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 No.996208[Last 50 Posts]

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Alright so...this thread. Not sure how to start this thread really.

I want to make this thread as an attempt at a type of group therapy. The reason for this is that, while many of us had normal childhoods, and hopefully not too many bad things later in their adults years, I know some of us had quite messed up childhoods and/or are struggling as an adult.

I want this thread to be geared towards being able to talk about traumatic, or just bad, experiences throughout your lives. Maybe reflect on them, and find support in others and realizing you were not, or at least are not now, alone in things.

Please only talk so far as you feel comfortable. I'm sure people will get questions about things, or asked for further explanation, but you do definitely do not have to go further if you don't feel comfortable.

Please be as supportive as you can, I'm sure some of us come from backgrounds and cultures with beliefs that may seem cruel or wrong to an outsiders point of view. Please don't mock those views, but rather try to, if you must, just state why you think they might be harmful and leave it at that.

Try and remember we are not doctors or psychologists, this is just for support, understanding, and maybe discovering something about ourselves.


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i must have had an effect on you, eh ella?


*tight hugs*
Chu are strong friends. <3


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thanks groove

>hugs <3


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So uh

Yea, I didn't realize how messed up my family was until I moved out and saw my friends and some normal families. I knew things were bad, of course, but I never quite understood how bad.

For some context, I lived with my grandfather, grandmother, aunt and uncle, and at varied periods the other aunts and uncles. My grandparents took me from my mom because she was using heroine, and even though she was of course allowed to see me, she wasn't around much and actually ended up dieing from and overdose when I was four. My sister, who was ten years older than me, had been living on and off with her friends in town because of my mom using drugs so much. She had actually just permanently moved out about a year before that happened.

Because of the heavy drug use from both my aunt and uncle, and because of my grandparents bad history with it as well, I saw many fights and witnessed a lot of violence growing up.  

I was cared for, but rarely parented past what was absolutely necessary. I was never physically harmed, but the psychological damage has left me with some pretty bad anxieties that have taken me a long time to work through.

Throughout all that shit though, surprisingly, my family was very loving when they weren't acting bat shit insane. I associate this and a few other reasons I didn't turn out an absolute reck of a person.


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Actually you gave me motivation to do something I have been wanting to do for a very long time, but have been scared to do



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Over the last year I've talked a bunch about my issues in various places including here. I think I'm at peace with a lot of it now, which is why I'm a nearly functional human being! Though I'm happy to talk about it again if it will encourage people to be open themselves. If that would be useful to anyone.

I seriously love talking about my old shit life. I just don't want to waste people's time with it if I'm not looking for much healing myself.


I don't think it would be a waste. Differrent perspectives provide more opportunities for differrent things to relate to.


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dang ella, i never knew you had dealt with so much in your life


i am happy that you are on your own with a loving husband, and that you are here with us to enjoy life beyond that kind of atmosphere.

it isn't anything anyone should have to deal with in their lives, but you made it through  <3

aww :))

well i'm proud of you for doing it, and happy that i helped push you, even inadvertently

nah fam, you can talk as much as you like. this a place of healing afterall <3


I've faced them, but I haven't found solutions for all of them yet! Lol
Oh I have so many stories it would take me hours to type them all out haha. Instead I'll just stick to relevent stuff, at least in my mind was relevent.

>and happy that i helped push you, even inadvertently

I think it's time.

I was always scared to talk about it before thinking I was going to burden the person I was talking to, or get too much guilt my way, or just like...scare them lol. I still struggle with people 'feeling bad' for me. Like, I'm ok. I'm happy, healthy, and about as functioning as the next bloke. I realise what happened to me was wrong, but the past can't be changed, and I'm not so sure if I would really want to.


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part of me feels that I'll have nothing to contribute due to being a very privileged middle class individual but the other part of me is hopeful that something will happen that I can help with.


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Kudos for sharing c:

It feels good, at least to me, to get things out.

I hope you'll have more to share, this us probably only touching the surface ^_^

Yeah sure! All I needed was permission.

I'll probably write something tomorrow, it's getting late tonight.

I could easily talk for days! It's just a lot of my history is delving into borderline insanity, real mental sickness, and while I'm not really ashamed of it now, I guess I'll have to gauge how much can actually be shared in this venue. It's borderline NSFW to talk about some things. I guess I'll start writing the easy stuff and maybe depending on the mood circle back and fill in more details.


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Well, it's definitely not a competition thing. Sometimes nothing really traumatic or bad happens to someone, but yet they still get something like depression or just some really shitty events later in life.

I don't think this thread should be about worrying about privileges or not, but just being able to get support for the nasty shit.


I'm definitely going to end up talking about some nsfw things, and I'm just going to handle them by putting them in a hide box with a warning or spoiler before it.


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I am very sleepy though, so I will say more tomorrow.


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that's good. every time I try to help someone out, I get told how privileged I am for growing up in America in the 90s, to two white heterosexual middle class parents who have been happily married since their 20s, and brought up in a mostly decent public school system and having never had to worry about getting shot walking across the street, or where my next meal was coming from, or how I was going to stay warm, etc.

I still suffer from depression. I was still bullied. My dad still looked at me like a freak for having a brain that works different from most kids he was used to at the time.

It's not like I don't know what suffering feels like, or that I don't want people to feel better, or get better, just because my situation doesn't perfectly match theirs.


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ain't no time limit, but i respect that decision <3

>I was always scared to talk about it before thinking I was going to burden the person I was talking to, or get too much guilt my way, or just like...scare them lol. I still struggle with people 'feeling bad' for me. Like, I'm ok. I'm happy, healthy, and about as functioning as the next bloke. I realise what happened to me was wrong, but the past can't be changed, and I'm not so sure if I would really want to.

i get that completely. i have mentioned before how i hate feeling like i'm burdening people with my baggage, even though it's healthy to share it.

>the past can't be changed, and I'm not so sure if I would really want to.

we certainly can't change the past, and those things that did happen certainly can be learned from and help define who we are. but if i had a way to tell little me how to live a better life, i would take it in a heartbeat.

everyone deals with things to certain degrees, and i feel that it should be okay for everyone from all walks of life to be able to express themselves

sounds like a great amount of struggle lead to where you are now. I do get the sense that you have gained a lot of wisdom from your life experiences though, and i'm proud of you for that for sure

i mean, share what you feel you want to.

goodnight ella <3

>hugs <3

sweet dreams


I don't understand how privilege and middle class could factor into whether you have pains or traumas in your life to share.

The easiest trap to fall into is that your pain is not valid for reasons such as this, that's part of my story at least.

Not to say you do, but the way you word things makes it sound like you aren't sure that what you have is worthy enough in some way.

Though forgive me if I'm stepping out of bounds here, I've just seen this kind of things happen with other people before and I could just be projecting.

Ah, I see. I may or may not, I have a few things on my mind that are not for the squeamish I guess, I'll see how I feel.


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i'm tired, so i'm gonna head to bed

i am pretty sure i'll feel better tomorrow, so i'll chat with all of you then.

nighty night


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rather that I've been shot down and invalidated for the simple fact that I have what is colloquially known as "white privilege" as though that somehow makes me an emotionless robot that doesn't need consoling from time to time. I guess I'm just a bit bitter about how my good fortune has been held against me, and frustrated at the sheer irony that I've been invalidated by the people I'm trying to help, simply for being born fortunate.


I've honestly never really liked that. I understand there is a world of differrence between sympathizing and emphasizing, but I still feel like pain shouldn't be a competition.

I understand that sometimes someone may never 'know how I feel', or never 'know what I went through', but I'm fucking glad for that. I don't want someone to have to have felt what I felt, only just hear my experience and hopefully see a course of action that could be avoided; avoid causing pain for someone else.

I don't need to get shot to understand the huge sacrifice a soldier makes for me, as another example>>996228
Not for me. The butterfly effect.
Goodnight <3


That sucks, I'm sorry you had to deal with that. Well, at least in this thread, there are no "mitigating factors" that makes your struggles less valid. People from all walks of life have hurts and they all matter.


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Remember the lesson from Boast Busters?


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The one about not bragging?


There was also a thing in there about pretending you don't have talents for this and that reason.

The point falls apart trying to put it in words. Talent out of place and pain out of place can feel the same, something that isn't right to bring up. But feeling good about something you're good at isn't boasting, and in the same way someone even more privileged than any of us can wake up every day feeling miserable.

Circumstances don't invalidate you, is what I'm trying to say.


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oh, yeah that episode was a lot more complex than people give it credit for.

I appreciate the rationale. Deep seated emotions take a while to work their way out I guess.


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huh, I was just listening to a podcast talking about this very subject, sharing trauma. Basically the importance of how trying to put your experience into words is crucial to one finding a way to grow from it.

gimme a minute to think about some things I could share.


>Basically the importance of how trying to put your experience into words is crucial to one finding a way to grow from it.
I have found this to be true as well. I often need friends who are willing to sit and listen to me type out what I am feeling, so that it becomes easier to see it. It is usually afterward that I begin to feel better


I think I might come back to this thread tomorrow though.

too sleepy to think about this too deeply right now


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I keep trying to think of a starting point to some of this stuff and I can't.

I can't even remember like the first major fight I saw because it was so regular.

Hmm...I think a very early memory I have is my grandpa came home drunk (as he often did), and his wife started in on him about something. Obviously I can't remember all the details, I think I was like 5/6 at this point, but it escalated and he ended up breaking some dishes.

I remember my grandma had specifically told me to stay out of the kitchen, but me being a little toddler quickly forgot and walked in anyway.

Well I stepped on some glass and started crying and that forced my grandma to stop fighting and have to sit me down and dig the glass out. My grandpa was still saying some mean shit in the other room, and of course my grandma was blaming him for me hurting myself, but it ultimately stopped the more major fight.

I think that kind of came into play later with some other things. I rarely did it, but I think I kind of learned that crying garnered sympathy and could de-escalate things. Not that it matterred much, like I said I rarely did it, but I think that's one of those things that kind of started me on that path of being panicked and very strongly emotional during fights, and not being able to properly communicate myself.

I would kind of shut down and not talk if things became too much. Or I would go the opposite and just start crying if that wasn't working.


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I think I should briefly explain my mums children for context later on. My gran was extremely neglectful towards my mother, and her dad died when she was extremely young. When she was about 10 my gran abandoned her to live with her boyfriend and his sons, meaning that for years my mum was left with virtually no carer. Other than receiving money from my gran she had to fend for herself. She bought her own food and made it, she washed her own clothes, cleaned the house, etc. My gran did absolutely nothing for her and wasn’t even around throughout most of her later childhood and teenage years, meaning that she essentially had to learn to become an adult with all the responsibilities that entails at the age of 10, onwards.

I don’t know any great details or why she did this, but my mum seems to think that she resented because her mum wanted a son, which she not only didn’t get, but to some extent couldn’t get because her original boyfriend (my mums dad) died prematurely. This is why she thinks that she was abandoned for her mums new boyfriends sons. She must have felt that the only way for to have a son was to run off with a man who already had several, which unfortunately meant that her old daughter had to be left behind.

(This paragraph isn’t relevant to the two previous one, I’ll bring up their relevance when it’s appropriate.) Personally my own dad died before I was born, I don’t even know his name and I’ve never seen what he looks like, other than being told that I apparently look exactly like him. Although my step-dad came into my life practically as soon as I was born. (in fact he may have been with my mum before I was born.) I’d describe my step-dad as being a literal psychopath, not in the hyperbolic sense, but the actual sense, as in if he was to go to a psychiatrist I could see him being genuinely diagnosed as such. He wasn’t particularly violent, (towards me or my mother, (in fact funnily enough my mum was actually quite violent towards him, but who could blame her) he had been involved in gang violence when he was younger, and has stabbed several people. Again no remorse, in fact he’d constantly brag about it, he not only wasn’t remorseful, but actually held a sick sense of pride for the bad things he did.) but he showed ever other trait. For example my mum had saved up for several thousands of pounds when I was a baby, which was primarily meant for me. My dad stole this money from her and spent it on drugs, but not only did he steal it from her, he felt absolutely no remorse or even shame about what he did. He did this constantly, he was an extreme kleptomaniac, (someone who compulsively steals) he stole from friends, family, strangers, and I’d he steal everything from precious jewellery or money, to random things, like shoplifting sweets or robbing worthless things from people’s houses. In fact the reason that I’m so poor is because he stole just over £400 from me, and he knew that was all the money I had, and that I had saved it over the course of well over a year, and that I’d struggle without it because my mum doesn’t have the money to give me anything beyond pure essentials, again, he feels no remorse about this. I’ll be getting some money from the bank soon enough, but that’s besides the point, I’ve been fucking desperate for lunch and bus money for a good 6 months because of what he did. He literally took everything from me, and he doesn’t care, as long as he can buy his drugs I suppose.

Anyway as I said earlier he constantly bragged about the horrible things he did, particularly to me, because he thought that I’d think he was cool for breaking into shops and robbing them, or stabbing people over drunken arguments at the pub. On top of bragging he was an extreme compulsive lier. (from what I’ve heard from my mum he rarely lies his past for bragging points, he genuinely did do most of what he brags about.) Not only would he outright deny things like him stealing from you, despite the evidence, he’d actually feed you bullshit. He lied to my mum and me and my siblings constantly about giving us money, or doing things with us. For example my sister was going on a school trip and he offered to give her a few hundred pounds for it, this is something he brought up and he confirmed it over and over again for weeks, until the last week where he outright denied saying it whatsoever. He built up her hopes, and just completely denied that he ever offered to give her money, despite the fact that he brought it up and talked about it for weeks.

(Previous context important from this point onwards.) Anyway, I’ve probably rambled about him enough, I should probably talk more about my gran. My mum says that from the moment I was born my gran was extremely jealous of her, again because she wanted a son, but got a daughter. Basically throughout my early childhood my gran would spread rumours about my mum, and outright lies. She'd say me and my siblings weren’t being fed properly, that my mum drank constantly, etc. Most of what she said was an outright lie or extreme exaggeration, but she said it so often, and would even phone up social care about her lies. As a result she got what she wanted, me and my siblings were taken from my mum and dad given to her when I was about 10. She was extremely neurotic and would beat my brother and sister often, sometimes for literally nothing, she was just angry and took it out on them. Although she never hit me, in fact she completely infantilised me, no matter how angry she was or what I did she’d pamper me, and I actually think that affected me worse in the long run than what happened to my siblings. I was given whatever I wanted and was rarely if ever punished, while they were beaten for nothing and screamed at. Apparently was only jealous about me and saw them as dead weight. For years we couldn’t see our mum or dad without the permission of both my gran, and the supervision of a social worker. My gran used this to torture my mum by basically blackmailing her into liking her boot heel if she wanted to see her kids.

My gran died a few years ago and I now live with my mum who’s the only decent person in my family, which I’m extremely grateful for. The rest of my family aren’t much better, in fact some are probably worse, but we aren’t exactly close.

My situation is nowhere near as bad as many, and it could have been a lot worse. I think I should be grateful for the fact that as bad as my childhood was there certainly were good times, the generally situation was pretty dysfunctional, but a lot of the little details were good. I think I was damaged by it, but I am beginning to pull myself out of it.

There are a thousand stories that I could share that would go into my more detail about my life, but I wouldn’t know what one to talk about first, and as I said not all of those are bad stories, even a lot of the bad ones have at least some redeeming aspects to them.

I’m sorry about what happened to you, but you’re awful resilient for having pulled yourself through it.


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Jeez that's bad shit my dude, I'm sorry for you too. You seem to be doing pretty damn good for yourself despite that crap.

Do you mind if I ask a few questions?


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Basically the same for you. Someone earlier on in this thread said you had a lovingly husband. Given your family situation I’d say you’ve done more than well for yourself in adulthood.

Yeah, ask me anything you want.


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Fuck, i don't know why but this morning I have the exhaustion of the dead. I moved to the couch and must have fallen into a light sleep where I got up to only shortly after, wake up again in the couch. And it kept repeating, at least dozen times did I get up then wake up on the couch. It was kinda funny, because dream me figured it out pretty quickly and no matter how real it felt, I was like "gonna wake up on it couch aaaaaany second now, bam there we go". It was amusing. Only knew it was reality when I could really feel the weight of my exhaustion on my bones, then I rolled off the couch so I could break the cycle by not falling asleep again (no, unfortunately I can't report waking up after rolling off the couch, too bad!). Just thought that was funny enough to share in my brain addled state.

So I have a question before I go into anything. It's a fact that I am a total callous, offensive, insensitive dickbag on the inside as a result of my story. Being kind as I often am is not a lie, it's just sorta a different part of the same person. There are a lot of competing and conflicting feelings inside me, and I'm wondering whether it's a good idea to share any of that. And the people be like "oh yes, please share, this is a safe space", but you know I've tried to foster a reputation for being a decent person, despite in part being pretty awful. So like, how much of a pass are people going to give me if I elaborate on how fucking egotistical and sociopathic large parts of me in fact are? Just wondering before I go and mess up a good thing be being too honest.


Do you think you may have gotten some bad habits from your step dad? Or like, behaviours? I had a lot of behaviours, mostly learned or never addressed as being bad or unhealthy, until later when I was around healthy people.

Why do you think it is that your mom puts up with someone like that in her life? I'm not trying to pass blame here or judge her, I think it's more important to look at the why so future mistakes can be avoided. Like for instance, I think my grandparents were severely lacking in good parenting themselves combined with lack of proper mental health care and the huge stigma surrounding it as well, would have made it difficult to seek it out, even if they could have.

Do you struggle with anger problems, especially stuff revolving around like...petty revenge, or clinging to anger? My uncle did a lot of shit to me that was not fare, and took things from me that I had worked very hard for-and when I brought it up to the authority figures in my life (my grandparents, the only people who had the final say) they always sided with my uncle and said that his need for those things were greater than mine. My hard work didn't matter; fairness didn't matter.

That caused me to be pretty petty and really clinging to anger when I felt like I had been wronged in some way.

And you can ask me anything too, if you'd like.


I think you have the same fear I do. I'm honestly quite terrified to share some of the more darker shit for fear of alienating people, but I also feel like I have to. I'm just hoping that people can accept that I realize the things I did was wrong and I've found ways to better handle them now. Also hoping by owning up to it I can read over my own words and maybe realize why I did them in the first place, what caused me to even get to that point. Cause I think I figured it out, but there might be something else there too.


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I don't really fear so much talking about my past. I think that what I've done before is pretty disgusting, but I can live with that, it was the actions of a very sick boy who had no guidance (or all the wrong guidance). I'm really more concerned about how people will take me saying "this is what I am today". Because it taints all interactions with me, you know? And nobody can honestly reassure me that it will be okay without hearing it first. But I think I'll give it a go! The worst that happens is I'll find out who among us prosecutes thought crimes ^_^


I think that depends. People here might be more understanding than you expect, but at the same time I think there are definitely things you could say that would make people view you differently, and it's hard to know how people are going to react. Up to you, really.


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>Do you think you may have gotten some bad habits from your step dad? Or like, behaviours?
I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. To be honest I didn’t see him throughout most of my childhood, both because he was often disinterested, and because of the whole social worker situation. When I was about 14-16 I would go out with him once a week, (although that was was sometimes inconsistent) and I looked up to him, but I think that was because I was desperate for some kind of male role model, which I completely lacked. I really identified with you when you said “I was cared for, but rarely parented past what was absolutely necessary.” no one ever tired to teach me what was right or wrong, or just generally how I should act in life, I didn’t receive any proper parenting, so my dads influence didn’t really get a chance to rub off on me. I still feel emotionally attached to him, but I also feel resentment towards him, like a kind of emotional Stockholm Syndrome.

>Why do you think it is that your mom puts up with someone like that in her life?
She doesn’t anymore. She’s stopped seeing him and he’s no longer allowed in our house. I think the straw that broke the camels back is when he stole money from me. Even at Christmas he’s no longer allowed in our house because he can’t be trusted.

Why did she originally go with him? I imagine it’s because when my dad died she had no one else to support her or her son to be, so she was desperate. Plus my step-dad can be quite charismatic and manipulative when he wants to be.

>Do you struggle with anger problems, especially stuff revolving around like...petty revenge, or clinging to anger?
As you said something was taken from you that you considered important. I had £400 pounds stolen from me just 6 or so months ago. I saved that money up for a long time, and then my step-dad just took it, and suddenly I had absolutely nothing. I’m very good at managing money, which is how I managed to save so much in the first place, but money management skills aren’t worth anything if you don’t have any. I’ve had to skip lunches and/or dinners whenever I go out for the day, or walk home through the rain for sometimes up to an hour or over to get home, because I couldn’t afford a bus ticket. That money was all I had and he took it right after my mums financial situation took a big nose dive. I feel like I should be extremely angry about this, but I’m honestly not, resentful, but not angry. My attitude is kind of “tough shit, this is just something I’m going to have to deal with now. It sucks, but I have to deal with it.” I’m resentful about what he did to me, but generally not a very spiteful person. I don’t know if that’s the right way of looking at it, again I should be angry, but I’ll deal with. Besides I should be getting a good deal of money soon from the bank, so I’ll be fine.

Out of curiosity, what kind of stuff did your uncle take from you, and why was it so important?


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i do not like to talk about my past, but i will love to hear yours and feel with you!


All risk and no reward it sounds like! I like the way that sounds.

Sharing is optional, though I think you should consider giving it a try. I don't think anyone here is sharing because they like to talk about their past (except maybe me). They are sharing to overcome their past.


Don't get me wrong, there is potential upside. Big potential upside. The risk is probably not too big either, so if you think you want to talk about it you probably should.


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> I still feel emotionally attached to him, but I also feel resentment towards him, like a kind of emotional Stockholm Syndrome.

Damn, yea I get that. I have/had similar feelings with my uncle that I had to live with. I've had to work through that shit, and just let go of the fact that he is not the person my young child mind tried to make him out to be, and that while that person may very well have been in there at one point, it's long since been lost to drugs and mental illness that was never treated.

It sucks because growing up he was almost like a big brother figure and was very gentle and caring with me. He had a very kind and gentle personality in there, and that hurts a lot to remember. If his life had gone just a little differrent, he might have been a very loving person. But it hadn't, and instead he did many terrible things and was allowed to get away with some awful shit. Which also another thing that I think messed my grandparents other kids up-ignoring bad things or making excuses for bad things. You don't help your kids by letting them get away with terrible behavior, you just reinforce that it's ok and you'll always be there to protect them, and then when you inevitably can't one day, they are left struggling with no real way to be adults themselves.

>Why did she originally go with him? I imagine it’s because when my dad died she had no one else to support her or her son to be, so she was desperate. Plus my step-dad can be quite charismatic and manipulative when he wants to be.

That makes a lot of sense. I'm glad she able to put her foot down now.

>My attitude is kind of “tough shit, this is just something I’m going to have to deal with now. It sucks, but I have to deal with it.”

That's a general feeling I have about a lot of the things that happened.

>I don’t know if that’s the right way of looking at it, again I should be angry, but I’ll deal with. Besides I should be getting a good deal of money soon from the bank, so I’ll be fine.

Icm not a doctor, but it sounds a little healthier than being very angry, so long as you are aware of it and try to catch bad habits when you see them pop up. Or if you feel like you dealt with a situation wromg. A lot of my own problems were anger problems; I had terrible anger problems.

>Out of curiosity, what kind of stuff did your uncle take from you, and why was it so important?

It was usually small petty things, but the biggest most important thing to me that really still angers me to this day:

My grandma had a small rock garden in our front yard. It was basically just a small section bordered off with large rocks that she had collected over the years from rivers and such.

Well she had passed away when I was eleven, and for many years the garden just sat there. So one day when I was about 16/17, I decided I would like to make it look pretty again, how she used to have it, because I was really missing her.

I spent two weeks, every day after school, working on it.

I dug up the ground and pulled out all the small pebbles that would make it hard to grow plants in. I weeded and fixed the old stack of rocks to make it look like a proper border again, and I was even dragging up pieces of wood to add to it.

Well I come home after school one day to see that there is six pot plants [marijuana] planted in the fresh soil I had been preparing. I was livid, asked my uncle if he had done it, and he said 'yea I needed somewhere to put those'.

We had a whole other plot of garden that was flat and had plenty of space and containers to grow those plants in, and was literally three feet from the spot, so it's not like it would have been a hassle.

I went inside and called my grandpa to ask him to do something about it [he had seen me working on it and buying stuff for it], and I was told that because my uncle needed to make some money [by selling the plants later], he was allowed to do it and I could finish the garden when he was done with it.

No sorry you worked so hard, no sorry things are kind of unfair,  just a straight up all your hard work was for nothing and doesn't matter because he obviously needs it more.

You know what he did with the money? Blew it in three days on booz and heroine and had screaming fights with my aunts that made me leave the house for most of the night with my dog. Oh yea, he really needed it more.


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>Because it taints all interactions with me, you know?

Ah...yea, actually I can see that. I found out how some of my friends think and it kind of made me question their actions later down the road-if they were being influenced by those darker thoughts they had, but then that same person was still one of the few that dropped everything they were doing and sacrificed their own reputation pretty badly to help us. Maybe it was out of some sense of guilt, but they still did it. And sense then I've actually been able to have better and more clear talks with them knowing how they think now. I think there's some positive in that...


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Sorry, I had to go.

>I've had to work through that shit, and just let go of the fact that he is not the person my young child mind tried to make him out to be,
I was personally extremely naive about my step-dad up until relatively recently. Again I think it’s because I was desperate for some kind of male figure or role model in my life.

When I think back to a lot of the stuff I did with him I can’t deny that I had a lot of fun, even if in retrospect some of it was pretty fucked up. For example my dad used to take me down to this large industrial area and make me raid their dumpsters for scrap metal that he’d sell. He told me that he’d give me half of the money he made on the scrap, but I never saw any, all I got to keep was random gadgets or toys that I found. It was pretty dangerous, and I even got a small scar on my finger that’s still there today, but that’s probably some of the best quality time I had with him.

>A lot of my own problems were anger problems; I had terrible anger problems.
I mostly just have to deal with really bad anxiety, but who knows how these things affect people in more subtle ways.

Also I’m really sorry to hear about your grandmas rock garden. You’d have thought that you’re grandpa would be more sympathetic.  I hope that you managed to work on it properly later on.


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I guess everything starts with your family and your upbringing so we will begin there.

My mother is a very kind and loving woman, and she would do just about anything for her children. In fact, she would do everything she could without it being asked for. And she is the sort who craves your gratitude. There is something to her doing the things she does that's more for herself than for the other person. I think she is missing something and she gets it through acts of generosity. She is past retirement age and yet she still does elaborate acts of generosity that people actively ask her not to do, then complain about how sore she is from working on her feet all day. And she will get sad and depressed if she doesn't receive the gratitude that she's looking for by doing it. There is something really unhealthy in this I'm certain. But at least she loved us and wanted to provide for us, that's better than lots of moms.

Another component of her is that she was a tough broad, I think I would say she is more masculine than feminine really. She was a daredevil (brags about how she did super dangerous things riding motorcycles and waterskiing and all that), she is very competitive, she loved playing sports, she was a huge football fan. She is a very emotionally sensitive woman, but she always buried it deep down for the most part. She talks about how tough she is publicly, but only getting closer to her in my adult life does she reveal how fragile she can be emotionally. Growing up though, I did not get to learn much about emotions from her. When I get to talking about myself, knowing what she is like will probably be pretty important to how I developed.

What else to say about her. My grandfather was a dictator in his household. Everyone did exactly as he said, even as far as he sent his son off to the army and mom to a private business school. And having completed those tasks, he forced them both into working as mailmen. He said "during the great depression, not a single mailman was out of the job!". That was how he thought and he was controlling enough to dictate everything, even his children's careers. He was also an alcoholic and blew a ton of family wealth on that. Was probably a blessing that he died before I was born. All this matters because my mom tried to swing a little bit in the other direction, while still causing the same problem. She relentlessly tried to guide us into activities and made it known that it was "our choice", but it was clear what kind of thing she wanted for us and it was hard, for at least me, to say no. In the end, I felt like I had no control of my life despite her wanting for me probably the exact opposite.

Then there is my dad. I have much less to say about him, he is a very closed off person for the most part. The only real connection we have is playing games together and talking about work life a bit. He is very quiet and gets along with everyone, until you cross him and get on his nerves. You don't really want to do this! Because his anger is explosive. I'm scared of him when he gets like that. And I'm a pretty imposing figure myself. As a kid, he only hit me once, and it wasn't even like he threw a punch. Ultimately it hurt my pride more than my body. And I never even saw him get violent with anyone else, besides the dog once. But, the way in which he just snaps and decides it is time to unleash his rage, that has a very sobering effect on at least me. I don't know about the others in the family. I think we all know it about him at least.

