6 months of analysis

January 31st, 2015,

I had a great Christmas holiday. My fears have even let me alone for one week: I thought it was over because I had got my exam, then they came back even stronger. I saw The Girl of the Body Painting: her trip during one year in Australia as a stripper has clearly changed her. She sucks even better than before. She brought her A-game with one of her work clothes! New Year even with Virginie and her friends. It was cool. A girl even wanted to make out with me (she wanted to sit down on my knees) because I had said for fun that Vivie was my little sister. What a misunderstanding! I met quite a lot of people there and had fun playing the mentalist: I memorized 32 first names!Among my 2015 resolutions, I decided to take myself in charge and I bought a dozen books about stress, present now, anxiety attacks, meditation, Buddhism, intellectual self-defense, etc. I will give you news if it pays! After all, if I was able to learn seduction I should be able to learn inner calm. Well, in theory …

As shows it above my introspection (income of six months of analysis that I decided to stop because it’s too expensive and because the guy tells me every week that maybe in 15 days I will be cured … I smell a scam.) Then he tells me nothing new anymore for a while, always the same advice : moving away from everything I know to do my mourning. Oh yes, something new last time : he told me that his therapy had lasted 13 years. Sorry but I wanna do other things in my life !!!

– My mom –

My mother made me pretty late, around 40, she said it was a risky pregnancy: she cured and did everything so that I am not malformed. I was born in the anxiety.

My mother has always been a very stressed person, very anxious, under antidepressants by periods for as long as I remember. When I was a baby, she was hysterical. I think she even scared me a little. With my father, they often quarreled. One day I told my mother that if he decided to leave, I would go with my father. She put me a slap.

My mother likes to complain. She likes to pretend she is a broom wagon, or a maid. To say that I give her too much work. She makes me feel guilty by saying that I am very messy, that I give her a lot of work, that I make no effort, etc.

Besides that, she often told me that I am her reason for living, that without me she would have left my father already, etc. That if something happened to me she would commit suicide.

She made so that I think she needs me. For example, she hardly knows how to turn on the Freebox and every time there is something like that to do she calls me and ask me to do it (she doesn’t wanna learn). She also likes to watch series, and when it does not interest me, she asks me to come, or pretends it is hilarious or comment out loud to attract me.

I know she has a fear of abandonment too, because of her boyfriend soldier who died when she was young. Maybe she transmitted it to me.

In her way of speaking in general, she likes to exaggerate. To play tragedy. She loves rhetorical turns of phrase. She likes to say that it is “a disaster” or stuff like when it’s nothing in fact. Sometimes she freaks out and calls the police just because the neighbor has not closed the trash down the path.

In some ways, it can be said that it is overprotective. Like “put a skin knit or you will be sick, take an umbrella, eat or you’ll fall from starvation.”

She likes to scream, shrill cries. After everything, even after the dog, especially in front of people, to show them her “authority” on her animals, her husband and son. And in front of people, when my father and I made something, she sometimes says that it is she who has made it. Sometimes I’m here and she’s talking about me using the 3rd person, it annoys me.

– My father –

My father is a very nice man. When I did something wrong, he did not scold me. My father always “sacrifices” for others. Or at least he has for policy to always piss off himself as possible to please others. The best example of that is with food, he never finishes the dishes. And if he is asked to finish it, he cut it in two little parts to leave some for … we don’t know who. He says it’s because he comes from a large family and so he was not allowed to eat everything. In fact, I do not think it’s related, I think this is a saving sense. He is always looking to economize 3 cents even if it costs him more efforts.

My father also has the habit to do soft shots. Which comes to my mind right now is the example of cigarette. I’ve never been able to make him stop. Sometimes he swore on the holy bible that he was no longer smoking, but when I went out at night, I saw him smoking. Caught in the act, he took me for a fool “hi I was just feeding the dog.” I often cannot believe what he says. My mother lies to me too, but more rarely. That the reason why I hate the lies so much!

From what I know, my father is traumatized. He hates talking on the phone, he never calls anyone except my grandmother and my brother for whom he makes an effort every day at the same hour. He was getting beat up as a kid on the way to school, because the “older” who did not like his brother thought it was easier to attack him. So he does not like to go out, has no dress sense and does not like “people”. I also would tend to be a little bit wild if I let myself go and me too I do not like the phone.

