I sometimes wonder if I’m actually a sociopath. If I am the bad person I was told I was. I question my recollection of the past. Have I exaggerated those things that happened. Were things really as bad as I have made them out to be. I scrutinise my memories and try to see things from my parents point of view to see if it was me or if it was really them. Am I broken but I can’t see it because I’m on the inside? Am I psychopath who has managed to convince myself that my lies are real.
I become sweaty and anxious. I’ve confused myself now. Were my parents really the villains they are in my memories or have I fantasised the whole thing because of some weird munchausens type condition that I don’t realise I have.
It’s not fun being me when my anxiety is this bad. I feel like a terrible person and that everyone is going to find out. I know what’s triggered this and it’s another hole in my mind that I need to plug before all the good stuff leaks out.
My breathing slows. I am not a sociopath. I am not a psychopath. I’ve had loads of counselling, if I had some weird munchausens drama whore type complex, someone would have spotted it and diagnosed me by now. I am not a bad person. Oh god someone pass me a biscuit before my brain explodes. And…….sugar. Ahh that’s better.
And that’s how I eat my feelings.