I don't want to put him down too much, he provided for us and he didn't really terrorize us like a lot of terrible fathers. In fact, he might have been like our best friend, we all had a lot of fun playing games with him. But that too poses some problems as it is my perception he was more interested in his children as players for the games he wanted to play than to do much parenting himself. I want to paint an accurate portrayal here, he did participate a lot in the Boy Scouts with me and did care and support me. But, I think there is more to being a parent and a role model. And in the end, playing seemed to be his highest priority. If I get around to writing as much as I imagine, that will be relevant.

Those are the two most major actors in my life, I have hardly even talked about myself yet but I'm not even done setting the stage. I am a systematic person so before I even dive into my problems, I want to introduce all the characters to the stage. And I should note, I love my parents despite their flaws. They really tried and cared, even if they ended up ruining me in so many ways. I think the right kind of son would have thrived, or at least done much better with them. But, if anyone knows anything about me, I am not overly masculine and I most certainly did not thrive under these loving, caring parents.

Next up I'll quickly go over my brothers and some of my friends before getting into why things really went off track as much as they did. I hope that laying things out this way helps demonstrate why things went the way they did and makes the picture complete by the time it is finished.

Also, I'm an open book if anyone wants to ask questions.


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Well, I guess if we're still sharing past traumas I guess I could summarize mine and like the whole cycle of trauma I was basically caught in for basically the first 20 years of my life.

I guess I will go in chronilogical order.

If I were to summarize, I would say my childhood was characterized by three major sources of personal trauma for me in my first 20 years, my brother, my parents, and my community.

I guess I can explain the background with my parents.

My mother, when I was growing up was a woman stuck in a state of arrested development and contention with her family over her younger brother's existence. Basically when my mother was 8 years old her younger brother was born ... and then her mother passed away right after that. My grandmother had breast cancer, and it was caught very early ... but while she was pregnant with my uncle. It was the 50s and they did have chemotherapy to catch such a thing before it too late ... but my grandmother wouldn't tale any treatment if it would threaten her pregnancy and so by the time my uncle was born, it was too late for her, so she died so my uncle could live.

My mother and her new younger brother were wisked off to be raised by her aunt and uncle in upstate New York (my mother and my uncle being from Dallas). Basically, her father, my grandfather, was too scared from that to have the willingness to tale care of either the new baby, or my mom, (despite the fact she had teenage siblings), and was basically abandoned by her father right when her mother died, and basically found herself defending her new baby brother, whom no one in her family seemed to be able to reconcile their bitterness at his mere existencw, but the fact that he and my mother were basically abandoned together made her his personal defender in the family, but had always alienated her from literally everyone else setting her up with years of family infighting to deal with, as she failed to save her baby brother from basically becoming a self-loathing career criminal.

So yeah, she was basically in a state of arrested development as her own family basically just up and abandoned her (sort of) when that was absolutely the wrong thing she needed in life.

Meanwhile, my Dad's life was also sort of fucked up in a similar way. My dad was the product of an extramarital affair between a middle aged world war one veteran who was also a successful businessman who owned a small chain of leathergoods stores across Texas and who had a reputation for being a pillar of the community, and one of the managers of one of his stores, my grandmother, who was single but also nearly 40 at the time.

Given that my grandmother had diabetes and was nearly menopausal, she was shipped off to corpus christi where my dad was expected to be stillborn. But just in case, my grandmother married another man, which is why my last name doesn't reflect my actual ancestry. But after my bio grandfather found out my dad was not stillborn, he sent a death threat  to my step-grandfather that was basically a death threat and my step-grandfather disappeared and the only thing he ultimately left behind was his last name on my dad's birthday certificate and on basically in the last name of everyone in my immediate family.

So basically, my bio grandfather, being a horrible little control freak, decided that he wanted to be the only father in my fathers life, even if it meant basically forcing my grandmother to stay single, where she and my father lived just above the poverty line and were basically constantly moving around the country while receiving a secret stipend from my bio grandfather.

So, my dad grew up in a situation where he was constantly made concious about how his very existence made life so much worse for his aging mother but at the same time understood that my grandfather's reasoning was that if it got out that he had fathered a child out of wedlock, then the community backlash would ruin his business, and thus his means of contributing to my father's upbringing, this was the buckle of the bible belt afterall, everyone was basically expected to stop supporting adulterers out of principle, regardless if they are trying to do the right thing and be responsible.

Add to that that my father was frequently bullied for his social akwardness and the fact he was a textbook "momma's boy" who was mocked for his seeming inability to become independent of his mother. So he didn't have many friends his own age, most of his childhood friends were adults to the point my dad would often say he was never really young, especially since he had all these adult interest as a child. Like, my dad was the kind of kid who was bullied for showing up with a briefcase, suit and tie to elementary school, exactly as his mother dressed him up.

I don't really know much else about my father's childhood or what exactly happened between him and his parents when he was a kid, but as I would learn later in life he basically had a pathological fear of us, his kids, learning that he was by the very definition of the word, a bastard, decades after his father had already passed away all I can imagine is just how much emotional abuse my father must have to have gone through to have internalized such a phobia years after any justification for such extreme secrecy was justified.

So basically, my father came out of his childhood a fucking wreck of a person with a horrible case of an inferiority complex and a pattern of narcissism, arrogance, misanthropy, and a general hatred of children for being children because they are horrible people, all of which frequently bordered on paranoia of people in general. Not the delusional kind of paranoia, but the kind where you assume everyone is just, by default, hostile to you, often with little justification. And who so obviously was barely equipped to deal with most of his most negative emotions.

So, I might stop here for now. cause it's basically the setup for a pretty terrible marriage between my mother, kind of stuck in her adolescence in some ways and always made to feel alone in her own family, and woefully unable to deal with family conflicts because of her own family issues. And my father, who was kind of consumed by his need to use his family as his way of giving the world the middle finger, while seemingly having little patience for children in the first place.


Gotta head to work, might not have a chance to respond to everyone till late tomorrow after work


Family is complicated, eh?


So then there are my brothers. I am the youngest of 4, all boys (maybe 3 1/2 boys on account of me ^_^).

My oldest brother, thinking back on it, was in some ways more father figure than my dad. Maybe it's a split been them. I recall my oldest brother doing several things for me that were really great. If my parents had the sex talk to me, I don't remember it. But I do remember him explaining it to me and drawing pictures and I think having a brother to do that for you is really wonderful. That said, he and a lot of his friends were also a terror to me and did a lot of damage to my self esteem. He was somewhat of a rebel child and he wasn't always that kind. He was pretty self centered and would be incredibly angry if things did not go his way with you. He inherited that anger from my father I guess. He was a complicated person, and even though I think he caused some damage to me growing up, he's turned out to be a really good brother, husband, and father by the time we were adults. So at least he found his way in the end (that didn't spare me the childhood trauma tho lol).

Second oldest brother, I don't really think plays too much into my story. I think I only remember once getting into a conflict with him, and it was pretty insignificant. For whatever reason, he ended up being a little of an oddball. But I think overall he has been one of the least damaging elements of my life.

Then my third older brother. We were the closest being nearest in age. And I think we got onto each other's nerves a bit. I distinctly recall my mom saying "you guys will be best friends one day" but I didn't believe her, despite that ending up pretty much true. But it tells me we did have brotherly rivalry and conflict. But I don't think it was anything harmful, not in the same way the other stuff was. I don't remember the conflict, just that it must have been there at one point. So, I think he too, by himself, wasn't too awful.

Though there is a caveat, I'm describing each of them as individuals here. Together as a unit, the way we played and interacted, was pretty damaging. I was the youngest, I was a late bloomer in everything I did (still can't really ride a bike!), and I was terrible at being a boy in an all boys club (even my mom was one of the boys in a way) and that did terrible damage to my ego and self esteem growing up as I'd probably have made a better girl than boy.

Hmm, I could talk about my friends a bit but I should probably start getting into me. I'll try to describe what I was like as a kid, and how it was growing up in this family. I'll mix in friends as they are relevant. I have a lot of stories I can share to give an idea of how I was shaped.

Yep! It doesn't take a drunken abusive parent to turn you into a miserable wreak of a person! I can do that all on my own ^_^

Just needed the right inputs from them to get the self destructive ball rolling.


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so, picking up where I left off.

My parents met sometime in the late 60s. My dad was working part time restocking cigarette vending machines while going to law school (Im not sure how he paid for it, but I alway assumed his dad payed for it), and my mother was an undergraduate working part time in a dinner that was part of my dad's restocking route. One day he decided to take a break to get some lunch at the diner and my mom was his waitress, and she got his order wrong and that's how rhey met.

By 1967 they would be married, as my mom tells it, it was after his mother "bullied" her into saying yes to my father's proposal. Basically, according to my mom, my grandmother basically emotionally manipulated her into getting married to him,  tried to make her feel prematurely guilty about a hypothetical rejection. So, I guess that was part of my grandmother's dark side, I guess she could be pretty manipulative, especially when it came to protecting her precious little boy. (tangent: if my grandmother could be emotionally manipulative, I wouldn't have known it from what little I remember of her, so all that came as a shock to me when I learned about this after my dad died).

So right off the bat you get an indicator that my parents probably should never have been married in the first place.

So my sister was born in 1969, and my dad had basically only been out of law school for a couple of years.

All I know of the 70s with my family is that my Dad got a job at the department of justice working towards a career path that would eventually lead him to become a federal prosecutor (his dream job) or perhaps even start building a political career.

During that job, he briefly moved to New York to go to grad school but dropped out because he couldn't keep himself together separated from his family, and that decision became one of many that would become the focus of his attention when drunk and going on and on about every career decision he regretted. It was always an indicator to not be around we he talked about those sorts of regrets.

Also, I know that he did eventually quit his job at the DoJ due to stress burnout and started a private practice with a professional partner he knew from law school. If he was regretting that then you knew he was especially dangerous to be around.

Also apparently, during the 70s, apparently my dad's screaming matches with my mother would sometimes turn into fist fights as well.

Oh, and my grandmother had basically further manipulated my mother into dropping out of school and quitting her job to focus on being a "traditional wife" who would stay at home all day and be 100% dependent on one's husband to survive, which obviously sets up a lot of power imbalances that enabled abuse without the repercussions. This was basically something that a reverend also pressured her into doing.

I swear, this is going to get to the point where my own childhood begins.

be right back


... That's horrible. I'm so sorry that happened to you. Thank God you can be with your mum now.

You said some of it was good? what were some good things?


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I've been called bordering on sociopathy before, and I've talked to one or two true psychopaths. I've learned by now that no matter what a person may believe, their actions and choices are what really matter. You've been good to me at every opportunity, so I can promise with absolute certainty that no matter what you tell us about yourself, I won't hate you.

Holding someone's past against them when they're legitimately trying to change is very unfair. I certainly won't  hold your mistakes against you. Humans aren't perfect after all.

>My attitude is kind of “tough shit, this is just something I’m going to have to deal with now. It sucks, but I have to deal with it.”
I take this stance a lot. I've found that momentary anger is good to recognize injustice, and allow the body to emotionally process, but after that it serves no real purpose. And being angry certainly doesn't help you get more money to replace what was lost, or rebuild yourself. I'm impressed that you're able to take such a practical approach. I don't know much about you prior to this, but it's still a very rare ability.

No one will force you, but I do encourage you to share. It could be good for you.

>You know what he did with the money? Blew it in three days on booz and heroine and had screaming fights with my aunts that made me leave the house for most of the night with my dog. Oh yea, he really needed it more.
oof, Yeah, that sounds like something someone would do after selfishly stealing your hard work like that. I'm really sorry that happened, that's kinda fucked.

>I even got a small scar on my finger that’s still there today, but that’s probably some of the best quality time I had with him.
Psychologically that makes a lot of sense. Even if his real motives were to have an extra hand in getting more drug money (which is probably why you never saw any of it) it was still time spent with the only male figure you had in your life. I imagine if there were someone else who were more honest, and more loving, you might have recognized his behavior sooner. I'm glad you are able to see it the way you are.


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Raised in an upper middle class family with its own unique ups and downs. Life happened for several years and here I am.


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Huh, reading this made me want to talk about my grandparents, and that made me realize I've only got one left! And it's my turn to send him a letter too. I'll have to go do that right now.

gosh, that's pretty messed up. I don't know a whole lot about the details of my parents  lives. I know mom grew up on a massive ranch (won an FFA competition a few times) and Dad grew up in a small catholic home, but that's about it.

huh, that image didn't load.


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i have always felt that those who are cognizant enough of their own behavior to question whether they could be psychopaths, and thereby affect others negatively, are de facto not psychopaths


That is medically incorrect

Sources: I have no empathy


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that's probably fair! i'm not going to pretend i have even thought about it that far

i don't agree you don't have empathy. to the contrary, puppermint, i think you are especially empathetic


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Intros out of the way! Let's start walking through my life chronologically.

The earliest version of me was very sensitive and in touch with their emotions. My mother tells me "you used to love to crawl up into my lap as a child, I couldn't keep you off of me!". (As a dutiful son, I of course offer to do so again with all 245lbs of me if she wants). All my first friends were girls. I got on much better with the girls than boys. I recall being really close to three or so different girls in grades K-2. But eventually, kids started segregating themselves into girl and boy groups. And I would go to the girl groups to play, and they would be like "oh hey maybe you can stay over there and guard us or something". Ouch. So I moved on to the boy groups, which were rougher and more physical.

I was hopelessly non physical. I couldn't manage to learn to ride a bike, not even with training wheels. Too scared, too uncoordinated. I was a pretty delicate kid. Still, my parents pushed me into sports. I was last in the batting order, I occupied whatever position on the field I could do the least damage to the team. I would rather run from the ball than catch it. In soccer, I was goalie, because I couldn't really dribble or pass or do much other than stand there and maybe recover a ball drifting slowly to the net. I recall having terrible anxiety over having to do sports, though my mom tells me "oh you loved it!". Doubtful. I'm sure there were good moments when I actually managed to block a goal or hit a ball, but more than anything I recall dreading going to practice or the game. Maybe one of their first parenting failures, they should have taken me out of that nonsense, instead they pushed and encouraged me into it as though I could change who I was as a child.

So, still talking about early elementary school, I'd like to share a story from back then which I think is informative. Some of the kids were playing some kind of game where they jammed up a covered slide and were just piling into it. A few of us who didn't want to participate in that nonsense still went up to gawk. From the top of the slide I was looking at the log jam the kids made. A fellow gawker, a girl I didn't know well, decided to push me down the slide into that mess. More kids piled in on top and I was trapped for a bit in this kid pile I didn't want to be. It wasn't the worst thing, but I still was upset because she didn't ask, she just pushed. Being the dumbass kid I was, I felt eye for an eye was the right approach to this injustice. I lured her to the same slide, and pushed her down the same way. Well, maybe unfortunately, instant regret kicked in and as she was going down head first I reached to "save" her and grabbed a foot. This isn't the best plan, now she's dangling down the slide and I really can't do anything but hold her, it'd probably be worse to try to pull her up if I could. She didn't really like the situation and I was pretty much frozen not knowing what to do, so she kicked my hand to free herself. The whole thing was a disaster. She goes to the yard duty in tears explaining what I did. Okay, that's fair honestly. It was really stupid and it could have been a learning moment. But, one thing upon gathering me up to discipline me, was that I was crying too. Actually, I was crying harder than her. It hurt, to hurt someone else and do wrong by them. And I felt so bad about it. For whatever reason, this really pissed the yard duty lady off. She shamed me so fucking hard for crying in this situation. She belittled and berated me saying shit like "nothing even happened to you, how dare you be crying", stuff like that. Frankly, fuck her. She doesn't get to be the emotional gatekeeper for what is valid to be hurt about.

I'm not saying that was such a terrible traumatic experience for me. It was bad, but alone it wasn't much. I'm retelling it more to emphasize who I was as a kid, and that the world wasn't really geared towards my needs much.

Then there was the way my brothers would treat me. I was pretty much a rag doll to them. Very rough play, my oldest brothers might pick me up, twirl me in the air and throw me on a couch. I think maybe some kids could like that, but I'm pretty sure I hated it and didn't consent to that treatment. They'd also chase me down, pin my arms and tickle me til I screamed. They called it tickle torture, in an affectionate way. I don't think these experiences were great and empowering for a young delicate child. This level of loss of agency and humiliation did nothing for my confidence.

That's probably about what I can say about elementary school times. I found a group of boys to be friends with, even though I didn't fit in with them great, because girls rejected me. I sucked at sports but was forced into that dread for a few years. My feelings were not very important as a boy. And I was treated as an object by my brothers. Not great, but could be worse I guess. Unfortunately, things only really get worse for the next... lifetime.

Yeah, I agree. I'm only really concerned about one's actions. What value do I get scrutinizing their internal mechanisms? There are exceptions, but that's mostly in cases they have some kind of malicious goal to their goodness or something like that.


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...gee Thorax, you can really remember. i think i try very hard to forget as much as possible of whatever happened when i was little

i see, you have always been very sensitive soul, from a young age, you can feel what is and is not fair.


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> "nothing even happened to you, how dare you be crying", stuff like that.
wow. fuck that lady honestly that sounds a lot like my school experience. I always felt like the victim, and yet somehow I was always the one in trouble


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You can act empathetic without having empathy, fortunately

You're lucky I love you


>You can act empathetic without having empathy,
What's the difference?

Sorta reminds me of https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_room


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The difference might be under the hood, but there's still a difference in there.


Well I mean the difference is that you didn't actually mirror emotions in yourself. You didn't understand the other person's sitaution from a visceral standpoint, a fact that has wide-reaching consequences for yourself and the other person.

For one, empathetic processing is emotionally draining, but it's also a heuristic process that often takes less mental effort than developing a system of induction and deduction that can reliably tell you what the other person feels.

One system might make more errors than the other, or might induce a different mental state, or would lead to you having slightly different responses, and remembering conversations differently and for different reasons.


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Forcing yourself to behave empathetically without empathy takes a lot more effort

I feel it's fair to want that effort recognized


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Hey guys, while I find this pretty interesting honestly, would you guys mind putting further discussion about it in the [hide] boxes? Just to kind of keep the thread on track? Thank you

I sleep now


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I do recognize that effort. It would be very easy for you to choose not to try, and I appreciate that you choose to be empathetic. You're a very good person, Pepp


I think it's pretty relevant to my personal issues, and as such relevant to a therapy thread where I was encouraged to vent about bad experiences and reflect, and maybe be understood

But I'll duck out


Oh wait, no don't duck out. I didn't realize that's what was going on

I apologize, I'm very tired and just saw a general discussion on the definition of sociopathy, I didn't read further than that and that's my bad. If you have that then by all means, please talk about it.

Again I'm sorry, I didn't fully read the posts and didn't mean to come across that way.


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Thank you, Chammy

It's fine, misunderstandings happen, I didn't mean to make you feel guilty


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Alright well I didn't mean to imply you couldn't talk about things-I didn't realize the conversation was about you, I thought it was just an off topic conversation about empathy because I had mentioned it in a previous post.

I really should get off for bed, usually I'm more careful to read everyones posts




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Really Ella, it's alright

You're very sweet, but it's under the bridge, go to sleep






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My ex-girlfriend messaged me today.  I'm in a weird mood.  think I'm going to have a white russian and watch a movie.


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wanna taco 'bout it?


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Shame on you.


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You need to be stopped.


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perhaps you need to be gin


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I'm bad at puns and as fun as this would be it would derail the thread


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>>996560  I watched It: Chapter 2.  It was better than it had any right to be.

She's going to Japan as part of a program to teach English for at least a year.  It sounds like a cool program.


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I had to read that four times wondering "Chapter 2 of what?" before I realized that "It" was part of the movie title.

ooh, that does sound like a cool program.


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>>996573  I never watched Chapter 1.  but Chapter 2 was pretty amazing, especially compared to the TV movie.

She messaged me to let me know, so I wouldn't be worried in case I couldn't get a hold of her while she's overseas.


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that was thoughtful of her. You should be able to contact her via facebook though. Or any internet based messenger. Fortunately Japan's internet laws allow for lots of communication. I remember getting stuck in Shanghai once on an international flight and HATED it because both Google and Facebook don't exist there.


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>>996575  yeah she told me facebook would probably be the best way

edit: well that's enough white russians.  time to head off.


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Alright, let's continue the story into middle school. I want to note that plenty of good things happen to me among the shit, it's important to keep perspective. I have two best friends who I get along with really well, and a larger circle of other friends. I've started an instrument on account of those friends also playing and that's fun. I'm doing cub scouts, and I'm not the best at that kind of thing but I think I only have fond memories of it. My dad was a scout when he was a kid, so we do that together and that's really great. I'm doing decently in school, I'm not at the top like most of my friends but I'm doing above average in a B+/A- way. Home life with my brothers, especially when they invite their friends over, can be rough, but I do have fun with them too. My life is overall good I think, but things start going pretty downhill from here.

Let's see, in 6th grade all the friends from elementary school would meet at lunch, sit in a circle in a patch of grass and hang out and talk. This was a wonderful format for me, I was lively and a bit boisterous. I think having no power or control at home led me to be more loud and center of attention here. Maybe that was a good thing. Next year though, the format changes. The other boys are infected by the idea of being cool and doing pointless dumb shit to show off. And I don't get it. Who in their right mind would spend so much money collecting Pokémon cards with no intention to play the game? It's just, wow look I got a charizard! Possession of this thing provides social status because we are all too weak willed to understand we're under the spell of marketers convincing us this important. Also, yo-yos were a thing that drove social status. I refused to buy into any of it, it was dumb! But that has consequences. I didn't connect to anyone anymore. They moved away from the circle format at lunch to standing in the quad where loud music played over any kind of chatting you might do. It was better in no way, other than it was the cool place to be. I ended up spending most of my lunches on a bench alone for the rest of middle school. Only after school did I hang out with my two best friends. But, this social isolation at school was not good for my social development, I didn't know how to interact with other kids and I started to develop social anxiety.

So, as my brothers grew older, the play became more physical. Which was bad for me as I was forced to participate. To get an idea, take a 10yo clumsy awkward kid who can't manage to ride a bike and pit him against a 12, 15, 17 and 47 year old who are all very physical. How did anyone think this was a good idea? But my participation was mandatory. And it was further killing my confidence and feeding into my anxiety. I became known for being a cry baby, because I was frequently terrified and too overwhelmed by what we were doing. But, my feelings were always irrelevant.

This story really exemplifies it. Street hockey was the worst activity. How many times do I have to hammer it in, I can't ride a bike! Do who in their right mind would put me in skates? I couldn't control myself at all on them. All I was doing was sliding around failing to accomplish anything but falling and scraping myself on occasion. One time, my dad isn't looking and I see a collision immanent. And I'm too incapable on skates to even turn, I just spend the next few seconds helpless to avoid it. So I go splat, my dad is twice my size after all. And I'm on the ground and the pain in my wrist isn't anything I've felt before. It was, as I'd learned later, broken. And I'm not even slightly tolerant of physical pain, so I'm bawling my eyes out. My family concludes that I'm just faking it because I want to get out of doing street hockey. I'm sure they try to get me up off the ground, but I'm not able to stand yet. I guess they get tired of the "act" and my dad and brothers just leave me crying in the street. Alone now, my pain unrecognized, I cry even harder. I cry harder than it actually hurts because I just want someone to acknowledge my pain. But nobody comes out to help me. Unless I want to live in the middle of our cul de sac now, I have to pick myself up and get inside. I do so, and go to my mother who is upstairs and unaware. She's thankful not completely stupid and does recognize a serious injury any tends to me. I go to the doctor and get a cast. This is maybe the most traumatic story of my time playing with dad and brothers, but it's only one of many times where I learned that I don't matter, my feelings don't matter, and I'm just a tool to be used for the enjoyment of others.

Let's see, all this loss of agency came at a price as you can imagine. One of which was that I was developing rage at my predicament. And sometimes when I couldn't take the abuse any longer might snap. One time we were swimming in our pool, which was a place I was more often than not bullied by my brothers and their friends. This time it was my cousin, who I know was having a lot of difficulties in his own life. Everyone liked to dunk me under water. Which I hated. What made it worse was often they might hold me under water after dunking me. That added an element of terror to it then. After a day of such off and on treatment, I just snapped and barring the strength to really throw a punch or anything like that, I used my nails to claw deep angry lines all up and down my cousins back. So yeah, thanks for the social anxiety and the rage family!

I think that about covers middle school. I could speak more to how much I was degraded by my brothers and his friends, but you probably get the picture. I was socially isolated, growing in anger and growing in anxiety while my self esteem was crashing. But, what is going to play the most significant part of my trauma in the high school years is that part about me learning that I'm just a thing for others to use. That was the most dangerous thought and it turned a crappy childhood into something uniquely horrifying.

But that's for when we get to the high school years! Puberty was not kind to me! My god, no it was not.


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it sounds like you were a very smart kid, Thorax, who was both overattended to in some ways, and neglected in others.

the rage, that is something that is surprising, but given the circumstances, is something also that is understandable


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I dunno about very smart. I was gifted in some things and not great in others.

And yeah, I struggled a long time placing my finger on what went so wrong with my childhood because while I went through some strife (who doesn't?), my parents were loving, my brothers were rough but they didn't really mean the harm they caused and in a lot of ways they tried to be good to me, and my household wasn't really broken. No raging alcoholic parent, I almost never saw my parents in a conflict. My parents did struggle financially, but they were smart with the money they had and I never even knew until I was an adult that they barely were getting by. So what it was I only recently figured out, was my emotional needs were severely neglected. That even in a loving and in many ways supportive family, you can suffer severe damage through neglecting certain aspects of a developing child. Especially one as delicate and emotionally sensitive as I was. The 'boys must be tough' attitude was completely toxic to me.

Oh yeah! I have crazy problems with rage. I have been known in my family to have rage issues. I think I've got it 99% under control now, I've developed a very strong patience and resilience to upsetting things that keep me at peace. But, it's always lurking under the surface and there are certain triggers that I have which will make me start having to flex my self control to keep my anger to just a boil, not an explosive rage. While dealing with the death of Petey, what I wanted more than anything was to start tossing and breaking everything in that room. Which would have probably been inappropriate, even for someone in grief.

Also, the next part is maybe the worst for me. It's really very disturbing and not at all fun to tell. I wanna wait to see some more people participate before I share ^_^


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I was born once


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>I was born once
Do you want to be born again?


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A traumatic experience I hear.


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...wow, i have always felt, you are so resilient to rage, Thorax. ...it is understandable that it is your go to release emotion though.

i hope you will be okay for next part.


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...i guess i should try, right?

i do not fall in love. i used to, but not easily. and don't, at all, anymore. i love all of you! but will not feel romantic attraction. i am not sure i am capable of it, at all, anymore.

i am very far away. that is why, i am called Moony. i do not like to talk about my struggles. i try as hard as i can not to think about the past. the more i think, the worse i am. i am happiest when i am not able to think.

life has always been very sad. instead of anger, i internalize. i try to take responsibility, and not get upset. i come from a household where people are always upset. the anger cannot be imagined.

i accept responsibility. i fix. i take responsibility.

when i am emotionally most devastated, instead of angry, i ... disconnect. i can sit and stare at the floor for hours, if i am in especially bad shape, and just completely disappear. very rarely, almost never, do i allow it to get that bad!

i hide everything, from everyone. there is too much work to do. self-control, discipline, that is how i must get by. responsible. work hard. this is all i can do, to make up for all of my many weaknesses.

i believe very much in kindness. love, patience. seek not to be understood, as to understand. not to be loved, as to love.

...love to see... feel people be happy. i sometimes but chocolate bar, and ask if anyone wants any, and give the whole thing away, piece by piece, never eat it myself.

...i buy, so others can be happy. this makes me much happier than eating the chocolate could. i try to hide i do this though.

i am very normal, but very boring at work. people think i am especially nice, but i am not interesting. And that is good. i just want to hide.

thank you for reading. it was hard to do this, harder than it looks


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We appreciate it bud. Don't bottle it up to the point you hurt yourself.


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I know two people who will always love you, your little sisters (tell us about them?)


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I dont think I can really say much to this (it being late and me being exhausted doesn't help), but know you're a highlight for a lotta people aorund here.


you are all too kind, you know? bottling it up, i cannot help. And sharing feels like dumping my weakness on others.

