For most of my life, I spent my waking hours having to pretend to not see, but still perceive the world 'normally'.
Constant visions of unknown twisting creatures observing and following me, of the numerous variations on my own death, of distinct memories replaying vividly as though I am really there.
I watch myself die over, and over, and over again in so many grotesque and gore-y ways that I grew utterly numb to it; though, it doesn't help with the innate dread I would feel in my heart.
This constant cat and mouse chase with the past will never end as long as I am unable to psychologically take the first step, yet everything I've tried couldn't even budge an inch.
Years of gymwork, constant push in education, forcing out 'goals', aiming for a big career, trying out hobbies for years to the point I've found the ones I'm most comfortable with and yet...
nothing.
None of it was truly ever progress in my eyes, I realise it and yet kept going anyways.
No medication, therapist or counselling has done a bit to change that; I still find myself in trances of pure dismay and agony.
I'm just forever in constant misery, a mind only ever full of more and more torment and a perceived world lacking of any warmth.
I want love so desperately, in any form of the term. To say specifically romance is to only lie to myself, but I physically can't have any other form.
Constant visions of unknown twisting creatures observing and following me, of the numerous variations on my own death, of distinct memories replaying vividly as though I am really there.
I watch myself die over, and over, and over again in so many grotesque and gore-y ways that I grew utterly numb to it; though, it doesn't help with the innate dread I would feel in my heart.
This constant cat and mouse chase with the past will never end as long as I am unable to psychologically take the first step, yet everything I've tried couldn't even budge an inch.
Years of gymwork, constant push in education, forcing out 'goals', aiming for a big career, trying out hobbies for years to the point I've found the ones I'm most comfortable with and yet...
nothing.
None of it was truly ever progress in my eyes, I realise it and yet kept going anyways.
No medication, therapist or counselling has done a bit to change that; I still find myself in trances of pure dismay and agony.
I'm just forever in constant misery, a mind only ever full of more and more torment and a perceived world lacking of any warmth.
I want love so desperately, in any form of the term. To say specifically romance is to only lie to myself, but I physically can't have any other form.
My oldest memory is a bit foggy, I believe I was around 5?
All I remember was being thrown into a glass table, and pain everywhere. Extremely sharp pain, loud murmuring then the rest was a blur.
On the night of my father's arrest, he went too far with the beatings in a fit of anger and decided to throw me into the glass table.
My mother never told me what was it that he was so mad about that night, but I guess he threw me too hard as the table completely shattered.
I was bleeding profusely with glass shards everywhere, and yet my parents only spent that night having a screaming match; with the police being called by a neighbour.
I don't really know how an ambulance got involved, but the next vivid memory I remember was a nurse; not her face, but rather her action of giving me a cold cola while promising me that she'll be right by my side until I get better.
I just remember crying a lot, as I believe it was the first time someone seemed to show me affection. It might be a small exaggeration, as I don't have much memory to go off but that's how it felt like at the time atleast.
Despite that, I grew up fearing my mother far more as I grew up as the 'devil's son', inherently sinful in every way. I was always fearful on what would tick her off, and my diagnosed autism didn't help as it only made it much harder for me to understand what I should and shouldn't do, I would constantly do the same thing that would make her go into an all out beating spree.
She loved using kitchen utensils or belts the most, beating me with all sort of means as I wept and begged for mercy.
Retrospectively, I think the issue was that I already grew pretty numb to pain, so just her hands alone wouldn't bring much of a reaction out of me. I didn't realise I was only making her more mad by not speaking or crying when she hit me, so she only escalated until she felt satisfied by my response.
She would constantly throw all sorts of insults at me, and degrade me in countless ways. She made sure that I known that I birth was the greatest sin I have done to this world and the greatest disservice I have done to her.
It was around this time when all these terrifying visions began to start as well, but it was less about about gore and more just me dying and all sorts of creatures constantly lurking, whether on the street, in the hall, behind my back, in the dark, in a busy crowd or at the corner of my eye.
I believe as a result of my upbringing at home, I developed selective mutism very very early on into my childhood as well; only being able to talk in very private spaces with someone I had to give my all to trust, which quickly made me the subject of severe bullying in bad ghetto schools.
I've talked about how brutal it was even as a little kid in past posts so I won't repeat them for my own sanity.
Though, one big memory I remember in the middle of primary school was when a group of kids including this huge obese one all ganged up on me in break time as I was very lanky and apparently look very gay so I stuck out as a sore thumb, there was also that I would hardly cry in the moment but rather meekly react, only crying randomly in the lunch hall sitting alone or something.
