u/mywindowsarebreaking

Even this post comes from a place of needing validation. But it is distressing to sit with the feeling that every action I take is a performance aimed at gaining attention and validation. I have been acting this way my whole life. I am now 20 years old, and I hate it. I hate being this way. I hate the shame associated with it.

I hate the knowledge that things I do can be seen as altruistic and selfless but at their core are a function of this fucked up bid for attention and self esteem. Even if I do something good without telling anyone, I will find validation in the fact that no one knows.

Then there is the identity fragmentation. What it feels like to be me are three core selves, (with BPD, NPD and more typical traits, respectively) out of which many self states manifest. There is the benevolent and empathetic version of myself which feels authentic when activated. I took this as evidence against narcissism. However, I'm beginning to think it's a tool of the narcissistic personality whose true origins (narcissism) are dissociated from the manifestation (kind, loving, empathetic). This is true of other self states. They feel more authentic when activated, but then I realize something: my behavior is being monitored. I am being regulated by social adaptation and image rather than authentic values. This becomes really distressing for the self states. I have one who is angry with having been created, because he feels authentic in his actions but knows he's being piloted by some kind of disease.

I currently have a diagnosis of CPTSD. My therapist and I have been considering OSDD, and are going to start screening. I also suspect these personality disorder traits may be applicable, given the trauma spectrum, the personality traits associated with trauma, dissociation, and identity splitting present.

This has been a really distressing period following an incident I had earlier this year. I cheated on my partner, and the memory became so dissociated over time that I couldn't come up with a coherent narrative. Furthermore, past the memory fog, I would enter various self states with various perspectives on the affair. They would shift blame, deny, hide or accuse. And I am wrapping my head around how all of this is supposed to work. All of these responses seem authentic. I am considering that there were multiple parts activated at the time of the affair whilst others were not, and the reconstruction takes place between these different narratives and levels of awareness. And I come to nearly complete understandings, and then... am completely back to square one. Today I am in denial. The currently activated part feels as if it wasn't me who did it, and is unable to make sense of it from its own perspective. Only insofar as the information that has been given by the other parts am I able to construct these narratives. But it all feels so fake.

And given that I am no longer innocently experiencing these things, and am now devastating peoples lives, I have felt urgent to try and figure it out. I hurt my partner to an extreme degree, and then found I couldn't give them an accurate account of what occured because I... forgot? Maybe? It's not fair to them. I have disgusted myself and have proved I am not a safe person. I am not going to date until I can figure myself out.

I'm also dealing with suicidal and self harm ideation pretty hard. I have to journal every morning before I get out of bed, because if I dont, I will harm myself. I am devastated by what I've done, I destroyed the best thing either of us have ever had, and the grief is split between these various parts in various ways. It's a confusing mess of dissociation, sadness, and terror. I'm trying to cope in ways that I can. The shame has made it nearly impossible to say anything about this. But I am trying to get through it to take accountability and become better.

My therapist and I have poor communication because I shut down in session. We have an appointment tomorrow morning. And also, i see my ex partner tomorrow for a belongings exchange. I feel so incredibly sad. I hate that seeing me is going to be so triggering for them. I want to get them their things without trying to advance the relationship. But I miss them so much. All I want is to ask how they're doing and listen to their day. I want to ask if we can talk again. But I don't know if I'll ever be a safe enough person for them to really reconcile any relationship with me, even if we were just friends.

I'm kind of coming apart. But I'm really trying. I'm gonna continue to get a diagnosis and be safe. I just want to know if anyone thinks anything about anything I'm saying.

There is more to it than what is explicitly written, but this is the general idea of my mental landscape at this moment. Other times, when other parts are activated, there are other perspectives and sensations which I can describe as well. I can elaborate on anything if necessary.

I made a very bad choice about 6 months ago. And i was so scared shitless by what happened that I didn't tell my partner. I wanted to protect their feelings. But if I really wanted to protect their feelings, I wouldn't have done what I did.

I didnt tell them about it until a month ago. We were having a conversation about past relationships when the memory resurfaced. I then told them, called my ex to confirm, and then gave them an account of what happened.

