Miles
10-02-2008, 06:40 PM
I don't know where to start.
I'll admit that I'm crying right now and trying to hide it and could you please forget that I said that cause I regret it already?
A bit of spattering, that leads into the now.
I almost died. Drowned in Daycare, at the YMCA. One of the Daycare teachers had dived in, in her clothing, to rescue me. I remember after the fact, walking on pavement. Her sneakers squeak as we walk and her clothing soaking wet. My hair was wet too. She was talking to me angrily, but I don't remember what she said. She was holding onto my wrist really tightly and it hurt. I might have cried then too.
I almost died. Poisoned, somewhere around aged 9 or 10 or so. Picking rasberries and stepped on a hornets nest and go so many hornet stings the doctors said it was equal to being bitten by a rattlesnake. If I survived the night, then I should be okay. I only remember driving in the car, out to the hospital, being shoved down to sit at my grandmother's feet in the passanger side of the front seat of the car. When we drive out ot the beach, Grama makes you do that if you've caused trouble and cant sit in the back with the other kids. (It was me, my older brother and my younger sister)
My gram beat us with a wooden spoon. She broke my sister's ruler over the back of the family dog because he went across the road. For two weeks I went mostly-starving because my dad was poor and only had milk and cereal in the house. I was eating the cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner, until we ran out of milk and my sister complained that she didn't have any milk for her breakfast before she heads off to school and so Gram gave her a carton of milk. I remember that Gram screamed at me for drinking all the milk and I was thinking how unfair it was, because my sister would go off to school and eat steak and things at her boyfriend's place after school, while cereal was the only thing I had.
I hated my sister. She was the youngest and, after my mother abandoned us and my father fled across the country with me, my sister and my brother, we lived with my grandparents (on my dad's side) until my dad bought the house on the hill. Gram hated me and adored my sister. I occasionally trashed my sister's room. She tried to smother me to death with a blanket when I was 12 or so. We'd play "House" and she never let me play the parent.
I was clipping my toenails, in the middle of the night. My sister backed me into a corner and hit me, several times. Upperbody area, mostly in the face. We woke up my dad and he came downstairs and grabbed ahold me and threw me out of the house. I asked why later, and he said it was because I "was closer" and I pried further and he said that I probably instigated the argument to begin with. I ran down to my gram's house, in tears, and spent the night on her couch. My gram woke me up at 7 in the morning and yelled at me for not sleeping up at my own house because relatives were over.
I was on the computer and my sister wanted to go on the computer, but I wasn't done. My dad had been cleaning out the other room and there was a tackboard--one of those long skinny wooden boards that you put up to make the carpet stay solidly against the wall--with a little nail sticking out every inch or so. My sister hit me across the back, several times, each time increasing in strength, until I started to laugh. Then she stopped and ran the rusty nail along the back of my hand and asked me didn't I think it would hurt if she just jammed the nail right through my hand? And I think just after that she slammed the tackboard up against the desk next to me and the wood snapped in half. One half was still in her hand and the other half broke completely off and went spinning and landed about ten feet away. I remember wishing she had rammed the nail through my hand, just so I could go to my dad and show him and maybe finally make him understand that my sister was evil and I wasn't just a bad person, instigating people to do horrible things to me and it wasn't my fault.
I went to college, and failed out at the end of the first semester. I'd been living with my brother and his roommate. My brother constantly sided with the roommate and acted like a complete jerk. He made me famous at the college by telling everybody about my exploits as a child, such as when I smashed my head through the car window. Embarrassing betrayl.
After college I spent two years working and looking after my grandparents with my dad. My grandmother would get miserable having to live with my grandfather (who had been, and still is, dying and slowly deteriorating for as long as I can remember). Grama would get frustrated and then take her anger out on me. I trained myself not to do anything back and just keep smiling because she didn't need to have to deal with my frustration on top of her own. I could tell my problems to my dad, but that didn't do any good.
I was frustrated, this one time I remember specifically, I dont know what I was on about, but I was really upset. In his room, I was standing near the door and he was laying on the bed, playing video games or something. I was crying, blithering, and trying to no avail to explain something to my dad, and he was laughing. Calling me an idiot. I don't remember what happened after that.
