I really enjoy having an anonymous blog. I can talk about anything I want without hurting anyone personally and be able to voice my honest opinion. Sure, on the internet, no one is truly anonymous unless you’re some genius hacker ghost and I’m definitely not one of those. I can talk about my traumatic experiences, voice my side of the story without someone else trying to tell me that what I experienced is not what I experienced. I have found out the hard way that when you’ve been raped or abused, people tend to shy away from these subjects and want to tell you it didn’t happen. That what you experienced was not as bad or as damaging. That you were young and young people do stupid things, that really didn’t happen to you. You’re just being dramatic.
I was born to some pretty horrible people. There’s nothing inherently evil or bad about people with mental illnesses, I respect and even admire those individuals who struggle constantly with debilitating situations such as schizophrenia or bipolar or any number of other psychological disorders and try to live normal lives in spite of this. Unfortunately I was born to a couple of individuals who used their mental illness as a way to manipulate and destroy the people around them.
They neglected me to the point where I almost died before child services stepped in and placed me in a foster home at the age of around 18 months so I don’t remember any of this. If you’ve ever studied child psychology or watched the very tragic movie, Child of Rage then you would know that in the first few years of life, if an infant doesn’t get adequate care then they can have issues with attachment and be destructive. I was one of those lucky people that managed to rise above this. I have normal attachments, sure I can be pretty distant from time to time and I love my alone time but I think that’s because I grew up as an only child with parents that had different issues.
My aunt and uncle raised me as their own. They never hid the fact that I was not theirs, I had a different last name, they never fully adopted me and I had to see my biological mother every once in a while.
My aunt, here on out referred to as my mother, had mental problems of her own. She had a very explosive temper that she took out on me a lot growing up. She’s mellowed out a little in her old age but she still gets pretty bad sometimes. My uncle, or my dad was very distant figure in my life who tried to normalize my life and was a source of stability in my up and down life. As I grew up, I learned very quickly that my emotions were going to be hard to deal with. I ended up with a mild case of seasonal depression but largely escaped the predisposition to mental illness due to my genetic background
What has really pushed me over the edge into deeper mental anguish is the PTSD I suffer near daily. I’m climbing out of that hole but it’s a deep one and one that I can only hope I can over come some day.
Well then, that’s a quick run down on my family. I don’t have much and really I consider my close friends to be my family more than my biological one. All that’s really left is my mom and dad, the rest have all died or I’ve just decided they were too toxic to keep around.
I appreciate my chosen family, they range from my steampunk family to my art family. Even though I’m thousands of miles away, because of the internet, I can hang out with them and keep in contact. Anyways, that’s my family.