Not meaning to complain …

I hear what everyone says, don’t freak about it there’s been worse, your life is not that bad and I know. I’m well aware that my life isn’t as bad as most people. I’ve been lucky I guess. I got out easy. But from everyone telling me it’s not that bad no one stops to listen. I don’t mean to complain about these little things that have happened but I do need to vent so here goes; ver since birth, my mother has had a strong passionate dislike for me. Saying the word hate only pushes me closer to the edge so I’ll use dislike. I was a child of infidelity. My father cheated on my mother one day  while he was on a mission. When he learned that his little encounter turned into a child, me,  he thought it best to break it to my mother while their daughters were home, they were young so they couldn’t understand but the oldest knew pregnancy and overhearing my mother and father’s discussion they thought my mother was pregnant. The save them from the truth, my father adopted me from my birth mother and introduced me as the sister of their other 3 daughters. From my homecoming, my mother refused to care for me so I relied on my father primarily. Enough with the details, there’s a lot more. When I was three my father left my mother, leaving me at home with her. I suffered from extreme seperation anxiety and because I wasn’t “hers” my mother didnt care for me. I fended for myself with help from my sisters until  I was 9 when my father came back. I have to admit I was pretty much overjoyed when he came back but the first words he said to me were telling me to die. He told me that I had ruined his life and nobody wanted me.. That’s usually a little much for a nine year old, especially from the man I waited 6 years for. I snuck the house phone, went into my room, which was a spare closet at the time, and phone my birth mother. I said to her, mama i think daddy is going to kill me. At that point she hung up. Two days later, I heard of my birth mother’s suicide. Fast foward to when I’m eleven. This was when I had my first boyfriend. He was perfect I thought until one day when my family went to lunch and left me home alone, he came over, took me to the woods around my house, raped me and stabbed me three times then left me there to die. I cut for years. My arms have no skin that isn’t scarred. I know I was overreacting but it was the only thing that let me sleep. I’m now 14. I’ve gotten over the fear, beat the nightmares, and I’m not bothered much by my father’s absence and my mother’s.. dislike. The thing is, I just can’t shake the feeling that I shouldn’t be alive.  That if I just end it, I wouldn’t be whining at everyone about these dumb little things that plagued my life before I built up a resistance that has recently been crumbling down. Am I just being dumb? I’m hoping that this bit of venting will help a little …