First time poster here. I'd like apologize beforehand because I'm certain this will end up being really long, rambling, and tangential. So, here goes: I'm 21 years old, and I've been strongly entertaining the notion of suicide for awhile now. In the past, it's something I've thought about in the abstract, like whenever I'd get depressed about something, I'd think about killing myself, while never actually intending to do it. I just wanted to sleep and never wake up. To be honest, I'm still not even sure if I'll ever be able to do it, although I find that to be quite a terrifying thought. But I'm starting to feel like there's no hope, and I feel that when I say this, I'm looking at my situation objectively. I look at myself like a sort of Frankenstein's Monster, a failed experiment. My mother had me when she was young (I believe she was 16 when she had me). She wasn't ready to be a mother, so my grandparents ended up raising me. I did live with her and my sister's father for one year, but it ended up tearing my grandparents apart, and myself as well, since I'd grown very attached to them, too. I'm not very clear on the particulars, but somehow or another, they ended up getting me back. My grandparents cared about me deeply. In fact, you could even argue they cared too deeply. Because of how much they cared about me, I was smothered. I'm the oldest of four siblings, and they've been adamant that I was their "favorite". I always used to feel very guilty about this, and I can even remember one occasion my grandmother told me this in private and I told her not to say that. Of course, on the whole, I never spurned their preferential treatment of me. I mentioned that I lived with my mother and sister's father for one year. I think that deserves commenting on because it should give you some insight into my grandmother's state of mind. She's brought up this subject many times, about how she resents my mother and sister's father for taking me away, among other things (which I'll go into in a minute). She's also developed some theories about abuse I might have undergone. This could be simply a delusion she's developed because of her intense dislike of my sister's father (who is now out of the picture, by the way, although I understand my sister has gotten in contact with him in recent years). Now, I remember very little from this time, but I do remember one thing: I can confirm that on one occasion my sister's father had gotten a picture of my grandfather and cut out his eyes right in front of me. He obviously did this because I was close with my grandfather, and he wanted to hurt me. But I don't remember any actual physical abuse, although my grandmother seems to think I repressed this memories. (She even mentioned once how she'd like to take me to a hypnotist if she ever got the money.) As a kid, something did happen to me, and I needed to caps for my teeth. This happened while I was living with my mother and sister's father, and according to my grandmother, they both gave conflicting accounts as to what happened. My grandmother thinks he hit, and they were covering it up, but I have no way of knowing. She's also hinted at sexual abuse (although she never overtly said so, it was clear that that's what she was insinuating). She's spoken of me squeezing my penis very hard while using the bathroom and claiming he taught me to do this. She also claims that once he came over while I was in my bed and I started screaming not to let him in my room. Now, I really don't know what to think, but if this was invented out of my grandmother's paranoia (which is what I tend to lean towards, as it's the simplest explanation), that only further serves to illustrate her mindset. I don't want to come off like I'm attacking my grandparents because I'm not, but that doesn't mean they're free of criticism. Yes, they raised me, they fed, clothed, and put a roof over my head, but they chose to do this, and since they did, I think how I turned out is some of their responsibility. Don't get me wrong, I love my grandparents. They're probably the only two people who genuinely care about me. But sometimes I detect some underlying resentment because of how I've turned out, particularly from my grandfather (although neither would ever actually admit to this). I'll go into this more thoroughly a little further in my post. But on the subject, I do want to say one thing right now: While I can understand their feelings, there's a part of me that thinks, "well, what did you expect?" You smother someone like you smothered me, and this is what you get. So, I was always a shy kid, but there was a time when it was comparatively manageable. Sure, I can remember wetting my pants in school because I was afraid to raise my hand to go to the bathroom, and doing or being unable to do all sorts of things because of my shyness. But it was nothing like it is now! I mean, when I was in elementary school, it's possible that if I wasn't smothered to the degree that I was, I could have fostered some friendships outside of school, and then I might have developed more normally. As it was (and is), I never quite took to making friends, but in elementary school, unlike middle school (which is when things started to really go downhill), there were at least some kids who would talk to me (not that I was much for conversation), and maybe in some sense of the word they could've been considered friends. So, I do feel that my grandparents' smothering affected my social development. I'm quite confident that I have SA/AvPD/or some similar disorder. I mentioned that I once wet myself because I was afraid to raise my hand in school. Well, my whole life is rife with similar incidents, which I'll spare you because this post is going to be long enough. So, anyway, while I did have some of these feelings early on, I still feel that I could have lead a relatively normal life. There are plenty of people with SA and similar disorders who have good jobs, wives/girlfriends, friends, and aside from their disorder, get along just fine. If that was me, I could live with that. Hell, I'd be fine with just a good job. But I don't have any of those things. I said that it all started to go downhill when I started middle school, and that's the truth. That's when the bullying began. Before then, although I wasn't a popular kid, I was never really bullied. During recess, I sat alone on the wall, but hey, it could've been worse (as I would soon find out). I was poked fun at for being quiet, but it wasn't to the degree it was once I was in middle school. Most of it was emotional (and in my opinion, that was the worst of it), but there was some physical as well. There was this kid when I was in the 6th grade who would ball up his fists and strike me on the top of the head almost every day. He called this a "Joe Lincoln" (whatever the hell that means) and I was the first recipient. There was another kid who punched me in the chest while I was walking up the stairwell. Both of these kids sat at my lunch table. And do you wanna how warped my state of mind is? Even after the abuse, I never moved to a different table! "Why?" You ask. Well, because I was afraid that I would be chastised for doing so in front of the entire lunchroom, and I guess I figured whatever they could do was preferable to that (as strange as that may sound). This was when I started