I've been suffering severe depression and other mental issues for a few very valid reasons, and I think I've finally figured out why.
>I'm mad that I wasn't raised spoiled>I'm mad that I wasn't raised to love myself>I'm mad that I'm not a womanThe first reason is the biggest. I don't care what you say, growing up spoiled must be some amazing shit. If you're poor, you're subject to every possible harm. If you're rich, although you may still be subject to harm you still have a variety of options to soften the blow. Worst case scenario sans murder or death?
I never had such options. I was getting constantly moved around to avoid bad blood with landlords. I was constantly the one that dressed like shit and had nothing. I was the one kept at an arm's distance, because when all of the conditions that I were subject to finally met, it resulted in a person deeply unlikable by 95% of the population of children in my place and time of growing up. I see the life I could've lived all throughout the internet. Rich people like to be seen, they can afford the flashiest things. They get seen online, and that viewership includes myself. I see these people, my age, sometimes a little older, increasing of them younger, and I just know that I gotten scammed. I could be there with the job daddy gave me, with the truck daddy bought me, with the clothes and nice things daddy gave me the allowance for. But I didn't. I grew up in poverty with a very questionable mother.
I'm not sure how my mother sees me. I don't know if she sees me as a personal vanity project, a failed attempt to create a retirement fund, a replacement for the man she never had in her life, or as her child. But she was raised in a harsh environment; some of the last "third world" spots of society in the 1980s were her backdrop growing up. Alcoholism, drug trafficking, sexual physical emotional abuse in spades. This raised a hardy woman who in spite of her questionable judgement was still capable of making sure food was on the plate and a roof was over the head.
She didn't know how to express love, nor how to correct mistakes. From chores to my behaviour in school my mother was extremely sharp and although seldom - not never, seldom - laying hands on me her verbal lashings have created a masochistic soul that finds no comfort in comfort besides physical comfort which is eternally strapped to di
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