My life sucks.

To start off, my mom. Suffice to say my mom is an abusive neglectful stupid sadistic fucking ****. I’d like to say my was abused and an abuser, but quite frankly, my mom is a petty, manipulative covert narcissist and I’m pretty sure she just frustrated every man she’d ever been with to the point that they’d beat on her. Well. Randy, the guy she was with, was probably abusive as well. Shit attracts shit. So either way she got beaten a lot and when I was almost 2 my 14 year old half brother beat my 3 year old sister to death because she wouldn’t stop crying. (Apparently I was there, but I don’t remember any of it) Due to all the beatings my mom received the noise triggered him and he snapped.

So due to that we moved north a little ways to a town I’ll call Shitville. It was allegedly so my mom could visit my brother in juvy but it became clear that another factor was avoding the people who knew what had happened and how she had failed as a parent. My earliest memories start in Shitville. Shitville was full of drugs and illegal Mexicans who sold those drugs and a few inbred people as well. I won’t elaborate much on living in Shitville, as it went pretty much as you would’ve guessed.

My life was shit because my mom was a neglectful retard with the emotional maturity of a child. She didn’t me and I lived on a diet mainly consisting of microwave ramen. If you haven’t guessed my mom was a bit trashy. My half brother once told me she used to constantly walk around in a bra and panties with him in the house. Thankfully I never witnessed it, but that’s pretty fucked up.

When I was 15 a sociopath tricked my mom into moving us in with him so he could leech off my mom because there was a small amount of mold in our apartment. His wife had left him and took his kids after their landlord talked some sense into her and convinced her not to put up with his bullshit. She couldn’t handle their disrespectful monsters of kids and ended up coming back after he put on a front of “getting his act together”. By two months later he was back to being unemployed and drinking all day while he and their 4 kids lived off her Taco Bell money. He once told me he married her in a parking lot.

He tried to brainwash me and make me his slave while his narcissistic son tormented me all day. The whole family was fucked up, all 4 of the siblings and especially the dad. I still have nightmares about them sometimes. We stayed there until I was 17. I kept on expecting an adult to step in. I was so scared.

One day I asked my mom why she didn’t feed me and if she hated me and she said yes and I punched her in the arm and threatened to call social services on her for neglect and not feeding me. The sick fuck we lived with caught wind of it and didn’t want to get in trouble for all the crimes he had committed. He stole my prescription medication, my mom opened my mail and stole money out of the birthday card my grandma had sent me. He always bragged about having a box of grenades. Just for reference, when I was 13 my mom had the neighbors come and take my door off it’s hinges so I would have no boundaries between her and me and she could continue to ***** at me.

This man ended up calling the cops on me to deflect the attention from himself and get me out of the house. He lied to the cops and said I was abusing my mom because she told me she hated me and I punched her in the arm. Mind you I was very underweight and malnourished so it’s not like I could punch her hard enough to cause any damage, but they tried to make it look that way. Anyway she abandoned me to be homeless.

The sociopath’s wife ended up paying for a motel that I stayed in for a few days while I figured out where to go. I stayed with my mom’s dead ex boyfriend’s older son and his mom. When I moved in at 17 I only had 2 shirts, one pair of pants, 2 pairs of socks and 3 pairs of underwear. Not because that was all I could take, but because that was all I had. It was awkward until his nephew who was my age and was a good friend of mine offered to let me stay with him. I would’ve gone but I have echolalia.

“Echolalia is the unsolicited repetition of vocalizations made by another person (when repeated by the same person, it is called palilalia). In its profound form it is automatic and effortless. It is one of the echophenomena, closely related to echopraxia, the automatic repetition of movements made by another person; both are “subsets of imitative behavior” whereby sounds or actions are imitated “without explicit awareness”. Echolalia may be an immediate reaction to a stimulus or may be delayed.”

So basically I echo my thoughts verbally without being able to hear it. That would’ve been it. I could’ve just gone to stay with my friend and my nightmare of a life would have been over. A new chapter. But the goddamn echolalia. People can literally hear my thoughts. I don’t know what’s worse. Having no privacy and people being able to hear my thoughts or the fact that when I came out and finally told someone after hiding it for years that no one seemed to care. I would tell people I have no filter between my brain and the outside world and they would just shrug it off like it was a walk in the park. I have no sanctity. No private space to process my thoughts on my own without other’s unwanted touch. This pretty much ended up pushing me off the deep end.

I awkwardly ended up in a foster home. That was weird for about a year and a half. I pretty much kept water in my mouth all the time to prevent them from hearing me talking without realizing it and avoided them almost completely. I ended up still away from my hometown after I left the foster home. I didn’t talk to anyone for 3 and a half years. It was during that time I discovered SP. I had no contact with humans in the outside world.

I took Prozac when I was 17 that ruined what little was left of my life. I won’t get too far into that. There are plenty of of antidepressant horror stories and I’m sure the people here know all about it. I will say I felt like it ripped a black hole in my soul. I felt like a part of my mind or soul had been erased. I felt basic and lost my creativity, which really killed me because I loved drawing and was an artistic person. My stomach started kicking 24/7. To the point that it was like torture. Lurching. Whenever I start to feel happy again for some reason it comes back. Idk. There’s more to this story but I don’t have the writing skills to keep this focused enough and this shit is frustrating to explain. I’ve gone through more bullshit. Basically I ended up as a hollow shell because of the echolalia and the antidepressants. Ofc the abuse as well, but that’s a forgone point.

All my friends, if you can call them that, are online. My mother’s side of the family and I have never really clicked. They’re very shrewd and business-like and it makes them very impersonal. None of the very few people I still know ever have any time for me. That is, if they even acknowledge me at all.

I’ve said I have a lot of mental illnesses and acted a fool on this site back in the day. That’s because I was confused about why I verbalized my thoughts without being aware of it and was just making guesses at why. I was alos incredibly stressed out by it happening. Plus, the Prozac kind of ripped my brain apart like a wet tissue in a blender. I’m still mentally unstable because of it, and the echolalia. These days, the echolalia I think is gone. But the damage is done. Plus it’s gone away before and came back. There’s still more to this story I’m not telling. But it’s just too bizarre to recount and doesn’t matter in a way. I guess you wouldn’t understand it unless you were there anyway. I’m reminded of a rap verse: “I’m fucked up in ways you can’t imagine but don’t expect you to you wasn’t there when it happened”.

So here I am. Living with no real hope for a better future. It’s like my past was taken away from me as well. I once saw a Cherokee say that on TV. “It’s like we have no past… and no future.”