Oh, I would say so! Something I overlooked remarking upon the last time I wrote is my stored, excessive negative emotions, as well as, my deep sadness that causes me dis-ease still in my present, and yet surrounding my past. Though much of it may lay in my subconscious, I'm almost daily having passing conscious thoughts and memories of it all.

There simply never was anyone, anywhere, at anytime available to support or help me in my past regardless of how very ill and/or seriously disturbed I was.

There was always that realization of HOPELESSNESS and those awful overwhelming obstacles that presented themselves in many forms and shapes, but always of the same size, ie. ENORMOUS, and next to impossible for me alone to comprehend, never mind get by.

Yuck! Just remembering, torments me and fills me with emotion.

The past (time-frame), that I'm speaking of, my illness, symptoms, and non-existent support would disturb anyone. From age 12 up I mostly starved myself, chiefly bc this is what I did in fear, and partly bc there was little to no food in the house. When I did eat I would steal monies and binge on chiefly sweets (enourmous f'n amounts), and sometimes on high carb. foods. I use to bring cans of frosting to school and scrape that container clean and feel deathly ill afterwards. If loaf of bread or lasagne was cooked and left out, I eat the whole loaf and two-thirds of the lasagne, and then go vomit. In my wishful thinking and self-centeredness, I always hope some stranger would notice that I was working on my 2nd dozen of donuts, 9th brownie, 3rd jim-dandy or from the caf. at school 6th desert. No one every said anything other than in a few instances, to notice and encourage me in some words.

We use to have a dutch door that opened up to an 20ft. drop, and I had long since relied on vomiting in the bathroom or woods and then, having opened up the top half, was vomiting out that door 14 to 20 times a day, and it was all hitting the side of the house and piling up on the tanks below. Mother and family would see and watch and do nothing, only remark with insults and shameful words. Now was I most definately very sick? YES! Was I bad? No! But, I was certain I was, and that I should be in control of myself and just stop. This is one reason I never could figure out why they were so jealous and hateful toward me. It didn't and still doesn't make any sense to me.

I didn't know I had PTSD then, I didn't know it when I gouged out the eyes and crotch of the doll that I hung by its throat and legs out our window at age 7. I didn't know it when I'd hide and curl up in the dryer or corner of the basement at 6yrs. And, I didn't know it when I hid and avoided being seen or when, in sky-high anxiety, I'd refused to approach anyone to play, even utter a hello, or attempt to get to know others. I remember a time in my life when I'd say no more then what felt like 5 words a day. I'd want to but the words weren't there and the self-esteem non-existent. This was during a time in my life that my mothers boyfriend was fiercely, out-of-control, reaking chaos and trauma for my sisters, mother and I, and was regularly chasing me around the house and saying, "When you least expect it, expect it." And he'd carry through. I suppose if it weren't for finding alcohol at age 13, I may have committed suicide, shot him or myself. As that was an ongoing intrusive fantasy at this time. Considering the state of mind I was in at that time, I really don't have a clue as to why no one, other than me sought help for me.

I sought help, on many occassions, with both no insurance and than later state ins., but to no avail. I followed through on each possible hope for help, and one real obstacle or another prevented me getting help. Suppose that even one person, might suggested a way around these obstacles, but how could I randomly select and approach that one person, when my family had already convinced me that not a single one of them seemed to give a sh't, that I wasn't worth helping, deserved it all, and was nothing but a burden to time, energy, space and money.

It was things like the time my mother screamed, cussed and shamed me for pleading with her to help me find help. And, memory of my sister being degraded yrs. earlier ea. time she needed help, like having been raped by 2 guys and with disgust scolded and told she asked for it, while she sat sobbing. And this same sister, telling me over the phone from my hospital bed, after I had overdosed ended up in ICU, having almost died, that she and her husband had invited my other sister to participate in some f'ck'd up black magic ritual, that was suppose to have gotten rid of me, ....and that though she didn't get help in this, she and her hubby, went through with it and she felt it worked ....and she went on to say, but I didn't want it to kill you.....oh' but, it's worked before with so and so, and so and so.....'babble, babble' BS.

And, oh' how this just reached down inside of me and twisted everything and hurt.

I can't much go on any further tonight, as it's getting to be to much for me now. But, I will say, ABSOLUTELY, the extreme emot. pain and sadness, of once chronically having no support whatsoever is in fact, in the forefront of my subconscious, and is easily triggered, sometimes to a calm, depressive conciousness and other times more regularly triggered into outburst of nastiness, fits of anger, or even rage.

Do I need help? Yes! Am I seeking help? Yes! Am I finding help? Some. I'm finding more support them help, but I have begun to find help in these retreats, that I've found, and the supportive people I've met there. But, I'm still falling short in locating and finding the therapist I'm in need of. I've tried three therapists since, my therapist that officially diag. me with PTSD, was forced to resign. Two of the three, no doubt about it, were impostors. The other one, didn't except my ins. and charged so much I couldn't afford to continue seeing her. WTF - Just now remembering for the 1st time, I think, that I did seek help after P.B. the one that diag. PTSD, and provided Wonderful therapy for me for 2 1/2 yrs., 2x a wk. Oh' shi't ...just now remem. two addit. therpists I sought help from since P.B., for a total of 5. One told me how he once pinched an autistic boy while in internship, simply bc he could and get away with it. "Oh' sh't!" That may have been the last time I saw him. And, the other was a woman who I didn't trust nor continue with as I had gone on a whirl with the med's her collegue psych. and prescribed for me.

Ramblin now' and hurting now, as I remember.

One note to bring this all back to the present. I do have people in my life from the retreat ctr., that have invited me to call anytime, even just to say hi, or if I need help, and have invited me back, and have made this all affordable, as most retreats are way out of my financ. range, and cannot even ever be considered.

*going to post this without re-reading 1st or editing, hope I'm not making a mistake, but enough is enough for tonight.