struggles_inc
life is a highway and i wanna wreck my car
- Jun 24, 2023
- 358
I have decided to reanalyze my life story. Maybe shine some light on why I got better and stopped wanting to die. I`ve spent almost 2 years on this website, and throughout these 2 years I have transformed myself into someone else entirely.
This post is a little rewrite of my old post.
TL;DR. I accepted the fact that I am a fucking jerk who belongs in a mental asylum. I say it without self-loathing, but with a kind of challenge to whoever decides to mess with me. And with a lot of self-love.
Anyway, I was born into an upper middle-class household. I have a cousin and a half-sister from my dad's side. My dad's family wanted me to be a miscarriage, because they wanted dad's money to go to my half-sister. Tough luck. My dad died when I was about 9. He loved me very much. I think he was the only person in the world who loved me unconditionally. Later I learned that he showed his soft side only to me, as he was abusive to my mom, stabbed her with a knife once. He also abused my half-sister, who was older than me. But not me, no. He absolutely adored me. Maybe he felt that I was like him.
My childhood was warm. Weird, but warm. My mom told me that I really liked cutting things up with scissors. I would do it obsessively. Hair, clothes, furniture. My mother also shared a story of me crushing a boy`s arm with a window frame after I convinced him to stick his hand out of the window. She said I looked fascinated. I never understood the feeling of guilt. Instead of guilt there was fear of being punished and irritation from being lectured. I always thought that's what guilt was. I hold the arm crushing sound close to heart. As a good childhood memory.
By the age of 11 I was sexually assaulted by my friend's grandfather. He made sure I didn't talk about it for a couple years. He made me promise that and "forgive him" while we were at the pond alone, as if I didn't understand that he would drown me if I said something wrong. That was the first time I clearly heard my inner voice. My inner voice said I was in immediate danger, and I had to lie and manipulate to make it out in one piece. So I did.
I was sexually assaulted again when I was about 12. By a girl this time, a teenager. She made me do stuff and did stuff to me. Being in a physical relationship with anyone brought me shivers at first, but then I started deviating. Eventually, in my sixteens, I developed brutal fetishes I will not be mentioning.
At 13 I was cyberbullied for about a year. A few people on the internet wrote me messages saying "kys", even though I changed phone numbers. Turned out that my online friend gave those people my new phone numbers. I stopped trusting people. My mom always told me that other people were enemies, which I didn't believe at first.
School was hell. I went to a school for "gifted kids". Each class covered more than in average schools and difficulty levels were higher. There were pure "geniuses" in my class, and my mom never missed the opportunity to compare me to these kids, driving me into meltdown after meltdown. After those "geniuses" switched schools (gee, I wonder why), I stopped being second-best and became one of the tops of my class. My happiness was short-lived, however, because that was the year my dad died. Everything went downhill so fast.
My mom started those wine sessions with my cousin. My cousin would often come over and drink with my mom till night. Sometimes I had to stop them from doing reckless shit like going partying in the middle of the night. Sometimes I couldn't stop them and just cried in my room. They often could leave the windows open (we had a cat and lived 10+ floors up) or leave the stove on. I had to keep everything in check while mom went out with my cousin. I had a safety protocol; worst nights I got out of my room to check the pulses of the people who had blacked out from drinking. Eventually I started to hate my cousin. She would bring other people too — people I didn't know — and those strangers stayed in my house with my mom's silent approval. I was scared. I wished for it all to end. Once they got drunk, they started doing nonsense. One time my mom opened my laptop and started going through my private messages with literally anyone. Every dialogue window was opened and read through. My mom found me complaining to my friend about the drinking. I got punished.
I told my best friend about it. She seemed supportive, however… the same say my mom came home absolutely furious. Turns out, my friend told her mom everything in detail, and her mom told mine. Told her she's become an alcoholic. That day I thought my mom would fucking kill me. We managed to make peace after some time, but I learned a valuable lesson. Trust no one. Also, I decided to lie to my best friend from that point forward, because she would inform my mom and therefore be responsible for the lie if it ever unravels. I did it till middle school. I was fed up with everyone. Manipulating people became the only way to live.
I still had school to attend. I still had classes. Didn`t matter if my mom had a wine party in the middle of the night, I still had to get up the next day. Most of the time I had to think fast, copy home assignments, strike deals with my classmates to cover me. I knew nothing was free. Thankfully, I had money and cigarettes I stole from my cousin.
