Salutations and apologies for this terrible title, but to simplify everything - that's what I truly feel from day to day basis, but not quite that, so let me explain.

It's honestly weird. I am a normal guy by all means. Sure, got bullied a bit like all, but I fought back relentlessly, but there was something I never could fight back.

I grew up in a not so decent home with parents who acted more like teenagers, with all of the insecurities and lack of maturity. They always would put me through a rollercoaster of emotions that I, to this day, do not understand. At one instance, I was their beloved kid, worthy only of praise, yet, moments later, I would get beaten, ridiculed, diminished and get told that I "was a failed piece of shit", apologies for my language, and that I "should've been aborted".

Mind you, that was told to me by my beloved mother, who was the whole world to me growing up, and yet she would say such awful things to me, abusing me both physically and mentally, and then she would forget (or pretend to, for all I know) that she ever did anything bad to me, and it was extremely confusing to me while I was younger.

As I got older though, I understood her more. She was a victim of far more abuse, so my siblings would tell me "not to take it close to heart" and to "man up and stop whining". I tried. I failed. I tried again, and so on.

My siblings...

I am the youngest kid in the family, so of course everyone looked at me like I was treated like royalty, and they were jealous that they "didn't get that love and pamper that I receive", so no wonder they would get mad at me. In their eyes, I was a milksop complaining about overeating again, and they were starving children.

I got beaten up a lot by my brother growing up. Got cracked bones from all of that and minor brain damage. Was told that "it ain't a big deal" and to man up again. I failed and tried.

They, however, all of them, mother and siblings, would relentlessly dump their trauma and frustrations onto me, like I was a mop used to clean up stains of rotten juice and urine, yet I didn't complain, even when they would start to get physical in venting out their frustrations by hitting me.

I was raped by a woman at the age of 13. I didn't tell my siblings, for they would only sing their same old song, and didn't tell to my parents, for fear of ridicule and abuse. So, in my defiled, awful state, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

That was my first suicide attempt. It failed due to a stranger helping me. I sometimes curse that tourist for that to this day for cutting the rope, and myself for not properly checking the forest. Then came another attempt - same happened, but this time the dead branch snapped. So I tried again, and on the fourth attempt, I got scared of ending it all. I mean, funerals are expensive, and I wouldn't want to burden my family even more, so I decided to stop.

It didn't last long. My mother had another meltdown, and she and my brother beat me up severely, but no one really cared about that, except for my nephews and niece, who tried to comfort their young, beaten and scared uncle, while themselves shivering and crying too.

That day, I tried to shoot myself with my father's shotgun, but it jammed on me. I remember thinking to myself something among the lines of "I am cursed."

Due to all of that, my father and mother had a big fight, and I moved to a town where my sister lived. I finished 9th grade there, and went to a post-soviet analogue of a trade school to study geophysics.

It was rough. I lived in a terrible dorm, and studied in an environment even worse. The professors there where absolute assholes who were basically failed geologists and geophysics trying to feel better about themselves by abusing students and misusing their rights as educators to simply be assholes for the fun of it.

My mental health worsened. I couldn't get help because I then would get kicked out for not meeting the qualifications, and I didn't want to disappoint my parents even more. I finished it, and now I am a geophysical technician, heh.

Point is, I don't think anyone or anything can help me anymore. No one cares about me. Nobody. I am completely alone, at least I feel like it. And I also feel like a failure. I mean, I had 9 attempts that didn't put me down, what can you call a guy like that?

So, I guess I do deserve all of it. I deserve to be ridiculed, not taken seriously and beaten when I get out of my line, so I just wonder why.

Why shouldn't I kill myself?

Why does God, or the universe, or whatever/whoever you, the person reading this, believes, why does it not let me end this pathetic existence with some dignity?

And more importantly - how can I become normal again? Just how?

hi everyone, i'm new here and i really need some advice. i'm f, 18-year-old nd i've been struggling with some stuff from my past. i don't know where else to turn, so i thought i'd try here. when i was little, my parents fought a lot. they would yell and throw things. sometimes i had to hide in my closet to feel safe. i remember feeling so scared and alone. as i got older, things got a bit better, but the memories still haunt me. i have nightmares sometimes and i get really anxious when people raise their voices. i've never really talked about this with anyone before. i guess what i'm asking is, how do you deal with childhood trauma? does it ever get better? i feel like i'm stuck. i recently had a fight with my bf and it brought it all back. is it normal to still be affected by things that happened years ago?

Over the past few years as pop culture psychology and self diagnosing increasingly becomes acceptable, I’ve noticed this peculiar mindset of people pushing the narrative that having mental health disorders and disabilities excuse abusive behaviour or mistreatment of others. It’s frustrating because trauma being understandable doesn’t make maltreatment acceptable and seeing victims and survivors alike who RESERVE THE RIGHT to not forgive their perpetrators be demonised makes my blood boil.

This especially aggravates me when it comes to the debate of whether or not narcissists are absolved of their abhorrent behaviour because of their disorder. As someone who also has mental health issues and disabilities I understand it impacts people differently. Regardless of the condition, I do my best to be understanding and empathetic but when it comes to narcissists? Absolutely not. After escaping and surviving a handful of narcissistic relationships throughout my life, I absolutely refuse to even SYMPATHISE with a narcissist.

What people fail to realise is just because someone apologised doesn’t mean the person (or people) they’re apologising to, if they even apologised to begin with, has to accept it the same way nobody is obligated to forgive or receive forgiveness. Any time I see people try to argue why narcissists shouldn’t be demonised it automatically tells me they either don’t care about victims/survivors or that they have saviour complexes of some kind. While I am someone who does their best to educate themselves (and have thoroughly educated themselves on narcissism), there’s nothing anyone can say or do to ever make me empathise with them.

A lot of us carry pain and trauma with us from catastrophic events we experienced in our lifetimes but don’t use it as an excuse to abuse and mistreatment others and I’m tired of seeing people coddle them. Narcissists aren’t these helpless little babies, they know what they’re doing and take pleasure in the pain they cause people. It’s weird and it’s fucking twisted. Even being in the radical acceptance stage of my recovery you will never catch me pitying narcissists just because I know and cognitively understand their perspective.

I’ve changed three jobs in fourteen months. One was awful from the start, but two others were pretty decent at first. I feel like I don’t belong anywhere. My team skills are nonexistent, I do my best to fit in with my colleagues, but it never works. At first, everyone is polite, but sooner or later I always begin to feel I’m an outsider in their conversations. I keep to myself, I’m not a sociable person, but people judge me as too private and unfriendly. I try to focus on the work instead, and at first the prospect of earning money and learning something new excites me. I obsess about new tasks and challenges until I burn out. Then it comes to the point when there’s nothing more to learn, I feel bored, and from that moment on, I literally make myself do the bare minimun while feeling guilty and unsatisfied. I hate the routine when I do things mechanically! The guilt and exhaustion build up, and I quit. Every time I tell myself next time I’ll stick around, that it wasn’t my kind of job… It’s very stressful, and I begin to feel ashamed of myself.

I would like to blame my ADHD for it all, but it’s not a big enough excuse. I feel useless and drained.