But even if I do let out my unheard cries for help, my true emotions, I'm treated as a monster by my family. I wish to run away from this nuthouse that my "family", if I can even call them that, brands as a "home". Even worse, it's as if everything went almost perfect. I have a roof over my head, food, insulin shots, glucose meters, etc., all of which I need to live. Everything was almost perfect. But along the way, something broke. My family's empathy, logic, and reasoning broke. Very long ago. Possibly, it's been broken always. I'm trapped in a cage I can't escape, and if I do, I don't know what I'd do. I wouldn't be able to grasp the idea of being normal. Of having a normal family to live and cope with. Anything.
The only thing that keeps me going is school. No, not because of the pressured work that we're forced to do, which I consider child abuse, even if it's education, which I like learning but not to be forced to learn. But because of my friends there, and the fact that I get to leave home. Leave my family. The only friends I have out of school are the kids of my parent's friends. Who we rarely visit or are visited by. Other than that, I'm a loner. A shut-in. A forced to be shut-in, forced by my family who can't grasp the idea of being normal, just like me. If it weren't for school I would've literally gone insane from loneliness. It is this reason why I'm so crippled by social anxiety. Because I was practically taught to be socially anxious by my parents who don't know how to be a parent and never will. Yet they yell at me as if it's my fault I'm selectively mute and socially anxious. As if it's my fault. My fault that I'm also Bipolar, Borderline, everything. Everything is my fault and I'm a monster.
If I voice my emotions I'm a monster, like I said. They change the subject if I talk about my problems, yell at me, sometimes physcially hit me, but that only applies to my mother, and even my sister did that once. They tell me, "Stop acting like that". "Acting like what?" I think and sometimes voice. I never get an answer. No matter how many times I show my trauma and stress I'm a monster. Even worse, my mother acts like the victim when she, and my sister, hurt me the most, my dad hurts me too, but I don't see him as much since he's always at work. Sometimes my mom even threatens that she will not come home from work one day. Or that she'll kill herself. Funny, because I AM the victim. I'm an on and off cutter. I have suicidal thoughts at times. I have no motivation to do anything that won't result in pleasure, and I even lost interest in previous pleasure-inducing hobbies. I have attempted to run away before. To not come home after school. But to them I'm horrible. I'm nothing. I wish I was never born sometimes, and life, along with my family, seems to agree in a passive-aggressive, sometimes aggressive way.
I don't have problems. And I'm fine. According to my family. No, I'm not. Normal people are happy. I'm almost never happy, but when I am it isn't just happy. It's bouncing off the walls, hyper, bubbly, no care for my problems or what others say that would normally hurt me happy. It's manic euphoria. And I'm never "sad". I'm extremely Major Depressive, hypersensitive, crying over anything, empty, hopeless, slow walking and thinking, no motivation to do anything depressed. When I'm mad...I barely hesitate to scream endlessly at others, which I usually do. I only hesitate with teachers if I'm angry at them, because I don't want to make a scene in class. If I yell at other students I don't make a scene, oddly, and either they will act as if I'm a horrible person, smile at my exaggerated response, or ignore me altogether. I was called an asshole for it before. And the teachers will just think I'm some delinquent with anger issues if I yell at them. I get in trouble for mental symptoms of disorders that I act out, even though it's not my fault. I get in trouble for running when I'm euphorically manic, even though it's like an instinct and something inside urges, yearning, for me to run like a maniac. And the irritable mania inside me urges me to run amok, yell at others, and causes me to be hypersensitive, both emotionally and with most of my senses. Not the same emotional hypersensitivity in depression, which causes me to cry over everything, but instead a response of blood-curdling rage.
I'm sick, but I'm not, according to others.
Some think I'm just an attention-whore. I'm not. This is all real. Some friends of mine even think this. Others don't take me seriously, and that includes my family, who also think I'm fine. Others take me seriously, but do nothing to help, and if they offer to I refuse, because I'm anxious to talk about problems unless it's with close friends, but they do nothing to help if I do. I also can't imagine the word "normal". Or a life without pain. Some friends are borderline taking me serious and not taking me serious, forgetting about my own feelings, thinking only about theirs, and they don't help me either.
TL;DR: I want help, but I also don't want help, I'm ill, in a mental and physical way (I have Type 1 Diabetes), and I'm surrounded by assholes. Both the douchebags at my school, and my even-worse, but less annoying family. I'm lonely and socially anxious and I have an over 9,000 page long list of mental disorders. I also on and off cut myself, and it's been like that since three years ago when I couldn't cope any stress anymore.
TL;DR Again: I want help and I don't want it.
The day my family learns to accept me for who I am, help me, and learn to have empathy and think before they do will be the day I die of happiness. If I don't die before that, that is. Which I will. They never will learn this, even if I do get help from a psychiatrist/psychologist, end up in a mental institution, and am diagnosed with everything I have, explaining why I "act like that". EVen then I'll never be the victim, when I always have been in reality.
Same for me. I have an unheard scream for help, yearning to come out, but I don't know what I'd do if I were "normal". I can't win in either situation, whether suffering deeply, or completely fine. I can't imagine a world without pain, from my own illnesses, from my family, or others. It seems foreign to me, since I grew up, and still am growing up, with my trauma. I have been for years, and trauma is now my best friend.
And even if I do want help, like I said I can't imagine help, that and I'm too socially anxious to even talk to a therapist, counselor, psychologist, etc., because my family has taught me that, in return for speaking about problems, you only receive more pain. I don't know what to do, but I still let it be, foolishly.
Oh man, I've been there. Deciding whether to possibly get rid of an anxious knot that's been in my stomach for so long that I didn't know it wasn't normal or to go to a school without any friends for the first time just to possibly avoid getting bullied was a whole lot harder than it should have been. The devil you know is better than the devil you don't. Not always true obviously, but it definitely feels like that.