I don’t know why but putting my story out there feels like it will help, so here I go. Read if you please.
I was born healthy, I have two older brothers. My mom worked all the time so I stayed home with my dad. My dad is bipolar. Though I only vaguely remember, I’m told I spent most of my childhood sitting in the dark in the living room because my dad’s paranoia made it impossible to leave. My dad had some alcohol abuse problems and he would abuse my mom too. I shared a crawlspace as a room with my older brother. We eventually moved and my younger Â brother was born. I was a happy kid, normal. My oldest brother left when I was 4.
When I was little my older brother abused me. Physically. Mentally. Sexually.
In middle school my older brother and mom started fighting. It started out with yelling and moved on to hitting, threats, and chair throwing, mostly coming from my brothers side. He stole from me, my mom, etc. He hit me around a few time and would use me to shoplift.
Around the same time my mom had a new boyfriend. She started living at his house with him and his son. I hated them. I stayed with my dad, basically raised my little brother.
My best friends from kindergarten were twins. One of the girls became anorexic in 8th grade. Her parents found out, when she almost died. She was hospitalized. She stopped talking to me. Her parents blamed me, said I was too thin and it was bad for her to be around me. When I went to her house to be with her sister her parents would call me a slut. They said I couldn’t go out with their kids, I was a bad influence. I had never done anything, I wore her daughters clothing, but there was nothing I could do about what they thought. Going to their house became so stressful I would start walking though and end up crying on the sidewalk halfway there, unable to breathe.
I started cutting then. I wanted everything to go away. It never got very deep or serious, but I have the scars. People ask me about them. My mom found out and I went to a little therapy, but I never stopped cutting. I still do.
My attitude about food became really weird after my friends anorexia. I didn’t stop eating, but I didn’t, and still don’t, eat in public. Just around my family. And when I do eat I eat a lot. More than I should. Whole cakes, or bags of chips. 39 Twinkies. I don’t purge though, just binge. Then I brag about it to my friends. But I still don’t eat in front of them.
I lost touch with the twins, made new friends. I don’t share my past with them though. Emotionally I’ve become very detached. I overdosed and tried to hang myself in may but with no success. I have no interest in life.
I’ve been described a lot as a sociopath because of my general disregard for the feelings of others. Some think I’m narcissistic, others just think I’m a *****. It’s really hard to say.
So yeah, I guess that’s me. Well some of me.