07:29 May 11 2022
Times Read: 348
I’ve given up on people. For my entire life, people have demonstrated that they can’t be trusted. By reading this you are probably sitting there thinking, that you are a good person. Good for you. I don’t care. I gave up trying to find decent people. I have my tiny inner circle and that’s all. Everyone else doesn’t make the cut. I have no faith in humanity. Growing up my childhood was rough. I didn’t have many friends. If I had called someone my friend, it usually ended pretty quickly when the true colors would shine. My home life was a complete mess. It was extremely volatile. My school life was a mess. I got bullied and made fun of on a daily basis. I was always getting beat up. To this day I personally think it was because I never backed down. I was used to getting hit even back then. I was poor. I mean eating ramen noodles for weeks on end because I was poor. Never had enough money for milk for my cereal and was forced to use water. Before I ended up on the streets I was severely malnourished. I barely weighed 110 pounds by the time I finished high school. By the time I enrolled in college, I had dropped weight again. Nobody cared. I worked three jobs to put myself through school. I survived on $20 every two weeks for food. I wanted to die. Something always stopped me though. I never told a soul I was depressed. No one would have cared. Not back then. No one knew that I hated myself since I was a toddler. I battled with a self-image problem. I hated everything about myself, and people always made sure to hone in on that. I was never pretty enough, skinny enough, or smart enough to go anywhere in life. For the longest time, I thought that was supposed to be my life’s motto. On the night of the 14th attempt at suicide, I met SOB #1. He wasn’t like everyone else and actually approached me. He pretended that he cared about whatever I had to say. Unusual circumstances occurred and I ran away. I ran away with him to another state to get away from the hell that my life had become. I no longer cared if I finished college. I mean even in highschool no one expected me to go to college. I was never given the SAT or ACT tests. I applied to hundreds of colleges only to never get a reply back. Except for the community college. The teachers however were more concerned with which students they could get to sleep with them than with me. I attended for two years and no one remembers. For the first couple of months with SOB #1 it was ok. But that all changed. I saw a dark shadow enter his body one day while he slept. I wish I could say I was joking, but I can still feel the cold as it swept over his body. All of a sudden, he turned abusive. He would punch me in my sleep blaming it on his ptsd. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t but it was enough to frighten me. Then he got meaner. Throwing pans at me, punching through walls and anything in his way. He said I had gotten way too fat and ugly. So he made sure all my paychecks went into his bank account that I didn’t have access to. I didn’t have a debit card on that account as well. He called my employers to give them his account number saying that I had forgotten I opened a new one. I never got a dime from my checks. He never went food shopping. He ate out all the time and if I wasn’t with him, I didn’t get to eat. If I was with him he would give me a food budget. Usually only about $6 dollars. I was never allowed to sit at the same table as him while I ate because I disgusted him. If my food was over the food limit, he made sure to leave me there. I would have to walk miles home by myself in the city without any protection. It was easy for him to hurt me in ways I never thought possible. I was an easy target, I mean I already hated myself. That self hatred made me feel like I deserved it all. It got to the point where I lived in a closet in the apartment. It was crowded and hot but at least I was safe. It was the only clean room in the entire apartment. Once a month, if I was lucky he would haul the trash out. We lived on the third floor and he didn’t want to have to drag the bags of trash all those flights of stairs. The dirtier the place got, the sicker I got. I lost 180lbs in 8 months. I still felt fat and gross. I still thought about taking a knife and carving away at my fat. I met SOB#2 and for the first few months he treated me like I was something special. I divorced SOB#1 and moved in with SOB#2 at his request. A choice I regretted almost entirely. He stopped working. He was so lazy and entitled. He thought the entire world owed him something. Still does. Even after the bad car accident that first messed up my body he called my work and asked if I could be released early because rent was coming up. I had to work 16 hour shifts, come home clean the house and cook food. He would spend all the money on stupid shit and get rich quick schemes we were struggling. It felt like every other week we had to go to a church and beg for food. I broke my ankle and still that fucker made me walk 5 miles one way to get supplies. By the time I was heading home, my ankle was swollen to the size of a baseball, and it was downpouring. He wasn’t physically abusive but verbally and emotionally. He would call me lazy when I was recovering from surgery. He would say things like how SOB#1 was right about me, I was disgusting. I walked over the city and after that car accident I was in no shape. I remember collapsing on the lawn of a mental institution for teens. One of the staff brought me out some water since it was 102 degrees outside. I was two hours late for work and still had three miles to go. We lived in 9 different places during the duration of the marriage. He ran my credit through the mud. He would get everything put in my name and I wouldn’t know about it until I was thousands of dollars in debt. The darkness of my soul started to creep back to me and suicide was heavy on my mind. So I left him. Fuck him. I divorced him and thought maybe for once I would find someone decent. I met Mr. S. Mr. S catfished me so bad. He said all the great things I needed and wanted to hear. Brought my self esteem up just a tad. We would make plans to meet since I found him online. I thought hey this guy is great. We spent hours talking on the phone. I really opened my soul up to him. But when it came time for our dates something always prevented him from showing up. On New years he was supposed to come see me. I spent hours waiting at the spot we agreed in the cold. I couldn’t afford to keep my car running and ended up giving myself pneumonia. One time he said his truck died in a town about two hours away. So being the kind soul I was I decided to bring him back to my place. My car was at the shop so I borrowed my mom’s car and drove at like 2 am two hours away. I went down every street looking for him. I never found him because he was never there. I felt like such a tool. He had told me he moved to my hometown even told me where he worked at so I could come visit him. He said he was busy working on thanksgiving so I made him up a plate and took it to him at work. Except he didn’t work there the owners had never heard of him. I gave them the plate I had made and left with my face red. I ghosted him as well as everyone else in my past that hurt me in some way. Fuck them. I am doing ok in current relationship. Although sometimes I still feel that urge to slice open my throat or take too much pills. With my injury it makes it difficult to remain positive. I don’t talk to anyone outside my tiny inner circle. I don’t go out to try and make friends. Everyone is either afraid of me or still thinks of me as that poor fat girl. At the end of the day, other than my tiny inner circle no one cares about me. No one is going to remember me. Hell probably everyone I have ever met probably thinks I already died. I am trying to survive my own dark twisted hell, one day at a time.
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