How many never asked for help as a kid?

[isilme]

Asking for help sometimes meant getting snapped at, sometimes all-out yelled at, sometimes you got help.

I am realizing I did not ask for help with things as a child that I believe other kids would have gone to their parents about.

My bed from about age 8-10 had springs poking thru the mattress.  I can't remember the exact age.  I just know something was poking me.  I did not ask mom or dad for help.  I went into the linen closet, found an extra blanket and put it under the fitted sheet.  I think they got some deal when they bought a mattress as I got a new one at some point.  

My bed as a teenager in my step mom's house was the same, springs poking out of the top - it was her guest room, not used much until she married my dad and got me as part of the package.  Since I wasn't as comfortable rummaging in her linen closet I just slept on top and wrapped the cover around me like a sleeping bag.  It did not occur to me to tell anyone.

I scared myself silly watching a documentary about Jack the Ripper when I was 10.  They showed photos of the victims, pretty gruesome, and I could not sleep for months - the images burned into my brain.  I invented rules to be "safe" around when his killing hours were set.  If I was awake past midnight, I had to stay up.  I was "allowed" to sleep past 6 because his murders had stopped by then.  If mom or dad was still up at 12, I could go to sleep. 

I had a science project 4th grade - I did not have any help, nor did I feel I was allowed to ask.  I realized I needed a backboard for it, so I dug around, found a cardboard box, and stayed up painting it, and managed to walk the mile to school with my dead sunflowers and my backboard to school to put in the science fair.  

I was told a neighbor girl was my responsibility to get to and from school safely.  We walked to elementary, and then took a bus to intermediate.  She got on the wrong bus on her first day of intermediate at the end of the day.  I followed her to get her off, the bus took off.  I saw an intersection I knew and made her get off with me so we could walk 2 miles home.  She wanted to call her mom, but there were no payphones and I wasn't letting her walk up to a strangers house and ask.  I felt it was my failure we'd been on the wrong bus and did not want to get yelled at.  We got home safe.  

I was picked on by bullies for being weird at school - never told anyone.  

Forgot lunch money, school books or work, never called home for them.  Just managed somehow.  

Moved into the college dorms, alone, 30 miles from my dad's house.  He didn't offer help, so I did not ask, and moved my trunk up the flight of stairs, alone, while other girls had their entire family helping.  

I have had issues seeing my peers as "needy" when they call home and get help - I guess really they are just normal.  

[Turkish]

Nope. But nearby families saw it.

I'm 47. My brother from another mother texted me my high school senior pic. His mom, 15 years my junior, had kept it in her wallet. She died 2 years ago. His SD gave it to him to give to me. Their home was an oasis for me. Their family had their dysfunction, but their family embraced me, and I will forever love them. She was an aid, then a teacher at my high school. She did more for me to send me on the right track than my mom.  Yet I would never have thought as a teenager to reach out for help.

[Notwendy]

You don't dare ask my BPD mom for anything.

She has to be the victim. Asking for help potentially takes her out of victim perspective. Why should the poor victim help you? You should be helping the poor victim ( BPD mom)

I still have difficulty asking for things from other people. I grew up being co-dependent- doing things for others. Doing things for BPD mom was the way we earned value in the family. This was also reinforced by my father who wanted us to keep mother happy ( keep the peace).

Like Turkish said- thank goodness for other mothers who did show me some kindness. I recall one night I was sleeping over at a friend's house and I must have eaten something that didn't go well. I woke up with a stomach ache and threw up. Her mom came in the bathroom and held a cool washcloth to my forehead and comforted me. This was striking to me as my mother had not ever done this ( through probably many childhood illnesses that kids get). She would get angry at me for "making a mess" if I did this, or waking her up, or inconveniencing her.

Another friend's mother asked us both to help her bake Christmas cookies. My mother doesn't bake so I was excited to get the chance to do this with a mother figure.

My father's family "mothered" me too.

It wasn't that other mothers did major things. They did the nice little things that mothers do. Mothers that aren't mentally ill. Normal things. But they made a positive impact and were role models for my own parenting.

Ironically, my mother has grown into her needy role now that she is elderly. The expectation in our family was that "mother is normal" and had to appear to be capable. She'd order us around to do things for her, then claimed that she did them herself. Her sense of self is so fragile that keeping up this image is important to her and you don't dare insinuate that things are different. However, it is normal and expected for someone her age to need assistance, and yet this also enables her sense of entitlement.

[snowglobe]

You don't dare ask my BPD mom for anything.

