It makes me upset when I, or others post about things that are bothering us and are kicked around by some hateful comments. I hate that. For example, “Try living my life for one damn day I don’t cry about it on some shitty website 24/7 for attention. Get over your lesbian self harming self.”. We just need to vent. If people really are on here because they consider being miserable some sort of giant competition, what do you possibly gain out of it? I’m just on here to vent when I feel really shitty. I should find a different forum. This is so childish.
I remembered laying against your soft naked breast. We cuddled at the Deadly Muppets theme camp for what must have been 6 hours. I didn’t realize how fast the time flew by. The sun rose and I had to leave you. I didn’t even know your name. We just lay against one another for so long. That whole weekend I spent falling in and out of love. It couldn’t have been the drugs or alcohol, but my desperation to find someone to fill that dreaded empty feeling digging deeper and deeper inside of me. I’m so confused. I think I’m gay. I only have these feelings when I’m with other women. I’m not comfortable around men. For the past four years I’ve been madly in love with Shelby(Not her real name). I’m not sure if we ever were together or she was just messing with my head. Shelby liked to torment me with mind games. She knew I was so weak. She was a tortured soul herself. She was always angry about something. Her output was me. I let her scream at me and manipulate me as long as I could make her happy. It made me so happy she she depended on me. I was a very secluded and antisocial girl when I met her. She introduced me to the world of drugs and boys. But I always just wanted her. I did whatever I could to please her. I don’t know how she saw me. I want to say she didn’t love me. But she did, in her own very fucked up little way, she loved me. She teased me all the time, I didn’t think she saw me the way I saw her. She sabotaged my valentines date last year by bursting out with chocolates and a bouquet. Then went with us to the movies which she insisted on paying for. It was strange. She was a strange girl. She was dating this boy simultaneously who abused her and eventually she got pregnant with his child. I took her to the abortion clinic. She was too far along they said. We went home and I didn’t see or hear from her for over a week. I freaked out. I called her and messaged her non-stop. I was so worried. But this was another mind game of hers. She tortured me emotionally. Where am I even going with this story? There’s so much to it. Eventually though, I told Shelby she was my poison; I blocked her on all devices of communication and haven’t spoken to her. I didn’t even wish her happy birthday. Memories of her are so painful. I said such painful things to her many months ago, yet I still can’t get over her. Why? She only causes me pain and suffering. I can’t do this. Nobody takes me seriously. Everybody is so happy and supposedly got their shit together on them damn dating sites. I’m a manically depressed sociopathic asshole who nobody ever takes seriously. Hah, at least I’m honest. Nobody would put that on their page though. Emotional disturbances are like the little surprise gift that comes along in your cereal box that you weren’t expecting to roll into your cereal bowl. I hate the whole “life is great” mask people put on when they message you. Can we just talk about pour problems and be each others therapists? That would be greaaat.
Why am I alone? I am overwhelmed with bitter regret and anger. Everybody has some big blotch of the past they want to delete, there’s no such person who has had a perfect, sugar coated life. I selfishly think that I have it so bad, nobody can relate to me. I am wrong. My peers who put on a happy demeanor have their own skeletons; they seem to know how to function without the past disrupting their routine. I don’t know what went on in their lives. I sit there and in my mind I snicker, thinking these people are so young and naive. I don’t think it’s true. I think I’m different because I haven’t figured out any way of coping like them. It’s almost like I need to belittle the rest of them because I am the champion of sulking and nobody shall surpass me…because it’s the one thing I am good at.
When I read the comments to some stories, I wonder why people say the things they do. People who tell others to “stay strong” and “don’t give up” yet are overcome with manic depression and revolving thoughts of suicide. Why do we say things that are so hypocritical? I don’t understand. It frustrates me seeing that, it makes me think “Are these people real? Why are they on here saying these things when they themselves are on the verge of self destruction? I don’t believe they actually mean what they say; or maybe they say those things because they want someone to say the same to them?” I don’t know. I don’t understand humans. We all do and say things we don’t mean, just to please people. For what? Why do we pretend to be something for someone else’s benefit? Why does it feel wrong to be our pure selves? Sometimes I feel as though my life is theatrical play, I’m the main character and it’s everyone else’s job to fool me. Everybody is in on the joke except for me.