That anyone cares to listen is already, to me, such kindness shown. thank you.


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Holding on to it until it affects you physically is a weakness also. Better to lighten the load when you're able.


...i am just not so sure how. lighten the load... it is like littering. Many years, i hold it in. better this way, than burden others.


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Is it a burden to others when they ask to help? Is it not also a burden to have others worried of you? It's not bad to rely one people sometimes.


>"Feels like"
That's the code word here. "Feels like" is not equal to "is for certain". Our minds lie to us. A lot.


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I guess it depends on how you think of "resilient" and "go to" here. I do not rage out or throw tantrums, ever (any more). I've never been on the other side of a conflict, in staff chat for instance, secretly screaming or breaking things. I'm almost always pretty calm, and I've become very good I think at controlling my anger in the few instances I do get angry. But it is in my nature now to crave a violent reaction to certain kinds of stressful situations. And, I've become really good at suppressing that. I would be lying though if I didn't admit I would love to release it, to take a baseball bat and smash something to pieces just to see it destroyed. I think that would be wonderful, pretty much any day of the week, lol.

Hey, I'm so glad you decided to share here! To be honest, one feature of this community that frustrates me is so many people who are willing to lend an ear but not so willing to share of themselves. I understand it, it is hard to open up about many of these issues. I've lived through that difficulty and I pushed through so many fears and terrors to be here today and just calmly release life's pains in the open. And I understand it if other's are not able to do the same, but, it still is really bothersome to me that most of my relationships with other people are really lopsided when it comes to that kind of sharing.

I hope you decide to keep working on being open and sharing, it is a good thing c:


I need sleep, nut I just wanted to say that we love you very much and it really makes me happy that you felt comfortable enough to put that here.

Tomorrow I am going to respond to posts and share some more.


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So, story time! As I think this may be one of the things that lead me to having anger problems later in childhood, and thinking it was ok to treat our family dogs the way I did.

Spoiler for mild animal abuse if you don't like that stuff.

When I was very young, probably about six, we got a dog from a family member. I can't remember why we got him, but either way, he was given to us.

Well the family who gave him to us was sitting with some other family during Thanksgiving, and I guess the dog had gotten in the trash to start this story, because all of a sudden she just goes into this story about how she used to put the dog in a trashbag when he was a puppy, tie it, and then beat him from outside the trash bag to "teach him" to stay out of the garbage.

She was very loud and boisterous and bragging about it, saying how well it worked.

Now, the part that I took away from this was not the action, but the action of the other adults. They didn't really react to her story, and just kind of started talking about something else when she was done.

I took this as a 'beating a dog is apparently not a big deal', and didn't realize that actually they were just used to her crazy bat shit personality, and it was just going in one ear and out the other, and they wanted to kove onto a differrent topic.

I really should have been playing outside, not allowed to sit in the living room while a binch of adults sat in the next room getting drunk as shit and talking about some rather raunchy stories.

I get that. I had good memories mixed in with the bad. I did have to live with the people after all.

>but who knows how these things affect people in more subtle ways.

A lot of stuff came out when I was upset, and in unexpected ways.

The first time I noticed that it was a problem I needed to work on when was when me and my husband got into a mild fight.

He grabbed my sleeve and tugged me down the hallway a little ways because he wanted to speak to me without our roommate hearing us-because you know, you don't need all your fights to be out in the open like that.

He wasn't violent, he didn't even raise his voice, but I got very upset and before I even quite understood how upset I really was, he stopped fighting and was like "what the hell is wrong?", and I snapped and said, very angrily, "I don't like being fuckin grabbed like that!"

Now something to keep in mind-I was never grabbed. Not once was I ever grabbed or hit. But that near constant threat of violence always being around made me so scared of it that it quite literally became a phobia, so when physical contact was made through anger, my brain threw up the panic signals.

My husband apologized and explained he was only trying to get us alone [and to this day has never grabbed my clothing like that again during a fight], but I was still shaking for half an hour after that.

The next day, when I had time to reflect, is when I realized that was an over reaction and I immediately understood why I had it. But until that point, didn't know I would have those kinds of reactions.

>Also I’m really sorry to hear about your grandmas rock garden. You’d have thought that you’re grandpa would be more sympathetic.  I hope that you managed to work on it properly later on.

I never did finish it. I basically gave up and just did other things.

At the time it was very hurtful and I felt like he was being delusional about his son, but now that I'm an adult, I can't help but wonder if that garden was just another reminder to him of his dead wife, so he didn't really care what happened to it. He was with her for 42 years before she passed away. I'm sure little reminders like that weren't exactly easy.

I also think that, the only reason he didn't kick his kids out of the house the minute she passed, was because the last thing she asked on her death bed was for him to take care of their kids. Likeb made him promise her that they would always have a home to come to. Love like that isn't easy to ignore.

Jesus fucking christ, that teacher should have been fired. Who does that to kids? That is one thing that always angers me so much-kids make mistakes. Their minds are still growing and they don't think things through. She should have questioned first, then decided what to do. Jeez

>They'd also chase me down, pin my arms and tickle me til I screamed.

My uncles did that to me, I fucking hated it. It's probably why I hate being tickled now except by certain people.

>leaving a kid crying on the street
>allowing kids to dunk each other and hold them under

You know I kind of suspect the reason my grandfather seemed to favour me and my sister so much was because, I think, on top of being a drunk and addict in his younger years, allowed shit like this to happen to his kids, and then had the unique opportunity to watch not just two kids be messed up into their adult years, but six. He watched his kids, all except one and his grand children, become such terrible fuck ups, and half of that was his fault.

I think by the time I came around, he knew most of the mistakes he had made and was much more careful with, and patient, with me.

You add this onto him, on his own with no outside stressors tipping him over the edge, being a very kind, loving man if a bit rough and bit of a butch/biker type. He had a good moral sense and called people out on their bullshit quite easily, and despite how angry he could get, he always seemed to try to control it until...he couldn't. And he would snap.

One of my cousins recounted a story to me one time, of how his own dad had beat him because he had accidentally let a bolling ball roll into my grandpas arm and hurt him.

He said that after, my grandpa had told his dad "you didn't have to hit the kid, it was an accident". He was saying how he always had his back.

That stuck with me because, despite how much I loved him, I jad known him to be violent and knew for a fact he had hurt his wife and kids. Why would he care if the kid got beat?

And then it kind of clicked that in every fight I had witnessed, he was rarely the one that started it, rarely the one that carried it on, and only ever snapped when the other person just wouldn't, let, it, go.

Verbally he would snap all the time, and yell quite loudly, but it was around my teenage years that I learned this was like a hot fuze, and once done, he would quickly destress and be over it. I even got him to laugh quige loudly one time after he had a good shout, when I broke the silence by saying "I can see the steam coming out of your ears"

He was able to laugh at himself, to find humour in the anger, and I think he just had no healthy ways to cope.
Thank you for that. It means more to me than you probably realise

And now here we are. Postin on a rainbow horse doll image board.

>seek not to be understood, as to understand. not to be loved, as to love.

But is it ok that we want to understand you? Is it ok that we want to love you? Is that wrong?


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>Spoiler for mild animal abuse if you don't like that stuff.
I’d have went into an absolute blind rage if I was there. I’m not a violent person, but people like deserve to be beaten themselves, if not worse. Someone who’d do to a dog (or any animal for that matter) and then brag about it is absolute scum.

>my brain threw up the panic signals.
I can empathise with that. I really don’t like shouting of any kind. Gives me really severe anxiety.

It’s not the threat of violence, no one in my family ever hit me, and I never feared that they would, although I was beat up a few times in school. I’d actually laugh at the people who were punching and kicking me, goading them to do more, and me laughing at them would really piss them off. I wasn’t strong enough to fight back, so me laughing at them while they beat me was my way of getting back at them.

>My husband apologized and explained he was only trying to get us alone [and to this day has never grabbed my clothing like that again during a fight],
That’s nice to hear. Your husband sounds really sweet. You’re very lucky to have him.

>over reaction
If you’re looking at this alone then yes, but I’d say it’s far from an overreaction in the context of how you grew up. It was perfectly understandable, and I’m glad your husband also saw it that way.

>I never did finish it. I basically gave up and just did other things.
That’s really unfortunate, but the original sentiment was nice.


>I’d have went into an absolute blind rage...Someone who’d do to a dog (or any animal for that matter) and then brag about it is absolute scum.

Well I was very young then, but now? Yea I probably would be pretty fucking livid. But this is the exact thing I'm talking about, those people had little to no reaction. They didn't understand [besides the very basic human level empathy]that animals can have similar feelings and feel the same things we do, if in a differrent way. They were 'just dogs'. So even though I'm sure most of them agreed that that was taking it too far, it still 'wasn't their place' to tell someone else how to treat their dog. And this is what I grew up with. It wasn't until I think I was like 12 that one of my aunts (married into the family), caught me swinging a little lizard around on a leash and told me that was bad, but also explained why, and asked if I would like to be treated that way, and that animals have feelings too.

It was still a very long time after that before I acted properly towards animals,but shaming me like that was a good thing. After that I actually managed to feel sadness when our dog killed a kitten. Before that, I don't know if I would have emotionally understood that this was sad.

>I can empathise with that. I really don’t like shouting of any kind. Gives me really severe anxiety.

Honestly, that's probably a good thing. I think you would need to be more concerned if shouting didn't bother you.

>I’d actually laugh at the people who were punching and kicking me, goading them to do more, and me laughing at them would really piss them off. I wasn’t strong enough to fight back, so me laughing at them while they beat me was my way of getting back at them.

Damn dude I'm sorry. While I can understand why you did it, that still really sucks and shouldn't have happened to you.

>That’s nice to hear. Your husband sounds really sweet. You’re very lucky to have him.

I am very lucky. More than I could ever put into words.

>glad your husband also saw it that way.

I'm glad too. He's been able to help me with similar panic attacks sense then as well.


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there's a lot of stuff wrong with me, but i was never ever very good at writing it out in a big paragraph or anythin'

i'm super exhausted of life, and i try really hard to be positive and sweet, even when i'm depressed, but sometimes it doesn't happen

and that hurts, 'cause being loving toward others is the thing i care about most

i have depression, every day is miserable for me, and my anxiety makes it hard to leave the house most of the time

unlike many of my sisters, i don't really have a reliable coping mechanism, so i just try to push through it and keep my bubbly pink love alive while i'm going

there's just so much goin' on that i can't even begin to process! medical bills, my mental illnesses, MLP ending, the harsh shock of comin' back home after a brief period of livin' with people who actually understand me..

i've learned that i can adapt okay to new situations, as long as someone i love dearly is there to hold onto, but.. it can't keep bein' like this

life can't just be me endlessly gettin' pounded down while i try to cling desperately to the one thing i value most

it has to get easier at some point, or i'm gonna break


Sigh ...

I wanted to participate in this thread, but ended up making two text walls just to establish context before sharing the my own personal trauma stories

Then got super depressed and had a low-motivation day and spent most of it lying in bed at my in-laws guest bedroom, doing nothing really.

I might come back if this thread and post a few more text walls about it later.

In the meantime, here's a really special video for anyone who struggles.

Content warning: discussion of depression, and suicidal thoughts and feelings


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*Hugs* <3
That sounds very rough. I hope you know you're not alone. You can always lean on me.


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Wow, yeah no children should be exposed to that kind of crazy. Even if it's just talk, kids are always listening and learning. It's hard, it's not really your fault whatever has happened as a result, but having learned better now you have to live with what's been done.

Your husband sounds really wonderful and supportive. It's really difficult navigating these issues with a partner but it sounds like he's really good with you. I'm happy you found each other.

Tickling kids seems cute and innocent but unless the kid is telling you it's okay, I consider it sending all the wrong messages about appropriate touching and bodily autonomy.

Being a parent is the kind of problem that by the time you learn the lessons, damage has already been done. And everyone seems to be carrying their own childhood problems into their parenthood one way or another. Pain and trauma leads to pain and trauma usually, even with the most loving parents. I get sad thinking about how we pass these things on to each other in some perpetual terrible cycle.

These linked posts are at a minimum required reading before reading my next part, it takes my whole life before this point to understand what went so wrong next.

So the story continues late middle school, early high school. As a reminder I'm a physically weak, emotionally delicate child who is learning to neglect his feelings and shed his personhood. That his treatment feels frequently more like an object than person. His value was usually in gratifying other people. He's cut off from most social interaction and what remains of his self esteem is shaky. This is where we continue from.

My parents, oblivious as they are to my needs, notice I've grown into a very large broad kid and decide I should join the football team. I guess it would be a shame not to since my body was practically made for the sport. I wanted nothing to do with this. Like it was the worst idea in the world! But I could not say no to them, I had lost the ability to control my life. They were too excited, they wanted to practice with me in the backyard, I was helpless to assert a preference, I didn't want to disappoint them. So, I signed up, pretended to like it.

There was a summer camp to get in shape for the season. I attended day one, and my misery was palpable. It was like bootcamp I imagine. Getting yelled to push harder, run further, don't put your hands on your sides to rest because that's a sign of weakness (wat?). I made it through the day and basically vowed to avoid it the rest of the summer because it was that awful for me. But I can't help the fact the new school year was starting and I made a commitment to join the team. I think my parents were catching on that maybe this wasn't for me. But they still encouraged me to go to first practice. So I did. And honestly, I think all the football kids and coaches were pretty supportive of me and wanted to make it work despite me having no physical fitness in me. A pleasant surprise! But still, it was a nightmare to me, I wanted nothing to do with it, it terrified me, I was already an anxious mess of a child at 13.

I get home and how much I didn't want to go again was written on my face. My mom tells me, it is my choice whether I want to continue, that she supported me if I wanted to quit. But, I still can't make the decision for myself. I tell her I will think about it. I go to my room and I find a coin. The coin will carry the burden of making the choice to disappoint my parents! I flip it and the coin tells me I must continue to play football. I can't take it, the coin was wrong, or maybe I was wrong and really meant that tails was for quitting not heads! All I knew was, the coin really wanted me to quit football! I can't do anything about it, I yet again had no choice! I'm sorry parents, I never wanted to disappoint you, but the coin spoke its truth to me and I am no longer able to do this for you. I told mom I wanted to quit, which was as much truth as lie, because I also wanted to be able to do this for them. Not for me, for them.

My mind is unhealthy, it's unable to handle so many situations. It's unable to protect itself, and it's actively choosing harmful choices to gratify other people. The rest of my story is going to talk about the sickness developing in my psyche. And it's not pretty, in fact, the only way to talk about it is to break the rules of ponyville on adult content. I've obtained a waiver from the staff to be able to continue this story further. But everyone needs to know, what is under the hide tag is sexually explicit and I assume will be very disturbing. I will be talking about the details and mechanics by which I exercised my sexuality during puberty, so if you read ahead, you are consenting to know exactly how a 13-17yo masturbated and what he masturbated to. You've been warned.

Wow, we're really doing this, I'm writing it and you are really reading it. So be it, let us explore the mind of a very sick boy together.

I am a demisexual. I do not understand attraction to physical bodies. And that was the same as a kid. I never saw a person and wanted to masturbate, or however it is boys typically expressed teenaged sexuality. But I still had urges and I still got horny. My method of sexual exploration as a teen was through touching my body and finding what felt good. I didn't crave sexual experience with other people, I never thought of there being another person in my sexual fantasy. Or if they were there, it was entirely focused on shared sensation, I couldn't even picture them just the sensation. And the problem begins with the discovery that I really really enjoy anal stimulation. I would masturbate in the bathtub of the shower and penetrate myself digitally, or with a toothbrush handle. Yes, these details are required to tell my story, if you can't handle that you have this moment to stop reading because this was the healthiest my mind ever was and ever will be when it comes to my sexuality.

So this is all fine and good, maybe even a very healthy way for a young boy to privately explore sexuality. But the damage comes from the culturally attitude of the Era. This was not a great time to be gay. Times have been worse of course, but still the cultural attitude was that gay people were evil, they were sinful, they were disgusting, gay people were child molesters and deserved our scorn. That was what it meant to be gay, as far as my child mind knew. And it didn't help that what friends I had in high school were obscenely homophobic. Like, we talked about how awful it would be to be gay. We called everything that was gay bad with that bullshit saying "that's gay". So, I was completely surrounded with anti gay propaganda, if I knew anything with certainty, that to be gay was the worst thing possible. And, that's what I thought I was because I couldn't help how much I enjoyed anal stimulation. It was addictive to a horny teenaged me. I didn't know what demisexual was, it wasn't a concept really then. (Not like anyone would ever want to properly teach kids about sexuality in this fucking country anyway!)

So yeah, not knowing better, I thought I was gay. And I hated myself for it. I was terribly ashamed of it. That shame and hate was growing worse every time I masturbated. I tried, in vain, to masturbate to images of women like a normal straight boy, but it didn't work because I'm demi. I can't get off like that. I was desperate to not be gay but I couldn't help this thing. And the next part is where the real heartbreak begins. I wanted to be punished for my sins. That's what I learned from my friends and the culture at large. That I needed to be punished for this. I don't know how this next thought got started, maybe it was the way I was treated as a thing for other people's enjoyment. All this sickness I developed growing up created a prefect storm for my next big thought. That I deserved, needed (!) to be abused sexually. That I deserved to be raped, that it would be both justice served for my crimes and would also serve the purpose of satisfying my feeling that I was only a thing for the pleasure of others.

The things I masturbated to became sicker and sicker. We just got an internet connection, and when nobody was home, I used it to find the most horrifying pornography I could get my hands on. I envied the abuse people suffered in those pictures. Some of these were likely staged, paid actors making porn for extreme fetishist. But, I'm sure that so much of it must have been real. Real abuse, real rape. Even as a kid I understood the weight of what I was doing. But the sickness in my brain was overwhelming me. I couldn't stop seeking it out, no matter how many times I told myself it was sick. It was a self destructive cycle, because I was developing even more guilt for getting off to the suffering of others. So I wanted to hurt myself for hurting myself. My mind was breaking, I was losing a battle for my sanity.

But I still had parts of me that were fighting to turn things around. I wanted the horror and pain to stop as much as I wanted it to continue. But my family life refused to let up on reinforcing my sickness. I don't think this story was a turning point, I'm not sure how it even fits chronologically. Maybe I'm 16ish.

My family is really into magic the gathering. And I'm predictably not great at it. But I'm always included and forced or guilted into the degrading process of losing to them. One time, my oldest brother is taunting me over how well he is doing. I think he's won twice against me and was doing well again. And he's rubbing it in so hard. This was my moment, I was going to be like an adult and I was going to assert my own will! That's exactly the thought I had in my head. I was not going to sit there and be degraded. I stand up, calmly and maturely announce that I'm not having fun and I'm quiting the game. I've never done anything like this before, but I had to, I couldn't let myself be used like this anymore. And maybe this is my chance to turn my life around, reclaim my agency! The reaction was immediate and violent. My brother reached across the table and he slaps my box of cards across the room. All my cards and decks are all over the living room, the box is in pieces. I don't really remember what else happens. He yells at me, I don't know. I'm in shock at the results. I'm terrified at the sudden anger. This is what happens when you try to be human. You aren't human, you aren't a person, you are a thing, and your role is bringing other people joy through your own suffering. That's what I learned to be. I want to also point out that my dad was right there, and maybe I'm forgetting, but I think he does nothing to correct my brother. Maybe it happened, but I didn't see it, I just see that I got what I deserved for my attempt to be a human. The sickness progresses, I don't think of myself as someone with innate value. I think of myself as someone who only gains value out of being abused by others.

The porn isn't enough anymore. I want to feel that pain and suffering. I want to hurt so bad it's like an addiction. I start role playing being raped in some kind of ritualistic form. I would use clothing to bind my feet. I would use a sock to gag myself. I would tie my hands behind my back. And I would use household objects to sodomize myself. I did it many times, I was possessed by the sickness in my mind. It was what I did in private to bring value to my life, the only way I knew how anymore. It was only in this year, 2019, that I even considered that I didn't deserve to go through any of it, that what happened to me was actually kind of horrifying. It's hard, because I chose it for myself, it felt like it was abuserless and by extension victimless. I think I've since come to understand my abuse and that I was a victim of neglect. One day earlier this year, after processing through much of my mental illness with the help of friends, I suddenly understood, and I cried for the teenaged boy who suffered so much that he normalized abusing himself. I cried for myself for the first time.

Anyway as I grow into an older teen, I eventually quit the porn. Despite the amount of damage I'm living through, that I'm almost a non functioning human, I'm 100% committed to pretending I'm a normal healthy boy. I'm even caught multiple times with porn, and it's fetishist and weird but through sheer luck those times I was looking at something almost benign, by comparison. But it makes me realize, no matter how much I'm drawn to this disgusting vile material, I have to stop to maintain the facade of sanity for my parents sake. The mask would come off if I'm caught with the worst of it. I've seen enough already anyway, my mind is filled with the images of horror, I still carry some of those today. My brain sometimes decides I should feel bad and pops one up at random and it make me ill.

By now, I'm through high school. But if you are following closely, you know that the story of my trauma and sickness is only beginning. There is over a decade and a half left to hurt myself and further erode my sense of self and disassociate with reality. I'm not sure if I'm going to continue the story after this though. I thought I would never tell this to anyone outside Andrea and another close friend who helped me process my trauma and illness. Now it's in the wild, and I don't know how to feel about it. I guess I'll see once people respond to it.

Make sure to keep anything that needs to be under hide tag hidden if you quote me.


i've reserved spilling my guts for special people, now


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>i've learned that i can adapt okay to new situations, as long as someone i love dearly is there to hold onto,
I’m really sorry to hear about all of that, but you know you can always hold onto me whenever you to.

Same goes with you Savvy.


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>Tickling kids seems cute and innocent but unless the kid is telling you it's okay, I consider it sending all the wrong messages about appropriate touching and bodily autonomy.
I was tickled a lot as a young kid - initially by family and in school also by friends.  I also grew to enjoy doing it to others.  Eventually this turned into the entire basis of my sexuality.


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I've been meaning to share, but I've given myself so many distractions lately I'm not even keeping up with this thread
I have a feeling I'm level headed for the same reasons you are. I also used to have a terrible rage problem.

I'm glad you can share, Moony. I hope it has helped you.

I know you might feel guilty if you feel like a burden to friends. But have you tried asking your friends if you may lay your troubles on them? This way, they know up front what you hope to do, and they can say no if they are not emotionally ready. I nearly always say yes, though, because I know how liberating it is to know someone else is willingly helping you carry your burden.

>I've become very good I think at controlling my anger in the few instances I do get angry. But it is in my nature now to crave a violent reaction to certain kinds of stressful situations. And, I've become really good at suppressing that. I would be lying though if I didn't admit I would love to release it, to take a baseball bat and smash something to pieces just to see it destroyed. I think that would be wonderful, pretty much any day of the week, lol.
This on so many levels. I've come to where IRL people think I don't even get angry. It's flattering to hear, and I choose not to correct them. Sometimes I spend hours imagining an argument I've had with someone, where I am pulverizing them instead of arguing. Sometimes I go to the gym just to lay my rage against a leather bag full of sand. People sometimes cheer for my energy, but I choose not to tell them what it really is.


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>My husband apologized and explained he was only trying to get us alone [and to this day has never grabbed my clothing like that again during a fight], but I was still shaking for half an hour after that.
That's totally understandable, and he sounds like a really sweet guy. Often we don't know in advance what's going to trigger a panic attack. I remember a time I bumped my friend in the face while turning around, and she immediately collapsed crying in a ball on the ground for a few seconds, then actually passed out. She was gone for about ten minutes and we were all very worried. When she came too she was still clearly terrified and we all had to give her a lot of space. Turns out she was a victim of severe domestic abuse when she was very young, and for some reason in that moment when my arm bumped her in the face, she was re-living one of her many beatings and... well, I'm sure you can dot the line.

>Thank you for that. It means more to me than you probably realise
I'm not sure which one you mean, but I'm glad it helped you nonetheless. It's good to know that our feelings are valid, or that we're not alone.

It's okay, take your time. You've got a dozen willing ears whenever you're ready. And don't worry about how long it is. I promise you we do want to hear it.


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> I had lost the ability to control my life. They were too excited, they wanted to practice with me in the backyard, I was helpless to assert a preference, I didn't want to disappoint them. So, I signed up, pretended to like it.
Fuck dude I want to cry already. I have never had that same feeling but I've always feared it. That's horrible.

>I told mom I wanted to quit, which was as much truth as lie, because I also wanted to be able to do this for them. Not for me, for them.
No. It's not a lie. You want them to be proud of you, so you want to do something for them, but you don't want that thing to be football, because you hate football. I'm sure you've learned this by now, but just know that saying you didn't want to play football would not (or should not) have been a lie at all.

That's fine. You don't have to share in public if you don't want to.

This one is actually lost  on me. I was also tickled a lot but I never associated it sexually with anything. Though given that I had virtually no sexuality at all (to the point I was convinced I was asexual) until after college may have had something to do with it.


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>I envied the abuse people suffered
This actually bothered me when I first bumped into it. I later discovered it's because I have a fetish for this, but I had no idea at the time and it really freaked me out.

It's actually really weird the amount of stuff that I legitimately like, that you went through trauma over. maybe I should share my own instead of inserting mine into yours.

Honestly that's horrible. Horrifying, in fact. I'm sorry that happened to you.


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I hope you don't mind me saying, but that's kinda cute. Tickling can be a very wholesome and affectionate activity, as long as people are on board with it. ^_^

Ha yeah, I put a lot of effort into being able to control myself. To not find myself doing anything that would out me for how fucked up I was. So that included getting a handle on my rage. Ironically, nowadays I consider my mental sickness as demonstration of how little control I actually had, despite how much I thought I had things under control.

I get that. Fortunately it's not frequent a thing now for me, but I've had a lot of violent thoughts towards other people before. If I continue the story, I'll be going into more depth into that.

Things like this I'm retelling from the first person perspective of myself as a kid. It adds a little more to the story to see how I was thinking in the moment. To see my mistakes and the unhealthiness of my thought.

Sharing is always optional, but I put my story out there to specifically clear the way for others to share. I figure someone has to test the waters before others might feel comfortable diving in c:

>Honestly that's horrible. Horrifying, in fact. I'm sorry that happened to you.
Oh good, I'm glad to have a little third party confirmation. Because, I never felt I hurt myself enough at the time. And that warps my perspective even now. I'm a little worried in the back of my mind that someone is going to come out and tell me this wasn't really very bad at all, that I had it easy, that there wasn't really even trauma in my story. The remnants of this sickness still linger in my mind and it tells me how much more I could have done, I still could do, to hurt myself. Fortunately, thoughts like that don't have power over me anymore.


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Well, shoot. I’ve done enough inserting myself into other peoples’ stories; I may as well share mine. Maybe it will help me finish my autobiography so my Grandkids can remember who I am when I can’t, if I still want them to. … that almost got dark. Let’s head back to my early childhood. I’ll try not to get too florid.

So as a kid I would say things were pretty normal(?) I was the second of four, all 2 years apart. I was energetic, ran around a lot, got muddy in the woods by the creek, caught frogs, cried when I fell, etc. until the age of about 5 you probably wouldn’t have noticed anything concerning, and compared to what everyone else in here has gone through a lot of my early childhood really wasn’t.

I could mention that I was pushed into the creek when I was 4 and I immediately punched the other boy multiple times in the face, and of course he went crying to his mom who came and yelled at me, which made me cry because she was big and terrifying, and then told my mom, who sent me to my father, who spanked me five times and made me sit on a chair for 20 minutes (A+ parenting, by the way) and that I had to skip dessert later, but I think this is a pretty normal occurance in the life of any 4 year old. My older brother pushed me around some, but again, that’s normal at that age.

I grew up on a church property. It’s difficult to explain, but basically the church owned a lot of ground for a summer camp, and a lot of the staff just sort of lived there, and were members of the church. My Dad was actually one of the lead builders for every single building that stands there today, to include the church building. Learning to build from Dad was lots of fun, and being on roofs with him gave me an excitement for being up high, so I ended up getting stuck in trees a lot. Poor dad, but he was only in his 30s at the time so he could usually get me down. But I digress. I went to sunday school, and until the age of 5 every person I met (except that one mom) was exceptionally polite, and always told me how fast I was (I was a very fast runner at all ages) and loved my smile, etc. People were nice, and genuinely good people.

I swear this is going somewhere.

