Ich hatte immer das Gefühl, dass als mein Vater hat mir gesagt dass ich war ein Monster, er sagte es tatsächlich zu sich selbst. Aber selbst dann, es macht mich will mich töten. Ich hasse mich. Ich hasse mich. Ich hasse mich.
"Siegfried, you will be fine. Maybe you should just tell people that they can't raise their voice around you or else you will have a panic attack." "I feel as if I was a Pavlov's dog." "Well, you are conditioned indeed, it's a trauma. Your parents' abuse to you won't go away that easily... So every time you hear the same words, you will get paralyzed and angry. It's not something you can control."
I will get paralyzed everytime someone tells me to shut up or to stop fucking around. "You're so fucking obnoxious and selfish. You're a monster who feeds on other people's love. You don't deserve any love at all, you're too spoiled. I'm so ashamed of you. We all hate you. I hate you. The only thing that's wrong in this house and family is you. We'd all be better off without you. Sometimes I wish you hadn't been born at all. If you hate me too then leave and see if you can make a living on your own. No one will miss you. All you ever do is looking at your own bellybutton. You fucking monster."
I don't cry anymore. I don't cry about it at all.
"Siegfried, we're going to work on expressing your emotions. Are you afraid of showing bad emotions?" "I can't shout or cry most of the time. Every time I did as a kid, I got hit." "But don't you feel relieved when you shout?" "Of course there's a relief like feeling. I just feel extremely guilty afterwards. It's like someone will hear me and hit me or yell at me. When my parents hit me, my neighbors or people passing by would knock on the door and ask what was going on. My parents would only hit me harder afterwards and blame it on me."
《Look what you've gotten us into. People will think you're crazy! You're such a fucking burden, people will actually think you're a poor little boy instead of a monster. We are the victims here, you piece of shit. Go lock yourself in your room, you're not eating until tomorrow, see if you learn a lesson. Now get lost!》
"So now I can't express my bad emotions at all..."
When my psychiatrist asked me to write a letter to 10 year old me, I couldn't read it out loud. He read it for me as I fought the urge to cry. «Siegfried, I'm so ashamed and guilty that I can't bring any hope to you. I'm 41 and still miserable.» I trembled at my spot, feeling like hanging myself, asking myself why I didn't die on my first suicide attempt. I never told anyone about it, not even my counselor.
I hung myself and got found on time by a university flatmate. I had slit my arms open and taken a handful of pills. University's insurance covered most of it and that's it- no death for me. I'm still so fucking angry at myself. There have been many days where I've asked myself why the fuck was I 'lucky', why I didn't die. Nobody would've missed me- and my father told me a week later that I "should get over it", since "you've always been a crybaby, the last time I saw you you were angry and wouldn't talk to me. You wanted to feel so miserable? There you have it." (That was the very last time I saw him.)
I've been holding this in for so long it got rotten. So a little thing happened today and suddenly I couldn't resist the urge to cry, I had to leave the room. I wish I was alone. I wish I could cry or cut at peace if I wanted to. But instead, I'm doomed to this place, to sit and resist the urge to cry and of course, feel miserable and disgusting.
I think my sire got scared when he heard of my commit attempt and decided to 'kill' me right away. Still today it's hard to believe- I don't think anyone would get worried at all if they knew about the rope thing. Not even my actual 'flatmate'. And thinking about it, it kinda sucks- I really hoped someone was going to miss me or get worried... That's why I'm so stupid after all.
I still want to die. I haven't told my psychiatrist. I still want to die, every time I feel unwanted. I wish I had died. A handful of pills wasn't enough, a rope wasn't enough and it still makes me so mad after 25 years...
I used scarfs for weeks. I had a huge burn on my neck. It disappeared over time, but nobody ever asked. Nobody noticed but him, and I brushed it off everytime. That was it. I still look at myself in the mirror, though it's almost completely gone (I'm glad, since it's humiliating to this day knowing I failed at something so simple as killing myself) there's still a little scar on the back of my neck and it's triggering as fuck, specially now...
Sigh, I don't know. It's been like three hours. Who gives a shit about this anyway...?
But I still want to die. I still want to die...
And in the depth of my heart, I wish someone would care about it...
