When I was a young child, I have very few memories. I remember being in the hospital because I almost died, I remember being pushed down the stairs by my sister, I remember trying to kill myself multiple times, and I remember being the life of the party and a super social girl. But the one memory that I wish I could forget were the earliest memories of my father. The father who would disappear for weeks on end and nobody would know where he was. The father that was abusive to me, and would beat me with my own toys if I left them in the area where he watched TV. The father who would tell me he never loved me, and always complained to my mother whenever he had to drag me along on business trips. The father who treated my sister like an angel, and eventually drove me to the point where if I was forced to be around him I would scream and cry, because I just didn't like him. I didn't know him. I didn't think he was my father. I didn't know his name, but I didn't call him my dad. I didn't believe he was my dad. Dads are supposed to be with their children and love them. I never believed I had one. He moved in and out and in and out several times. He cheated on my mother several times and never had time for anyone in his family because he was too busy partying, get arrested, drinking, and doing drugs. He wasn't willing to give up the life of crime he had since he was 9 years old to have a family. He was 30 years old, and he still wasn't enough of a man. He had the money, he had the looks, he had the women, he had everything that he could want, but he didn't want a family. He wanted to live for the party, and I don't recall ever really seeing him that much even for the weekends that we would go to his house, he would have parties or he would leave to go to parties and we would either be alone or his roommate was practically my father, and I didn't understand why it was that way but he was more of my father than anyone. I remember very little about that house. I remember the couches, the TV, faint flashbacks of his roommate and how excited he acted to see us, and I remember my father never having time for me, or ignoring me when he did have time. He always wondered why whenever I was with him, he never got responses from me as I got older. I rebelled against him, and he hated all of my friends. I never listened to anything he said, and he never wanted me there anyways, so I took things from him. Money, cigarettes, and anything else that my friends really wanted, because he didn't want or need us there anyways. I always brought a friend with me every time I went to his house, or I would be scared and alone. We would walk downtown or somewhere hours away at 3am because he was too busy with his girlfriend. His girlfriend told me I was a liar, my dad deserved a better child, and that I should kill myself. It was the day that I tried when everything went wrong. My mom went on a trip with her cousin, and I remember sitting on my bed, taking deep breaths as I took apart the razor. The worst part? I was doing this to feel like I fucking fit in. My best friend did it, and she literally saw my cuts and was like "woah how'd you get so many in a line like that?" I never had someone concerned for me, and I remember my mom calling me and telling me I would get the help I needed after I confided a lot about my feelings of suicide to my sister. She asked if I thought she cared about me, and I said no and I hung up. What was I supposed to say to an abusive alcoholic slut who never thought about anyone except for herself and her fucking religion? She tried to shame my sister and I soo many times I can't even count. To this day, she still disgusts me. She's gotten worse. I was hospitalized and my mom flew back in and blamed everything on me and still has to this day and won't leave me alone about it and told everyone and still won't trust me. She literally said "How will I know you won't BETRAY me again like that? DECEIVE me? How SELFISH could you be?" I want to hit her in her fucking face. I don't know why nobody has yet. She's horrible. Horrible mother, horrible wife, horrible person. She's horrible. I literally remember feeling terrible because when she was in the hospital when I was younger, I wanted her to die there. I didn't want her to come home, and I was so fucking happy everytime she was hospitalized because I knew I could come home and she wouldn't scream at me about how I was going to hell and everything that was wrong with me. My parents got back together, and it's all been downhill. they still fight pretty much constantly and all the time, and we're back to having no money. I was homeschooled, and have a book filled with all of the arguments and how long they lasted. Her rants went on for as much as 6 hours and 53 minutes while I sat locked in the bathroom. She doesn't know I still cut myself, or about my instagram where I hide all of my posts about it. I have over 1,000 followers on it who feel the same way as me, and it hurts me to believe that so many people do the same things I do. A lot of my friends know about my cuts, and not a single one of them has ever told me that they care. Every time I do something wrong, my mom threatens to make me go "back to the hospital" again "for good this time." Also, did I mention I can't sleep at night because of my schizophrenia and paranormal experiences? Also, no love from my sister who tells me to my face she hates me and I'm totally fucked up and ruin everyone's lives.
I could go on and on and on and on and on in more and more detail. But nobody is going to see this anyways.