Where things got fucked up
Hey, I am just a borderline girly, and now I will tell you about the happiest years of my life, aka my childhood's beginning. But before I tell you, let me tell you about the two main reasons why my life is so messed up.
1st main reason: My "dear" dad, who is around sixty years old right now, and, in my opinion, has already lived too much. (Soon, you will be on the same opinion as me, trust me.)
2nd reason: My dear mom, who I hate and love at the same time. (Don't ask how, because I don't know either.)
This is how their story started: My mom grew up in an orphanage, and after high school, she couldn't stay there any longer. This is when my dad came into the picture—he let her live with him when she had nowhere to go. (I don't know a lot about their story, but as much as I know, I will tell you.)
In theory, they had happy and good times, but then it turned out that my dad is a very toxic person. (To this day, I am convinced that my dad has narcissistic personality disorder.) If everything is true, they lived together until my birth, then mom left. And then I lived with my dad and my older sister.
When I was two and a half, my dad put me in kindergarten because he couldn't take care of me while working. And here started my sad days. In kindergarten, I never made friends, and others didn't try to befriend me either. I was always alone and lonely. Other than this, I don't really remember anything else from this period.
Then elementary school came. This was where I started to make friends, and others befriended me too. Then here I realized how two-faced people can be, because I saw how my friends talked about each other behind their backs. And during these years, my dad's abusive behavior toward me started.
It started with me not drinking enough water, and then he started threatening me that he would take me to the hospital and show me kids with kidney disease, so I could see how I would look if I continued like this. (Who the hell says stuff like this to a 9-year-old?)
Then it continued with the things that caused me to develop body dysmorphia and an eating disorder. This was when he always said to me, "You eat too much chocolate," and, moreover, he hid the chocolates from me. If I didn't eat the food that was in front of me, he started shoving pictures of starving kids—who were literally skin and bone—while saying how lucky I was to eat, and that I shouldn't be so picky, and I should just be grateful. Then it came to the point where I wasn't allowed to stand up from the dinner table until I finished my food.
Then there were his other things, like when he screamed at me just because I forgot to lock the door or turn off the lights. My other "favorite" was the "too much water usage," aka if I used "too much" water to wash my hands, flush the toilet, or if I showered for more than five minutes—because he "didn't have money," which was total bullshit because he was a successful self-employed print machine fixer.
And then when I got my first phone, it created new issues with my dad. Here, I discovered how fucking good music is, especially the "angry" heavy ones, and that I could speak to my friends anytime, anywhere—which of course bothered my dad (because why the hell would it be allowed for me to be happy?). Therefore, if he felt like I was using my phone too much, he would just smash it against the wall or the floor. Here, I had to learn not to get attached to the pictures in my phone as memories.
And then, all the way until I was 15, if I messed up anything, he screamed at me, and these were the things he threw at me: "I wish your mom had never given birth to you." He spat in front of me, then said, "This is what you're worth. Don't come to my funeral, because I will reach out of my grave and I will kill you." And this is just a few examples, but I'd rather not continue.
The physical abuse was that he would grab my shoulder and shake me really hard, or smack his head against mine. (At both times, I thought I wouldn't survive—it was that strong.) I kept trying to tell my teachers that there was something really wrong at home, but none of them believed me because my father was acting so good in front of them.
Then, when I was 15, the physical abuse finally started showing on my body, and so I was finally able to leave my dad and move to my mom with the help of child protection.
My mom came for me that night, and I totally believed that it was the start of my best life. (Well, I couldn't have been more wrong.)
To be continued~
