Stuff

I suffered so much bullying during my childhood that it somehow shaped me into who I am today. I still feel like a child, innocent and unable to communicate or interact with people. im 18y old, i grew up on screens that taught me to measure value by likes while pretendinglife is good, and now everything feels fake. nothing truly carries the weight id like to feel, like achieving something youve wanted for years. im afraid to look ahead and see the same face in the mirror at 30, tired and hopeless, paying bills and living in a dirty apartment with almost no electricity. im tired of watching other peoples suffering as if it were a movie, where there are only wars, rapes, murders, and violence. the world is over, were already in hell, and i want to get out, live in peace. and maybe the shit of smartphones and computers made me this way, to see things this way. i had access to the internet without moderation too early, but i dont blame that as the main problem. i dont want to pretend to understand your pain, like some people who say: "im beyond cure, i wish i could feel desire in things." i dont want to see you pretend to have depression, or something like that, i just want the world to stop, at least for a moment, even if its just to fall silently to the ground. the worlds days are numbered, its already screwed up, and theres no going back or improving it. the real world has become unreal, from how many times i see people trying to change. im afraid to go out on the street and be raped, even though ik my city is safe and that this type of crime rarely happens. im having an internet overdose; ill be the first man to die from an internet overdose. the world on the internet seems to stand still, while the real world flies by. even the sun is burning my eyes, and ik i might look like a silly, but ive felt like this trash since i was 7y old. i cant wait for the internet to enter my veins, and have an internet oerdose. I simply hate my family. My grandfather psychologically abuses my grandmother. He doesn't let her sleep in the early hours of the morning because he gets up early, turns on the lights, and plays music on his phone. He insults her and argues about literally anything. If my grandmother goes out to church or anywhere else and she takes a long time, he simply locks her bedroom door and leaves her outside. And if she decides to sleep in another room alone, he gets stressed and starts banging on her door and yelling, saying, "Do you think you're going to be able to sleep?" My grandmother, on the other hand, just likes to play the victim; she vents to me, and I tell her to do something about it, like calling the police or simply fighting back. He's man enough to talk, but not to hit her. But she always says that I should respect him because he's my grandfather, and that he took me in and so on. MAN, I'm trying to SAVE YOU, for God's sake. She says she's going to leave home to rest away from my grandfather. But she never leaves. She needs to have an exam in another city and will be away for a few days, and guess what? My grandfather doesn't want her to go, and he gets stressed out telling her not to go. He has Parkinson's disease and is constantly undergoing treatment, and she's never said anything! I hate this. My grandfather plays the victim in public, as if he can barely walk, but at home, he DANCES. In public, he tells his friends that his family doesn't help him and that they're trying to kill him... COME ON, my grandfather SPENDS ALL DAY LYING IN BED ON HIS CELL PHONE, watching pornography and traffic accidents. He sleeps morning, afternoon, and stays up all night. He doesn't cook; my grandmother cooks for him and calls him into his room. He doesn't wash the dishes, he doesn't do laundry, he doesn't go shopping. He occasionally (rarely) asks us to dress him because he can't do it himself sometimes. He has everything in his room: air conditioning, a flat-screen TV, and a bed he bought himself. He picks fights about LITERALLY EVERYTHING!!! I HATE HIM. I don't care that he took me in when my biological mother abandoned me, in a way. I grew up in a hostile environment; anything is a fight, and if I give my opinion, I get the blame. I'm literally stressed, my heart is full of hatred right now. I have trauma from all the hatred I experience in this house. And they still get angry when I say I want to leave. Screw them!!! I wasted years of my life hating everything. Who's going to make up for all those years I spent hating here? I literally lost those years. Today, I try to calm things down to avoid fights, but when I can't, I just turn my back and hold back from exploding with hatred. I would kill someone if I had the courage, if I didn't care about anything else with all the hatred I feel. I find it amazing how everything falls on me. My biological parents are divorced, my mother is a narcissist who only wants to date. In addition, I have had more than 5 stepfathers. My real father never even called me or sent me a message. He only came to see me once, when I was 12 years old. Other than that, I never saw him again... I grew up my whole life in my grandparents' house, who took me in while my mother went to college to study biomedicine and sleep with some guys. So my education was mainly done by my grandmother, friends and teachers. I grew up paying attention to what was going on around me. I didn't have many friends, not even in kindergarten or first grade. Just a few, like 3 or 4 friends. I was always very close to the girls, who would always call me to play or just talk, while the boys humiliated me and ignored me for not being a "real man". I was always very delicate, fragile and careful. I always cared about people, even though they didn't care about me. With years of female friendships, I learned something that my family had never taught me: that the world is shit. I noticed every day that my friends were seen differently by the boys in the class. They would hit their butts in the lunch line and in the line to leave. I would get angry, but I didn't have the courage to do anything. I felt like trash. Over time, I realized that my friends weren't pretty or attractive enough for that, and instead, that they were known as prostitutes or sluts. They were harassed daily, and I only found out months later. The worst feeling I felt was when I found out that one of my friends had been abused. Not rape, but harassment. A boy from another class touched her breasts and pushed her with his arm. But I only found out years later... I hate myself for never having had the chance to do something, or for not having protected them. I hate knowing that I'm from the same race.

