Quote from Inhumane

Thats like killing yourself from staring at porn and not masturbating.

Hey you don't ****ing joke around with that shit man.

I personally have not.
It you count getting punch a lot some days then yes I have been torture.

Quote from mint

Cough medicine overdose?

Sorry man, you must be feeling really bad.

:'(

Quote from catfan

Wow Kitsune that's horrible. I'm so sorry you're brother died... D':
I'm surprised you'd want to talk about it, especially on the site you visit to escape things like this.

Yeah, it is sort of a paradox, but I thought I'd share my grievances like how many are doing nowadays.

Quote from Mantha

Yes, I have been mentally tortured. My stepdad was an alcoholic and he was quite violent. I'm in this state of depression for about 2 years now.

:( Sorry to hear this.

Quote from Shanto

Wait, so you guys burned him to Ashes?

I feel bad for you guys. :C

How old was he?

Cremation is quite common. My sister remembered that he told her he wouldn't want to be buried. He was 19. It was 2 weeks before his birfdai.

Quote from Inhumane

How the **** do you overdose on cough medicine?

Thats like killing yourself from staring at porn and not masturbating.

It's called an overdose. The chemical becomes too strong, you get knocked out, and your nervous system shuts down. It seems to be the least painless way to die out of every other unnatural way imaginable.

Thanks guys, now more people tell us of your own torture.

(And getting punched a few days doesn't count. :P )

As long as I can remember, I've lived with parents who looked and acted much older then my friends parents. I can't remember when I finally questioned this, but I found out I was adopted by my grandparents. I've asked numerous times, and the only thing I can get is lies. "Why don't I live with my birth mother?" (My father did some "bad things" and he's wanted across Canada and US. He moved to some place and ditched me and my mother before I was born.) "Because your mother is too young to look after you." My grandma would always answer. I got that same answer until I was ten or eleven. "Why don't I live with my mother?" "Because you're better off here." I would always get from grandma. "Why?" And that's when the convorsation would end. I asked again a couple days ago and I got "You don't live with your mother because she wouldn't make a good mother." I can't ****ing bring up the convorsation with my mother because with her reactions, I'm afraid of the answer. When I ask about my father, my mom says "He's tall." What the ****? Who gives a shit if he's tall. I'm tall and my mother is short. Was I not to assume that he was tall? ****. When I ask what my father did, she said "He did some bad stuff." I'm not ****ing 5 anymore. (Although, I wouldn't mind being 5. None of this shit would bother me.) So now I'm living with a grandmother who was the sweetest woman you'd ever meet, besides the face that until I was in grade two, she abused me. She's slap me and what not, until my teacher called childrens aid when I came to school with a bloody lip. All of that has been in the past until recently, she shoves me for "BACK TALKING HER". Appearantly, asking her "Why?" to some questions is back talking. All of this can be blamed on my father/mother. I hate both of them equally, because they ****ed up my life. It's until mid-way through last school year I realized how severe my grandpa's bipolar was. He's yell at me and my mother for nothing and he'd make us both want to leave the house, which we did most of the time. And, looking up most of the signs of having bipolar and realizing that my mother has it too, I have a very high chance of having the defect. I'm depressed 90% of the time and resort to isolating myself. I'm not social and I'm being put in therapy/anger management in a few weeks. I've been in therapy before for my depression, but I havn't told anybody besides you people, because I have no idea how they will react.

ololo weight off my back. basically, that's my torture and I'm quite sorry for your loss. I'm a good shoulder to cry on. Explain your brother's past and what not.

Quote from adrenalineflash

And flashing avatars. Did you know I have epileHRRRNNNNNNGHR

Fix'd. .

Quote from Face Plate

Fix'd. .

I lol'd.

When I was really young (like, born - 2 years old), my little sisters father, who I got my name from, abused my whole family (in the house family). So my 4 sisters and me. He'd throw away stuff and sell things to buy drugs or shit. He even tried to convince my mom to take coke with her because they wouldn't check her because she was pregnant from my sis or something, to another country. I heard he even kidnapped me and took me to the states when I was about 2 or something (I believe I survived).

Well that's what I heard. I think that's kinda getting tortured.
Also, for a short time my mom hit me, because I was (Kinda still a lil) very afraid of the dark. I still get paranoid very quick. She stopped hitting me when I threatened to hit her back.