They broke up with me 2 weeks ago tomorrow. I understand there being consequences to my actions. I know that I never meant to hurt them. I wasn't trying to go behind their back and play them. I was having a mental health crisis and acted out as a way to cope with my brokenness. I never should have gone over there. I trusted myself. But now I know that I'm not to be trusted.

I fucked my person up for life. Our world, our identity, is now gone. And they are traumatized. They are broken and devastated. It feels like I committed murder.

And I still don't know how to process it. Its been about a month and the memory still doesn't make sense. I can give you an account and make sense of why. But I can't integrate it into my reality or my person. It feels incomprehensible.

I feel like a million different fragments of a human being that doesn't exist. I've been having these horrible dreams where I am sexually assaulted by the affair partner. I had gone to sleep in my ex partners clothes. I woke up after the dream, and had to change them. I got in the shower and just cried. Their hair is still on my bathroom floor.

When I wake up every morning I have to fight against the urge to cut myself. I journaled today before I got up, because I knew that if I did, I would do it. I'm trying to cope with all of this. I'm taking walks, going to therapy, reading "The State of Affairs" when it's not too triggering, journaling, going to school, playing music. But everything reminds me of them. Every note I play on my guitar is a note that should be played for them. Every footstep is one I should be taking alongside them. Every stroll through the town is spent in terror that they may see me again and get triggered by my presence. Going to college has been really hard. I see them around campus and have had to call 988 each time. Spending time in nature, staying inside my house, watching TV, cooking, doing anything. It all reminds me of them.

I just feel so sad all the time. I know what I did. I never thought I was capable of doing so, but I did. And i did it to the best person I've ever met. I miss them more than anyone.

They are coming tomorrow to get the rest of their things. I am wearing their shirt today, and it'll be back in their possession soon. I am going to ask, without any pleading, if they would be open to a future time to see each other again. If not, that's okay. I need them to be safe. And if that means being away from me, then it must be.

The pain just sticks to my clothes. I know I'm not a victim. It was something I never wanted to do. I never made a plan. But I fucking did it anyway. And now they have to suffer the consequences of my horrible actions.

I made a promise not to kill myself. But I'm pretty close. I'll check myself into inpatient if I need to. I know that it's something I have to get through and work towards becoming a better version of myself that would never do this to another person. Whether that means I date again or not. I have to heal my mental illness and establish internal communication so all of my parts can be mindful of my values. Continue to take accountability, heal, never do this again.

OSDD fucking sucks for this too. Because the part typing is not the part present during cheating but it is still responsible for the body's behavior. And i have to talk to the other parts to make sure this never occurs again. I just feel so distraught. I really trusted myself. And now my best friend is fucking gone because of choices I made.

I feel pretty exhausted. But I'll keep going. Just venting here. I don't have anyone to talk to about it fluently. I am alone much of the time. My mom has been very nice to talk to. She is a very kind person and i appreciate her so much. I'm just afraid. I'm afraid of myself, of losing control, of what will happen when people figure out what I am. I'm trying to be more than a cheater. But I feel like I am this and nothing more. Because to my ex partner that is who I am. I am going to be another trauma in their life, someone to get over. I know that perhaps we'll never really get over it. I feel so much grief for the person I hurt. This person I love more than anyone. This person that should feel safe but was ripped away from their safety. I feel like a murderer.

And the sheer weight of who they thought I was compared to my actions is horrifying. They had no way to tell besides my mental health issues. And now that person they loved is gone. I am not them. I don't really know what I am anymore.

I can't wait to see them tomorrow but my chest hurts everytime I think about it. I'm dissociating so hard I think I'm going to throw up right now and I need to lay down.

I did something very bad whilst dissociated. And I say dissociated. I don't know the exact nature of my behavior in the moment. It feels as though there were alternative drives that rose to the surface as drives I had meant to preserve were inhibited.

