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I feel like I need to die.

Not like I want to die, I don't. Just like I need to so that everything will be okay again.

I don't know if I hate myself, a part of myself, the idea of myself...hate my self-hatred perhaps...

I don't like my brain, my body, my thoughts very much sometimes.

I don't like being different, and especially not being different from those who share in my differences.

I don't like having b***h tits that my vanity forces me to exercise like a bastard every day, of never wanting to go to the beach or swim or take your shirt off on a hot day, I don't like going in to the doctor after years of gearing yourself up and have him mock and make fun of you, even though he knows you are suicidal at the best of times, because you had to gear yourself up for years to let that go too, info that came out mere minutes before a DOCTOR put on a kid's voice and said, "Aww, is he upset cuz he's got widdle boobies?" Sneering at my helplessness. Laughing at my pain.

It took me ten years to go and see a doctor again after I ran out of that office, the world rocking and tipping in my field of view, lungs empty and diaphragm paralyzed.

I don't like that my father would beat on and attack my mom; I would wade in there, all stupid tiny fists and horrified rage, useless, impotent, wishing I could be a better son and save her.

I don't like that my mother uses the phrase, "You're just like HIM" to hurt me, as recently as this week.

I don't like that after my parents split up I raised my sister like I was her dad, a good dad. I don't like that she won't hear a f*****g WORD about AS or what's going on with me, tells me I'm wrong, acts embarrassed by me, tries to humiliate me in public constantly, takes and never gives back. I feel like a sap and a sucker and that I deserve it, that if I did better at my job she would not be a narcissistic user.

I don't like that to get revenge on my younger brother, the one who broke all my things, ruined them, the one my mother said "cured" her of her made-up maladies (and guess who caused them...) by being born, who was allowed to do anything he wanted to me and my stuff, I don't like that I seduced his girlfriend upon whom he relies for financial support, and that I feel no guilt about this, just a flat and twisted pride at .

I don't like that my parents sabotaged my few friendships, I don't like how I wasn't allowed to be friends with a kid because he was a "n****r", so I had to keep it a secret, which was hard because of the constant interrogations, debriefings to which I was subject.

I don't like that when I was sick, my mother would all the sudden have what I had, only louder and more omnipresent, with histrionic coughing fits that wouldn't fool a three year old, until I just learned to stay quiet or exaggerate my condition to the levels of bubonic plague in order to not be labeled a "malingerer".

I don't like that I am incapable of love, that I'm an odd, twisted Golem summoned by accident then forgotten, I don't like that I hurt people accidentally, people that I really like, while the ones I hate seem invincible.

I don't like having two personalities in my head, NEEDING THEM, having to project my hardness, keep my guard up, keep radiating *THREAT* because you do it anyways.

I don't like being alone, but I hate having people close to me, because I am poisonous.

I don't like...me.

I don't like that this is a reasonable conclusion.

I especially don't like that I wrote this, and that I will feel different about all these things tomorrow, that I will feel crazy and stupid and weak yet strong and powerful and righteous.

You people are much much better than me.

If it were a crime to have gaps here and there in one's emotional repertoire, there'd be a lot of NTs in the slammer, not just you. (And me too, btw.)

Finding a half-decent doctor can be a chancy proposition. It would be a great world if you could open up the Yellow Pages at random, knowing that anyone you picked would be a good 'un. Sometimes you have to go shopping. Awful bad luck, though, to put off going for years, and then get that one on your first go-round. You deserve better.

Your mother: Playing favourites with one's children does damage to all of them. Attention-seeking at their expense isn't healthy either. I'd like to say I'm innocent on both counts, but that would be stretching the truth - just a little.

You're not any better, or any worse, than anyone else here. You'll do us, mate.

Thanks.

Yeah, I can see that, and I know why all of this stuff was done to me, I just can't shake that "it's all my stupid fault" feeling. I don't know if I ever will. It's like I can't control my path in life, like it's set in stone, and all I can do is control how fast I go.

Sometimes knowing the "why" adds to the sting of the "is".

My mother was a strict Catholic (as Jim Gaffigan would say, a "Shiite Catholic"), yet she only baptized me when I was 4 at my grandparents' insistence. When a person dies and is not baptized, they go to hell when they die. I was the only child that was treated this way; my brothers and my sister were all baptized at birth. My life has been nothing but close calls with death, from as early as I can remember, close calls which she had engineered, set in motion, then watched as they unfolded.

My mother's name is an Irish name that means "Little Mary". My older brother was conceived out of wedlock; my parents married when my mother was 3 months pregnant. My mother was almost disowned, told she was evil, that she was a whore and a stain on her namesake.

Sometimes mothers have children just so they can be vessels for evil, similar to the practice of infant rape in Africa as a "cure" for AIDS. I know now that this is quite common, and I was not the only one. I was "evil", I needed exorcisms all the time for being so bad, for being such a burden on everyone. "Bind and rebuke this evil, bind and rebuke it now!" I had to shout this along with her, exactly. She would go for huge stretches about how evil and twisted I was, then all of a sudden lunge for me because I wasn't making eye contact, forcing me to repeat back to her, word for word, what she had said to me, her hand crushing my windpipe.

