Below is something I posed as a response to a post that made it to front page on reddit. I feel absolutely horrible now, having remembered these horrible things. I'm feeling so foggy, weak, and scared now. I'm not even at home at the moment, I'm stuck here, working through this.
This lasted until I was in mid high school. We were dirt poor after the divorce thanks to my cheating father being able to afford a better attorney than my mother. As a result, I had to watch my younger siblings all the time.
My sister had friends. My bother had friends. I didn't. I wasn't allowed to leave the house. We all had chores. I was the only one who did any of them (sometimes, I'll be honest, I wasn't perfect), and I would get in trouble when they wouldn't do their chores. I wasn't given any authority over them. I couldn't rat them out to my exhausted mother when she eventually got home, nor could I ground them or anything.
I eventually figured out I could disconnect the cable line and deprive my sister of Carson Daily. She didn't take it well. She threw things, broke things, screamed. I could cut the power at the fuse box to disconnect the cordless phone until she did the dishes. She would scream, break things, throw things.
I got pretty good at fixing things. She shattered a cordless phone, which we couldn't afford to replace, so I got an old soldering iron I found somewhere and a nail file and melted it back together. I had to do the same thing with the refrigerator handle as she broke that too. Doors, door frames, lighting fixtures, furniture, she would trash it all. And all the screaming. I spent years hiding in the basement bedroom I shared with my younger brother (which made puberty even worse) from the screaming.
The house had dog shit everywhere. I hated the dog. It made me feel sad for it. Any time it was happy to see me, I hid. I let it cry and go nuts because I was afraid of the emotions I felt around that neglected animal.
I still hate dogs. Furry little guilt machines...
I was basically trapped by my younger siblings. My mother insisted I stay home to make sure they didn't burn down the house, but I couldn't really do anything to stop them. I would get in trouble if I did and if they didn't do their chores, I was in trouble anyway. So every day, I was in trouble.
I hate my sister to this day. There are moments I can be nice, but I still hate her. I also don't spend christmas eve at my mothers in my old room because I get scared. She thinks I do this just to upset her. Back then, netzero was a thing and I installed it on an old laptop we had. I ran old jerryrigged phone line to the room full of wet laundry and dog shit so I can be left alone and go online late at night. Even without porn, it was the only way short of school I could get out of the house. I was so lonely in school. I had no money and went to a school full of trust fund babies and their crotchfruit, so I had no friends. My mother would pick up the phone and scream that I was trying to kill her, that I was trying to make sure she couldn't call the police. She once told me I'm just like my father.
I was incredibly depressed. Being a gay kid didn't make this any easier as it made things even more difficult in school. I was so isolated.
My dad eventually stepped in to take me out of that house, but it turns out he just didn't want to pay child support and saw it as an opportunity. I lived with him, his super christian wife, and her brood for a bit. After they figured out I'm probably gay, and that I was not religious, they offered an ultimatum. Either I go to hetero boot camp (and dad decided to let me choose one from a pamphlet he got for me, oh joy) or get kicked out. My grandmother and a psych doc stepped in and got me to live with her instead, until dad eventually kicked me out of there too, but that took a few years.
My step mother also had separate food and bathroom supplies for me. Her kids could have brand name things. I got Mane and Tail and generic cereal. I hated cereal anyway. I was also not allowed in the kitchen when my step mother was there. She would wait until I snuck out of the basement room (Yes, I was in the basement there too) and when I made a sandwhich or something, she would enter the kitchen. I wasn't allowed to save the food or take it out of the kitchen (like her kids could) so I had to throw it out. Then I wasn't allowed to have more food because I was clearly wasting food. When I would get mad and point this ridiculousness out, it was seen as proof I was mentally unstable and a problem. I was drugged into silence.
I'm on disability now, severe depression, and I truly think if I had a better life after the divorce, I would be a perfectly functional adult. Instead, I have constant panic attacks, difficulty in relationships, and no matter how well I do, I end up crashing and burning. Sorry this took so long, but once I got started, I just couldn't stop typing. I'm going to go be sad now.
Submitted October 29, 2015 at 05:56AM by MentalUproar http://ift.tt/1P6nn4H depression
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