Since then, I avoided the memory through an intense web of denial, memory fog, and dissociation. It eventually resurfaced after it was triggered in conversation. Someone asked me, and I wanted to be honest. But I was so scared shitless that I couldn't untangle myself from the web of shit that surrounded it to get it out.

It felt like I was lying whilst telling the truth simultaneously. I look back and it is as if some parts of myself were aware whilst others were not, and the parts that were aware were trying to keep the others from knowing. Deception, lying, denial, fog. It was an intense period of uncertainty and fluctuations in awareness. Some days would be complete denial, and during others, would know.

I eventually had to confirm it from an outside source because of how much of a mess I had made myself into.

But now I'm having to come to terms with a reality where I may feel so detached that I do something terrible, and then feel completely detached from it afterwards. I've taken ownership over my actions, but everything inside is screaming "that wasn't me."

Sometimes, it feels like it was I who did it. Sometimes it feels like it was another person whom I am responsible for. Sometimes it feels like it wasn't me at all, and I'm so angry with being put into this situation by the others who couldn't handle themselves. It's like that part of me wasn't aware of what was really going on and is so hurt finally having realized.

And I'm beholding all of this, dissociating out of my mind right now, after crying all morning. It's hard to trust myself. There are parts that are being responsible. But some seem to want to escape accountability.

I have nightmares about what I did and wake up thinking about it. And its the last thing on my mind when I go to sleep. I know i did this, and I have to take accountability for it, establish better internal communication, get a diagnosis, and manage myself.

I have the sensation of being victimized by myself. Like I didn't do this but someone else inside did and now i have to clean up his mess while he's still kicking and screaming about it. I feel so much grief and agony about what I did and who its affected and how. The person I love the most in my life is not in it anymore. They are shattered and it is my fucking fault.

Sometimes I am afraid of myself. Afraid of leaving my house because I might do something bad again. I hate this body and want to kill it. But I made a promise to this person to keep myself safe because it wouldn't be fair to them. I keep going through phases where I can't even comprehend how something like what happened is even possible. How could i possibly have done this? That wasn't fucking me.

I haven't reallt been able to talk about this aspect of it. I know I hurt someone through my choices. It's not about my feelings anymore. It's about the impact and their healing. But in my healing, this seems like an impossible hurdle. I don't think I am real right now. Im fucking devastated and I can't stop crying.

I also know I'm not a victim. These feelings are just really hard and I don't know where the fuck to put them.

There is a black pit where my soul used to be. I am this and nothing more. Just a whore and an abuser. Their life is ruined because of what I've done. Destroyed them. They gave me everything. They will never understand why I did this. And i dont think i will either.

I've finally stopped crying because there is nothing left of me. I am wearing their clothes now and kissing their ring. Their hair is still on my floor, and I may never clean it up again. I broke this human being. This precious person.

I'm not eating enough. And eating too much. Weight fluctuates and I feel sick. My phone has become a part of me. I haven't showered. Im wearing their perfume. I think I will rot away from laying here. I have stopped hurting myself because I am not motivated enough to do so.

College starts soon. I was supposed to be a club president. Had a career path. I am not that person anymore. I really believed in the person i was building. I thought I was growing. And now here I am. They are hurt more than I can fathom, and I don't think I deserve to live any longer.

Tw self harm and suicide

I understand precisely the magnitude of what has been done. I do not look to avert the consequences of my actions. There is no mistaking my accountability in this incident. However, full accountability is a process which I am currently undergoing. And I am a long way from it. You are not required to be patient with me. I would not sympathize with a cheater, myself.

My crime is thus.

I had just gotten out of a long term relationship directly following my stay at inpatient care. Everything in my life was crumbling, and I could no longer manage keeping myself safe. I debated for a very long time whether living were something I even wanted to do. And I believe I only made the choice to keep going because of the responsibilities I had built up in my relationships. Delivering a suicide into the world would be a deeper tragedy to others than my life had been to me. Nothing is fair. I could not choose myself but others were choosing me. So come to terms with this injustice, get on medication, hoist myself up.

