I want it to be clear that the only reason I am writing about this is because I have nothing else to do. I'm not making a manifesto, or a suicide note, or a letter to friends to read in secrecy -- no, instead I just plan to write about this and anyone who stumbles upon it can see it. There's come a point in my life where I realize the worst of things has not yet happened to me, and whenever something bad happens I am pulled back into the mind of a small child; this has become so utterly bad that I've embarrassed myself talking about my problems to friends over and over because it's bugging me like a fuck ton.
This will be my first catalogue of various things in my life and a sort of psycho-analysis of how they've made me this way.
Currently I reside in my old home, though in around a year I'm moving out to an apartment complex with my friends who have also had their share of a bad life. The two of them are extraordinarily stronger than me and have never shown an ill amount of weakness as I have. Most days are spent inside of my room working on games, projects, songs, and talking to people online; Better yet, today might have been the first day I decided to go outside in an infinitesimal amount of time. An argument sparked between my step father and my mom that -- of course -- I am not particularly alien to, though each time it happens it sparks a sort of primordial fear inside of me that makes me listen to it all. It takes me back to the time where I was a little kid being hit by my father and neglected by my mother, who instead was focused on getting us out of this blasted circumstance than to care for us, shown by the way she acted when we were left alone. I was a smart child and my mom made sure that I knew that. She would frequently berate me over things I do wrong to the point where she would take my things away if ANYTHING I did was viewed as a wronghood; let's say if I ever left a chip bag empty and in the cupboard, if I ever decided I wanted to stay up a little later than usual, or if I talked back to her she would destroy my things and take away the rest. I had more days I was sleeping in a room with nothing than otherwise. One of my most core memories is her having grounded me and scolding me for being a brat because she had a bad day with her fiance at the time. There were days in that month-long grounding where I'd just gaze at my siblings playing my computer, wishing I could get on again.
My mom constantly told me I was not worth anything, and I was a burden to her and everyone else. If I wasn't succeeding I was hardly a person at all. She told me, in her own words, that she would ruin my life if I didn't do the things I should do -- in return she got a mostly idle child who couldn't get motivated to do anything. 2 weeks from the last day of school she barged in the door, rushed down my room, and took my computer away because I had ended the year with Cs. She said she was going to ground me forever because I was a horrible person. She didn't tell me the true reason why until days later.
My theory on this (just to make sure it's not a totally useless vent article) is that she was a work-minded person with traditional values, and she had got done being emotionally abused by her partner and constantly scolded by her parents. She acted like a child who just learnt that punishment is the best way to raise a child, and now it's affected me so much that I can't help but put myself through the same role. I do the same to my friends and myself. Every time I am not working on something I feel like I am useless, and that I need to end my own life before I embarrass myself; ironically, this causes for more catatonic days where I lay still and do nothing. I can't remember a single time I smiled when I was a kid or had a nice day with my parents, and that lack of joy still follows me today, in the bedroom, at school, wherever I could possibly be this sort of doominess follows where I understand that bad things are inevitable and coming my way as fast as possible.
When I got older I wanted to stick up for myself, for better or for worse. I was still scared of the world and people so much so that I would neglect socializing; if I was in a room with someone I would try my hardest to inch into the corner until they didn't notice me. This made me inevitably cynical. The only interactions I had with anyone anymore was something negative -- rude words, stares, physical confrontations either started by others or myself, and so forth. Every person was not an individual but a potential enemy to me through my teenage and adolescent years. One day kids were laughing at me and saying some retarded shit in like, 6th grade, so I whipped around and smacked them with my laptop as hard as I could. They ran away laughing and I got expelled.
At this time I started to handled fear differently; If I was a bad, idle person for feeling fear, and all things scared me, I should just trek through them and do the exact opposite of what I want to do. I made this such an embraced habit that I would intentionally start up confrontations just to see myself tough it out. My mom still held a focus on me, even more so now that I wasn't exactly listening to her. One day she came into the house after we moved and threw shit everywhere while stomping to my room. Ever since then I hid under the bed when I heard her come home, and not an inkling of rebellion hid inside of me.
Now I can't readily process fear, and when bad moments come to me I just let them happen. Either I deserve it or I brought it around myself or the world is doing shit to fuck me over and that's okay. No matter the reason I lay down and let it come. It's got to the point where I can't tell if all the bad things I do is a fault of my own or a fault of my enviornment, and I rapidly swing between believing the former and the latter.
When I was 13 years old and mostly over all the queer feelings I had (to please my mom, I loved her) arguments became common between my mother and my step-father, my real father having been long gone out of my life. I had heard tale of my biological father, but a lot of the things he did to me I don't remember. All I know is that he hit me a lot and he was a nazi of some kind.
Mr. Step-dad was not happy with the state of my mom and I believe they tried to get better together at the start, but in the middle he believed he needed more control over the relationship. At this point there were nightly scream fights that I had thought were a thing of the past, so one day I decided to go down and try to solve it. My step-father told me to fuck off, and for the first time in so long, my mom came up to me and hugged me. She cried into my shoulder and told me that nobody should say that to me. She told me that I need to know I matter a lot to her, and nobody would insult her poor baby. That was about the time I stopped feeling so angry at her and started to give her pity, even though she never showed that level of care frequently enough. Around 2 months or so later she stopped abusing me entirely; in the wake of her hatred was a melancholy, out of guilt because she knows what she's done to us or sadness from her current relationship. I couldn't tell you.
I decided to embrace myself a little more afterward, and even though the worst had passed I felt tense around her and in the house. The sympathy I felt for her and the guilt I had over my supposed mistakes caused me not to realize I was being abused until I was 15 years old.
Things are okay now, mostly. Today another scream fight happened and it got so bad that I thought it was going to be the last one, but ultimately it won't be. One time we even called the cops because my parents were about to kill each other; my step-father strangled my mom, and my mom kicked down the door to the bedroom in a drunken fit. She drinks a lot now and I guess we have to deal with it.
Overall I feel bad for the people around me, and when I am in a usual mood I try to disregard these problems to make sure I focus on actual shit. I am feeling sentimental now. The people outside still hate me and I'm thinking about that. I walked outside to get away from the house and some guy called me a bitch in his car. He drove past, but I caught a glimpse, and I had not recognized him at all.
I am beginning to feel that the selfish and egocentric pool of misery I soak in has been noticed by other people.