If I understand, before I was conceived, my father was depressed. He was persuaded to have a rare disease. It must be said that his father had Alzheimer’s (I did not meet him) and he speaks often about it, afraid to have it in his turn one day. Me too I’m afraid to have it later. Moreover, even today, when he is sick, he always exaggerates the thing. When he has a sciatica, he sees himself handicapped for life. Every year when he makes his exams, he is convinced he has cancer or something like that and sometimes it is me who must go and open the envelope with the analysis. Heavy heredity! To go out of it I really have to work on myself at the risk of passing it to my children!

My father is the one who makes me feel guilty when I’m happy. For example even when it is me who make a cake, he always cut small parts. And if my mother and I decided to take some more, he says it is abused and everything. Then he will secretly eat Petit Lu. Similarly, when I get up late, he sometimes says to me “you are the shame of the family” on the tone of humor, certainly, but well. He says the same thing about himself too when it happens to him. When I was a kid, my mother rather called me “Princess Pea.” So ridiculous !

The difference between my father and my mother is : my mother tends to yell at the vendors, when my father would accept stuff very “borderlines” to don’t get noticed. In some ways, the roles of the parents were reversed at my home.

I remember an anecdote about my father. He had a stomach ache for several days but did not go to the doctor. Us, with my mother, we thought it was nothing, we went to Plan de Campagne. When we came back, we learned that he had taken his car and was at the hospital (had stop on the side of the road to vomit). He had peritonitis. He had surgery the next day. That’s why I am so wary of small symptoms.

– My paternal aunt –

The little sister of my father was raped when they were young, but nobody has ever done anything against those who did this. She has gradually become depressed, etc. We saw her during summer with my brother when we went in the North to visit my grandmother. Last time we saw her, she was in a crisis, and we laughed at her kindly. My brother loves to make fun of people and I love to laugh with him. But he is still a bit naughty and it’s really borderline.

One day in February, the phone rang, my father sat down and said “my sister no longer exists”(those words are strong). I was 19. It happened right after the death of my grandfather. We still must today lie to my grandmother and tell her that her daughter died in her sleep at the pharmacy killed by a ruptured aneurysm while she threw herself under the subway for … to protect her. I maybe feel guilty for that. For this family secret. Which is not one anymore.

– My maternal grandfather –

My maternal grandfather was in the war. I was always told that I was his favorite … this might be the case. We were very close but I feel like lazy compared with him. : He had two jobs and made his family with the sweat of his brow. I do not know if I could prove myself worthy of it.

It seems he was very handsome, strong, fair and a randy bugger. My father, too, it seems that he was very beautiful and had quite a lot of success. It put very high the sex side bar for me.

My grandfather had three bypasses. Apparently he said he thought never seeing me coming in high school. Finally, when he died, I was 18 and he was 94.

When I was younger, I often took care of him. For example, when my grandmother was sick, I went sleeping at their place, in case something would happen during the night.

One morning, we received a phone call, grandpa had a stroke that had lasted more than seven hours until the nurse finds him in the morning and calls the fire department. He survived. This image of fire brigades marked me then when they came for me during my 1st anxiety attack, it was really stressful.

I’ve often been told me that I looked like him. There may have been a transfer process. When I saw my panic attacks, I often who will save me or how to call for help, it might be related to that…

Once we wanted to go on a trip with my parents (I have traveled with my parents when I was young and now it is a pain in the ass for me to go with them because it’s always 3 or 4 museums per day we come back a lot more tired than we left) … and we did not left because at the last moment: he was ill. We had to cancel everything. I was not so displeased. It’s disgusting to say that. I was just a kid.

After the death of his wife (my grandmother), we could have taken him home with us a few months. But because the sister of my mother refused to take him home two weeks a month, my mother decided that it was not fair that she takes him all the time.

Then he went into a nursing home he hated and told us that if he had to stay there, he would run away. He died two months later killed by a pneumonia. We always suspected he was out running away when he caught a cold. In addition, he was a little unbearable even if he tried hard to don’t, and I have often told my mother to comfort her a little some nasty stuff like “when he will be gone, it will be quieter.” I was wrong. I think I’m guilty for that.

