"Why I Felt Like I Was Losing My Mind"

When every problem I brought up became my fault, this was the worst tactic he used on me because it would lure me into something I wasn’t even talking about, at 62, this was just crazy but I took the bait many many times. I almost lost my mind and in the end I was spinning, it took months to clear the crazies. I had to cut off all contact. …Carlin

There’s a specific kind of madness that grows in silence — not the peaceful kind, but the heavy, charged kind that fills the room when truth is avoided.

I didn’t “go crazy” all at once.
It was slow. Subtle.
It happened each time I tried to talk about something that hurt, and instead of conversation, I got blame.

If I said I felt dismissed, he said I was being too sensitive.
If I said I needed more connection, he said I was needy.
If I said something didn’t feel right, he said I was starting drama.
Every issue I raised — no matter how gently, how vulnerably — became my fault.

And eventually, I stopped trusting myself.
Because when someone you love keeps insisting that your reaction is the real issue, you start to believe it.
You start to believe you’re the problem.
You start to believe you’re too much, too emotional, too unstable — even when all you wanted was resolution, not resentment.

I wasn’t being dramatic.
I was trying to repair.
I wasn’t attacking.
I was trying to connect.
But in his world, any truth that made him uncomfortable was treated as an accusation — and therefore, redirected back at me.

It made me feel insane. Like I was trapped in a house of mirrors, where nothing I said landed honestly. The reflection was always twisted. And when you live like that long enough, you begin to doubt the shape of your own soul.

But I’ve learned something powerful since then:
People who cannot face their own behavior will always redirect it.
They need someone else to carry the shame.
They need a scapegoat, because if they faced their own patterns, they’d have to grow. They’d have to feel.
And some people aren’t ready for that.

But I am.
I’m no longer willing to be the landing place for someone else's unhealed pain.
I don’t accept the blame anymore.
I choose clarity over chaos.
And I trust what I feel — even if no one else validates it.

If you’re reading this and it feels familiar, please know:
You're not crazy.
You're not too sensitive.
You're not the problem for noticing the problem.

You’re just waking up to the truth — and that’s the first, bravest step out.