Growing up, it was beaten into me that it was always my fault. Always. That mindset still follows me. At its worst point, people would glance my way and automatically I believed I did something wrong, and a pathetic sorry would fall out of my mouth.
Once I realized what was happening, I self-sabotaged myself with humour: calling myself a doormat or someone who stood pretty strait for someone with no backbone.
Later in life, I took too many because I wanted to escape, and it was such an easy escape. No one monitors benzos, they're not in the pink pad.
There's a stigma out there that because I don't feel very well, I don't have the capacity for empathy, that I must be cold, lack all creativity, and that I'm prone to dangerous personality disorders. Who truly is the heartless one?
It's what's called chronic pain, and chronic illness. What's gets you these labels? Length of time: dealing with the issue for over six months, and no signs of a full recovery. Whatever the issue may be, it extends beyond the expected period of healing.