Little lost boy (**Trigger Warning**)

I’m struggling of late,  to get a coherent blog piece written. There are many reasons, legal ramifications, straining interpersonal relationships to breaking point and for the main part my own emotional inhibitors.

Last week I was discharged from the community mental health team because they deemed me not in need of their services and I should go and seek some structure and support from MIND. In principle I don’t object to seeking help from the 3rd sector, I do object however the way it was done.

Firstly I was discharged both from hospital and the cmht with the sole diagnosis of BPD. Apparently all of a sudden I’m no longer acknowledged as having post traumatic stress disorder. Apparently they missed the flashbacks on the ward, they missed the point I was talking to the CPN about the night terrors I have been going through again. Apparently forgot the occasion the CPN was about to call police and social services  because I expressed concern about the meaning of waking up aroused and post orgasm having had a night terror   and watching myself being sexually abused. Although the select few friends that I have opened up to about this keep telling me it’s normal physical reaction in dream state and doesn’t signify anything. Despite my GP and the cpn suggesting that I’m catastrophising, I can’t help but feel afraid of becoming the very thing I fear the most. I will play with most balls of fire but this is one I don’t want to play with. As long as I have breath in my lungs and a beat in my heart I would ensure I was dead before destroying the innocence of a child.

Anyway I’m digressing, by removing the ptsd from my diagnosis I’ve been left feeling like I’ve been violated all over again. My old (and most trusted) Psychiatrist always said that if I felt like I wasn’t being heard then my bpd symptoms get triggered off, and she was right about that. Why would it do that? I hear you ask, well here lies the answer, the thing that has scarred my personality and my very being so deeply, something I feel is as severe as the actual abuse itself. If we go back 3  and a bit decades to the time I was being abused (I will spare you dear reader the details) I approached my mum and told her I didn’t like going next door because I was being hurt. Now before I explain her response  you have to understand this was a time as far away from now, sexual abuse of children wasn’t talked about, when it did happen it never  happened  to boys, certainly not those as young as 3 or 4. It was little surprise that she thought I was telling lies and didn’t believe me. Now I understand where she came from, that I do, but it has forever destroyed me. It has left me feeling like I can never be trusted or I will always make things up. Not only did it invalidate what happened to me and how I feel about it, but it has left me feeling like I don’t have a voice when I’m not being heard.

I wish I could say I don’t in part blame my parents for the way I feel about that time in my childhood but I do. And during a tense phone call last week I told them, at which point I copped a guilt trip about how unfair I was being. Twice in the same day I was left to feel shitty about my past, my present and future and why? Because some scumbag used me for his own gatification.

Now please don’t assume I blame all my problems because for whatever reason I can’t make myself heard, but when I feel dismissed (like recently by the mental health services in York) I feel like that little boy lost, screaming for help and left a vulnerable mess. But to be fair I’d not feel that way if that scumbag didn’t find himself doing what he did to me and other victims. What really sucks is I’m not sure  how or where I go from here. I wish I could say I don’t feel such hatred that I wish him dead. I wish I could say I don’t feel at the other victims r either refusing or due to substance abuse not fit to make a statement. I wish I could say I’m not totally gutted that he’ll never get justice for destroying so many lives.


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