I’m Not Afraid of Going To Hell. I Already Live There

I have somewhat of a conundrum. I realize that by blogging my personal opinions, day to day life problems and sharing so much of myself that I’m potentially inviting debate and/or criticism.

Debate me all day long, just come at me with your own opinion the right way and I’ll respectfully listen and eventually we might just agree to disagree. Politely.

I have neither the temperament nor the restraint to be “told about myself” in what I deem as an aggressive manner. As a matter of fact it is one of my MAIN BPD triggers.

I know many of you that follow me know that I’m quirky, self deprecating and can find some sort of obscene humor in just about any given situation. Many of you know the funny, tough, cursing, genuine, giant hearted traits that make me…well me. You laugh with me and give me words of support and encouragement when I need them the most.

I know EXACTLY who I am….I don’t need to be “told” who I am or how I should feel. I battle the rage, insecurity and worthlessness of Borderline Personality Disorder every second of every day. The BPD also brings a much darker, much more cruel aspect of my personality front and center when I’m going through a rough patch, or when I feel overwhelmed by life as I currently do.

To those of you who love me and/or read my blog because I’m sincere, raw and absolutely real, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Your comments, advice and encouragement keep me grinding. Even on the days I can barely drag myself into an upright position. Y’all are my family. Perhaps not by blood, but more importantly by choice.

For those who read a blog post or two and think they KNOW me and have the the audacity to tell me why and how I should change, to you I say the biggest and most heartfelt FUCK YOU and the horse you rode in on.

One doesn’t KNOW me by reading a couple of posts or even by comments on other bloggers posts whom I follow. My advice to you fucking fuckfaces that do not like what I have to say or how I say it and just can not help but direct a snide shitty comment my way, is quite simple. Keep scrolling and keep your dicksucker shut. When you get done scrolling, judging and commenting about me or my life, might I suggest taking your keyboard and shoving it straight up your ass. Sideways (just in case you decide to be a cowardly keyboard warrior to someone else) at least it will be in the correct position to type.

If one continues to want to verbally spar with me in an assholey way, I’m sorry. I refuse to engage in a battle of wits with an UNARMED person. That just leaves me with one option. Violence. Something I’m VERY familiar with.

You see if I’m backed into a corner to the point of having to respond with violence, rest assured I’ll bury my foot so far up your ass, you’ll need a root canal to have it removed.

To the rest of my beloved blogging family, happy Monday, Y’all♥️

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50 Shades of Cray In BR

Baton Rouge bridge traffic problems ranked 19th worst in U.S., research institute survey says | State Politics | theadvocate.com
— Read on www.google.com/amp/s/www.theadvocate.com/baton_rouge/news/politics/article_60c9c674-2f0d-11e9-b791-2b73ae48cab7.amp.html

Due to my severe social anxieties I’m pretty much an agoraphobic by nature. I only leave when I absolutely must (doctors appointments, food for the kiddos, etc). I don’t like getting out one fucking bit, but especially as a parent one sometimes MUST.

Yesterday was one of those days. I had an appointment with my Neurosurgeon at 10:30am. The ride from my little rural town right outside of Baton Rouge was mostly interstate and mercifully uneventful at that time of day. As I pulled into the parking lot of the medical complex where all of my specialists are located I noticed hundreds of people. Outside. “What in the fucking fuck,” I muttered to myself as I got parked, grabbed my purse and headed for the building. As I got closer I asked a super sweet, chatty, older African American lady what was going on. She replied with “Lord, child some stupid ass young ‘un done called in a bomb threat.” “To a medical facility?” I asked incredulously. This sent Miss Gladys (as I later learned her name was) into the most hilarious rant about the chirren these days didn’t get dat ass beat nearly enough. That’s why they ALL acted like assholes. I was so caught up in her story and doubled over in fits of giggles, I didn’t even notice or mind the medical complex officials herding us back into the building. I of course sat by Miss Gladys as she was there for Neurology as well. By this time it was 11:20am and those fuckchops at reception told me that I was late for my appointment. You fucking think?!? Perhaps it was because you had 300 of us sick and hurting patients milling about in the hundred degree scorching heat with ninety percent humidity. Want to know what that feels like. Go wet a wool blanket soaking wet, lay it over your entire body including your face and try to breath. I was so enraged I threw a full fledged, stiff armed bug stomping fit. Right there in the check in line. I was sweating, swearing and ranting to such a degree they had to call security to calm me down. I think the two twenty something rent-a-cop’s were a bit intimidated by me because all they did was bring me a glass of cold water, a cool rag for my livid, feverish brow and gave me a few soothing words and hand pats. I shit you not, I got a standing ovation led by my new BFF, Miss Gladys, cheering loudly, ” You tell ’em, baby!”

