#no kidding that worse comes to worse I will apply for a job in Brazil

[elbiotipo]

as far as things seem from my end, in Brazil Lula is saying everyday "our economy is now in the top 10 of the world, we're taxing rich people so we can afford making social services more accessible oh and btw the prices of groceries are going down no big deal" while here in Argentina Milei is stuck in a hotel talking about the forces of heaven and sending decrees to destroy the welfare state while some fucking muppet brought from twitter says on TV "everything has gone up 120%, now, the following breeds of dog are edible:"

[mahlerlove]

I'm gonna use the empty void in this website because here I don't have any connections to people in my daily life

I have issues concerning socialization. Lots of them.

I was born in Brazil, but moved to the US (California) when I was 2. I was learning Portuguese with my family, but when we moved, I had to basically start over with English. The cultural differences between Brazil and the US are huge, especially concerning a child's development. In Brazil, PDA is the norm. If you are a toddler, it's expected for people to talk to your parents AND you. There are a lot of social cues that are vastly different in either country, and US culture focuses on a very detached interaction between people. The only friends I had were the kids of some friends of my parents, and not only couldn't I communicate with them, but I also got bullied by them.

I was a toddler who didn't speak English, and what little Portuguese I knew was shunned even by the Spanish speaking teachers at every single school I went to. My family would have the police called on them because of PDA and existing as immigrants, and also because they couldn't understand, for example, why giving you preschool teacher a hug was enough reason to get their 3yo expelled. I changed schools about 20 times while we lived in the US. My sister, even though she was born in the US, wouldn't be accepted anywhere because of xenophobia.

We were set to live there for life. My parents had applied for US citizenships, and my father's contract was going to be renewed on October. Then 9/11 happened. In less than two months we had been deported and were back to our old house in Brazil without anything except a styrofoam box where we would try to keep some food while everything was being shipped by boat. We lived almost 2 months like that, while my father tried to get his old job back. It was awful.

My parents tried to enroll me in school, but the thing is: Brazil has a lot of practical jokes, especially between kids. I got expelled in a week because a kid slapped me as a joke and I, due to being raised in such a strong "do not touch anyone" policy, responded by beating them up. I didn't know any Portuguese, English is not used as a second language here, and my parents couldn't teach me anything because they were both struggling with unstable jobs and two kids (5yo me and 2yo sister).

In the US I had learned how to read very quickly, and my parents thought I wouldn't have any issues at school here. I ended up changing school half a dozen times, but finally settled in a school that used a different method. That school was hell. The class teacher would lock me in a closet at the back of the class so that I "wouldn't be a bad influence on the other kids". I got beat up daily, multiple times, by other kids, and more than once got physically assaulted by that teacher herself. She got me expelled two months from finishing first grade.

My parents were out of options. They had nowhere else to go. I still couldn't speak Portuguese well enough, no school would accept me or my sister, and even if I wasn't scared and hurt enough, telling them about the abuse wouldn't amount to anything because the school board would defend their own kids at all costs. I was 6, couldn't and wouldn't talk to anyone, and would pounce on anyone who tried to approach me.

The school that expelled me suggested a school for "special kids", where kids who had neurological, genetic, or developmental issues (sorry if these descriptions is offensive, I'm trying to explain this as best as I can). My parents took that advice and tried to get me enrolled there. The school didn't accept any kids younger than 7, but they went out of their way to help. I spent the three next months ina cupboard under a staircase talking and playing with two teachers who would try to find some time between classes to take care of me until I'd go to some sort of therapy. I still didn't have any friends, but I was finally able to speak Portuguese, and wasn't trying to beat up anyone who dared near me.

The next year I got into a 1st grade class, along with 5 other kids. Things were finally starting to go well. I started getting along with my classmates, but most of the time I'd isolate myself and read books. I wouldn't go out to play at recess, and they banned me from the school library when I refused to socialize. I was scared of playing with anyone because I didn't want to get bullied or hurt any of my classmates. I wouldn't establish any sort of friendship out of fear of someone getting hurt. I started going to boy scout meetings, and those were the only reason I lived for.

Two years later I changed schools again, and my parents hoped that then it would be better for me. When the board of the school I'd been attending explained to them that I would get compromised educationally and mentally, they accepted their recommendation and enrolled me in another school. It was even worse than before. I got bullied in every way possible because of the school I'd come from. I would be called r*tarded, filthy, and other stuff by my classmates, other kids, and staff. The only place I'd been even remotely happy was called a hospice by everyone around me, including other parents and teachers. My teacher would try to keep things under control, but when she got diagnosed with cancer and quit to treat her health, things only went downhill. I had my chest slashed open by one teacher's nails when she grabbed me to scream insults when I tried to defend myself from being beaten by four classmates during her class. It was the first time I planned suicide.