When he died, I did not have the courage to say goodbye the day before. We knew he won’t be long but I had use the excuse that I was sick … but I think it was rather cowardice. I do not remember very well why. Everyone visited him, except me, who was nevertheless “his favorite.” I think I never accepted his departure.

Another interesting detail: my grandmother, his wife, was a brunette with green eyes and that’s the kind of girl that attracts me the most. Unlike for the death of my grandmother when I was 17, when it was the turn of my grandfather, I did not cry. I have shown myself strong. My mother had collapsed and I took care of her, I comforted her, etc. In this sense, I think I was a child therapist. I have the example of my father, who goes to a great deal of trouble for his mother, and my mother did the same with his parents, I had those examples.

Six months after the death of my grandfather, my father had palpitations when we were walking on a mountain in Ardèche, with my brother. I have also had some the next day. These small panic attacks lasted a few weeks but stopped just before the next school year. Finally my father has nothing: it was apparently just the stress. He still now has a small medicine which removes his palpitations.

I must say that my father has much to be stressed: my maternal grandmother, 96 years, insults and blames him regularly. She lives alone in the North of France but never wanted to come living with us in the South. She is stubborn and wants to stay there … and she wants us to go living with her. Sometimes she called us for help, saying that she will die, or that she has been poisoned. She is paranoiac !

Since I am speaking about the doctors, the one of my maternal grandmother was not able to diagnose her liver cancer and she died. The last thing she said to me before dying is “you are beautiful”. Like my grandfather, I managed to be the last one to give her a kiss on the forehead in his coffin. The difference is that at her funeral, I was able to talk and cry. I wonder if that was the difference between these two deaths is not, in fact, that I did not mourn my grandfather at the good moment.

One of only films in front of which I cried, it is one this grandmother gave me, White Fang. When the wolf dies at the end. Animal death touches me more than death of human unknown.

– My family is torn from all sides –

The sister of my mother has two son. One day the family was broken : she tried to stab my mother. One day my aunt and my grandfather quarrelled, I was alone with him, I wanted to intervene she struck me. He freaked out and I believed well that he was going to die. I returned him at home, made him sit, drink, etc. but I was not reassured…

My cousins, uncle and godfather and godmother ​​have started to hate me for no reason and I never saw them again after the death of my grandfather. Besides, they did not even come to the funeral meal. My mother thinks that her sister has never accepted the fact that I exist because it took away half the inheritance from her child. Besides, she tried to scam my mother inheritance, with a huge premeditate skullduggery. She broke all ties with all the rest of the family!

With my (half) brother, it has not always been easy. When I was young I did not like when he babysat me. I remember once having locked myself in the bathroom with strawberries. He enjoyed to yell at me. Then, while growing up, he told me that I will be his “old bat” and “we will never dispute” like my mother and sister or my father and brother (at one time there were tensions between them too). Since last year, my brother becomes aggressive with me. Since Christmas for sure: he too rejects me and hates me. He has even thrown a salmon sandwich in my mouth. Basically he has always been jealous of me I think because my father left his mother for mine. Since I hate the treasons and the hypocrites!

I tried to save him: his fat ugly and dumb woman, his threesome with his stepmother, his 3 packs of cigarettes a day, of his 3 daily drinking glasses, etc. He is fat and badly dressed up and everything. And proud of being an asshole !

But I think that if it was me who was really sick, he would be very pleased: to show that he is right and everything. I know it would be unfair because I’m young and have a kind of healthy body … but I’m afraid of this very injustice. I think precisely that because it is unfair it could happen to me.

I feel like I bother. Like a lot of people would be happy that I did not exist. I have difficulty with that. As if I did not deserve my place or if like I have to please everyone. On my blog too, there are plenty of envious who would like to prove to me that they are right and that I’m wrong at any cost.

This summer while I was at the very worst, my mother called my brother who took advantage of it to push me down. The next day she called back him to speak about something else like her wife who smokes by being pregnant and he told her “you made cures and everything and nevertheless Fabrice is sick”. Narrow-minded!

