Growing Up Was Hard

Although they said they loved me, my parents always treated me and my siblings like we were a terrible burden.

My father owned his own business, and was gone most of the day. When he was home, he was always taking his stress out on us. Even the tiniest things would set him off, and he'd go on a huge spiel about what terrible children we were, and how we should be ashamed for not behaving. There was physically abuse as well, but the pain always faded. It was the words that stuck, eating me away from the inside. I was a failure, a terrible human being who didn't deserve any respect or consideration. Those words are in the back of my mind to this day.

My mother wasn't much better. She'd be comforting at times, but other times she'd passive-aggressively find ways to make us feel guilty for existing and taking up resources. If any of us even mentioned being unhappy, she'd go on and on about how they were working years off their lives to support us, and that we should be grateful for having anything at all.

They were always paranoid that we would pick up the "wicked ways" of society, so their solution was to keep me and my siblings isolated from it. Entirely.

We were kept out of school, but since they didn't know the first thing about home-schooling, we never really got an adequate education to make up for that. I had to teach myself about math, science, and all those other fun things.

On top of that, we were denied contact with other children our age, aside from relatives. I'd spend most of the time indoors. It wasn't uncommon to even spend a whole month or more without ever stepping outside. The loneliness was one of the worst things, looking back.

By the age of seven, I was self-harming on a regular basis. I would beat myself until bloody and bruised. I'd wander around the house in the middle of the night, crying for an angel, or even God himself to come and take me away to a new home. I thought about taking my own life more times than I dare to count.

Even though I've since moved out, I hate how much of my life is still impacted. I love meeting and being around other people, yet I struggle with social anxiety every day. I'm horrible at making friends, and even worse at keeping them. I've become a person that others generally want to stay away from, and I don't blame any of them one bit. I have trouble controlling my anger sometimes, and I have no self-esteem or confidence in anything I do. At best, I'm an extremely awkward person to be around.

One day, I want to no longer be defined so completely by my childhood. It's a difficult goal, but I need to try. This is my first time sharing my story, anyway. I'd like to think it is a step in the right direction.
RebelBee RebelBee
Dec 2, 2012