I almost died. Poisoned, about a year ago, summer. Overdose, on tylenol. I tell everyone it was an accidental overdose because I wasn't trying to kill myself, just make myself sick because in my household that's the only way I could make them stop yelling at me would be if I was sick. I had specifically told my doctor not to tell anyone what was going on, but he told anyways (I was of legal age, so it was a breach of rights to tell). Everybody thought that I had tried to kill myself. My Uncle came and was all confused, he sat next to my hospital bed for an hour telling me what could have possible happened (he's a paramedic) and telling me that he was so surprised that I would do something like try to kill myself. And it was hard not to laugh, because he didn't even know me at all, how would he be able to predict my actions if he didn't know me? I remember my sister came about, talking to me, and not crying, but looking rather somber about it all, and I was sitting on the bed cracking jokes about the situation and trying to make her feel better. My dad came too, asking what he could do. When I got home after one week of hospitalization (the doctors had to make sure I wouldn't die), On my very first day home, my sister yelled at me, called me an idiot and asked what the hell I was thinking. And I had said something at dinner about how the food tasted weird after being in the hospital and eating hospital food, and my gram sniped at me, "What? Do you want to go back there?" Things didn't get better, and I moved away for college, which is where I am now. And it's not working.
My family has the military "Don't ask, don't tell" policy. If something horrible happens, nobody apologises, you just go to bed or whatever and the next time you see them it's like it never even happened. If you try to talk about it, they'll tell you to shut-up, they'll cut you off, they'll even go into another room. You'll get chastised, yelled at, screamed at, or hit or something that makes you wish you just shut-up in the first place. Just take it, deal with it, and pretend it never happened and move on with your life.
In August, a week before I came out here to college, my Aunt and Uncle were home, visiting. These are the good relatives. The ones we like and aren't complete dicks. My grama said that I didn't matter. And I was trying to verbally sort my feelings to my Aunt and then my Uncle came storming in and grabbed me by the arm and threw me out of the house. I was in bare feet. The grass was wet, it had rained that morning. It was nighttime and pitch dark. I sat and cried for a bit, and went to my Dad's house, where he was up at my house, and I went in and told him that my uncle had thrown me out of the house. And my Dad was angry. He yelled at me, and said that I probably deserved worse. I was so stricken at this, I took a blanket and a pillow and had decided to sleep outside. Of course, in the coutry where we were, I heard a wildcat and something scratched at the underside of my pillow and I freaked and went back inside. My dad was apologetic and took the top matress off his bed and I ended up sleeping in the hall for the night. There was no running water up at my dad's house and when I woke in the morning, I had to bathroom so I went back to my gram's house. My Aunt apologized to me profusely, and said that my Uncle would apologize too (which he didn't). But I understood---My Uncle had just been talking to my Gram, who was upset because she just got off the phone with a yelling match with my brother. And my Uncle took his frustration out on me. Nothing new.
Less than a week later, my Uncle gave me a credit card with a 3000$ limit on it, for living expenses out here at college. He said it was because, "now none of this business that nobody loves you."
And I felt cheap and cheated for that. Because he was only doing it because he felt guilty about what he did.
I had this bright idea that when I came out here for college, everything was going to be wonderful. But I was wrong. One of my classmates hates me (present... currently hating me still) over a little trivial thing. I asked him if there was anything I could do to make it better and he said to just leave it. And that destroyed me.
I took a brillo pad to my knuckles about a week ago until they bled and then lied and told everybody that I had an altercation with a wall. People are so stupid -- Everybody is willing to look past a disturbing and obvious lie if there is humor involved in the explination. I used to cut myself with a razor when I was at home. Not trying to kill myself, mind you, just injure and I've recently realized that it's because I want my outside to reflect my inside, if that makes any sense to you. The scabby bits are still on my knuckles from that, but it stopped hurting yesterday.
I didn't go to school on Friday because he's in my class and I don't want to deal with him. The situation is completely unbearable to me, it's like being home all over again and I hate hate hate hate it. And there's nothing I can do. I've been miserable for the past four or five days straight so far.
I had a job, where I went went to work perfectly fine for about four days and then I suddenly couldn't go anymore. I just COULDN'T. It took me three weeks just to go in there and pick up my paycheque. And they didn't put my last name on it, so I couldn't cash it and I'll have to go back and get them to re-issue, which I just CANT and I don't know why not. I'm also supposed to be getting another job, because I can't afford to live out here at all, but I can't even bring myself to go out to apply for another job.
It's hard enough trying to get up and go to school each day. And even then, I fail quite a bit. And it doesn't make any sense because I WANT to do well in the school, it's been my dream to go to this school since I was in grade 7 when I first discovered it. I don't want to fail everything.
I've been seeing the couselor at my school every two weeks or so, and she's noticed that I don't blink very often. She said most people blink 30x a minute and I only blink 2x or so every minute. I thought that was odd.
She's the one who says that I have PTSD. The headshrinkers thought I had prodromal pshycosis and adult autism, and this other shrink says no, that's wrong, I have ADD. And I don't have autism or pshycosis or ADD, and I think they're all idiots. I wiki'd PTSD and read everything about it and it's the most logical thing. It's so obvious. I'm a literal textbook case of it.