I just realize an uplifting thing : where my brother bought his house in ruins (I went to help retype several half day), this is also where my grandfather died (home rehabilitation). Besides my brother had stopped talking to me (I am a guy who will never do something of his like), to my father (old who becomes useless) and to my mother (berserk he never loved) for two months. He requested a loan of €10,000 to my parents who gave him and he ate with my father and they fought. He took the money and disappeared from our lives. He told him he did not want to see us anymore because we arrived at 11am on the day of his move instead of 10am. Furthermore he still talks to his cousins ​​who were not even here. In brief, he has a big problem since he had his kid. I do not understand why everybody hates me but I question fuck!

The last time we saw the baby, my brother locked himself in his bedroom. We did not see him. His two bitches hardly showed us the baby. As soon as the he cries, my brother yells at him, locks him in his room and slams the door. Poor thing, he will be traumatized later too. He says he is “manly”. It was him who said he did not want any daughter just boys. This is pathetic. He said in an aside to my father “Fabrice will not be godfather” without explaining. He has never told me that but few months ago he was almost on his knees begged me to accept. My parents, my brother, my cousins enjoyed making fun of me because I was the youngest I did not know much.

– Not able to keep friends of my age –

When I was a kid, I was in primary school in Gardanne. I had some good friends and everything. Thenafter, I had to start all over again to 0 because they all went in the private and just me and another girl from my school went to the normal middle-school.

I was very unhappy, among riffraff and gothics, with my look of little well-behaved boy. I was the nice guy who was discreet, makes no noise, etc. At the end those 4 years, I had never kissed a girl and it tortured me. So I decided to change.

I was lucky : in high school, I also started from scratch since my parents realized that I was not in my place in this environment… they put me in Aix while I should have stayed in Gardanne.

In high school, I decided to become the fun guy of the class. I took example on the guys ‘popular’ at the middle-school and I was different in high school. It allowed me among others to mention the fact that I was the son of French teacher. This is what allowed me to integrate a high school full of richs while I am from an “average”family.

It did not work much with the girls in first year this time so I asked my mother to give me a makeover (I realize as I write these lines that at home I’m still dressed in tracksuit too oversized like before my makeover). I kissed my first chick at the age of 17, while of course making her believe that I already had girlfriends before, and I slept with her the following year for the first time in the bed of her parents. It was really bad and she did not let me finish … too frustrating for me, my youth. I had even made a fake anonymous account MSN to speak to the hotties of the high school over whom I fantasized in secret.

All that to say that over time, all my friends are gone. I have not kept real ones. My two closest childhood friends have lost their parents (one from a heart attack, another from cancer). They moved after that. One of my college professors, father of a guy I know, too, also died when I was young. Heart attack. I am surrounded by quick deaths.

In fact, if I decided to change in high school, it was because my mother was going to find out that if I was not popular, I had no success with girls, etc. Already I was not the first in school like her, I could not disappoint her by showing her that I was a loser. She told me that all the time that I was cute and I could get all the girls at my feet later, etc.

Even today, I think I have only superficial friendships, and I’m used to the fact people betray me, disappoint me, use me or take me for a fool. I’ve learned to always make efforts for others, always giving, etc. but basically I am perhaps a pigeon. I think I am a rather intelligent person but I think it is in part a problem.

– My girlfriends –

These are often girls with problem. 2 were raped, one who struggles against her anorexia. I think I have a superhero syndrome. I always reached out and helped the eccentrics even if I also spoke with popular people.

When I sleep with girls, 2/3 per month on average for several years, I make them come before my own pleasure. It’s clear for me : I fuck as many chicks because I tell myself that I must live fast, it’s still better than nothing it’s taken on life, and it will make so many people remember me as a good thing after my death. In practice, some hate you after sleeping with you even if they enjoyed like madwomen (because you do not want a couple).

When I started to believe I was going to die, I was 20 years old, I put in the fridge some of my sperm and wrote a letter to my parents to tell them what to do with it. Today, I sometimes think about donating sperm to be sure to have offspring. As if I had precious genes to perpetuate. And since I am the only son of my mother …

I think I also a white child sexuality and it made me suffer. That’s why I like it so much today, even if it is sometimes unhealthy, banging some young girls from high school.

– My relationship with work –

I always heard my parents say that their work was painful (teachers). They were punctured. They were doing the worst job in the world. They were too tired. That before it was good, but now it had become hellish.