When I turned 10, I went back to the school I'd been expelled from. The first day of school my mother pulled me aside and explained to me that my teacher had threatened the school board to give me a chance in his class. He tried to include me at every time, and did whatever he could to keep me from harm. He was fired at the end of that same year under false pretenses and ridiculous accusations of not following the school's method. I would only speak three times a day: "Good morning teacher." "School was ok.", and "Good night".

I wasn't as lucky with my classmates as I was with him. The daughter of my former teacher at the school (the one who locked me in the closet) was in that class, and she made sure to tell everyone where I'd come from, and used that as an excuse to get everyone around to beat me. I got stabbed with pencils and had my clothes and hair cut with scissors. Again, it was hell. I had no friends, because nobody would come close to me, either due to prejudice, or for fear of getting the short end of the stick for approaching me. When my teacher got fired at the end of the year things got even worse. I had to bring two sets of clothes to school each day because I'd get thrown in a small pond at the back of the school every day, sometimes twice. The only place I could be a bit more free was at my scouts group meetings. I tried suicide for the first time.

The next year things started to change. One kid stood up for me and berated everyone in front of the class. The next day he tried to use that as blackmail to manipulate me into doing his schoolwork, and threatened to beat me up as well. He still beat me up. But his speech had some impact: I started to be left alone. I'd hide in the school library and read for hours on end after school while I waited for my parents to pick me up. Some teachers started helping me with schoolwork and I started to pick myself up.

The next two years steadily got better, but I could never trust anyone enough to call them my friend. The only place I was open enough to talk to people was at scouts meetings, and even so, I wouldn't hold conversations or let friendships develop because every time I tried to open up, I was forced to realize I never learned how to act or talk to people, and would have "weird kid" rubbed on my face.

During that time I went as a junior chaperone to a summer camp. That's where I made my first true friend after my time in the "special kids" school. She and I sat down on a riverbank and started talking about feeling left out. My first true friendship was made over a conversation about wanting to commit suicide. She is my friend to this day.

Highschool wasn't much better. Even if people were treating me well, nobody would stick around too much because of how "weird" I was. I did make some more friends. I came out during that time, and even with my family's support, it wasn't easy. The first three people I fell in love with were gone: The first one died of cancer at 16, the next one had a stroke when we were chasing each other, and lost all her memory, even her own name. The third one was one of best friends, and when she left for college she cut all contact with everyone, and I was brokenhearted and lost.

I chose to study Psychology in college. I studied hard to get accepted in a public university (in Brazil those are the best ones), and I moved 500km (a little over 310 miles) away. I was trying my hardest to start over and have a new life. I chose my course because I believed that some rotten apples don't represent Humanity as a whole, and I didn't want anyone to suffer what I've been through. I chose to be a therapist, teacher, or social worker the day I had my first class in that cupboard under the stairs.

College has given me the best moments of my life: I have friends, I have had relationships, I have finally been invited to parties, but to this day I still struggle with social interactions. I still can't connect with people, and I still get teased and ridiculed for certain mannerisms. I still feel better on my own. I don't think I've ever been loved, and I live with the little voice in the back of my head telling me it's all a farce to humiliate and hurt me even more. I have never felt loved, even by my family. I have never had a genuine connection with any of my partners. I have never felt truly accepted in any clique or group of friends.

I spend most of my time drinking, smoking, and trying to relate to other people in some sort of social setting, when I know it's all a temporary relief for this emptiness and detachment from other people I feel 24/7. Quarantine has been a relief and a curse.

Any type of rejection, any type of joke directed at me, makes me break in a cold sweat and hold back tears. Any type of interaction, whoever it may be with, feels fake and staged. I have no identity. Therapy has never helped me with this, because these therapists are never able to grasp how lonely I've been my whole life. Every single day I grow weary of other people, and I feel that I am a fraud. Every day I hate people a little more, and I hate myself for it, for making the decision to help others, for believing in a lie. I am living a lie told by me to myself.

[pisati]

I did write some comments on your post, but that was an initial reaction after one read-through, and of course it was a lot to take in. I went to my guitar lesson, ate a little bit, dicked around for a bit, and read it through again. what’s on my mind is too much for character-limited replies so I figured I’d just write a post.

if you’re serious that the amount of stuff you told me is maybe 10% of all the things her parents did, then... holy shit, dude. it’s hard to imagine anyone growing up with that and not being completely brainwashed. I feel for her daughter too. hopefully once she gets her degree and gets a job she can get away from that bullshit. most people, I think, are reasonably paranoid about the possible threats that come from strangers on the internet, but that’s just extreme. the scottish mafia??? is that even a thing?? I’ve never even. heard of that, lmao. jesus.

