I feel..

  January 9th, 2018 by RiloMor

I know it’s kind of dumb thinking this way. Like, it’s not my fault my dad was not the brightest bulb in the box and I know this. But I hate him for doing this to me.

Maybe it’s me over-thinking things but, from my knowledge and knowing serverl people with disorders physical and mental as well as having researched it extensively.. I just can’t help but think that my father, and his stupied genes gave me all these worries. Hell, my half sister and half brother are even worse than I am after he got married to a lady whose bulb seems to be on the verge of burning out. – And no, I do not live with this family I live with my Mother and Step-Father and my other Half-Sister of a Father who is not my Father or our Step-Father.

I have.

Mild Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. (OCD)

Mild to Severe Oppositional Defiant Disorder. (ODD / Anger toward authority figures) + (Anger issues)

Mild Attention Deficit Disorder. (ADD)

Cyclothymic Disorder (Lesser form of bipolar disorder)

Mild to Severe Clinical Depressive Disorder. (Clinical Depression)

Lesser to Mild Panic Disorder. (Panic attacks)

Mild to Severe Anxiety Disorder. (Anxiety)

Lesser to Mild Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. (School related – Eyewitnesses of multiple fights that led to hospitalization. / Hearing about fights that happened near me but, I did not directly witness it.)

Mild Paranoid Personality Disorder. (PPD / Severe Trust Issues)

Bulimia Nervosa. (Bing eating and starving ones self.) [Have recently started to get better but I still starve myself, mostly just out of habit.]

It isn’t me and I try to be me even with all this but I still shut people out during times I’m suddenly feeling like I don’t deserve food. I don’t deserve this skin, or this hair, or these clothes. I don’t deserve the things they got me and how much were they? How much effort did they put into it and I cant even let myself touch it?

I cut my arms and blame it on the cat, hiding blades and garbage under my bed because I can’t let go.

And the funny thing is, she got me a blade. A real life blade sharp enough to kill. One of those dagger looking ones as long as my arm. She got it for me for christmas. And its sitting on my shelf staring at me. But, at least my trust issues tell me not to trust it that I don’t deserve it that it needs to stay where it is or I’ll mess up the entire room. At least I’m afraid of death. Because otherwise my mother would have given me a blade. And I might have given back a body while taking away her son.

And I can’t bring myself to tell her.

Happy birthday to me, am I right?

(January, 8th, 2018.) And I feel wrong.

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