I'll admit that I'm crying right now and trying to hide it and could you please forget that I said that cause I regret it already?
A bit of spattering, that leads into the now.
I almost died. Drowned in Daycare, at the YMCA. One of the Daycare teachers had dived in, in her clothing, to rescue me. I remember after the fact, walking on pavement. Her sneakers squeak as we walk and her clothing soaking wet. My hair was wet too. She was talking to me angrily, but I don't remember what she said. She was holding onto my wrist really tightly and it hurt. I might have cried then too.
I almost died. Poisoned, somewhere around aged 9 or 10 or so. Picking rasberries and stepped on a hornets nest and go so many hornet stings the doctors said it was equal to being bitten by a rattlesnake. If I survived the night, then I should be okay. I only remember driving in the car, out to the hospital, being shoved down to sit at my grandmother's feet in the passanger side of the front seat of the car. When we drive out ot the beach, Grama makes you do that if you've caused trouble and cant sit in the back with the other kids. (It was me, my older brother and my younger sister)
My gram beat us with a wooden spoon. She broke my sister's ruler over the back of the family dog because he went across the road. For two weeks I went mostly-starving because my dad was poor and only had milk and cereal in the house. I was eating the cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner, until we ran out of milk and my sister complained that she didn't have any milk for her breakfast before she heads off to school and so Gram gave her a carton of milk. I remember that Gram screamed at me for drinking all the milk and I was thinking how unfair it was, because my sister would go off to school and eat steak and things at her boyfriend's place after school, while cereal was the only thing I had.
I hated my sister. She was the youngest and, after my mother abandoned us and my father fled across the country with me, my sister and my brother, we lived with my grandparents (on my dad's side) until my dad bought the house on the hill. Gram hated me and adored my sister. I occasionally trashed my sister's room. She tried to smother me to death with a blanket when I was 12 or so. We'd play "House" and she never let me play the parent.
I was clipping my toenails, in the middle of the night. My sister backed me into a corner and hit me, several times. Upperbody area, mostly in the face. We woke up my dad and he came downstairs and grabbed ahold me and threw me out of the house. I asked why later, and he said it was because I "was closer" and I pried further and he said that I probably instigated the argument to begin with. I ran down to my gram's house, in tears, and spent the night on her couch. My gram woke me up at 7 in the morning and yelled at me for not sleeping up at my own house because relatives were over.
I was on the computer and my sister wanted to go on the computer, but I wasn't done. My dad had been cleaning out the other room and there was a tackboard--one of those long skinny wooden boards that you put up to make the carpet stay solidly against the wall--with a little nail sticking out every inch or so. My sister hit me across the back, several times, each time increasing in strength, until I started to laugh. Then she stopped and ran the rusty nail along the back of my hand and asked me didn't I think it would hurt if she just jammed the nail right through my hand? And I think just after that she slammed the tackboard up against the desk next to me and the wood snapped in half. One half was still in her hand and the other half broke completely off and went spinning and landed about ten feet away. I remember wishing she had rammed the nail through my hand, just so I could go to my dad and show him and maybe finally make him understand that my sister was evil and I wasn't just a bad person, instigating people to do horrible things to me and it wasn't my fault.
I went to college, and failed out at the end of the first semester. I'd been living with my brother and his roommate. My brother constantly sided with the roommate and acted like a complete jerk. He made me famous at the college by telling everybody about my exploits as a child, such as when I smashed my head through the car window. Embarrassing betrayl.
After college I spent two years working and looking after my grandparents with my dad. My grandmother would get miserable having to live with my grandfather (who had been, and still is, dying and slowly deteriorating for as long as I can remember). Grama would get frustrated and then take her anger out on me. I trained myself not to do anything back and just keep smiling because she didn't need to have to deal with my frustration on top of her own. I could tell my problems to my dad, but that didn't do any good.
I was frustrated, this one time I remember specifically, I dont know what I was on about, but I was really upset. In his room, I was standing near the door and he was laying on the bed, playing video games or something. I was crying, blithering, and trying to no avail to explain something to my dad, and he was laughing. Calling me an idiot. I don't remember what happened after that.