She has to be the victim. Asking for help potentially takes her out of victim perspective. Why should the poor victim help you? You should be helping the poor victim ( BPD mom)

I still have difficulty asking for things from other people. I grew up being co-dependent- doing things for others. Doing things for BPD mom was the way we earned value in the family. This was also reinforced by my father who wanted us to keep mother happy ( keep the peace).

Like Turkish said- thank goodness for other mothers who did show me some kindness. I recall one night I was sleeping over at a friend's house and I must have eaten something that didn't go well. I woke up with a stomach ache and threw up. Her mom came in the bathroom and held a cool washcloth to my forehead and comforted me. This was striking to me as my mother had not ever done this ( through probably many childhood illnesses that kids get). She would get angry at me for "making a mess" if I did this, or waking her up, or inconveniencing her.

Another friend's mother asked us both to help her bake Christmas cookies. My mother doesn't bake so I was excited to get the chance to do this with a mother figure.

My father's family "mothered" me too.

It wasn't that other mothers did major things. They did the nice little things that mothers do. Mothers that aren't mentally ill. Normal things. But they made a positive impact and were role models for my own parenting.

Ironically, my mother has grown into her needy role now that she is elderly. The expectation in our family was that "mother is normal" and had to appear to be capable. She'd order us around to do things for her, then claimed that she did them herself. Her sense of self is so fragile that keeping up this image is important to her and you don't dare insinuate that things are different. However, it is normal and expected for someone her age to need assistance, and yet this also enables her sense of entitlement.

I second Wendy’s testament; I had to earn my keep as being “useful and resourceful” when it came to care-taking my mother. Every homework difficulty, arrangement, store return that is normally demonstrated by a healthy parent I had to do on my own through trial and error only to be ridiculed and criticized by her. “My mother didn’t do xyz for me, now you go and learn to do that on your own” she would say when I was asked for help. With my illnesses is was more complicated, she would get a sympathy and attention from others, so “Munchauzen by proxy” was her favourite game to play. On the outside she would appear devastated, on the inside once everyone was gone, she was curt and snappy. Pretty early on after her divorce from unpd father I had to watch my own back 24/7. Not just in the real world, but at home mostly. I had to provide a source of entertainment with my stories from school, tell her things that she was so hungry to demand, like what other people did or say. Only for her to turn and use it against them or me at some point later. “You can’t go to A, she said xyz to you back then”. That was part of the package. The other part was siding with her, consoling her and adapting to her rigid was of thought process. If I ever thought differently, it would mean punishment or withholding the resources. As a child it felt like the whole world abandoned me. I’m an adult now, I don’t rely on her for my emotional well being. She was in remission for a while, or so I thought. I’m trying to see a lesson in life from what I went through. I’m surely a survivor, not a victim. I now choose my kindness and don’t react to FOG.

[Notwendy]

"I had to provide a source of entertainment with my stories from school, tell her things that she was so hungry to demand"

Hungry is a great way to describe my mother's need for information about me and my kids to feed her bragging rights. She doesn't seem to have a sense of self. She creates her sense of self through the stories she hears- from me, and probably others. She seems to have fed on our achievements and also tries to do this with my kids.

A point of contention between us was when my kids got to be around the same age when I became useful to her. She then began to enlist them as little servants to fill her needs. That's when I began to have different boundaries with her over them. I never left her alone with them unsupervised, but when they were little, they weren't much use to her. As teens they were.

It irks her but I don't tell her much about the kids' accomplishments. This is because their self worth isn't based on being her narcissistic supply.  The way I was raised, if I did well in school it was to show everyone that my mother was a great mom. The other side of this is that, if I didn't do well, then it was seen as a direct offense to her and I was a terrible kid. With my kids- if they accomplish something it belongs to them, they benefit from it. Sure I am proud of them if they do, but their self worth isn't based on pleasing me- or BPD mom. They are not extensions of her.

[snowglobe]

"I had to provide a source of entertainment with my stories from school, tell her things that she was so hungry to demand"

Hungry is a great way to describe my mother's need for information about me and my kids to feed her bragging rights. She doesn't seem to have a sense of self. She creates her sense of self through the stories she hears- from me, and probably others. She seems to have fed on our achievements and also tries to do this with my kids.

A point of contention between us was when my kids got to be around the same age when I became useful to her. She then began to enlist them as little servants to fill her needs. That's when I began to have different boundaries with her over them. I never left her alone with them unsupervised, but when they were little, they weren't much use to her. As teens they were.

