I Don’t Know If I Need Help Or A Knife

This is the first time I’m ever going to tell someone my life story. I just need someone to
know. It might be a little long.

When she was pregnant with me, my mother did all kinds of drugs with my father. I was also
the only child she planned.

When I was three, my father raped a girl. Shortly after, my mom did something stupid and got sent to jail.

My siblings and I all got seperated. I moved in with my grandparents from my moms side.

They were my first memories. The only ones I actually enjoy. That is until my grandmother had a stroke. So I was forced to live with my mother’s sister, her husband, their two daughters, and two of my siblings. I hated all of them.

Out of anger from being removed from my grandparents, I refused to speak to any of them. My uncle took advantage of that.

He molested me shortly after I had even arrived. Of course, I didn’t tell anyone about.it for a long time. After that, I refused to speak at all. That’s when I went through one of the worst mental abuse I ever experienced.

For about a year, my aunt expected me not to play with anyone, not to speak with anyone, not to make a sound, not to publicly or privately show my hatred for anyone. She expected perfect progress reports.

Here’s the problom; she only expected it from ME.

When I was six, my sister and I moved in with our other grandparents, the ones on our father’s side. I met my older sister. I learned I was the second oldest of four.

I also finally learned what a mother was.

If you haven’t noticed, I hated them all, too.
My grandparents played the favorites game. They liked my older sister better than any of us, and weren’t afraid to be obvious about it. My older sister was the only one of us baptized, she was praised on everything, and she acted like the perfect child she wasn’t.

Behind the backs of adults, she cursed at us, she hit, the works.

I, without a doubt, wanted to kill her. However, I did nothing. My anger only grew.

When I was seven, we moved back in with our mom when she had gotten out of jail.

She abused all of us, she often drank alcohol, wasn’t afraid to drink and drive, she neglected us, mentally abused us, called us pathetic, worthless nobodies, she literally left EVERYDAY to go do drugs with her friends. She continually lied to us about being a happy family, she pretended to CARE.

Two more kids popped up from her along the way.

However, on the day the last child of hers was born, my grandmother, the only person I had left to love in the world, died. I was only eight, and I fully understood the word ‘suicidal’. I had no hope left of escaping my hell.

My mom told me on every chance she had that my grandmother was Satan and that she. deserved to die, and that my grandfather molested children.

My older sister was molested to, by an uncle on our dad’s side. He’s still in prison.

When I was eleven, we moved to another stateto live with my grandfather. He moved far away shortly before my grandma died. Of course, my mom tried to convince us that he was the one who really killed her, how he refused to bring her to the hospital until it was too late.

So, we moved in with him, moved out after a year, until my moms car was stolen. And you know what she did? She kidnapped and assaulted the girl who did it. Of course she went to jail. We moved back in wit grandfather and now is when my sanity deteriorates.

When I was fourteen, it was revealed that not on I, but my sister was molested by the same uncle. Unfortunately, he still hasn’t been arrested.

To cope with the past, my sisters ended up just like our mother, no matter how many times they deny it. Both of them are addicted to sex and drugs and alcohol.

I, on the other hand, dealt with it differently. I thought my mind.was.strong. I was wrong.

I thought I could forget about everything I went through.

I still think about it everyday.

My mom got out of jail, but it’s expected.she be sent to prison. Speaking of that, my dad got out of prison, and he got deported. He wants us to move to somewhere in central America to be with him.

I hate him.

I went to therapy for about a year. I thought I could help. After I realized it wouldn’t, I pretended to be okay to get out of there. Since then, I’ve been pretending a lot.

To put it simply, the only things solid I feel is my sense.of justice.

I’m losing emotions. I can’t feel guilt anymore. Awkwardness is gone, too. I’m starting.to lose sadness. I don’t get happy as much as I used to. My anger just keeps growing. I’ve never had an outburst, but I will, someday.

Most days, I feel nothing. I’ve been asked numerous times if I even had emotions during school. I always reply with “I don’t know anymore,”.

The one thing I do know fore sure, is that I want to kill people. I want them to suffer like I did. I smile at the thought of stabbing someone repeatedly. I don’t feel love anymore. Since my.guilt is gone, I know I wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone if given the perfect chance.

I’ve stopped believing in God. After all, if he really loves his children, how could.he let someone go through the things I went through? I stare at the ceiling all day.

I have nothing else to do. I don’t care for anyone, anymore. I know that I am going to kill one of.my siblings soon. I hate everything about.them.

Currently, I just turned sixteen a little over a week ago. I didn’t really have a good birthday, just family pretending that they care about.me. I have no friends. There’s no one I can really talk to.

My sense of justice tells me that I deserve to die. That I should grab a knife and kill my, stab myself in the throat. I’ve tried getting help. I.can’t really call a suicide place or whatever cause.I don’t have a phone, and rising a home phone would be stupid because of.caller ID.

The funniest part of everything is that my mom wonders why I hate her so much.

No, before you ask, I’ve never cut myself. Personally, I don’t see how feeling pain, which I’ve experienced enough of, is going to help.