my 2024

in May 2024, I had my first major illness. I had nervous gastritis, which combined with my anxiety attack and almost caused me to have an internal breakdown. I've always had periods of anxiety attacks since I was 12 years old, it's like a time of year (usually the beginning and end of the year) when I have them. In May, I rethought my life and remembered my childhood. I was so happy and didn't believe in evil. I decided to have a "nostalgia month," watching cartoons and listening to music I liked as a child, which triggered a heavy existential crisis. It made me reflect that I will die and never come back, and that those times will never return... This was the trigger for my anxiety attack. During the week of the attack, I started waking up during the night with severe stomach pains, as if I needed to go to the bathroom. But when I ran to the bathroom, I saw nothing; it was just pain in my intestines or abdomen. It was unbearable, like being hit with a hammer repeatedly. While I was standing, the pain was only mild and slightly uncomfortable, but when I lay down, it eased for a while, only to return twice as strong as before. I told my mother, and she took me to the hospital, where I was diagnosed with nervous gastritis and anxiety. The doctor prescribed stomach medication and calming medication for anxiety. The first week with this illness was a nightmare. I couldn't sleep, whenever I lay down to nap, I would get a "shock" throughout my body, and then the pain would return. Severe headaches started to appear, and my body was fragile... I spent the night in the bathroom, vomiting. I read that this illness was directly linked to psychological factors, and that if I relaxed, I wouldn't have problems. But the pain was extraordinary, i had never felt anything like it before. June 16, 2024, at 6:48 AM, I vomited blood along with my breakfast. It was raining that day, and my weakness made me feel cold. I got up from the bathroom floor, weak, on the verge of fainting at any moment, and went towards my room. My body felt heavy and burning. My vision blurred, and my hearing began to become muffled. As I passed through the living room, leaning against the walls like a wounded soldier, I felt a strong, crushing pressure on my chest, the sensation was as if my lungs had exploded from the inside. For a moment, I had forgotten how to breathe, or perhaps I simply couldn't. I was suffocating, alone at home. In desperation, I banged my back against the wall to simulate a slap on the back. And that helped me breathe again. I felt dizzy and ran to the bathroom to vomit again... I felt like a drug addict. The medicine the doctor prescribed relieved me for a short time, which made me take several pills during the day. What was supposed to be two pills, one in the morning and one at night, turned into two pills per hour. It helped, but it took away my appetite, even though I vomited everything I ate. After a few months, in August, I felt "better," not 100%, but I had stopped vomiting/feeling nauseous, and I could sleep through the night. But the anxiety and abdominal pain continued. I hid the fact that I was still sick from my mother because she kept saying she would let me die because she didn't have money for the doctor's appointments. So I went to pharmacies and bought the same medications the doctor prescribed and put them on my grandfather's tab. I took these medications for months, until November of that year. My family thought I had already recovered, but I was just hiding it. During those long periods, I cried out to God as if I were on my deathbed. For the first time in my life, I felt I would die if I didn't take better care of myself. The nervous gastritis was possibly caused by eating too much pasta, according to the doctor, but I believe it may have been due to a psychological crisis. I am Catholic, but I don't go to church or pray. And this period was when I most wanted to get closer to God. I had started reading the Bible so that God could heal me. After I recovered 100% in December, I went back to being who I am. I wrote so many things about all this, but I made the text lighter because most of it was about self-harm and suicide. I even wrote song lyrics about the pain I felt, but they are too shameful. The text below, which I wrote in my diary, is the "lightest" of the thousands of aberrations I wrote: "Even if you call God, he will not come to see you, even if you humble yourself to the utmost, he will not come to see you. I will lock you in a cage and then I will be your God, and if you pretend that everything is fine, I will give you a blade so that you can cut yourself even more. Your sins and guilt will be my banquet, i will feed you vomit, which will be injected directly into your veins. You will be under my command, so i will make you happy."