>there wasn't really even trauma in my story
No, my story has no real trauma, which you'll see once I share the rest of it. Being confused about yourself and being afraid to talk about what you think you are because everyone hates what that is and you're terrified they'll hate you if you even make mention of it, and then hating yourself by proxy and responding to that is such a... fucked up mentality. legitimately beginning to hate yourself is one of the most fucked up psychological horrors anyone can experience. I cannot understate that. (on of, not the only, before anyone gets preachy)


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But at age 5, kindergarten began, and so began the slow, cruel dehumanization that only dozens of children too young to understand the emotional repurcussions of what they are doing can administer. Simply put, I was a bit socially awkward. I would later learn that this has to do with a condition known as ADHD, but at the time, my energy and inattention were seen as normal, so there was no contrast to help nail down just why I didn’t understand the other kids.

Remember I said that I had grown up in the church. These kids were not nice. They teased me, picked on every flaw or insecurity I had, told me I was strange, smelly, unwanted, etc they basically did every vanilla thing a schoolground bully can come up with. I was a victim of bullying. And it hurt that much worse because I had absolutely no idea why they were doing it. I barely understood the concept of lying because I had been raised to always tell the truth, and had always been told the truth (I lied about eating candy one time but my mom knew I was lying so that pretty much told me that lying at all ever was totally useless), so when these kids told me I was weird, or stupid, or smelly, or that unwanted, or trash… I believed them.

I cried a lot, hearing those words. During play time at school I hid from the other kids. Some of them thought it was a game, and kept following me, which told the others where I was, so eventually, I started hitting the kids that wouldn’t let me hide. As you can imagine, that got me in trouble a lot. The adults would send me to the office, or send me home, and my parents would scold me and spank me and make me sit on a chair (seriously, A+ parenting).

One time I even had to write an apology letter to someone I had hit. Any other time this might have hurt a lot for me because it would have meant validating what they had done to me, but fortunately this girl was actually innocent. I had hit her by mistake, so it was lucky that she was the one my parents made me write the letter to. Writing the letter was hard though, because we had only just learned our ABCs the previous month. I had to have help, and I think it was very short, and if I saw it today I probably wouldn’t be able to read it. And she couldn’t read it either. Oh well. She was only mad at me for a few days, and she wasn’t hurt. I would have hurt myself if I’d have hurt her.


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This doesn't sound like no trauma to me. Remember, I too was convinced for the longest time I didn't experience trauma. Despite what I just wrote, I'm still nervous about asserting something like having lived through trauma. Instead of comparing your story with mine, how I see it, what is important to me, is whether you feel like your childhood was painful in and of itself. Not more or less painful as other's, but just merely did you experience pain and suffering as a part of growing up? And did that leave an impact on you through the rest of your life? Do you have to manage your life in a way you wouldn't have had to if you didn't experience this bullying? This is how we should view our past and come to understand our pains. The whole comparison thing, that's what I did, I used the fact that nobody really targeted me (like they did you) as evidence that I wasn't a victim of anything. There's value in being able to share these things and see ourselves in each other's stories, but we can't be using each other's stories as evidence against our own experiences. That's not the right way to view things.


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>>997551  It doesn't completely make sense, but it's the only way I can begin to explain it.  As early as I can remember, I liked tickling, going all the way back to when I was like 3.  So when I got tickled, I didn't necessarily try to make it stop, and instead I tried to tickle the person back.  But I was also very weak, so that usually just invited more tickling.  This was especially true in the case of my dad, who was happy to just keep tickling me endlessly as I tried to tickle him back.  Long before I knew what sex was, I was being turned on by tickling, in a very sexual way that I didn't understand and by people who I feel really awkward to admit got me turned on, but that's the truth of it.

With my dad, step brother, and step-mom, we used to have these massive pillow fights.  I was the youngest by far, the weakest, and generally useless, but they were still a lot of fun.  We pulled pillows from all over the house, used couches as forts, and even launched couch cushions at one another (except me, since I could barely pick the things up).  Well, during one such pillow fight when I was somewhere around 7-8, I'd gotten bowled over by a cushion, and decided to take refuge under a pile of cushions for some reason.  That was a mistake, as my dad decided to pin me under the cushions by laying across them.  He weighed many times what I did, so I wasn't going anywhere, and my super ticklish feet were sticking out from under the cushions.  Well, you can imagine what happened a few moments later after the pillow fight halted.  
There was no fighting back - just darkness, complete immobility, and helplessness.  The tickling was unending.  It seemed like time just stopped.  I both hated it and loved it, and there was absolutely nothing I could do.  At some point, I yelled out "I'm dead!  I'm dead!" (kind of like my version of "uncle" I guess) and the tickling stopped.  for about 5 seconds, until my dad decided they needed to make sure I was really dead, and then it started all over again.  To this day, I still consider that one of the best sexual experiences of my life, and I've never experienced anything quite like it since.

I didn't understand sexuality at all when I was growing up.  All I knew was that there was something very wrong with me, and that the sexual things that other boys were interested in, didn't interest me at all.  I didn't have anyone I trusted enough to talk to about it, so I just developed in my own very warped way.  When I finally got access to the Internet, the "porn" that I looked up was nonsensical, because I didn't know what a fetish was, and I didn't know what I was looking for.  I tried many times to "fake it" and pretend I was normal, but I kept sliding back into the (what I then considered to be) depraved habits I'd developed.  It wasn't until my 3rd year of college that I really came to terms with any of it.

>>997540  I have to apologize in general for not responding to the rest of your post.  In my warped mind, when I detect the word "tickling" anywhere that just becomes the sole focus of my attention.

I can empathize with some of the things that you did to yourself while growing up.  I wasn't interested in typical sexual stuff either, and regular porn didn't interest me, but I also didn't know what a fetish was, so the things I masturbated to were awkward to say the least.  Incredibly awkward.  I also later got into the habit of tying myself up, typically to my bed, but for different reasons.  This made for some awkward moments as well, as I got caught more than once, but thankfully my family at least pretended they didn't know what I was doing.

It's funny, though, the one time my step-brother thinks he caught me masturbating (which he thought was hilarious, by the way), I was doing something I was even more ashamed about, so I just let him believe he'd caught me masturbating since it seemed more normal.

When I was first trying to figure out how to masturbate, before I had Internet, with no access to porn, and just a vague idea that this was a thing that I could do...  I decided it would be a good idea to partially immobilize myself, because I realized that it turned me on to do so.  And then I tried to pleasure myself in a really stupid manner because I didn't know what I was doing.  The physical reminder of this failure is still visible to this day, as I completely cut off circulation to my penis for a few very painful moments as I tried to unbind myself without simultaneously ripping my penis off.

>>997620  I've heard that from a lot of people who've found out.  Unfortunately, that's not the sort of tickling that really gets me off.
It's torpedoed about half of all the relationships I've ever been in for various reasons, all of which were with girls who were initially receptive to it.
It makes things needlessly complicated, and I honestly wouldn't wish it on anyone.


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Really would help kids like us if maybe a little more was taught than penis goes inside vagina. I'm not saying we need to teach all the fetishes in class, just that it would be nice if we knew that different ways to get off exist and it's okay to be that way.

Ah, I see. Sorry, I should have figured that was a dumb thing to have said to you though it's probably still cute to me, I'm a pretty extreme fetishist if you haven't noticed. Actually, it makes me really sad to see you say you wouldn't wish it on anyone else. I mean, of course I understand it makes things complicated and it would just be so much easier to be normal. But, having lived through such a disgustingly painful fetish, and so much internalized hated, I just think that any expression of sexuality is beautiful and wonderful with certain hopefully obvious exceptions. I dunno if that's weird to say, it's just a really personal topic, having lived through what I've lived through.


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What if nothing particularly traumatic ever happened to you but you still ended up an utterly broken husk of a person?


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You might not recognize your trauma, or you might be downplaying it because it doesn't fit the typical trauma narrative. Trauma isn't always as simple as bullying or getting beaten by your parents.

If you would like to share, others could weigh in. Couldn't hurt right?


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you could just be broken, and that's fine

you're allowed to be broken

you should tell us what hurts though


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That's fair, I guess. what's crazy is the stuff I found utterly traumatizing then I wouldn't even scoff at today. But that's because I know the psychology of it now.

More story incoming


I'll gladly teach that class. But I feel like the board that has to approve it would be to embarassed to vote


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My dad didn't like my constant fighting of course. “You do not hit” seemed to be his favorite thing to yell at me. My sore butt and the seat of that chair were practically married by the end of first grade. Add to that the fact that my dad never seemed particularly fond of me. He always looked at me differently than my brothers. Like I was some sort of accident, or broken, and needing to be discarded.Nothing I ever did was good enough for him. He always found something wrong to point out, something I should have done better, poor word choice, poor stance, not enough effort. It hurt. I stopped bringing my drawings or assignments to Dad, because I knew he was going to negatively criticise it.

I know now that he’s just not good at compliments, and that he just wanted me to improve. Mom at least knew to point out something she loved about it before pointing to something and explaining how it could be improved next time. Huh. I used to do the same thing when I did story reviews on Ponychan. I actually turned into my dad. Not sure how I feel about that.

Anyway, the bullying, and the disapproval from Dad kind of continued through elementary school. I was really good at math, english, and science though. But because my teachers noticed I learned differently, and had trouble paying attention after the other kids could, they started giving me notes home, and developed a small report on my attentiveness and behavior. I learned to read it by the end of 1st grade, so even though I didn’t tell them, I knew what my teachers were saying about me. Mostly they were frustrated.

Since every class was taught by the same teacher, my teacher at each grade level noticed that I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t pay attention, yet somehow managed to pretty much ace all my math and english tests, when I finished them on time. Because I often didn’t finish them on time. I also constantly fought with the other kids. I was pulled out of class one time and introduced to a lady who gave me all sorts of puzzles, which I liked, and said that I would be meeting with her every week, which usually meant I missed science class. Our sister class had science at a different time though, so I was sent over there to make it up.


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I'd really never been taught anything by that point.

My dad tried to have his "sex talk" with me a few years before that episode, but it was really more of a "how to please the ladies" talk.  Which was also really awkward, in part because it didn't interest me at all.  Masturbation wasn't mentioned.

I didn't have my first "sex ed" class until like a year or two later, and even there, it was all...  not particularly useful.  How to use a condom.  Avoid STDs.  Taught by an older woman who avoided being too specific about anything.  Not all that helpful, all things considered.

No worries.  I'm glad you think it's cute then.  I tried to get involved in the local fetish/kink scene a while ago.  I would have felt more at home if I had an "extreme" fetish.  In the end, it was just a complete waste of my time.

It raises some "interesting" moral dilemmas, the kinds that most people never even dream about.  Like when I was younger and I tickled someone, was that akin to being a sex predator?  What if it seemed innocuous and was even consentual, but then I got off to it later?  If I have a child, does that mean I can never tickle that child?  I actually had a girlfriend once (not long before that relationship fell apart) tell me that tickling her was akin to rape - that was a bit of a shock.

These are things that both normal people and people with more extreme fetishes never have to consider.

I had a friend a long time ago.  Unbeknownst to everyone, he was a pedophile.  He was caught in a sting operation by the FBI and sent to jail for 8 years over his apparently massive collection of downloaded imagery.  The first anyone learned of it was when he inexplicably disappeared, and someone caught the story on the news.  At the time, I spent my weekends out kayaking, and I had tons of time to contemplate things.  I came to the conclusion that just as I didn't choose the things that turn me on, undoubtedly, neither did he.  As he hadn't molested any children, I decided he was simply dealing with it the best way he could.  I was literally the only person who ever spoke in his defense.


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how did someone get arrested for the act of being attracted to children? does he live in Canada?


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I think there's a lot of things that can be innocent in one context and sexual in another. I'm careful about how I touch people, because the sensation of any physical touch can be very erotic to me. It's like instead of sight, my primary attraction comes from touch. I worried about how that would play out when I started to have nieces and nephews, but it ended up being fine. They were children and I am not into them like that at all. Though, I haven't told that kind of thing to my brothers, but I'd hope they would know I'd never try to take advantage of their kids.

As for you, I guess it comes down to motive. Whether it was intended to be innocent or sexual tickling. Maybe those aren't even things you can differentiate? I think even in the case of getting off to having tickled someone after the fact, I'm only bothered by it if you started doing the tickling to fetishize the other person without their consent. If you circled back and found it also hot, well, people are masturbating to each other all the time, so who cares. My only concern is with motive and intention (dunno if you were actually interested in my take on it, I just answer questions that are posed to me)

So, there's something to the idea that taking sexual gratification from someone else without their permission, even if it's just tickling, is problematic. So it again might be a matter of intentions. Though ultimately, as with any touch, she's got a right to define what she is okay with. I'd just hope she'd have understood that you respected her body and wouldn't be trying to take something from her without her permission. I assume you still think tickling is fun even outside of the sexual side of it.

Yeah, I mean you've seen my writing on pedophilia. It's just another way people exercise sexuality. That we demonize it so much and drive these people underground causes way more harm to children than if we accepted them and provided healthy and positive outlets for their sexuality, ones that didn't require children to be harmed.


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I suppose this is not the place to discuss paedophilia?


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why not? we're already in this deep


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It is getting a little off topic honestly. It's tangentially related to boat and my stories, but I don't think we were going to talk further about it anyway, so let's leave it at that.


Because it is a very sensitive and controversial theme and I could have some proverbial and factual rocks that I could throw at people over it.


> I actually had a girlfriend once (not long before that relationship fell apart) tell me that tickling her was akin to rape
I've heard rumors on /pol/ that radical feminists like that exist.  I guess it's true after all.  'Tis unfortunate.


I think the arrest was for possession of child porn, as in actual CP of the type declared outside the reach of the First Amendment in NY v Ferber.


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To be fair he apparently had countless pictures and/or videos of child porn. I agree that 8 years is way too much, but allowing people to freely sell and consume this content is hardly hurting the people who make it.

I think mandatory counselling is far better strategy. I don’t think these people can be “cured,” but I think counselling from an actual professional could not only help them deal with their urges, but also help them whatever trauma or stress they may have, past or present.


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ugh, fiiiiine


>I don’t think these people can be “cured,”
I've heard that chopping off their balls does trick, although it is a rather extreme 'cure' and has adverse side effects.  But still a more humane treatment that what our criminal justice system and bullshit "sex offender" laws throws at them today.


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He got arrested for the child porn in his possession.  Presumably he ran into an FBI agent online who said "pst, hey, want some CP?" and he said "yes", so they used that as basis to give him more porn, raid his apartment, seize his computer, and send him to prison.

I have a very hard time differentiating the two, and where I've tried to keep it innocent in cases where it's appropriate, it sometimes became inadvertently sexual.  Once I realized what I was doing, more often I wouldn't start in the first place, but by then I was practically out of high school.  But I've also had the exact opposite experience, for example a girl in college who was into me, and heard rumor from another friend that I had a fetish for tickling, and then tried to tickle me at a party in a way that essentially was sexual.  and I reacted in such a bizarre way that I completely destroyed any possibilities with her.

It's very strange.  I said previously, one of the best "sexual" experiences I ever had, was when I was like 8.  and I had nothing to do with it aside from being there.  I had other similar types of experiences later on, in middle and high school, which were "innocent" by normal standards, where I enjoyed the experience for reasons no one else could have imagined.  Is that fetishizing myself?  In cases where I returned the favor, was I wrong to do so?  It's a really murky area.  I've had other, actual sexual experiences since then, so I no longer have to fetishize these old events, but for many years, that was all I really had, and so I did.

That girlfriend I mentioned was also initially receptive to it.  And it was just part of sex for a long time.  But over time she got less and less ok with it, though she still put up with it.  And while our relationship was circling the drain, in an instance that I thought actually was innocent, where we were just fully clothed and hanging out in the living room, I poked her ribs playfully, and she snapped back that I was essentially raping her every time I tickled her.  We tried to make it work after that, but really, it was wasted effort.

I worry about things like that.  because I know how easy it was to fetishize my own experiences, from when I was way younger.

She wasn't even really a feminist as far as I could tell.  but this was also before meme feminism became the modern day mainstream.

I agree.


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>But still a more humane treatment that what our criminal justice system and bullshit "sex offender" laws throws at them today.
I don’t know about you but I’d seriously consider taking the 8 years over losing my balls.

That’s pretty fucked up. Besides you could “cure” just about any kind of sexual attraction with that, because you’re basically just removing someone’s sex drive.


>I don’t know about you but I’d seriously consider taking the 8 years over losing my balls.
I dunno how things are in the UK, but in America, a "sex offender" conviction follows you forever and basically makes it impossible to live a normal life.  Shit is seriously messed up.  


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hey guys i think it's time to stop


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Yeah it’s just as bad here, and the list they put you on conveniently doesn’t let anyone know what kind of “sex offender” you are, it just says “sex offender.” You could have bee falsely accused of touching someone’s ass at a party years ago and you’ll be put on the same list as literal child rapists, a list that’s available to people like your potential future employers and anyone else it may concern. They have no way of knowing what you actually did unless they look into it further (which could take some effort) or ask you, and peoples minds often jump to the worst possible conclusion.

That’s me done. I agree that we probably shouldn’t go off on this tangent, not only is it a derail, it’s extremely controversial.


Gonna bump this a bit

Planning on posting more in a bit



Sitting here thinking about what I would or would not share is leaving me really upset and that's making me lose motivation to share in the first place.

This will take longer than I thought.


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I believe in you


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Should only share what you feel comfortable sharing. No need to force something out. It should be a way to alleviate pressure, not build upon it.



It's really hard for not to think about my own past traumas, especially those involving my father and older brother. Cause if I do I typically get super irritable cause no matter how much peace I make with things that happened two and three decades ago, it's infuriating and deeply depressing to think about since so much of it was pretty deliberate trauma.


I see it more as a cathartic thing, something vital to making sense of traumas and growing from them.

I want to do this for Thorax more than anything since, in some ways I never really went into a lot of the most important details ... because of reasons I mentioned above.

That, and I feel like it would really help to work through more recent traumas that started happening in a whole other later chapter of my life.

sigh ... I might have to break it up into a lot of small chunks with lots of breaks in between


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Take your time then.


Aye. It's a fine thing if you want it but you shouldn't feel pressured.


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goddamnit, I was thinking while reorginizing my image files and ended up deleting an entire folder of pics from Reddit from my phone. fuck it, I might as well start in a frustrated mood

Also I just vaped three hits of a Pineapple Express 90% THC extract, so I might be gradually getting high af while writing this

So I guess instead of going through literally every childhood trauma, I will just go through the one's I think were most significant in explaining my character.

Let's see, picking up from my family history here >>996430

and here >>996447

to get an idea of the family I would be born into.

My Brother was born in early 1979

Then I was born in 1981

Then in 1983, my dad was doing better than ever and we moved into  a town called Alamo Heights, and incorporated inner-city suburb of San Antonio. It was a very upper middle class town, it was were all the local CEOs, Lawyers, Investment Bankers and some national and international celebrities (like Tommy Lee Jones, Peter Weller, Henry Thomas and Pendleton Ward (who was actually a year behind me in high school) to name a few) produced some famous people including international film stars, and lots and lots of yuppies and hipsters). Basically, it was were all the elites lived. Being able to live there by 1983 was a massive point a pride for my dad, considering his childhood living just above the poverty line and sometimes on the road ...or it should have been ... if it weren't for the fact that it was inside San Antonio... my dad's home town ... which he hated.

so yeah that's the world I come from, if you used me to play "6 degrees of Kevin Bacon" it might be easy.

Oh and the place looked exactly like a John Hughes film 24/7, your nextdoor Neighbors could be the Griswalds! (or more like the yuppies who lived next door to them in Christmas Vacation)

okay so first and most significant childhood trauma? Oh that's easy, it's my first memory!

One of my natural talents as a child (much less so now) was that I had a really vivid memory, practically photographic. So ... to this day most of my childhood memories are still pretty vivid, as is my first memory.

So like, in my first memory I am in physical pain, and my mother is scolding me for it, like she is telling me "well that's what you get for being so dumb" feels like she is saying. Like I am being mocked for being hurt. I am sitting on a carpet, a sort of beige plush carpet, like one of those shag carpets that were super popular in the 70s, and I am in a diaper and am sitting next to what looks like a black brick, like one of those power adaptors that you might see on some xbox consoles, I think it was a power adaptor, I think I remember it having wires.

It might as well have been a power converter because my finger feels like it's stings really bad, like that feeling when you you get static shock right when you grab a door knob in a carpeted room in winter, only more intense.

I feel like my mother is mocking me for my pain. Like its a big fat case of rubbing a whole "I TOLD YOU SO!" in my face.

I dunno, maybe it explains a lot of what characterized most of my childhood, I felt like I was surrounded by people who just felt like my pain was really amusing. Like I was the butt monkey in that John Hughes film. And that would only be reinforced by a lot all other childhood traumas I suffered where I am basically a lolcow.

I guess I will go into that in other post. But, yeah, the first trauma (even if a mild one) that I see as significant to shaping me is literally the first thing I remember


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That's okay. Some of these things were pretty awful. Sometimes saying them and having someone else confirm how horrible and unjust they were back to you can help you make peace with it, and recognize that it wasn't your fault, and that while it is something that happened to you, it doesn't need to define who you are today.

I'm glad you're able to share this. I sense that you have more to say, though.


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you know what? fine, i'll take a turn

i never feel real, and that means i don't get comfort from emotional intimacy the way i should

there's one person that comes closer than anyone else, and he knows who he is

i have all the downsides of the fear and pain a normal human suffers, and i also feel too unreal and ghostly to connect with anyone properly


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huff.... whew ... okay, lets go.

Took a few more hits of the pine apple express, helps with the creativity.

Okay so, if I were to characterize my early childhood traumas in two sentences then it would be this: I had the misfortune of being physically uncanny, and I had a really weird personality, basically I had the misfortune of being the weird kid that no one was sure was actually a human or an uncanny simulation of one. I also had the misfortune of being way too young to watch someone's mind deteriorate, and overwhelmingly baffled that no one but me seemed to realize it.

So, the most significant of my early childhoods traumas revolved around my relationship to my grandmother, who, when I was a toddler began to develop Alzheimer's Disease.

My grandmother and I were close when I was a toddler. She was probly the person in my family I loved the most. Because of how close she was when my dad was born, she was especially old for a grandmother. I remember she had an extremely raspy voice and delicate silver hair and a exotic piercing gaze that projected wisdom, like the kind of gaze they intentionally tried to recreate on E.T. back in the eighties, an otherworldly kind of gaze. I basically inherited my uncanniness from her. I swear, thinking about it now my grandmother must have been a mutant she was a bizarre but gentle and extremely kind of eccentric old woman.

My grandmother was 1/8 choctaw, descendant and 7/8 descendent from very old east coast colonial familes. She was a kind of odd woman even in very old photographs of her, she just looked kind of weird and exotic, like she was descended from a shaman, but culturally was very much like a typical WASP, she was even an Episcopalian! Like she was an olive skinned silver haired woman who vaguely reminded you of those mysterious shaman women you see in some westerns.

Well, that's how I remember her and how much of an anglophile she was, fancied herself British despite being from rural Oklahoma. Always kept tea time too. I later learned in life her favorite historical figure was the same as my dad's personal hero: Winston Churchill. I also learned that when we were children, she was the one who kept buying us imported British childrens books, specifically because they were British. She's the reason I was somehow the only kid at school who knew who Paddington Bear was. And who's favorite Disney films were all the ones that took place in London. She's also the reason my dad was also a massive anglophile.

Anyway, that's really all I know about my grandmother and who she was in life, but in the, I think, two years I remember of her being in my life, to me she was my peaceful matronly playmate, her age and fragility made her the most gentle person in my home. I have fond memories of playing in the back yard with her, picking flowers (I was always a weirdly effiminate boy) so I could bring her a bouquet, we had a very large yard in Alamo Heights. thinking back on it, this may be the reason I actually like E.T. so much

But in one of my memories of playing with my grandma, I remember her sitting in one of the dining chairs we had left set up the last time we had a barbecue, seeing her making chewing motions. I thought she might have had some candy or something (she'd spoil me like that), I asked her what she was eating and she just turned to me and blankly stared and just open her mouth ... and it was empty.

I remember being really disturbed by that, maybe freaked out by it even. I don't remember my thought process, but I remember at some point it just seemed to me like there was something wrong with granma.

I remember being so baffled why no one else could just see it in her. I remember at one point I wanted to sleep in her room cause I was afraid something might happen to her. Usually I would wake up with her in her recliner she slept in, and take a walk with her. One of those nights, I woke up the next day and she wasn't there in her recliner. I remember panicking, I remember being afraid that she was going to get lost and I remember jumping out into the hallway and yelled "where's grandma!?" My mom was shocked, and she replied something like "Andrew! Calm Down She just went for a walk!" That just freaked me out more and I remember dashing out the front door in nothing but my underwear scared to death that she wouldn't come back desperately looking to see if I could catch up with her, panicking further when it was apparent that she was already out of sight. I remember after that, my brother decided to use that moment to humiliate me by pointing out to all the neighbors I was only in my underwear and locking the door behind him ... mom didn't stand for that shit though, fortunately.

Fortunately, grandma arrived home without difficulty that day. So I started to go with her on her daily walks, just to be safe. I remember the weird conversations I would have with my Grandma about where babies come from. Weirdly I remember telling her I didn't believe the stork story and that I just somehow ... knew they had to come from inside the body, but my fairly religious episcopal grandmother would be really cagey about that subject specifically. And this was before I even knew that there was any physical differences between boys and girls.

I remember one day, we were going to go for a walk and I got excited to walking with her and ran from the porch to the end of the sidewalk. Now our porch was raised and had two steps down to the walkway out to the street with handrails on each side. My grandmother was slow, she needed a cane to walk, so I turned around expecting to see her coordinating herself to the steps and slowly take two steps as usual, but instead she was quivering, like her whole body was quivering and she couldnt control her arms, she yelled at me for help and I started running to her, but I guess I didn't make it in time, she fell from the top step and face planted into the concrete. Despite how vivid my childhood memories are, I can't remember what that looked liked, I guess I blocked it from my memory. In retrospect I speculate that I witnessed her have a micro stroke, as was the nature of the type of alzheimers she had

I don't remember the order of events next because it was so long ago and I was about 5 years old, so either late '86 or early '87. I remember at some point after my grandmother returned from the hospital, she came home from Sunday lunch with us and proceeded to try and tear the rain gutter off the side of the neighbors house, I think she must have thought she was at the bank or something and couldn't understand that she wasn't at a door. I remember my mom was kind of freaking out, and in my mother's general obliviousness basically tried to get my grandmother to stop and was trying to reason with her, which started to cause my grandmother to freak out because she was confused and it was starting to terrify her, so I remember walking up to her and told her "Your only making it worse mommy" or something like that. And it finally dawned on mother that something had been off about grandma for a while.

I don't remember when they got the official diagnosis and I'm not sure I would have even been able to comprehend it given I was only 5 when this happened, but I remember the day that we took her to a nursing home. By then I had it explained in a simplified way what was going on. I remember that day being deeply disturbing to me, the facility was full of sick elderly people and all the people there, waiting for death, the looks on their faces ... I remember when we were getting ready to leave and by the time we got to the front door they were moving my grandmother from her room to another one and she started to freak out they had her in a wheel chair and while they were moving her she started screaming, screaming out my dad's name and screaming out "come back come back" and then regressed to just yowling, which then progressed to blood curdling screams just before I was quickly pushed out the door by my mother.

I think that was the day our family started to unravel.


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I haven't been myself in years. Who I really am was emotionally bashed out of me. I used to be a being of pure curiosity, driven to ask questions about everything and everyone. But I learned better.

Part of me wants to go back, but then I remember how poorly I was treated. How mutilating my curiosity in various ways didn't do much to help, so eventually I learned to communicate in a way similar to most normal persons. Online, at least. In person, I am mostly mute.


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that is a heck of a disturbing experience. In particular that nursing home bit. Good on you for caring about your grandmother like that, and for recognizing that she needed care.

I'd love to meet curious Abby sometime. Thanks for sharing, hon <3


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I'm really sorry to hear that Abby. No one should have to feel like they can't be who they are.

I understand if you don't want to talk about it here, but I'm always free to talk to you on Discord about anything that may be bothering, or I'm happy to just be your emotional support.



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You are both very kind. I don't think you understand how burdensome my questions were on my victims. Your comfort is still appreciated.


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sounds like an unfortunate misunderstanding. I'm sorry that happened. I hope you don't think it makes you a bad person, because it doesn't. If you're ever feeling brave, I'd love to hear about these questions you used to ask.


