Moving On Alone

TRIGGER WARNING: This entry mentions gun violence & self-harm.


   Most people I’ve met are horrified to hear my adoptive dad had threatened to kill me and my mom with his gun. But my family? My bio dad and grandma? Either they don’t believe me, or they genuinely think being held at gunpoint is no big deal. In this case, they’re the ones who are genuinely mentally ill.

   The thing with my family is that it doesn’t matter what happens. If I’m the victim, then no one cares. If it’s one of them, suddenly, nobody shuts up. I’ve made impressive accomplishments in my life most people never manage. I lost and kept off 150 lbs! I was trying to go to college this summer! But still, no praise, just begging for me to step out of their spotlight.

   I seem to exist as a nuisance. I’m loved most when I’m silent and invisible. I try so hard to wrap my head around it. But only my adoptive mom can seem to figure it out. I exist as a cop-out. Instead of acknowledging their shortcomings, they can blame me for reflecting those shortcomings. Do you know how many times my family has apologized to me? Zero. They’ve never done such a thing. They can hurt me and turn their back without a care.

   I’m the girl with mental illness, who cuts and burns herself, who survived the unthinkable and turned out a disgusting mess, the lost cause they lost faith in a long time ago, the freak show who can’t comprehend normalcy, the family embarrassment.

   You can’t make people love you. The worse reality to accept as a person with BPD. I’m a pest in this family. The only way to change that is to do what they want me to and walk away. It’s not only good for them, it’s good for me. If I spend my life crying out for love from two people who will never give it to me, how much of my life will I have wasted?

   I’m not normal. I will never be normal. I am a product of my life, and that life has created a survivor. I have bigger things on my mind than how to be normal. Who I am was hand-tailored for a reason, and I am so grateful for that. I am a masterpiece. I exist as God intended me.

   It hurts to walk away from my family so much that I’m crying. I love my family so much. But I can’t make them care about me. And whenever I talk to them, I put wood on the fire of hate in my honor. I sabotage my own goal of being loved by sharing myself with them. Walking away is painful, but nobody does it for fun after all.

   My adoptive mom warned me not to get in touch with my family. I should’ve listened. But now, I’ve never been more confident I’m better off without them. They will never love me. It’s time for me to move on. Somewhere out there are people who will love me for who I am. I’d be a fool not to look for them. I’d be a fool to stay where I am.

   And so would you. If your family doesn’t appreciate your existence, then they don’t deserve a place in it. Surround yourself with people who know how great you are.

-Anemone

Location: Wyoming, USA

Comments

Post a Comment

Remember, if one can not both share and listen, then commenting is not beneficial to anyone.

Popular posts from this blog

My 2nd Hospitalization

Image
TRIGGER WARNING: This post discusses a suicide attempt in detail, alcohol abuse, involuntary stay in a psyche ward, and significant emotional abuse.     I haven’t posted in a while. I ended up in the psyche ward on an emergency hold a month ago. Let’s see if I can find it in me to tell all.    So, first, my mom, while discussing the day my dad tried to shoot us, said it didn’t happen to me, so I shouldn’t be upset. He pointed that gun at both of us, and I was there. I have every right to be upset. I asked her to go away. She was very dramatic as she did so. I tried calling her to work it out, but we fought more. Eventually, she returned and did an “I’m running away” thing but returned in half an hour.     I felt searing anguish and pain in my heart, so I decided to get wasted, which made me cold, callus, and very amused by the ridiculousness of my life. My mom described my amusement as evil. After that, I took a bottle of pills, drank more, then told m...
Read more

Child Abuse Is

Image
TRIGGER WARNING: This entry briefly mentions drugs, alcohol, and broken homes.     Child abuse is far more complex than such and such happened to me. Child abuse destroys families. Secrets get kept, lies get told, and children suffer.      Child abuse can happen in happy homes. But it often happens in broken homes. Mom’s in prison, dad’s a deadbeat, and drug and alcohol abuse are normalized. Grandma and Grandpa sit back, doing nothing to help. Little girls stop trusting.     Walking away means losing it all. Mother’s Day is morbid. Father’s Day is pointless. Your siblings have vanished. You are utterly alone. You feel defective, worthless, and unlovable. You have no one to cry to or save you from self-destruction.     You can repair yourself, but you can’t repair your family. No amount of therapy in the world will fix a broken home. You try to forget. You try to feel joy as well as you can. That’s all you can do. You hope things wil...
Read more

“Don’t Talk About It”

Image
  TRIGGER WARNING: This entry mentions suicide.    There is nothing more important to me than being a big sister. To love them is heaven, and to lose them is hell. I’ve always dreamed of being close to them and being accepted and returning the favor. To protect them and guide them.    But today, another of my siblings turned 18. And again, I wish I could explain to them why I’m not there, why my relationship with my bio dad is so strained and always has been. To tell them I love them more than they could ever know. And that this distance is torture.    I’m an only child of 11. 2 sisters on my bio mom's side, and one of them I lost when my bio mom disowned me. The other I lost when my bio mom told her lies about me so I’d be hurt when I got rejected again. My bio dad is another story-nine siblings raised in a conservative Christian cult. Growing up, I kept everything secret from them because my whole life story was all taboo to theirs. How could I possi...
Read more