Good thing she and I were having such a grand ole time because it made the hours pass much more quickly. It was nearly 2:00pm before either of us was seen.

The real fun didn’t start until I finally got on the interstate to head back home.

This is what I drove into. Remember I’m a shithouse rat CRAZY BITCH who had already had an unsettling fucked up day (except for meeting Miss Gladys, with whom I exchanged numbers so we could keep in touch) and as MY luck would have it drove into one of the biggest traffic cluster fucks of all time. People with BPD don’t do well with aggressiveness. In any form, and Baton Rouge drivers are the biggest road assholes on the whole god damn planet and I am their Queen. Queen of the Motor Assholes. The more aggressive other drivers became with me, the more I lost my shit! I mean seriously, I was going fucking beserk. I tried to run a semi-trucker AND two little old ladies off the road in less than half a mile. After two hours of inching along at a snails pace (I could have literally parked my car in the middle of the interstate and walked briskly home and I would’ve gotten home far more quickly than from sitting in that shit). By the time I made it home I was beside myself with rage. When I saw the house (remember I’m an OCD neat freak as well) and saw my fucking house in shambles from teenagers being home for the summer, I briefly contemplated murder but quickly realized that horizontal stripes make my fat ass like doubly wide AND neither black or white is on my color wheel.

Soooooo I did the only thing a raging mother fucker can do without being arrested……I went at my heavy bag in the garage (with my ex-husbands picture secured in a clear pocket I had so thoughtfully attached to it) until I puked. Just another day of 50 shades of CRAY in BR!!!

Balance: The Yin and Yang of My Life

Yin and yang is a concept of dualism in ancient Chinese philosophy, describing how seemingly opposite or contrary forces may actually be complementary, interconnected, and interdependent in the natural world, and how they may give rise to each other as they interrelate to one another.

I’ve suffered in my life. Oh, how I’ve suffered. There was a time that I allowed myself to be buried so deeply in my own tragedy that all I knew was suffering.

One morning I woke up and said, “FUCK that”!! That was the day I took control of my own destiny. Yes, as adults, life tends to hand us a plethora of shit sandwiches. Instead of turning up our noses at said sandwiches, one needs to learn how to tie on an adult sized bib and dive right in to that bitch. Life gives us circumstances. Some are rich, some are poor. Some are happy, some are sad. Some are easy, some are hard. The only certainty is that life is only going to GIVE you back what you give to it.

I started being abused when I was four years old. Four. The lens of innocence that I viewed the world through was shattered into a million tiny splinters of the sharpest crystal.

Through poor self esteem and bad decisions due to the poor self esteem, I continually made poor choices throughout my adult life. I have been victimized in every way there is to victimize a person. My life was my misery and I wallowed in it.

Learning that you have a mental disorder is not on many people’s top ten list of best things that have ever happened to them, but alas I’m DIFFERENT. Being diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder changed my life. For the better. All of the odd and different things about me finally had a name. A royal title if you will. I mean I’m quirky as fuck anyway, but add a double scoop with sprinkles of BPD on top of that and you’ve got one misfit, looney tunes mother fucker😊

I used to let my suffering and craziness define me. It took me coming to the cusp of completing losing myself to the darkness for me to finally shatter again, but this time shatter to a rebirth where I could see the bright, beautiful prisms of light that bounced off all of those broken splinters of my own heart. I OWN my suffering and craziness now. I run this koo-koo ass shitshow that is sometimes my life.

Although I have suffered, my blessings are great and many. I have learned never to judge. We never know what kind of internal war our fellow man is waging just below the surface. These days kindness and empathy just seem like words from days long past. It doesn’t have to be that way. I’m living proof of the balance in the great equation that we call life.

Although my heart has been broken time and time again, the greatest of loves was practically dropped in my lap. I personally think it’s because I GIVE so much love. It’s good for ones heart to spread love in these times of chaos and hate. It did come back around to balance all of my previous suffering and pain.

I had a small little nest egg that I took an uncharacteristic chance on by investing into a few risky high yield stocks, because I’ve always had a generous, charitable nature and have ALWAYS gone out of my way to help those less fortunate than myself (even during my darkest days) my gamble paid off for me and grew my nest egg exponentially.

