I hate my life. But the thing is I don’t want to die. Not really. Underneath the desperation, depression, and self-loathing I am stubborn and curious. I don’t think I can have it–a better life.
I was abused as a kid. My dad is a heroin addict, my mother an incredibly embittered alcoholic. They did things to me…things I can’t get over.
I am supposed to be over it. Supposed to slap a smile on for the sake of everyone else. Never talk about my ptsd, my depression, what happened. It makes people uncomfortable. And hey, better I be shamed for my feelings and alone then someone else be uncomfortable, right?
The other thing is that, even though I was abused by my parents and abandoned by my extended family and friends, I don’t hate myself. I don’t want to negate myself, my experiences, and pretend everything is fine. I want to be myself and think I have that right. But all I get is ‘you’re such a downer,’ and ‘everyone has problems!’ and ‘you need to forgive!’ And ‘it was a long time ago! Get over it! ‘
But I can’t and I’m not willing to pretend and so I wind up alone with really f#$!ed up memories in a world that doesn’t give a s/!t about people like me.
Anybody picking up what I’m laying down?