#this story is going to get fifteen hits and take another month to finish thats why we do what we do babeyyy

[potatoesandsunshine]

they should invent a kind of WIP that is finished

[inviisiiblelee]

ookay so absolutely no one asked for this post but i’ve been so unreliable lately with literally everything that i figure i can at least explain what’s been going on for the last six months or so. i know i’ve briefly touched on this to others in discord and some of this has been viewable through some of my other posts and all but, here’s a big block of text explaining why i fall in and out of tumblr, discord and everywhere else i exist online

TL;DR?:  I’m depressed, anxious, & or in a panic pretty much all the time, and disability has really effed me over.

I lived in an incredibly quietly abusive home for the last fifteen years of my life. I am just now turned twenty.

when i say this, i don’t mean it in any kind of roundabout way, and it’s really only been in the last year that i realized that this is what i was living. and i will come out and say that i don’t even think my parents realized this was how they were treating me, that this was the kind of household they were building for me. and honestly, it was a way worse experience for me than it was or will be for my younger siblings (i hope).

the fact of the matter is, my biological mother was a drug addicted alcoholic, since the birth of my sister who is only two years younger than me. my mother was not a very good role model mother in really any way, and i really honestly wish i had more to offer than this basic, umbrella-like summary. but it’s so bad that i have almost no memory of what my mother was like, personally. i don’t remember her voice, her face, or any of that. she died of an overdose when i was eleven. It’s been nine years and, really, I have more memories that are worth my time remembering after the fact. i grew to hate my mother with my entire being, and her death wasn’t something i dealt with right.

even now, i haven’t dealt with it well, but i have let go of the anger that really held me back.

since that moment of my life, it seemed like an event that became who i was. i was the kid who’s mom died, i was friendless and depressed, and i acted like everything was fine, and i honestly still do. eventually, of course, things moved on --- my dad found another woman to love, who became the mother i wished i always had. of course, there was a lot of internal conflict as this happened, something that while i was never aware of it, happened no matter what i really believed. evidently, at the end of the day, losing your biological mother is something that really changes you, especially when she went by way of suicide.

my father remarried in 20...14? maybe? i really don’t remember --- my years and months really started running together in my mind, and honestly my memory has never been something to brag about when it comes to my own life. life seemed to be okay but really, there was a lot of conflict between my family and i. my father is a military man, and was heavily heavily abused as a child, and almost killed by his own mom. but he was an abusive father by way of mental and emotional abuse, especially once i entered high school. i was constantly compared to my mother, which i hated because she took her own life, and she was the worst role model of my life. my father had a habit of callling me useless, or telling me i would never amount to anything. in his mind, he was doing me a favor --- trying to make me realize i needed to change. but all he did was instill a hopelessness inside of me that he would never understand or admit to giving me or being part of. 

my self esteem tanked by the time i was a sophomore in school, and my grades began to really see a dip. i was spending less time on my schooling, because i was exploring hobbies that my father didn’t approve of, which meant i was spending more time hiding the things that made me happy than i was studying. school was becoming something i didn’t like as much as i once did --- it was getting so hard to find joy in anything, and i realize now that was the major & chronic depression that i would later be diagnosed with. but all i heard from my parents at that time was that i was sick in the head --- that i would turn out dead like my own mother, a drug addict and homeless and useless. and eventually, a thought hit --- why bother?

when i was in the summer year between my sophomore and junior year of high school, the summer of 2016, i made a plan to take my own life, because i felt like such a burden.

i was not the most aware of what would work --- and i was very against going through something painful --- so i found an amalgamation of every prescription and non-prescription drug in the house. which was quite a lot. and i would siphone pills through the day, slowly, so it was less noticeable.

when my family found them, they refused to believe that i was depressed and suicidal, instead choosing to believe i was selling pills at school, peddling fake drugs (considering there were pre-natals among my stash, which, admittedly, wouldn’t have done much). instead of ever offering and following through with counseling, they asked me one time when i was fourteen and never actually put me into a place. they make the excuse now that it would not have been beneficial if i didn’t want it, but i recall several times speaking to them about getting into counseling and nothing ever coming of it.