She would send my brother after me, her hired goon who could do no wrong. I would spend hours every day in painful joint locks, at the complete and utter mercy of a sadist. When I would try and tell my mother, she would start screaming at me that I was killing her, couldn't I see that she stayed in bed all day because I was killing her? This is when I began to shut off my pain, to go to the OTHER PLACE. The only place left.

When I would cry from the pain, I was called a liar, and once I was forced to sign a contract that I wouldn't "fake cry" written up by my brother, signed by me with one arm twisted up behind my back, trying not to fake cry.

I really could have done without the whole "I can read your thoughts" bit. My mother could spot satanism and paganism behind every rock and bush, yet was into dowsing rods and pendulums and all that BS. This gave her the authority of GOD, a trick she learned from the priests, a trick designed to destroy a mind. I couldn't go to a friend's house because IT WOULD. JUST. BE. BAD!

I need some sleep.

Your mother and brother:

Hope you get a good night's sleep and feel better for it tomorrow, Kurtz.

Typical Irish family Ea, Kurtz. It could just as well be French.

"There will be plenty of time for complaining, when you are burning in Hell!" Daphne on Frasier. Speaking of her mother, and all the things she was told growing up.

In some strange way they think they are helping you. Life is suffering, it was for them, so they spread the education.

You do have to get out on your own. When I got away from my family, lived with strangers, no one attacked me in my sleep, with a broom, then spent the whole day making my live as much pain as they could. It was unnerving, but I got used to it.

When some finally did give attacking me a try, the response came from the firey pits of hell, talk about overkill. Beating people to a bloody pulp, then kicking their quivering mass on the floor came so natural. While I was at it, I was calling them weak, cry baby, because they could not take what they started.

My friends were shocked by my behavior, except the Irish kid from Uptown. He understood.

As for your sister, you do make trouble. You show the high road, but mother told her she was evil scum that needed the devil beaten out of her. When her boyfriend did, what is a girl to do? Follow her brother, press charges, turn herself in at the Convent? Or remember mother, put makeup on her black eye, say she walked into a door, and stay with him?

Everyone has their own life to live.

It is summed up in the saying, "I taught you everything I knew, and you still know nothing."

You have been well trained for the down side of life. You will not be shocked or suprised by anything.

Perhaps they could not show you a better way, but they did everything to inform you of their life.

Clean water does taste better after living on muddy stagnent water.

You could be cast into the pits of Hell, and at least it would be better than home.

Cheer up, a Military Brig would be an improvment for you. All life will be better.

I left for 43 years, when I came to visit they started in where they had left off.

A moment of brutal honesty from yours truly…

Your mother, sister, and brother are insidious threads that need to be severed. Genetics do not justify the burden of venomous relationships, and so long as they burden you, your spirit will continue to be poisoned.

Telling you to stop being an enabler is easier said than done, but once It’s done It’s effortless and gratifying. Unless these destructive people are supporting you financially, you have absolutely no responsibility maintain dealings with them in any way, shape, or form. All you have to do is erase them from your address book, and stop trying to convince yourself that in some way you owe them. You don’t.

I think you’ve been a far better person than most to have put up with that manner of crap for so long. What’s more, if you continue to nurture these diseased relationships, what good will possibly come of it? Clearly your mother is a bit disturbed in the head, and she has created a monster in your brother. You can’t reason with people who are unreasonable. You need to ditch these people- they deserve each other, and you deserve better.

Well, I think the first positive step you can take is to recognize the problem. Once you've done that, the solution tends to find you on It's own.

I'm no stranger to vicious-cycle patterns of thought. Though my home life was a bit unorthodox, it was healthy, but once I stepped outside it was like I was being thrown to the sharks, forced to paddle in the ocean against a storm on a rowboat with a hole in it.

I've been undermined since day one, and later in life I came to realize that my friends (at the time) were just as destructive as the people who were out in the open about their abusiveness. The only difference was that the former was destructive under the facade that they had my best interests in mind. Negative people do nothing to reinforce positive feelings, they intensify them until those feelings become crippling. There was a time when I genuinely believed the lies that everyone was spoon-feeding me. Even though I knew I was better off without them, there was still this paralyzing dependency on them, on an emotional and psychological level. I don't see this as any different than an addiction. You get so used to something that it becomes an unhealthy habit.

I agree that this kind of intimate knowledge changes a person's perspective. It's because of this that I think you shouldn't beat yourself up over venting here. This is the last place where you could expect to have your past used as a weapon against you. No one here has had life handed to them on a silver platter. It's only those who are truly sheltered that would dare stoop so low.

Lol, what's with all the Irish craziness? I suppose I should be glad I'm of Slavic descent- we're a very stand-offish, suspicious bunch!

You know what your problem is? You blame everything on yourself. Feel free to blow some steam, and scream obscenities about your family and life in general. You've earned it, and anger is a great motivator.

EDIT- typos

There. You said you'd share it, and now you have.... I'm not sure I'll have anything worthwhile to give you in return. Right now I'm not able to translate what I'm thinking into words. Maybe I won't ever be able to... but if I am, I'll come back and tell you.

But I think you gave me something. That feels kind of awful to say, since you made this thread for support and I can't seem to give any. But I'm glad you're here and I'm glad that you're brave. In sharing, I believe you can help other people.