My father even told me once that it was normal that work pisses you off. You have to suffer a lot in your life for the privilege to live happy moments.

If I chose to study a DSCG, I think it’s because it was a very difficult degree that few people are able to have. Being chartered accountant is doctoral level, level 10 of education in France. I still wanted to apply once the family motto is: “When you do not know what to do, make yourself suffer a maximum”. In the second year of IUT, I made a really boring internship, fact that should have immunized me against the public accounting profession.

My mother told me when I had the DCG “Now if something happens you me I will be quiet, you can make your life.”

And now that I have the master, she said, “and well now I am very worried, you have to find you a job so I may be reassured. I will not be quiet before you are installed in life, etc.”

She, she said she would never have done teacher, she would have been happier if she had listened to her mother and had worked in the Bank of France. She says she was eligible for ENA etc. Damn it puts super high the bar challenge!

– My suicidal attitude –

Before my first big anxiety attack, I was drunk and I got in the car of a guy as drunk as me to go home. I was scared and I think I wondered what my mother would think of me if we had died and found myself intoxicated after an accident on the highway. For my defense, a weird guy in my prom had given me a glass “so that I have more fun” and I had drunk it I think that I was given drugs.

I often fucked chicks without condoms. I did not expect to get AIDS of course, I was even afraid of it, but I think I put myself in the challenge. Challenge to earn to live or something like that.

When I got mugged by four drug addicts, I thought I deserved it. I have not to hang out at night and it was normal I was punished … it was well done. I just lived it as a fatality.

Before the attack, I did a bad thing to a drug addict alcoholic boxer who also went out a lot in Aix. For almost 2 years, I went out in the city, in the same places than him, anxious each time to meet him … I scanned everywhere. I think that deep down I wanted to make me hurt the face. Or that God decides whether or not I deserve correction. Apparently not. Then I think I have more or less “fixed it” since.

– My addictions –

For years I masturbated every day. Even when I fucked a girl before, or before I fucked a girl. Now I’m not daring anymore because I say to myself that maybe I will die of it and people will find me killed me by a handjob death due to heart … and it will a shame.

The sport. The same, I do not do it because anymore I’m afraid of dying but otherwise I was doing eight hours per week just a few months ago. One of our teachers had filmed us and I was potted he had diffused that in front of the class they were all laughing out loud.

When I was a kid on the other hand, I was not much good in sport. In middle school, my main teacher (sport) asked me what I wanted to do, I answered “writer.” I hated ACROGYM. It seems that I was not strong and was very clumsy when I was young. That’s what I always heard. My mother had even hired for me a personal sports teacher at a time.

Later in high school, I hated climbing. It frightened me. Although I had not really dizzy, I made sure to make me deliver.

When I was young I assumed nothing. In the morning I enjoyed watching Pokemon but when my parents went into the hallway, I zapped. I pretended to be trying to do anything else or watch a cultural thing. There was other stuff like that I liked, that people of my age watched, but my parents said it was “bullshit”. Just as I was hiding shamefully until late I had kissed a girl, I hid for long I was still playing Pokemon (too ashamed). Okay now I don’t play anymore but well.

– The hidden face of my parents –

Last night I spent the evening at home with Virginie (my girlfriend). My parents had gone to dinner with friends. I had spent a good evening and I felt fairly well. We were lying on my bed this morning around 11am, as we read on the computer. My mother came home around noon, not since 5 minutes I heard already yelling after me in the hallway and slamming doors as usual. After a moment, she completely broke down and went back to my room to yell at me in front of my girlfriend in underwear. Jealous of her? Anyway, I’m not someone who is a victim of your nerves like when I was 5 years old !!! It’s a shame !

Basically, she reproached me (shouting and ordering me not to interrupt because her argument is “flawless”) to have put some land yesterday by returning the machine (instead of appreciating that I thought to return it). She asks me what I will do to “fix it” and remember me that she is not my “boy”. I replied that I do not know, I will do what she wants and she told me I should take vacuuming (my mother is obsessed with cleaning and storage).

What did she do immediately after ?! She goes into the living room and vacuuming (preventing me from doing so). It’s very clever on her part, she can continue to complain about me: I find it really unfair. My father found it a little hard but does not tell her in person, because otherwise I would take on the chin too, then he does the ostrich. He did the same with his mother who is abhorrent to him but he continues to do a lot to please her. It’s not very alpha.

