my long and complicated story
Posted: Wed Feb 12, 2014 4:04 pm
First of all, I'm sorry if this is going to take a while to read. I'll try to write it as short as possible.
I am currently 20 years old, female, living away from my parents.
That's where I'll start: My parents. My whole family, to be exact. For the first 16 years of my life I've hated my parents. They never hit me, they never intended to hurt me at all. But the problem is, they never did anything else either. They existed, yes, we've lived in the same house. But that's it. Meals were eaten in silence, doors were closed and we all spent our time alone. I know it may not sound hard to live like that, but it was. My sister was a top student, she knew everything. I was average. It was just normal to assume that she'd get more attention. So I accepted the fact that I've never heard a positive word about me. My sister on the other hand didn't like me at all. She called me a failure and attacked me when nobody was watching. Until the point when she grabbed me by the neck and tried to choke me. She was almost successful, but I guess she didn't want to end up being the bad sister. So she left it at that, and we kept some distance from each other. When I got older, became a teenager, it pissed me off. I had never done anything to make her angry, if at all, I should've been the one to attack her! So I did the only thing that seemed reasonable back then - I blamed my parents. I never told them though.
I also never told them about the things I've been thinking about when I was 9 years old. The only reason I didn't kill myself back then was my messy room - as illogical as it sounds. I didn't want my mother to clean up my room when I was dead, it didn't seem right to me. For about a year I told myself that I'd end my life....and set a time limit. My 10th birthday was the day. If nothing was going to change until then, I'd simply run in front of a bus. It didn't even occur to me that there would be other ways to do it.
And just like that, a year went by and nothing changed. So I packed my things, cleaned up my room, and decided to not go home after school. But my mother picked me up from school on my bithday, so I wanted to do it the next day.
And the next day brought a miracle. We had a new student in my class, one that should've originally arrived on my birthday. The only possible explanation for this event was my miracle. A sign that I was supposed to live. And she became my best friend in no time. More about her later.
So for the next few years, I've stopped thinking about it. Fast forward to the time when I was 16. I've always hated my laptop for being slow and not working properly, but it was the best I could get from the money I earned with my part time jobs. But since it was constantly shutting off, I consulted my father, an electronics teacher, with it. The way we've talked could be considered as business partners, rather than family. He said he'd reset it and look at my files - something I NEVER wanted to happen. There was nothing really worth hiding, but among the usual photos with friends and essays for school were some things I had written to myself, and I would've rather died than letting him read what I felt. We fought, yelled, and the words I never dared to say just came out of my mouth. "You hate me, that's why you've never even said a nice word to me!"
It must've hurt him. I could see it in his eyes. I fled into my room and cried there for hours. Some time later he knocked and entered. I didn't intend to say anthing, so he just asked me to come downstairs and listen. And I listened.
He told me about how my sister's wild behavior and my quiet appearance made some kindergarten workers worried, so they called the youth welfare office and sent us to see a psychologist. That person said, without even really talking to us, that apparently we showed signs of child abuse and my parents were, of course, suspected.
It wasn't intended to separate us from our parents, since there was no proof, but my parents had strict orders to not stay with us for a long period of time, especially my father. Also, physical contact should be limited to a minimum.
Long story short, the child welfare office forced my family to live together, but with invisible walls around each of us. A thing I don't remember, and I doubt my sister does either.
Back to when I was told about it. After I've heard the story from my crying father, who had never shown any emotion before, we hugged. It seems like no big deal, but it was the one and only hug we shared. And he promised that things would change.
They didn't. Nothing changed. Everything went back to how it was before. Alright, ALMOST nothing changed. My way of thinking did. I no longer blamed my parents for anything, I felt bad for the loving couple who couldn't express their feelings for their children. Weeks and months went by and I questioned everything. My whole world was based on the assumption that I was never loved by my family. I know it doesn't sound right to say this, but sometimes I wish I could still believe it was like that. After that time I stopped trusting my feelings. "Do I like this thing or do I just think I like it?" "Does he really like me back or am I just wishing for it?"
The years went by and I turned 18. I found a job and moved out, it would've taken 3 hours to get to work if I had stayed there. My whole career is probably just me running away from my home. I travel a lot, work during weekends and holidays. It's a job that won't allow having a family, or a lover. The perfect job from someone who always distances herself from others.
