At a very young age, at about 7, I accepted that, in my words and thoughts at the time, “sometimes other people will have what you aren’t meant to”. At the time, I was referring to far simpler things, yet still…. despite feeling very deprived, I struggled on trying to get what I could out of life. Life never seemed to give me back anything for my trying.
See…. by 3 years old, I had already had the skin of my hands boiled off. I don’t remember the event itself, but I sure remember the way my hands looked afterward. I also remember the fact that I never, and still don’t today, know what trust feels like.
I was neglected as well as a child. I never felt love nor loved, and still haven’t. I guess I just wasn’t meant for that. I never developed the ability to feel connected to others, nor to be able to belong with others. I have always felt very alone, even in crowds. Especially in crowds, where everyone else has their friends and whatnot, I have nobody. No friends. No family.
I was disowned by my parents after I came out of the closet as gay. Then my mother turned my family against me. My biological father disowned me at birth. For all that ***** judges me, she oughtta remember her sins.
As a toddler, my mother would let someone she knew was a sex offender babysit me, all because she didn’t want to deal with me. I was molested many times by that man. And I became messed up because of that.
Eventually, the one person that did seem to care, the one who gave me his last name, died in a car accident when I was 4 or 5. My dad, not my biological father, but my dad.
My mom remarried. My step dad was almost murdered in front of my own eyes by my mother. Only to put his hand up, and at 7, I saw her shop into his wrist hard as he tried to block. For the longest time I pretended I didn’t see that. I was even sent with him, me and my brothers, to the hospital to make sure he told the official story, that he cut his hand at work. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never been able to have faith in myself nor others? The fact that out of fear, we all made sure he gave the right story….
There is alot more. It just bothers me to talk about it all at once.
I have suffered alot. I’ve sought help and nothing is working. The wound is too deep.
See, I’m a broken child inside. I’m too broken to be fixed. My entire existence has been to be used and abused, and this needs to stop.
I’m locking up, so I’ll just finish with a post I posted on another forum as well:
I have lived a long life, yet I’m only 23. I’ve been alive for 23 years, but I have yet to live. I’ve been suffering ever since the skin was boiled off my hands at 3. Don’t know who did it. Grew up abused and in and out of placement. I don’t know that I’ve ever been right in the head.
I’ve never felt close to anybody. My mother shunned me, and turned the family against me. I don’t have the social skills to make friends, though I tried. The lack of human contact and comradeship is depressing. Even if where I lived allowed pets, it still wouldn’t suffice for that very human need I can’t have.
I’ve never been anything but a burden to the world. A burden to the system, on which I depend for my sustainance, because I have trouble holding a job due to mental issues. I’m broken beyond repair. It’s too late for me. Though I wish you all the best sincerely!
I’ve never felt like I was wanted around. Eventually, I grew tired of trying. Eventually, I accepted that I have nobody, and will have nobody. But then afterthat, what is there? No reason to live.
Now, all that pain I’ve felt all my life will be gone. No more pain and suffering for me. I’ll finally be free. So be happy for me, not that you ever noticed my existence. I mattered to no one ever. Goodbye.
I can’t even make this. I’m too tired to make it great or grand. I feel like shit. I wish I didn’t.
You may see me, and I may laugh, even laugh at the thought of killing myself. But inside, I’m crying like a small child, begging for this pain to be over. The abusers have moved on, they have their great lives. But me? I have the fragments of whatever I was before I was destroyed.
I have been alive 23 years, but still, I’m not living. So why carry on this way? Why bother? Farewell!