I'm a white male between the ages of 13-18, I have no physical defects or mental disorders and I have lots of friends. I have a hot girl friend who isn't a ginger who I regularly have sex with. Everyone listens to me. Life is good.

Quote from Solister

ololo weight off my back. basically, that's my torture and I'm quite sorry for your loss. I'm a good shoulder to cry on. Explain your brother's past and what not.

Wow. Sorry to hear about the family troubles, possible mental ailment, and messed up childhood, mang. My parents were Oelde when they had us, and stayed together for our sake, but they've been fighting since Jon died, and my dad has been leaving for long trips often to get away form the house and ignore the nuisance of gambling problem accusations. He actually broke into my sister's play safe for the hundred dollars she got to go to the new casino. No wonder my brother had such a distaste for him. =/

Anyway, about my brother, he was 16 when he started this shit. I actually asked him one day what the **** was going on with him and Ben (Jon's friend who now works with me as a lifeguard), and he stated, and I quote. "Marc, you know I would never do anything self destructive."

Well a year later, he had a seizure, his first of 3 rehab trips, and an overdose that got immediate medical attention. I tried to block it all out, seeming as I couldn't help, and I always thought to myself "Hey, he can't die from this from the attention the problem has."

So his third and final rehab was in Mississippi. He was almost completely clean. he was 19 and a half when he decided to come back to Pennsylvania, but he lived in the suburbs of Butler right next to Pittsburgh. November 2007, he came home. He said after the holiday seasons he would get a job, and he would live with my 32 year old sister before getting an apartment to save up money.

I saw him about 15 times within the 5 months he was here. It was amazing to see my brother the way he was before he was constantly high. It was 3 years of constant silence between us, and we now could finally talk like brothers. February 13, the day before starting his new job that would surely get him off the ground, he decided to get high one more time.

That's not the ending though. He died midnight that night. My sister normally wakes him up, or forces shim out of his room around 5 pm when he's either reading, playing the Xbox 360, or still sleeping. About 4:30 PM my shocked sister and the shocked boyfriend of my sister, Will, called 911, and my now traumatized mother.

And now after 3 years of silence and 5 months of little talking which wasn't enough, my brother is forever silenced in his ashes.

:(

Quote from Face Plate

Fix'd. .

lol.

Quote from Myself

I'm a white male between the ages of 13-18, I have no physical defects or mental disorders and I have lots of friends. I have a hot girl friend who isn't a ginger who I regularly have sex with. Everyone listens to me. Life is good.

Lol I envy people with great lives.

Ugh. Since everybody is here, posting their confessions and all, I've decided to fully confess my life story. This is the Internet, what could happen ...