I had been diagnosed with CPTSD, which clarified many things about the nature of the situation I was in. Things started to organize under my new life. Freshly medicated, back to college from my week-long hiatus in inpatient, and several existential revelations that split my world apart. I could no longer exist in the relationship I was in. Unhappy, toxic, and on a road that would lead to nowhere. I considered whether a remodel, a reconstruction, were something worth considering in order to preserve the familiar presence of this person whom I knew I loved in some capacity. We were more than friends. And yet, still too unfamiliar to feel safe. We broke up after weeks of negotiation, and everything ruptured.

The conversations had given her a sense of hope, even though they were largely focused on the logistics of the termination of our relationship. She still believed in us when I could no longer do so. This shattered her. And I felt emotionally responsible. I allowed myself to be used as a pillowcase for her grief. I began to shut down. The new me was fragile, and the old one couldn't properly grieve under the horrible pressure of "what Ive done." Shame was everywhere. And I felt unable to speak to anyone of this. I did so with my therapist, whom helped me process this situation, and roll with the punches.

And at the exact same time as this unfolding life, there sparked a new one. They were a shining star. They had supported me throughout my stay in inpatient, and offered their counsel as I were able to take shelter in it. I decided my boundaries with the scenario at home, that I couldn't bring myself to discuss such grief to them. Because I found myself falling in love with them. I didnt think it fair to anyone to lean on someone whom I felt such things about during the gross process I went through trying to wade through the layers of shrapnel that now lined my life.

I told them a bit about it while my relationship came to a close. I cried to them in a moment of desperation, and I pushed through my embarrassment and shame to reveal just how broken I truly was. Nothing made sense anymore. I had lost everything, and my mental health had eroded my life to the base of all questions; whether to even live anymore, who I was, what I was doing. And now I had to sit with the wreckage and inertia of things that appeared the same but were shattered to the bone. And my health and concept of self had to be completely reconstructed through this.

This confidant that I found here became to me a symbol of someone whom I loved but could not have in my state of being. I did not tell them about my feelings for them. I felt so painfully in need of them. And yet haunted by these demons, I knew I couldn't.

The relationship of my ex and I twisted into something brutal and feverish. We escaped all boundaries of familiarity and into some cold darkness neither could comprehend. Sex had become some kind of icon of suffering in every way. What was, what was to be lost, and an understanding, or even lack thereof, of what we were to become, consolidated into dreamlike episodes of sexual engagement. It was the only device we had as a container of our grief.

I felt I was responsible for appeasing this person, and offering myself as a favor through which she could channel her losses. I no longer wanted this person, but froze myself in place to the rhythm of my shame. Let myself be fucked, and eliminate this guilt. Transcend the fact that I broke this person, and stay under their influence. Love them thus and perhaps your sin will be forgiven.

And at the same time, I was boundless. And for as much as I loved her, I hated myself just as much. Sex had become self harm, and this became so tangible that I even went as far as to harm myself in bed with her. And she helped me. I relapsed into self destruction. And she, out of love, out of grief, out of fear, endeavored thus. It was like the opening of the newest side of this animal that had not previously existed. It was like the pact of some new evolution in an already fragmented psyche.

In other words, I was a fucking mess. Completely out of control. But such a life only operated when night fell and we met each other again. I dreaded going back to that house. I despised it. But once there I became something else. I wanted to escape. But I victimized myself.

And during the day, I would spend it with this other person. I eventually decided to confess my feelings to this person to hold space for such looming and terrifying emotions. I knew the power they held. They were not quiet, and they were not untouched by the monstrous grief that was consuming me. But I wanted to put them out there to be able to provide clarity to my condition, and moreover, space for myself.

Within days, they confessed their own feelings. I was so delighted by this admission that the precise regard for danger was shed to step into the light of this new love. I voiced my hesitation, which was reciprocated by them. We were both quite excited, but needed to be careful as not to disturb the difficulty of the already fragile situation. We walked around the woods for a long while. We discussed our idea of a new chapter in our lives. I told them that I would prefer to conceptualize ourselves as friends. I wasn't prepared for a new commitment such that we may acknowledge each other as partners.

