Vent blog mostly

We surprisingly have a few followers on this secret blog so I thought I'd go ahead and make us one of those intro things.

Hi! We're a system with OCD and we made this blog primarily to vent about things we're afraid that we'll get harassed for on our main account (ie: pocd, systemhood, pro para, anti thought crime rhetoric, etc).

We take comfort in the privacy we have on this blog so there will be no personal information about any members. We use Emojis to distinguish who is fronting.

I'm not going to make a DNI because we don't need one. We believe in curating your own content here. If you don't like what we have to say block us. We block liberally.

We will not engage with harassment on this blog. If you harass us you will be blocked on sight. This is for our protection, as engaging with harassment online can be very triggering to our OCD.

Members (who have picked an emoji):

I can hardly move due to the pain in my back but my baby (adult) cat is laying on my chest demanding kisses. Take that depression

I think I deserve a reward for today. I managed to do a simple chore, sing, AND write despite my body hurting and my brain feeling like mush

My official diagnoses are:

Bipolar

DID

OCD

GERD

Fibromyalgia

Hashimoto's disease

I am most likely autistic as well and my rheumatologist believes I had AMPS in childhood.

I've been in pain and felt lost and confused since I was little. I've never really had a solid sense of identity. I never manage to feel like "myself". I don't even know what that is. We don't know which alter, if any, is the host. We forget things so frequently it's depressing. I want to remember my life. Yes, I was abused and neglected, but there's so much good that's just. Gone. Forever.

I remember once waking up at 5-6 years old with no memory of my life and thinking "oh I guess it's just what happens when you grow up".

Sometimes I feel like I live in 50 first dates, not able to remember more than a day at a time. For the longest time I thought that was normal. I thought struggling to remember even a week back was just part of life.

Between the amnesia from DID and the brain fog from fibromyalgia and the constant intrusive thoughts and compulsions from OCD, it sometimes feels like I can't even think.

Oh and my thyroids might already be failing.

So much of this could've been caught in childhood if the people who call themselves my parents had just taken me seriously when I told them I hurt, if they had just gotten me the help I needed for OCD instead of taking me to a pediatrician who prescribed Valium at 7 (starting a life long struggle with addiction). If they had just LOOKED at me maybe they would've realized I needed help.

But hey (tw CSA), these are the people who knew that my cousin assaulted my sister, did nothing to keep it from happening to us both, punished me for saying the dirty words he taught me without questioning why I learned those words, and when they finally found out he'd continued assaulting us both choose him over me when I said I couldn't be at family events if he was there because "he's family"

How could I expect those people to look twice at their chronically and mentally ill child? We were the "good" kid, obviously we were fine, just "a little anxious" and a "hypochondriac".

They were right about the last one of course, at least how I see it. Health anxiety/OCD has had me calling EMS when there was nothing (else) wrong with me since I was thirteen, but that was hardly the first time I thought I was dying. But what did they do about my hypochondria? Hate me for being annoying of course. Leave me sobbing that I was going to die or telling me to get over it.

The people who now hate me, who have convinced my sister to hate me are the reason I'm trying to put the pieces together as I'm nearing 30. It's ugly. Sometimes I find pieces that I'm ashamed of or want to hide from. It's not easy to accept all of who I am, the traumatized pieces who come out when we feel the slightest bit unsafe and act in ways that don't fit who we want to be.

I don't know what the point of this post is, or if there is one. I'm just.. having feelings tonight. I'd love to know what feeling like myself felt like.

Today I wrote the story I wish I could've read as a child. It's my own story (or a part of it at least) put in simplistic terms, but I wish I'd had it when I was young.

Once upon a time there was a little prince. According to the prince's Mommy and Daddy, he had everything you could ever want. He had food in his belly, a great big castle, and lots of money. What more could he ask for?

But he had something else too. He had Pain and Fear that followed him everywhere he went.

He tried and tried and tried to tell his Mommy and Daddy about the evil twins that haunted him but they never listened. They told him the Pain was all in his head and the Fear was just pretend.

So the little prince tried telling Pain and Fear to go away, to stop following him. They never listened, but the prince got better at running away and hiding.

The prince run and hid so much that he forgot who he really was. Sometimes he was the little prince, but sometimes he was a character from a fairy tale or a grand hero.

He became these people to help stay away from Pain and Fear and Bad memories too. With their help, the little prince didn't even remember the things that always chased him.

But the more people the prince became, the less he remembered. He would forget that he was ever afraid or in pain. He would forget when his Mommy and Daddy would yell at or hit him. He would forget happy things too, like memories of playing with his friends.

By the time the little prince was ten he could hardly remember more than a day at a time. The little prince needed help. He had always needed help.

It was a long time before help came. The little prince had to run away from home, finally becoming like the story book characters he was sometimes, finally seeking to be his own hero.

Slowly, as the little prince ran further and further, he started to remember. He remembered just enough to start telling his story. To his shock, the more he told his story the more he would remember and the more people would listen.

He found people who believed him, who told him that his Mommy and Daddy were not fair or kind or good to him. He found people told him he deserved better and it helped.

As the little prince remembered more and more, Pain and Fear caught up with him again, consuming his mind and body. But this time it was different. This time when he told the people he'd grown to love about what haunted him, they listened.

They didn't tell him it was all in his head or that he was just pretending. They told him it was real. The little prince felt more loved than he ever had.

With the help of the people who loved him, the little prince found his way to doctors. He saw body doctors for Pain and mind doctors for Fear.

The little prince finally got better with the help he needed and lived happily ever after.

If you ever need help but your parents won't give it to you, keep trying. Tell everybody. Someone will listen.

Days like today I really miss nicotine

Being affirmed by doctors is bittersweet. It feels so validating to hear doctor's take me seriously about my mental and physical health. Having an OCD diagnosis is incredibly vindicating but it hurts too. Every memory of being trapped in OCD cycles as a child and being told to suck it up or to just stop panicking or being ignored while I was sobbing hurts. I was sick and no one listened. Being told that my chronic pain is real, that I have scoliosis that was overlooked, that three doctors now suspect fibromyalgia and that I had AMPS as a child, and having a doctor actually do the tests to make sure they diagnose my pain correctly makes me honestly want to sob. I cannot count the number of times I was told the very real pain I was in was all in my head. I learned to ignore all pain to the point that it took over level ten pain and multiple ER visits for me to *finally* take my own pain seriously as an adult. I was sick and hurting and my parents neglected me.

Honestly, it's no wonder I have DID. (And this isn't even getting into the other abuses I suffered). Of course I split alters to help with the physical and emotional turmoil that I was left completely alone to deal with. Of course I can't remember half my childhood when so much of it was spent in one form of pain or another.

I just. I'm so hurt for the little kid that had to grow up all alone with no help and no idea what was wrong with me. I think today needs to be a soft day.