It irks her but I don't tell her much about the kids' accomplishments. This is because their self worth isn't based on being her narcissistic supply.  The way I was raised, if I did well in school it was to show everyone that my mother was a great mom. The other side of this is that, if I didn't do well, then it was seen as a direct offense to her and I was a terrible kid. With my kids- if they accomplish something it belongs to them, they benefit from it. Sure I am proud of them if they do, but their self worth isn't based on pleasing me- or BPD mom. They are not extensions of her.

My mother was and is lower functioning, so the only purpose for information was “dirt digging”. She needed leverage to hit you on the head when you are most vulnerable to reinstate her power. For instance, if I liked the boy and he rejected me by something to me, once the time passed and he showed some interest she would bring the past and state that he doesn’t care about me. Same with my friends, every time I shared their mishaps or shortcomings with her she would turn it against them and our friendship when it was serving her. There was never a noble code, everything and anything that was said to her could and was used against me. I learnt that hard lesson very early on. My mother in law, is by whAt you are describing is closer to your mom in terms of functionality and usefulness. Underachiever who never did anything meaningful in her life, she is living her life vicariously through her family. She takes credits for all of the achievements 

[Notwendy]

My mother also uses information as ammunition. She remembers every thing I did as a kid and repeats them to people as evidence of how terrible a kid I was. She was all over me for my weight as a teen when I wasn't even overweight. She was projecting her own issues about that on to me. She will pull out something I said to her years ago when she wants to be hurtful.

Due to her poor boundaries she mined for information that is too private- and can throw it back later.

I think it's debatable about who is higher functioning. My mother is not capable of functioning on her own. She has not ever really had a job ( maybe for a few weeks before she found my father). We didn't ever know what she did all day. She didn't do any housework.She didn't work outside the home. Dad went to work, we went to school. She didn't seem to do anything. But she needed to appear that she did. She'd sign up to bake something for a school event, then make me do it, then say she did it. She did drive for a while, but then stopped. For most of my adulthood, if I'm around her she expects me to take care of her- run her errands, listen to her feelings, do what she commands me to do.

You don't ask her for help with anything as it disrupts the dynamics. She's the one who has to be taken care of, and if she's helping, she isn't in that situation.

[isilme]

Turkish,

Looking back, I think some of my high school friends' parents saw something was weird and wrong.  In elementary, I was essentially forbidden friends through a few mechanisms

1- I was honestly weird.  I was this parentified 5-year-old who had trouble with kids and thought I was supposed to try to talk to adults, but failed at both.  Even at the one activity, I remember being allowed to do, Girl Scouts (mom was a GS so it was sanctioned as fulfilling her failed life by mine being "better"), I was still around the girls who made fun of me at school, and forbidden to do some of the activities if the parents didn't feel like it, or even worse, I was yelled at all the way home for daring want to take part in a trip and inconveniencing them by needing a ride home.

2 - I was to stay home and "take care of mom".  She spent a lot of time doped up on pain meds, face planted in the yard, fell downstairs, so even when a miracle happened and I got an invitation to go play after school at the house down the block, I was forbidden

3 - any time I made a friend and spoke about them at home, they or their parents, or both, were ridiculed and torn apart by my parents.  Both of them enjoyed mocking these other families, making lewd comments about their supposed private lives, covert sexual abuse kind of stuff, I was 8 for crying out loud.  I learned that everyone was bad, secretly and that I should feel shame or embarrassment for wanting to be their friends.  It was not as open as "you can't play with Christy."  Instead, it was "Eww, Christy's parents look gay, the mom's a beard, I bet they do weird sex things, they are strange and I can't imaginge wanting to know them..." 

So I learned that my place was alone, at home, with the TV turned as far down as possible in the basement family room, waiting by the intercom for Mom to want a glass of tea, for me to start dinner, to fetch her things, do chores. 

[Notwendy]

I'm so sorry you were isolated. I think having friends who cared about me had a big positive impact. My high school friends saved me in a way. Someone cared about me and that made a difference.

I did take on too much people pleasing and it felt fake. I was so overwhelmed that people actually liked me for me, and not for how I could "serve" them that I was afraid of losing them as friends. I already was a pushover and people pleaser at home, and so I was with my friends too.

Fortunately, my friends were good people .I was so vulnerable, someone could have taken advantage of my need to people please and later on, some people did.

We didn't talk about BPD or abuse then. My family was all I knew, it was my normal, so I didn't have a name for what was going on. Later on as we matured, we did talk and I was surprised that some of my friends also had parents with dysfunction. I know that a match between two adult children of dysfunction could be a recipe for a mess, but in this case, since they were basically friendships and without too much drama, I think we formed our own support system.

