see, by laying this down in black and white

I can go back and walk over the same ground again. It anchors me, somehow, to have this written record out in public. It means that my story is not being lost, that I do exist - it's something tangible, that I can go away from and come back to (something about attachment and unavailable mother/safe base niggling here), and it's still there when I come back. It hasn't changed or disappeared or been destroyed by somebody who doesn't care whether I make it or not.

So I can familiarize myself with the terrain, reflect my self back to myself, until such time as one comes along who's willing to mirror back for me, as my parents never did. (Acknowledging here that comments can do this, so thank you, kitty, for your comments!)

It's some kind of security blanket. And it's working, I'm finding the panic attacks and sleepless nights diminishing and becoming more manageable. That there's at least one place in the world where I can speak my truth and not be negated or denied or called 'too sensitive'. (And still the undermining parental and familial voices echo in my head. But I tell them to shut the fuck up. Though I can be more gentle now because I'm now less angry, because I've allowed myself to be angry for as long as I need to, not bottling it up to make life easier for others who haven't shared my experience.)