I lost my 2022 apartment to autistic burnout and emotional abuse. I think my autism burnout was exacerbated by the emotional abuse. The more I unmasked and embraced myself, the more emotional abuse my relatives inflicted upon me.
I could list out every event that I think led me to where I am now. I know my bad decisions and what I should have done. I also know I’d be a different person.
Instead, I have only for you an unorganized list of thoughts and recollection of events from my perspective — what I’ve found out, what I’ve realized, etc.
This post is a rewrite of a previous post published under the same permalink. What I knew then is completely different from what I know now, one year later after losing my apartment.
The enmeshed family dynamic
In enmeshed family dynamics, everyone knows about everyone because there are supposed to be no secrets. Any privacy you think you have is a façade.
One thing I hated the most my entire life was how the bathroom door pretty much meant nothing. Even if there was a lock on the bathroom or bedroom doors, I wasn’t supposed to use them.
Once, I was granted the privilege of using the bathroom myself, without anyone else going into it — but this privilege could be revoked at any time, and it wasn’t without people thinking me ridiculous for wanting privacy in the bathroom.
I remember telling my grandmother, “Hold on. I want to get dressed first, then we can talk,” and shutting the door to get dressed. She got upset and said not to shut the door in her face. She tried to open the door and got even more upset that it was locked.
The event triggered my DID; a protective alter fronted, and I felt like I was watching whatever happened from a corner in the room after the door opened. It was so weird. On top of that, I was experiencing an autistic meltdown; everyone thought I was just in a psychotic episode.
The benefit of being diagnosed is gaining vocabulary and understanding to comprehend your behaviors. My presumed “episodes of psychosis” have since been redefined as “autism meltdown” and dissociation caused by complex post-traumatic stress disorder (CPTSD).
Diagnosis saves lives, guys.
Familial enmeshment feels like your life isn’t your life. Nothing you own is yours.
Talking behind my back
To them, they weren’t talking behind my back. They were “expressing their concerns” about me. It’s all the same either way.
Each would know things I hadn’t told them, but another. The more I insisted they not gossip about me, the more they insisted that everyone had a “right to know”. They insisted that I was behaving childish by not telling everyone everything myself.
“If you want to be treated like an adult, you need to act like one. Real adults tell people these things themselves.”
That didn’t feel right, so I stood my ground. The more firm I was with my boundaries, the more critical they were. They rocked my self-esteem and confidence in my boundaries by telling me why the boundaries were wrong.
Family enmeshment is a form of emotional abuse and most common in narcissistic families. Narcissism is learned. Narcissists don’t allow people to have boundaries, because boundaries prevent them from controlling people.
The perverted need to know everything about everyone, or even one someone, is just a way to control them and/or your own anxiety.
They knew things I hadn’t told them
You’re crazy. You must have told me that in the past.
Except…no. I had never told that specific person about that specific thing, using those specific words. She could only have known about it if someone had told her.
What’s more, that person would only have known if they read my blog.
I asked them why they were stalking me and talking about me behind my back, and they called me paranoid.
Um…what? Why did they keep changing it? “The Narcissist’s Prayer” started sounding off in my head. Of course: That didn’t happen. And if it did [..] you deserved it.
There are no individual rights in enmeshed families.
Nothing is yours, all privacy a façade.
They weaponized what I shared about myself
They invested time in everything I published online. Instead of using it to understand me and know who I am, my family used it as a weapon. They learned how to trigger my autistic meltdowns and what triggered my CPTSD.
My family learned how to use my disabilities and trauma against me — then told me I was “crazy” every time I called them out on it.
I believed it
There was this constant play happening, month after month, until I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I became my most vulnerable.
They constantly criticized my successes and told me that I needed mental help, my behavior wasn’t normal, that I needed antianxiety meds so I would “stop this boundary nonsense” and “act normal again”.
I’d say, “This is me. It’s who I am now.”
They didn’t accept it. “No, this isn’t you. You aren’t like this. I know you better than you know yourself. Have I ever steered you wrong?”
At my lowest, I’d had enough. I realized the same patterns were in motion — history repeating itself from a distance.
And it clicked:
- They didn’t have any access to my mental or medical health records.
- They only knew what I made publicly available.
- I could do the same right back to them.
I treated them how they treated me
Taylor Swift’s Midnights album was my playbook. I entered my Vigilante Shit era.
- They have no idea if I was seeing a therapist, but they presumed I wasn’t. They presumed I wasn’t on medication and should be on something, because that was what helped them. Because if I’m not inside the enmeshed family, then I’m outside of it. Outsiders are deemed the enemy.
- I knew of their anxiety disorders and that they constantly worry, hence toxic positivity. They do what they do because their anxiety becomes them, making themselves sick. Then they impose that experience onto me, trying to get me to deal with it by letting them control me.
- They convinced me that something was wrong with me because they couldn’t deal. I researched the signs of projection, how to combat narcissistic behaviors, and phrases to say to stand firm in my boundaries.
- I played them the same way they played me. 😏
Karma is boundaries.
Karma is my departure.
Karma is estrangement. 🙃
Karma is me being an Outsider to the enmeshed family.
Karma is doing what they taught me. It’s being a mirror of their caregiving, leaving, and completely rejecting that lifestyle.
Throw lemons at me, I’mma throw them right back at you.
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