So this is it, the part about my family, from the beginning to the end. Next is the one about my previously mentioned best friend.
Like I said, I met her when I was 10 years old, on the day after my birthday, which we call our anniversary. She quickly became the most important person in my life. A few year after that, when I was 12, she moved to another country though. We kept in touch through letters and drawings....which was pretty hard to keep up without the internet. During that time, even when I felt alone, I had the letters and felt safe. 2 years later she came back, but she seemed like the same friend that had left me. We spent a lot of time together, and I didn't care about how often I paid for our meals or how much money I lent her. Because I had my best friend back.
Do you see where this is going already? I should've seen it. Maybe I did, but never wanted to admit the truth.
We had a lot of sleepovers. Watching TV, talking, being normal. A little while after I had that talk with my father, we had one as well. I had saved up a lot of courage for that day. I finally wanted to tell her about all the hard times I've been through, about the thoughts of killing myself, about my feelings, about depression. We watched a documentary about psychological diseases, and it seemed like a good chance to start a conversation. I asked her about what she'd do if one of her friends thought about suicide. But I didn't expect that answer. I expected something harsh and cold, I was used to that already, but what I heard was nothing like it. I could feel pure hatred from every word she said back then.
"People who think of killing themselves....they should die. They don't deserve to live. They should all go and kill themselves and stop bothering others with it." After something like that, how could I have possibly told her about my feelings? I've kept it to myself, let her believe that I was just a normal girl living a completely normal life.
It continued like this for the next years. She said mean things, I kept quiet. The person I cared for the most would've hated me if I told her the truth.
I wish I could write more about her, though it's never something significant. We now share an apartment. It's been almost a year and I've realized that my best friend really is no longer here. Whenever we talk, it's about her. When I say "I went to the cinema today", she says "and I went there last week. I've seen it already. Wasn't great."
It's those little, discouraging things, that slowly destroy my happiness in this home. I'll probably move out as soon as I find a nice place to stay.
Now, to the next topic, love. Something I've always kept to myself.
We met online, became friends for years. And then, last year, I finally told him about my feelings for him. And they were mutual. We haven't even met, but I was sure we'd just be so happy as soon as we'd meet. But after a while, I noticed that something was wrong. So I asked him straight out, if he had found a girlfriend. I was half joking, and didn't expect an answer. I didn't expect THAT answer. He did. He loved me. And her. But he chose to be with her, because she lived nearby. I was angry, I was sad. For the first time I had thought that someone loved me, but I felt replaced. His feelings for me were there, yes, but that doesn't change the fact that he found a girlfriend later. I was hurt, I felt unworthy of anything. But the fact that he still has feelings for me gave me hope. I should've given up. I should still give up, but something stops me. I've realized that my miracle, my best friend, is no longer my reason to stay alive, so I made him my new purpose. Even if I wouldn't end up as his girlfriend, I wanted this person to be happy, because he made me happy. For a while a least. After that conclusion, I somehow became his "secret girlfriend". I wasn't physically with him, but he still had feelings for me. For the record, we never reached a sexual level, I made that clear. I didn't want to be an affair. I didn't want to be used just for this purpose.
But I made a mistake. I didn't think it through when I decided to follow his girlfriend's twitter. Seeing all those cute couple pictures, and the lovely messages, and everyone around them, I'd feel bad if I destroyed that. I can't destroy another woman's happiness to have some for myself. Not like that. She loves him as much as I do, and I know how she'd feel. So right now....I'm somehow keeping up the secret girlfriend thing, until I'll find a solution.
(Sorry if this was a very confusing part....)
The next one is the last. My health. This is my life story, so I thought I should add this part as well.
I'll make it short. I'm the combination of several genetic defects. One of them made my appearance....different from normal, which I had a surgery for. My confidence is still pretty low, but it doesn't affect me as much as it used to. The next one is a little hard to understand. Yes, I can get pregnant. Though the chances are very small. But I can't become a mother. My body wouldn't be able to keep a child alive in my body for too long, or at least not a healthy child. When my doctor told me, I was shocked at first. It was when I was 14, my best friend was gone and I felt all alone. That was the first time I considered taking my life again. It hit me hard but after a while, I didn't care about it anymore.
Thank you for reading this far. I'm sorry about the complicated writing. I'd appreciate any sort of response. I'm currently writing this because, after almost 2 years, I've started to think about suicide again. Though I've told some good friends parts of the story, you're the only ones reading it all.
