First off: I rant way, way too fucking much on here and I feel bad that I vent more than I actually contribute. Very sorry about that, all you lovely souls that dwell here. I don't have anywhere else to go, is all.
Anyway. To the point.
I'm an absolute fucking moron. I'm too idealistic, I'm too desperate. All my life I've wanted so badly for certain things to be true that I'd ruin my chances of standing on my own two feet all for the possibility of the impossible or unlikely. I'd jump through hoops, do some bullshit mental gymnastics. Even in my adulthood I do it all of the goddamn time.
Why? Why am I like this? I hate myself so much, I let my life slip away, constantly made the same choices, always rationalizing them. Why do I even exist? Why was I born? I want my mother to love me so, so much, but she doesn't anymore and I'm not entirely sure she ever did for any meaningful amount of time.
I had the option once, to go live in a group home when I was still a teenager, but I refused. I wanted to stay with her. I wanted familiarity, I wanted the impossible. I fooled myself into thinking one day she'd rescue me somehow. That her behavior would just magically change one day, if only I tried to get through to her enough, but it (obviously) never did.
Even on previous threads I've made, I paint her with an idealistic brush, saying she loved me at one point, that she had genuine concern for me at one point. But looking back, I don't know how true that really is. Did she care at one point, or was she just embarrassed by having a mentally ill child and attempting to fix it?
Because honestly, I don't have any childhood memories of this bitch actually displaying affection or concern toward me. I don't have any in adulthood, and very few in adolescence. She's watched me attempt to commit suicide before without a care, she's insulted and berated me while I was having mental breakdowns in front of her, she's asked me if I wanted to die so badly, why didn't I already do it? And so on.
I was often prevented from/not supported in my attempts to develop hobbies and otherwise improve myself, I was always made to feel inferior and abnormal for expressing any kind of emotion, from joy in
listening to a particular genre of music (nobody even listens to that, what's wrong with you?), to sorrow at the fact that MY LIFE IS UNBEARABLY HORRIBLE (you're crazy, you're retarded, what are you even talking about? No one thinks that way).
I was blamed for the deaths of pets that I loved, told that I killed them only to find out as a teenager that my stepfather shot them and she was only taking it out on me. She's threatened to stab me with knives when I was tiny, having a tantrum, and she's called me ugly in public for no apparent reason. She'd promise to go for walks with me when as a teenager I tried to conquer my anxiety, only to never do it and then blame me later for not going outside/getting over my anxiety/developing social skills.
I was talking to her tonight about how my stepfather molested me right under her nose, doing it suspiciously near her in our thin walled home. Her response was to blame me, it was my fault I was molested, it's not on her because I didn't tell her. I genuinely wonder if she knew all along. It seems unlikely she didn't hear.
She's told me I should never have kids, because I'd screw them up. She said this to me when I was twelve years old. And it just goes on and on, yet I fool myself into thinking she gives a shit to this day. Several months ago, I was homeless, because for the first time in my life I decided to up and leave.
I think I was doing better (mentally) on the streets than I have in my whole life, but my stupid ass crawled back to her around Christmas. I wanted to spend Christmas with her, I wanted her to love me. I made myself think we could fix things, find closure or something. That's not what happened (obviously).
I still live with her and in a couple months I'll CTB because honestly, abusive parent or not, leaving home again will not fix my problems. I'm far too damaged, too defective at this point for anything to ever matter. I never got to have even a remotely normal life, no peers, no milestones, nothing except rotting and the world isn't kind enough for moronic creatures like myself to ever heal in it.
But GODDAMN, why does my brain want her to love me so fucking much? Why does my brain want people to love me in general? If I'm not crying about my mom, I'm crying about my lack of ever having had a friend. Why can't my brain just let me fully give up for once? I'm so tired of the false hope and the idiotic decisions it leads me to make.
Why does it have to feel so bad that she knows I'll kill myself at some point and doesn't even care? Why does the fact that I never got to do anything have to sting so fucking much? It's not like I ever tasted any of the things I cling to. You know? I'm not a person that once accomplished things and moved forward with their life only to be knocked down, I'm not someone that once had a relationship and lost it, or anything like that. I never had any inkling of any of the things I think I want.
I have never had any family beyond the people who have abused me, I have no idea what it feels like to be loved by someone. I have no idea, beyond online discourse and observation, how it feels to be normal in literally any capacity. No. Fucking. Clue. They say you can't miss what you don't know and I wish that were actually true.
I sob and bitch and moan all day, everyday, acting as if I've been robbed. Wronged. Murdered. And maybe I have been, but so what? :( It's idiotic to care. It doesn't matter now. Pointless. Stupid dumb idiot brain. Please leave me alone. Just let me be numb until I CTB. It won't be long.
