so I guess I'ma throw everything out that's been bothering me, right now. I'm sorry if it's gonna be confusing, I even confuse myself dammit. And sorry if there's things in it certain persons do not want to hear, I just have to let it out. My intention is not to hurt anyone. But then again it seems to be what I always do.. :sad:
My mother died when I was 10 months old. She was declared brain dead. I can't remember shit of her. And when I asked my father about it when I was like 6 or so all he wanted to say about it is that she had a blood clot in her neck because of which her blood couldn't reach her brain. That's how she ended up being brain dead. My dad never wanted to talk about her, my sister neither. (she was 4 when our mum passed away). It hurts them both too much. Our family isn't much of a talking family if it comes to problems and issues. And I'm not much of a talker anyway. I'm way better when typing or writing. I just can't speak about painful things for some reason.
I miss my mother very very much. I can't remember shit of her but yet I miss her so damn much. And I know that her death is one of the main causes of my depression. Or at least the things that happened to me ON TOP of her death and the missing of a mother to talk to about stuff, is the cause of my depression. I know that in my head I idealized her. I have tis image in my head of a mother who would accept my bisexuality and depression, who would listen to whatever is wrong with me and who would actually TALK to me, instead of not putting any effort in contacting her own daughter. Someone who doesnt make her daughter feel as if she's worthless because she never got the grades at highschool which she could've gotten.
My dad and his wife. They've always been so blind.
First time I realized I wasn't heterosexual I was like 11 or 12 years old. I told my best friend that I had feelings for her. She was totally okay with it. and we continued being good friends. Then one day out of nothing she started crying in class. Later on one of the teachers took me apart. Apparently she'd told them and all classmates that I had tried to lock her in my room and made her to kiss me and bullshit like that. Of course everyone believed her, cos that's human nature. They always believe sensational stories. Gives them things to gossip about. My teacher called to my house and told my stepmum about it. When I came home my stepmum told me that from now on I wasn't allowed to read any girl's magazines anymore, because according to her that's what made me think of "nonsense like that". I guess from then on I realized I'd have to live my life without telling my parents my real feelings anymore.
My life went on and on and at highschool people would pick on me, call me dike and stuff like that, but eventually I got over that. I accepted my bisexuality for myself after a good 3 years. That's when I decided to tell my parents. They were like the last ones to know, My whole school knew about it and I didn't care.
As said before I'm not much of a talker, therefore I left a letter at home before I went to school. In the letter I explained that I'm bisexual and that I hoped they'd understand and accept it. when I came home from school everyone acted as if nothing was going on. Then when I went to bed my stepmum came to my bedroom. She sat down and looked at me.. I don't remember the whole conversation exactly anymore. Except that she told me that I couldn't tell anyone because if people would find out about it and I would turn out to be "normal" (which according to her I would, because it was all just a phase blablabla). I was in shock. I knew she's always been very into "what might other people think of it" and playing the perfect family and shit, but no way I'd ever expected her to just say it all was bullshit. Cos that's basically what she said. I still wonder if she even told my dad about it.
From that moment on I knew it, I couldnt trust my own parents anymore, Couldn't tell them anything anymore. They didn't accept me the way I am and that's heartbreaking. I think this made me idealize my mother even more. And maybe even feed my depression. THis all was in 2003.
Then in May 2004, 3 guys assaulted me. Thank god they stopped in time. I think because they heard someone coming or something. Never will I forget that day. I was walking through a small alley in the early morning as 3 guys came up to me asking me what time it was. and before I knew 2 of them had me pushed against the wall holding me tight so I couldnt do anything. Meanwhile the 3rd started touching me and dropping down his pants... :cry: :cry:
All of a sudden they stopped. I pulled myself together and went to a little grassfield nearby where I sat the rest of the day, quiet and alone. Crying.
I got extremely depressed, and started visiting a suicide community where I met some people. I got very close with one of them, S. We helped eachother. Whenever one of us was down they would call the other one or text or whatever. I could talk to her about basically anything. She also meant alot to me because she seemed to be the only one who believed me. For some reason my friends at school didn't believe that I was assaulted. They just didn't believe me. During that period I also started cutting. I regularly had words cut in my arm saying things like "death" Also I would go out with one friend and always get drunk and I even smoked pot sometimes.
