I can't believe I'm still here
Posted: Tue Aug 07, 2012 8:36 pm
What did I mean by the title? I meant here on Earth. Maybe that's an exaggeration, but I'll let you decide.
For the record, I'm 16 years old and attending my town's high school. I'm a little lonely, but school is starting soon, which cheers me up a little bit, and I'm a Junior now. I'm everything but happy. I'm everything but glad. I feel alone in this Godforsaken planet. But soon, I'll have things to be happy about. Like getting contacts, new clothes. And it wouldn't be good for me to just keep thinking about the past, when the clock of time continues to move again. So I'll just vent it out here, not for the last time.
My parents' histories are irrelevant to this. Their histories didn't affect me. Their histories only affected them. My parents... Could I even call them parents? Not back then. No. I was born on a night of thunder, rain, and lightning. I remember being taken out of the hospital, and seeing that dark sky roar. I was left to myself often. In my crib, in that apartment, I stared consistently into the dark hallway in front of me. I stared at that darkness in wonder. In curiosity. My mom was a monster. She smacked my bottom as hard as she could, nearly every day, just for fun I guess. It made me cry and I went to my father's office and cried in front of him, pleadingly. He simply stared back at me with a weird look on his face. He didn't say anything. He always just gave me that same old weird look, that told me to leave him alone. And the beatings my mom gave me never stopped.
I never attended school back then. I wasn't allowed to. I had to go to Church and Sunday school though. I remember... the playground beside the church, and the basketball court. I once tried to shoot a hoop, with my dad, but I missed, and he sort of ignored me, for a reason I'm still unaware of. I was attached to my mom, because I thought that it was my fault that she kept beating me. She and my dad were always fighting, right in front of me too.
I think we moved to another apartment. I'm not certain. It was around that time, that my dad spoke to me for the first time. I was starting to grow a sort of defiant attitude, and whenever something bothered me, I shrank to my knees and put my head down in defiance. My dad said "hey get off the floor, now" that was the first time he spoke to me maybe not kind words but, still.
My attitude of defiance kept growing. I started becoming angry. One time, when I was playing barbie dolls with my sister, who was 3 years older than me, I got mad for some reason. I took the plastic Ken and whopped her hard right in the side of the face. She went into hysterical tears, and my mom came rushing in. I knew that my mom was about to give me a real painful beating, so I started crying too, to make it seem like I hadn't done wrong. Soon enough, I was in a fury. My anger knew no bounds. I often fantasized about torturing and killing my whole family. My parents, my older brother and sister. I wanted to kill them.
Now, uhm so that was what my life was like, every week, when I lived at that apartment in Parma Heights. Mix of church, being beaten, fantasizing about torturing and killing, not for enjoyment of course, but for revenge.
Then my dad got a really good job, and we moved into this big lovely house in a nice town. My dad started to notice how unstable I was, and he made me go to see a bunch of psychologists and psychiatrists. I was put on medication, but the medication just made me a hundred times worse. I stopped going to Church and Sunday school because my parents divorced. The church didn't want us. But I'm glad I stopped going to stupid church. I got beat up by a group up punks one time, at church.
I think the abuse from my mom stopped around there. And my dad put me in public school for 4th grade. But the school I went to hated me, for a reason I can't recall, and I failed every class, so I stopped going there. I just waited until next year to go to a private school for 5th grade. But not only did I fail every class again, I got kicked out for being "possessed by a demon". Needless to say it was a religious private school. I didn't go back to school until 7th grade. But just to point out, at that time, my dad and I hated each other. He was always screaming at me, for random things. Sometimes he shoved me. So I went to this middle school for 7th grade, and I became sort of notorious for failing classes, getting into fights, getting into trouble, and being an idiot. My friends and I spent time in the woods close to my house, just doing random stuff. But we found that the industrial parkway was close by and almost empty of people. So we decided to start destroying people's property for fun. We broke so much stuff! We became like experts at vandalizing.
One time, we shoved a ladder into the windshield of a truck, and then climbed into the building next to it, and completely trashed one of the rooms. One of my friends decided to rat out every kid who was involved to the police, and my dad hired a lawyer for me because I was in deep. I was supposed to go to prison, but my lawyer got me probation and anger management, BS like that. But in 8th grade, I kept getting into fights, went to jail for a short time for probation violation. I got kicked out of the school.
That was my life in a nutshell, from the time I was born up to the beginning of high school. I almost died one time, because my family never cared to keep an eye on me. I almost fell off a cliff in West Virginia. It is a sad, disturbing, disgusting story, and well, sometimes I feel very discouraged by it. But as they say, "it gets better" I guess in my case that's true:wink: . My miserable mother is now a vegetable, and my dad supports me. I have around 11 different mental disorders, but I can manage myself now. I just want to meet good people and convince myself that life is worth living.
