Dear Anyone who bothers reading (part 3 - final),

(this is part 3 of the story. It won't make much sense if you read without the context)

I wish this story had some climatic closure, but it doesn't really. One day, I was helping my mother and brother build a bed when it came time for my session and I didn't want to go. My parents told me I couldn't skip sessions, that if I was going to do that I should just quit. I hadn't realized that was a choice up until that point. So I quit, there on the spot. From my parents perspective, all that happened is that they tried to get me help, I didn't care enough and if was all a futile endeavour, something they look down at me for. I never contradicted that story. I never told them anything. Mostly because, as I've said earlier, back then none of what happened felt like it was wrong. It felt like the truth

And it kept feeling like that for a long time after. On the years that followed, I couldn't understand why I felt so depressed all the time, like I had no reason for it. At 13, I got my first crush. It didn't feel like butterflies as much as it felt like a stabbing. No one would ever love someone like me, after all. I didn't dare to let it show, even in the slightest. Some years later, when I got a second crush, I made the mistake to open up with the wrong person, and said person told him in my place. Poor guy had to calm me down from a panic attack while telling me he didn't feel the same (thankfully, he was a really kind person. Enough to be nice about it, tell off the "friend" that had made that mess out of the situation, and keep me on check for a while after the incident)

Still at age 13, I was dangerously suicidal. Not being able to explain why I felt so awful all the time just made me feel like I was being dramatic, which made me hate myself further, which made the issue worse. After a close call when I turned 14, I somehow managed to snap out of it, even if not for good reasons. I still hated myself, but I thought that maybe, if I could make a single person's day a little better, make their lives just a tiny bit brighter, then living was worth it. I somehow convinced myself to live for everyone else other than me, which isn't ideal, but kept me standing for long enough to realize the issue

I only began to allow myself to think back at all of what happened back then when I was about 16 or 17. I was an adult by the time I realized how messed up everything actually was. I'm 21 now, will be 22 this year. And I can't overstate how much all she did and said messed with how I deal with life

I remember hiding to cry at Christmas when I was 14 because I had gotten a present. I didn't feel like I deserved a present, I purposefully didnt ask for anything that year, getting something just felt like I was wasting more money. Everything I did felt like I was wasting money, wasting time, space, air. I made myself as small as I could manage, used as little as I could. I still do, even now that I understand where this feeling comes from. I hate asking for anything, struggle with accepting gifts when all I can feel is guilt
I still have never dated anyone. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will. I know, logically speaking, that the woman who told the 12 year old she was unlovable was probably out of her mind, but the thought is ingrained in my brain by now. Even if she was wrong then, all the baggage she gave me sure would make things a lot harder to me and a hypothetical partner. I can't help but feel, sometimes, like I'm broken beyond repair now. Who would ever want someone like this?

Sometimes, it feels like I'm still there, sitting in that same room, still 12. I can't picture her face, but I can see her silhouette against the light of the window, I can hear her voice and every word she told me. I don't know how to escape it. I don't know if I ever will. I'm older, I understand things better, I have a better notion of why I am the way I am (no diagnosis yet, but family history, peers opinions and a lot of research make me pretty certain my "weirdness" has a name and diagnosis to it), Id never speak to a 12 year old the way she spoke to me, I know she was wrong, yet all it takes is a misplaced comment and I'm back there again. Maybe a part of me will forever be trapped inside that room

I don't know if any of this means anything. I don't know if it's abuse or I'm just dramatic or something in the middle, but it affected me. And if only I had someone with a similar story, someone I could relate to, someone to make me understand that wasn't right, maybe things would have turned out differently. So, reader, if anything of what I narrated sounded familiar to you: it wasn't right. I don't care who acted like that with you, it wasn't right. They shouldn't have. You don't deserve that, no one does. Specially not a kid

And if it serves for any comfort after all rhat, I have been getting better. Recovery is hard, but I've gone too far to give up. I hope you hold on tight too, reader

Thanks for reading. Wishing you well,
Sincerely