April 13, 2026

The nonstop flashback stream and ptsd are killing me. ..like, come on brain, is 8 months not enough to lessen it at least a bit?

I guess not..ofc I know why ..and one faccet of those "why's" will meet me tomorrow again.

Another met me today through the phone.

The phone call..a middle aged old woman in a doctor's office hysterically laughing at my reality again, and apologizing that she's laughing but she just can't believe what I'm saying.

Psychiatric and therapeutic abuse behind closed doors exists??

Medical systems and institutions and the invidiuals in them can be apathetic and ignorant and prejudice???

Whaaaat??

Landlords/Landladies can ask a chronically I'll person that isn't able to work rn extremely insulting questions to me or my mother, like "how high are the chances that your daughter takes her life in our flat?" Or "Well if you're just home all day, then that also ofc means a certain environment I'm sure"

Aaaah yes. The typical girl moment of sitting at home, beer on one hand, cigarette, or even better, a joint in the other, Watching reality TV all day in worn down smelly clothes, greasy hair, how about a drool from the mouth as well to finish the frame? Wonderful masterpiece of a painting.

Oh wait, and then the door bell rings, and her friends arrive, all naturally radically gross and oddly shaped human specimens ofc. Naturally.

Mm...very realistic sounding reality... especially very fitting for a person who went to the Gymnasium until her last year of school, (had to change schools and town cause of stalking and harassment and so) and has academics as parents, is bilingual and had international friends and taught herself several instruments and english and started with japanese for intellectual stimulation, worked at a charity shop and local shelter back then and doesn't drink nor smoke and loves classical music..ah well...mmm did I miss a stereotype that could calm you, dear landlady?y bingo card here seems almost full. 

You see, With people such as those..you've lost often before you even open your mouth it feels.

The stigmata run themselves, and everything you say just confirms what they feel you'd be like : difficult, too emotional, too resolut,..you name it ...you can try to poke through, yes, I tried and try by soft talk or confrontation with juxtapositions...carefully trying introduce grown ass adults to the :

Wonderous world of social structural stigmata and institutional and societal failure patterns under late stage capitalism and the human ego.

Or short: 

Oh turns out not everything is as it seems.

Mm.. weird...who would've thought...it's almost like.. the world isn't a fairytale.

Yeah..strange strange..but, that must be my mistake, surely. Because, I'm mentally ill and so on, and therefore have a warped perception of reality by default.

Easy. Problem solved. Projection complete. Compartmentalized. Put into box and shoved aside. Resufal for self correction or reflection: check.

Slowly one might get an idea why the girl writing this is latently suicidal by default.

But that's not the point...the point is that I wonder how I'm supposed to survive in an environment where all the structural failures are cast onto the victim stuck in them.

Trust me, if I would have the money and resources,. I would acquire myself the proffesional knowledge and tools to treat all my illnesses. 

Unfortunately I do not. 

I can only do the same as always and ever.. try to keep fighting with everything left to be heard by doctors, institutions, landlords etc.. to be provided with something else than apathy, overwhelm, ignorance, distress or avoidance..medical gaslighting my utmost unbeloved. ..or even better, the sexualisation move..ugh yeah no.

Small example of something that happened the other day at the dentist, already took my mother with me to get my words and symptoms at least taken somewhat serious. 

"Oh, you got strong tooth pain, and the last doctor in our office denied having documented what he found there? Well, idk how to help you. Mmm, well, you're a young woman..and you trusted me with telling me some of your struggles..so, I think you should go to therapy..because you imagine your pain...have you ever tried therapy?"

(all underlined by nervous immature laughter...Sir. you're a grown up man with multiple certificates, that you flex on the waiting rooms walls. Not a boy cosplaying accountability..)

But to answer the question, yes sir. For over a decade.

Turns out it's damaging to life under today's human society with high pattern awareness, misdiagnosed neurodivergency and sensitivity and chronic illnesses since childhood...

Turns also out that no therapy could help me in any meaningful way that I hadn't found and established for myself yet. 

Turns out that therapists started even acknowledging that at the first session and asked me what I'd want from them.. as I already understand everything..

Oh well, but those were the good ones that had the decency and self reflection to identify and name that.

The other ones...we don't talk about.

Just saying that ya girl doesn't have brain damage from nothing, haha.

