I actually joined a few days ago, but my internet connection's... bleh, so I couldn't really post.
I'm not Canadian. (._.) Wish I was. Then I'd have health insurance. Then, maybe, I'd actually be able to afford to see a psychiatrist, get diagnoses, medicines, help, stuff like that. But, I can't, And the USA's economy is getting worse by the day, so yeah...
Uh... I guess I'll... fill you guys in on my life? It'll be interesting, I swear! And... This is really the first time I've opened up to anyone in a long time. And I've only opened up to one person like this, once, ever. So I really need this. Please?
uppy eyes:
I'm an obsessive perfectionist. Ever since I was little, my parents really only paid attention to me if I excelled, so that's probably a big factor in this. Also, my dad... He's a powerhog, stubborn, and narrowminded, just like his mother. He was abusive... When he got mad, he'd blow up. Hit me, mom, anything... Needless to say, was afraid of that man. But the worst abuse wasn't physical. it was emotional. He always put me down, made fun of me... I wasn't goot enough... And really, I had to go far for him to just say, "Oh, that's good." Sometimes, I wasn't sure whether he really cared...
Let me ask you this: What four-year-old girl formulates a (damn good one, in my opinion) plan, an elaborate plan, on how to run away, live without getting caught, still receive an education, hides that plan in her dollhouse, and works diligently on it every day?
Yeah, I could read and write. Before going to Kindergarten in America, my mom homeschooled me. She used to be a teacher... I started learning how to read and write at the age of two, and by three, I was pretty darn good at it. By four, I could read something ay more advanced than Eyewitness Books. Aside from the early and intensive education, I think it might be genetic... I have two "grandparents", one from my mum's and then one from my dad's side, that were geniuses. Both of them also were vulnerable and then succumbed to mental disorders... And I just happen to use the same psychological defense mechanisms that they did. Isn't that something? So, a combination of genetics plus upbringing, and then you've got me: a mentally unstable academic overachiever.
After seven years old, dad stopped hitting me. But the "bullying" just got worse. I was pressured more and more... And not just from them. Ever since entering school, everyone's expected me to get 100% or over on everything, except maybe PE. Over the years, it's been about a B- for PE... Bah. My lungs suck. I can blame that on genetics, and also, where I lived for the first four-and-a-half years of my life: in a third-world country where exhaust smoke and tobacco smoke is all around you. Pleasant, isn't it?
Most of the people on my dad's side of the family is part of... an unorthodox Christian sect. Unless believing in the Rapture isn't unorthodox; I have no idea. There's also the denial of the Holy Trinity, which I've heard is also pretty unorthodox. I used to follow (not believe; I didn't really understand it, I just did it. How can I be sore sure I didn't really believe? I loved science.) that sect too, until third grade, when I was nine. The first and best friend I had there was a Pagan. "What's a Pagan?" And, for once in my life, I was exposed to a religion that wasn't Adventist in any way at all. And about the same time, I was being bullied at school, and my grandma was really going hard on trying to teach me all her beliefs... So, a few times, I was delusional and hallucinating; at the age of nine, I thought Satan had posessed me and he was having fun in the fact I didn't believe him when he really existed. Never actually told my parents this, though...
Seventh grade... Worst year of my life. You see, I'm qualified for Gifted and Talented Education, or GATE. The first time I took the test in third grade, I really aced it. I remember getting impatient waiting for the lady to let us proceed onto the other questions... GATE work in seventh grade was easy. Dealing with all the pressure wasn't. You see, the bullying from my father had only gotten worse, and it took even more for people to notice me, congratulate me, etc.... I got delusional. I had really low self-esteem and social anxiety. "You're pathetic," I'd hear. "You're not worth it at all." "Why're you in the GATE program?" And... Well, I'd be all alone at home, in my room, screaming (at nobody that existed) for them to shut up. A few times, I had even thought about suicide... It started in sixth grade, actually. Yes, the cracks were really noticeable in sixth grade... I never actually mustered the willpower to do it, though. Because I couldn't find a way for me to die in a police officer's arms. Yes, police officers were my idols.
I started regressing in and out of school, just like my dad's aunt did. You know, sitting in a dark corner in fetal position, or walking around aimlessly like a small child would, and I would even have a lisp. I knew what was going on, but I was depersonalised... I didn't want to (consciously) stop or start it. And I grew even more obsessive... Staying up till two to excel... Just like my mom's uncle. Yep. I really had started to hate being with my family during the beginning of the school year... By the end, I really didn't want anything to do with my family. And that social anxiety? It turned into misanthropy and misanthropic sadism. Though also part of that just has to be my "isolation." I couldn't ask for help. Then, everyone wouldn't think of me highly anymore... Yes, I substituted actual love with reputation. And also, any time I asked my parents for help... It didn't come. With my homework, or when I needed emotional comfort? No, all of it was directed toward my brothers.
