I’ve come to the conclusion that I have a lot of pent up anger and frustration with both of my parents. My father has broken my heart every day for 15+ years. He’s told me on multiple occasions that he’s going to make it up to me- he hasn’t. He hasn’t even tried. I can’t decide if that makes me angry, or sad. It’s probably a combination of the two. My mother, on the other hand, let him do it. She never thought about how his actions and their fighting would have an affect on me. She could have done something. She had so many opportunities to leave, to take me away from all that. If she’d given me any of her time, I could have told her that I was being bullied. She could have called the school, the parents, something - anything - to put a stop to it; but she didn’t. I’m terribly upset with my parents for not providing me with the environment that every child deserves.

Every day I realize more and more that I basically lacked a family for the majority of my life. Physically, I had a family; but not emotionally. I was neglected. The only communication I recall between my mother and I, was me crying and begging her not to go to work. And my dad laid on the couch all day, completely ignoring me for the most part. My parents got so wrapped up in their own issues, that they didn’t have time or affection for their only child. As I mentioned in a previous post, I was bullied by my “best friends” in fourth grade, and no one knew. My parents still don’t know. The saddest part of that, I think, is that no one intervened. It never occurred to me to tell my parents or a teacher that I was being verbally and physically abused.

I don’t know how I survived through my childhood. I essentially had no parents, and no one else to take care of me, so I took care of myself. How I accomplished that, I have no idea. I mean, my parents provided me with food and shelter, but that was about it. I didn’t receive any affection or encouragement. I was my own parent and best friend for quite a few years. I think that’s why I have such terrible issues with affection and attachment. I never received any affection, and the only people I was attached to let me down on a daily basis. Sometimes I think I’ll never get better.

I frequently find myself feeling like I don’t want to live anymore. I’d definitely kill myself if it wouldn’t have a negative impact on the people I care about. But it feels like now, even the things that I love the most and the things that have kept me alive for years, are no longer enough. Even the things that make me feel good, still make me feel like shit. I used to try really hard to be happy. A great deal of time, effort, and energy went into trying to be happy. But after years of trying, I’ve given up. As of late, I’m lacking a best friend. It’s not like my best friend up and left, or anything along those lines. I just felt the emotional string connecting us being torn into two separate strands, and I’m fucking heartbroken over it.

I always complain about wanting to be left alone. Leave me alone. Don’t talk to me. I just want to be by myself. But now that I’ve finally managed to push everyone away, I am so fucking lonely. I go to bed somewhere between 3 and 5 pm on most days, simply because I have nothing else to do. And almost no one knows how sad I really am. Even my best friends of 5+ years have no idea that I’m about ready to off myself. I let people believe I’m this happy, energetic being, and I’m not. And because I sort of lead people on in their beliefs about me, I can’t help but wonder if I’m living a lie. Pretending to be happy (even if it is for the benefit of others) is certainly deceptive, at least it is in my mind. I can’t decide if I’m living a lie or not, but I don’t think it matters. Even if I dropped the facade and let the world see how miserable I really am, I doubt I’d feel any better.

I remember being very young, probably only six or seven, and my mother was watching Beverly Hills 90210. I sat down next to her and watched it. One of the female characters (I don’t know which one) was cutting herself. And at that time, all I could think was, what the fuck? I didn’t understand how anyone could deliberately hurt themselves like that, nor did I understand why. I never thought I’d turn out to be one of the people who did it.

The thing about me is that I over-analyze everything entirely too much. And as of late I’ve been spending a great deal of time contemplating my depression, which dates back to sometime between third and fourth grade. And there were a lot of things going on in my life at that time that could have potentially caused my depression. My home life and school life were both total shit. At home my parents were constantly fighting, and we were broke as fuck. And I had to take care of myself a great deal of the time, because I’d essentially been abandoned by my parents. At school, I was bullied every God damn day by my “best friends” who called me fat and stupid. Not to mention that they pushed me down and covered my legs in bruises because they kicked me all the time. While at school, my biggest fear was that I’d go home to find my mom murdered by my father, a highly rational fear. After all that, I decided I didn’t want to exist anymore. I don’t think I was considering suicide, I think I just wanted to stop living.

It was at this point in my life I abandoned the idea of God. At a very young age I decided I was an atheist (though I wasn’t familiar with the terminology then.) I remember praying one day; for the first, and last, time. I asked God to make my parents stop fighting. There wasn’t an immediate response, so I gave it time. But still nothing, and so I gave up. At (approximately) seven years old, I deserted God. I realized then that praying did nothing, and the suffering would continue regardless of how much I prayed. I’ve kept that belief to this very day.

So here I was, a faithless, friendless, and basically family-less child. It’s no wonder I was depressed! It’s a miracle I didn’t take my life then.