The guilt of all the abuse I’ve done to my loved ones, especially my ex, got to me. I decided the best thing to do was prevent myself from ever physically or verbally abusing ever again. Spent four days in the psych ward after.
My childhood was never that abusive but things stuck, and Ive never experienced sexual abuse. But the first psychiatrist ended with “well it’s not bipolar, it’s borderline”. The team of psychiatrists spent the next day explaining it all to me. It all kind of clicked. All the behaviors. I feel guilty. I felt guilty. I spent the first night waking up crying with the images of what I’ve done.
But as the days went on, I felt a little hope— and a little forgiveness. I’m not defined by it, I’m not a bad person at heart. I was sick and lost with no help. It doesn’t excuse what I’ve done, and I will forever atone, but it lets me know it’s not all my fault.
I don’t know how the rest of my life is to go, but so far I went home and my father caressed my head while we watched TV. I didn’t feel the need to seek forgiveness from them, or attention. I was at ease.