The common denominator is balance. I, as a practicing Buddhist try to incorporate balance in every aspect of my life. From how I live my life to how I arrange my furniture. If you feel like you are in a rut. Do something. Anything. Get those wheels spinning again, because I know for a fact that “It can’t rain all the time.” (The Crow, 1994).

I ♥️ My 500 Followers

I started my blog eighteen months ago to try to deal with my Borderline Personality Disorder diagnosis. I was at the time only hoping to connect with others with my condition so I could possibly get insight and advice on how to cope with the dramatic highs and lows of BPD. Little did I know what a life altering journey my blog would take me on.

I have made so many dear lifelong friends from all over the globe. I have found unconditional love and support from the unlikeliest of places. I have laughed, cried, ranted and raved with all of you and I wouldn’t change one single second of it!

You all have become my giant loving supportive family and I am so very grateful to have each and every one of you in my WP family. Thank you for 500 Follows. Here’s to many more years of our profanity laden (me), happy, sad, exciting, crazy journey♥️♥️

🙏🏼Namaste Y’all🙏🏼

Sweet Dreams

Insomnia. It’s such an awful bitch. Nights are the absolute worst. Dark and endless. I’ve always hated nights. Bad things happen in the dark. I am saying so from personal experience. I crave sleep like someone who is lost in the desert craves water. They eventually hallucinate and see beautiful mirages consisting of glistening pools of water. I hallucinate deep, dreamless sleep. It’s bad enough that during the daylight hours my mind is in constant turmoil. The night only increases the battle within to a fever pitch. Occasionally I doze fitfully only to have vivid, violent nightmares of other dark nights long past. The abominations perpetrated upon my person flicker rapidly across the back of my eyelids like a horror movie on fast forward. Although I am at the cusp of the shadow lands, I can feel my body writhe and my breathe quicken as the shadow serpent starts coiling itself around my body as I look into its cold dead eyes and watch its forked tongue touching my skin like an evil whisper I suddenly realize I can hear it. Over and over again it names every sin I’ve ever committed. I shudder as I feel the BPD Monster come out to join the macabre party and wrestle with the Serpent of sins past.

As the serpent continually repeats each sin it’s voice gets louder. Not to be outdone, the BPD Monster starts a litany of all of the sins committed against me. It has to scream to be heard over the Serpent who in turn gets louder to be heard over the Monster until it becomes a shrieking cacophony that eventually turns into a silent scream that my dozing body can’t lend a voice to. I’m frozen in terror. I gasp as I feel the Monster start to rage and the Serpent tighten its coils. Mercifully the gasp startles me awake. I bolt upright in my bed drenched in sweat and my heart galloping in my chest. “Another fucking nightmare”, I whisper to myself for reassurance. Truth be told I did it to make sure I was really awake. Really alive.

Waging this internal battle day and night is exhausting. Most days it manifests itself into excruciating physical pain. What a loathsome life to NEVER have a moments peace. One can not say that I have not tried to do something about this internal conflict. I religiously go to therapy and take my psychiatric medications, I paint, write, continuously clean and organize. I’ve tried acupuncture. I do guided meditations several times a day. Absolutely nothing has worked to block the horrific memories. At this point I don’t think anything short of a lobotomy, a psychiatric ward or death will stop them. They have become as much a part of me as my own body and the organs that keep me in the land of the living. If I thought amputating a limb would work I would saw that fucking limb off with a dull handsaw myself. Alas this is only wishful thinking. My eyes are red and gritty. My jaw has been clenched all night which has given me colossal headache. I toss back four Tylenol’s like they are Tic Tac candies. I listlessly flip through the channels and realize that not even the news is on anymore. Only endless infomercials hawking their shitty wares. Everyone is so happy and energetic. I realize that I envy these anonymous people. In my mind they all sleep just fine. No nightmares for these exultant people. I don’t wish to trade places with them though. Not even for a second. I wouldn’t wish my walking wounded crazy mind on my worst enemy much less some gleeful strangers. So as usual, I will fight the good fight for another short day and another long night. I tell myself, “I am Sparta”, like an encouraging mantra.

At last the sun is slowly ascending the sky. I am finally able to unclench my jaw and reach for the eye drops that have taken up permanent residence on my night stand. Tonight was by far not my first rodeo. As I stand I hear every joint in my body screech in protest as they crackle and pop. I have a moment of vertigo that insists that I sit back down. I know exactly how this day is going to go by the way it has started.