I promised S. that I would always be there for her, no matter what. Told her she could call me ANY time. Then one night around 3am she called me. But I was too bloody tired to pick up. I didn't take the call. The next day a common friend called me, telling me S. had committed suicide. Up until today I've never forgiven myself. And I don't think I'll ever forgive myself. I'd kept her from killing herself SO many times already. I know that if I'd taken that call i could've stopped her again.
of course this made me start drinking and cutting even more. I drank so much that I had to borrow money from this guy I barely knew. i met him on the net and we had met up like once or maybe twice. I barely knew him. yet I borrowed money from him. Of course after a while he wanted it back. But I didnt have it anymore as I'd spend it all on alcohol and shit like that. I didn't see any other solution than sleeping with men for money. Every time again I would just lay on the bed, let them do their thing and then get money and leave. I felt so dirty and bad and wrong and even more suicidal. The first few times were the hardest. I just cried and cried but the men in question wouldn't stop. After all they payed for sex, so they would get sex. In 3 weeks I had sex with 11 guys. some of them more than once. I was disgusted with myself. and it made me HATE guys.
my depression went on, with ups and downs. my friends didn't really seem to care, or they just got sick of me being so depressed. They wanted the happy Ester back. So I just put up my Happy Mask. I got really skilled with that Mask. At a certain point I even fooled the school psychologist. (my friends had talked to my tutor who sent me to the school psychologist). After a few visits to her I just started acting. Every time we met, I made it so that I looked as if I was doing a little better. Until at one point according to her I seemed to be doing well enough to stop visiting her. I reached what I wanted. People thought I was doing well again.
All this time my parents hadn't noticed anything. Eventhough I started skipping school more and more. I would just lay in bed in the mornings and tell my parents I had the day off, or the first few hours off. Then last year around february my parents went to Germany for a week. I sat behind my computer the whole week. Browsing forums and chatting to people. With a bottle of rum next to me. I was drunk all the time. Missed many nights of sleep. Didn't leave the house, except to go out to buy some more rum. Good thing I didn't have any school that week, cos of Carnaval.
In march they went away for a week again. Again I didnt leave the house and didnt do anything but drinking and chatting. This time I did have school, but I called in sick at the beginning of the week and only started going back to school when my parents were back.
For some strange reason my school never told my parents about the amound of classes I skipped those days. It only got worse and worse in the weeks after that. I kept on telling my parents I had free lessons and when they would say they thought it was a bit strange that I was home that much I would just say that that was normal in the last year of highschool. Because of the upcoming exams and stuff. I also fucked up most of my exams. Barely got any grades higher than a 3 or 4 (it goes from 1 - 10 over here). Sometimes I would even just leave in the middle of an exam. Knowing I would get a 1 but I just didnt give a shit. I felt like I wanted to die anyway. Don't ask me how, cos I have no clue, but eventually I did graduate. Mostly 6's on my endlist, except for English, German and Music. My parents were furious. They didn't see the fact that I graduated, nor that I had an 8 at my endlist for both English and Music. All they saw was that 5 for French and all the 6's. And that I had dropped Latin. As always they only saw the bad things.
They saw all the bad things, except for the fact that their daughter was depressed, suicidal and wanted to die and hated herself and the place where she was.
I think the only reason I made it through was because I, the damn fool, thought things would change once I'd moved out and start at University.
Guess what. I went to Uni for a month or so when I started getting severely depressed again. Didnt do anything but staring at my computer and moving myself from the bed to the couch. Eventually when I realized I already was too far behind and that it was useless to go on because I had to do the year over anyway I dropped out. I told my parents and they were furious. Later on I explained the whole situation to my parents. I told them I'm depressed and that caused me to just not be able to keep going to Uni at this point. They still were furious. Eversince I've barely spoken to them. I barely go home. In the beginning we would phone like once a week or so. But now I haven't spoken to them since Christmas. They didnt'try to contact me either, except for a text saying that I had to transfer the money I owe them (they wanted me to pay back everything they'd payed for uni) to their account and a text saying "happy new year from all of us"
then there's all the shit I'm in with people from here. Oh well it isn't even shit. I'ts just complicated relationships. I care too much about people. Keep trying to help everyone and keep blaming myself everytime something happens to someone else.
A few people in particular have I started to care too much about. For example this one person I love to bits; part of me has started to see her as some kind of mother figure. I ask her for advice all the time, just because she always seem to have an answer to anything. She cracks me up a lot. She makes me smile a lot. I can talk to her about stuff. Everything I'd always wanted a mother to be. I know this is wrong but I can't help it.
And then there's the tiring nights in chat, during which I try to help as many people as possible. Outnumbering myself in the hope to stop others from killing themselves. I feel the need to outnumber myself and punish myself because of the death of S. I feel the need to save others to make up for her death but also because I care about them.
I want to die every day. More and more. But I can't do it. I'm too much of a chicken for it and besides I can't give my dad and his wife the pleasure of my death. Not now, not like this.
fuck it. I can't write anything more right now.
I'm sorry for the bother. I'm really sorry. Just had to let it out as I can't bother anyone in specific anymore.
This isn't everything, but I just can't do it. Sorry.
FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT.
WHY DO I KEEP ON CAUSING PEOPLE TO GET UPSET OR TO EVEN DIE. NOTHING I EVER DO IS FUCKING GOOD ENOUGH.
