time I went to a festival that was off in the middle of no where.... in "farm land" country in no where Florida. far far from my home. And, I thought I would be fine, I felt pretty high anxiety on the way there but I thought, once I get the to festival, I'll forget about it and be fine, I'll have fun. But nope... I got very very overwhelmed and like, starting having a panic attack. I can't handle, being in the middle of no where, I can't handle traveling long distances or, the feeling of being lost or not knowing where I am, I can't handle forested areas, or being lost in nature, or the woods- or even a park. Triggering. 

I also have like, panic attacks when people leave me in stores. Like, my mom and I were shopping one evening in a TJ Maxx, she forgot her wallet, and went out to the car to go get it. I said, "yeah that's fine, go head." and then as soon as she left my body was like *panic attack time* "nope, nope, that is not fine." and then I had to walk out and follow her and I'm just like awkwardly standing by her at her car and she's like, "what are you doing??" and I'm like, "just, wanted to follow you." lol I can't like... be separated? separation anxiety yeah. 

Most people get over this, as a child but, I'm 24 years old and it still happens to me in the grocery store, or a Walmart. I always tell my mom, "don't leave me, it just, makes me freak out." don't know why, but yeah I have this like exaggerated response to, abandonment and separation. 

I have panic attacks if my car breaks down because of the feeling of being stranded or, helpless, vulnerable. 

Even though rationally in all of these situations I know I'm fine, my brain and body think I'm not. 

All I can do, is tell you the experiences I've had, I don't know what disorders everything amounts to... It's not really about that. 

Like the reason I write about it isn't to figure out what label I do or don't have, the reason I write is to cope and deal, process, or, it's to remember as well. Keep record. So I can also analyze and have oversight of myself better. 

that's not how alters work u simple cunt

natasha87 said: 

that's not how alters work u simple cunt

 "All I can do, is tell you the experiences I've had, I don't know what disorders everything amounts to... It's not really about that."

if you read it, I told you I'm not *certain* I have it, I just, told you the experiences I've had, and the fact that psychiatrist told me he thought I had it, led me to researching it more and wondering, "is he right??" 

but I don't feel like it's a prevailing or pressing issue anyway, I think, my depression is more so a primary focus regardless if I had that or not. 

natasha87 said: 

that's not how alters work u simple cunt

 LOL, true af

as much i am surprised that blanc writes all this bs im even more surprised that ppl read it

whats ur secret for attn span??

I dont even read the stuff i write. I just drink too much caffeine 

prettiestofflowers said: 

natasha87 said: 

that's not how alters work u simple cunt

 LOL, true af

 wdym