I want to say when the internet was in its infancy, a lot of scammers saw it as an opportunity. that’s where the whole Nigerian prince thing and all that came about. first rule of the internet was not to trust anyone. no personal information, to anyone, ever. the thing is, the internet has changed drastically since then. social media has revolutionized the way everyday people use the internet, and very, very many everyday people use it. the chances you’re likely to run into a normal person just like yourself vs. a scam artist today are much, much higher than they were even a decade ago. some people don’t want to accept that things have changed. I mentioned my Brazilian friends on your post; my mom was pretty nervous at first when I told her about them. I met them just before I graduated high school, so I was 17. I actually was on Omegle (which was WAY worse than tumblr or twitter???) and I talked to a kid named Matia. he was a few years younger than me but his english was very good and he was a cool kid. we followed each other on twitter, and then his friends saw and a bunch of them followed me, asking him “quem é essa gringa matia??”-- who’s this foreign girl? they’d talk to me in english about music and ask me what it was like in the US; they were fascinated. they affectionately nicknamed me ‘gringa’; in Brazil it doesn’t have the same negative connotations as it can in Spanish-speaking countries; it literally means ‘foreginer’. I learned Portuguese inadvertently just from reading all the tweets they posted. they’d mess with me and tweet in slang and typo-ed Portuguese so I couldn’t google translate it, but when I learned enough Portuguese and read back on their old tweets, I had a good laugh because it was all stuff like “lol let’s mess with her so she can’t translate it, that’ll be so funny!” and they knew I’d get all frustrated because I didn’t know what it said, lol. like, just pure, innocent interactions between strangers on the internet. I had a ton of fun with it. and Portuguese even ended up being my best language, because I learned it not only in natural, informal contexts (rather than “hello, how are you?”), but I learned it through drunken slang and intentional typos and a whole assload of cursing, lmao.

I was nervous to tell my mom about it; I knew how she’d react. there was no way to tell her about all the jokes and conversations and how all of it was harmless. how I just knew they were real people like me (they were all around my age too). she didn’t want me to study abroad there, when I brought it up, or at least... if I did, she’d rather I’d have picked somewhere in Europe instead. I told her I’d skyped with my friend David, and once I even mailed him a package with an old shirt of mine (because I’d tweeted about how I had this IUP shirt and once I transferred I knew I wasn’t gonna wear it anymore, but I didn’t want to donate it; he said he wanted it and I was like well if you’re serious lol). I skyped another friend Guilherme once because he said he could help with an assignment I had for researching the grammar of non-native speakers of english, or something like that. she warmed up after a while. I think she realized that, hey, most normal people are also on the internet now. and there’s normal people in other countries, lol. but like. people in that generation are from a different era of information-sharing. it’s a totally different perspective. and if you’re the kind of person who worries entirely too much... well, you’ve seen what can happen.

you said it in your other post too (which, first of all, I’m really proud of you for opening up, as painful as I’m sure all this is, and second of all, I’m honored that you’re comfortable enough to share with me)... the thing about sounding ‘weak’ and ‘pathetic’. and... maybe it does feel like that. but given the circumstances? I think reacting like that is perfectly normal. I’m sure you know, but this kind of situation, all the things that happened... none of that is normal. you had a perfectly normal reaction to seriously abnormal events. it’s only natural to want to know why. when you love someone so much and think they love you too, and have your whole perception of the world turned on its head... it’s absolutely devastating. you don’t want to let it go. what else is there? you didn’t picture it vanishing so suddenly, and you feel like that’s it. 

I just want you to know, I don’t see weak or pathetic. I see someone very much like myself. who genuinely cares and feels so intensely and deeply and is sometimes even afraid of being too much. a lot of people don’t understand that we have pure intentions. they don’t understand how we feel because they don’t have that depth. 

anyway, I understand a little better how you feel about it. a lot of it wasn’t her fault; she pretty much had a gun to her head. or, multiple, depending how you want to look at it. she grew up with that bullshit. you said it wasn’t even the first time something like that happened to her. it’s really, really hard to defend yourself or stand up for yourself when that’s what you know. when that’s your family, who is supporting you and your daughter, and threatens to kick you out if you follow your own will. she was playing a losing game. it made me a little sad to read how hard you tried to make it work, when clearly you were being pushed away, but I understand, man. I’ve done the same thing. you want so badly to make it work, you feel like there’s always a way you can. the most devastating part of it all is realizing you can’t. and it can’t be fixed.

the thing that puzzles me, though, and please tell me if I cross a line here. I really don’t want to. I respect your feelings and I understand that your relationship with her lasted a long time; there’s so much packed into that time. I’ve told you a lot of the shitty parts of my relationship with A, and you’ve wondered why I didn’t kick him to the curb; I didn’t tell you about all the good parts there were too. I know how complicated and difficult those things can be. despite how much they hurt you, how they did it, how much more pain you were in because of what they did than anything you could ever do to them... you still care about them. a lot. 

