katimus_prime: (Betheal - Scroll)
I didn't wanna hork this up all over the bigger, faster, flashier social media platforms, so I'm gonna hide this here instead.

I was neglected as a kid. My mother didn't do it on purpose, but that's what ended up happening after my mom and dad split. My dad would get angry too easily and she kicked him out. Working as a 3rd shift single mom was really tough, but when we went hungry, it wasn't for long, but she was always asleep when we were awake, and babysitters sucked, so we were usually plopped down in front of the TV to carry on on our own, because my mother was raised by overbearing parents. I thought I deserved to be alone, so I stopped reaching out for help when I was lonely. I didn't know anything but it, so I didn't think I was sad or being neglected, but I was. I did well in school in the hopes I could get more attention, that something I could do would change things, but nothing I ever did was good enough, or able to change things to something other than me returning from school every day to go to my room in the basement to talk to no one and play video games.

Kids are mean on top of this, so I was even less motivated to go out and socialize. The people who bullied me were beautiful and popular, and in an effort to not-be-like-them, I remained the awkward, lonely nerd girl. The only way I could think of to rationalize the horror happening to me was that I somehow deserved it, which laid a really good foundation for my constantly disappearing self-esteem. I've gotten into trouble countless times because I want people to like me, and not to be alone, so I attracted and held onto a lot of very toxic relationships over time.

The further out I get from 2003, the more I realize that 2003 happened because of the way I was. When I stopped being friends with Leslie in 2010 and fucked things up with Jessi in 2012, it was the same feeling. I'd lied instead of expressing when I was upset when I was upset to spare the other party's feelings and taken it too much like a champ when they came at me for stuff, so the only solution was to stab me in the back because they couldn't get in a hit otherwise.

Even after 7 years of living with someone, I still have a hard time not feeling like I have to be alone. I know I don't want to be alone and I love my husband to death but there's still pieces of shell I keep finding to come out of. At least now I have the presence of mind to put myself back together.

Since the stupid Vice article thing, I care less and less about letting people know my story IRL, because it really is just a story to other people. There's no way for me to make others experience the depth of the feelings I went through, except in fiction. Other people will care much more about a story about people with magic powers than "just another internet fandom catfish story," so that's what they're going to get from now on.
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