I need your help guys!

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@bloodrazor2
I need your help guys!
You think attention is love and that’s why you suffer so deeply.
My mother didn't want to hurt me, but she was broken.
Her brokenness cut into me and made me bleed.
She didn't know how to love, or at least how to love me. It didn't even matter that she hurt me; I just wanted her to be sorry.
She said that she loved me, but it often felt like hate.
I suffered, and I did my best to love her.
As a woman, I have so much empathy for my mother, but as a daughter, I have so much anger.
I feel like I'm running a race I'll never finish.
sometimes I just get so sick and tired of fighting just to survive.
Part 1: The tribulations of early youth
TW:ABUSE,VIOLENCE,SELFHARM,MENTALHEALT,SUICIDE.
I have a very good memory. my first memories came when I was around two years old. they’re not full memories but I can make out the important bits. I was a young boy living in Ireland at this point. The rolling green hills and fresh, crisp air would intoxicate me. I adored our little island. I was tested in preschool and it showed I was 4 years ahead of my peers. this explained why I was so hostile in school. why I couldn’t sit still and completed the work correctly in minutes. the teachers struggled with me, so they punished me. instead of helping my mind flourish and grow I was punished for the tiniest things.
When we moved to England this got even worse. from here my Intelligence seemed to decline. this was because the teachers would regularly send me to the headmaster as punishment for the most trivial things. some examples; swinging on my chair, colouring on work before its handed in and being very argumentative.
The headmaster to some was a terrifying figure and you really don’t wanna see him. I on the other hand gave no fucks. His favourite punishment was making me sit on his office floor for hours until, at the end of the day my mother could pick me up. I remember my legs would hurt so bad from sitting like that and if im being honest it made me angry and want to act out more.
some perspective: this was a heavily catholic school. there was no room in the school without crosses hanging or painted mosaics that represented the religion. when the pope came to England in 2007-2008? the same dictator headmaster had everyone sit in the dining hall, legs crossed for over four hours, and made them watch the pope on tv. im not exaggerating in the slightest here. I remember how my legs burned and begged me to stretch. however, every time I would stretch or make a noise the headmaster would tell me to shut up. he thought the pope was too important for me to miss so no matter what I did he kept me there for four hours!!
this was definitely my favourite primary school. I actually had friends and despite my behavioural issues the teachers liked me. after a few episodes of outbursts where I would scream and throw stuff. a therapist came to see me. I was 7 years old. I can’t remember anything she did. but I do remember these tiny stick dolls she gave me in a smalll rainbow pouch. each one represented an emotion and I should pull the emotion im experiencing out of the bag and breathe with it. I also slept with them under my pillow to get rid of any bad dreams. this is the first therapist that has ever helped me.
I am so tired and burnt out, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore
unknown//janet finch/white oleander//holyaches//unknown//sylvia plath/the bell jar// sue zhao//carol rifka brunt/tell the wolves i’m home//suzanne rivecca/death is not an option//ineloquent-creature
maybe in another universe, I can ask for help when I need it.
I knew you didn't love me when I moved mountains for you and you wouldn't walk them with me
my heart holds heavy
naps hit different when ur using them to avoid being alive
𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝓼𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓪𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓼𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰...
BPD poems. Day 1
Transparent world, immense pain
Nothing ever will feel not in vain
Transparent world, no color on your mind
You better off stay color blind.
I wish I could be loved. nobody could ever love someone as broken as me….