I have become increasingly angry and bitter. Every little thing that happens just angers me to no end – whether it be my father telling me to “get your fucking backpack out of here” or not being able to find something after a minute of searching. The anger just immediately swells up and I want to punch something – but I never do.
I refuse to tell my parents, and my only outlet is complaining to my girlfriend – and even then I don’t say much because I don’t want to drag her down with me into whatever is making me so angry.
I honestly feel like it’s due to my just sort of scraping by with living with my step-mom for almost seven years now. Since day one, there have been issues. I’ve given up hope for trying to correct our relationship, because it’s only gotten worse as time goes on. It’s clearly having a psychological impact on me but I’m stuck as to what I can do. I can’t talk to my medications doctor, because my step-mom is always in the room with me – we get seen at the same time, and often times I’m ganged up on by two older women in a small room. Really uncomfortable. I don’t trust my grandfather’s personality enough anymore to vent to him, despite his urgings to come to him when I’m feeling depressed or anxious. I can’t confront my dad because, while he’s also frustrated with the relationship, I know he loves her. I’ve been accused by both of them by trying to ‘tear the family apart’ (which I’m not) but I don’t want it to happen again. So, for now, I guess I keep my mouth shut and seethe.
I… it feels weird to know that I relapsed so briefly not so long ago. The cut is almost completely healed, but there’s till some red of injured flesh and I know it’s going to leave a scar. All I know is that I feel like if Shauna ever found out, I wouldn’t get support – I’d get yelled at, called selfish, thrown into a mental facility. And I bet she’d enjoy it.
I’m also always so close to crying all the time. I hate my life here but I’m too considerate of my other family to leave to go to my mother’s. I don’t want to leave Bailey, Paps, my dad, or anybody – I just so desperately want to get away from Shauna.
Looking back on it, I realize that she’s probably the reason I have so many issues. Not only has she become an angry bitch, shes also severely affected my father. I feel like me and my dad hardly have a relationship anymore, and that I’m just kind of there, and that he only thinks of me when he needs to. I’ve become so paranoid I’ve started to doubt if he even means it when he says he loves me – other times I call myself stupid and say that he obviously does.
I’m not exactly allowed to express negative emotions – I’m met with even more anger and hatred and disappointment from the both of them. If I cry, Shauna just kind of acts disgusted and my father tells me to ‘knock that shit off’. If I’m angry, I’m told to ‘drop the attitude’ and left to seethe by myself. My father sometimes provides relief, but most of the time it ends up with him being pissed off too and telling me its pathetic to be upset over that and its my fault.
And speaking of my father, I’ve developed this complex that whenever he’s angry, it’s my fault. He gets mad at the dog? It’s mostly just frustration from something I did and the dog pushed him over the edge. Angry at work? Something I did pissed him off from the slight irritation he felt from his job. Anything at all, I caused it, it’s my fault – and it kind of applies to how I view life to. Anything that happens to anybody I feel like it’s my fault. Even if I have no direct connection, I still feel bad and ashamed and that it’s my fault.
And, sickeningly enough, I feel like I fucking deserve it. Every single bad thing that happens, I feel like it’s just punishment. And no matter how angry or sad or anxious this ‘punishment’ makes me I roll over and take it. I may be upset for a while but I get over it and suppress any leftover emotion on it. I move on, thinking that this shit is all fair punishment and that I deserve every god damn drop.
And then there’s the days I just feel god damn suicidal. The only thing that really stops me is that people would actually miss me. I know my dad would miss me, my grandpa would be devastated, my mom would be devastated, my family would be upset – or, at least, I kinda hope so. I’m not sure of anything anymore. I feel like someday, however, it isn’t going to stop me – and then just plain cowardice will step in and I’ll just be plain unable to do it.
My anxiety really isn’t any better. I’m always anxious, swinging violently between extremely energetic and tired as all hell, and even when there’s nothing wrong there’s always a knot in my belly. On break from school? I have anxiety as I lay in my bed, trying to fall asleep for the night. It’s almost like I’m fucking neurotic. I can barely handle waiting for exciting things because the anxiety gets high enough that it turn negative. The only improvement I’ve made is that I can actually somewhat function while talking to people that I don’t know, but still, they can fuck off if I don’t have to.
I really doubt that my relationships with people even mean anything anymore. They provide me with small bits of happiness but I really don’t know when the last time I felt pure, genuine happiness for a longer period of time than a day. It’s wearing on my mentality of life in general. I’ve just said fuck it and let things run it’s course.
When I cry, I feel disgusting. I want to punish myself in some way, because I’ve just been kind of taught, I suppose, that it’s a shameful thing to do and that self-pity is something that I’m not allowed to have. I’m not allowed to ask other people for help, or anything – I can’t even comfortably vent to people without feeling bad and feeling like I need to be punished in some way – and I don’t mean this sexually. I mean, legitimately, “somebody needs to beat the shit out of me so I learn to knock this off.”
Which is honestly why I wish I’d either just die by some external cause or that I’d get hit in the head and lose capacity from emotions. I wouldn’t be happy, per-say, but at least I’d have some sort of relief from the depression. That saying “if there was a fast car moving towards me and I was about to get hit, I don’t know if I’d jump out of the way” is really starting to apply the more I look at it.
And yet, to be honest, I have the gall to call myself ‘somewhat stable’ even though I’m not.
I realize that, in the heat of the moment, I probably would try to beat the shit out of anyone who tried to kill me or I would jump out of the car’s way, but I wouldn’t want to. The human will to survive and reflexes trump emotional condition in most occasions – people who attempt to commit suicide almost always try to save themselves once they realize they don’t want to die, which is honestly just the brain kicking in your survival reflex.
In all honesty, this is all probably because I’m 16. Nothing else. It’s all my fault, it’ll all breeze over, and it doesn’t even really matter.
But it fucking feels like it does.