I almost died. Poisoned, about a year ago, summer. Overdose, on tylenol. I tell everyone it was an accidental overdose because I wasn't trying to kill myself, just make myself sick because in my household that's the only way I could make them stop yelling at me would be if I was sick. I had specifically told my doctor not to tell anyone what was going on, but he told anyways (I was of legal age, so it was a breach of rights to tell). Everybody thought that I had tried to kill myself. My Uncle came and was all confused, he sat next to my hospital bed for an hour telling me what could have possible happened (he's a paramedic) and telling me that he was so surprised that I would do something like try to kill myself. And it was hard not to laugh, because he didn't even know me at all, how would he be able to predict my actions if he didn't know me? I remember my sister came about, talking to me, and not crying, but looking rather somber about it all, and I was sitting on the bed cracking jokes about the situation and trying to make her feel better. My dad came too, asking what he could do. When I got home after one week of hospitalization (the doctors had to make sure I wouldn't die), On my very first day home, my sister yelled at me, called me an idiot and asked what the hell I was thinking. And I had said something at dinner about how the food tasted weird after being in the hospital and eating hospital food, and my gram sniped at me, "What? Do you want to go back there?" Things didn't get better, and I moved away for college, which is where I am now. And it's not working.
My family has the military "Don't ask, don't tell" policy. If something horrible happens, nobody apologises, you just go to bed or whatever and the next time you see them it's like it never even happened. If you try to talk about it, they'll tell you to shut-up, they'll cut you off, they'll even go into another room. You'll get chastised, yelled at, screamed at, or hit or something that makes you wish you just shut-up in the first place. Just take it, deal with it, and pretend it never happened and move on with your life.
In August, a week before I came out here to college, my Aunt and Uncle were home, visiting. These are the good relatives. The ones we like and aren't complete dicks. My grama said that I didn't matter. And I was trying to verbally sort my feelings to my Aunt and then my Uncle came storming in and grabbed me by the arm and threw me out of the house. I was in bare feet. The grass was wet, it had rained that morning. It was nighttime and pitch dark. I sat and cried for a bit, and went to my Dad's house, where he was up at my house, and I went in and told him that my uncle had thrown me out of the house. And my Dad was angry. He yelled at me, and said that I probably deserved worse. I was so stricken at this, I took a blanket and a pillow and had decided to sleep outside. Of course, in the coutry where we were, I heard a wildcat and something scratched at the underside of my pillow and I freaked and went back inside. My dad was apologetic and took the top matress off his bed and I ended up sleeping in the hall for the night. There was no running water up at my dad's house and when I woke in the morning, I had to bathroom so I went back to my gram's house. My Aunt apologized to me profusely, and said that my Uncle would apologize too (which he didn't). But I understood---My Uncle had just been talking to my Gram, who was upset because she just got off the phone with a yelling match with my brother. And my Uncle took his frustration out on me. Nothing new.
Less than a week later, my Uncle gave me a credit card with a 3000$ limit on it, for living expenses out here at college. He said it was because, "now none of this business that nobody loves you."
And I felt cheap and cheated for that. Because he was only doing it because he felt guilty about what he did.
I had this bright idea that when I came out here for college, everything was going to be wonderful. But I was wrong. One of my classmates hates me (present... currently hating me still) over a little trivial thing. I asked him if there was anything I could do to make it better and he said to just leave it. And that destroyed me.
I took a brillo pad to my knuckles about a week ago until they bled and then lied and told everybody that I had an altercation with a wall. People are so stupid -- Everybody is willing to look past a disturbing and obvious lie if there is humor involved in the explination. I used to cut myself with a razor when I was at home. Not trying to kill myself, mind you, just injure and I've recently realized that it's because I want my outside to reflect my inside, if that makes any sense to you. The scabby bits are still on my knuckles from that, but it stopped hurting yesterday.
I didn't go to school on Friday because he's in my class and I don't want to deal with him. The situation is completely unbearable to me, it's like being home all over again and I hate hate hate hate it. And there's nothing I can do. I've been miserable for the past four or five days straight so far.
I had a job, where I went went to work perfectly fine for about four days and then I suddenly couldn't go anymore. I just COULDN'T. It took me three weeks just to go in there and pick up my paycheque. And they didn't put my last name on it, so I couldn't cash it and I'll have to go back and get them to re-issue, which I just CANT and I don't know why not. I'm also supposed to be getting another job, because I can't afford to live out here at all, but I can't even bring myself to go out to apply for another job.
It's hard enough trying to get up and go to school each day. And even then, I fail quite a bit. And it doesn't make any sense because I WANT to do well in the school, it's been my dream to go to this school since I was in grade 7 when I first discovered it. I don't want to fail everything.
I've been seeing the couselor at my school every two weeks or so, and she's noticed that I don't blink very often. She said most people blink 30x a minute and I only blink 2x or so every minute. I thought that was odd.
She's the one who says that I have PTSD. The headshrinkers thought I had prodromal pshycosis and adult autism, and this other shrink says no, that's wrong, I have ADD. And I don't have autism or pshycosis or ADD, and I think they're all idiots. I wiki'd PTSD and read everything about it and it's the most logical thing. It's so obvious. I'm a literal textbook case of it.