My story begins in a small, suburban town in Finland. I spent the majority of my childhood in that town, ten years to be exact. What I didn't know at the time was that I was going through the most traumatic period of my life; dealing with recurring abusive events. These events would eventually impact me to the point of developing borderline personality disorder, a mental illness that develops due to severe childhood trauma. Now, ten years later, I'm dealing with the aftermath of the abuse I was forced to face a little child, all the while nobody around me stops to listen to my story. Because my story is a bit different from the typical BPD tale.
I was not abused by my parents. The relationship I have with my family has always been healthy and very fulfilling. My parents are my biggest supporters and role models, two of my best friends, even. Mom and dad got divorced when I was two years old, but they both remained as my caretakers and they kept in contact regularly throughout the years. Twenty years later, they live in the same town, 200 meters away from each other. They're on really good terms.
In a very typical Finnish fashion, my father is an alcoholic. His alcoholism was essentially the reason for my parents' divorce, but I was not traumatized by dad's drinking. The problems we faced were mainly financial, and dad's health got progressively worse due to his untreated addiction, bu the effects it had on me have been very small. Dad has currently been sober for a year, he attends the local AA meetings multiple times a week.
Generally speaking, when people talk about childhood trauma, they're usually referring to parental, sexual or familial abuse. And those are the most common types of childhood trauma that people go through and that can lead to the development of borderline personality disorder, for example. But my story is not about that kind of abuse. It tells the tale of childhood trauma that is hidden in plain sight and never talked about. Trauma that is not even regarded as trauma by some professional health care workers. Trauma that victims still get ridiculed for being traumatized by.
Everyone is a bit bullied, right? That's what a lot of people tend to say. We all got bullied in high school or middle school. That's just kids being kids, you shouldn't let that affect you. If you are bullied, it is your responsibility to not let it get to you. Cause that's what everyone else does too, since we all are bullied at some point. Right?
I don't know about that, to be honest.
I have been the victim of bullying since the day I went to kindergarden. I was about four years old; that's when I first remember something like that happening to me. It followed me everywhere, to every kindergarden, to every school, to every town and every social situation I got myself into with my peers. I never got rid of it completely, because I still face recurring harassment on the streets. In twenty-two now, in 2022. 18 years of being assaulted, attacked, violated, humiliated and abused by my peers. But the worst years were the ones I spent in that tiny suburban town, when I was an elementary student.
So, what was it like? I bet some are asking that question. People are curious, they always want to know the details. But I don't think I have to tell you everything about my trauma for it to be valid. What I am here to do is what I never received even though I needed it very badly: I'm here to validate myself, my trauma and my struggles, all the while spreading awareness and maybe, if I'm lucky, making some kind of change.
But this blog is not only about that. I'm not using this site as a forum for venting my anger and frustration. There's a lot of all kinds of things I want to talk about; things that affect me and my everyday life. I feel like I have the responsibility to get these words out there, because you'll ever know what you can achieve if you don't even try it.
Come and join me on this journey; I would love to have you here.
ichigonya