I think we can also find support from good people who are not our family as adults too. I hope everyone here can find that.

[Harri]

Sometimes when I asked for help I got the response of "you are old enough to figure it out on your own"... even when I was really little.  

What usually happened though was the help was controlling, smothering and directive.  I did want to do things myself but I wanted some guidance, not to have someone take on my stuff and make it their own.  It then became my mother saying "I did this" or "I am working on this".

The worst though was when the 'help' I asked for resulted in my mom getting upset and stressed.  She would fall into a deep depression that alternated with rages that were not just against me but my brother and father as well.  Everyone was affected by it.  My brother would then get angry with me and my father would retreat and cry and I would go in and try to make him feel better and all he would say is "I want this to be over" and "I just want to die".

Ask for help as a kid?

Why?   Nothing good came from it.  I have learned to ask for help now and don't have the same triggers when I do.  It is still hard though.  If I ask for help it is because I actually need help not just want it.

[isilme]

you are old enough to figure it out on your own

Yeah, that was pretty much it.  Or this:

What usually happened though was the help was controlling, smothering and directive.  I did want to do things myself but I wanted some guidance, not to have someone take on my stuff and make it their own.  It then became my mother saying "I did this" or "I am working on this".

A few times I asked my BPD dad who was supposed to be good at math (had an accounting degree) how to do my math problems for my homework.  He got so mad each time I just gave up, and thought I was a dunce until a really good teacher in 6th grade unlocked math for me. 

I made a little progress - We had a window break while getting a tree cut down (so the tree would not break the window, but oh well, it's down and can't break the window in a storm, now).  I asked a friend to please come by, he's good at calming H down, and he also offered to install a new one.  I stayed home, he and I removed all the old glass, put in the new window, saved about $75 from having a pro do it.  But I asked for help, did not feel like a complete jerk doing it. 

[RavenWatcher]

For me, asking for help was contingent on... how to explain this... where the fix was going to come from.

I had a biology teacher in high school who would routinely go into ranty tirades against the class for up to an hour, nearly daily. Awful class. A few weeks in, Mom stepped in to help when she heard I was struggling. Similarly, she went with me to help me deal with an admissions snafu when I started college. As an adult, when I have had bad work stress, she will often leap to help me brainstorm how to talk to a supervisor, or to HR, or whatever (she has a degree in Human Resources).

BUT, if it was me asking her to do something for me, then it was grief. She was a nightmare when she tried to teach me to drive. When I wanted to go to college and needed to figure out how to pay, she had to be convinced by the whole adult family to help me, with the deal being I had to pay her back for college, every penny (since 'no one' helped her - she would say, ignoring the large checks from her boss and father for college). When my brother was struggling with school as a kid, if she came home and he asked for help, she'd yell at him for not being done with his homework and being a lazy, bad kid.

Basically it was a savior/victim thing. If she could swoop in and protect us from the big-bad world: Of course she would help. If she had to give something up to help us, woe be on us for asking.

[zachira]

I think I asked for help in my own way as a child. Other adults sometimes saw my distress at how my mother and family members treated me and reached out to me. It meant a great deal, even when it was just a few minutes of an adult showing that they cared about my feelings. I try to reach out to children knowing a little bit of caring can go a long ways.

[HopinAndPrayin]

It’s chilling how similar our lives all were.

Not only could I not ask for help (well, I could, but God help me if I did), but I learned no one else would ever be there for me. It was almost burned into my soul like a mantra. If one of my friend’s Mom would compliment me, my mother would tear me down in front of them so I would feel too embarrassed to continue going over to that friend’s house. If she didn’t succeed in the tearing down, then she would tell me later they were only being nice because they wanted us to like them and I didn’t know what they were really like behind closed doors.  I could therefore never trust anyone because they were always being fake.

Anyone find a path forward to be able to build trust and healthy interdependence with others?  How’d you do it?

[Longterm]

It’s chilling how similar our lives all were.

Wow, it's not just me then.

What a very interesting thread, I will be adding to this after work.

[sklamath]

This thread breaks my heart for the kiddos we all once were. But it’s also pretty amazing how resilient we had to be to get where we are today.

I was reluctant to ask for help because it seemed so unpredictable at the time. I can look back now and realize that it was acceptable to ask when it put my mom into the caretaker or expert role—and that any retelling of the story by her would highlight that. But asking her for help with something she didn’t fully understand or have control over seemed to be a direct attack on her ego.