For the record, I'm 16 years old and attending my town's high school. I'm a little lonely, but school is starting soon, which cheers me up a little bit, and I'm a Junior now. I'm everything but happy. I'm everything but glad. I feel alone in this Godforsaken planet. But soon, I'll have things to be happy about. Like getting contacts, new clothes. And it wouldn't be good for me to just keep thinking about the past, when the clock of time continues to move again. So I'll just vent it out here, not for the last time.
My parents' histories are irrelevant to this. Their histories didn't affect me. Their histories only affected them. My parents... Could I even call them parents? Not back then. No. I was born on a night of thunder, rain, and lightning. I remember being taken out of the hospital, and seeing that dark sky roar. I was left to myself often. In my crib, in that apartment, I stared consistently into the dark hallway in front of me. I stared at that darkness in wonder. In curiosity. My mom was a monster. She smacked my bottom as hard as she could, nearly every day, just for fun I guess. It made me cry and I went to my father's office and cried in front of him, pleadingly. He simply stared back at me with a weird look on his face. He didn't say anything. He always just gave me that same old weird look, that told me to leave him alone. And the beatings my mom gave me never stopped.
I never attended school back then. I wasn't allowed to. I had to go to Church and Sunday school though. I remember... the playground beside the church, and the basketball court. I once tried to shoot a hoop, with my dad, but I missed, and he sort of ignored me, for a reason I'm still unaware of. I was attached to my mom, because I thought that it was my fault that she kept beating me. She and my dad were always fighting, right in front of me too.
I think we moved to another apartment. I'm not certain. It was around that time, that my dad spoke to me for the first time. I was starting to grow a sort of defiant attitude, and whenever something bothered me, I shrank to my knees and put my head down in defiance. My dad said "hey get off the floor, now" that was the first time he spoke to me maybe not kind words but, still.
My attitude of defiance kept growing. I started becoming angry. One time, when I was playing barbie dolls with my sister, who was 3 years older than me, I got mad for some reason. I took the plastic Ken and whopped her hard right in the side of the face. She went into hysterical tears, and my mom came rushing in. I knew that my mom was about to give me a real painful beating, so I started crying too, to make it seem like I hadn't done wrong. Soon enough, I was in a fury. My anger knew no bounds. I often fantasized about torturing and killing my whole family. My parents, my older brother and sister. I wanted to kill them.
Now, uhm so that was what my life was like, every week, when I lived at that apartment in Parma Heights. Mix of church, being beaten, fantasizing about torturing and killing, not for enjoyment of course, but for revenge.
Then my dad got a really good job, and we moved into this big lovely house in a nice town. My dad started to notice how unstable I was, and he made me go to see a bunch of psychologists and psychiatrists. I was put on medication, but the medication just made me a hundred times worse. I stopped going to Church and Sunday school because my parents divorced. The church didn't want us. But I'm glad I stopped going to stupid church. I got beat up by a group up punks one time, at church.
I think the abuse from my mom stopped around there. And my dad put me in public school for 4th grade. But the school I went to hated me, for a reason I can't recall, and I failed every class, so I stopped going there. I just waited until next year to go to a private school for 5th grade. But not only did I fail every class again, I got kicked out for being "possessed by a demon". Needless to say it was a religious private school. I didn't go back to school until 7th grade. But just to point out, at that time, my dad and I hated each other. He was always screaming at me, for random things. Sometimes he shoved me. So I went to this middle school for 7th grade, and I became sort of notorious for failing classes, getting into fights, getting into trouble, and being an idiot. My friends and I spent time in the woods close to my house, just doing random stuff. But we found that the industrial parkway was close by and almost empty of people. So we decided to start destroying people's property for fun. We broke so much stuff! We became like experts at vandalizing.
One time, we shoved a ladder into the windshield of a truck, and then climbed into the building next to it, and completely trashed one of the rooms. One of my friends decided to rat out every kid who was involved to the police, and my dad hired a lawyer for me because I was in deep. I was supposed to go to prison, but my lawyer got me probation and anger management, BS like that. But in 8th grade, I kept getting into fights, went to jail for a short time for probation violation. I got kicked out of the school.
That was my life in a nutshell, from the time I was born up to the beginning of high school. I almost died one time, because my family never cared to keep an eye on me. I almost fell off a cliff in West Virginia. It is a sad, disturbing, disgusting story, and well, sometimes I feel very discouraged by it. But as they say, "it gets better" I guess in my case that's true:wink: . My miserable mother is now a vegetable, and my dad supports me. I have around 11 different mental disorders, but I can manage myself now. I just want to meet good people and convince myself that life is worth living.