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Why I think I'm the way I am
8 years ago
I tried to take a psychological look at my life to see why I think I am the way I am. In this journal I go over many things that affected me through out my life and this isn't everything that's made me the way I am. I end up venting a lot in it but strangely enough it made me feel better.
I'm clingy, needy, shy, submissive, a person who needs lots of attention, and many other things. I've been this way for most of my life and over the course of my 29 years of life I've developed very bad mental health problems, like severe clinical depression. On more than one occasion I've attempted suicide because of the pain I've felt in my heart for so many years. Once when I was 8 I put a loaded World War 1 .303 British infantry rifle in my mouth, took the safety off, and pulled the trigger. The gun misfired and all I got was a spanking for "Playing" with my grandpa's gun. I believe I know why I feel the way I do and I want to try to explain it in this journal.
I believe that I'm the way I am because my parents left me to the care of my grandparents from the time I was 1-year-old till I was 16 years and 4 months old. During that time that I spent with my grandparents I never felt loved. I always felt like I was a slave. Anything physical that needed to be done I was always the one who did it, even as a little kid. Do you know any 9-year-olds who had to pick up a riding mower with their grandfather on it? I do because I did that. Any time I wanted to be held or felt like talking about something I thought was interesting I was always told to sit down, shut up, be quiet, pay attention, and do exactly what I'm told to do.
When I was very young I cried every night my parents left my grandparents' house. They would come to visit almost every night for maybe 3 hours a night. I wanted so badly to go live with them, I didn't want to live with my grandparents anymore. Did they care? They say yes but their actions over the course of my life have lead me to believe that no they didn't. For 15 years and some odd months I lived with my grandparents. My grandmother died in March of 2003 and I went to live with my parents in February of 2004. I thought I'd enjoy that. Heh, was I ever wrong.
In 2004 my hell continued. I was still treated like a slave only this time I got the added experience of not only going to work with my dad like I had many, many times in the past years but also getting to do his job for him. That's right he made me do the job he got paid to do for him. I did all the work while he sat out in his van and enjoyed himself by relaxing in the cool air conditioning while I made all of his snack and pop deliveries. I'm the one who got to deal with all the angry customers. I'm the one who got to deal with the idiot Coca-Cola repairman. I did everything he was supposed to do. Did I get any kind of thanks? Sure if you call getting called a dumbass almost every day and yelled at when you make a little mistake thanks. Did I get any sort of pay? I was given free drinks and food. Kind of sounds like slave rations doesn't it?
I thought that my own parents would show me the love and affection that I so desperately craved. I never got to feel what it was like to be loved by them. They say that they love me but I don't feel it. How can I? They are the ones who once said that they want me to die. Even though they said it in an indirect way they still said that. There was a newscast on TV about a furry convention that was going on. The furries were having fun and enjoying themselves and I was enjoying watching them, thinking I would love to go to one someday. That's when I heard this statement come from my dad saying that he hates furries and that he would like to see every furry rounded up and put into a concentration camp like Hitler did to the Jews. He said he wanted to see every furry fixed to believe what is "normal" or be executed. He didn't say this calmly either he said it with lots of anger and hatred in his voice. What did my mom do? Did she try to defend the innocent people just trying to have some fun? No! She agreed with him! How am I supposed to feel love from people who want me dead!?
Does my story end there though? No it does not. Later in my life I learned some things that made me even more depressed about things. After my grandfather died in 2009 I went to live in the house I grew up in. I told them I wanted to live by myself. After what they had put me through can you blame me? Did I get to live by myself? No. I got to live with my very abusive drunk of an uncle. I got to live with that idiot for 7 months. I was the only one who paid on any bills including our rent. Our landlord, by the way, was my dad. Every time our rent came up short, whose fault was it? Was it my uncles for not paying his half? Was it my dad's for not listening to me when I told him my uncle wouldn't pay his half and that he needed to get rid of him? No. Apparently it was my fault. I don't know how it possibly could have been my fault when I was the only one paying on any bills except the beer bill. That particular bill my uncle covered by himself. Thank God he paid that one because lord knows we really needed that beer to live.
Eventually, we had to sell the house. It sold for around $50,000.00 and I told my dad to keep my half of the sale. He went to meet the realtor one day when I was at work. When I came home that day and had a chance to talk with him he told me something that made me angry. The realtor complimented him on how well the landscape looked. My father was not the one who kept up with the grounds of the house, I was. Did he give me any credit? No. He took it all for himself. Just like he did for the solution of hiding wires in the basement in the floor boards of the rooms above the basement. Anything that I did that worked out very well he took credit for. Anything that he did that failed I got blamed for.
This year is when I figured something out that really hurt me a lot. Several years ago they told me that my grandparents gave them a loan to buy the house that they lived in for 15 years. Not once did they ever receive money for repayment of the debt. I didn't think about this at all until this year. It's when I realized this. Why oh why did my parents never repay their debt to my dad's parents? Why didn't they give them back the money that they borrowed? Why would they need to when they gave their only child to them as payment? That's right. I was used as currency to repay the loan that my grandparents gave my parents for their apartment.
So to sum things up, here's why I think I'm like I am. I believe I am the way that I am because of my family. I think I'm the way I am because of the neglect I received by my parents and grandparents. I think I'm the way I am because of how my uncle treated me during the time I lived with him. My friends from childhood aren't guilt free either. None of them wanted to be my friend unless they wanted something from me whether it was money or protection because of how big I was. So I believe that I'm the way that I am because of my "friends" but mostly my family and to a much greater extent my parents. I am extremely clingy to the ones I love because of my craving for love and attention that I was denied for so many years.