I was originally born in Latvia, not Slovenia. I was loved by everybody. But when my brother was born, he was hated by my grandmother, because my mother refused to name him Otto. My real father never really cared, so my mother divorced from him. She met my stepdad and moved to Slovenia with him, taking me and my brother with her.
I can't say my childhood was bad. I was a spoiled brat even. Then we started moving. I changed 7 schools, everywhere I was the "new" one. So I got used to isolation.
Everything pretty much began in my sophomore year, when we moved to the countryside with lots of vineyards. My stepdad began to drink more and more, and so did my mother. They started arguing. And stepdad insisted that my brother and I are present when they fight, so we would decide "who is right". You don't know what is it like to be torn apart between two people. Back then, I didn't even know he's not my dad.
Eventually my brother and I had to step between them so they wouldn't hurt each other. Nobody came to help, since our neighbours were too far away to hear the screams. My mother decided then to leave. And then us three wandered at night on the empty cornfields, towards the train station. That happened several times. And each time, at the end, my mother came back to him.
But one time, me and my brother refused to go with her. It was freezing outside and we knew we had nowhere else to go. My mother was so drunk she decided to go by herself.
After a while, stepdad wanted me and my brother to look outside for her. Even after an hour of searching, we couldn't find her. So we went to sleep.
My stepdad woke me up. He requested me to go sleep with him. He was so jelaus, he though my mother has a secret lover. So he wanted revenge. I begged him to leave me alone. Finally he listened and went back to sleep. But then he woke me again, saying we should go look for mother. We got in the car and he drove to the train station. She wasn't there, so he turned around. He drove into the forest. I didn't know what to think.
I remember the events of that early morning as if it happened yesterday, despite the fact I was feeling so drowsy. He started persuading me I have to have sex with him, because he brought me up. And then he also said I shouldn't worry, because he wasn't my real father anyway. I told him, screamed at him he doesn't have the right. When I saw there is no way he could let go, I screamed, opened the door and ran out. I had my cell with me, so I could call the police. He grabbed me by my jacket. I took it off and ran.
Then he yelled that we can go home. Everything will be forgotten. Don't know why, but I trusted him. I returned to the car and he took us home.
When I woke up, I hoped that was just a really bad dream. A nightmare. I always hope that. In the evening, my mother returned. She never went anywhere in the first place. She was hiding in the barn the whole time. My brother knew that, because he went checking the barn. I felt so betrayed. That's when I started hating pretty much everything.
Next fight they had, ended up with the police coming. I could see how the policemen grabbed their rubber sticks and beat him up. He was so drunk he even fought back. They took him into the van and that was it. Next day I still went to school and took a test, although I only slept for four hours.
After that, mother, brother and I moved to a place called "Safe House". It's a shelter for all the women and children, who were victims of any kind of violence. But when he was released, my mother still came back to him.
They both promised this is a new start. New life. Everything will be different.
First they drank beer without alcohol, then beer, then they came bhack to wine. And yes, you guessed, the fights started again. Because we lived in a flat then, the neighbours heard everything and called the police. My brother and I hid him under a bed. The police never found him, they were interrogating me and my brother tho, and we were forced to lie. We said I turned up the TV and there was a horror film.
Later that year he got arrested. He was sentenced to jail for 9 months. My mother didn't have a job. We were forced to move in with my mother's acquaintance and her baby. So there we were, 5 people in a one-room apartment. I graduated this year in these conditions. I spent my days in the library, studying. Or I studied over night, when the baby was asleep.
Now he came back from prison and we live in a normal apartment. He is still an asshole, but at least there is no more fights.
I hate my life. If anybody tells you tragedy builds character, he hasn't gone trough anything. I'm depressed all the time, even took anti-depressants for a while. Whatever you do, don't pity me. I hate that. If I joke or being in a good mood, that's not really me. I'm a person who spends her days in apathy, having extreme suicidal thoughts. I don't care what anybody of you think about me right now. Not even my psychologist knows stuff I've written here. First I've envied other people, even my friends. They live in a normal family, friends, boyfriends, ... I had nothing. I still have nothing. And I don't even care anymore.

If you've actually read this wall of text, congratulations.

I did read it, nice story... I really feel sorry for you

About mine: I've been ****ed around with, dont know how to say it in english, since I was 7. And still people like to make fun of me.
And because if this i have emotional problems and problems with speaking too people

Quote from Kitsune

The stale nonliving face I saw in the frame I've seen too often is constantly in the background of my thoughts whenever the name Jon, or the word brother, or Klopp or drugs come up. I am feeling I should go to a therapist's office, because it's been unbearable lately.

I stopped reading here to do this:
Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs Jon Brother Klopp Drugs
Etc.

I will read the rest of that post and everything else in this thread now.

Quote from Mantha

Ugh. Since everybody is here, posting their confessions and all, I've decided to fully confess my life story. This is the Internet, what could happen ...