faking illnesses. It would become typical for me to miss 20 plus days a year. I would've missed more if my grandmother hadn't literally pried me from my bed on some days. (To think, just when I could've used some mollycoddling, I didn't get it!) There were times when she'd insist that I go to the hospital (that is, if I was really sick, which I wasn't), but I went anyway. I remember when I first started doing this (on this particular occasion, I believe I locked myself in the bathroom and refused to come out), it resulted in her taking me to the school administrators and asking that something be done about the bullying. They did nothing at first, but eventually they let me switch classes. That put a stop to the physical abuse, but there was still plenty of emotional abuse (which I've often found can be worse than physical abuse). So, I changed classes, but things were still bad. The next year was more of the same. Then in the 8th grade (which I should mention is when my grandmother had finally allowed me to walk to school on my own), I guess things has improved somewhat, but they still were really bad. By this time, I had stopped trying. Previously, I had been a very good student, and I was generally considered among the smartest kids in my class, but once I hit middle school, it got to the point where my work was affected by all the bullying. My social skills also started becoming progressively worse. Again, I'll spare you the details because this is already going to be sufficiently long, but suffice to say, I could describe a number of things of done that would seem very abnormal. Then my mother decided to home school me. Of course, when I say "home school me", I mean send me work once, twice every couple of months, but basically ignore me. And even that was only for the first year or so, then I was pretty much left to my own devices. As you can imagine, as bad as my social skills were, they became even worse because of the isolation I experienced as a result of the home schooling. Think about it: I had no friends, no outside obligations, and now that I didn't go to school, I had no social contact with anyone outside of my family. So, now I've lived in almost complete isolation for about 5 years. I'm more or less a shut-in at this point. The only time I ever leave the house is when I'm goaded into doing so by relatives, but that's only once every 6 months or so, if that. As a result of my upbringing, my development has been stunted. Would you believe that at 21 I've never even traveled more than a couple blocks on my own? Seriously! How am I supposed to function in this world when I was deprived of so many integral tools? I feel like I've been sheltered, mollycoddled, and neglected my whole life, and now I'm an adult (at least in terms of age), and I'm suddenly burden with all the responsibility of an adult. How is that fair? People always say that you need to take responsibility for your actions, and I understand from a practical perspective, I do need to take responsibility for my actions if I ever want to show any improvement, but I object to the notion that I need to take any moral responsibility for my action. Granted, I still feel sufficiently guilty that I leech off my grandparents and contribute nothing, but do you know what? They raised me, they made this way. Besides, if they're not going to accept moral responsibility for how they've raised me, then why should I accept responsibility for being such a parasite? I love my grandparents (and I always will love them), but they had a hand in all this. They were doing what they thought was best, and any damage was unintentional, but despite their lack of foresight, damaged I was. My mother? God, I don't even know how to feel about her. She's always been an absentee parent, so I've never felt any strong love or even hatred for her. I mean, I don't like the idea of hurting her feelings, and when I see her, I'm always polite, as I generally am with most people (although my SA precludes me from acting any other way), but I don't know how to feel about her. As far as my siblings, I've grown to strongly resent them (as I'm sure they resent me). I feel as if they're all passing me by, and that only increases my resentment. Unlike me, they all live normal lives for the most part, which again probably adds to my resentment. I've often wished that I was an only child, or that they would all die simultaneously in a car wreck. Though none of them live with me, it feels as if they do because I'm forever plagued by these caricatures I've developed in my mind. Any time I even think about doing something, I imagine what they might have to say about it, and it's always negative. Of course, they've given me a good foundation for these feelings, and I do think I'm right in believing that they could conceivably say all those things I imagine them saying. Because of my situation, I've developed a strong inferiority complex. At the same time, I have some narcissistic tendencies (even if I can appreciate the absurdity of a clearly inferior being like me feeling that way). So, this creates a weird and unhealthy dichotomy. I feel inferior in many ways, but the most significant is my feeling of intellectual inferiority. I attribute this mostly to make lack of a proper formal education. A great deal of my anxiety is a result of this insecurity. I feel like it's too late for me to amount to anything worthwhile, so I may as well just end it already. Why not if I'm going to live burdened by these feelings of inferiority? I feel like I'm constantly being judged, even isolated away in my room. Do I really want to live like this? Every single day I play out these fictional scenarios in my head, imagining every possible thing that can go wrong. I'm afraid to do anything! What kind of life is this? Oh, and to even further exacerbate all these feelings, my uncle's coming to stay with us. He's going to be in the room right across from mine. His door is literally two feet away from mine. I know that he's already been judging me, as everyone has, but now he'll be living here! I'll have to deal with him judging me every single day! And don't say that he's not judging me because he most certainly is. Anyone in his place would place judgment on me. I really believe that I'm one of the most pathetic people on the planet, and I don't believe there's anything hyperbolic about that statement. It's only a matter of time before he says something. Not that he even has to because knowing that he's doing it is enough. From this alone, I want to die! Edit: I forgot to mention it, but I have told my grandparents about my SA (or whatever's wrong with me). Anyway, I feel conflicted because I can understand that they'd want him to stay here because he can help out with the rent, and being that I'm a non-contributing zero, I should have no right to be angry. But then again, they raised me and helped make me this way, so they should accept responsibility for how I turned out. And they should know how much anxiety something like this would cause me. Do you think that sounds childish? Well, guess what? If it sounds childish, it's because it is. But that's not my fault. You don't raise someone the way I was raised, and then suddenly expect them to accept responsibility when they've never been given any responsibility in their life! That doesn't seem fair to me.