I would continue with everything that happened with my grandma in the three years after that and how truly horrifying it was to me.

But I would rather cover everything from early childhood those last three years were more of a later childhood thing.

I want to talk about the other thing I mentioned here >>997994

basically about my weirdness as a child.

however, I need to take a break to do something more ... pleasant, before heading to bed


Rest well. I've got to finish studying for a quiz today. Need to get my grades up


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>>997994  Wow, you were quite perceptive.  That's a hell of an experience.

>>997995  What bashed it out of you?


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I thought of a few random things I'd share.

My family history is a bit complicated.

On my dad's side, the lineage has been traced back to pre Revolutionary times along various lines.  Essentially they were people who immigrated from various countries in Western Europe and integrated relatively quickly.  primarily Midwestern WASPS a hundred years ago.

My mom was less than a year old when her family escaped from Hungary in 1957 by crossing a minefield into Yugoslavia.  Her father died fighting in the revolution.  My great-aunt also took part in the fighting and probably had at least one Soviet tank to her credit.  The family that made it to Yugoslavia survived the refugee camp by stewing literal grass (P.s. - people complaining about the relatively posh migrant camps in the USA disgust me).  Eventually the Red Cross intervened and relocated the family to Pittsburgh.

My mom and dad met in college, after which he went for an M.D., and she went for a J.D., and somewhere along the way they got married.  Unfortunately for him, most of the extended family came along as a package deal.  On his fresh-out-of-med-school hospital salary, he had a large house designed and built (massive by early 80s suburban Oklahoma standards), presumably with enough room for everyone.  The kastély (castle) as they called it.  Well, even in that huge house, things got cramped pretty quickly, so he bought another house for the extended family.  My mom and dad got divorced around the time I was in pre-school, and this second house, which now had my mom in it as well, also got cramped, so a third house was bought (I don't know if he helped with that one.  The divorce was bad.).

The extended family were always my babysitters.  I vaguely remember a time when they were at least welcome in the kastély.  I also remember sharing a bedroom with like 4 other people in the second house.  But eventually, it was, my dad in the kastély, my mom in her own house, and then everyone else who was left (grandma, great-aunt, great-grandma, and great-great-aunt) in the third house.  This was the arrangement for most of my life up until my teenage years, with the older family members dying off along the way.

My dad was busy with his crazy hospital schedule as well as his private clinic, and my mom had all the extra help she needed, so the end result is that I was raised by the extended family, and my dad got almost entirely shut out (which he really resented).  As a consequence, my first language was Hungarian, not English.  I didn't really start speaking English until I was almost 4.

One day, I was running around grandma's house, as 3-year-olds do, and I slammed my face into the corner of the dining room table, splitting a large flap of skin over my lip.

I was taken to the clinic, where my dad stitched together the lip of his son that he could neither speak to nor understand.  He still likes to bring this up every once in a while, as I still have a tiny scar from the event.

One of my first memories was in the kastély.  My mom and dad were still together, and they were sharing a loving moment in the hallway.  but I saw something "shiny" on the kitchen counter.  I could see it, but I couldn't reach it.  I was standing on my toes and grabbing for it.  It was my mom's gun.  They looked over and saw what I was doing.

My dad took me upstairs and beat the shit out of me.  I did not understand what I had done wrong.

In another very early memory, I was at the kastély for a rare time with just my dad.  We were taking a shower in the sauna-type shower, and he was walking me through how to clean myself.  and I needed to pee.  So he told me to just pee in the shower.  So I did, on the floor.  But this clearly wasn't what he meant, and he said, no! no! on the drain!  but as I recall, rather than do it right, I just froze up and stopped instead.

I have had stage-fright for almost as long as I can remember, and I think this is why.
I can remember vague moments before then, when I could pee freely, for example, on a bush, with people nearby.  This has not been possibly for a long, long time.

Some years ago, my step-mom told me that he was really offended, that whenever we as a family, for example, went out to a movie, and then "the guys" go pee afterwards, I use a stall rather than stand at a urinal for an hour while I wait for everyone else in the bathroom to leave.  He considers this a personal affront.

After the divorce, my family members on each side hated each other.  Eventually, my dad remarried, and my step-mom and step-brother moved into the kastély.  My mom and dad were supposed to have joint custody of me, but really, I spent most of my time at grandma's house.

My grandma was really protective, and whenever I went to my dad's, she wanted to make sure there wasn't anything untoward going on.  So she would always ask me questions about how things went after I came back.  I answered these questions, thinking nothing of them.  Things about food, how my step-brother was behaving, etc.  Questions about the friends he and I hung out with.  She always wanted to know what time I went to sleep, so I got in the habit of looking at the mantle clock in the living room, so I could answer her question.  I couldn't even read time, but I could tell her where the hands were pointing.

It came as quite a shock when I was taken to a psychologist one night, sat in front of half a dozen family members, and berated for my pathological lying.  I didn't even know what they were talking about.  The decorative clock that I used for my sleep-time reports, just so happened to report the same absurd time every night, because it wasn't wound or ticking.  When I said I hadn't eaten, this was taken to mean that I wasn't fed, and not that I chose not to eat.  And in other cases, simple misunderstandings were taken as malicious attempts to further pit the families against each other.  They were furious as they explained all of this to me.  And then they called grandma in, and I had to try to explain everything that they had just told me, to her, which was impossible.  I just rolled into a ball on grandma's lap and cried.

I stopped talking freely about anything happening in my life to family members after that, hedging anything and everything, and more often just saying I don't know to everything whether I knew or not.

I don't see my dad very often nowadays.  This is by design.  When I visit him, I make every effort to not be alone with him.  because when I am alone with him, he reminds me of everything I've ever done, or been involved in, that was bad or in any way inconvenient to him or his new family.  Or just anything stupid I've done over the years.  He doesn't have to be drunk for this to happen (though it's more likely when he is) - this is his version of smalltalk.  You would think, 10 years after I accidentally destroyed a car engine, because I knew nothing about car engines, someone would stop bringing it up every time someone mentions anything involving the word "car".  Or 25 years after I missed a vacation because of my long-dead grandma's overprotectiveness, it wouldn't be something I'd have to hear about any more whenever someone says the word "vacation".

This has been going on, for at least 2 decades.  Even back when I was a teenager and going back and forth between family members and spending summers at my dad's, I would still generally avoid any sort of alone time, for similar reasons.

He has always been a car fanatic, tinkering on antique project cars and the like.  but I could never join him in this endeavor, because any sort of alone time just devolved into hearing about my most recent inadequacies, ancient history, how awful my mom is, or how terrible the rest of the extended family is.


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You have a really interesting family.


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I can't say I have any real trauma, but somebody asked me to share.

So. Both of my parents are refugees. They both lost their families at young ages and have suffered for it. Mom came to the US with only her mother and brother and bounced around charity houses while her mom worked three jobs at a time that accepted (1)women (2)with no professional skills (3)or English (4)or citizenship. This meant my mom and her sociopath brother grew up alone. Often in dangerous places in a time when it was tolerable to walk up to a child and tell them to stop dirtying your country with their filthy foreign ways. For that and other reasons she became expertly manipulate. I don't fault her for that, personally I think it was the most optimal option. Anyways. Losing her dad at 8 when she had an extremely complex relationship with him, then getting a husk of the man back at 18 for him to die just days later... basically I think she's been in full emotional damage control since. Because of her manipulativeness and his former wealth she has been dogged all her life by rumors of secret wealth, so she's also been treated like an uppity millionaire from within the community while treated like literal pond scum from without. She still gets incredibly defensive in her usual manipulative ways when she stresses.

Dad was one who stayed behind, but every single other member of his family left. He's an actual survivor and what you expect with a refugee. A brilliant mechanic, a bit PTSD'd. A lifetime of smuggling and theft to get enough to eat. He still gets paranoia about random retributions. I believe he ended up on government hit lists a few times because he was rude to the wrong person. I dunno. I think they've both been starved for people who they can feel like love them, and that's why they're still together... somehow.

But I stated learning about their damage at a young age. It's important to note that they've been very loving, if paranoid. They've lost too much family to lose what they have now. But dad was the one who usually disciplined me, while mom disciplined my siblings. So I think that's why I forgive them so easily for being broken. I remember one instance where I had been terrorizing my siblings (out of retribution, they'd gang up on me and I'd play them against each other, and because of the drugs I was the strongest) and dad sat me down and explained that when I fought and was aggressive (I was 6 or 8, it was shoving my older brother and "I'm not touching you" against sister) but he explained that all these bad things hurt my siblings feelings, and my mom's, and that when you keep hurting people's feelings they eventually won't have feelings anymore. Anyways. My relationship inverted with them when I was very young. Dad always wanted to go do family things because he knew he was emotionally sealed off but he wanted to simulate having a family, so I always went with him and he'd be a little less scared of losing everyone again. This was at the age when mom was still singing me to sleep, and around the age when I was ready to protest it as being childish I realized she was doing it for her. It's something a normal, emotionally healthy mother would do. And so I played along. And all my life I've taken responsibility for the emotional states of the people around me.


Aww, I hope you can find your way back to who you were. I don't think curiosity is a bad thing at all, but it is important that the other person is on board with sharing. I think a lot of people would be willing to share with you still c:

That's a complicated environment for a child to grow up in. They should have been shielding you from the feuding instead of getting you in the middle of it. And I'm sure it was very difficult for your father, but that gives him no excuse to treat you how he does. I'm sorry you couldn't have had a bit more stability growing up.

It sounds like you had really loving parents that did the best they could to raise you. Though this
>And all my life I've taken responsibility for the emotional states of the people around me.
I don't think this is the kind of thing I'd label as traumatic, but it still has an impact. It isn't the same as being beaten or abused but still leaves a mark on the person living through it. Do you feel like having to be the emotional caretaker growing up has had repercussions for you as an adult?


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I appreciate the optimism, bordering on naivete. But forcing myself to wear this mask has given me a degree of warmth from others that I'm not ready to sacrifice.


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That's alright, hon. You don't need to take off the mask if you don't want to. <3


No one cared who I was until I put on the mask.


I think I'm a lot more independent than most adults? That's about it.


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I never knew there *was* a mask, and I think that's true of a number of people here


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Is censoring ourselves really that common? Am I justified in thinking that's sad?


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People censor themselves based on what they fear others will dislike all the time, hon. Did you think you were the only one?

And yes, it's very sad. I think it would be beautiful if the world could be more themselves, after learning which things aren't right to say around certain people.


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>>998010  That's one word for it.

>>998024  Your parents are really cool.

>>998050  In some sense, I was the entire reason for it, because I was the only link between them after the split and the reason they had to keep interacting with each other.

My great-aunt worked for a time as a receptionist (and possibly nurse) at my dad's clinic.  But there was money going missing.  Drugs were going missing.  He was certain that she was stealing from him.  He had recordings of phone calls between her and my grandmother, in Hungarian, and had me translate them for him.  They were always talking about mundane things like what they were going to make for dinner.  One of the other nurses was a drug addict and the likely culprit, but he still held it against my great-aunt.

My dad though, is not a good guy.  The things I mentioned are minor inconveniences compared to the things others have been through with him.  He's bipolar, vindictive, and abusive (to both my mother, and especially to my step-mother).  He spread rumors that all of the extended family were actually lesbians and not family members.  He got my mother fired from her job as assistant district attorney by telling the DA lies about her.  He got my stepmother fired from various hospital jobs over the years (this is while they've been married, by the way) by again lying about her.  He spread rumors about my stepbrother to block him from various positions and privileges in hospital (he's a paramedic).  My stepmother has severe medical issues.  Allegedly, he tried to let my stepmother die on the bathroom floor during a cardiac episode instead of calling an ambulance, and he allegedly turned her air off during a diving trip while they were 60 feet underwater.  I have tried many times in the past to get my stepmother away from him, but she keeps going back, and my stepbrother and I are at a complete loss for what to do about it.  just more reasons I try to stay as far away as possible.


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I was taking a walk thinking about what I was going to write next, but it seems I got too high in the process, and thus literally can't seem to think about negative things, and thus can't concentrate on this.

Gotta go couchlock a bit and be silly in other threads on my phone


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Hey, I haven't been able to contribute anything at all yet, so you're well ahead of me.


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Alright, so even though this is at the beginning of my post, it's actually the last thing I'm writing. I guess I'm really not going to do any of this in chronological order, just kinda as they come. And since Andrea, you shared something about your grandma, I thought maybe that might be the next thing I can share and maybe it will be something for you. Or maybe not. Anyway, here we go.

So for about as long as I can remember, my grandma was always very sick. She didn't actually become bed-ridden, probably till I was about nine, but years before that she struggled to walk or do much physical excersise. Which, I think may have been cause by drugs or having a lot of kids at a young age, because she was only in her late fifties or early sixties.

And so, also, for almost as long as I can remember I was the one taking care of her a lot of the time. I really enjoyed doing this because to me, it was a way to care for who I percieved as my mother. It wasn't about approval, just genuine love and care. But this wasn't good for me, no doubt.

My grandma being constantly sick led her to being in a near constant state of depression. I remember her calling my grandpa up at his work almost constantly and just being so mad at him for not coming home, or blaming him for "cheating on her". And if she wasn't doing this then she was trying to get me to help her to get in the wheelchair to look around the property so that she could complain about how much of a mess everything was. Or, if it wasn't these two things, she would spend hours and hours talking about how much pain she was in and wishing she could just die. Which greatly upset me, and I would beg and cry and plead with her not to talk like that.

Sometimes she would apologize (even though it was clear she was in a lot of pain), and sometimes she would tell me to just go play outside if I didn't want to hear it.

I never would. I would sit there crying and doing everything I could until I made her more comfortable or she fell asleep. Then I would sneak off to play.

Later things got much worse with her health, and I had to help her with taking her medications, or making her food, or helping keep her toes down when her feet would cramp... I was basically a nurse before I turned ten.

I was rarely in school those early years because I wanted to stay home and help, or stay home so I could play in the woods. And the same for after school, I spent a huge chunk of my time helping.

That's probably why I struggled so bad with putting myself first for so long, and never quite being able to just admit when I need something, when I need a break. And I think that's why I hated that story of the Giving Tree for so long.
> but having learned better now you have to live with what's been done.

This is the part that I think some people don't quite grasp. I always hear "well you really can't be blamed having been through what you did", or "it wasn't your fault that you had such a terrible family"

But...while I appreciate that sentiment, it doesn't take away the guilt, or just the like...I should have known? I was plenty old enough. I don't know, I guess I should just start listing things like you have been doing and maybe I'll see something through all this crap.

As for your hide box

I don't really have words for that, and I don't know if they would even really help. If I could I would hug you, and I just hope you know you are surrounded by people who love you

>Holding someone's past against them when they're legitimately trying to change is very unfair. I certainly won't  hold your mistakes against you. Humans aren't perfect after all.

Unfair, but sometimes I feel like I wouldn't blame them. I have a small list of things that, while I would be very pleased with someone moving on from those things, I don't know if I could ever really let them go myself, and treat them right as a person.

That's understandable. Up until this point only the people closest to me have really seen how angry I can get. It's not something I like to go waving around, for sure.
Tickling can be very fun! But not if someone won't give you a break to breath ^_^


I see a lot of moms do this type of shit to their very young children, under five years old, in Safeway. And I just have to bite my tongue or look away lest they catch the disguested look on my face and try to start a fight with me. [Which has happened and I had to walk away]

It's fucking infuriating. Like, ok, I know that no one can be the perfect parent. Every parent is going to mess up at some point. But sometimes I see things that make me think "well you very obviously didn't want a kid, did you?"

I don't know, maybe I'm wrong for thinking that way, but sometimes it feels like the only reason they don't just leave their kid in the store is because they might get in trouble.

Sincerely hope I'm wrong about half these people, and I'm truly sorry that was your first memory.

>there's one person that comes closer than anyone else,

Doesn't that in itself have a bit of proof that you're real? And the fact you feel pain is proof too, I would think.


I will try to share some stories of my grandma...I don't know if you're like me, but I tend to take comfort in stories from other people who had similar things happen, so I hope maybe I can help in that way? And if not, well then just...I'm sorry. I'm sure that was terrifying.

Maybe I don't quite understand the type of questions you like to ask, but I know from personal experience that sometimes we get asked questions that throw us off guard, and we aren't always great at responding to those types of questions.

I've gotten a lot better at just telling people I don't really want to talk about a particular thing, no it's ok that they asked don't feel guilty, let's just move onto something else.

It sounds like your dad had a lot of his own problems he never got solved, and it sounds like he pushed them on other people and you.

I'm glad you felt comfortable sharing man. I knkw it's probably just in you're nature at this point, but I hope you don't feel like you have to take care of our emotional states heh. It's enough that you're just here.


You're both awsome possums

I really appreciate you being in here and being supportive man. It's not something that you have to do, but the fact that you are means a hell of a lot to me. Thank you



>I'm sure that was terrifying.
It was, but I haven't really finished my story about grandmother related trauma, mostly cause she lived a painful existence for three more years after that. Gonna talk about my early childhood social traumas next.


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So, as I mentioned early the two things that characterize my early childhood traumas most were everything that was related to my grandmother and her Alzheimer's, and the fact that I was generally kind of feared by other kids given my general weirdness and uncanny androgynous appearance and mannerism..

I was certainly bizzare but like part of the reasons for my overall bizzareness were do to my auditory processing disorder and a number of anxiety orders that basically made me a bit neurotic. I have always had a sort of low thresh hold to developing adjustment disorder, and at that young age, I tended to develop neuroses when I was anxious, so that played a big factor in what I was most disliked for.

So I am going to confess something pretty embarassing so ...

NSFW Warning : scatological subject matter

okay, so this is pretty much something I would literally never confess to anybody before today but ....

Because of my neuroses, I wasn't fully toilet trained until I was 4 years old.

Yeah ... I was one of the most disgusting toddlers that a lot of my preschool teachers were frequently extremely flustered, and which was a source of a lot of the reasons I am pretty sure a number of other kids were kind of disgusted with me.

I had a massively weird neurosis about using a toilet to defecate. Like it was always this massive source of anxiety to let the toilet touch the skin on my butt. I don't know why I had this neurosis, I don't remember if it had something to do with gender dysphoria or something like that, or what it was about the toilet that made using it to defecate made me so neurotic. It never made sense to me in retrospect, I was even able to pee while sitting down, which I did a lot.

All I can figure is that something bad or painful or whatever must have happened when trying to potty train for that, or maybe it was just that ... it was different? Like I just had adjustment disorder over it and I would just shut down and get real neurotic.

Anyway, what this meant was that I was basically neurotically pooping my pants ... a lot ... when I was three and four, like I would specifically go hide in a corner and shit myself instead of just asking to go to the bathroom like I did when I needed to pee. And my parents way of dealing with this was basically to pretend it wasn't happening but like, sending me to preschool with an extra set of clothes daily.

And well, for a few years, my underwear was my toilet ... nearly daily ... and predictably this drove my preschool teachers mad. It made me literally the grossest child in the entire preschool who most all other children avoided, and I remember at least a few times, my teacher's patience for having to go though with this daily would just break, and I remember on more than one occasion, being told of by at least one of my preschool teachers when she was really losing patience with me since well, if you needed to go to the bathroom, you needed to ask to go, and the spare clothing was supposed to be if I had an accident cause you know, you're literally a preschooler, but this was never accidental with me, it was like a neurotic compulsion.

For years my mother insisted that this was because my brother had convinced me that every toilet contains a monster that ate poop and that that was the reason why, but I don't think I ever remember anything like that ever happening. I think I just inherited my dad's predisposition to anxiety and neurosis. Or I dunno, maybe that had something to do with the auditory processing disorder too.

So yeah, basically, I had no (normal) friends in preschool cause I was always hiding in the corner and stinking up the place and even dripping shit on the floors from my shorts and briefs. All my friends were the special needs kids and all the others avoided me for most of those two years. That was generally pretty hurtful to me and that was something that really early in life always kind of hurt my sense of self-esteem early on... on the upside, trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me led my parents and teachers to consult a specialist who analyzed me and discovered that I had a genius IQ for a 4 year old and that changed everything about how I would be treated the rest of my primary school life

Also fortunately, I got over this eventually when I sucked up my guts and forced myself to use a toilet properly. Another running theme: a lot of people making things worse for me instead of just letting me deal with my issues myself.


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That's not really fair, and entirely his fault. At least it was out of reach.

again, unfair, and he should be supporting you for who you are and what you're going through, not expecting you to be like him

That's very unfortunate. I'm really sorry that happened. Adults should be more understanding.

oof, that's rough. I hope one day you get to live that down

Wow... Sounds like your Dad is a very strong man, and raised you as best as he could with the cards he was dealt. You're very fortunate.
Thank you for sharing.


I should tell the second half of that story sometime.


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>That's probably why I struggled so bad with putting myself first for so long, and never quite being able to just admit when I need something, when I need a break.
I know that all too well. It's really hard but you can get to the point where you can strike that balance between your own needs and still having a giving and generous nature. I'm succeeding at that now I feel, hopefully you're finding your way too ^_^

>But...while I appreciate that sentiment, it doesn't take away the guilt, or just the like...I should have known? I was plenty old enough. I don't know, I guess I should just start listing things like you have been doing and maybe I'll see something through all this crap.
I've lived a crazy destructive life and one of the primary motivators for that, the fuel that kept self hate burning for decades, was that I couldn't forgive myself for the kind of mistakes I made, for contributing to the demand for abusive images. I told myself it was unforgivable and that I'd spend the rest of my life paying for it in pain. Healing and personal growth started for me when I cut off the source of negativity towards myself, by coming to terms with what happened, why it happened, and that who I am right now is someone I am proud to be. I mean, it wasn't as easy for me as just having that thought and everything magically getting better, it also took constant positive reinforcement and a drive to be healthier as well. But I guess I'll get into that in the follow up parts. I don't know everything you're personally trying to work through, but my pro tip is that it has helped me to be able to create a causal chain of events, so I could have answers to "why", why things happened, why I did the things I did, and why I act the way I do now. I've had tons of behavioral problems I've been working through in the past year and understanding where those came from helped me in identifying my issues and how to improve on myself.

Don't worry about it, I don't know how anyone could have the words to respond to that, lol. You've read it, and I guess understand who I am and what I've lived through, and you only have nice things to say, so what more can I ask for c:

The last part went over maybe better than I could have expected, so I guess I'll continue the story. Fortunately, I think we can get through the rest without having to get quite as graphic as the last part. Unfortunately, the next part goes into how loathsome of a person I became internally over the course of my unemployment years, easily the least proud chapter of my life.

Before diving into the story, a recap. There's so much I can't fit in about my development, I'm only touching on the most important aspects and stories, so let me fill in the gaps and give a sort of run down of what I'm like going into college years.

I'm starting to develop very distinctive motivations, I wouldn't call them multiple personalities, but I do have extremely contradictory goals that drive me to do what I do. I am ashamed of being "gay", and I have a deep loathing and guilt for the things I did in my high school years. This puts me in a depression and drives me to neglect myself and seek out retribution towards myself. That's partially kept in check by a drive to make my parents proud of me. Honestly, if it were not for how completely obsessed I was with keeping up appearances and not giving away how damaged I was, I'd have 100% killed myself at some point. One deep trauma kept the worst of the other deep trauma in check enough to keep me alive, ironic I guess. I'm also driven by a need to be valued by people in anyway I can manage. I don't have a healthy view of myself, and that leads me to try to do whatever it takes to be valued by friends, family, strangers, animals, anything that can give me a reprieve from the self hatred. That makes me someone who is unable to say no to anyone. There's probably also a part trying to end the horror in my life, but it's the weakest voice, nothing is backing it except a "selfish" desire to stop the pain. So then, sometimes these driving factors act in tandem, other times there are deep internal conflicts where I try to resolve them. I end up having insomnia for years having conflicting feelings fighting over the right to have their way with me.

What else is there. I'm incredibly anxious and barely function in social situations. I'm mostly unable to talk to strangers or call someone up on the phone, or answer a phone call for that matter. My family thinks I'm just shy, because they are so fucking oblivious lol, how are they so blind, jeez. I must have been that convincing in my "normal healthy boy" routine. But, people notice how rigid I am, that I'm not a very dynamic or warm person.

So college! Actually, this is one of the few times my life starts to improve. I've moved away from my family so they can't traumatize me anymore. I've moved away from my homophobic friends, so a lot of the pressure to hate myself for the "gayness" is gone. I'm still unable to take care of myself though. The freshmen fifteen ended up being more like the freshmen forty! I'm unable to find close friends, but luckily my dorm is filled with really outgoing and nice people who want to include me in social activities. I'm in part also popular(ish) because I will not say no to anything, no matter how stupid. I think I did about 18 shots of rum all at once one night because we thought that was a good idea. I think people get really sick doing things like that lol, but I'm really resilient to alcohol I find. That's a valuable skill in college!

I can't say I'm thriving, but being removed from all the worst elements affecting me in high school, I'm improving. I struggle academically at first, I even fail my first class in my life in the second semester. And even that ends up turning out okay, I get my shit together enough to pass next semester, and I was in advanced placement math anyway so it's not like I'm falling behind.

I also find ways to feel good and positive about myself and ability. I was always the worst compared to my brothers, but in college I got into things like the game Rock Band, and I ended up being the best out of all my college friends in every instrument. That made me feel good about myself. I've hardly never been the best at anything in my life, so this is really affirming to me.

Skimming here because these are some of the best years and only serve to set the stage for the next chapter. By the end of college, I'm still very anxious and still harboring these really negative ideas about myself. But, in the last two years of college I do really fucking well and I have a newfound confidence in myself that I never had before. I think I'm a talented person that can accomplish things! That's neat! Though, this is a fragile sort of confidence, it's not rooted in believing in myself, it's rooted in my accomplishments. Take away success, and well, you'll see how quickly it comes crashing down.

Thanks to the great recession and my lack of social skills, it'll take no time at all to pull down what little I'd been able to build up in these four years. Maybe I'll keep going and cover the unemployment years up until I met Andrea since this has been pretty boring so far.

I graduated right as the market collapsed. And I have this weird hybrid degree, half computer science half game design. It's useless to me. I've also done no networking at all, no internships, I have nothing on my side to compete with laid off industry veterans who are applying to the same entry level jobs that I am. My charisma score is almost nil, and I can't even find a job I'm qualified for to apply to. My confidence is pretty much out by the time I'm through the first summer of unemployment. I've barely gotten a couple phone calls back, none of which came close to moving me forward as a candidate. Half a year into it, I'm so anxious about job hunting, I barely spend a day in a month even trying to look for something. I spend most my time doing nothing of value on the internet, just wasting away. The only socialization I get is through WoW, at least that gives me some social contact. I try to integrate myself into online communities at this time, but after a couple dozen posts, I always get too scared and anxious and just abandon the account. My mental health is suffering again from the struggle to get a job and inability to connect with other people and socialize in much of a meaningful way. In addition to the self hated, I'm developing very anti social attitudes. I'm hateful of others, I'm hateful of the world. I'm hateful of my situation, I'm hateful of my boomer parents who just don't understand how hard it is to job hunt in this market. They never had to try to get jobs, they are completely out of touch (they still are today!) with what the modern job market is like. And I resented their attitude, they only wanted the best and to help, but their confidence that I'd get a job if I applied to all this bullshit I'm unqualified for, it makes me that much more angry at everything.

Over the years, my mom would do stuff like give me a touch while I was at my computer without permission, probably trying to stay in touch with and comfort her son. But instead in my state, it would draw out anger and frustration, that I would have to suppress. I started really hating touch and touching people, it was associated with so many bad emotions. It got so bad, in the future when I tell Andrea about myself, I tell her that I'm afraid to initiate touch because of the rage that instantly builds up from being touched. Fun fact: I have tons of baggage over touch. I find touch important to me now, but I'm really hands off with anyone I don't trust really intimately.

So anyway, all of these hatreds, not just internally but externally now, are building over the course of the first two years I am unemployed. I can't emphasize enough how much I was disconnecting from my relationships with friend and family. I'm still, somehow, someway committed to the toxic idea of maintaining the illusion that I'm a healthy boy, so nobody would even know this was happening to me (or have the chance to help me or address my emotional needs). On top of that, I'm developing some very anti social tendencies. Like, seriously emotionally manipulative, cruel when I can get away with it, egotistical in a big way (yes, I can in fact have an over inflated ego and a decimated run into the ground ego at the same time. I'm a man of many talents, lol).