Finally here, a day that started well but is completely wasted when it was not yet noon. I brought Virginie home and she told me that even when she argues with her mother, it is not that huge. The thing is, there it was soft … precisely because Virginie was here.

When I came back, my mother said, “do you talk to me anymore?
– No, useless you want to apologize
– I want to excuse myself on the form but not in substance
– Too bad so we’ll talk when you’ll apologize completely”
And then she leaves in hysterics to prove she’s right. After she phones to her friends and laugh by telling her wrong version of the events. I think I’ve always learned to live in stress … Young yet, I heard a cart of the XVIIIth century at night or then steps in the corridor while there was nobody it is strange!

Following that (the fight not the cart), we did not talk during two days.

When I was a kind, until the age of 10-11 years old, my mother was like that regularly. When my father was trying to say something, he was attacked, so sometimes he complained … but gentle with me in the bathroom. One day, while my mother threatened for the umpteenth time to leave my father because he was “soft, deaf, and other-stuff-that-are-not-nice,” I said I would go to live with my father, and I took a slap. Other times, I tried to scream as loud as her so she keeps quiet, but she began to cry and say I reminded her of her father who frightened her when he shouted at her. In short she is victimizing, and my father flew to his aid against me by saying that it’s a shame to make your mother cry.

Finally, they never divorced, but she often told stories about how much she would have been happier with this or that guy she had known in the past. She adds that the only thing she does not regret in life is making me. It brings me a lot of pressure on my shoulders. Besides, I remember hearing her saying that if one day something happened to me, her life would have no meaning. This is too heavy a burden for me. I think my mother threw me a tremendous sense of guilt, that prevents me from living selfishly for me because if I left, I would give up on her.

She always had the gift to make me feel guilty. When I was young, I often hear “I am not your broom wagon” or “I’m not your boy” while collecting the laundry. Another example of what she likes to do: she puts a laundry basket outside my door for me to range. 5 minutes after, she comes back with a bang in my room complaining that I did not do it and starts doing it all by saying that I would never do it and she left me a chance. With her, you always have to do everything in the second and in her own way. It thus makes me a little dependent on her anyway, at least in my head, because if I listen carefully without her I would live in filth, in a mess, I would not even know me to eat properly (that is not true – I lived alone in Aix until recently). In general, she oversees everything I do, is pretty directing for my life and pushes me to make the choices that she finds good (but not necessarily that she would have made for her). Last year, I wanted to move in Lyon (and I still want) my mom said OK but I need someone to come with me to look with you for a place where you feel good and you must of course find a job before moving … basically, it requires a detailed plan to let me go, which is impossible to do from away … and so it makes me unconsciously stay while giving her good conscience saying she wants to see me leaving and my presence is a weigh.

My mother is very unfair in the sense that she will complain anyway. It is in bad faith when she claims that if I had done this instead of that, she would not be upset … the truth is that she would upset anyway and for another reason as unjust as the first ones. Besides, I have often heard “when I retire, I’ll finally be quiet, so I can travel.” It’s been three years since she is: she left 1 time for five days. She supposedly expects my father to take initiatives but he is a homebody/wild so when I was 15-16 it’s me who was doing the “young company man” as she says: I went out to the shops or stuff like that with her. Her stupid expressions always put me ill at ease as when she called me in front of people “my lupette” and then when I was with a friend she said “your boyfriend is” … – I’m not fucking gay! – Rohlala it’s just a figure of speech (and the next time she began as if I had said nothing). Oh yeah, and she never apologize.

One day she came home from school as often berserk (I was in first year of middle school) and I waited at home. She went in and started to say that I was a pain in her ass and I said YES I FUCK YOU. There, she sent me to a shrink. In two sessions, he had “solved the problem”. Basically, “shut up and complies with all that said your mother, she’s always right.” I still have this phrase that resonates in my head, for example when my brother bought his house: my mother said it was a crap. I wondered why my brother persisted in buying this house while my mother “gives always good advice and is rarely wrong.” It’s my way of thinking that is biased. And the fact that I always want to please her.