Then my cousin's husband started having severe liver problems due to alcohol. I had to pretend I was sad. In reality, that was a triumph. I celebrated that day. It wasn't long till my mom also encountered health issues due to the fucking wine sessions. She, however, had it much worse. She was hospitalized when I turned 14. She was in the hospital for a couple months. I had to manage on my own, and when I got sick, my family refused to care for me. My French teacher took me in and basically nurtured me back to life. I had extreme fever and literally couldn't move for a while. That was another lesson I learned. I don't have a family.
Finally, mom returned home. I had to take care of her until she fully recovered. She stopped drinking — more like she was prohibited to. Our relationship slowly mended, but not completely. My mom is very… fascinating, in a way. When I was a kid, she used to pridefully tell me that I was boring and she would wait for me to grow up and become interesting enough for her to talk to. She taught me a lot. She is the reason I speak more than 4 languages now.
Though our relationship started to develop after she stopped drinking, and I knew all along that she loves me, I never trusted her anymore. And there was something else. I felt… broken. I felt violated and violent. I felt a deep sense of anger, I felt a deep crippling sadness of being betrayed, being beyond repair, and the voice I've been hearing in my soul became louder. I became fascinated with gore, stared bullying my classmates, and distanced myself from my "best friend". I couldn't handle being a good person anymore.
I have developed a new hobby, though, and that was running a blog. At that point I didn't know that this blog would become an ad agency in ten years, albeit small. But I knew that at that exact moment this blog was the only positive thing in my life.
At that time, I started having trouble at school. My teachers, except for English and French, decided to collectively abuse me, I guess. I was verbally humiliated in class, my failures were public — each failed Math test was rigorously laughed at, and each Chemistry test was rewritten 3-5 times. I wasn't top of the class anymore. And I wasn't a good person too. Oh, how my mom didn't like that. She hired tutors. I had extra classes every day, literally, including weekends. And she decided to restrict me from running my blog — which grew pretty much at the time, and I even started to earn my lunch money from it. That's when I finally understood — I must pretend and lie to protect what I want.
So I did. Suddenly, I stopped talking shit to my classmates and teachers. I started studying. I returned to my "best friend". My mom thought her method worked. I thought fuck them all. I ran my fucking blog, the only thing that gave me hope. Because of that my politics were harsh. I got rid of a lot of my competitors by taking down their projects. For me this was literally about survival. That fucking small thing was everything keeping me alive. I had no reason to live otherwise. I wanted to live so badly. Yet I wanted to die too.
However, my teachers never stopped harassing me. Even when my mom tried to intervene. So, before graduation I changed schools… and went to a normal one. For normal kids. That was the first time I ever felt appreciated. Teachers there were absolute angels. The librarian let me sleep in the library. I got praised. Finally, I was number one. I got perfect grades. No one humiliated me, yelled at me, hit me.
I graduated school, scored 100/100 on my English exam and got into a prestigious university. Again, fucking "gifted" people, God damn it. It was bloodshed all over again. However, I was prepared and each day I grew more and more cynical. Failing smart people on purpose was fun. Doing assignments for the rich kids was also fun.
Amidst all this I tried to come out to my mom as gay. I failed miserably, as she screamed at me that all my achievements were bogus and she just paid through her nose to make me into something useful. I remembered this. I didn't cry, I just asked my friend to pretend to be my hetero partner for a few weeks. My mom calmed down. She never apologized for what she said. Never does.
My project grew. I finished my degree, opened a small agency and moved to another country. A lot of that was due to my family's money. My mom is always generous with me when it comes to money, even though I rarely asked. Once again, I know she loves me. She loves me with her money and plans; she gives me opportunities. She didn't give me hugs when I needed them though, and now I don't need them anymore. I love her too, but there are things that are already set in stone for me. I will forever keep my distance. I will forever dislike my cousin. It doesn't matter that they don't drink together anymore.
After I moved, I've had two years of isolation in a foreign country. But I also found it funny how similar it was to what I felt my whole life. I have always been an alien. Foreign, uninvited, unwanted. It doesn't matter to me whether I'm at home or elsewhere.