I am currently 20 years old, female, living away from my parents.
That's where I'll start: My parents. My whole family, to be exact. For the first 16 years of my life I've hated my parents. They never hit me, they never intended to hurt me at all. But the problem is, they never did anything else either. They existed, yes, we've lived in the same house. But that's it. Meals were eaten in silence, doors were closed and we all spent our time alone. I know it may not sound hard to live like that, but it was. My sister was a top student, she knew everything. I was average. It was just normal to assume that she'd get more attention. So I accepted the fact that I've never heard a positive word about me. My sister on the other hand didn't like me at all. She called me a failure and attacked me when nobody was watching. Until the point when she grabbed me by the neck and tried to choke me. She was almost successful, but I guess she didn't want to end up being the bad sister. So she left it at that, and we kept some distance from each other. When I got older, became a teenager, it pissed me off. I had never done anything to make her angry, if at all, I should've been the one to attack her! So I did the only thing that seemed reasonable back then - I blamed my parents. I never told them though.
I also never told them about the things I've been thinking about when I was 9 years old. The only reason I didn't kill myself back then was my messy room - as illogical as it sounds. I didn't want my mother to clean up my room when I was dead, it didn't seem right to me. For about a year I told myself that I'd end my life....and set a time limit. My 10th birthday was the day. If nothing was going to change until then, I'd simply run in front of a bus. It didn't even occur to me that there would be other ways to do it.
And just like that, a year went by and nothing changed. So I packed my things, cleaned up my room, and decided to not go home after school. But my mother picked me up from school on my bithday, so I wanted to do it the next day.
And the next day brought a miracle. We had a new student in my class, one that should've originally arrived on my birthday. The only possible explanation for this event was my miracle. A sign that I was supposed to live. And she became my best friend in no time. More about her later.
So for the next few years, I've stopped thinking about it. Fast forward to the time when I was 16. I've always hated my laptop for being slow and not working properly, but it was the best I could get from the money I earned with my part time jobs. But since it was constantly shutting off, I consulted my father, an electronics teacher, with it. The way we've talked could be considered as business partners, rather than family. He said he'd reset it and look at my files - something I NEVER wanted to happen. There was nothing really worth hiding, but among the usual photos with friends and essays for school were some things I had written to myself, and I would've rather died than letting him read what I felt. We fought, yelled, and the words I never dared to say just came out of my mouth. "You hate me, that's why you've never even said a nice word to me!"
It must've hurt him. I could see it in his eyes. I fled into my room and cried there for hours. Some time later he knocked and entered. I didn't intend to say anthing, so he just asked me to come downstairs and listen. And I listened.
He told me about how my sister's wild behavior and my quiet appearance made some kindergarten workers worried, so they called the youth welfare office and sent us to see a psychologist. That person said, without even really talking to us, that apparently we showed signs of child abuse and my parents were, of course, suspected.
It wasn't intended to separate us from our parents, since there was no proof, but my parents had strict orders to not stay with us for a long period of time, especially my father. Also, physical contact should be limited to a minimum.
Long story short, the child welfare office forced my family to live together, but with invisible walls around each of us. A thing I don't remember, and I doubt my sister does either.
Back to when I was told about it. After I've heard the story from my crying father, who had never shown any emotion before, we hugged. It seems like no big deal, but it was the one and only hug we shared. And he promised that things would change.
They didn't. Nothing changed. Everything went back to how it was before. Alright, ALMOST nothing changed. My way of thinking did. I no longer blamed my parents for anything, I felt bad for the loving couple who couldn't express their feelings for their children. Weeks and months went by and I questioned everything. My whole world was based on the assumption that I was never loved by my family. I know it doesn't sound right to say this, but sometimes I wish I could still believe it was like that. After that time I stopped trusting my feelings. "Do I like this thing or do I just think I like it?" "Does he really like me back or am I just wishing for it?"
The years went by and I turned 18. I found a job and moved out, it would've taken 3 hours to get to work if I had stayed there. My whole career is probably just me running away from my home. I travel a lot, work during weekends and holidays. It's a job that won't allow having a family, or a lover. The perfect job from someone who always distances herself from others.
So this is it, the part about my family, from the beginning to the end. Next is the one about my previously mentioned best friend.