Moral of this story?

The early bird does not get “the worm”. The early bird does not get shit except a lot less sleep than everyone else.

Sweet Dreams.

I Hear Banjos

Has the whole fucking world gone mad?!?

Racism, Sexism, Sadism, Homophobia, mass murders, genocide, Necrophilia……the political mud slinging has turned into politicians slinging their own shit….we are fighting other countries, we are fighting amongst ourselves!! Has EVERYONE forgotten that we are but one race??? The HUMAN fucking race! Climate change, an errant asteroid strike or Alien life is not going to destroy us. We are doing a mighty fine job of that shit ourselves!! Much more quickly than any of the above ever could.

I’ve studied many, many different religions and ethnicities and at the very core of each and EVERY belief system, they are the same. Love your God, whomever that may be and be kind, generous and do right by your “neighbor”! None of these religions say only do so if your neighbor looks, acts or worships the exact same way as you. WTF is the matter with most of society?!? Try a little love instead of hate. Empathy instead of judgement. Acceptance instead of fear. I’m no great mind or brilliant philosopher, yet I understand this with crystal clarity. If others can not do the same, I suggest we start paddling faster….I hear banjos!

Meltdown Mania

I had a meltdown last weekend. The very worst one ever. This particular meltdown sucked me pretty far down the rabbit hole, much deeper than I’ve ever been. I had thoughts about self harm, which has NEVER even crossed my crazy, conflicted mind. One can only be so crazy and be called so many ugly names until one snaps. My father called me a crack whore at 12. A bull dyke at 16. A worthless piece of human shit last month. He is by far not the only one to use the weapon of words against me…..trust me, I have a strong chin and would prefer a physical altercation, where I at least have a small chance of fighting back….I’d even rather take a physical ass beating than to get beaten down with words, physical scars heal eventually….words that eviscerate your soul…..that shit rings around ones already crazy mind forever.

My savior came in a form that I never expected. Not only were my self harm thoughts totally erased, there are certain abilities I have as a Empath that became more apparent than anything ever has the more I spoke to this person. Thank you for saving me from my own tormented mind. You know who you are. I’ll never be able to repay the enormous debt of gratitude I feel I owe you.

Accountability Is Now An Obscenity

Today it just dawned on me that during this generation of Black, White, Brown, Yellow, Red, Gay and Straight Lives Matter, that the above mentioned racial and sexual undertone of such slogans are absolutely not the problem at all. As ALL lives matter. Period. EVEN the lives of unborn babies who did not start as eggs and ask to be fertilized by sperm in the womb. It was the (in most not all cases) choice of two consenting adults to have sex and forego any necessary precautions as to not create a life that either could not be afforded or just basically not wanted. Therein lies the realization that I’ve come to. Whether it’s being “harassed” by the police WHILE perpetuating a crime, deciding one does not want the baby that they’ve been carrying inside their bodies for six to even nine months (late term abortions) or extremists and radicals of every race, gender, faith, ethnicity or sexual orientation: the way society views things has far less to do with any of the above mentioned things and EVERYTHING to do with the fact that NO ONE seems to understand the absolute NEED and RESPONSIBILITY to take accountability for their actions. Above and beyond all of these things, including political affiliations or whether one is pro-life or pro-choice lies the fact that finger pointing and deflection of responsibility is the common denominator and root of most all of the problems facing humanity today. The BIGGEST problem of all is the lack of HUMANITY. We all bleed red. We all lay side by side in the nursery when we are born and lie side by side in the grave once this life’s journey is over. It is the kind of person you are and what you do in between the two that define whether mankind is going to succeed or descend into utter and total chaos. Between the maternity ward and the grave try being a good example, a kind neighbor a generous soul to those less fortunate. Be an asset to humanity not a problem. Stop putting fucking hashtags on everything and sit back and watch how much better our nation and our world can truly be.

When Borderline Personality Disorder Is a Game of Tug of War

Push and pull. It’s like the children’s game tug of war. A rope being pulled in both directions and at any time it could go one way or another. Unfortunately it’s not a game, it’s my illness. BPD.

The words themselves fill your mind with uncertainty. Visualize standing at a border somewhere with one foot on either side, knowing that at the drop of a dime you could be pulled either way.