This year I reinvented myself. Last year was my peak, I think everything I had accumulated just came out. I didn't dry out for three months, I just drank every day until I puked. Garbage was piling up in my house, cockroaches appeared, it was total crap. I was planning to cash out a couple of thousand euros and leave them in the apartment with an apology note to the landlord. Money for a month's rent and cleaning. Serious cleaning. From traces of decomposition, because I'm alone in the country, I have no one here, so they wouldn't have looked for a body for a long time. I just started to collapse, basically, implode. As I already said, as a kid I used to cut things a lot, I fucking loved doing it, I got yelled at for it because I was ruining furniture, but I couldn't stop. I used to cut myself. I would cut others too. And I really wanted to. And I hated myself for wanting to, and for not feeling sorry, not feeling guilty when I do something bad. I didn't accept myself for a very long time and attempts to break my back eventually led me to a puddle of vomit and a cockroach crawling on me while I was lying unconscious.
I decided to quit. My method was to hang myself. I made myself a slipknot, smeared my neck with Vaseline and sat on the couch.
And I started thinking. I thought for a long time. About everything, just a conversation with my head. Days stretched after hours, I stopped drinking because I needed to think. It was like, in retrospect, a cocoon into which a caterpillar crawled. And finally, this long-awaited thought came to me: I am not broken at all, and the only reason why I want to commit suicide is because I want freedom. I felt like a rabid beast in a cage, which cannot be itself, so as not to hurt others.
But why I care about them if I do not feel regret? After this question, everything fell into place for me. I don't give a fuck. I am bad, terrible, and I don't give a fuck. I decided to sit on this thought. To see if it would go away. But months passed, and this thought only turned into a mantra. I am bad and I don't give a fuck, try to stop me. No more cages.
I'm currently at the end of my master's program. I plan on getting a second degree. My agency is ok; I have people to delegate the management to. I have a boyfriend who says he loves me. That's cute, I guess.
My mom once said that I am incapable of feeling love. I believe that. My mom also said she doesn't consider me family, because I refused to dress up as she likes. She really likes to hit the painful spot. Always managed to pull that off, but now I don't really feel anything. I have come to such peace with myself. Sometimes I would sabotage someone I don't like just for the thrill and the feeling of my pulse. I learned to control my urges and do not cause physical harm to myself or others, though. Besides that, there is stillness now. No more willing to die.
I wish everyone here that peace. Thank you.
This post is a little rewrite of my old post.
TL;DR. I accepted the fact that I am a fucking jerk who belongs in a mental asylum. I say it without self-loathing, but with a kind of challenge to whoever decides to mess with me. And with a lot of self-love.
Anyway, I was born into an upper middle-class household. I have a cousin and a half-sister from my dad's side. My dad's family wanted me to be a miscarriage, because they wanted dad's money to go to my half-sister. Tough luck. My dad died when I was about 9. He loved me very much. I think he was the only person in the world who loved me unconditionally. Later I learned that he showed his soft side only to me, as he was abusive to my mom, stabbed her with a knife once. He also abused my half-sister, who was older than me. But not me, no. He absolutely adored me. Maybe he felt that I was like him.
My childhood was warm. Weird, but warm. My mom told me that I really liked cutting things up with scissors. I would do it obsessively. Hair, clothes, furniture. My mother also shared a story of me crushing a boy`s arm with a window frame after I convinced him to stick his hand out of the window. She said I looked fascinated. I never understood the feeling of guilt. Instead of guilt there was fear of being punished and irritation from being lectured. I always thought that's what guilt was. I hold the arm crushing sound close to heart. As a good childhood memory.
By the age of 11 I was sexually assaulted by my friend's grandfather. He made sure I didn't talk about it for a couple years. He made me promise that and "forgive him" while we were at the pond alone, as if I didn't understand that he would drown me if I said something wrong. That was the first time I clearly heard my inner voice. My inner voice said I was in immediate danger, and I had to lie and manipulate to make it out in one piece. So I did.
I was sexually assaulted again when I was about 12. By a girl this time, a teenager. She made me do stuff and did stuff to me. Being in a physical relationship with anyone brought me shivers at first, but then I started deviating. Eventually, in my sixteens, I developed brutal fetishes I will not be mentioning.
At 13 I was cyberbullied for about a year. A few people on the internet wrote me messages saying "kys", even though I changed phone numbers. Turned out that my online friend gave those people my new phone numbers. I stopped trusting people. My mom always told me that other people were enemies, which I didn't believe at first.
