I've started this three times and keep erasing it trying to figure out how to put this. Every time I start, I kind of descend into really dry psychobabble I learned during intense study after my very first Psych class, when I found out there was a word--there was a
concept--that covered what I'd been doing when I was nineteen. I was shocked and horrified and went along with vague class discussion, freaked out that everyone else knew about this--
knew about this--and half of them were making fun of it. So I read. I read and read and
read and I still don't know more than I started, just like I didn't know then that there wasn't something seriously
wrong with me that I couldn't talk about to anyone, ever, not my best friend, not my boyfriend, not the people who were around me when it happened, not anyone after.
The first person I ever told about it was
svmadelyn. The second was
chopchica. Then I could talk about it. Sort of.
( this is definitely triggering for self-harm )I feel better. Ranting, I admit, isn't as good, but there's a lot less clean up.
Also, person who might not want to be named in my DW/LJ but had surgery for gall bladder, update me! I can't find the comment or the email, because I haven't read most of it. I should get caught up on that.