I have been wondering this for a while now. Ever since I was little, my Mom tried to fit in with her boy friend's life style. The guy could have been a raging alchoholic, who was a complete ass(most of them were) and she would stay with him, no matter what. Last year, I told my mom that my step brother had been sexually abusing me for a little over two years. When I told her, she at first seemed shocked and had called him in the room with my step dad. They kicked him out of the house for two days; during those two days, my mom didn't talk to me, yet alone speak to me. She began making me feel guilty for getting in trouble, and even tried bribing with my graduation dress for my 8th grade ceremony. I eventually gave in, and they moved him back in. I was forced to live with him for six months, until I ran away to my dad's house. The thing that I have had trouble coping with is how she could have just turned away from me. It hurts so much. I would have maybe understood if she was a dad, since they don't really go through the pregnancy and the pain mothers feel. I have just have had the hardest time grasping how my mom could have just left me like that. She told I could tell her anything. Why would she have done that? I'd like to assume she just has some mental illness that she had never told me about, but maybe she just didn't care what happened to me.

Hello everyone! Here is another post that I wonder if anyone can relate to?

Now I have recognized that I do have some good qualities as I began to understand and rebuild myself but I find that I have also exploited these qualities in the past, distant and and not so distant. At I times I have even justified my actions with these qualities for example talking myself out of returning a phone call from my mother, I'll tell myself that attending to my life changes are more important, I can't disrupt this noble and righteous work, then anger will justify the frustration of having to make these life changes then ill hold her responsible for my current emotional and mental struggles. Ill think she doesn't deserve to speak with me, she deserves to suffer like me, she should be punished. (I know very immature, Its as if bpd is one the more extreme symptoms of immaturity)

Or my sadness will justify my depression after acknowledging how sensitive I am. For an example I'll use avoiding my mothers call again, I'll think to myself that I deserve to be alone for all the stress and pain I have caused others, that there is so much growth that needs to transpire before I can effectively communicate with anyone. That I don't have anything worth saying, that I don't want to worry anyone with my issues and ineptitude. (Really I'm just removing a level of responsibility and accountability over my own actions that I believe I'm too exhausted for, too depressed to invest my energy in to)
This is where My Fear interjects sometimes, creating thoughts like I would just embarrass myself if I try to educate or inform my mother on my current condition because I don't really know myself like i once believed I did, I'll sound uninformed to her, like I'm not trying to change, or I'm not taking the growth that needs to transpire seriously enough. (The shame would be too much to bear apparently is what Im thinking here, once again I see myself hiding from a level of responsibility because of the fear of emotional shame, which is related to heightened level of emotional sensitivity leaving me fearful of many personal and social situations/confrontations)

Another thing I have become recently hip to is the projection of these insecurities on he world. What I believe people are thinking about me or fear that they may be thinking, really are just what i deep down think about myself. And it does not stop at people i project my demeanor on to all things, in my eyes the world has become as tumultuous as my soul, A place where joy does not exist only struggle and heartache. I believe by improving my perception of self my projection on to the world will also improve, my perception of the world will improve and i will see the beauty of life again.

...

My mom wants me to get rid of my scars...But i find i really don't want too. I don't not want to wake up and not see them there on my left shoulder, on my left wrist and my right hip bone. Sick? Very, i know. My own mom looked at me like i was crazy when i told her, which i probably am. No healthy person cuts themselves, that's obvious. Or at least in my case, used too.

I stopped cutting maybe a couple of months before high school graduation but it wasn't due to my mother finding me out. Instead my boyfriend did and made me promise to never do it again, cutting my mother to the punch line. My mom found out a month after him, i believe. She didn't believe me when i told her i stopped, so i gave her the scissors i used to hurt myself. That was my second step to stopping i guess. My third had to be when she got me medicine to take away the scars...but now on the fourth step, actually putting the stuff on, i'm stuck.

I've put it on once or twice but not religiously. I hate the idea of them not being there. They give me comfort and make me feel better. Am i wrong in wanting them there?

At the age of eleven, five years ago, I recall calling a voice in my head the narrator, because he would refer to my life in third person, always negatively, constantly talking, and arguing with me, To this day. As far back as I can remember I have had a want to become female, purely for physical reasons, however, this need was intermittent, usually I had the standardly accepted gender identity, I even imagine being a father- not a parent or mother, a father- and now at sixteen my gender identity feels as if it has split into two, transgendered and 'normal,' while I am now 'turned on' by material of transgendered nature at times, but usually am not. The narrator has also evolved, triggering bouts of sudden uncharacteristic anger, while I am usually calm and cheerful. I sometimes find that my face is curling into a look of anger or contempt, or that I have sudden images of badly hurting people who do something I dislike, that may have been an acceptable thing to do, but for whatever reason I just feel foreign satisfaction in imagining pain.

I began looking through myself, basically just trying to figure out what the hell is wrong, and the following are the results:

At the age of six I had a crush on a girl in my primary school class, she left that year, for other reasons. This is the most definite starting point I can place for my tgism. then, at eleven, I had my second crush, on another classmate, and she walked up to me and told me to stay away from her shortly after the two friends I told this secret to went and told everyone. My theory is that my subconscious took these rejections, and the stereotypical views on geeks and indians, and sculpted from them the idea that I was so repulsive that the only way I could ever have a girl in my life was to be a girl, and so that shard of my gender identity broke away, and from this information I called that shard Lust. Lust doesn't seem to be as conscious as the narrator (who is now named Anger), though she has on two occasions exclaimed on how 'hot' a guy was, though this may be because of nightly masturbation to the idea of being a girl, leading to lust already being expressed. Anger, however, is kept under lock and key, and so usually has a voice. There are other signs as well. I used to use electronic devices excessively, even when supposed to be sleeping, but I voluntarily stopped, and recently I've started feeling tired after 11am, as if I hadn't gotten the sleep that I obviously did. Occasionally, when writing, my hand forms a squiggle instead of a letter, and my handwriting has deteriorated, and today when trying to write while holding the pen loosely, I could only make squiggles.

There may be other voices, occasionally when playing a sport I become giddy, speaking without thinking, and really jumpy, and sometimes I hear a crowd, but that may be Anger messing with me.
There's a chance I am only imagining all of this, but I don't want to take that risk.
Help me please.