School was hell. I went to a school for "gifted kids". Each class covered more than in average schools and difficulty levels were higher. There were pure "geniuses" in my class, and my mom never missed the opportunity to compare me to these kids, driving me into meltdown after meltdown. After those "geniuses" switched schools (gee, I wonder why), I stopped being second-best and became one of the tops of my class. My happiness was short-lived, however, because that was the year my dad died. Everything went downhill so fast.
My mom started those wine sessions with my cousin. My cousin would often come over and drink with my mom till night. Sometimes I had to stop them from doing reckless shit like going partying in the middle of the night. Sometimes I couldn't stop them and just cried in my room. They often could leave the windows open (we had a cat and lived 10+ floors up) or leave the stove on. I had to keep everything in check while mom went out with my cousin. I had a safety protocol; worst nights I got out of my room to check the pulses of the people who had blacked out from drinking. Eventually I started to hate my cousin. She would bring other people too — people I didn't know — and those strangers stayed in my house with my mom's silent approval. I was scared. I wished for it all to end. Once they got drunk, they started doing nonsense. One time my mom opened my laptop and started going through my private messages with literally anyone. Every dialogue window was opened and read through. My mom found me complaining to my friend about the drinking. I got punished.
I told my best friend about it. She seemed supportive, however… the same say my mom came home absolutely furious. Turns out, my friend told her mom everything in detail, and her mom told mine. Told her she's become an alcoholic. That day I thought my mom would fucking kill me. We managed to make peace after some time, but I learned a valuable lesson. Trust no one. Also, I decided to lie to my best friend from that point forward, because she would inform my mom and therefore be responsible for the lie if it ever unravels. I did it till middle school. I was fed up with everyone. Manipulating people became the only way to live.
I still had school to attend. I still had classes. Didn`t matter if my mom had a wine party in the middle of the night, I still had to get up the next day. Most of the time I had to think fast, copy home assignments, strike deals with my classmates to cover me. I knew nothing was free. Thankfully, I had money and cigarettes I stole from my cousin.
Then my cousin's husband started having severe liver problems due to alcohol. I had to pretend I was sad. In reality, that was a triumph. I celebrated that day. It wasn't long till my mom also encountered health issues due to the fucking wine sessions. She, however, had it much worse. She was hospitalized when I turned 14. She was in the hospital for a couple months. I had to manage on my own, and when I got sick, my family refused to care for me. My French teacher took me in and basically nurtured me back to life. I had extreme fever and literally couldn't move for a while. That was another lesson I learned. I don't have a family.
Finally, mom returned home. I had to take care of her until she fully recovered. She stopped drinking — more like she was prohibited to. Our relationship slowly mended, but not completely. My mom is very… fascinating, in a way. When I was a kid, she used to pridefully tell me that I was boring and she would wait for me to grow up and become interesting enough for her to talk to. She taught me a lot. She is the reason I speak more than 4 languages now.
Though our relationship started to develop after she stopped drinking, and I knew all along that she loves me, I never trusted her anymore. And there was something else. I felt… broken. I felt violated and violent. I felt a deep sense of anger, I felt a deep crippling sadness of being betrayed, being beyond repair, and the voice I've been hearing in my soul became louder. I became fascinated with gore, stared bullying my classmates, and distanced myself from my "best friend". I couldn't handle being a good person anymore.
I have developed a new hobby, though, and that was running a blog. At that point I didn't know that this blog would become an ad agency in ten years, albeit small. But I knew that at that exact moment this blog was the only positive thing in my life.
At that time, I started having trouble at school. My teachers, except for English and French, decided to collectively abuse me, I guess. I was verbally humiliated in class, my failures were public — each failed Math test was rigorously laughed at, and each Chemistry test was rewritten 3-5 times. I wasn't top of the class anymore. And I wasn't a good person too. Oh, how my mom didn't like that. She hired tutors. I had extra classes every day, literally, including weekends. And she decided to restrict me from running my blog — which grew pretty much at the time, and I even started to earn my lunch money from it. That's when I finally understood — I must pretend and lie to protect what I want.