I remember one time we were playing this crappy board game that was mostly chance, and I'm so frustrated, I yell at my mom and threaten to hit her because she's so excited to be winning (it was not intended to be a threat of violence, just frustration, but it came out really poorly). I sorta realize this was a really really bad look, this is the mask slipping off for me, I had to do something. I start plotting how to fix this, restore my reputation as normal boy. In the end, I go to my mom and apologize and give her a hug. The thing I need to emphasize here, this was the coldest most mechanical and unemotional thing I've ever done in my life. It was just an act I put on to repair the situation. I felt particularly proud after that, I felt I had really done a great job at pretending to be an emotional loving son. That's what I was, completely cold and manipulative outside what rage I secretly held.

I don't want to be overly dramatic about it, but as things were going, I really think sociopathic murder was a potential end to my story. If someone upset me, say cut me off in traffic, my first thought would be how I would murder them, brutally, for that offense. No kidding. Like I said, this is not the most proud time of my life.

But, two things change in the third year of my unemployment. I discover ponys, and I meet Andrea. That'll be the next chapter of my life. Some things improve (I learn how to love again, yay), others get worse (my mental health deteriorates in new and exciting ways, if you can believe that it can get worse lol).

To wrap up where I am in 2011, I don't just hate myself I hate everything. I'm still keeping up a front though, most people think of me as a kind and loving man. In reality, I keep my meanness contained and I barely know love as a concept. I still am looking for any kind of validation and I do so by doing nice things for other people, when I can. I'm barely able to socialize with other people, but I'm still trying which is something I guess. I don't give anything away about my internal feelings and motivations, I'm completely closed off, cold, and barely emotional. So yeah, awkward place to end it, but that's where I was at the time. What can I say, my life isn't always a happy story.


Well you've already given us the trailer.


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I don't think you are as emotionally cold and dead as you think you are.


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Imagine being able to talk about shit like this period, much less in public.

S/O to all those who can articulate and express things.


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Story ain't over ella ^_^

Just to be clear, the "I" statements are how I was during that period, not about how I think of myself now.

So I'm not cold, today. But you'll have to take my word for how I was in 2011.


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It...get's easier?


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Its actually more miraculous to me that people REMEMBER things.

Remembering anything is so difficult for me that I still to this day forget that other people remember things easily.


What was real? What was a dream? What did I make up and tell myself happened? What actually happened vs how I feel things happened? Did anything ever happen? Did events even take place?


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I want to hug you, but I also keep laughing at your silly pictures! Stop pushing random emotional buttons; I know they are pretty buttons but you can't go pushing them all at once!


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I'm withholding so much fuckery in this story telling too! I could be pulling out the dark humor like crazy right now. I want to be doing that even, but I'm trying to be respectful in this thread. I am honestly having a pretty good time with these stories. I mean, this story all together is a celebration of me finding life, if you can imagine how horrifying my life has been, think about how I feel by comparison now that I've learned how to love and live and have friendship. Like, I'm hiding it all behind a somber tone because I'm not sure people would take me seriously talking about how incredibly dark my life has been if I'm cracking jokes and poking fun at my trauma!


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I actual have a large amount of distrust over my memories. Almost to the point I consider them worthless.

And so I'm certain that I'm telling some things wrong. This isn't about factual accuracy to me though, it's about coming to terms with the things that drive/drove me emotionally. That kind of thing. For instance, I could be totally wrong about how much I hated sports as a child. My parents think I liked it, and I have no memory of my feelings. I do remember the terror of the ball coming at me though. And that I sucked at it. That is enough for me to stake a pretty strong claim on me hating the sports.

That I'm getting some things wrong isn't as important to me as setting the overall tone of my life correctly, if that makes sense. I know how I hurt, I know certain events happened generally speaking.  I'm filling in the gaps a bit and it seems like I'm telling a more coherent narrative than fits my true recollection. But, I still feel I'm being authentic cuz I'm consistent with all the important things I do remember well enough.


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cool cool


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I have a hard time keeping track of when certain ecents happened when I was a kid, but since my grandma died when I was eleven, this must have happened when I was about nine or ten.

It was another one of those scenarios where there were other people in the house, but they either wouldn't help or for one reason or another I didn't ask.

My grandma was really sick and had the chills really bad, and she kept saying how cold she was.

I kept piling blankets on her but it didn't help. So I searched the house and used jackets and coats. Then I went out and collected wood as fast as I could and got our woodstove going.

She either got over the chills, or told me she felt better but was lying.

Either way I finally went to bed. The next morning my grandpa said she was in the hospital. This didn't worry me, as for as long as I could remember she was in and out of there. Some of my good memories, actually, are of just walking the halls of hospital looking at paintings and occassionally waving at some old people.

Not sure where I'm going with that. I guess she had pneumonia, and that can make you feel really cold even when you're running a fever? I got a lot of the details mixed up back then.


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...do you ever feel... anxious? like the other shoe is about to fall? is that how the saying goes?

i feel... just... so frustrated and tired, like i'd like to scream into a pillow, but i also... cannot scream. it is physically hard for me to make myself do that. it feels unnatural.

i just feel so tense, like i could run ten miles right now. like i'm just waiting for... something horrible to happen. but also so tired, that i just want to sleep and not get up tomorrow for work

...gosh, i am not sure what is going on :c


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I guess...I'm not really helping myself here if I don't tell it how it was, rather than just giving the outline.

I was really upset and scared, as I usually was when she was sick. I kept trying to do everything I could to make it better, but nothing seemed to be working and by the time she finally said she felt better, she looked like she was buried under a hill of blankets and jackets. And I didn't fall asleep right away, I actually stayed up for what must have been hours, sometimes crying and begging for my grandpa to just come home already, even though I know he couldn't hear me; and sometimes just sitting there worrying if she was still breathing and putting my hand on her shoulder or under her nose to check.


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I'm sorry. Maybe you aren't used to not being yelled at?


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...thank you for hugs, Ella

i am not sure why i feel so afraid and anxious! i hope it will be okay.

...i feel vaguely like i am slowly failing. i am already, in my extended family, amongst the least successful of anyone.


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I think (and hope!) it will be ok.

They seem to put a lot of pressure on you to succeed.


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...i hope one day, my own family will feel nice and free from this burden. i hope, it will be so that they can be happy, first amongst any other thing. then, i too will be happy.


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I always really like that picture of Fluttershy, but I kind of wish it was part of a comic where Rainbow dash comes along and moves the raincloud and lets the sun hit her.


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You are going to make your future family very, very happy someday, Aloha Moony. As you have made your friends happy


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I'm ok Wheat.

but thank you <3


I have no doubt of that.


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Careful, I might get a little cocky


Aren't we all?


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that is one of my favorite flutter pictures, too!

i hope so, ella enchanted... i hope so.

goodnight wheatles <3


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Just a little.


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You got this far already.


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Is that a good thing?

. XD


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Nope! Good people don't get this far.



*munches candy*


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My cat died this morning. I'm just a light lurker with nowhere else to go, and even though I feel like this is intruding if I don't type this out it'll just gnaw at me forever. I'd just spoiler and hide the whole thing if I knew how. I feel sick. My head hurts. My eyes hurt. I kinda knew she was on her last legs last night, and tried to spend some time with her as best I could. Eventually she moved to a different part of the room and I went to bed. Knew she was gone when I woke up and she wasn't in any of her normal spots. Wrapped her in one of her favorite blankets and buried her in the garden. And now I'm effectively alone. Just a cripplingly depressed, unemployed, socially isolated loser. I have a couple friends in cyberspace, and although I live with my family I barely speak to them anymore. But now I've got no one to lay with on the bed, no one to watch me do my exercises, no one to wait outside the bathroom for me like a weirdo. Hell with her gone I actually have no reason to get up out of my computer chair or even keep the door open. I didn't take enough pictures. I don't know what kind of response I'm expecting or looking for, I'm just kind of rambling and feeling sorry for myself. Sorry


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Hey no problem. I'm glad you have a place here to share this painful moment. I just lost my bird a few weeks ago. The pain is unreal. You don't even feel like it's reality anymore. But every day it gets a little easier. Now a few weeks later, I'm still sad and miss her, but it doesn't hurt too much.

It's okay if you're feeling rambly it's to be expected. She can't just be replaced, but after a while when it feels right, you can get a new fuzzy friend to share your life with. Just remember that it can only hurt this much because it was that good while you had her. Hopefully she got to be a part of your life for many fine years.

And, it's not my business, but social isolation is a killer. Between your friends and family make sure to stay connected. There's also a lot of friendly people to talk to here. Just make sure you get enough good interactions, even if you have to push yourself a little to engage with others.

Hope that helps a bit.

Pic is my bird, I wish I had more pictures of her as well. I'm lucky to have gotten a few of her being a goof like this one a couple days before she died.


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Oh sweety, I'm so sorry. Don't feel sorry for posting in here


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Sorry to hear about your friend. She must have been pretty special.


Oh dear... they're really family at that point.


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May as well continue this

At first, I thought I was in trouble, but I eventually found out the reason I was sent to a separate meeting with this lady every week was because she was sent in to determine my learning potential, and the puzzles she was giving me were to help understand how I process information. I was smart. really smart, and they were trying to figure out how smart, so that they could modify my learning program. The tests they gave me got harder and more advanced, until one day she basically told me I had the reading ability and intellectual potential of a High school senior, in second grade.

This gave me something to focus on, and school pretty much became the only place I was comfortable. Home meant Dad’s disapproval, playtime meant the disapproval of other kids, class time meant me being better than everyone. I was the best speller, the best at math (given enough time) and the best at science AND I always figured out Mr Runne’s riddles he liked to give out after class. With the new program they designed for me that let me take the time I needed to show how smart I was, I was excelling at school. At least in the classroom.

Recess still sucked. Other kids didn’t like me. There were a few girls who were at least kind, even if they didn’t hang out with me, and there was one girl who did hang out with me but then moved away. So by the time 3rd grade rolled around I had no friends, nowhere to escape to when people picked on me, and no way to defend myself (that I’d figured out yet). Hitting people just made things miserable in a different way and I still hurt afterward. So I started dreaming up ways to run away or kill myself. If I could find a way to make a few bucks I could live off of a mcdonalds burger or two a day, so that was easy because they were only a dollar, but I didn’t know where I would stay, so that was a bust.


>suicide attempt description. You have been warned

Then I found my dad’s hunting rifle in his closet. Jackpot. But they were both home so not really a good time to do it. I didn’t want the noise to scare them, and I didn’t want them to walk in and catch me getting ready. It would be very embarrassing. So I waited until mom was out for a walk and Dad was not yet home from work, and my brothers were all playing in their fort in the rocks up the mountain (Wow, my parents let us run around a lot) and I snuck into my Dad’s closet and took the rifle, and stood it up on the butt. I had to sit on my Dad’s bed and use my feet to work the trigger, but I knew I could reach it, so I sat up and put my forehead on the barrel, then pressed the trigger with my toes as hard as I could.

What happened next I have absolutely no idea. I remember waking up, passed out on the bed, dripping sweat, with the rifle on the floor, and a massive headache—like, nails being driven into your skull over and over type of headache. Knowing what I know now about physics, even a blank fire would have killed me with the way I had it setup, so I know that there couldn’t have been any shot in the rifle. My best guess is that the immense stress of what I was about to do, coupled with the sound and vibration of the hammer striking the firing pin was enough to overwhelm my eight year old mind. Whatever the case, I ran to my room crying, and didn’t come out until Mom came home and fixed dinner. None of my parents ever mentioned it to any of us. I guess my dad must have figured it fell out when he was moving coats or something, or maybe I dreamed the whole thing. I don’t know.


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That hurts to read, but I'm not sorry you felt comfortable enough to share. Mental health is...so much more important than I think I ever really realized before this thread...


Thank you, she was 18 and we've had her since she was a kitten, I'd say that was a good long time. I'm sorry you had to go through this too.

Thank you too. Typing that out made me feel way better earlier.


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I guess I should work on my next part too. By now, if you've read the rest of my stuff, it probably feels ridiculous for me to say "oh well this is the part where my mental health really deteriorates" but like, I dunno, I literally spent a lifetime deliberately running my mental health into the ground, I always found a way to get worse. It was part of the sickness to get sicker. So yeah, I guess you'll see when I finish writing it.

Wow, that's awful. I'm so sorry you went through such bullying that you felt this was your best option.

I guess in one way I was pretty lucky, I was just physically larger than all the other kids. Nobody would dare bother me directly like that.

I wish we protected our kids better, and taught them how to be good to each other.

Glad it helped letting it out a bit.


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So since that didn’t work (obviously) made up a friend for myself. A little boy about my age with sandy hair, named Crappy. Don’t look into the name too far. I had never heard the word crap and honestly just made up a sound I thought wasn’t a word; it’s pure coincidence that it’s actually a word adults use. Anyway, Crappy and I hung out together (obviously) all the time at recess, playing tic-tac-toe or just telling each other stories. Occasionally we would play with the bucketball pole. I’m guessing a new game with the same name has come out in the last 20 years but for me it was a 10 foot pole with a large cup on the top of it, and 4 holes a basketball could roll out of once thrown in. The different holes had numbers on them so we assigned that point value to each of the holes and tried to get the most points. Crappy always won, even when I threw for him.

Some days being alone with Crappy wasn’t enough, because the other kids would come find me, so I took to stuffing my pockets with rocks, and climbing the tallest tree on the playground. I got in trouble the first few days for hurting the other kids with the rocks I had, but after that the threat of being hit with a rock from high up kept most of them away, and I spent my recess hours sitting up in a tree with a pocketful of rocks, playing tic-tac-toe on the trunk with a pencil, with my friend Crappy.

As I got further into school things really only got worse, but Math got way easier, so I usually had lots of time at the end of my tests that I didn’t know what to do with. So before turning in my test I turned it over and used the space on the back to draw a heart, and then draw as many cracks in it as I could before the teacher came and collected it. This of course got their attention, and they called my parents saying that I was drawing “disturbing images” on the backs of my tests, and so my parents decided a child psychologist was in order, and no, not the one who wanted to know how smart I was.


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And so began a string of appointments with various psychologists who asked me a bunch of questions. The first guy was really nice. I liked him, but I guess my parents didn’t—looking back he was probably too expensive, but the concept of money and how much or little my parents had wasn’t something I understood very well then—and he gave me a wire toy puzzle that I still have today (I would include a picture but it’s on the wall at my parents’ house. I’ll see them for thanksgiving so I’ll post it then) It has two circles, and curved wires linking the two circles, so that you can fold it into a flat disc, or a large circle, or two small circles, or a ufo shape, or just make it look like a flower. It’s probably my oldest posession at this point, and very special to me.

We went through several more interviews like that, and eventually we found a psychologist whom my parents liked, and I liked, and I guess they could afford, because I stuck with him for a while. He taught me a lot about how to deal with people who were bothering you, but it was focused from a perspective of having anger issues. Which helped a bit with me hitting people, but didn’t really solve my problem, and after a while we stopped seeing him. The next lady was also really nice and I still have the Backgammon set she gave me. I don’t really enjoy the game itself, but I keep the set because its special. She taught me about how to write down and express my feelings, and how to communicate to my parents what was going on in a way they could understand it.

By now this was 5th grade, and I’d found a new friend. Crappy was replaced by a boy named Anthony, and he faded from my memory (until 2013 during a thread that I think probably one person here remembers). At this point I wasn’t as sad, because I discovered while I wasn’t good at defending myself, I had nothing but nice things to say about Anthony and if someone tried to pick on him they had me to answer to. And he did the same for me. And just like that, the bullying didn’t stop at all, but I had someone who cared about me, who didn’t believe what the other kids said, and that meant that it wasn’t true, which meant I didn’t have to take it so hard. It still hurt, but I could handle it now.


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Anyway now that I was in 5th grade, my hyperactive innattention couldn’t be explained away by just being a kid, and so a psychiatrist was involved. We had a few more interviews, and settled on a very nice lady who did a very good thing and a very bad thing, which I don’t really blame her for because it wasn’t entirely her fault. On the one hand, she diagnosed me with ADHD and gave me meds for it, which helped me focus a lot, and my parents sent me in with a note to all of my teachers requesting that they sent a note home with me every day about my behavior and progress, which they then brought to this Psychiatrist, who went over them and evaluated my progress. We used this to determine the best dosage and medication for me. Which worked pretty well.

The other thing she did, because despite having a friend and good grades and a good home life I was somehow still sad a lot (because bullying can’t be real if you’ve got friends, right?) and diagnosed me with childhood depression. And so she gave me high doses of zoloft until people stopped writing down that I seemed sad. Sounds great, right? No. It looked great from the outside, but from the inside it was hell. See, the reason I wasn’t sad, is because I wasnt anything. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t angry. I had no emotion whatsoever. Those meds they stuck me with, combined, made me a flat, emotionless, academic prodigy, the perfect obedient little child.

My parents were of course thrilled, because they couldn’t see what it was like, and how were they to know. I didn’t know it was the medication that was doing this. I just knew that since being on them, I was doing better in school and my parents got mad at me less. I had no idea why my emotions had suddenly vanished. This continued all the way through high school. Now, it wasn’t that I couldn’t feel emotion at all. I could still get mad, things could still hurt, but it wasn’t a hair trigger anymore, and it never lasted.


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thanks guys. It's really nice to get these things out.


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I want to finish out this story, so I'm picking this up from my second year of unemployment and we'll see how far I get. To recap a bit, I'm an emotional mess. One part of me is this angry, sociopathic hater with a big ego and the other part is this depressive, anxious loner with no ego to speak of. And keeping it all together is this imperative to come off as normal and healthy, despite internally being a tempest. There is still a guilt running through my life, that's causing me to deliberately make unhealthy choices.

Another interesting feature is a curiosity to understand myself. So I look into information on mental illnesses, and considering the clusterfuck of motivations and emotions in my head, I see myself in a lot of illnesses. And the sickest parts of me liked that, it was craving that damage, and in essence was trying to adopt parts of these mental illnesses. I could look at the definition of something like Anti Social Personality Disorder or Narcissistic Personality Disorder and just become more like that. It just seemed intuitive I guess, in a stange way. But I don't think that's unique to me, all sorts of people look at these things and inaccurately self diagnose. Maybe what was more unique in my case was I enjoyed doing so, like having some terrible personality disorder was super awesome.

So around this time, ponies became a thing. I've always been super into animation and cute shit (not that I'd so readily have admitted it then) so I took to it immediately. Once ponychan became a thing, I was probably one of the earliest lurkers. I've always been too anxious to integrate myself into any community, but this place was different. For one, unlike forums you had the option to be anonymous, which was pretty great for my anxiety. And unlike 4chan, it set itself apart as being a place for kindness and tolerance. It was probably the only place on the web I could have managed to make any kind of post in my state. And so I did. I actually remember precisely the first post I had made, basically a post in defense of rarity as a good character. People saw her as the girly one, who was manipulative and bitchy. Which, she is pretty much that, but it's why I liked her, she had flaws. On top of being artistic and generous, which are traits I like. And if anyone pays attention to how much I like me some girly shit now, it probably makes sense that I was into that part of her even if I didn't consider my feminine side much at that point.

Anyway, I ended up lurking a lot and posting a little. I liked the threads where people were asking for help or guidance. I've always been a problem solver, so I could actually provide some decent advice which made me feel good in the process. It made me feel useful, valid, that kind of thing. It also made the other parts of me feel superior as the one who knew what to do and was dictating actions to others. A lot of what I did then was trying to satisfy multiple motivations like this. If I could satisfy my broken ego at the same time I could satisfy my inflated ego, that would be great.

One thing I didn't expect though, was that helping these people was bringing out something in me that I hadn't felt before. As a demi, I had no reason really to be into a person before, I never let anyone be close to me at all. But, these people sharing very person issues and vulnerabilities was a kind of closeness that was appealing. It made me very attracted to them, a new experience for me. I didn't even know I could feel attraction before this. Also it's frustrating, because I didn't know what to do with a sudden influx of romantic desire for mostly strangers on the internet. I just kept burying and suppressing the feeling.

Well, one of the people I ended up helping was Andrea. And her thread lasted a while, I ended up giving a lot of advice over the course of a week or so. And by the end of it, I was really drawn to her. The thread had a natural lifespan though, which was coming to an end. I decided to do something unthinkable to me at the time, I shared my email with her so we could keep talking. I couldn't really help it, I was pretty much purely driven by these romantic feelings.

So we talked, and in the process I shared more about myself this time. I told her some surface level details of my mental health issues. At the same time, we shared other things about ourselves. I was getting to know someone new, that I had feelings for, which was kinda cool! I ended up telling her I loved her (I didn't even know what she looked like or how old she was), which gradually turned into a long distance relationship.

This was maybe one of the best times in my life. Andrea and I got a chance to visit each other. We discovered love and intimacy together, had our first sexual encounters together. I was so happy to be loved and accepted, it was the only thing that mattered in my life at the time. Andrea's life was more complicated, she was struggling through college and was having a hard time getting through classes. I was probably a little too focused on us being together, as though that was the solution to both our problems. Eventually she dropped out of college, and we made a sort of pact. Whoever could get a job first, the other would move to them and start a life together. I was able to find a part time job at a sporting goods store (not the best use of my degree, but at this time I had given up entirely on working in computers). So Andrea agreed to move to California to live with me. I figured, together we'd work as hard as we could and maybe scrap together enough of a living to get by independently, and just be happy being together.

This being both our first relationship, and both of us are holding onto terrible trauma that we aren't being entirely forthcoming with to the other, I have to be honest in that, at least to me, our relationship was disastrous for the majority of it. Especially the first year living together was riddled with horrible missteps, awful communication, and each tripping over the traumas of the other unknowingly.

I'm not gonna assign blame for most is it, we both made mistakes. Andrea and I have put in an extraordinary effort into fixing things and opening up and trying to make this work. We each learned a lot, let's put it like that.

But that took about six years to get to the point we started addressing our issues, and that I think is mostly my fault. Because of the extraordinarily lengths I would go to not let on that things we so bad. Instead, things were getting critically worse by the day for me and by telling no one there felt like no way out.

I'm getting ahead of myself a bit, I want to squeeze in some details about our early relationship first. Somehow, I got the luckiest break and through a friend of a friend got a chance to work at a tech company. I felt so overwhelmed at first, but my boss was very kind and patient and he has so many nice things to say to me. I think this was the only moment I was really thriving in my life. I was quickly becoming a serious asset to the company, and that felt very validating.

So I had a validating job. Things were getting worse with Andrea, but it wasn't very bad yet, I still was a bit in that honeymoon phase. And I posted on ponychan pretty regularly which was good for my mental health, things were at least stable mentally.

As time progressed, things start changing. Andrea and I were not as close as we were, not as physical not as intimate. It almost drys up entirely as we both struggle with our own emotional problems. I'm so hung up on being physically desired, that for my own girlfriend to not really have the energy or desire to be very physically intimate with me hurt. And that compounded by the day.

Then, at work, my once loving boss just suddenly started to turn on me. I would go out of my way to do good things for the company and he would find ways to put me down. Praise just about vanished, replaced by nothing but occasional put down. He always found something to bitch about now, like it were his job to find something to be wrong. I would ask him how he wanted something done, do it that way, and he'd criticize me for the design that he approved previously. Work was sad, but I was trapped in the mentality that if I worked hard enough maybe I could earn that praise again. Well, I don't know if this was deliberate action on his part, but it really turned into an abusive relationship at the company. Get dumped on and made to feel inadequate, then feel good about the few and far between nice things that happened. A normal healthy guy would have gotten out, but that was unthinkable to me, I didn't have the kind of confidence for that.

Then ponychan. Ponychan got meaner, I didn't like the tone as much. But, the real end of that place for me is that one of Andrea's trans friends, who always seemed to dislike me, identified me while I was anon in one of her threads. She chose to ask Andrea to bitch me out for basically nothing. It was a more serious topic, and I tried to be nice in a friendly playful way, such a crime. That I was IDed as anon and that I got attacked for it spooked the fuck out of me. I never posted on ponychan again.

The rest of the story includes self harm and depiction of self harming thoughts. You've been warned.

Shit was really bad, all the things that were validating for me were taken away. Replaced by things that were invalidating. This is where self hate and paranoia went from harmful to all consuming. I pretty much cried myself to sleep every night for years. It got so bad that I felt that hurting was pretty much just my purpose in life, like it were in my genetics or something like that. I started being very neglectful to my body. I would burn my mouth on reheated frozen food on a daily basis, because I just didn't care about the pain. I would take scalding hot showers, eat extraordinarily spicy food, not dress to protect myself from the elements, and just other weird ways to hurt that could be dismissed as laziness or just liking very hot showers or whatever.

I became engrossed with the idea of cutting too. I didn't want to cut to distract from mental pain or anything like that. At this point, I was pretty much committed to the idea of self harm as a rightful duty towards myself. That's kinda a callback to how I was during my childhood years (the same kind of sexual things as back then were happening again, though thankful I found horrible abusive animated and drawn porn which I didn't really feel guilty about since nobody actually experienced it to create it). Anyway I wanted to cut to destroy myself. Pure and simple. It become such a fascination, that to relieve the terrible stress I was under I would day dream about cutting myself in gory detail. I would sit there and imagine how it would feel to draw the knife over skin, especially my face. Really trying to imagine that sensation. This actually became associated with positive feelings, the idea of cutting through flesh was soothing to me. I would imagine mutilating myself in the worst kinds of ways, and it made me feel happy, or at least calm. I seriously spent so much time imagining this, it was natural at any random point in the day to think these thoughts. And they were welcome thoughts, not intrusive ones.

And I fought so hard with myself over actually doing it. The one damn thing that always was the strongest voice was the one forcing me to keep things hidden and to not let anyone find out. If Andrea wouldn't have seen it and immediately known what I was doing, I would have started cutting up anywhere that was easily hidden under clothing. Despite all of that I was getting closer and closer to wearing down that voice. I tried to say to myself that I could find a way to spin the cutting as normal... somehow. Like that would ever fly. But, the idea that I could pass off cutting as a normal healthy thing to be doing was inductive of how warped my mind was getting. I was so close to making that insane thought feel sane.

I considered myself a vessel for pain. That the accumulation of pain was my life duty. I thought it would be so great if I could just step in to feel the pain of every other person out there, like every time they hurt they would be spared that since I would experience it for them. That's my kind of idea now of how to validate my existence, since I was entirely valueless, I could at least suffer terribly in the place of other people who did have value. I also would dream of being enslaved so as to be beaten, abused, and used for the benefit of someone else. A cruel someone else, the crueler the better. That was a pleasant kind of thought for me. The more that I found these terrible thoughts validating and enjoyable, the more twisted my mind was becoming. I was completely delusional. Even though I mostly passed for a normal sane person, I had the most insane thoughts going through my head. And as long as I was keeping it all internally, there was nothing to challenge those thoughts. It was like my mind was an echo chamber. I considered myself less than dirt, in the most literal sense. That dirt was actually more valuable than me.

And I want to point out one last fascinating quality to this all. I felt proud for how much I hurt myself. I still, despite knowing how awful and wrong it was, feel that pride. Telling you guys this all, it's like showing off to me. Even having become much healthier and happier, I can't shake the associations I've made with destruction as a positive quality. Things are so good for me now, but self destruction is now a part of me, one I don't entertain but is ever present.

That takes us to generally around 2017-2018. I guess my next post will be my last, dedicated to how I broke out of the cycle, how I opened up, how I got healthy of mind and body (as healthy as can be I guess) for maybe the first time since early childhood.


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>I actually remember precisely the first post I had made, basically a post in defense of rarity as a good character. People saw her as the girly one, who was manipulative and bitchy. Which, she is pretty much that, but it's why I liked her, she had flaws. On top of being artistic and generous, which are traits I like. And if anyone pays attention to how much I like me some girly shit now, it probably makes sense that I was into that part of her even if I didn't consider my feminine side much at that point.
I'm pretty sure I posted affirmations to that!


I know I should post in here, but I'm weirdly finding myself with the same feeling I get when I get writers block.


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Maybe! The early Fandom was not very appreciative of rarity when the show first started. I think it took time for people to come to realize she is best pony.

Well therapy and sharing is more of a marathon than a sprint. Take your time and come back to it when you feel ready ^_^


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Why not I've got literally nothing else to do. I was a smart kid in school, always got great grades except when it came to big projects. I would always procrastinate so bad that sometimes I just wouldn't do them at all. It never got to the point of holding me back (yet) but in retrospect kinda shows how I was always an anxious person.

