The more I share stories of my past in my C=PTSD group, the sadder I become. I can't believe what a toxic hell I grew up in. It's funny because the guy I had coffee with Tuesday asked me quite early on, how I have not gone into any addictions like drinking or drugs. He doesn't even know about the family, but just the "up keep" I have to remain "ok" every day and take care of others.

It kinda rattles me to know all this stuff and it feels so so hopeless to ever fix it. Maybe it isn't fixable at this point