So I did. Suddenly, I stopped talking shit to my classmates and teachers. I started studying. I returned to my "best friend". My mom thought her method worked. I thought fuck them all. I ran my fucking blog, the only thing that gave me hope. Because of that my politics were harsh. I got rid of a lot of my competitors by taking down their projects. For me this was literally about survival. That fucking small thing was everything keeping me alive. I had no reason to live otherwise. I wanted to live so badly. Yet I wanted to die too.
However, my teachers never stopped harassing me. Even when my mom tried to intervene. So, before graduation I changed schools… and went to a normal one. For normal kids. That was the first time I ever felt appreciated. Teachers there were absolute angels. The librarian let me sleep in the library. I got praised. Finally, I was number one. I got perfect grades. No one humiliated me, yelled at me, hit me.
I graduated school, scored 100/100 on my English exam and got into a prestigious university. Again, fucking "gifted" people, God damn it. It was bloodshed all over again. However, I was prepared and each day I grew more and more cynical. Failing smart people on purpose was fun. Doing assignments for the rich kids was also fun.
Amidst all this I tried to come out to my mom as gay. I failed miserably, as she screamed at me that all my achievements were bogus and she just paid through her nose to make me into something useful. I remembered this. I didn't cry, I just asked my friend to pretend to be my hetero partner for a few weeks. My mom calmed down. She never apologized for what she said. Never does.
My project grew. I finished my degree, opened a small agency and moved to another country. A lot of that was due to my family's money. My mom is always generous with me when it comes to money, even though I rarely asked. Once again, I know she loves me. She loves me with her money and plans; she gives me opportunities. She didn't give me hugs when I needed them though, and now I don't need them anymore. I love her too, but there are things that are already set in stone for me. I will forever keep my distance. I will forever dislike my cousin. It doesn't matter that they don't drink together anymore.
After I moved, I've had two years of isolation in a foreign country. But I also found it funny how similar it was to what I felt my whole life. I have always been an alien. Foreign, uninvited, unwanted. It doesn't matter to me whether I'm at home or elsewhere.
This year I reinvented myself. Last year was my peak, I think everything I had accumulated just came out. I didn't dry out for three months, I just drank every day until I puked. Garbage was piling up in my house, cockroaches appeared, it was total crap. I was planning to cash out a couple of thousand euros and leave them in the apartment with an apology note to the landlord. Money for a month's rent and cleaning. Serious cleaning. From traces of decomposition, because I'm alone in the country, I have no one here, so they wouldn't have looked for a body for a long time. I just started to collapse, basically, implode. As I already said, as a kid I used to cut things a lot, I fucking loved doing it, I got yelled at for it because I was ruining furniture, but I couldn't stop. I used to cut myself. I would cut others too. And I really wanted to. And I hated myself for wanting to, and for not feeling sorry, not feeling guilty when I do something bad. I didn't accept myself for a very long time and attempts to break my back eventually led me to a puddle of vomit and a cockroach crawling on me while I was lying unconscious.
I decided to quit. My method was to hang myself. I made myself a slipknot, smeared my neck with Vaseline and sat on the couch.
And I started thinking. I thought for a long time. About everything, just a conversation with my head. Days stretched after hours, I stopped drinking because I needed to think. It was like, in retrospect, a cocoon into which a caterpillar crawled. And finally, this long-awaited thought came to me: I am not broken at all, and the only reason why I want to commit suicide is because I want freedom. I felt like a rabid beast in a cage, which cannot be itself, so as not to hurt others.
But why I care about them if I do not feel regret? After this question, everything fell into place for me. I don't give a fuck. I am bad, terrible, and I don't give a fuck. I decided to sit on this thought. To see if it would go away. But months passed, and this thought only turned into a mantra. I am bad and I don't give a fuck, try to stop me. No more cages.
I'm currently at the end of my master's program. I plan on getting a second degree. My agency is ok; I have people to delegate the management to. I have a boyfriend who says he loves me. That's cute, I guess.
My mom once said that I am incapable of feeling love. I believe that. My mom also said she doesn't consider me family, because I refused to dress up as she likes. She really likes to hit the painful spot. Always managed to pull that off, but now I don't really feel anything. I have come to such peace with myself. Sometimes I would sabotage someone I don't like just for the thrill and the feeling of my pulse. I learned to control my urges and do not cause physical harm to myself or others, though. Besides that, there is stillness now. No more willing to die.
I wish everyone here that peace. Thank you.
