kindalone
Student
- Mar 1, 2023
- 197
I figured that I should write down my life story or at least the most traumatic events somewhere, which could get boring and long. But whatever, you don't have to read it. Better yet, don't. It won't serve you in any way.
I think my first traumatic memory was when my dad was barging into the living room and destroying the VCR. I was 3 at the time and was just watching "the Little Mermaid" and he just started bashing it in, destroying the recorder and the damn tape. My mom would tell much much later it was because they were at the fortune teller and he told him that he wasn't going to amount to anything or some shit. Almost 30 years later, I have to admit that he was right.
At 4 or 5 years old, I remember being at a family friend's house. They were watching porn quite openly in the living room with me just roaming around. The probably thought that I wouldn't remember all this because they didn't care that I was watching and even laughed that I found it disturbing and scary. I even fled to one of the backrooms once to hide, only for my dad and his friend to turn on the TV there to watch the "good stuff". When they realized I was there, they just continued to laugh and make dirty jokes. I think to this day, I was quite literally obsessed with porn and masturbation. Every time I would see a girl, I would think of these images, making me weird around women.
When I was 6, my dad was beating my mom. I was playing in my room when it happened. I still remember the hot wheels cars I had and how fun it was to play with them. I heard yelling from the living room and I walked over to see what was happening. I stood there in the door frame when I saw it. He was continuously slapping her and pulling hair out. I was just standing there for what felt like a minute before getting between them. Thinking back, I felt like a coward for not immediately going in. I would beat myself up for it for a while. I put myself between my dad and her, begging him to stop. He always gently shoved my away before continuing to beat her. There were black hair strands all over her white jean jacket. I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He never did. So I kept getting between, trying to break them up. He then pulled her by her hair, opened the door and threw her out of the apartment. She broke her arm from the fall. I threw myself onto her, covering her with my body and he just slammed the door shut. After a while, she stood up. She could barely walk after what happened. I tried to support her but what strength does a 6 year old boy have. We were on the way to a nearby acquaintance and tried to ask her for help. On the way there, I told her to leave my dad. A 6 year old told his own mother to divorce his father. She was reluctant. She told me she didn't know where else to go. I just told her that we could do this on our own. She just chuckled.
When we arrived at the acquaintance's house, she would let us in. She talked to my mom for a while. I thought that we would stay there with her. But I was wrong. We were immigrants from a very traditionalist country and divorce was no option. She lead us back to my father and told us to wait for her to talk to him. She must have been there for maybe 20 or 30 minutes while me and my mother were waiting outside. It felt like an eternity for me. All I wanted was to get away from this man. She opened the door and told us to go back into our apartment. My father didn't say a word and my mother just told me to go back to my room. It was an incredibly traumatic and confusing experience for me. I don't think I ever truly recovered from it.
I still remember gaining a lot of weight after it. I only say that because I read that often victims of abuse gain weight to be more imposing. My mother was making the medication responsible that I took at that time. Bullshit. I think after that incidence, my mother started to get more violent with me. She figured if I acted up too much that my dad would beat me instead so she wanted to preemptively get a few hits in to make me fall in line to not get my dad involved, because that guy can actually do some damage. I since then lost a lot of respect for my mother. She was staying in a marriage with a man that beat her and then also forced me to stay in this mess with her.
At 8 or 9 years old, my parents had roommates to pay the rent. One of them was incredibly kind to me. He was friendly and not at all aggressive. He would play with me and watch movies with me. I would often crawl into his bed and sleep over. Sometimes, he would let me watch movies with him late at night. I didn't think much of it at the time. Now, I realize that he may have been grooming me. He would watch softcore porn with me while cuddling with me at night. I was already kinda desensitized because of my parents exposed me to hardcore porn early on and I was already curious about it since then anyways. Thinking back, I may have also sought out a male father figure that wasn't an aggressive maniac. He moved away one day and that was it. Never saw him again.
The next few years weren't very eventful. My dad would occasionaly break my stuff because I was misbehaving. He was always "an eye for an eye" kinda guy. If I played with his watch, he would destroy mine. If I watched too much TV in the living room, he would cut the cord of my TV. My mother didn't say much. She would just tell me that I should've known. She was strict and wanted me to be smart kid with good grades. A lot of yelling and beating for bad grades. I soon learned though that they could barely read what I was bringing home. So I often would hide test scores and fabricate signatures. It was preparing me to be an underachiever and a cheat. She also forbid me to work for my money so that I could focus on school. What a joke. I soon learned that it just made me dependent and bad with handling my finances later on.
My first attempt was when I was 18. Years of conditioning and bad parenting caused me to crash and burn when I actually got out into the real world. I was enrolling in university and picked the worst major ever. My initial tactics of cramming and cheating my way through were widely ineffective. I had to drop out the first semester. Seeing everybody being so independent and also having my self-image shattered, has put me into a dark place. My mother was crafting this dream that I would go into university, get my degree, get a well-paying job and then save her from my dad. Despite lowkey resenting my mother, I still was feeling guilty for all the sacrifices she has made for me. Failing like that, made me feel useless and lost beyond belief. All I could think about was death. I prepared it rather halfheartedly. Drank a bunch of alcohol and made multiple tries at hanging. I did that for maybe a month or 2. I would always prepare the rope and then get on the stool. I then realized that I couldn't do it. I told my mother, who was rather cold about it. The usual shaming was of course following that. "How could you do that?" and "If you die, I die." and all that jazz.
Not much has happened since, in terms of events. Tried academics again and dropped out again. It's not as expensive as the US but it still cost some money. My mother wanted me to get a degree and she trusted me to get one. Nope. I'm still dependent on my parents for pretty much everything. Now at 32, I realize that scum like me should maybe accept their fate and just purge themselves from this world. I'm a fuck-up and I'll always will be. And I'm sick of feeling guilty about it.