[Longterm]

Doing things for BPD mom was the way we earned value in the family. This was also reinforced by my father who wanted us to keep mother happy ( keep the peace).

I can relate to that so much, not just growing up but also with my own family, thats painful to read. Im sorry that was the case for you too Wendy.

I felt ashamed as a child to ask for anything, i was made to feel selfish for it, i was programmed to not have needs and wants, they were non existent, they didnt matter, i didnt matter. I ended up in hospital once for talking, in her defence, i was warned. We were made to sit on the floor, to only speak when spoken to. Ask for help? No chance, that was far to risky. We made do and we kept quiet. Not just us kids, but my mother too, we all lived very frightened existences. Looking back, the impact has had profound effects. Why do i not stick up for myself? Why do i fear selfishness? Why do i not know how to be selfish? Why do i not matter? In essence i guess its because i am programmed not to.

I always felt different to the other kids, i felt they were all better than me and i was insignificant. To feel wanted i felt like i had to give and please. School was a horrible place for me.

I find it extremelly difficult to ask anything of anybody, it makes me feel like i am asking something i have no right to, that i am crossing lines and being very self centred. I dont celebrate my birthday either, i hate being centre of attention and have even been offended by receiving birthday cards, not openly but if causes me great shame. Nobody at work knows when my birthday is, we have a calendar in the kitchen and everyones birthday is on there. The thought of somebody finding out my birthday and saying "happy birthday" to my face petrifies me. I was talking to my therapist early 2018 about this and i explained that people saying something nice to me leaves me feeling off balance, not knowing what to say. She said "why dont you try, thank you?". I do try and do more of it but still, it makes me wonder why somebody would say something nice to begin with.

To be programmed to never ask for anything has caused severe problems for me. I can relate to everyone of these posts.

Thanks for sharing isilme, this is a great thread.

[Harri]

She said "why dont you try, thank you?". I do try and do more of it but still, it makes me wonder why somebody would say something nice to begin with.

Yep, same here until learned I am just as worthy of help and kindness as anyone else is.  It took time and I still am not comfortable with it but this can be changed.  I think your T is right and that a simple "thank you" is a good place to start... and then just grit your teeth and force yourself to stand there  It gets easier.  People being kind to me used to make me run or cry.  It hurt.  It also surprised me when I was even able to recognize people wanted to help as i was so caught up in my belief that I was less than and not worthy, that I did not see what was right in front of me sometimes.

But it’s also pretty amazing how resilient we had to be to get where we are today.

Yes it is!  

It was almost burned into my soul like a mantra. If one of my friend’s Mom would compliment me, my mother would tear me down in front of them so I would feel too embarrassed to continue going over to that friend’s house.

Oh, same here!  Public humiliation and put downs in front of friends.  My mom did it couched in religion, saying it was her God given duty to warn others about the real me.

I try to reach out to children knowing a little bit of caring can go a long ways.

Yes.  this is one of my take-aways from the abuse.  Experiences like ours can open our eyes to things a lot of people just don't even notice... and then we get to act in ways that can add a bit of sunlight to another's situation at least.  

Ravenwatcher, my mom would fight fiercely for any injustice she felt was directed on me but only if it somehow threatened her and her image of being a good mother if she did not.

Isilme!  This is huge and deserves some celebration!

But I asked for help, did not feel like a complete jerk doing it.

I got a big grin on my face when I read this!  Good for you!

   

[isilme]

I want to thank everyone for sharing - I think we might all feel like we are weird for how we act.  I know when I try to express the shame that comes from admitting I need help, or even if I just want it (how selfish) to others, they really can't feel it, they can't understand it.

I know that a lot of us faced overt abuse and that our reluctance for asking often came from some instances of over abuse after asking for help... but also, isn't it a form of neglect?  I am finding that more than the incredibly scary rages that punctuated periods of life, the silent sulking periods, and even the active times where things felt normal?  Good for people with mental illnesses?  neglect hurt me much more. 

I've been trying to process this for about 10+ years (I'm 42) the neglect seems to have scarred me in ways I never realized.  It's easy to see that screaming and hitting children will harm them.  Direct insults, barbs, mind games, people can understand this is bad.  Leaving a child alone to fend for themselves, even if they have access to food regularly and a roof over their heads, even if they have clothes after a fashion, but otherwise the child has to face so much of life, figuring things out alone that their peers have guidance and help with, this is neglect. 