Slowly more and more people began to watch as they slowly took turn beating me in more and more brutal ways; until one started to violently stomp on my hand to the point of my pinkie on the right hand going completely bent and with the rest of my hand clearly fractured in some way.
I still can't properly straighten my pinkie despite it being fully healed lol, it is constantly bent and slightly goes behind the rest of my fingers unless if I straighten it manually with my other hand. It luckily didn't stop my gym work though, even if my grip is usually a big ceiling I need to get past.
As a result of all of this, I spent my vast majority of my life without familial love and no friends if you don't count online but it was hardly satisfying when I had to go back to my reality after forgetting about the world in the moment in front of my screen.
I still considered myself an extrovert in the sense that I desperately wanted the attention and love of others, which only made it all so much worse.
In so many ways I'm so deprived, nothing is satisfying.
Not my guitar work, my art, my novels, my games, my gym work, climbing whatever else fucking cope I did. Its truly over.
I hardly scratched the surface of my miserable life in this post and it's already far too draining to continue on. I don't get why I just can't experience love, I'm such a goddamn crybaby when I think about it despite having grown up already holy fuck.
All I remember was being thrown into a glass table, and pain everywhere. Extremely sharp pain, loud murmuring then the rest was a blur.
On the night of my father's arrest, he went too far with the beatings in a fit of anger and decided to throw me into the glass table.
My mother never told me what was it that he was so mad about that night, but I guess he threw me too hard as the table completely shattered.
I was bleeding profusely with glass shards everywhere, and yet my parents only spent that night having a screaming match; with the police being called by a neighbour.
I don't really know how an ambulance got involved, but the next vivid memory I remember was a nurse; not her face, but rather her action of giving me a cold cola while promising me that she'll be right by my side until I get better.
I just remember crying a lot, as I believe it was the first time someone seemed to show me affection. It might be a small exaggeration, as I don't have much memory to go off but that's how it felt like at the time atleast.
Despite that, I grew up fearing my mother far more as I grew up as the 'devil's son', inherently sinful in every way. I was always fearful on what would tick her off, and my diagnosed autism didn't help as it only made it much harder for me to understand what I should and shouldn't do, I would constantly do the same thing that would make her go into an all out beating spree.
She loved using kitchen utensils or belts the most, beating me with all sort of means as I wept and begged for mercy.
Retrospectively, I think the issue was that I already grew pretty numb to pain, so just her hands alone wouldn't bring much of a reaction out of me. I didn't realise I was only making her more mad by not speaking or crying when she hit me, so she only escalated until she felt satisfied by my response.
She would constantly throw all sorts of insults at me, and degrade me in countless ways. She made sure that I known that I birth was the greatest sin I have done to this world and the greatest disservice I have done to her.
It was around this time when all these terrifying visions began to start as well, but it was less about about gore and more just me dying and all sorts of creatures constantly lurking, whether on the street, in the hall, behind my back, in the dark, in a busy crowd or at the corner of my eye.
I believe as a result of my upbringing at home, I developed selective mutism very very early on into my childhood as well; only being able to talk in very private spaces with someone I had to give my all to trust, which quickly made me the subject of severe bullying in bad ghetto schools.
I've talked about how brutal it was even as a little kid in past posts so I won't repeat them for my own sanity.
Though, one big memory I remember in the middle of primary school was when a group of kids including this huge obese one all ganged up on me in break time as I was very lanky and apparently look very gay so I stuck out as a sore thumb, there was also that I would hardly cry in the moment but rather meekly react, only crying randomly in the lunch hall sitting alone or something.
Slowly more and more people began to watch as they slowly took turn beating me in more and more brutal ways; until one started to violently stomp on my hand to the point of my pinkie on the right hand going completely bent and with the rest of my hand clearly fractured in some way.
I still can't properly straighten my pinkie despite it being fully healed lol, it is constantly bent and slightly goes behind the rest of my fingers unless if I straighten it manually with my other hand. It luckily didn't stop my gym work though, even if my grip is usually a big ceiling I need to get past.
As a result of all of this, I spent my vast majority of my life without familial love and no friends if you don't count online but it was hardly satisfying when I had to go back to my reality after forgetting about the world in the moment in front of my screen.
I still considered myself an extrovert in the sense that I desperately wanted the attention and love of others, which only made it all so much worse.
In so many ways I'm so deprived, nothing is satisfying.
Not my guitar work, my art, my novels, my games, my gym work, climbing whatever else fucking cope I did. Its truly over.
I hardly scratched the surface of my miserable life in this post and it's already far too draining to continue on. I don't get why I just can't experience love, I'm such a goddamn crybaby when I think about it despite having grown up already holy fuck.