I had a way to deal with it... Kia. He was my big brother. Fair skin, black, down-soft hair, emerald eyes. He was so kind towards me... I could always come to him after school. We would talk, walk together in the park, play video games together, watch movies at home alone together, talk some more, hug, support each other... Never once did I see him cry. He was always so kind... So warm, I could always lean on him... Unlike everyone else, who made fun of me when I was crying or having what I like to call a "depression session," he said... "Cry all you want. I'll be here. I'll hold you." And, Kia wanted to be a police officer... He really liked protecting people. He was the opposite of my dad. I wanted to be exactly like Kia, dress like him, act like him, and I absolutely feared resembling my father any way at all. I wanted to be as strong as Kia, and as kind, even when everyone else... Wasn't so kind to me. He was my best friend... I kept a diary on my compute. Those were memories... Memories I could always go back to, that I would always read and memorise, so I could think about him at school... And when I was sad at school, I'd lean my back against a wall. It was cold, but it wouldn't fall. It wouldn't give up. It reminded me of Kia. I wanted to make Kia proud of me the most... So I tried focusing on becoming independent. I started seriously considering what sort of job I wanted.
February, I had stopped regressing. Because my mother had betrayed me... And I was so innocent. She lied to me. I told her that I hoped her headache got better. This was when I was regressed. She said the cruelest thing to me... I went upstairs and cried my heart out. While doing so, I realised I wouldn't be able to survive just on Kia alone. I had to become independent. I had to learn how to numb myself. If I didn't... I'd just be hurt like this. Hours after that incident, mom came home from working. She went upstairs to my room. I backed away a little as she approached, and she was smiling. She gave me a hug, told me, "Honey, I love you so much." And then she went away. This was how she betrayed me, how she lied to me. I learned adults of this age were the worst. They didn't care about you, really... They were cruel and sadistic. It was after that inciddent that I started developing mild sex addiction. I guess it was the only way I could reach out to people... Not that there was anyone I could reach out to, really. Basically, I started more and more trying to depend on sexual pleasure than Kia when it came to emotional problems... I'd have thoughts like that every day, even after I was crying. But that didn't change my friendship with Kia. He was always there for me.
One day, my dad grew really angry at me. I don't remember why... I honestly don't remember why. Maybe... Maybe it was because my grades were slipping. From the beginning of my memories, I'd have trouble falling asleep (that beast called it "lack of discipline"). So, seventh grade, not only did I tire myself out working on projects to impress everybody and receive attention, I couldn't fall asleep, no matter how exhausted I was. Yes, he ignored it all, only saying I have "a lack of discipline" instead of psychological problems. Gee, thanks dad! I feel so much better about myself now that I know I'm an irresponsible pathetic bag of flesh! Now, excuse me while I research on drugs so I can figure out how I can go out asleep and painless.
He... did something to my computer. It was April...
All those precious moments... All the details... Gone forever.
I cried and wept, wept and cried... I called out for Kia, my dad just though I was overreacting and didn't check on me in my room. I called out for Kia again? he wasn't there. Repeat ten more times. After that, I then realise that Kia got KIA in the line of duty, I will never see him again, he is dead, no more warmth, and no more memories... Basically... I had lost all reason to live. I was alone... I've never really gotten over that... I don't even want to accept it... I can't explain what it feels like... At school, I started becoming more and more delusional, sometimes I'd even hallucinate. I'd have nightmares of Kia leaving me, I'd have flashbacks of that at school... Then I'd break down, and they'd laugh at me... They'd mock me... My parents had to start picking me up early from school. They'd get a call from the office. I remember this one time, my father was walking me to his car. And I was just looking out past the parking lot, to the road where a bunch of cars were passing by really fast... Kia's there! That's what I thought. If I go over there, I'll see him! He's there! He's there! My father restrained me. I didn't say anything. I just gave up and became a doll sitting in the passanger's seat. I couldn't even buckle myself. He didn't bother to, either. And, I started hallucinating and having delusions more frequently at home... That Kia was killed, and I'd have flashbacks, and I'd hear voices... Stuff like that.
The school let me out early, In the end, they regretted (or so they said) that they didn't treat me seriously. They suggested an independent study program for next year, and said I'd be higher priority if they could get a note from a psychiatrist. You see, me dad doesn't believe in psychiatrists. He doesn't believe in depression. I wouldn't be surprised if even now, he still though I was acting. And, that's the same for my mother, too... I saw a psychiatrist for a little while. Sessions would be once a week. In all, we've had three or four sessions, because my father thought that I just didn't want to go to school, and not being at school was the reason I wasn't "acting up" anymore, not the fact that I was taking prescribed medication.
I haven't taken medication since... Can't afford it. If I lived in canada, I swear, I'd probably be able to.
Dang. First post and this place is already pretty therapeutic!