I’m so tired of everyone. All the obligations and responsibilities I inevitably have being the oldest child. Though I don’t think I am a child anymore. I have so many expectations to constantly live up to, and when I don’t, I become a failure in my familys eyes. I have a habit of not finishing what I start. School, by some miracle I graduated, though I wasn’t allowed to attend graduation or promotional because instead of expelling me, they just told me to not come back the last month of school in order to get my diploma. I went to the military after that. I was heavily using drugs before it to deal with demons of the past coming back to haunt me, and for a while I was staying sober. Then once I hit the fleet, I got assaulted and taken advantage of by a corporal in my unit. I blamed myself for putting myself in a situation where I was surrounded by drunk people. About two months after I got roofied, sexually assaulted and beaten pretty bad where my nipple rings got tore out. I didn’t really remember anything, just few frightening flashes. I hurt so much. I didn’t know what to do at that point. I didn’t want to be seen as a slut. I’m not. I’ve always been queasy about sexual contact. But in the military, it felt like females were looked down upon and despised for pointing out a predator. So I just kept quiet. I was constantly haunted by these thoughts. I started heavily using drugs again. Then my close friend got caught for selling drugs in the unit, and some reason I got blamed for it too. Though I admit I used heavily, I never sold. But again I’m just a dumb insecure female, who will listen to me? The military justice system is completely different from civilian. Guilty until proven innocent. Though I thought I had been proven innocent, I still got locked up for six months and kicked out of the military. Such an embarrassment. Oh I don’t even know where I’m going here, I’m just rambling. I always fantasize about dying. I always wish for some freak accident or to gently fall into eternal slumber. I am not afraid to kill myself. I constantly look forward for the chance to do so. But I cannot leave my elderly sick grandmother and my separation anxiety mother. It would be so irresponsible. As crazy as it sounds, I really wish I didn’t have family that depended on me so much. I wish they didn’t care if I was alive or dead or anywhere. It would be so relieving to finally let go.
I’m lost, confused; angry at myself, yet I portray my anger at others to hide my insecurities. I am a sadist, I hate it. I hate it so much, yet I can’t help it. I want to stop hurting, but I cannot control myself. I made my mother cry today. I blamed her for what I am, I blamed her for who she is. She always let’s me do whatever I want. She never says no. Nor does she ever try to stop me. Does she care? I push limits, boundaries, nothing I do phases her. I wipe my feet all over this woman and yet she refuses to react. Why? Why? I hate her for it. I hate her for being so weak, so passive, so careless. She is a lost, tortured child trapped inside an adults body. Is it selfish to say she wasn’t a good candidate for motherhood? I dread seeing myself become a mother. I never want it to happen. In anger, I see myself living and dying alone, just like always. I never had a real relationship. I always felt like I was just wanted for sex. I always manipulated and emotionally tormented those partners. I never opened up and let my guard down, my vulnerability show. I would rather torture you and dump you first before you get a chance to do that do me. Though I did love once. I was an anti social freak all throughout school, until I met Alex. She took me in, made me feel wanted, introduced me to drugs and boys. Drugs revolutionized my being. I was finally able to have real conversations with real people. I fell in love with her. For years I would bow at her every whim, figuratively kiss the ground she walked on. But she was much more sadistic than I. She used my love to her advantage. Finally this summer I had enough of her psychotic outbreaks and abuse and told her to not speak to me no more…but ever since I learned how lonely I truely am. I don’t have any real friends. She was the closest thing. Who do I talk to? Who can I tell my secrets, my passions, desires, share my troubles with? Who? Nobody. I cannot figure out how to communicate with others. I scare them, they think I’m insane. I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing trying to fit in with the herd, but they see right through me and run away.I don’t want to be alone. We’re social creatures. We’re meant to network and file share and connect with one another. But it’s like my server is down, and nobody can fix it. I often fantasize of death. Will it be pleasuresome? Will my conscience rise out of my body feeling light, relieved, and free? where will it go after? It’s thrilling to think about. If only I was free of all my moral obligations to this family, I would gladly die. I wish they didn’t love me, I wish I didn’t have to provide support for them, I wish they would not want anything to do with me. Ahh how freeing that would be. No one to shame you, judge you, feel like your not living up to their expectations. Fuck. I don’t really love them, but I feel like I can’t leave them when their so helpless themselves.