Anyway. To the point.
I'm an absolute fucking moron. I'm too idealistic, I'm too desperate. All my life I've wanted so badly for certain things to be true that I'd ruin my chances of standing on my own two feet all for the possibility of the impossible or unlikely. I'd jump through hoops, do some bullshit mental gymnastics. Even in my adulthood I do it all of the goddamn time.
Why? Why am I like this? I hate myself so much, I let my life slip away, constantly made the same choices, always rationalizing them. Why do I even exist? Why was I born? I want my mother to love me so, so much, but she doesn't anymore and I'm not entirely sure she ever did for any meaningful amount of time.
I had the option once, to go live in a group home when I was still a teenager, but I refused. I wanted to stay with her. I wanted familiarity, I wanted the impossible. I fooled myself into thinking one day she'd rescue me somehow. That her behavior would just magically change one day, if only I tried to get through to her enough, but it (obviously) never did.
Even on previous threads I've made, I paint her with an idealistic brush, saying she loved me at one point, that she had genuine concern for me at one point. But looking back, I don't know how true that really is. Did she care at one point, or was she just embarrassed by having a mentally ill child and attempting to fix it?
Because honestly, I don't have any childhood memories of this bitch actually displaying affection or concern toward me. I don't have any in adulthood, and very few in adolescence. She's watched me attempt to commit suicide before without a care, she's insulted and berated me while I was having mental breakdowns in front of her, she's asked me if I wanted to die so badly, why didn't I already do it? And so on.
I was often prevented from/not supported in my attempts to develop hobbies and otherwise improve myself, I was always made to feel inferior and abnormal for expressing any kind of emotion, from joy in
listening to a particular genre of music (nobody even listens to that, what's wrong with you?), to sorrow at the fact that MY LIFE IS UNBEARABLY HORRIBLE (you're crazy, you're retarded, what are you even talking about? No one thinks that way).
I was blamed for the deaths of pets that I loved, told that I killed them only to find out as a teenager that my stepfather shot them and she was only taking it out on me. She's threatened to stab me with knives when I was tiny, having a tantrum, and she's called me ugly in public for no apparent reason. She'd promise to go for walks with me when as a teenager I tried to conquer my anxiety, only to never do it and then blame me later for not going outside/getting over my anxiety/developing social skills.
I was talking to her tonight about how my stepfather molested me right under her nose, doing it suspiciously near her in our thin walled home. Her response was to blame me, it was my fault I was molested, it's not on her because I didn't tell her. I genuinely wonder if she knew all along. It seems unlikely she didn't hear.
She's told me I should never have kids, because I'd screw them up. She said this to me when I was twelve years old. And it just goes on and on, yet I fool myself into thinking she gives a shit to this day. Several months ago, I was homeless, because for the first time in my life I decided to up and leave.
I think I was doing better (mentally) on the streets than I have in my whole life, but my stupid ass crawled back to her around Christmas. I wanted to spend Christmas with her, I wanted her to love me. I made myself think we could fix things, find closure or something. That's not what happened (obviously).
I still live with her and in a couple months I'll CTB because honestly, abusive parent or not, leaving home again will not fix my problems. I'm far too damaged, too defective at this point for anything to ever matter. I never got to have even a remotely normal life, no peers, no milestones, nothing except rotting and the world isn't kind enough for moronic creatures like myself to ever heal in it.
But GODDAMN, why does my brain want her to love me so fucking much? Why does my brain want people to love me in general? If I'm not crying about my mom, I'm crying about my lack of ever having had a friend. Why can't my brain just let me fully give up for once? I'm so tired of the false hope and the idiotic decisions it leads me to make.
Why does it have to feel so bad that she knows I'll kill myself at some point and doesn't even care? Why does the fact that I never got to do anything have to sting so fucking much? It's not like I ever tasted any of the things I cling to. You know? I'm not a person that once accomplished things and moved forward with their life only to be knocked down, I'm not someone that once had a relationship and lost it, or anything like that. I never had any inkling of any of the things I think I want.
I have never had any family beyond the people who have abused me, I have no idea what it feels like to be loved by someone. I have no idea, beyond online discourse and observation, how it feels to be normal in literally any capacity. No. Fucking. Clue. They say you can't miss what you don't know and I wish that were actually true.
I sob and bitch and moan all day, everyday, acting as if I've been robbed. Wronged. Murdered. And maybe I have been, but so what? :( It's idiotic to care. It doesn't matter now. Pointless. Stupid dumb idiot brain. Please leave me alone. Just let me be numb until I CTB. It won't be long.