I think my first traumatic memory was when my dad was barging into the living room and destroying the VCR. I was 3 at the time and was just watching "the Little Mermaid" and he just started bashing it in, destroying the recorder and the damn tape. My mom would tell much much later it was because they were at the fortune teller and he told him that he wasn't going to amount to anything or some shit. Almost 30 years later, I have to admit that he was right.
At 4 or 5 years old, I remember being at a family friend's house. They were watching porn quite openly in the living room with me just roaming around. The probably thought that I wouldn't remember all this because they didn't care that I was watching and even laughed that I found it disturbing and scary. I even fled to one of the backrooms once to hide, only for my dad and his friend to turn on the TV there to watch the "good stuff". When they realized I was there, they just continued to laugh and make dirty jokes. I think to this day, I was quite literally obsessed with porn and masturbation. Every time I would see a girl, I would think of these images, making me weird around women.
When I was 6, my dad was beating my mom. I was playing in my room when it happened. I still remember the hot wheels cars I had and how fun it was to play with them. I heard yelling from the living room and I walked over to see what was happening. I stood there in the door frame when I saw it. He was continuously slapping her and pulling hair out. I was just standing there for what felt like a minute before getting between them. Thinking back, I felt like a coward for not immediately going in. I would beat myself up for it for a while. I put myself between my dad and her, begging him to stop. He always gently shoved my away before continuing to beat her. There were black hair strands all over her white jean jacket. I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He never did. So I kept getting between, trying to break them up. He then pulled her by her hair, opened the door and threw her out of the apartment. She broke her arm from the fall. I threw myself onto her, covering her with my body and he just slammed the door shut. After a while, she stood up. She could barely walk after what happened. I tried to support her but what strength does a 6 year old boy have. We were on the way to a nearby acquaintance and tried to ask her for help. On the way there, I told her to leave my dad. A 6 year old told his own mother to divorce his father. She was reluctant. She told me she didn't know where else to go. I just told her that we could do this on our own. She just chuckled.
When we arrived at the acquaintance's house, she would let us in. She talked to my mom for a while. I thought that we would stay there with her. But I was wrong. We were immigrants from a very traditionalist country and divorce was no option. She lead us back to my father and told us to wait for her to talk to him. She must have been there for maybe 20 or 30 minutes while me and my mother were waiting outside. It felt like an eternity for me. All I wanted was to get away from this man. She opened the door and told us to go back into our apartment. My father didn't say a word and my mother just told me to go back to my room. It was an incredibly traumatic and confusing experience for me. I don't think I ever truly recovered from it.
I still remember gaining a lot of weight after it. I only say that because I read that often victims of abuse gain weight to be more imposing. My mother was making the medication responsible that I took at that time. Bullshit. I think after that incidence, my mother started to get more violent with me. She figured if I acted up too much that my dad would beat me instead so she wanted to preemptively get a few hits in to make me fall in line to not get my dad involved, because that guy can actually do some damage. I since then lost a lot of respect for my mother. She was staying in a marriage with a man that beat her and then also forced me to stay in this mess with her.
At 8 or 9 years old, my parents had roommates to pay the rent. One of them was incredibly kind to me. He was friendly and not at all aggressive. He would play with me and watch movies with me. I would often crawl into his bed and sleep over. Sometimes, he would let me watch movies with him late at night. I didn't think much of it at the time. Now, I realize that he may have been grooming me. He would watch softcore porn with me while cuddling with me at night. I was already kinda desensitized because of my parents exposed me to hardcore porn early on and I was already curious about it since then anyways. Thinking back, I may have also sought out a male father figure that wasn't an aggressive maniac. He moved away one day and that was it. Never saw him again.
The next few years weren't very eventful. My dad would occasionaly break my stuff because I was misbehaving. He was always "an eye for an eye" kinda guy. If I played with his watch, he would destroy mine. If I watched too much TV in the living room, he would cut the cord of my TV. My mother didn't say much. She would just tell me that I should've known. She was strict and wanted me to be smart kid with good grades. A lot of yelling and beating for bad grades. I soon learned though that they could barely read what I was bringing home. So I often would hide test scores and fabricate signatures. It was preparing me to be an underachiever and a cheat. She also forbid me to work for my money so that I could focus on school. What a joke. I soon learned that it just made me dependent and bad with handling my finances later on.
My first attempt was when I was 18. Years of conditioning and bad parenting caused me to crash and burn when I actually got out into the real world. I was enrolling in university and picked the worst major ever. My initial tactics of cramming and cheating my way through were widely ineffective. I had to drop out the first semester. Seeing everybody being so independent and also having my self-image shattered, has put me into a dark place. My mother was crafting this dream that I would go into university, get my degree, get a well-paying job and then save her from my dad. Despite lowkey resenting my mother, I still was feeling guilty for all the sacrifices she has made for me. Failing like that, made me feel useless and lost beyond belief. All I could think about was death. I prepared it rather halfheartedly. Drank a bunch of alcohol and made multiple tries at hanging. I did that for maybe a month or 2. I would always prepare the rope and then get on the stool. I then realized that I couldn't do it. I told my mother, who was rather cold about it. The usual shaming was of course following that. "How could you do that?" and "If you die, I die." and all that jazz.
Not much has happened since, in terms of events. Tried academics again and dropped out again. It's not as expensive as the US but it still cost some money. My mother wanted me to get a degree and she trusted me to get one. Nope. I'm still dependent on my parents for pretty much everything. Now at 32, I realize that scum like me should maybe accept their fate and just purge themselves from this world. I'm a fuck-up and I'll always will be. And I'm sick of feeling guilty about it.