I just... I guess I’m not 100% clear on the purpose she serves in your life at this point. of course you care about her. it’s only natural to, when they’re your best friend. you know so much about them and they know so much about you and you’ve shared so many good things and you just enjoy them as a person. god, I even remember writing some sappy poem or blog post or something about how, even after everything, A could have stabbed me in the gut and I would have apologized for getting my blood on him. but he also did more damage to me than anyone ever has. I realized this past summer (that’s a story for another time) with such sudden, horrible clarity that I burst out sobbing while I was driving home on the highway; what he did was irredeemable. there was nothing he could do to fix it. I had done everything I knew how to do to even stay his friend, and I finally told myself that it was either I continue to pursue this and make myself miserable and make him miserable (because he was allowed to have feelings for whoever he wanted; me getting upset over every new one would hurt him too), or I could just. let go. finally. and that was not a decision I ever wanted to face. I put it off for so long. I told myself there could always be a way to fix it. but it always came down to him putting in the effort. he was my best friend. he knew me better than anyone. a lot of the things you said about M, I’ve said about A. I’ve never been able to be that close to anyone before; he’d seen much more of me than I was comfortable showing anyone else. I didn’t know if I’d be able to be that close to anyone else. making the decision to let go of the one person I was that close to was the hardest thing I had to do this past year, right up there with having to talk to the team from the cremation place not 15 minutes after learning my dad was dead and watching them take him away in a body bag. 

anyway, I guess what I’m getting at is... you can still love her, and still care deeply about her, but also keep her in the past. this is just my conjecture, given that I don’t know anything about your relationship now, but it seems to me like trying to keep her in your life is not beneficial to either of you. I know you said you don’t keep people around based on the purpose they serve in your life, and that’s a good philosophy to have, for sure. I’m not arguing that at all. but I think there’s a lesson to take from Marie Kondo here (ha); when something has served its purpose in your life, you should understand when it’s time to let it go. thank it for all it brought to you, all it did for you, of course; there’s apparently a lot of Shinto traditional beliefs that influenced her organization philosophy that would be really interesting to read about. but anyway I don’t think it just applies to the physical clutter we all accumulate in our homes. we weigh ourselves down with all the things we keep. especially those that don’t ~spark joy~, lol.  if she’s really as brisk with you as you say... do you think she would be bothered if you disappeared as well? 

I know it’s never just that easy. I made that decision, and then later I learned that A had a whole clusterfuck of mental illnesses that he wasn’t even aware he had. it was bad. worse than he thought. but once he finally got into therapy and started journaling his moods, it became more obvious. he realized a lot of how he treated me came from that. when he told me, I felt just a tiny bit of my resolve crumble. how could I drop him like that, when he was clearly struggling and needed something stable? even just a good friend, who was patient and understanding, like I’ve always tried to be? I’m not the only friend he has, of course. he has plenty of people around. I don’t have to go back to trying so hard if I don’t want to, but I also felt like I couldn’t just abandon him. I realized it wasn’t entirely his fault. he still did what he did knowingly, he still knew how it hurt me, but it still wasn’t entirely his fault. I know you’ve seen that in M as well. it’s so complicated, I know.

I’m not trying to convince you of anything. maybe just trying to get you to think about it another way. you’ve got a lot of pain that you’ve buried and try your hardest not to deal with. I’ve done it too. get to it when we get to it, except we hope we never have to. but it makes healing so hard when we don’t address it and subsequently deal with it. I wonder if you think it’s possible to heal the way you hope to and also keep her in your life. I’m sure in some way it is, but I wonder how you picture that possible future. I’m still trying to work that out for myself, with my situation. 

anyway, I really do appreciate you taking the time to help me understand your demons better. and... if it means anything, I don’t see you as broken. even if that’s how you feel. I mean, shit. all of that is enough to break anyone. I’ve never even been in a relationship, let alone had one that got to the marriage-talk, engagement-ring, wedding-dress, baby-name point. for someone that feels as intensely as we do, no less... I can only imagine. I see how the innocence, so to speak, was ripped from your hands. I understand how you feel changed by it. I see the darkness in you that I’ve seen in myself, but I see the light there too. you need to feel safe so that light has time to heal and grow again.