...I'm sorry. Is the post too long?
I'm not Canadian. (._.) Wish I was. Then I'd have health insurance. Then, maybe, I'd actually be able to afford to see a psychiatrist, get diagnoses, medicines, help, stuff like that. But, I can't, And the USA's economy is getting worse by the day, so yeah...
Uh... I guess I'll... fill you guys in on my life? It'll be interesting, I swear! And... This is really the first time I've opened up to anyone in a long time. And I've only opened up to one person like this, once, ever. So I really need this. Please?
uppy eyes:I'm an obsessive perfectionist. Ever since I was little, my parents really only paid attention to me if I excelled, so that's probably a big factor in this. Also, my dad... He's a powerhog, stubborn, and narrowminded, just like his mother. He was abusive... When he got mad, he'd blow up. Hit me, mom, anything... Needless to say, was afraid of that man. But the worst abuse wasn't physical. it was emotional. He always put me down, made fun of me... I wasn't goot enough... And really, I had to go far for him to just say, "Oh, that's good." Sometimes, I wasn't sure whether he really cared...
Let me ask you this: What four-year-old girl formulates a (damn good one, in my opinion) plan, an elaborate plan, on how to run away, live without getting caught, still receive an education, hides that plan in her dollhouse, and works diligently on it every day?
Yeah, I could read and write. Before going to Kindergarten in America, my mom homeschooled me. She used to be a teacher... I started learning how to read and write at the age of two, and by three, I was pretty darn good at it. By four, I could read something ay more advanced than Eyewitness Books. Aside from the early and intensive education, I think it might be genetic... I have two "grandparents", one from my mum's and then one from my dad's side, that were geniuses. Both of them also were vulnerable and then succumbed to mental disorders... And I just happen to use the same psychological defense mechanisms that they did. Isn't that something? So, a combination of genetics plus upbringing, and then you've got me: a mentally unstable academic overachiever.
After seven years old, dad stopped hitting me. But the "bullying" just got worse. I was pressured more and more... And not just from them. Ever since entering school, everyone's expected me to get 100% or over on everything, except maybe PE. Over the years, it's been about a B- for PE... Bah. My lungs suck. I can blame that on genetics, and also, where I lived for the first four-and-a-half years of my life: in a third-world country where exhaust smoke and tobacco smoke is all around you. Pleasant, isn't it?
Most of the people on my dad's side of the family is part of... an unorthodox Christian sect. Unless believing in the Rapture isn't unorthodox; I have no idea. There's also the denial of the Holy Trinity, which I've heard is also pretty unorthodox. I used to follow (not believe; I didn't really understand it, I just did it. How can I be sore sure I didn't really believe? I loved science.
) that sect too, until third grade, when I was nine. The first and best friend I had there was a Pagan. "What's a Pagan?" And, for once in my life, I was exposed to a religion that wasn't Adventist in any way at all. And about the same time, I was being bullied at school, and my grandma was really going hard on trying to teach me all her beliefs... So, a few times, I was delusional and hallucinating; at the age of nine, I thought Satan had posessed me and he was having fun in the fact I didn't believe him when he really existed. Never actually told my parents this, though...Seventh grade... Worst year of my life. You see, I'm qualified for Gifted and Talented Education, or GATE. The first time I took the test in third grade, I really aced it. I remember getting impatient waiting for the lady to let us proceed onto the other questions... GATE work in seventh grade was easy. Dealing with all the pressure wasn't. You see, the bullying from my father had only gotten worse, and it took even more for people to notice me, congratulate me, etc.... I got delusional. I had really low self-esteem and social anxiety. "You're pathetic," I'd hear. "You're not worth it at all." "Why're you in the GATE program?" And... Well, I'd be all alone at home, in my room, screaming (at nobody that existed) for them to shut up. A few times, I had even thought about suicide... It started in sixth grade, actually. Yes, the cracks were really noticeable in sixth grade... I never actually mustered the willpower to do it, though. Because I couldn't find a way for me to die in a police officer's arms. Yes, police officers were my idols.
I started regressing in and out of school, just like my dad's aunt did. You know, sitting in a dark corner in fetal position, or walking around aimlessly like a small child would, and I would even have a lisp. I knew what was going on, but I was depersonalised... I didn't want to (consciously) stop or start it. And I grew even more obsessive... Staying up till two to excel... Just like my mom's uncle. Yep. I really had started to hate being with my family during the beginning of the school year... By the end, I really didn't want anything to do with my family. And that social anxiety? It turned into misanthropy and misanthropic sadism. Though also part of that just has to be my "isolation." I couldn't ask for help. Then, everyone wouldn't think of me highly anymore... Yes, I substituted actual love with reputation. And also, any time I asked my parents for help... It didn't come. With my homework, or when I needed emotional comfort? No, all of it was directed toward my brothers.