I don't get it, why am I still here. I can't do anything fucking right anyway.
I FUCKING HATE MYSELF.
My mother died when I was 10 months old. She was declared brain dead. I can't remember shit of her. And when I asked my father about it when I was like 6 or so all he wanted to say about it is that she had a blood clot in her neck because of which her blood couldn't reach her brain. That's how she ended up being brain dead. My dad never wanted to talk about her, my sister neither. (she was 4 when our mum passed away). It hurts them both too much. Our family isn't much of a talking family if it comes to problems and issues. And I'm not much of a talker anyway. I'm way better when typing or writing. I just can't speak about painful things for some reason.
I miss my mother very very much. I can't remember shit of her but yet I miss her so damn much. And I know that her death is one of the main causes of my depression. Or at least the things that happened to me ON TOP of her death and the missing of a mother to talk to about stuff, is the cause of my depression. I know that in my head I idealized her. I have tis image in my head of a mother who would accept my bisexuality and depression, who would listen to whatever is wrong with me and who would actually TALK to me, instead of not putting any effort in contacting her own daughter. Someone who doesnt make her daughter feel as if she's worthless because she never got the grades at highschool which she could've gotten.
My dad and his wife. They've always been so blind.
First time I realized I wasn't heterosexual I was like 11 or 12 years old. I told my best friend that I had feelings for her. She was totally okay with it. and we continued being good friends. Then one day out of nothing she started crying in class. Later on one of the teachers took me apart. Apparently she'd told them and all classmates that I had tried to lock her in my room and made her to kiss me and bullshit like that. Of course everyone believed her, cos that's human nature. They always believe sensational stories. Gives them things to gossip about. My teacher called to my house and told my stepmum about it. When I came home my stepmum told me that from now on I wasn't allowed to read any girl's magazines anymore, because according to her that's what made me think of "nonsense like that". I guess from then on I realized I'd have to live my life without telling my parents my real feelings anymore.
My life went on and on and at highschool people would pick on me, call me dike and stuff like that, but eventually I got over that. I accepted my bisexuality for myself after a good 3 years. That's when I decided to tell my parents. They were like the last ones to know, My whole school knew about it and I didn't care.
As said before I'm not much of a talker, therefore I left a letter at home before I went to school. In the letter I explained that I'm bisexual and that I hoped they'd understand and accept it. when I came home from school everyone acted as if nothing was going on. Then when I went to bed my stepmum came to my bedroom. She sat down and looked at me.. I don't remember the whole conversation exactly anymore. Except that she told me that I couldn't tell anyone because if people would find out about it and I would turn out to be "normal" (which according to her I would, because it was all just a phase blablabla). I was in shock. I knew she's always been very into "what might other people think of it" and playing the perfect family and shit, but no way I'd ever expected her to just say it all was bullshit. Cos that's basically what she said. I still wonder if she even told my dad about it.
From that moment on I knew it, I couldnt trust my own parents anymore, Couldn't tell them anything anymore. They didn't accept me the way I am and that's heartbreaking. I think this made me idealize my mother even more. And maybe even feed my depression. THis all was in 2003.
Then in May 2004, 3 guys assaulted me. Thank god they stopped in time. I think because they heard someone coming or something. Never will I forget that day. I was walking through a small alley in the early morning as 3 guys came up to me asking me what time it was. and before I knew 2 of them had me pushed against the wall holding me tight so I couldnt do anything. Meanwhile the 3rd started touching me and dropping down his pants... :cry: :cry:
All of a sudden they stopped. I pulled myself together and went to a little grassfield nearby where I sat the rest of the day, quiet and alone. Crying.
I got extremely depressed, and started visiting a suicide community where I met some people. I got very close with one of them, S. We helped eachother. Whenever one of us was down they would call the other one or text or whatever. I could talk to her about basically anything. She also meant alot to me because she seemed to be the only one who believed me. For some reason my friends at school didn't believe that I was assaulted. They just didn't believe me. During that period I also started cutting. I regularly had words cut in my arm saying things like "death" Also I would go out with one friend and always get drunk and I even smoked pot sometimes.