Yeah, see...now even I am laughing. Because what else are you supposed to do when the very systems meant to provide you with tools and care, abuse, neglect, dehumanize and pathologize the fuck out of you. It's like going to a homeless person and telling them, "hey...have you ever considered taking psychopharmaka, cause you look a little depressed, buddy"

And no matter how often you send this mail to the psychiatric office where you're met with "well it doesn't really matter what the paper says.." (when talking about me wanting accurate diagnostics please to provide myself with accurate tools and such to cope and heal) etc..no matter how often you send a mail to the doctors who treat you like a little naive girl who just needs some psychoanalysis to make her bone and nerve pains etc. go away...like, yes holistic please, but only if it benefits my convenience as professional to cast the labour on you. 

Adults will not learn to take responsibility.

There are some ..rare ones...general practitioners that turn you down at the first appointment because they're overwhelmed by your symptoms. Experts that see the little scared girl in you that just needs for someone to finally provide her care and help..that hear her/me trying to suppress crying and shattering before and after every appointment in the patients restrooms after another failed attempt and long train ride for the hope of medical support.

I'm scared of tomorrow...maybe not scared...but...at terror...because tomorrow.. I'll have to subject myself again to the system. Abandon myself again. Cut myself open again for the bare hope of the new and strange psychiatrist seeing me bleed and to sign a paper for the child well fare money for my mother to receive that money. To give it to me as my income rn. To be able to stay under private health insurance, that the child well fare money is weirdly enough tied into..and I need private health insurance to be able to fight for getting taken care of my body..the treatments...nobody could afford them otherwise...

Other than...my abusive father that I have to be insured over, that I broke contact to as much as possible, but that uses institutions and the insurance as power against and over me.

I have to abandon myself again and again and again to hope for the smallest bit of help from doctors and alike to take responsibility and provide me medical care or to be honest enough to express their overwhelm with my life's and body's circumstances.

Is that enough to ask for a girl?

I lie on the ground and bleed.. everything hurts...I'm naked...on me, hand prints...hundreds from all the strangers hands that touched all of my body and psyche...my skin itches from them...I struggle to breath..I feel so ashamed and exposed...I feel so unsafe...I just want to scream and tell them to stop touching me..to just stop touching me please..but I can't..I have to endure, in order for the chance to be healed and released of some pain...I have to let them touch me again and again and again..I curl tighter..I smell medical rubber and heat noises of tools and clinical equipment...I'm bare and bleeding..their hands touch me over and over again...I curl tighter and push myself into dissociation..burry my nails intoy crossed arms...try not to burst into tears, because that would also be seen and judged again..then they would also touch my eyes from which the tears come..so I bite my lips to suffocate the whimper...and dissociate...

I'm not here anymore...I'm not here anymore...nothing of this is real...this is not real...everything is fine...

I feel my body going numb, my eyes close, the doctors and psychiatrists voices are far away, I feel all the pain of their tools and words...but they do it to my body...that doesn't feel like mine anymore..I feel myself floating in an angle above my body..I see the girl underneath me...

Now in the actual medical scenarios I usually go into folding my hands and closing my eyes...and then fall aside..in psychiatric/therapeutic settings I stated to the ground and started to fall aside..

Numb...protected..traumatized...abandoned...

But sometimes something gets through..and then I start to cry..and regret it immediately..because then they ask me if I have gotten to therapy ever or if I have tried meds..yes. I have been. Yes, I tried.

My body and psyche are ruined from it.

Citalopram, Opipramol, Buscopan, Fluoxetin, Trazodon, Venlafaxin, Seroquel..the list goes on endless.

None I've ever felt a difference from. Well, other than nightmares, my chronic stomach inflammation getting so bad that I passed out every morning from pain, gaining 35kg in half a year and then not being able to really leave the house anymore because you don't feel like your body anymore..because you don't recognize yourself anymore...because you are theirs, not yours..

And you know who did this to me?

All I wanted was to be seen, to be provided a human meeting me as human..not as object or case. To see me, to provide me care.

The last trauma that hit on top of this...last summer...the worst trauma I yet had since initial childhood abuse..social trauma..a group in which I allowed my inner child to learn how to trust humans again...a group where a few were performing wisdom and simultaneously blaming me for being ill and not listening to them, then framing me and socially isolating and outcasting me from my only real social environment...while the others stood silently by as bystanders...

I'm so scared and terrified...I don't want to be touched again...not again...everything but that...everything but the hands...

But I have to...

And I see this all being the end of me.

I'm sorry. 

I'm sorry, inner child, that I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I can't defend you from the touching, and kicking and hitting and stabbing. 

I'm sorry I couldn't save you. 

Humans are danger, you told me. 

I'm sorry I failed you.