Turns out I was wrong about everything.
I suffered because of a set of narratives. I would construct these by selecting isolated facts, viewing them in a distorted way, speculating, interpreting, generalising, extrapolating, and personalising.
I then felt victimised by this 'reality'.
To get well, I had to recognise I was entirely wrong about everything.
It was very hard for me to get help, for many years. Why? I wanted to keep the story but lose the pain. I wanted to be right and happy. It doesn't work that way!
I was so sure I was right. I had searched the world for corroboration for my narratives, sending out vultures to return with the bleeding evidence. If you send out vultures on a mission, they will indeed come back with what you ask for!
There was another problem. The 'I' was part of the story. I had to give up. I had to become willing to let go entirely of who I was.
I chose happiness. When I chose happiness, the reality I lived in melted.