This summer, instead of admitting that I had a psychological problem (which would have made my mother feel guilty for missing the education she had put a point of honor to give me even when her friends said it was not right what she did because she wanted to do differently): I preferred to go to the internal medicine hospital to look for what rare disease I could have.

A theory that may be admissible on my anxiety attacks, I feel guilty for wanting to leave and live for me. Maybe I psycho-somatic punishe myself wanting to get away from my mother and live for myself, selfishly … besides my mother often said guys are “cowardly and selfish.” Help !!! Actually what I like about my girlfriend is that she is sweet, HER. Although in some ways she looks like my mother (little brunette nerd).

Should I admit once and for all that my mother is bi-polar? My mother does not feel crazy because she sees a psychiatrist who told her she was in normal and that it is the others who are crazy. For example, once she was not promoted so she yelled at chief and his psychiatrist told her that it was a good idea. With that said, she will never admit she yells. She says she “speaks loudly.” Me, it traumatized me.

Once a woman’s voice is rising now it drives me crazy I feel like I want to insult her.

Maybe my (half) brother leaves us by saying that I am as crazy like my mother and it’s unhealthy to keep in touch with me. And maybe he’s right. I do not know…

If I observe how my mother was with her parents and how my father is with his mother, they made crates for their parents to be happy and especially … NOT TO FEEL GUILTY WHEN THEY WILL BE DEAD. So I anchored myself this model to crush me and put their welfare before mine. Is it their death which I dread in fact?

My mother is full of latent aggression and I cannot answer anything if I go stronger than her my father intervenes, if I do not face her she wins … and arguing is impossible because of her bad faith . Perhaps my anxiety attacks are a kind of protection that I have tried and I cannot get rid of. For example, this summer, I was very ill and she had gone to a lunch with her friends: I had to make room for the evening. She returned at 8pm and told me that my rice was overcooked (just a little actually) and so I missed her respect by giving her the block for dog food. Basically, even when I’m sad, she’s selfishly likely to use me as a punching bag even if it gives me a panic attack me, it looks like she does not care.

Which brings me to a final thought. I plunged a little depressed after I failed the examination at the end of 2013 and came back gradually living with my parents. I slowly handed in her cut, which may explain my current state. But why was I drawn to the house then? And why is this one the only place where I feel almost safe? Also, this failure has made her insane and she sent lots of letters (even to the President of the republic in secret) and lots of other people, she yelled at the Ministry … maybe I blamed myself for having failed and seen her in this state because of me hurt me. What might once again sticking with my guilt.

We can look super complicated stuff like the fact that my aunt committed suicide and I have to lie to my grandmother or like the fact that my grandfather died in a nursing home when I could have insisted so we keep him at home. Or maybe my problem is that I cannot detach myself from my mother, simply? Not enough confidence in myself. Even in Aix I am under her influence (her apartment belong to her). Strange thing (by making an analysis we find weird things) the former landlord was called like my grandfather and I still received mails in the name of Mister Martin.

If I was totally objective, I should blame her for that. But on the other hand, she is herself a victim of something and I just cannot help her to get by. These panic attacks may be a handicap for me but they give me an excuse to do not leave home. But it’s over, the bullshit. I think I’ll jump without parachute and go away to test this theory. If it does not work, I do not know what else I will do … life has become very hard for me.

I feel like I have tried everything except antidepressants. So I’ll take some if I have not enough energy to do without. In addition to what I mentioned earlier, I also tried:
– Ericksonian hypnosis (to try to force the mourning of my grandfather but I just cried like a fountain)
– During hypnosis I saw myself s a kid in a prison which door was open but I stayed there looking out through the bars of the window
– Different schemes: no gluten free, dairy no dairy products, etc (even a mono-diet of bananas)
– Yoga, tai-chi, qi-gong……

But my condition is getting worse. Since I saw Supercondriaque, and the guy dies quickly of a stroke, I’m afraid of myocardial AND attack (I should lodge a complaint against Dany Boon). So when things are not good I have a new dirty habit : I force myself to smile to see if everything works (you cannot smile if you are suffering a stroke). I always check the symptoms on Google!

Having said that, when I speak about it around me I notice that a lot of people makes anxiety attacks but does not speak about it: another shameful subject like sex. Thus I decided to speak about it!

Now you know my most intimate secrets … May the God of the Game be with us!

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