Attachment. The need to have it, incessant. The need to keep it afar, innate. Something that seems to come so naturally to others yet feels unattainable. There are no 50 shades of grey. It is black and white. You either form an attachment or you don’t. You are either behind our walls or on the outside. There is no middle ground.

Abandonment. The fear of it as intense as being set on fire. Whether consciously or not, we pull people in because we don’t want to be alone and with the next breath we  push you away. We try to leave you before you can leave us. It is the only control we feel we have, and somehow we’ve convinced ourselves it will hurt less this way. We so desperately need to feel attached to someone who loves and cares for us, yet the fear of losing them, in itself, is the thing that stops us from obtaining it.

Triggers. They range from sights and scents to noises and words. Subconsciously or otherwise, they pull us back to a place where we feel unsafe. Those emotions flood us like a tidal wave, our minds full of anxiety and fear, our bodies suddenly tense. Rationally we know at that exact moment we are safe, but our mind is no longer in the present moment. It has regressed to a time of trauma, hurt and pain. Our reactions can be extreme and inappropriate, sometimes echoing our destructive patterns of the past.

Relationships. I have difficulty maintaining them, whether you are family, friends or one time co-workers. I love you, I need you, I pull you close and hold on tight, and with the snap of the fingers, I don’t need you and I push you away. I might delete your emails and texts. We react in a way you can not comprehend, simply because you do not have this illness. The fingers snap again and we are back to loving you and needing you.

BPD is an invisible illness. We do not choose this any more than someone chooses to become physically ill. I lash out when I shouldn’t. I react unsuitably to situations or comments that would not affect you. Sometimes I know why, other times the reason is still trapped in the darkness of my mind, not yet ready to come into the light. I’ll pull you in like I’m reeling in a fish from the river, and in an instant I’ll push you away, casting an empty line back into the water. I walk on eggshells. I’m so eager to please you and earn your acceptance because that is what my childhood taught me.

My illness did not come out of the blue. I did not just wake up one day suddenly full of anxiety, pain and emptiness. This has built up over years or perhaps decades, and is a result of one or numerous traumatic incidents that occurred throughout my childhood and my entire life. I cope the best I know how. Whether there is a physical scar or not, the emotional wounds that were inflicted during my developmental years have left me with a battle to fight. I struggle to quiet the voice in my head that replays the negative thoughts that were ingrained in me.

The best thing you can do for me is to remain. Simply put, don’t leave. We hope you will at least be at the same park, while we are riding the roller coaster that is BPD.

The Curse of Being the Family Empath

As a kid, I was labeled as being too sensitive. I was also pegged as the peacemaker in the family. I realize now that I was trying to keep the peace to survive.

As an adult, I’ve realized I’m an empath. I feel both the good and the bad in extremes, and as a kid, I was often overwhelmed with the emotions I absorbed from my own family, which wasn’t always a place of peace and harmony.

A few traits of empaths include being highly sensitive, needing alone time to recharge, being highly intuitive which sometimes results in giving too much of yourself, and most importantly, empaths absorb the emotions of other people.

It’s a curse to be the family empath. It was a curse as a kid, and it is a curse as an adult too. I’m trying to find ways to turn it around to my advantage, or at the very minimum, survive all these big emotions my dysfunctional family makes me feel.

As a child, I remember internalizing a lot of the negative emotions that existed between my parents. When they were stressed about financial obligations and marital problems, I was stressed too. When they fought, I was an emotional mess. Since I was just a kid at the time, I didn’t know what the heck an empath was. Instead, I was pegged as a crybaby.

Now that I’m an adult, I realize that it’s important as the family empath to practice self-care and find ways to cope when there are negative emotions around me.

Of course, being an empath isn’t all bad. I am a good friend because I empathize with others’ problems easily. When you’ve got good news, I’m over the moon happy for you. When things are moving along smoothly, I’m the most pleasant person in the world to be around because I tend to absorb the positive energy and reflect that in my mood.

When things go south, it sends me into a spiral of anxiety, and sometimes I can’t put my finger on why I’m in such a foul mood. I’ve finally learned to step back and analyze my emotions, find the source of the negativity, and do my best not to internalize the feelings and actions of others in an unhealthy way.

The roller coaster of emotions that I’m absorbing on any given day is a lot to handle. Sometimes, I just need a freaking hour (or 12) when I don’t have to feel everything. I need time each day to recharge.