the next two years would be a total rollercoaster. at seventeen, a predator was contacting me and trying to get photos, my location, even so much as meeting up with me. my parents put me through hell for talking to the guy --- and now i realize that whether or not i was an older female, i was still under eighteen and being taken advantage of. my principal and secretary of the school got involved, and i became more suicidal than ever. i lost friends due to the state of mind i had.

luckily, i graduated high school and turned eighteen, and this seemed to be the end of my forseeable problems. i had been working through high school, and though my family had forced me to resign from the last workplace due to workplace drama and claiming my coworkers were bad influences, I was searching for jobs and hopeful for getting into college.

i was not the perfect child at home (i rebelled against chores like any kid, and when i worked, i was even less reliable for doing chores because i was never home to cause the mess but somehow it was always my job to clean it up when i had a sister two years younger who was FULLY capable, but thats just another story tbh), but professional help has also made me see that i was not deserving of the kind of punishments my father put me through, including being lectured at about how much of a failure child i was for over three hours almost per night during the summer. i did not experiment with drugs as a high school student, i never attempted to run away or sneak out, i had a few thief instances that never recurred the way my younger sister’s instances were monthly. 

in july, barely a month and a half after graduating and turning eighteen, my parents kicked me out. i had nowhere to go, no money to help me, and no amount of help from them. and yet, i managed to move into a place a few weeks after the news.

it was a huge mistake.

i had found someone on craigslist (BAD IDEA PAST ME) renting out a room in their home. they lived an hour from the nearest bus stop (an hour walking) but close to the downtown area. rent was about half of what i made in a month. and very quickly, there were problems. once i had the place found, i had no other options --- the few other places that were that cheap were no longer available, and my deadline was coming up. the place itself was pretty atrocious --- dirty and gross, BUT i was told it was being fixed over the next month and i thought if i could help out, no problems.  there were cats (i was allergic, though it did eventually seem to fall out from me living there) and even a bird that was loud and annoying. the cons really outweighed any pros, but it had taken a long time to find the place, and i was not sure i would make my deadline before my parents dropped me off at a shelter. plus, i was supposed to be going to school in the next few months for college, with loans and all, and it should have been fine!

just kidding.

i moved in, met the three other roommates, and began the downward spiral. i was almost immediately out of money --- rent was far too much, and i couldn’t buy groceries afterwards. my phone bill lapsed a few times, and i never was able to finish paying off the deposit. my routine became something terrible. i only ate once a day, while at work with my free meal. and on saturday and sunday, which i didn’t work, i only ate a little bit, if one of my friends happened to give me food out of pity, or else i didn’t eat anything. i started stocking up on CLIF bars, because i could eat one and sleep the rest of the day with little issues.

i slept on the floor of the room, miserable, in a panic. the landlord (who also lived in the living room of the place but worked) was horrible. he essentially demanded that i take care of him while he was home, and expected me to just do it because he hadn’t kicked me out yet for not having the deposit paid.

eventually, i had enough. one of the other roommates, his name was Josh, was getting tired of the same treatment. and my final straw was when i found out the landlord searched through my room without asking and while i wasn’t there. so he and i got together, started looking for a place closer to town, and gave him a verbal/written notice of moving out. 

however, this fell through, too. josh lost the money he had for the apartment two weeks before we were supposed to move, and so i had to scramble to find a place. i got lucky --- a really good friend of mine talked to her mom and they took me in when he couldn’t recover the money. i left josh with some of my things until i had a permanent place.

he stole half of all of my belongings, about five hundred dollars worth of miscallaneous stuff.

josh disappeared off the face of the planet, after faking his own death to me via his ex. it got wild, and i almost (and should have) took it to the police to get my things. but because his whereabouts are really unknown to me, it was going to be a way more expensive process than i was into. 

around that same time, my financial aid for school fell through due to some change, and without any cosigner for a loan, i had no option but to drop out -- and still got footed for a bill of $1700. for school i couldn’t and never did attend. 

the following year of this was not that bad --- my friend’s mom moved out of the house and left it to us. it was a really nice, three bed and two baths with a nice kitchen. they bought me a bed and bed frame, as i had previously been sleeping on the couch, without a mattress of any kind (Josh stole it). i was so grateful.

but after a year, too, she had gotten a boyfriend and they were talking about moving to nashville for his job (they’re there now, congrats to them!) and her mom was going to sell the house.

at this point, my family was in some contact with me again --- my mother and i had less issues than i had with my father, and she found out the situation and offered me to come back home. they were having issues with my younger sister, and i think they hoped my newfound independence could rub off. they would charge me no rent.