That is why I believe I am the way that I am.
I'm clingy, needy, shy, submissive, a person who needs lots of attention, and many other things. I've been this way for most of my life and over the course of my 29 years of life I've developed very bad mental health problems, like severe clinical depression. On more than one occasion I've attempted suicide because of the pain I've felt in my heart for so many years. Once when I was 8 I put a loaded World War 1 .303 British infantry rifle in my mouth, took the safety off, and pulled the trigger. The gun misfired and all I got was a spanking for "Playing" with my grandpa's gun. I believe I know why I feel the way I do and I want to try to explain it in this journal.
I believe that I'm the way I am because my parents left me to the care of my grandparents from the time I was 1-year-old till I was 16 years and 4 months old. During that time that I spent with my grandparents I never felt loved. I always felt like I was a slave. Anything physical that needed to be done I was always the one who did it, even as a little kid. Do you know any 9-year-olds who had to pick up a riding mower with their grandfather on it? I do because I did that. Any time I wanted to be held or felt like talking about something I thought was interesting I was always told to sit down, shut up, be quiet, pay attention, and do exactly what I'm told to do.
When I was very young I cried every night my parents left my grandparents' house. They would come to visit almost every night for maybe 3 hours a night. I wanted so badly to go live with them, I didn't want to live with my grandparents anymore. Did they care? They say yes but their actions over the course of my life have lead me to believe that no they didn't. For 15 years and some odd months I lived with my grandparents. My grandmother died in March of 2003 and I went to live with my parents in February of 2004. I thought I'd enjoy that. Heh, was I ever wrong.
In 2004 my hell continued. I was still treated like a slave only this time I got the added experience of not only going to work with my dad like I had many, many times in the past years but also getting to do his job for him. That's right he made me do the job he got paid to do for him. I did all the work while he sat out in his van and enjoyed himself by relaxing in the cool air conditioning while I made all of his snack and pop deliveries. I'm the one who got to deal with all the angry customers. I'm the one who got to deal with the idiot Coca-Cola repairman. I did everything he was supposed to do. Did I get any kind of thanks? Sure if you call getting called a dumbass almost every day and yelled at when you make a little mistake thanks. Did I get any sort of pay? I was given free drinks and food. Kind of sounds like slave rations doesn't it?
I thought that my own parents would show me the love and affection that I so desperately craved. I never got to feel what it was like to be loved by them. They say that they love me but I don't feel it. How can I? They are the ones who once said that they want me to die. Even though they said it in an indirect way they still said that. There was a newscast on TV about a furry convention that was going on. The furries were having fun and enjoying themselves and I was enjoying watching them, thinking I would love to go to one someday. That's when I heard this statement come from my dad saying that he hates furries and that he would like to see every furry rounded up and put into a concentration camp like Hitler did to the Jews. He said he wanted to see every furry fixed to believe what is "normal" or be executed. He didn't say this calmly either he said it with lots of anger and hatred in his voice. What did my mom do? Did she try to defend the innocent people just trying to have some fun? No! She agreed with him! How am I supposed to feel love from people who want me dead!?
Does my story end there though? No it does not. Later in my life I learned some things that made me even more depressed about things. After my grandfather died in 2009 I went to live in the house I grew up in. I told them I wanted to live by myself. After what they had put me through can you blame me? Did I get to live by myself? No. I got to live with my very abusive drunk of an uncle. I got to live with that idiot for 7 months. I was the only one who paid on any bills including our rent. Our landlord, by the way, was my dad. Every time our rent came up short, whose fault was it? Was it my uncles for not paying his half? Was it my dad's for not listening to me when I told him my uncle wouldn't pay his half and that he needed to get rid of him? No. Apparently it was my fault. I don't know how it possibly could have been my fault when I was the only one paying on any bills except the beer bill. That particular bill my uncle covered by himself. Thank God he paid that one because lord knows we really needed that beer to live.
Eventually, we had to sell the house. It sold for around $50,000.00 and I told my dad to keep my half of the sale. He went to meet the realtor one day when I was at work. When I came home that day and had a chance to talk with him he told me something that made me angry. The realtor complimented him on how well the landscape looked. My father was not the one who kept up with the grounds of the house, I was. Did he give me any credit? No. He took it all for himself. Just like he did for the solution of hiding wires in the basement in the floor boards of the rooms above the basement. Anything that I did that worked out very well he took credit for. Anything that he did that failed I got blamed for.
This year is when I figured something out that really hurt me a lot. Several years ago they told me that my grandparents gave them a loan to buy the house that they lived in for 15 years. Not once did they ever receive money for repayment of the debt. I didn't think about this at all until this year. It's when I realized this. Why oh why did my parents never repay their debt to my dad's parents? Why didn't they give them back the money that they borrowed? Why would they need to when they gave their only child to them as payment? That's right. I was used as currency to repay the loan that my grandparents gave my parents for their apartment.
So to sum things up, here's why I think I'm like I am. I believe I am the way that I am because of my family. I think I'm the way I am because of the neglect I received by my parents and grandparents. I think I'm the way I am because of how my uncle treated me during the time I lived with him. My friends from childhood aren't guilt free either. None of them wanted to be my friend unless they wanted something from me whether it was money or protection because of how big I was. So I believe that I'm the way that I am because of my "friends" but mostly my family and to a much greater extent my parents. I am extremely clingy to the ones I love because of my craving for love and attention that I was denied for so many years.
That is why I believe I am the way that I am.