None of us asked to be here.  (Crudity warning) I don't feel I owe someone for being proof they had sex at least once.  I was not a toy, a doll, something to be stored in the basement to be brought out for random company and then sent back away.  I was not a maid, a CNA, home health care provider.  I was a child.  Their child.  A small rather helpless being they created and then couldn't understand what to do with.  I wasn't able to full their gulf for unconditional love the way they wanted. 

Children are unformed incomplete humans - they need guidance, they need advice, they need examples to follow.  They are short, lack physical strength, have no knowledge from experience, and will blindly believe much of what authority figures tell them, or show them by example. 

It is so sad this disorder takes what is considered to be innate in most humans, the ability to just try to parent, and ruins it into a competition for love, attention, some sort of second chance to live through you like a simulacrum.  They never got past certain steps in their own childhood development, and so ahve nothing to pull from to help their own kids. 

[Panda39]

I don't have a BPD parent but I can relate.

I had a super critical mom that made me feel dumb for asking for help, or I would get a really bad initial reaction (she will typically come around).  I could approach my dad (but he died when I was 33) but not my mom.

I remember things like my first car accident and feeling intense relief that it was my dad that answered the phone when I called and not my mom.

In my late 20's I called to ask for financial help for expensive dental work - a crown (I should say that my parents were very affluent) I received the help but was told to never ask for financial help again.

This one statement was to have a huge impact on me...this one statement was a huge part in keeping me in an unhappy marriage for about 20 years.  I had a son and did not have the financial ability to care for him like I thought he should be cared for on my own. 

When my son was 16 I could finally afford to leave (I would need a new car, $ for the divorce, but I could afford rent for a 2 bedroom apt and support us).  At this point the drive to leave overtook the fear of rejection, and the shame of asking for financial help so I asked my mom for help.  I was told that I would have to get on public assistance because she didn't have the money. (Ummmm, this is the woman who had sold her house for half a million dollars a few years before)

She later changed her mind and helped which I appreciate.  But when you are burned every time you ask, you learn not to ask.  She taught me not to ask, not only her but anyone.  I was a silent sufferer for a long time...I'll do it, I'll do everything, I will figure it out, I will research it, I will pull up a map, I will squirrel money away, I will do almost anything to not have to ask for help.

I recognized this in myself and have been trying to ask more often...pushing the envelope.

Panda39

[Panda39]

isilme,

We cross posted, but I just had to send "little isilme" and grown up isilme a few     You are right no child deserves neglect and I am so sorry you were.  It breaks my heart that you've had to suffer and struggle and still feel/live the effects of your childhood.  You have my compassion.

I think it's great that you are looking at things, chewing on them, and coming to understand how these things affected you.  This awareness can help you make different choices, or understand your choices, and move forward.  It's a journey.

Take Care,
Panda39

[isilme]

Panda39,

I get to a point where I think I've covered all I need to so I can heal... and then something new comes up in my current life and I'm reminded of issues that contributed to the way I am. 

Harri's seen my posts - I was very ill for about 2-3 years - I just did not realize how bad it was until I was essentially bedridden for several weeks, struggling to make it to work.

But the neglect, overt and covert, the understanding I must never ask for help applied across so many aspects of my life, it actually included not going to the doctor.  I have had to explain to so many people in the last 6 months how I ended up running a daily fever, could not breathe, could not sleep well enough to gain any benefit but needed to sleep as much as I could, and did not go see a doctor.  It's been very hard to explain, I've had to come up with a cliff notes childhood neglect and abuse (dad refused to take me to MDs) to quickly explain it.  It's embarrassing. 

I finally did make several trips to my GP, then when it was evident my case was beyond what a tiny town clinic can do, I sought a 2nd opinion via a portal my work offers, and then it was hard to persevere, as getting the help I need requires being willing to burn time off and go see a doctor an hour away, regularly.  It means admitting I need to take quite a bit of medication (a form of help).  And admitting that I need rest as I work to get back as much stamina as I can and that I will need help.  I'm not sure I could have done it a few years back, even though it would have meant catching this sooner and maybe not deteriorating as much as I have - I'd have less work ahead of me to recapture what I can. 

This is what brought this recent epiphany to the forefront of my mind.  If I had loving parents, who did not make me shrink from asking for help... would I have been more likely to ask for it?  I value my independence.  As messed up as the methods that made it, I am happy I have it.  Would that be gone?  How much of the me that I find valuable now would be different?  I know these are weird questions - I've hit the fizzy/sleepy part of the afternoon.