I promised S. that I would always be there for her, no matter what. Told her she could call me ANY time. Then one night around 3am she called me. But I was too bloody tired to pick up. I didn't take the call. The next day a common friend called me, telling me S. had committed suicide. Up until today I've never forgiven myself. And I don't think I'll ever forgive myself. I'd kept her from killing herself SO many times already. I know that if I'd taken that call i could've stopped her again.
of course this made me start drinking and cutting even more. I drank so much that I had to borrow money from this guy I barely knew. i met him on the net and we had met up like once or maybe twice. I barely knew him. yet I borrowed money from him. Of course after a while he wanted it back. But I didnt have it anymore as I'd spend it all on alcohol and shit like that. I didn't see any other solution than sleeping with men for money. Every time again I would just lay on the bed, let them do their thing and then get money and leave. I felt so dirty and bad and wrong and even more suicidal. The first few times were the hardest. I just cried and cried but the men in question wouldn't stop. After all they payed for sex, so they would get sex. In 3 weeks I had sex with 11 guys. some of them more than once. I was disgusted with myself. and it made me HATE guys.
my depression went on, with ups and downs. my friends didn't really seem to care, or they just got sick of me being so depressed. They wanted the happy Ester back. So I just put up my Happy Mask. I got really skilled with that Mask. At a certain point I even fooled the school psychologist. (my friends had talked to my tutor who sent me to the school psychologist). After a few visits to her I just started acting. Every time we met, I made it so that I looked as if I was doing a little better. Until at one point according to her I seemed to be doing well enough to stop visiting her. I reached what I wanted. People thought I was doing well again.
All this time my parents hadn't noticed anything. Eventhough I started skipping school more and more. I would just lay in bed in the mornings and tell my parents I had the day off, or the first few hours off. Then last year around february my parents went to Germany for a week. I sat behind my computer the whole week. Browsing forums and chatting to people. With a bottle of rum next to me. I was drunk all the time. Missed many nights of sleep. Didn't leave the house, except to go out to buy some more rum. Good thing I didn't have any school that week, cos of Carnaval.
In march they went away for a week again. Again I didnt leave the house and didnt do anything but drinking and chatting. This time I did have school, but I called in sick at the beginning of the week and only started going back to school when my parents were back.
For some strange reason my school never told my parents about the amound of classes I skipped those days. It only got worse and worse in the weeks after that. I kept on telling my parents I had free lessons and when they would say they thought it was a bit strange that I was home that much I would just say that that was normal in the last year of highschool. Because of the upcoming exams and stuff. I also fucked up most of my exams. Barely got any grades higher than a 3 or 4 (it goes from 1 - 10 over here). Sometimes I would even just leave in the middle of an exam. Knowing I would get a 1 but I just didnt give a shit. I felt like I wanted to die anyway. Don't ask me how, cos I have no clue, but eventually I did graduate. Mostly 6's on my endlist, except for English, German and Music. My parents were furious. They didn't see the fact that I graduated, nor that I had an 8 at my endlist for both English and Music. All they saw was that 5 for French and all the 6's. And that I had dropped Latin. As always they only saw the bad things.
They saw all the bad things, except for the fact that their daughter was depressed, suicidal and wanted to die and hated herself and the place where she was.
I think the only reason I made it through was because I, the damn fool, thought things would change once I'd moved out and start at University.
Guess what. I went to Uni for a month or so when I started getting severely depressed again. Didnt do anything but staring at my computer and moving myself from the bed to the couch. Eventually when I realized I already was too far behind and that it was useless to go on because I had to do the year over anyway I dropped out. I told my parents and they were furious. Later on I explained the whole situation to my parents. I told them I'm depressed and that caused me to just not be able to keep going to Uni at this point. They still were furious. Eversince I've barely spoken to them. I barely go home. In the beginning we would phone like once a week or so. But now I haven't spoken to them since Christmas. They didnt'try to contact me either, except for a text saying that I had to transfer the money I owe them (they wanted me to pay back everything they'd payed for uni) to their account and a text saying "happy new year from all of us"
then there's all the shit I'm in with people from here. Oh well it isn't even shit. I'ts just complicated relationships. I care too much about people. Keep trying to help everyone and keep blaming myself everytime something happens to someone else.
A few people in particular have I started to care too much about. For example this one person I love to bits; part of me has started to see her as some kind of mother figure. I ask her for advice all the time, just because she always seem to have an answer to anything. She cracks me up a lot. She makes me smile a lot. I can talk to her about stuff. Everything I'd always wanted a mother to be. I know this is wrong but I can't help it.
And then there's the tiring nights in chat, during which I try to help as many people as possible. Outnumbering myself in the hope to stop others from killing themselves. I feel the need to outnumber myself and punish myself because of the death of S. I feel the need to save others to make up for her death but also because I care about them.
I want to die every day. More and more. But I can't do it. I'm too much of a chicken for it and besides I can't give my dad and his wife the pleasure of my death. Not now, not like this.
fuck it. I can't write anything more right now.
I'm sorry for the bother. I'm really sorry. Just had to let it out as I can't bother anyone in specific anymore.
This isn't everything, but I just can't do it. Sorry.
FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT.
WHY DO I KEEP ON CAUSING PEOPLE TO GET UPSET OR TO EVEN DIE. NOTHING I EVER DO IS FUCKING GOOD ENOUGH.
I don't get it, why am I still here. I can't do anything fucking right anyway.
I FUCKING HATE MYSELF.
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