I agreed, a huge mistake. I know this now --- but at the time, I wanted their approval and wanted nothing more than to live with my family without problems, which is what was promised to me. They acknowledged I was an adult. This was a lie.

once back home, things were supposed to get better. or be better, rather. but it was immediate to me that it was not true --- once again, all of my decisions were being scrutinized by my family. i would work most of the day, and if i didn’t come home and socialize, i was getting long talks about being part of the “family.” i tried to accomodate all of this, and still it was not enough. if i was spending my money on anything they didn’t approve of, i was getting lectured about it. from the months of august 2018 until the end of january 2019, i was miserable, and depressed, and wanted nothing more than to die.

at the end of december, right before christmas, i finally found a counselor. my family had made it a must for me --- if i wanted to continue living there, i had to go to counseling. so i found a place and someone i began to trust. not long after, i started realizing just how bad i felt in life at home, and my counselor (agreeing for the first and last time with my family) mentioned an in-patient therapy place.

SO, in January, I went to an in-patient hospital for three weeks to undergo constant watch, and this would change my life.

the most recent big event in my life had been me breaking up with my girlfriend. some of you may know of her already, known as ruby, pretty prominent in the youtube rp fandom. she was abusive. not only to me but to others, and though i was warned, i dated her, fell in love with her, and she proceeded to make me feel bad for everything i wanted to do or did. so in the months between november and january, i was being put down by not only my family, who were still calling me useless, worthless, ignorant, and made to be my mother, my girlfriend was also making me feel bad for talking to other people, for spending time playing games and having hobbies that didn’t involve her. 

when i went to this hospital, i was under watch 24/7 for three weeks. they took my vitals, watched my every move. and i was supposed to be on track for finding my weaknesses.

This experience was vital for me --- but it also broke me down.

i was suddenly feeling every emotion i ever hid from myself. i felt myself break down and instead of hiding behind the solid walls i used to have, i had nothing to defend myself with. every thought about the family that seemed to tear me down, tore me down all over again. every thought about how my exgirlfriend saw ME as abusive or neglectful for not being awake at midnight to greet her from work had me in tears and believing no one would ever love me. it felt like someone ripped out my heart and threw it down to let everyone who ever wanted to trample it, do so without a fight.

it took three weeks to come back, and i was a broken woman. i had a better knowledge about myself, how my emotions worked and what i needed to do, but i was raw to the world, and my father supposedly understood. but it was clear to me, within the next week, that this was wrong. he wasted no time continuing to tell me that i wasn’t trying hard enough, that i wasn’t putting any effort into my life. that i was content to lay around and was worthless and just like my mother. 

so i left. i called someone i met while i was away, and he helped me move out that day. but my panic was non-stop. i couldn’t work the way i used to --- panic attacks were happening more often, and i was calling out more because of it. i ended up quitting out of fear of being fired, because i couldn’t get up every day anymore and go to work the way i used to.

eventually i moved again --- i found a guy i got along with really well, liked a lot. his family was very generous --- but they eventually kicked me out too. and now, i’m living with an old friend of mine, her family like my second family. but i changed --- i have a whole slew of medicines i’m supposed to take daily in order to function without panic in my daily life. debt’s come back around, and work has become harder to find. i’ve recognized that i have a disability, in the form of major and chronic depression, bipolar, and ptsd from my mother’s death and further abuse. i don’t get job responses the way i once did, and there are days where i stay in bed (on the couch where i live now) all day, panicking about the fact that i’m considered homeless, that i have no job, that i’m losing insurance soon and college is slowly slipping through my fingers. applying for disability guarantees me nothing, and marking myself as disabled, when compared to last year when i didn’t, has resulted in less interest in my resume, whch is great

i’m trying for commissions for art or writing. i’m trying to write a novel to maybe make something of myself. but i don’t know what to do. 

so. if you’ve ever wondered why i don’t stick around all day like i used to, if you ever wonder why you haven’t heard from me in a week or longer, there’s why.