How am I to cope with all THIS?

I don’t think I want this, but what am I saying? I never did.

This isn’t the life I ever wanted to live. I used to have so many hopes and dreams… And now? There’s… Nothing. Just broken remains of the buildings of my hopes and dreams, shattered by those who thought lesser of me, as if their cruel words could never hurt me. But not just them. The family never helped me, if anything, they made it worse. This isn’t where I should be starting though. The suicidal feelings, the depression, everything like that, developed at around the age of 7. But what started it happened earlier on in my life.

When I was a kid, my mum thought it appropriate to go out drinking, practically every night, and leave me with druggie babysitters. It wouldn’t surprise me, in all honesty, if they forced me to take them at least one time. But, sometime, in October, 2002, when I was 2 years old, she abandoned me, with my half-brother, roughly 1 or 2 years older than me. We were left on stripped, wooden floorboards, with no blankets, no food, no babysitter, nothing. But, I believe the neighbours picked up on it, and I was soon removed and put into the care of my Dad. I’m 14 years old now. My Mum has had our home address and phone number for 12 years, but I believe she ceases to remember that I ever existed. I never received an email, a letter, a phone call, a card, a present… Nothing. It just makes me feel even more unwanted in this world.

When I was 7 years old, I developed Trichotillomania, and it has greatly changed my life for the worse, and I still feel like I’m held captive by it. The thing is, whenever I would pull out a massive lot of my hair or eyelashes, my Dad presumed I did it on purpose. I never did. I can barely stop myself sometimes. I just have an urge to do it, and, before I know it, I’m doing it. To this DAY, I still pull out my hair and eyelashes, though, my eyelashes are most affected.

Because of Trichotillomania, the girlfriend my Dad had at the time I developed it, soon started arguments with my Dad about it, and they eventually broke up, but, that’s nothing compared with Sam.

Samantha… My Dad’s “childhood-sweetheart”. More like “childhood-psychopath” if you ask me. She me develop trust issues, sleep issues (I haven’t slept more than an hour a day in around 3 years), emotional issues, mental issues, made me feel like I was constantly being watched, and I became extremely anti-social. She used to shout at me every time I had a bit off a rough time dealing with Trichotillomania, and she would practically shun me for months at times, and yell at me. In the end, she actually started badly bullying me, and somehow managed to get my Dad to as well. She gave birth to my half-sister, the first sibling I ever got to meet. But, I don’t believe I shall see her again. It saddens me, as I have a brother, half-brother, and a half-sister, and I doubt I will ever have a conversation with one of them. I only got to hold her ONCE, but it was for what? 5 seconds? Several months before she was born though, I was led to run away from home. Sam had driven me insane. Never had I felt so free, I felt happy, but, the police eventually found me.

A couple weeks before my birthday, there was a massive fight between Sam and my Dad. Sam believed I had stolen £10 from her purse, and I never did. She started off by saying she was going to search my room, but, my dad said OK, but only if he could watch to make sure she didn’t plant it. She furious, and they had a massive argument, that lasted for 3 hours or something upstairs. But, at one point, she walked downstairs, picked up my sister, then went upstairs, hitting my dad, threatening him. And when they cooled off a bit, she was walking down the stairs, a couple steps in front of my dad, and she slipped, and my dad grabbed her to make sure she was OK. But, a couple minutes later, she had told her sister that my Dad was refusing to let her leave the house, only until she cooled off, and about 20 minutes later, my Dad was arrested.

He didn’t come home until 4 AM.

Months later we received a letter. Apparently, Sam had said my Dad had pulled my Dad down the stairs, when she clearly tripped, and she was mentally bullying me.

After she moved out, we were plunged back into poverty, and we found it hard to eat proper meals, as we could barely afford them. But, I was so used to it, it didn’t bother me much. But, me and my Dad haven’t been close to each other ever since.

Recently, I’ve done severe self-harm, attempted suicide (I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve tried to kill myself), suicidal letters… And resulted in visits from social workers. As if a normal conversation between my Dad could be even more awkward.

I can go into so much more detail, but it hurts too much. But I ask you this:

How can I NOT hate myself after everything this happened? Give me one reason why I should carry on with my life, when all my hope of my Dream Job and Perfect Life has been obliterated more times than I’d care to count.