I had a way to deal with it... Kia. He was my big brother. Fair skin, black, down-soft hair, emerald eyes. He was so kind towards me... I could always come to him after school. We would talk, walk together in the park, play video games together, watch movies at home alone together, talk some more, hug, support each other... Never once did I see him cry. He was always so kind... So warm, I could always lean on him... Unlike everyone else, who made fun of me when I was crying or having what I like to call a "depression session," he said... "Cry all you want. I'll be here. I'll hold you." And, Kia wanted to be a police officer... He really liked protecting people. He was the opposite of my dad. I wanted to be exactly like Kia, dress like him, act like him, and I absolutely feared resembling my father any way at all. I wanted to be as strong as Kia, and as kind, even when everyone else... Wasn't so kind to me. He was my best friend... I kept a diary on my compute. Those were memories... Memories I could always go back to, that I would always read and memorise, so I could think about him at school... And when I was sad at school, I'd lean my back against a wall. It was cold, but it wouldn't fall. It wouldn't give up. It reminded me of Kia. I wanted to make Kia proud of me the most... So I tried focusing on becoming independent. I started seriously considering what sort of job I wanted.
February, I had stopped regressing. Because my mother had betrayed me... And I was so innocent. She lied to me. I told her that I hoped her headache got better. This was when I was regressed. She said the cruelest thing to me... I went upstairs and cried my heart out. While doing so, I realised I wouldn't be able to survive just on Kia alone. I had to become independent. I had to learn how to numb myself. If I didn't... I'd just be hurt like this. Hours after that incident, mom came home from working. She went upstairs to my room. I backed away a little as she approached, and she was smiling. She gave me a hug, told me, "Honey, I love you so much." And then she went away. This was how she betrayed me, how she lied to me. I learned adults of this age were the worst. They didn't care about you, really... They were cruel and sadistic. It was after that inciddent that I started developing mild sex addiction. I guess it was the only way I could reach out to people... Not that there was anyone I could reach out to, really. Basically, I started more and more trying to depend on sexual pleasure than Kia when it came to emotional problems... I'd have thoughts like that every day, even after I was crying. But that didn't change my friendship with Kia. He was always there for me.
One day, my dad grew really angry at me. I don't remember why... I honestly don't remember why. Maybe... Maybe it was because my grades were slipping. From the beginning of my memories, I'd have trouble falling asleep (that beast called it "lack of discipline"). So, seventh grade, not only did I tire myself out working on projects to impress everybody and receive attention, I couldn't fall asleep, no matter how exhausted I was. Yes, he ignored it all, only saying I have "a lack of discipline" instead of psychological problems. Gee, thanks dad! I feel so much better about myself now that I know I'm an irresponsible pathetic bag of flesh! Now, excuse me while I research on drugs so I can figure out how I can go out asleep and painless.
He... did something to my computer. It was April...
All those precious moments... All the details... Gone forever.
I cried and wept, wept and cried... I called out for Kia, my dad just though I was overreacting and didn't check on me in my room. I called out for Kia again? he wasn't there. Repeat ten more times. After that, I then realise that Kia got KIA in the line of duty, I will never see him again, he is dead, no more warmth, and no more memories... Basically... I had lost all reason to live. I was alone... I've never really gotten over that... I don't even want to accept it... I can't explain what it feels like... At school, I started becoming more and more delusional, sometimes I'd even hallucinate. I'd have nightmares of Kia leaving me, I'd have flashbacks of that at school... Then I'd break down, and they'd laugh at me... They'd mock me... My parents had to start picking me up early from school. They'd get a call from the office. I remember this one time, my father was walking me to his car. And I was just looking out past the parking lot, to the road where a bunch of cars were passing by really fast... Kia's there! That's what I thought. If I go over there, I'll see him! He's there! He's there! My father restrained me. I didn't say anything. I just gave up and became a doll sitting in the passanger's seat. I couldn't even buckle myself. He didn't bother to, either. And, I started hallucinating and having delusions more frequently at home... That Kia was killed, and I'd have flashbacks, and I'd hear voices... Stuff like that.
The school let me out early, In the end, they regretted (or so they said) that they didn't treat me seriously. They suggested an independent study program for next year, and said I'd be higher priority if they could get a note from a psychiatrist. You see, me dad doesn't believe in psychiatrists. He doesn't believe in depression. I wouldn't be surprised if even now, he still though I was acting. And, that's the same for my mother, too... I saw a psychiatrist for a little while. Sessions would be once a week. In all, we've had three or four sessions, because my father thought that I just didn't want to go to school, and not being at school was the reason I wasn't "acting up" anymore, not the fact that I was taking prescribed medication.
I haven't taken medication since... Can't afford it. If I lived in canada, I swear, I'd probably be able to.
Dang. First post and this place is already pretty therapeutic!
...I'm sorry. Is the post too long?