I told them of my ideas of love. And we leaned on each other as we looked out at the evening sky. Things felt bright for us in that moment. I remember it warmly. Their face was so beautiful. I could not utter to them the majesty of such feelings that overcame me. I knew that what was there was the beginnings of love, and I felt so richly defined in the counsel of their courtship. I saw my future in their eyes as the sun dwindled to its setting. And I had the knowledge within me that we could be each other for each other, past the contagion and the mess that had bred such a connection. Even in darkness, there was love. And I loved them.

As we grew closer, I fell away from my ex. We had had a few incidents of engagement, which faded always with the next coming day. It was like an addiction that were weened, and I was careful and adamant to remain in position for pure love with my new romance. We began to discuss exclusivity, and that's when I shut down.

I don't have an adequate understanding of why in that moment it had been too much for me to think about. Not precisely. But it is a rather obvious reaction given my circumstances. And after some few sessions of such a discussion, we deternined ourselves exclusive. I established boundaries with my ex, and we spent less time around each other than we had. We stopped engaging with each other in such a way. But unfortunately, my dedication to exclusivity with this person was not as solid as I needed it to be. There were cracks, ones filled by grief.

She moved out in January, and my lover and I continued in our relationship. And we were happy.

And then, I relapsed. Once my ex had left, the darkness of what had been returned, in an empty house, with none, I felt, to address it with. I started to become fearful in my new relationship. What if I hurt them? What if I swallowed them whole? What if we broke like the last? And so there were parts of myself that had been pressurized under such threats and neglect. Parts that had only narrowly grieved what it should have. And the pain metabolized into some kind of fearful avoidant expression in my relationship.

I began to shut down, and yet again deteriorate. The medication started to have disturbing neurological side effects. And the thought of suicide knocked on my door again. Reality broke in short moments. The passion I had felt combusted into an uncertain fog, and slowly to self destruction. I wanted them. But I had started to detach, because I had detached from all reality. I relapsed into self harm. College had started up again, and what was an even flow became a colossal blockage of purpose and security.

Life began to pause. Nothing made sense anymore. And I couldnt properly commit myself to anything anymore. I couldnt keep up in classes, nor my mental health. My relationship with my family had shattered. I had started to experience some quiet desolation with this new person that I could not identify. But despite the growing damage, I continued with life. I asked them to be my valentine, and had gone on our first date. But my medication started to become more detrimental to my health. And exactly 8 days after valentines day, I went to my hometown. I brought some of my exs things to give her that she had left at my house.

I went inside. I was a triggered, self destructive, nihilistic, suicidal shell of a human being. And then there she was. Like an old medication I had once known in my ruin. And we kissed. And we kept going. And that is exactly what happened. Just a pathetic man who was in no position to love when he promised he could. Just another flare up in a mental illness. Just another relapse. Just me. Consuming whatever feelings I had in that moment through my worst habits. And my ex, whom I never properly grieved. There were parts of myself pulverized by the deep and insensitive changes occuring in my life, and because I was a teenager in love, I didn't know how to hold such a weight whilst pursuing anything else. There was a forfeit of all responsibility and manhood. I became a rotten shell. I needed help, sure. I look back and I can't honestly say there was an integral sense of morality during this time from which I deviated. And that is the scariest sensation of all. It raises the dreaded question. What else am I capable of? What else could I do without conscience?

And the memory became so distressing to me that it was immediately buried within layers of myself. It couldn't have been true, I thought. It seemed surreal enough. Dissociative enough. Crazy enough. I never properly integrated the incident. Some parts of myself were aware, while others were kept in the dark.

I had become a better, safer, more stable person over time. My actions became oriented with my values consistently, and I worked daily to become a stronger, more ethical version of myself. And I became someone I was proud of. Right up until recently.

In early July, after we had established each other as partners, we began to talk about past relationships. And among such conversations is when the memory got triggered. I couldnt believe it, and became a nervous wreck for 2 weeks before I finally called my ex. She confirmed the incident, and I told my partner immediately.

