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I suck at writing. Mostly just with thoughts and feelings. I don't know if this is going to make sense. I'm thirteen, if that helps with literally anything, I don't really care.
I'm traumatized. Except I barely went through shit at all? I don't understand how someone who has had a much, much worse life than me could possibly be doing better than me right now. What is wrong with me?
I dissociate. I have panic attacks often over the most meaningless things if someone even reminds me of my past. I can't even cry, the last time I did was a year ago, paired with a helpful panic attack and it lasted a whopping minute at most.
I grew up in a bad neighborhood, sure, had to deal with cockroaches, my dad's, who I suspect to be a hoarder, mess, and couldn't go out without the fear of being shot or kidnapped. I was isolated, and illiterate, until fifth grade, so that's nice. But it was never an issue. Nothing really ever happened besides that, I never got hurt. My sister dragged me into a situation where for four years or so she talked to lots of older men. Continuously. Sure, I dealt with that, barely. My parents then got a roommate around COVID and then that said roommate, who had an autistic child, would yell at me on a day to day basis over the most meaningless things, usually me trying to teach her child manners or lessons. She'd hold me there even when I was crying, but I'd only be allowed to leave when she finished and I apologized. And maybe that sparked me to resort to self harm. Maybe my parents took four years to recognize the issue I started at nine. Well, even earlier than that if you count the scratching. Maybe I was doing it for attention.
I know that I could write for hours and hours giving so many details to these situations, but it sure feels a lot like trying to victimize myself. Like I'm trying to make anthills into mountains, whatever that saying is. I'm in a weird mood.
I hope all of you have a wonderful day <3
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