Fast forward to freshman year of high school, my first puppy love crush doesn't end up working out and that's when the depression kicks in. I don't know if it caused it or just brought it out, or even if the distinction matters. End result being it really fucks me up and I spend the rest of high school depressed and somewhat suicidal. Still getting good grades so nobody seems to notice anythings wrong. Until I kind of break down one morning to my favorite teacher and let him know what was going on. I don't remember what I said exactly but it was enough for him to have to do something. My parents get called to the school and we end up taking me to the hospital. I don't remember much of that either, they didn't keep me there or give me anything, just gave us a list of therapists. I just pick one at random and start going to see her.

Looking back she was a complete waste of time. I went to her for years and I don't think she really DID anything. I just showed up, bitched and cried for an hour, and left. My current shrink tried to ask me like "what techniques did she use" or "was she a cognitive/behavioral/etc therapist" and I couldn't tell him. No clue. Just thousands of dollars of my parents money down the drain.

After HS I go to community college, where my anxiety really screws me over. I fail a lot. There was at least one semester where I failed every single class. Not because it was hard, but because of anxiety and procrastination and the ability to just skip the last day of class because you didn't do the final project and just fail outright. I lie a lot to my parents, they don't know how much I've been screwing up. Eventually have to come clean since I was supposed to be graduating but was nowhere close. Eventually get it together enough to finish, but ends up taking 4 years total. For a fucking associates degree. Sigh. Not that it really matters to the story but by now I had just completely given up on relationships altogether. I distinctly remember thinking "what's the point? All this grief and stress and I get nowhere. Why bother?" So I just stopped trying.

After that I go to a real college, and since I'm a fat nerdy 90's kid I decide to get a computer science degree so I can work for Video Games. Goes much smoother this time, a little slow, but I only ever dropped one class. Until the end, when my procrastination bites me in the ass again. I couldn't ever finish my senior project. Long story short: waited until the last two or three weeks, project was barely half done, didn't really manage to actually implement the algorithm I was given but at least my laptop didn't catch fire when I ran it. The head of the department was furious, I was sure I was going to fail. But for some reason the professor I was working with vouched for me I guess and I ended up graduating. I assume it was because the CompSci program was being phased out the very next semester and they just wanted to shove the last batch of students out the door before the program dissolved. So I graduate. Technically. But I don't deserve it.

So then I try to find a job. I barely know shit and I never did any internships either. I naturally get nowhere. Being depressed/anxious certainly doesn't help. End up working retail for a certain big evil megastore for a few years. Actually loose a shit ton of weight, but also become an alcoholic. Always alone in my room (red flag I know, but I didn't care) after work, never ever drove drunk or drank in public or anything. It was genuinely fun sometimes, but I would also nosedive into the bottle when I was upset or angry and that would make everything worse. One day I finally snapped at work and got fired, went cold turkey shortly afterwards, not that it's done any good. Got a factory job a few months later, couldn't handle the stress and schedule, ended up leaving. And here we are, unemployed again sitting in the computer chair with nothing to do.

Not a very exciting story is it? Glossed over a couple things like finding ponychan in S1, but I think I got the important bits. Nothing specifically traumatic ever happened, didn't get beaten, didn't ever go hungry, my family's intact, etc. I was just kind of left to stagnate. "he gets good grades, he's smart, he'll be ok." Never really got pushed too hard in school because I got good grades. Never really got questioned or guided about college. After they found out I was suicidal the only thing they ever did (besides pay for therapy obviously, which I will forever feel guilty about) was not let me use steak knives for like 3 days. Just "He's smart, he'll be ok." And here I am, paralyzed in my chair, approaching 30 with a degree I don't deserve covered in years of rust, and a big long list of reasons why I'm completely and utterly broken that I keep deleting because this post is long enough as it is.


It has been for me, but I'm still being hesitant.

And it's not like, anyone here, you guys are great. It's more just that it hurts to think about the stuff I want to talk about.


Hmm well I don't have all the details, but it sounds a little like there may have been neglect from your parents. People who suffered through forms of neglect often say things like "nothing even happened to me" followed by a list of things that they perceive as 'valid' trauma that wasn't a part of their life. That was a big thing that I had to come to terms with personally at least, despite how fucked up I became it felt like nobody hardly did anything to me. I thought to myself that all the fucked up shit I was going through must be genetic, like I was made wrong. After processing the hell out of my story and lending credit to the idea that I had trauma, I was able to see how I could improve and undo/mitigate the damage.

I don't know if any of that applies to you, you'll have to figure it out yourself. It's just sometimes it's not about what they did to you, but what they didn't do that they should have. If you think back on your parents and your upbringing, do you feel like there was an absence of something from your family that had an impact on you? Maybe there isn't, but I have a doubt as to whether you became like this entirely on your own.

It's something to think about at least.


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Alright so,

On top of taking care of my grandma, staying at home all day was both very good and very bad for me.

Good in the sense that, we had for a while, acres and acres of woods that I could just escape to and be alone with my thoughts; have time to sort through my feelings and reflect.

Now, it was bad in the sense that I think at the age I was, [about 8-11], I should not have been alone so often without any parental guidance. I spent a lot of time doing whatever the hell I wanted, and one of the things I used to do was catch animals and 'play' with them.

Mostly it was reptiles and bugs, but sometimes it was birds if I could catch them.

I would play with them like toys, with absolutely no regard to them being a living thing. I would tie leashes on them and 'walk' them, or put tape on their legs so they couldn't run off while I was getting a container... One particularly bad memory I have is I found a frog and I kept squeezing it to make it croak, because I got some kind of enjoyment out of that.

My grandparents didn't help with this, and thinking back on this, I think this is a large part of why their kids turned out so messed up. They used to get me animals all the time, rabbits, guinea pigs, little quail birds. There was this one time with the quail, that I was doing something not right and I should have been scolded or at least talked to about it, but this is what happened instead.

We had the birds in a type of big cage, big enough for me to get into and sit with them. I had been watching the birds interacting with each other, and one of them kept humping the other bird. I can't tell you why I did this cause I don't really understand it myself, but I got a hold of that bird and looked under his tail feathers. I held him down and pushed on his genital area. I guess I was just curious what it looked like or something, cause I remember thinking it looked weird, but I know I wasn't trying to hurt it, I just wanted to see.

Well while I was doing that I heard my uncle talking to my grandma in the house, telling her that she needed to do something about how I was acting with the birds. I can't remember the exact words spoken, but I know she got very defensive of me and claimed I was "just a kid", or something along those lines, as if that somehow made it ok, what I was doing.

I remember I got very embarrassed, partly because of what my uncle was saying and I felt a little shame, but mostly that I might get in trouble. I put the bird down and snuck out of the cage and ran off into the woods for a while after that

I think that whole thing kind of cemented in my mind that it was, kind of, ok to mess with animals because really, what's the worst that could happen? My uncle might tell me to stop? I get a little embarrassed? But ok, then I just hide it from them instead of doing things right in front of them. No one ever came looking for me when I was out in the woods. They might call for me occassionally, but they had never come looking. And my grandpa, the main authority figure of the house, would stay at work to drink with his buddies till the sun went down.

There was no real good reason to change my behaviour.


Ah yeah, kids frequently don't have a healthy respect for the lives of animals, especially when they aren't really taught better. I did some dumb things to animals as a kid, though my mother taught us well so I don't have anything I regret too hard. That's one thing I can count myself lucky for.

Anyway, I don't know what else to say, but I hear you and I don't judge you for what happened.


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It got worse.

im trying to get there but it'd hard. I'm also leaving out a lot of the fucked shit I did. I've tried sharing anonymously before and got told that's serial killer behaviour. That didn't feel too great, but they weren't exactly wrong.


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I know it gets worse. You aren't exactly hiding that awful things happened. I can't really account for anyone else, but I know I personally just don't care what awful shit went down in the past as long as you've learned better now. If I spent the time to elaborate on all my thoughts and feelings, it would be pretty serial killerish too. Best part is, they aren't the actions of a child but who I am now. It's just the kind of brain I have.

For example, if I could "undo" a timeline, I think I would do incredible atrocious things, literally the worst things imaginable, because I'm curious to see how it feels. I want to know if I can, you know? The morbidity of my curiosity is probably not something I should share in detail here. But like, at least with me, you aren't gonna find judgment.


People are usually far too quick to judge.


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The thing about so-called "serial killer" behavior is that it's things that pretty much everyone does at some point.

The real serial killer behavior is, well, you know, KILLING *PEOPLE* so if you don't do that, there's nothing to worry about.


>Still getting good grades so nobody seems to notice anythings wrong.

That shouldn't have been the only thing they cared about. Unless you were extremely good at hiding your feelings, someone close to you, such as your parents, really should have noticed something was up. But like Thorax said, I don't have all the details.

>Just thousands of dollars of my parents money down the drain.

I don't think you should feel guilt about this. It sucks that the therapist didn't help, but I can bet you your parents didn't care about the money half as much as they cared about you, and getting you better.

>"He's smart, he'll be ok."

Yea that's not good. Just because someone's smart, it doesn't mean they don't meed help from time to time, just like everyone else.


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My self-esteem has been completely in the toilet all day. In practically every way.

I'm not even sure I could adequately describe it without just whining, and have been holding off on posting in here cause I clearly can't give anyone anything valuable to say to their troubles and dun just wanna drop and go. But it really has been a shit mood all day.


Preciate the thought


You don't have to give feed back to post man. *hugs* I'm sorry



I do enough shitty whining without also being all take and no give.


You've made me feel ok more than a few times. That's not nothing.


Awe u.


Just speakin the truths


Either way I've spent the entire day in big, breathy sigh mode and it's frustrating as hell.


Bet I can sigh larger.




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I think that my strict parents and the kind of education I received in school could have messed me up a bit.


Why is that?


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I can't recall the last time my father seemed to be actually pleased with any of my accomplishments. He always tells me to be better.

For example:

I currently have a 8.3/10 average in college and when I told him he said:

"You are nobody until you get a 9"

And when I do something good he says "Congratulations" without exclamation.


And I studied in a quite religious place.


I don't know, I've never been one to pay much attention to someone because they're family.

What's the problem with a religious school?


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I realized many uncomfortable things there.


Like what?


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It's worth posting something here i guess. Timing is a bit funny, since i'm in a pretty good place recently, but it's worth posting about how i got to where i am i guess.

I grew up with a pretty standard nuclear family setup. My mom, my dad, my sister and i. As for my relationship with each: My sister and i have been very close since the beginning, and are still very close to this day. I get along with my dad quite well. My relationship with mom is a bit more complicated, but still basically ok. There's always been a bit of a communication gap, I've historically been a bit weak-willed, unfocused, and noncommittal, while my mom is very much none of those things, and so there's always been a fairly substantial communication gap based on that. We were pretty well off early on, very well-off in fact, we had a 3-story house in a nice neighborhood with a big yard and a hot-tub in the basement, but things went south fast when dad lost his job when the recession hit, then tried and failed to start his own business. I mean we never went hungry or anything, we were always more than taken care of, but it was a drastic change in lifestyle.

When i was a kid in the 90's (born 1991), i was caught up in the wave up over-diagnoses of mental disorders. I don't know if i actually had ADHD or if it was just trendy to diagnose, but as a kid, at the time, in the place i was... That diagnosis marked me for failure, far more than any actual effect of any real or imagined ADHD might have. I was singled out, grouped up as "special needs" despite at worst just being a little bit antisocial, disorganized, or distracted, i was paired up with kids who literally couldn't speak. It didn't help that i was thrown around on various cocktails of drugs, often on the advice of school staff who, in hindsight, probably just wanted to sedate me into submission. So based on that, i didn't exactly develop a positive view of people at large, or authority. Not that i didn't find my friends, but I've generally had one long-term friend who i was extremely close to my whole life. Between that one friend, my sister, who I've always been very close with, and media, it was enough for me. It was only really an issue because the other kids and the staff made it so. Other kids would, of course, take it as an opportunity to express hostility towards me, and i got into a lot of fights in grade school and middle school based on that. Touching back on my relationship with my mom, in hindsight i see her frustration. I was good at a lot of things as a kid. I played piano at an incredible level, i was a good swimmer, i did some martial arts, and i did great academically if i was given some form of incentive, all sorts of stuff, and excelled at a lot of it, but none of it really meant anything to me as a kid. It was just an obligation to get through so i could get a toy or a snack or get people off my back to go play with my friends or watch TV or something. Hell, i kept that mindset through high school. It's not that i didn't have support, or that i was unable to achieve. I just never saw the point. The "why" was never quite answered for me. I didn't really give a shit about anyone who wasn't my friends or family, hell, i'd probably have been happier had most of them disappeared from my life entirely, so it's not like helping the world or being a big, recognized part of society meant anything to me. I dreaded growing up, even as a kid. I knew it meant you had to spend all your time working and not doing the things you liked, it meant the destruction of my cozy little bubble and being flung into the hostile world i'd spent so much time trying to avoid, and that felt like it might as well have been death. In hindsight it's actually kindof amazing how long i managed to prolong a childhood-like state in my life. Living with my parents, having them do my chores, working only part-time or just going to school. It's really shameful, actually.

I would cheat a lot in school, mostly out of apathy for the subject. I would either get answers in the back of the book, or online, or copy other people. I think that's why i never quite got into math. It's strange that i'm not as into math as i feel like it would make sense for me to be. I love science. I adore biology, but math never clicked for me in the same way. Maybe it's because i just got into the habit of copying answers from the back of the book, or because math isn't as viscerally colorful or interesting as biology is. Science was always easily my best subject. The scientific method, even to me as a kid, was comforting. It made the world make sense, in a way nobody could take from me. To this day i have only disdain for any English beyond what it takes to communicate properly. Even as a kid it felt like an exercise in arbitrary formatting and pandering to the political opinions of your instructor, and after extensive study, it seems my initial hypothesis holds up pretty well. I never had any respect for history or most other subjects either, felt like meaningless trivia, which again, hypothesis hold up fairly well. My grades have never been very consistent as a result. Sometimes i'd have fantastic grades, and sometimes they were shit. I guess it depended a lot on my mood and where my head was during the class, whether i studied, whether i could just get by based on my rather good memory and critical thinking skills, ect.

Maybe i never felt in-control enough to really try and engage in the larger world, or maybe the rest of the world felt too hostile and threatening, or maybe i just felt inadequate compared to my little sister, who was always an overachiever who excelled at many things and always lacked a lot of my critical flaws. Actually having hopes and dreams is actually fairly new to me. I'd always been kind of caught up in the maelstrom of life without any semblance of control. We didn't move around a ton, but we moved around enough for me to never quite feel stable, enough to feel like i could ever see the fruits of things i tried to build up long-term. I think that shaped my view of things in that regard, soured me to the idea of long-term investment in things. I remember well planting trees in the garden of our house we never kept long enough to see the fruit, i remember working hard to renovate that house with my dad, but we'd just turn around and sell it later. I think it drilled in a very real sense of nihilism into me. Nothing i ever did ever felt like it mattered. Mom wanted to live in california, dad wanted to live in colorado, it was one of the points the lead them to eventually divorce, of a fair number of points. We bounced around enough between them to add to that sense of helplessness i had. Looking beyond my immediate situation didn't exactly look better either, the world largely is a random place that no one individual has any real control over; Besides, I've always excelled at really engaging with shows or certain books or movies, so the stresses of the real world could only hurt me so much when my family was, at the end of the day, kind, well off enough, and i had some form of escapism. Maybe that mindset hurt me long-term, since it's been hard to engage in the real world even recently, it's a real uphill struggle for me even today, but it kept things from getting really bad i guess.

So yea, that's a good start i guess. Probably approaching the character limit anyway.


>"You are nobody until you get a 9"

That's really messed up. Ones worth shouldn't be judged on something so small.


I hope you can find your self-worth in other places. You've got a lot to be proud of.


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aay, we were born the same year! Lol

I feel you on having a hard time with commitments. The adults in my life tried to get me to commit to schoolwork, but I had a really similar attitude towards it as you did and just could never get into it unless it was something that really interested me. Even the more fun projects, if it was a big one, I never ended up finishing.

If you have more that you want to talk about, I'm all ears. Or, well, eyes.


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Well, let's see. I think the story about martin shkreli really kinda threw my life plan into a bit of a loop. I wanted to do something with biology, and developing medicines or new technologies to make the world a better place eventually became an idea that really appealed to me once i started to get more of my social bearing in college. By then i'd slowly become less antisocial and started to slowly dip my toe into the outside world.  but the martin shkreli story kinda fucked with my head, because i kinda saw what my future would be if that happened. I'd commit so much effort into developing something to make the world a better place, and then some econ-major asshole would come along and undo all the fruits of my labor by throwing money around. It killed my motivation for a long time. I mean i could still get by on my raw interest in the subjects, but it kinda solidified for me that i'd never really make a big difference in this world, that maybe a real difference can't be made in this world. Only recently have i found a little solace in resolving to help the people i can help in whatever way i can, even if it's a small amount of people in small ways. It makes me sad to think about it though, that there's no way out of it. America is incapable of being even slightly better than it is now, the system doesn't allow it. That's a very sad thought to me. So i guess i hate History and English majors for a lack of any and all knowledge or usefulness beyond trivia and opinions, and i hate economics majors because they cuck scientists from actually being able to make the world a better place, for the meaningless endgame of making people with more money than they could ever reasonably spend on things they actually want even more money. Maybe that's why in my head the perfect society is that of scientist, engineers, and laborers (at least until things can be automated). Scientists and engineers inevitably improve things, it's in our nature, so long as there's no outside force corrupting the march forward in a sinister direction (E.G. econ majors who own everything owning the labs so they can own the results of sci/eny works and in doing so nullify any actual use they might be to society, aka the current sad state of affairs). If we cut off the rotten head of econ/politics majors and the useless fat of english/literary arts/ect majors, we'd have a pretty functional society. That's been kinda my headspace since deciding to actually give thinking about the world and how to make it better a shot. That's what the lab coat in my avatars is about. It's acted as a symbol of that science/engineering-centered worldview.


This study kindof gives you the idea. It's symbolic, and donning the mantle of the people i respect and look up to, in some small little way it can help me be more like them, it can help me to think a bit more like them, and it can remind me of what it is i want to be. It may be one of the few long-term goals I've ever taken somewhat seriously. It's vague and not very focused, but i want to join those ranks one day. Even if i'm 70 before i ever truly become a part of those ranks. One day i want to be able to say i deserve to wear the lab coat. Until then, i'll fake it until i make it.


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I think you are going to get there. And even if you don't, I think you've inspired people.


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Sometimes my body tingles, I am unhealthy, and there is a mouse in my wall


So, something pretty important happened in my relationship a few days ago.

And Max, I just wanted to say, that if I hadn't have read your posts in this thread, and the detail that went into your thoughts and how you got there, I don't think that I would have been able to recognize that my own thoughts a few days ago were unhealthy. That they were stemming from paranoia, depression, and inadequacy. And that those unhealthy thought patterns have been causing some major problems with my relationship for the past few years.

Tell that mouse to go away!

But really, have you got the tingle feeling checked out? That doesn't sound good :c


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I'm so happy that you got something of value out of my story! It's so great you were able to use that to help yourself reflect on your own thoughts and feelings ^_^

Being able to understand why you have the thoughts you do is so important! I didn't want to spare any details about my own, I wanted every last thing I could manage laid out and accounted for in the hope that other people could make use out of it, or at the least be emboldened by me saying the most awful, unflattering things in public.

I should really finish the last part of my story. I have so much to say about the healing process and how I went from paranoid delusional with a completely fucked up ego to relatively calm and sane of mind. Maybe I'll get to it tomorrow.


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We've had the various tingles looked at many times. The doctors never find anything wrong, but we don't exactly eat healthy or exercise well, so that may be a good place to start fixing anything body-wise.


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Alright, so I've come this far, I should really finish this thing up. At this point I've got a mini autobiography of all the most fucked up shit in my life written. What use is it to not have a conclusion?

So, I had been trying to walk though things as chronologically as possible before, but this time I'm going to be jumping around a bit trying to outline the process by which I was able to go from paranoid delusional mess to relatively sane and healthy minded. And that took a lot of moving pieces across many facets of my life. I mean, I was so tied down by myself, I was so completely closed off, I was so completely anxious and wildly hurt by even the slightest things going wrong socially. It's a miracle I made it out of that tangled web now that I think about it. I can't even begin to describe the difference in my life now compared to then, it's like being alive for the first time.

One of the first things that helped me was my work place responsibilities. I became responsible for all the customer support. And this was a time I barely could answer a phone call. But survival necessitated forcing myself through these situations. And no matter how difficult, no matter how anxious I was, how much I wanted to curl up and die, I just powered through. In part, I can thank the self hatred for that, because it helped me force myself through situations I was otherwise incapable of. I don't recommend hating yourself though doing what you need to do, but honestly sometimes you have to use whatever you have at your disposal to get by.

Expanding my ability to interact with strangers helped me take social risks. I started posting on ponyville some many years back. I learned it was a place that was trying to live on as ponychan was originally meant to be. Though, the first time I ended up posting anonymously here. It didn't go well, I actually ran into a situation where I was trying to provide some gentle guidance for someone, and another poster took what I was saying completely out of context and decided I was the strawman they needed to beat up. It was really messy and I was not in the state I could handle that emotionally. I left the site for over a year, maybe even two years. That's how emotionally fragile I was at the time.

But eventually, I set out to try again. This time, I stuck to a single place. The only place I would post was in Noelle's threads. He just projected a caring and safety into his threads and posts that gave me enough confidence to try this social interaction thing again. He couldn't have ever known how much that meant to me, but that I could say hi to him and chat a little bit without fear was at one point the only social interaction I was able to get outside work. I don't think you're even reading this thread, but like, thanks. A lot. For just being who you are.

Call that a small victory, I eventually expanded a bit into other threads talking to other people as much as I could handle through the anxiety. Though not much of that was very meaningful, I was completely closed off, unable to communicate anything meaningful about myself. And, I wasn't always that nice, I had a bad habit of picking fights and being argumentative. It frequently wasn't even a matter of me making argument about something I believe in and defending it. It was often times being deliberately obtuse and making bad faith arguments to just feel better about being good at winning arguments I was rigging through subterfuge. Not really something I feel proud about now, but that's where I was at.

Then something really remarkably interesting and unexpected happened. I somehow got on staff here. I can't really begin to explain how undeserving and unqualified I was for this job. I had my good moments, but I was more often than not a pretty shitty person. And, a lot of my ego was wound up in sociopathy and narcissism. Like, either Moony is a genius who can see what a person's true potential is, or he is completely oblivious to the emotional wreck he was trusting the site with. Like, I'm glad that Moony made the mistake of trusting me, I couldn't have grown without the position I was entrusted with here. But I'm getting ahead of myself a bit.

I wasn't really expecting to be given the job working on this site, it was a total surprise that Moony just let an anon play with the site code. But I saw opportunity. Not really to do anything nice for the site, but to find something to validate myself when I felt so completely worthless. I wasn't prepared for being thrust into the social situation which was the mod chat. I can't really tell you how anxious that whole thing made me to begin with, jumping into a group chat with a bunch of people I knew nothing about. I remember filling in my information into Skype, and not realizing it was going to use that as my username. So, I ended up going by my actual name Maxwell, which was never my intention, and I was so emotionally fucked I couldn't handle simply changing it to something else after being presented as that. Like, that's a good metric to measure my social anxiety at the time, I couldn't change my username or avatar out of fear and paranoia of what people would think of why I did that. So, I just went by Maxwell on skype, then transferred that to discord. Lol, it's funny thinking back on how completely uselessly incapable I was in any social context.

So anyway, through a twist of fate, I became the lead developer for the site. And I set out to improve the code and offer a lot of quality of life improvements to the site. It was pretty easy praise to soak up, it made me feel a good, which was something I was completely starved of. I never intended to get into the policy side of running this site, but it just so happened that the anonymous users of the site became a focal point of site policy when politics were running amuck on the site. The original Politics on Ponyville Proposition was not really very generous towards our anonymous users. Maybe it was self serving, maybe it was caring because I'd interacted with a lot of the anons, maybe it was both. But I fought really hard against the way it was written up. I didn't even think it was my place as a developer, but Moony gave us equal say and I took advantage of that to be heard. In the end, I made my point and the PPP was scrubbed completely clean of any special restrictions to our anonymous posters.

I guess I became a pretty strong voice behind policy decisions after that, and I ended up fighting really hard for a lot of the users. It never was my intention, but it's where I grew. I think I learned a lot about caring for people in a genuine way from Moony. I owe him something for teaching me to have more than a self serving kind of caring. I felt good taking care of the users, I wanted them to know someone cared deeply about them, or had their back. I think some people recognized that in me, I didn't really have a reputation as a poster, but I like to think some people thought I was a pretty alright dude as a staff member.

This care and attention I tried to give the users led to my next, most important opportunity for growth. Rose was always one of the posters I felt I understood something about, like I knew so much more about them than they let on because they thought and acted a lot like I might. Through the attention I was giving the users, in a canterlot thread addressing their concern, I got the chance to start talking to Rose privately, the first person (and at the time I thought the only person ever) I would make friends with on Discord. I remember distinctly joining discord and thinking, I will never have any friends in this friend list. But there I was, I had no clue what I was doing, I hadn't really made a new friend in over a decade (outside Andrea which was really different, being driven by some kind of romanticism in that new connection). I can't really emphasis how out of my depth I was feeling, I have no idea how friendship even works. Like at all. What the fuck is friendship, I was more clueless than season one Twilight, lol. That's kinda embarrassing honestly, like, I really was so alone and making a new friend like that was so meaningful. Rose was leading the conversation really, I just followed their lead and talked about whatever they wanted to talk about. And it was really nice, I was like, a child honestly. My emotional growth in terms of friendship really hadn't developed much past childhood. But I didn't care, Rose accepted me for who I was.

Which became interesting, because of the kind of person Rose is. Rose is emotionally sensitive and intimately affectionate. For me, it was like looking in at the person I was supposed to have been, from the twisted burnt out husk of a mess that I had become. I.E. it was really conflicting! They pretty much immediately gave me some cutesy nickname, and I remember I told them I wasn't really into that kind of thing, while simultaneously squeeing on the inside over being called that. I like Rose a lot, I looked up to them. I was torn between wanting to be more emotive like they were and being so incredibly closed off and stoic (as good American men are supposed to be). Despite this being literally the way they are, it was so incredibly difficult to emulate this quality of Rose. The kind of paranoia I was experiencing, it felt like if I were to try anything like being emotionally open and vulnerable, the whole world would be waiting to jump out from behind a curtain and mock me for thinking a man could be like that. That isn't exaggeration, I seriously thought of this as a kind of trap I needed to fear, that anyone, everyone, even Rose was luring me into the trap of being in connection with who I am emotionally so I could be put down for it. That was how I felt, and pushing through that delusion and trying to take even tiny steps towards being open was triggering life or death panic in me. Just the act of sending something like a <3 in response to them felt like jumping out of a plane without a parachute. No matter how ridiculous that sounds, how much of an exaggeration that might seem to you, it isn't an exaggeration. And, I started doing it a lot with Rose. I was too terrified to say something to them like that while they were awake, so I would write up something while they were asleep and live through existential dread while I waited for them to see it and provide some kind of confirmation that things would be okay. I was routinely throwing myself into full blown panic by opening up in this conversation. But, it was paying off. I was getting somewhere with it, over many months, it wasn't as scary any more.

Additionally, in ways I couldn't understand, Rose even looked up to me for the work I did for the site. They thought of me as a legitimately good person. Which didn't register with me. So much self hatred, I couldn't really believe that. I was so often not a great person with the way I acted. Or, was that still right? Things weren't the same as they had always been in my life, I was actually doing some nice things for people that was not even entirely selfishly motivated, or a cover/mask I was wearing. I had made a big difference in a few people's lives for the better. Still, it's really fucking hard to just accept yourself when you have spent such a long time putting yourself down for how shitty of a person you felt you were. But this was a start, it was a break in the cycle. Rose wanted me to be better mentally, I never would have done any of this for myself. It was so hard, these voices in my head which controlled the narrative of my life weren't just going to go away. They became even more vicious now that I was fighting to reclaim my life for myself. It was so much easier to let the voices win. Fighting them caused so much chaos in my mind. My thoughts were completely out of control. I would describe it as my self deprecating thoughts swarming my mind like wasps, continuously stinging me and trying to put me down. It felt like the stakes were so high, that if I was wrong about this thing, the damage would kill me. In a sense, it was trying to protect me, in the most horrible misguided way. And I could do nothing to stop it, I just had to persist through it. And I really wouldn't have, it would have been so much easier to lay down and stop fighting it, I was exceedingly good at doing that. But, someone believed in me, who I didn't feel like had any real reason not to that my paranoid mind could come up with. Like, my family and Andrea and past friends, I could make up a narrative for why they would 'lie' about wanting me to be better or healthy. Still, trusting Rose's intentions was a constant struggle (as fucking everything was).