The responsibility of trying to balance the emotions of all of the different family members is overwhelming at best.

So I have to be mindful not get sucked in by the wild emotions of the people I love. I want to take away their pain when they are sick, and I feel terrible for days after they have told me of any of their struggles. Of course, we always feel sad and angry when people we care so much about are struggling, but this goes beyond that. It weighs me down for far longer than it should.

I’ve learned to try to detach from what they are feeling, so that I don’t feel it so intensely right along with them. The problem is, the emotions I’m constantly regulating require fighting a battle with intense feelings not just daily, but sometimes, hourly, and that is the reason why being the family empath can feel like a curse. I have to constantly check myself, regroup, deep breathe, and remind myself that my family’s emotions don’t have to control mine.

If you’re not an empath, you probably have no idea what I’m talking about. You think I’m just a hot mess. You go about your day unaffected by those around you, but those that are empaths are fighting daily to regulate their emotions in an appropriate, healthy manner.

A phone call from a family member giving me some bad news can bring me down for the week, even if the news doesn’t affect me, and at 47 years old, I still find myself fighting the urge to get wrapped up in my parents’ issues and worries. I still feel the same way I did as a child, living under their roof, and trying to keep the peace for everyone.

I’m finding that the key to living your best life as an empath is to find balance, find time for myself (whether I want to or not).

On one hand, I love being able to feel so deeply, relate so intensely, and make others feel loved and cared for. That is a gift. On the other hand, sometimes I want to just take a freaking break and not feel like my world is going to crumble just because someone in the family is upset over something I have zero control over. For that reason, sometimes being the family empath feels like the ultimate curse.

The Trauma of Betrayal

So what is betrayal? Well you certainly know it when you experience it. It is a gut-wrenching experience, a searing knife into your heart. You feel it before you even think about it. Then when you start thinking about it it plagues you day and night. Betrayal is treachery, deception, and violated trust. It can appear in as a broken promise, duplicity, lies, sexual affairs, and even affairs of the heart. The injury is so great some people seem to never recover. 

We are taught that to be truly happy in life we must learn to trust others. And so, often reluctantly, we let done our guard and we trust. When relationships become psychologically intimate, we have put our trust in another. We have made ourselves vulnerable to another person. We believe this person accepts us unconditionally, believes in us, and “has our back.” We cherish such a relationship because we believe our partner is understanding, faithful, and devoted in good times and bad. In a psychologically intimate relationship there is a powerful attachment and bond that is formed. Not only does this bond say to us we are understood, appreciated, and unconditionally accepted, it says we are safe. So powerful is this bond that there is evidence that the presence of a psychologically intimate partner can positively affect blood pressure and stress hormones. Psychologists have long known the deepest craving of human nature is the desire to be appreciated and to be safe.

Betrayal by an intimate partner violates these core human desires and needs! It destroys the core assumptions upon which all enduring relationships must rest. Dr. Jeff Lating and I have written extensively about the important role that violated assumptions concerning yourself and others plays in the development of PTSD.

Betrayal represents the traumatic death, not of a person, but of a relationship (familial, romantic or friendship). So as you might expect individuals who have been betrayed by a partner in a trusting psychologically intimate relationship experience many of the symptoms of PTSD. They will often report guilt, depression, psychological numbing, suspiciousness, hyper-vigilance, withdrawal from others,  nightmares, and continually, almost addictively, reliving both the positive moments (longingly) and the negative moments (painfully) of the relationship, especially the moment of the revelation of the betrayal. Again as you might expect the betrayal engenders a terrible loss of self-esteem, the rise of self-doubt, the inability to trust again, and the desire to avoid ANY kind of close relationships in the future.

Why does betrayal trauma hurt so much?

Intimate bonding with another person serves an important developmental role. It enhances the chances of survival in an otherwise hostile environment. As a result there are biological substrates that support the formation of psychologically intimate relationships. The hormone oxytocin increases the likelihood of forming an intimate relationship. Deep within the center of the brain, the cingulate cortex is believed to play a role in fostering attachment and bonding with others. Betrayal is likely to adversely affect these substrates. We know that violated attachments result in a rise in the immunosuppressive and catabolic hormone cortisol along with an apparent hypersensitivity within the amygdalocentric fight and flight centers of the limbic system. The psychological injury of betrayal is likely to create a functional physical injury within brain that is very challenging to recover from. Betrayal trauma does not only psychologically damage a person. Science proves that it physically damages one as well.