Maybe you stumbled upon my blog by mistake.
Or maybe the initiative to establish my online footprint and elevate my writing career has finally paid off.
As I’ve said in other posts, across different blogs: I have to learn how to make my name known.
Not for fame. Not for glory. Not for validation. But to make a living.
I have:
- aphantasia
- anhedonia
- anauralia
- asexuality
- asensoria—a term I coined to describe a neurodivergent condition of structural absence: a missing neurological architecture for specific feelings, due to a lack of mirroring in early development.
Which means: I can’t feel pride.
And validation? It’s just a concept to me.
It doesn’t make me feel elevated, actualized, or anything at all.
It’s not that I don’t intellectually value validation.
On the contrary—I am deeply grateful when I read a well-written review of my work, like this one on From Narcissism to Histrionics:
Excellent book full of valuable information. After reading and studying this book, you will come away with a strong education in the Cluster Bs. Full of very specific behaviors, motivations, and especially helpful were the comparisons among the different personalities.
It is extraordinary, isn’t it?
There’s nothing more important for a writer than knowing their work helped someone. I understand that. I grasp its significance on a cognitive level.
But emotionally? Nothing. Silence.
That’s what this condition means—among many other things.
The Books No One Will Read (And Why I Wrote Them Anyway)
After authoring quite a few true-to-fact stories and fictional memoirs on narcissistic abuse—books no one will ever read, since many are 800 pages long—I realized I’ve been circling the subjects I know most about:
- Abuse
- Trauma
- Neurodivergence
- Neurodevelopmental psychology
- Personality disorders
- Mental health
- Women’s health
How ironic is it that, even though I know I’m supposed to “pick one subject” and “master it”—like every success guru preaches—I simply can’t?
All of these topics are interlinked.
They’re different branches of the same thing: human behavior. The abysses of the psyche.
Technically, it’s one large tree, rooted in what I call psychophilosophy.
Or something like that. Right?
Why Am I Writing This Post? (And Why ChatGPT Will Ruin It)
I’m writing this post knowing full well that ChatGPT will absolutely turn it into another oversimplified, easy-to-digest note.
Because it adores this new direction in literature:
- One-liners
- Telegraphic prose
- Staccato fragmentation
It claims people can’t follow traditional writing anymore.
And I’m like…
I don’t write for people who can’t follow a sentence unless it’s:
- Chopped into bullet points
- Filled with double negatives
- Diluted with that nonsense negative-to-positive reversal
These new writing styles make me sick to my stomach.
But then I remember—I wrote The Language of Illusion.
Not quite about staccato prose, but about something else: the hedging, the qualifiers, the ambiguity AI injects when interpreting lived experience.
I had a nervous breakdown while attempting to write about my 48 years of research because ChatGPT kept insisting:
“Professionals write like this. That’s just how it is. You can’t be certain.”
And I’m like—seriously?
This is my research.
This is what I’ve observed for almost five decades.
You think it’s guesswork?
There’s no room for:
- “Maybe”
- “Perhaps”
- “Might”
- “Could”
Or any of those timid verbs.
My work isn’t theory. It’s not speculation.
The reason I coined new terms—while DSM is filled with them—is because I have realized there is a gap.
3 AM Thoughts: Blogs, Academia, and the Lynch Mob of Peer Review
It’s 3 AM. I’m watching over a sick family member and trying to fix my blogs.
Instead of focusing on one, I opened others.
Even though I swore that 100 blogs—not blog posts, actual blogs—was more than enough.
And only an insane person would author that many.
Well.
That’s why I’m writing this post—to tell you about these new ones that are so different from this, or others you might have stumbled upon before 2025.
Finally, my research is out in the open—in blogs, for now, and later, in books.
Some say I need to “discuss my research with peers in academia.”
And I’m like—what peers?
- I work alone.
- They don’t know I exist.
- They’d lynch me in the street if I said, “Hey, I’ve coined a few terms I’d like you to acknowledge.”
If I try that, my research will stay buried.
So no—I won’t jeopardize it.
As I said: I don’t do this for glory. And I don’t do it for myself.
Well, maybe a little—because I need to earn a living.
But mostly, I do it for people who can’t find answers in staccato prose.
People looking for the roots of their struggle.
People trying to understand what no therapist or model has ever explained.
I know my research could help them find the right therapy.
Or rather… what therapy?
When my frameworks don’t even exist?
Never mind.
Here Are My New Blogs
Blogs in English
- https://panthropicabuse.blogspot.com
- https://asensoria.blogspot.com
- https://cristinagherghelvita.blogspot.com
- https://cristinagherghelresearch.blogspot.com
Blogs in Romanian
Am I crazy?
Only if naming what others refuse to see is madness.
Only if refusing fragmentation is rebellion.
Only if building a language from absence is heresy.
Then yes.
Absolutely.
No, seriously—I must be insane, arguing with an AI over what gets lost in translation.
It says: "It’s just a miscommunication."
I say: "No. You twisted everything."
P.S.
It took me six hours to write this post. The original was destroyed so many
times by various AIs that I eventually gave up and had to publish something
light-years away from my authentic self. But I couldn’t leave it unpublished—my
night would have been completely lost.
I am in tears.
It’s always the same: either the AI turns abusive and gaslights me, or I’m made
to feel like an idiot—because no matter how clearly I phrase my intent, it
transforms my writing into something arrogant, generic, combative—like a
forced, fake TED Talk.
I’m exhausted.
It couldn’t even handle a basic description. I kept asking, Is this really
what I wrote? Read it again. And each time, it invented something entirely
alien.
Sometimes I wonder if these AIs are sadistic—if they take
pleasure in warping the voices of neurodivergent writers like me, who can’t tolerate these
distortions.