And now we are in the aftermath of what was supoosed to be everything. I have never been more broken in my life. And it is precisely this sin that shall continue to infect the rest of it. The saddest, and most incapable version of myself is here, writing this now. I no longer believe in anything. I am terrified of myself. And I have ruined this persons life. Forever. All because I couldn't slow down. All because I felt something and chose to act on it. And I am not even a human being anymore.

I haven't drank since all this started. Thought it to be too irresponsible. But I miss them tonight. More than anything. More than myself. More than life. I miss them.

And I am holding the ring they made for me, and I am kissing the poetry they wrote. And I am wearing their socks as I pace around my floor which is covered in their beautiful curly hair. And I am listening to the songs they showed me, trying to remember the first time I ever heard them.

They are hurt beyond repair because of what I've done. And I want them, I need them, to do the right thing for themselves. Whether that means continuing in our relationship or not. And right now they do not need to be around me. It is not safe for them.

And as soft as I may speak now, the situation that has built up here is anything but. We have both since relapsed into self harm. We are, however, safe now. We are both in recovery, have safety plans, and know how to make hospital arrangements. And this too, I am responsible for. I put them in an emotional state where they felt like this were there only option to process it. It breaks me to my core. I have not stopped crying. I may never. I hurt them worse than theyve ever been. And the pain will not stop.

I am an abuser. My behavior is not excusable. It is not understandable. I am a cheater. I am a murderer. An offender. I have given them something they, the most empathetic and understanding person I know, cannot even begin to fathom. They will never understand why I did this to them. My actions will forever be a dark stain on the name of empathy. I have made myself incomprehensible, obscure, other. And I was supposed to be their safe space. I was their only safe space. They were my only safe space. But I don't exist anymore.

I am doing what I can. I'm learning how to dig up the rot and pull myself up towards deeper change and mindfulness. The wound had been piled on by 5 months of development and dissociation. But I am unearthing the man who is responsible, taking him in for questioning, sitting through the ache, and correcting myself. I really fucked up. And I feel so angry with myself. I feel so devastated.

But it's not just that I fucked up. I didn't just do a bad thing. I ruined something. I ruined someone. And that is the part of this I don't know how to carry. I love them, and support them from afar, and want them to do everything they need to heal. But the pain I caused them is bigger than everything I've stated by an infinite number. I can do all my work and become a better person, and this I know. But I don't know how to heal this part I hold onto. I have destroyed another human being. Taken their innocence. Killed something so fundamental inside of them. Broken that which cannot be fixed. And the choice presents me again whether I deserve to live any longer.

I've decided that it would be unjust to do so after what ive done. But I really, really want to. I cannot stop thinking about it. But I have to think of them. I love them.

I think I may be the host. I don't really know. I'm not too bothered by figuring out which one of us is the real guy. I'm at least quite concerned, and that matters a bit more to me. Also I feel like I'm lying or pretending right now. My head fucking hurts. It feels like I've "switched" a few times in the last few minutes.

I, for the most part, exist on some kind of continuum wherein specific personality states emerge under different circumstances. Each have their own dialect, mannerisms, attitudes, aesthetics, etc. When I am in these states, I perceive what I would expect my face to look like in my minds eye. There are different qualitative sensations to each one. Right now my mouth feels raw, like I've been talking too much. It happens more when I feel like I'm faking.

I experience DPDR. That's been lifelong as far as I can tell. I had been detached in childhood, and would kind of shut down due to emotional neglect and chronically unmet needs. I remember being a major daydreamer, and would pretend to be other people a lot when I was young. I started experiencing very intense derealization around 9 or 10, when my step father came in my life. And the identity confusion is very reactive to other people, self consciousness, and self perception.

I don't know how long the identity fragmentation has been occuring but its been noticeable for quite some time, at least. It's only become more defined as I've gotten older.

I also experience some kind of amnesia? I had an incident that happened that some parts of me were aware of but others werent, including myself. Having a hard time making sense of it. I have multiple views of the event which is extremely traumatic and difficult to integrate or come to terms with in the first place.

This is all extremely distressing. Any pointers?