Like I said, I met her when I was 10 years old, on the day after my birthday, which we call our anniversary. She quickly became the most important person in my life. A few year after that, when I was 12, she moved to another country though. We kept in touch through letters and drawings....which was pretty hard to keep up without the internet. During that time, even when I felt alone, I had the letters and felt safe. 2 years later she came back, but she seemed like the same friend that had left me. We spent a lot of time together, and I didn't care about how often I paid for our meals or how much money I lent her. Because I had my best friend back.
Do you see where this is going already? I should've seen it. Maybe I did, but never wanted to admit the truth.
We had a lot of sleepovers. Watching TV, talking, being normal. A little while after I had that talk with my father, we had one as well. I had saved up a lot of courage for that day. I finally wanted to tell her about all the hard times I've been through, about the thoughts of killing myself, about my feelings, about depression. We watched a documentary about psychological diseases, and it seemed like a good chance to start a conversation. I asked her about what she'd do if one of her friends thought about suicide. But I didn't expect that answer. I expected something harsh and cold, I was used to that already, but what I heard was nothing like it. I could feel pure hatred from every word she said back then.
"People who think of killing themselves....they should die. They don't deserve to live. They should all go and kill themselves and stop bothering others with it." After something like that, how could I have possibly told her about my feelings? I've kept it to myself, let her believe that I was just a normal girl living a completely normal life.
It continued like this for the next years. She said mean things, I kept quiet. The person I cared for the most would've hated me if I told her the truth.
I wish I could write more about her, though it's never something significant. We now share an apartment. It's been almost a year and I've realized that my best friend really is no longer here. Whenever we talk, it's about her. When I say "I went to the cinema today", she says "and I went there last week. I've seen it already. Wasn't great."
It's those little, discouraging things, that slowly destroy my happiness in this home. I'll probably move out as soon as I find a nice place to stay.
Now, to the next topic, love. Something I've always kept to myself.
We met online, became friends for years. And then, last year, I finally told him about my feelings for him. And they were mutual. We haven't even met, but I was sure we'd just be so happy as soon as we'd meet. But after a while, I noticed that something was wrong. So I asked him straight out, if he had found a girlfriend. I was half joking, and didn't expect an answer. I didn't expect THAT answer. He did. He loved me. And her. But he chose to be with her, because she lived nearby. I was angry, I was sad. For the first time I had thought that someone loved me, but I felt replaced. His feelings for me were there, yes, but that doesn't change the fact that he found a girlfriend later. I was hurt, I felt unworthy of anything. But the fact that he still has feelings for me gave me hope. I should've given up. I should still give up, but something stops me. I've realized that my miracle, my best friend, is no longer my reason to stay alive, so I made him my new purpose. Even if I wouldn't end up as his girlfriend, I wanted this person to be happy, because he made me happy. For a while a least. After that conclusion, I somehow became his "secret girlfriend". I wasn't physically with him, but he still had feelings for me. For the record, we never reached a sexual level, I made that clear. I didn't want to be an affair. I didn't want to be used just for this purpose.
But I made a mistake. I didn't think it through when I decided to follow his girlfriend's twitter. Seeing all those cute couple pictures, and the lovely messages, and everyone around them, I'd feel bad if I destroyed that. I can't destroy another woman's happiness to have some for myself. Not like that. She loves him as much as I do, and I know how she'd feel. So right now....I'm somehow keeping up the secret girlfriend thing, until I'll find a solution.
(Sorry if this was a very confusing part....)
The next one is the last. My health. This is my life story, so I thought I should add this part as well.
I'll make it short. I'm the combination of several genetic defects. One of them made my appearance....different from normal, which I had a surgery for. My confidence is still pretty low, but it doesn't affect me as much as it used to. The next one is a little hard to understand. Yes, I can get pregnant. Though the chances are very small. But I can't become a mother. My body wouldn't be able to keep a child alive in my body for too long, or at least not a healthy child. When my doctor told me, I was shocked at first. It was when I was 14, my best friend was gone and I felt all alone. That was the first time I considered taking my life again. It hit me hard but after a while, I didn't care about it anymore.
Thank you for reading this far. I'm sorry about the complicated writing. I'd appreciate any sort of response. I'm currently writing this because, after almost 2 years, I've started to think about suicide again. Though I've told some good friends parts of the story, you're the only ones reading it all.
