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My story

Discussion in 'Rants, Musings and Ideas' started by Scully, Dec 6, 2009.

  1. Scully

    Scully Well-Known Member

    FED UP
    Saturday, November 7, 2009 at 7:18pm | Edit Note | Delete
    That week has been hard. Not the worse of my life but it's just a continuity of bad things since I was born.

    I need to talk this all out.

    My father beated my mother. I remember that since I was very little. He beated me once. I grew up in stress and fear until the age of 5. I was mistreated at school. I'm on none of the class pictures because the "teacher" left me alone, humiliated, for I was a leftie. The next slapped me, scared me, threatened and stole some of my toys. At 5, my mother seperated from her husband. New school. But I refused to write. My father annoyed her, us, my family, calling the police for 5 mins when he had me on the WE. WE of fear, hearing women are all *****s and bitches. One way later, my mother and I moved 1000 km away. We were alone, and honestly I can only remember the evening I spent alone, or my mother always tired. Then she got cancer, colon cancer. I saw my father for some holidays. I was very scared of him. He touched me under the shower I was 8. He tried to kill me by putting a pillow on my head, during a thunderstorm night (why I'm so phobic?), and by watching me drawn. I was saved in extremis by a boy. People were shocked at his behavior. It was the last time I saw him. I stole from 7 to 9. Don't know why. My mother was quite sick, so I had my school life, I worked well not to bother my mom. She told me then the name of my real father. I was 10. That was a shock and I didn't want to admit what she told me. She had a treatment. Then not covered, so she died, slowly. A long agony. All I could do at school or at home couldn't change that fact. I went to live with my grand parents. I had been the bullied for 2 years. New school again. But this time I was prompter to show my fist, so I was more respected and made some friends. I started to see that man, blond, from 11 to 26. Weird things, encounters, documents hidden. Words caught. My grand father died when I was 17; a heart attack. At least, he respected my difference and loneliness. That year, my best friend moved, with his parents. He was "mulder" to me. I began to be a cutter at 15, and still am, with months, and even years of interruption, but it's still here, the emptiness. Worthlessnes, no sense in life. Changing grade school to highschool was very hard. Living highschool killed me a little, inside. I drank a lot; until I started having panics. I was 18. I wandered in bars, or at friends. Smoked like a fire engine. One year then though I tried to kick my ass and get my Life on track. Quit drinking and went 2 years at the UNI. Then I was raped, got pregnant, was refused the abortion because holidays, no time. I met my partner by this time. It took me four months to tell him the truth. I think I really became borderline by then. 21. I had a little money I had saved. I left with him. The baby was adopted in 2002. And I lived reclusive or nearly for years, until I had to work. But I had a Grant to go back to the UNI, so I took my chance. Marks were an A. Until my father in law died of lung cancer 3 weeks after the diagnosis. I didn't want to annoy my partner. I was there, I bottled up. I started having huge panics again. Be hypocondriac. I nearly denied myself for 2 years. December 1, 2006, after months of looking for a Job, ended up at mcdo. Two weeks, for a better job, a full time. A poisoned gift. I lived at my partner's mother. While he got up at night to take girls phone calls. Coming back at 2 am smelling perfume. I didn't sleep, didn't eat. Was insulted and humiliated before costumers. Fainted. Got fired. I remembered all my mother told me about my real father. Chris Carter, brother Craig, father william charles carter. And earlier, she told me I had my father's smile, but not of the one I thought. I was in clinical depression for about a month. I slept 13 hours a day. Ate almost nothing. Early 2007, started searching a Job , On the street everyday, door-to-door, never touched any aids, only my partner was there for me. I've felt guilty about that. I found a job in september. Lasted 9 months. Not enough hours, the minimum not paid. Poverty. I found a "black Job" for the month then. I found a Job 2 months then. Lasted until march of this year, same scheme. Abusive, suppression of hours on a 1/3 Time already. Harrassment. Depression. Sick leave. My psy says I suffer from chronic disphoria. No kidding. My couple looks more like a friendship. I'm poor.

    This week, I was diagnosed with BPD. I was accepted in long disease, but they cut me my indemnities. So I can't work, but I have no aids, I didn't make enough hours. Yet It's these poverty jobs that led me to the abyss. The little independence I had has slipped away. I'll be depending on my partner. Unbearable. They should better give me a gun right away. I've always tried to fix things, to work though I'm pretty anxious in social stuff, including work. All these work in therapy. Did it all for nothing. I asked my partner if he loved me, he said "no", I said "really?" he said "of course". I don't know if he was serious or if it's his way to humor things up. But today it was too bad, once he was off to bed I cried. I'm really hopeless. I think about my real dad. Like if it was time to say goodbye. I'm very sad I'll certainly never know him.

    Violence, rape, humiliation, loss, deaths, lies, betrayals, abuses. I don't know other. Except my partner he's a little different, but I can't talk with him. He doesn't hug, even when I need, and I let him live, not on his back. All that is the truth. Fucking true. Very tired.
  2. Scully

    Scully Well-Known Member

    Since then...

    I cut several times.
    I drank several times.
    I cried twice.

    I'm not so proud of that, but I'm still here, and holding.

    I moved my ass and went to search for aids. I have a litlle; very little, but it helps. With my partner, it's... empty? Or is it me?

    I was treated like sh*t by some. I also made some friends.

    Still on meds, still in therapy.

    I'm going on. I'm going on. I'm going.

    If I can do it, so can you.