/siberia/ - Off-topic

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 woman
The 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 discomfort of the mind and soul. I understand I do not have scars from the damage she's done to me, but it is very real. I am a broken person. She had beaten into me a great sense of martial duty, without the physical actions to back it up. I have been boiled in a hypocrisy that has made bad become worse.
I can't feel comfortable with anything I want to feel comfortable with. I'm a trans woman, I know this. I look at my body bloating up, my waist getting thicker, each day bringing forth new facial hair, and I get sick. I've had panic attacks over this, I think that my worsening gender dysphoria has caused a long-term episode of panic attacks which afflicted me severely for a year. Each passing year when I turn a year older I've increasingly continued to consider taking my own life. I think that if I make it to 21, I probably won't - but making it to 21 depends on making it through 20, which I am yet to do.
Back to the point at hand. Dressing skimpy? Only recently have I felt comfortable to do that. It sucks that this is after I kicked a nicotine addiction and my weight tanked from 50 or so kilos to almost fucking 70. My waist has gone up by a good six centimeters, my figure has gone from "ehh long-backed lady?" to "ew, dude". I hate it so much. I also hate the fact that I don't feel comfortable associating with so many artistic things that I should feel very comfortable with! Femtanyl, for example? I feel this feeling of just "not wanted there" from every piece of work she's made. Raves are another good example. I'd love to go to one… and do whatever they do at raves, and it's clearly not dancing nobody is fucking dancing anywhere. But I just know how unwanted I'd be from there. I've tried to seriously branch out to IRL hobbyist communities, ones that theoretically should've been a perfect fit for who I was. But for the crime of having some very base morals, I was made unto a martyr and it consequentially has traumatized the everliving fuck out of me.

So what now?

I've been bitching on this site about my life on-and-off, decreasingly so, for the past two years. I've come to terms with what and who I am. I am garbage. I am the neurotic shivering crackhead descent of ancient Norman aristocrats and Anglo-Saxon bourgeoisie merchants. One grandfather was a drug dealer, one grandfather was the son of a psychotic rapist. One grandmother was a literal 140iq genius, the other… is my grandma I know and she seems to be rather nice.
I am not "superior". I have defects that cripple me and give me slight benefits in others. I am retarded in many ways. I do not look at fucking ketchup or pizza with cheddar and think "food" like a normal person, I think it's inedible because I'm retarded, while gorging a pound of unprepared rotten fucking milk in dead microbugs. I can shoot a target with a carbine from 100 meters because that's one of the only things I'm good at. I can starve myself and march forward in times of hunger because I am too broken to keel over and say I deserve better. I am not superior. My ancestors made that word up to feel better about how deeply empty we are. I am empty. I am not a person like most others. I am not a proletarian, a peasant, a serf. I am not one of those humans. I sadly cannot find meaning in myself. We are a people crippled by this great hole in our souls. My ancestors filled it in their way, and I will too. This is me staking my flag in this world, me setting down my anchor.