There is no magic turning point, nothing just 'clicks' into place. I took time, a long time, months, almost a year. I have been fighting with my own mind for most of the past year just to have ownership over my thoughts. It was ludicrously hard at first, and it just became slightly easier every day. And it only worked because I have been relentless about it. I started pushing my boundaries in every way I could manage. I started posting with a name. I started posting with an avatar (yes, that was literally another life or death event for me, posting with an avatar). I changed my avatar in discord, yes that was something I had to fight to be able to accomplish. I made some threads, I talked to people and got to know a few more people. I started really getting to know my coworkers and created some really strong friendships with them. And I had relapses, I slid back. After having gotten out of delusion and paranoia for a little while, when I would sink back into it I noticed it felt a certain way. I learned what insanity felt like so even when everything became upside down, I was able to hold onto the idea that I wasn't healthy minded currently and could drag myself out of it. When I became able to recognize that I was delusional, I could start to compensate for that. It would feel to me internally that everyone knows that I am shit, I am dirt and that it would be actually crazy of me to think otherwise. I learned how to stand up before the world, and say something I felt was truly insane to everyone, that I had value. I opened up to people on this site, I told them crazy things, unbelievable things about myself. And I opened up to Andrea in a big way. I told her that sometimes I wasn't able to be sane anymore, that she needed to be able to help me though those moments. That wasn't easy for someone who was committed their whole life to a lie about being normal!

But like, this persistence paid off for me in a big way. I am mostly at peace now. I feel really good about myself. I think I have a pretty healthy ego and sense of self. I've learned to be mindful of all the damage I've incurred, and I know how to identify my issues. I can usually figure when I'm doing something out of trauma. And if I can, I seek out and challenge that reaction and work on it until it's manageable, and later not even a problem. I wanted to run from this unemployment so much. I had a really meh offer that I could have accepted, and I wanted to accept, but a coworker told me that I was better than this. And I realized she was right, I was just running from another pain. And so I walked into deliberate unemployment so that I could struggle with it and fight it and get a job that reflects my actual worth. I am done undercutting myself. I want to live for the first time, and I have so many people here to thank for that. Even if they were more minor roles, I couldn't have untangled as much of this mess as I have without all the kind people who have cared about me here. Thanks guys.

So yeah, stories over. tl;dr my life has been shit, I've lived through actual insanity, but I've been able to carve out something small and pleasant for myself. And I'm trying to make that bigger every day. And I have lots of people here to thank for that <3



I love you honey


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It's so crazy reading through this, because it really does put into perspective this whole crazy journey you've been on.

I'm so stoked that your life has taken this turn, and how much of the anxiety and self doubt we've seen evaporate as you developed yourself and your abilties, and also got to know how valuable you really are. Here's to many more good days to come.


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Moony has changed more lives than I think he realizes.


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i'm absolutely sure he did <3



Or well, tripled I guess.


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hey man, you got a foreign ditto, i'm asking for a friend :PP

>hugs and kajis <3

hey esh!


>Implying I've even started DItto hunting
Betch I am only at the Champion fight.

Also hi Star, how be


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lol, i'm not even and chestichire yet :PP

but i'd gladly trade you a ditto for a ditto, once i get one myself ^^

i'm okay, although just a bit worried about future stuff ://

how about you?


We'll see. I do plan to actually breed and trian soem mons after the endgmae.

Eh, I am up at way too earlycause I gotta be at the eye doctor at 9 AM - in a town two hours over.
Soooo just pakced a bag with some comics and a sketchbook. I can at least enjoy the trip that way


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same here! just keep me in mind, as we can help eachother out masuda style ^^

oof fun! are your eyes still in your head then?

neat! what are you gonna draw?


Yeap! THat's the idea! Get us some gud IV Dittos and kick some ass.

Lemme check
Ow! Yes!

I dunno. I tried asking for some suggestions on Twitter, and maybe I'll do one or two of those if I can (I got suggested some stuff I've never seen among others), but no real idea.

Maybe more She-Ra characters as I reently drew Perfuma and really liked th result


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for sure, slap them with that shapeshifter gooey goodness!

ow! don't do that :PP

i saw your perfuma! she was beautiful! wonderful job my friend!

(still needs to catch up on She Ra :PP)



o stap it u

You get your shit together and get that bingewatch done this instance you hear me


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well i didn't think it involved literal gouging :PP my bad!

no u!

i will... it's just it's getting close to the end of semester, and i've been compounded on work stuff ^_^;


You mean there are other ways!!?

I hear a lot of excuses but I see no action taken!


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apparently! like maybe just looking at your finger and being like "oh! that's still there :PP"

you're right, i'm a shame upon my family and my people T_T


But we were talking about my eyes


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my brand!!

i know, but how do you see the finger then, ehh ehhhhhhhhhhh?



It's too early in the morning to blow my mind like that


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guess you'll have to visit a brain doctor cause all your grey matter is plastered on the train from the strength of that knowledge bomb!!!



Also I forgot that at this time, I'd end up on the train with everybody going to school. No room to draw right now...

... So I'm reading a Junji Ito horror collection. Maybe the cover will give someone a fright to last them through the day, heh


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lol ^^

aww man, i'm sorry! perhaps you can draw on somebodies head?

Junji Ito is awesome! I still need to finish Uzimaki, it's gruesome yet awe inspiring <3


MO baldies here. Damn high school students, so inconsiderate with their hair and whatnot

He is. Only full story of his I've read before was Dissolving Classroom, which is potebtislly one of the grossest comics I've ever seen, but I bought a short story collection called Fragments of Horror last week.

Surprisingly enough, halfway into it I have now read a story of his that was actually pretty somber and had no gore whatsoever. A bit surprising coming from a man whose brand of horror tends to rely on people making outright bizarre decisions in order to then relentlessly bombard you with gory, surrealistic imagery.


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stupid hair having youths :PP

nice! I saw that one for sale at the convention i went to in september! looks good ^^

i guess sometimes you need a bit of sober quiet contemplation to help the horror go down ^^


It wasn't even a "scary" story really... It was just a bit of a surprise immediately after a story about a dude who tries to hold his head in place after a witch cuts it off with her hair...


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you might just lose your head if it wasn't attached to your neck!

oh wait!!!


You joke but that is basically the story.

Also, doodling Jucika now


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i've never heard of her before! she's cute!

i'm getting strong Mavis vibes ^^


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I know right? But yeah. She's apparently an obscure Hungarian newspapers trip character from the 50ied to 70ies that just resurfaced on Twitter recently - and no wonder. She is just weaponized cuteness.


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oh my gosh she is! like that is pure adorable! she seems kinda oddly modern looking for the time period that she was made in!

also some of these examples are rather saucy ;33

>hugs and kajis <3

i need to head to bed! goodnight my friend!


A lot of these look like they might be from the sixties, UT given that I know nothing about Hungarian fashion standards of the time, I am basing that on very little.

The strips are really cute as well. You should look some of them up when you can.

Sleep well.


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Alright, so, let's see...

Good people do bad things. I've kind of repeated that throughout the years, and it's not to justify the bad things. They were awful, and I wish it had never happened. I guess I have just kept repeating it to remind myself not to be bitter, and to remind myself to try and break the cycle.

Fighting. There was always fighting. It was really quite rare to go more than a week without some kind of fighting or drama happening. Things did get physical from time to time, but most often it was the yelling. Screaming. Sitting in a corner or standing next to a wall, trying to stay out of the way, and all the while being in a state of pent up energy and ready to run or throw a punch, whatever the situation called for. Luckily it never got that bad for me, but I still had to be ready, just encase.

I witnessed my uncles and aunts fight the most. I remember one time that the fight got so physical, between two of my uncles, that one actually went and found a hand axe.

This was, after, my grandfather had tried to break the fight up and gotten punched in the face in the process. Anyway-

My uncle, the youngest, came at my other uncle, the oldest, with the axe. I didn't see the first swing, but by the time I got out the door, my eldest uncle had a hold of his rist and was trying to get him to drop the axe.

My grandmother and aunt were just outside the door screaming both their names, and I saw blood on my eldest uncles white shirt.

Then came the shot gun blast, and my grandfather yelling as loudly as he could that he would shoot him if he didn't put the fucking axe down.

And...that' as much of the detail as I can remember. I know that after things calmed down, there was a lot of crying from everyone, and my uncle who had had the axe was crying and apologizing to my grandfather for hitting him.

I don't remember how old I was. Must have been about ten because my grandma still had the energy to get out of bed, but she had struggled.


It definitely wouldn't hurt ^_^

I'm no doctor, so take it with a grain of salt, but maybe it's a brain thing? My body does some very weird things if I miss my thyroid dose or take it wrong. But then again, it does really weird things in general @_@


Pretty heavy situation for a kid to witness.


There was a lot of shit like that. I think I want to write a couple of the good things next, cause I think without the good things I probably would have ended up being way more screwed up in the head.


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[This post has some inflammatory language and I don't want to turn it into a political talk. It's just there for context]

So something that was quite a negative experience for a really long time but eventually led to being something really positive and taught me perspective and the importance of context.

For the longest time, years of my life, I always thought my grandfather was really racist. I thought this because whenever he would be driving and would get caught off in traffic, or generally just really pissed off at another driver, he would start yelling profanities and calling the other driver a beaner, nigger, etc.

For years I would get so absolutely livid with him whenever he would do this, and it would lead to a fight.

Well one such fight, when I was like 18, I got so mad that I ended up walking home and not talking to him for almost a full day. And the thing that changed this particular fight is that his second wife, was actually able to explain to him the reason for my anger in a way that I had never been able to do.

So the next day when we were driving in the car, he actually opened up to me a bit and explained that 'nigger' meant something different to him.

He was born in 1942, but he said that back in his school days, he and his buddies who sat together were people of all races and backgrounds. They sat with black people and mexicans and whites, and they all called each other those names, and it was friendly-not hostel. It was just what they called each other. They didn't think of it the way that we think of it now.

This was a huge perspective shift for me, and it was a real bonding moment between us because it made me realize that, to him at least, those words were just words and he said them as casually as he said any other curse word in anger; he wasn't actually racist at all. And indeed, now that I'm an adult and think back to the type of people he would hang out with-it was everyone.

He was very good at judging people by their character and actions, and I think that is something that I learned from him without him ever actively trying to teach me.


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I'm pretty used to what people think and what they say they think being disconnected.


I forgot that skill for a couple years :trixie6:


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Well i guess since i can't sleep anyway, this is as good as a time as any to get this one out of the way.

Hiding for sexual harassment.

so i think I've talked about my uncle a little bit, and my aunt, but just for a bit of context incase I forgot something, me, my two aunts, and my uncle were all living on one property. Very trailer park set-up. I was about 17 at this time, or maybe just turning 18. My grandma had long since passed away, and my grandpa had moved in with a new women, about half a mile from where we all lived, so he wasn't at the property when this was happening. He never would have allowed it. Anyway...

It was one of those nights where my uncle had gotten very drunk and high. He had been fighting with my two aunts all day, and earlier in the day had been talking about trying not to listen to the voices. (This was nothing new, he often talked about that when he was on some hard drug like heroin)

Well later in the night it got especially bad. He was really yelling and fighting with both my aunts in the kitchen, and he through something, which actually hadn't happened in some time, so it made me way more scared than usual.

I could have snuck out the hallway door of the trailer, but on this particular night I was actually scared to leave. One of my aunts was nearly bed ridden and I knew she couldn't fight back if she needed to. Turns out I made the right choice, though sometimes I wish I hadn't.

Well, like I said, it got particularly bad, and I thought that I could...I guess, try to break the tension.

I got down into a ball on the floor and started fake crying very loudly. Loudly enough that they could hear me. I thought that...maybe, it would make him stop. Maybe I could appeal to his empathy and make him feel bad for scaring us all so bad. And you know, for a minute, I thought it worked.

He came into my room and saw me crying, and he tried to cuddle me and shush me.

This is where I realized I fucked up.

He went from rocking me gently to rubbing my arm. I stiffened up, knowing that that touch wasn't right, and then I broke out of his grip and moved to mu bed. He followed me. He tried to climb into my bed. I pushed him back and asked him what the fuck he was doing.

He started to say something about laying in ned with me, and I said what the fuck? No

He said "no one would have to know", and I said "you're my uncle, what are you talking about?"

He repeated himself and agaim tried to climb on my bed.

I lost it.

I got up and shoved him in the chest and told him to get out. And he laughed. He fucking laughed at me and did thia mock challenge where he acted like he was going to hit me or something.

It was about the time that I yelled at him to get out that my aunt, from her bed, started yelling at him too asking what he was doing to me and if I was ok. He left my room and started talking to her.

I got back in my bed and was sitting there in shock, and then I very clearly heard my aunt say

"Ew! What are you doing? Ew!"

I lost it again.

I stormed out of my room, saw that he had climbed up behind her on the couch and was...I don't know, touching her stomach? I don't know, but I just remember grabbing his shirt and almost ripping it as I pulled him off the couch. Then there was a really tense moment where he drunkenly stumbled back then yelled at me like an animal, literally roared, and I stood my ground between him and my aunt and stared him down.

Then he demanded my aunt give him her car keys. She tried to argue with him for a minute, he yelled, so she told him where they were.


After he took off my other aunt came in the house, cause she had seen him peel out of the driveway, and she wanted to know if we were ok.

We ended up calling the cops, but I don't think they found him that night, and didn't really pursue it since we only reported the car being stolen.

I ended up staying with my grandpa for a few days, and when I had to go back to the house, I completely ignored him.

I remember him trying to confront me as I tried to run into the house, and he yelled "why won't you talk to me? What did I do?"

...he had no fucking clue. He didn't remember a goddamn thing.

That's the most violent I have ever been with another person.


Jesus christ...

That sounds incredibly traumatic. I'm so sorry you had to go through that.


Sounds awful.


Wow I...wasn't really expecting a response that fast. I thought I was kind of banking on being one of the only people up/active right now.

I'm a little numb right now or I would say a bit more. I'm ok though. That was the worst it ever got directed at me.


Glad you're okay though.

Try not to stay up too late I guess.


Yea I'll try. I can just have some coffee and take a nap on my lunch if I have to.


Those coffee naps always fix things.


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Sometimes they just make you sick to your stomach


Minor setback.


Dang ella, I can't even imagine having to live with a violent drugged up uncle, let alone one that would do that. You really deserved so much better than you got growing up with these people. I'm proud of you for being the kind and caring person you are despite how much shit you've had to live through.


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Thoughts on sexual abuse freak me out


Why is that?


It has been a hard life


oh god, that sounds awful :((



Heh, indeed
I kind of wish I had been a little braver and told my grandpa more, or maybe just at least told him I didn't want to live there anymore. He would have probably helped me get out of there sooner.

But that was always extremely hard to do, tell him anything like that. I was always scared that he would have a heart attack or something. He was a very strong man, but he stressed easily. The one time that someone did tell him about what happened that particular night, (and they didn't actually know the full details, whoever it was that said something), his girlfriend called me up and tried to ask me what happened and if it was true,because he was in the bathroom literally puking from stress thinking the worst.

That was like, my worst fear come true.

I lied my ass off on that one, and made sure it was a good lie too, just so he would calm down.

>deserved better

I mean maybe. I'm not cutting myself down here, I'm just trying to say, if I got a chance to change it or go back in time, I wouldn't take that chance for fear of losing something that I have now.

You don't have to read what I wrote sweety

But now I have friends and family. I had it before obviously, but not like this.


I'm ok. It was stressful and bred a lot of distrust in me, but I'm ok.


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My parents take care of my kids mostly and I am not always there to watch what's going on. Often I read the disgrace of kids being abused and the real parent turning a blind eye, but I really wouldn't know what to do if my kids would utter an accusation of sexual or other type of abuse. (not that there is any accusation for it right now)

For myself... I don't feel any sexual attraction or anything towards my kids, but I can be afraid sometimes whether I am doing things that can be misconstrued as or is technically considered sexually or abusively inappropriate.
Stuff like taking showers with the kids, allowing them in your bed or the kind of conversations/jokes you have with them. Heck, kids themselves are often oblivious to the underlying issues and do I bring that up because that is sexual in nature itself.


yeah, I see your fears. I mean maybes it's just a protective father thing. That's probably also good thing though.


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Good thread, op.

Fish therapy is recommended!


Oooh, you tank is so pretty~

I plan on having lots of fish therapy over the weekend.


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Thanks so much!
I built the stand finally yesterday.  I moved in with just one big fish surviving from the trailer park and got him these new friends who were so cool with him, swimming with him and nuzzling him and he enjoyed the big space and seemed so happy.  He didnt make it tho.  These guys are super interactive and will come hang out with me and they follow each other around between the rocks in a big school.

Best of all, no mystery wasting disease like happened to my old fish who had a slow steady die-off from something that came in on a batch of 10 neons and gradually killed everyone very slowly over a period of several years.  I want to add some plecos and a blue betta but im afraid of introducing disease.  These guys are just so super healthy, perfect fins, personalities, fun...im not risking that lightly.

What are your fish plans for the weekend?



I'm putting this in a hide box because I want to try and keep the thread on track if I can, but I don't mind a little chatting.

Man that sucks, I'm sorry that happened. I'm always worried something like that will happen once I get a good set-up

I would be careful with a betta. Their heat requirements are so high you might risk making your goldfish sick. If you're filter is beefy and can handle it, you could try some guppies, all the same sex if you don't want babies. I found that they are just as pretty and fun as bettas but can withstand a wider temp range really easily.

>fish plans

I have some pieces of slate that I'm going to break into smaller chunks and use for scaping.



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Hide da fis
bettas have temp requirements?  They sit in a cup.  Ha.  Im running no heat and my biofilter is entirely rocks (since discovering in the 90s that live rock works just as awesome is fresh water as reef) and for removal i have a big fat crappy back filter and a little agitator to sweep the bottom with current so debris eventually finds its way to the filter.

I had guppies as a kid, in my first tank which exploded from ignoring all the advice i got.  Before that happened all the baby guppies were so much fun!  They dont require tropical temps?

Probly i keep with these guys alone.  I want to add a protein skimmer to remove dissolved organics, and get rid of the back filter.  Yesterday i had an idea to build a sealed sump so it can connect to the tank with snorkels like a cannister filter but be based on a fat cheap pond pump with a huge flow rate.  Probly for now i will just keep operating it as it is and enjoy having it up off the floor.

Edit:  oops forgot to say thanks for the condolences, and also slate is awesome im sure itll be great!



Bettas do best between 78-86 F, where as goldfish can get sick over longer periods of the temp being higher than like, 75. They can handle it, but their immune systems don't like that constant high temperature.

And depending on how hardy the line of guppy breed is, they can easily handle anything from like 65-82 F, as long as the temperature shifts are gradual and mostly consistent. Danios are also very fun and can handle similar temps, but I don't personally like them because they're so zippy and too fast


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Popping in here out of the blue to weigh in on things that dont concern me, i wanna make sure you know i appreciate your honesty about your side of the rock that was in our path way back, even though you later expressed regret about the circumstances surrounding that candid statement about how i had made you feel.

It is entirely understandable that my hyper-overreactive and defensive (ok probly more like aggressive) behavior cut a bit uncomfortably close to things youve endured.

Seeing it from that perspective not only validated my memory of the facts but cleared up perplexing wrong conclusions i'd jumped to.

What im saying is that hearing the truth is always right and im glad you do your best to take the risk and tell people what they might not want to hear.  Grateful that you did it for me, considering how, well, how i can sometimes be.

Also heres a side pic of the er, liquid furniture showing its jointery and its denizens.  Not a good motion camera in my new fone, sigh.


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Thx!  Hot damn i almost caught em not moving.

hm that explains why danios never did that well in my tetra tanks in the past.  Lying pet stores pushing doomed pets for wrong temps.

I remember an odd variety of unusual pleco here or there that did well in slightly cooler temps. All i really want is a handful of plecos to keep the place crispy and grow up with da fis.

Edit:  also, thx for all the intel!


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I don't really know what to say lost...thank you. I really don't have any hard feelings against you. I feel like I had let my fear cloud my judgement at the time, but you know also, that exact reaction on my part was the reason that I was hesitant to be friends with you and I said my biases might get in the way.

I mean, ok, you got upset, but I doubt you were actually trying to cause me any real harm. But my fear of that type of behaviour made me think you were, or could.



Sure, im more like a bull in a china shop.  A slightly less confused bull, if still mad as a hatter.

Maybe more like someone you could say things to with less concern about alienation.  If you wanted.  No rush.

Turns out, im not really all that good at friendship anyway.  Im more effective in strategic alliances.  This is a support group right?

Ha, feel free to ignore me.  I dont really need you to do anything.  Im kinda happy ponyville day a little bit today.  Nice thread.

*edit:  i dont feel bad about you either and actually fear about my silly manuscript was a factor in how i behaved towards you.  It can be surprising how big an impact that has especially when i add a hint of paranoid delusion to it.


I like that you're here. Thank you.


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That means a lot to me.  Thank you.

I gotta get to bed.  Nity nite, dont let the bed bugs bite.


Night man


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Honestly I'm not sure if this thread will bump up or if it's on auto-sage, but I've been sitting here for a while trying to think of how best to talk about this.

I suppose I should start at immediate thoughts. I don't think by all means I've had a bad life so far. I've had my issues and my failures. I passed high school without issue just to drop out of college because I didn't understand anything, I couldn't ask for help, and I ended up trying to cheat and failed. Honestly I wasn't even sure what I wanted to do. I took computer science, but I felt like that was expected of me more than anything.

Anyway despite failures as such I still have a decent job. I make fairly good money so I have a place to live, food to eat. Feels like I should be generally happy with just that.

However I want to do more. I want to draw, and animate, and write, and podcast, and review, and so much more. But it's frustrating because I can't seem to do it. I can pick up the start okay and follow instructions, but it's like I run uphill without issue and then immediately hit a steep wall with little give.
It honestly doesn't help that at the same time I see people that do such amazing art, funny videos, quality animations. They can play games without issue, they can write stories that stir the imagination. It's the thing that drives me to want to do the same, but I can't. And then I ask myself why I want to do that in the first place. Honestly the answer to that worries me more.

The surface reason is simple enough. I want to be able to inspire like they do and encourage others to do amazing things as well. But... it seems to be more than that. I also want the recognition. The fame and the prestige. I want to be known, and admired. I think it's more... I want to be acknowledged.

Pretty much sounds like classic middle child syndrome. Maybe it is. But regardless I dip my hand in so many pots, try to do so many different things. I think my frustration is more like I can't even be adequate at it. I just don't feel all that good at anything. I can't draw a straight line in art. My writing is full of holes and a mess. My animations stilted and weird. Video editing is the same as a 10 year olds windows movie maker hack job. Even streaming I can't seem to get a good sides audience. I can't even get a double digit number. I feel lousy. dull. uninteresting. boring. stupid.

And when I try to be interesting it seems to go even worse. it feels weird, cringy, and off. I think it puts off people more. I feel more like I'm in a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation.

There's been more than a few times I've felt like I should just shut off from the world because of it.

Even a few times I've debated taking myself out of the world.

I would get therapy, but honestly my insurance is questionable at best, and I'm worried about both the cost, the quality, and if I end up being committed or worse.

Anyway, that's about the brunt of it all. Some days are better than others, but really I just feel down and out of place in the world. Like I'm there as a nameless NPC and I can't even find a meaningful connection with my friends.


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Please dont interpret my cherrypicking as disregard for stuff i didnt mention here.

Sounds like you are doing it!  Even though you feel inadequate.  You are not shying away from giving it your effort.  I couldnt write or draw for most of my life but its starting to seep in now.

Dont give up!  And dont be so harsh in judging yourself.  You dont have to be a genius to inspire others, and i promise youve inspired someone!

This image should make it all better (ha) Hugz!


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Well I am surviving. The problem is that I'm just surviving and that's it. Not really thriving, not going further or ahead. I just seem stuck and unable to progress.

True I am doing something and that's more than most. but it drives me crazy that it's just not going anywhere and along with everything else mentioned before I just... feel pointless


What do you love to do? Above everything else? Have you found that thing yet?


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Honestly I thought I did. There was a lot I did and do enjoy but not sure about love anymore. I mean I can enjoy things for a long time but it's also just easy for me to drop it and walk away. like I can't attach myself to anything


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Or maybe you just need a break from some things because they're not enjoyable that day for one reason or other.

You said you felt like you wanted to be acknowledged. There' certainly crafts that can do that for you, but while you're building yourself up to that point, asking friends for acknowledgement could help maybe? When was the last time you shared something you created, and the person you shared it with, really enjoyed it and let you know?


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Problem is that I do take a break from things. outside of work I feel like I barely do anything right now. I've tried changing up routines, trying to work out too and get more energy but I don't even have the drive to do anything anymore.

Well I do do that. I do make things here and there and get opinions and thoughts from friends but it's always the same general compliments, and when I put things out it's almost universally ignored or junked on, and honestly sometimes I don't know what's worse.

I think it's even more annoying that during the holidays I had some commissions done for a secret santa, and the receivers were incredibly delighted, and just amazed at it. I'm glad I got them something good, but it just... I never ever get a reaction even to half of something like that.


Hey, why don't I make another Writers Guild thread when I get home from work? I'm seriously lacking in motivation myself and it would help if I had someone else that was also wanting to get things done, and maybe we could just gently poke each other once in a while?

If you want, I could take a look at your writing and maybe offer some feedback or just even general support? I have been an on and off critiquer for some friends throughout the years, and I'm by no way an expert at it, but I have some sense of it at least, if that's something you might be interested in? And I wouldn't mind having someone critique my stuff too...would actually motivate me to have something to critique in the first place >_>


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Well if you want you can go ahead and do so.

Honestly I don't mind you taking a look but at the same time I wouldn't be able to post like this. I'm posting anonymously as I don't want people to know who I really am.


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Sounds like you have a problem with your audience, not your art.  It "delights" others.  

No one knows more than i do, the pain of invalidation.  Seek validation from those who are more willing to give it to you.


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Ah, ok.

Well I sincerely hope that things improve for you, and you are always more than welcome in this thread


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The problem with all that is I always keep getting told, or at least hear that I shouldn't be seeking validation from other and find it within myself.

Problem with all of that is even myself tells me I suck

I do too. I'll definitely keep posting


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I think that's a little bit misguided, or misinterpreted. Finding validation in yourself is being happy with yourself, and a part of being happy with yourself is having friends and family that validate you. That tell you you are good and worth it, and your importance is just as important as everyone elses, and that you matter to them.

For some people it's easier to be happy and proud of themselves, but for a lot of people, we need another perspective, and love and acceptance from someone else.


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Maybe it is misinterpreted, but I feel like it's the better idea too. the problem with needing love and acceptance from others is that you'll always need it. and worse is I've had the people that I thought love and accepted me reject me outright. It single handedly destroyed all my self esteem in a moment.

I actually had a time I felt wonderful and great. I was happy, chiper. I was losing weight. I felt like I belonged somewhere and people loved what I did. Yeah it was unusual to most, but I was able to be myself still and just... so happy and positive.

That literally all changed over a week. my own personal security being invaded, and then my own family basically telling me to put it all away.

Even 7 years later I feel it. And now I feel like I'm in a horrible spin of wanting to feel love and accepted and unable to get it, but also terrified of receiving it as it could be so easily taken away. and the constant back and forth destroying me but I can't give myself my own acceptance because the voices of childhood and my loved ones making me feel like I don't deserve it.


Well, I'm not sure what happened to you anon, but from the way you talk about it, it doesn't sound like it was completely fair. And it sounds like it caused you to fear that type of relationship with people.

I don't know what the solution to that is, but I know it can be hard to trust people, especially when you've been hurt. But to not trust anyone ever again is almost harder. So maybe there's a balance? Maybe not open yourself up completely, all at once? And if it backfires, then at least you only gave so much of yourself that you could risk giving.

As far as deserving things or not, well I seriously doubt that you are somehow not deserving of love. That seems pretty freakin silly to me.

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