I was originally born in Latvia, not Slovenia. I was loved by everybody. But when my brother was born, he was hated by my grandmother, because my mother refused to name him Otto. My real father never really cared, so my mother divorced from him. She met my stepdad and moved to Slovenia with him, taking me and my brother with her.
I can't say my childhood was bad. I was a spoiled brat even. Then we started moving. I changed 7 schools, everywhere I was the "new" one. So I got used to isolation.
Everything pretty much began in my sophomore year, when we moved to the countryside with lots of vineyards. My stepdad began to drink more and more, and so did my mother. They started arguing. And stepdad insisted that my brother and I are present when they fight, so we would decide "who is right". You don't know what is it like to be torn apart between two people. Back then, I didn't even know he's not my dad.
Eventually my brother and I had to step between them so they wouldn't hurt each other. Nobody came to help, since our neighbours were too far away to hear the screams. My mother decided then to leave. And then us three wandered at night on the empty cornfields, towards the train station. That happened several times. And each time, at the end, my mother came back to him.
But one time, me and my brother refused to go with her. It was freezing outside and we knew we had nowhere else to go. My mother was so drunk she decided to go by herself.
After a while, stepdad wanted me and my brother to look outside for her. Even after an hour of searching, we couldn't find her. So we went to sleep.
My stepdad woke me up. He requested me to go sleep with him. He was so jelaus, he though my mother has a secret lover. So he wanted revenge. I begged him to leave me alone. Finally he listened and went back to sleep. But then he woke me again, saying we should go look for mother. We got in the car and he drove to the train station. She wasn't there, so he turned around. He drove into the forest. I didn't know what to think.
I remember the events of that early morning as if it happened yesterday, despite the fact I was feeling so drowsy. He started persuading me I have to have sex with him, because he brought me up. And then he also said I shouldn't worry, because he wasn't my real father anyway. I told him, screamed at him he doesn't have the right. When I saw there is no way he could let go, I screamed, opened the door and ran out. I had my cell with me, so I could call the police. He grabbed me by my jacket. I took it off and ran.
Then he yelled that we can go home. Everything will be forgotten. Don't know why, but I trusted him. I returned to the car and he took us home.
When I woke up, I hoped that was just a really bad dream. A nightmare. I always hope that. In the evening, my mother returned. She never went anywhere in the first place. She was hiding in the barn the whole time. My brother knew that, because he went checking the barn. I felt so betrayed. That's when I started hating pretty much everything.
Next fight they had, ended up with the police coming. I could see how the policemen grabbed their rubber sticks and beat him up. He was so drunk he even fought back. They took him into the van and that was it. Next day I still went to school and took a test, although I only slept for four hours.
After that, mother, brother and I moved to a place called "Safe House". It's a shelter for all the women and children, who were victims of any kind of violence. But when he was released, my mother still came back to him.
They both promised this is a new start. New life. Everything will be different.
First they drank beer without alcohol, then beer, then they came bhack to wine. And yes, you guessed, the fights started again. Because we lived in a flat then, the neighbours heard everything and called the police. My brother and I hid him under a bed. The police never found him, they were interrogating me and my brother tho, and we were forced to lie. We said I turned up the TV and there was a horror film.
Later that year he got arrested. He was sentenced to jail for 9 months. My mother didn't have a job. We were forced to move in with my mother's acquaintance and her baby. So there we were, 5 people in a one-room apartment. I graduated this year in these conditions. I spent my days in the library, studying. Or I studied over night, when the baby was asleep.
Now he came back from prison and we live in a normal apartment. He is still an asshole, but at least there is no more fights.
I hate my life. If anybody tells you tragedy builds character, he hasn't gone trough anything. I'm depressed all the time, even took anti-depressants for a while. Whatever you do, don't pity me. I hate that. If I joke or being in a good mood, that's not really me. I'm a person who spends her days in apathy, having extreme suicidal thoughts. I don't care what anybody of you think about me right now. Not even my psychologist knows stuff I've written here. First I've envied other people, even my friends. They live in a normal family, friends, boyfriends, ... I had nothing. I still have nothing. And I don't even care anymore.

If you've actually read this wall of text, congratulations.

I did, but I don't feel sorry for you, because you said not to.


I don't know why I feel the way I do. I mean, my parents never fight, I have plenty of friends, I occasionally go out and do stuff, etc. I'm just always either depressed or angry, which is frustrating because it's completely without reason.

Hmm. Life stories eh. Well my story really isn't half as bad as some other peoples because I eventually end up in a good place.

The first thing that you should know is that my biological father and my mother were never married. They had me, and then my brother two years later. We always lived in really small apartments, or a friends garage. My family was extremely poor at the time. My mother and my father parted ways shortly after my brother was born, and at the time we were living in my aunts garage. I guess the years went on, and we never really lived a nice life, but we got along pretty well. My mother did get married once, but I'm not sure how old I was when it happened. That didn't last very long, because the guy my mom married ended up going to jail for possession of drugs. Around the time I was six, me and my brother moved in with our grandparents. We were told it was because our mother couldn't financially support my brother and I. My life with my grandparents was actually pretty good. We lived in Florida in a pretty nice development area, but we decided to move to a house with a bigger lawn, so my brother and I could play. Only recently did I realize that my grandparents gave up their house that would eventually pay for their dream house. Sadly we came along and they had to sell the house before it was really worth anything, because this was all before Florida's housing market became amazing. Around the time I was 12 my grandparents decided it would be best if we moved somewhere in Ohio, because A. that is where they always wanted to live, and B. small town Ohio is a much better atmosphere to raise two growing children. We lived up in Ohio several years, and all the while we got to enjoy some vacations to Florida which was payed by the company that my grandma worked for, because she was a very loyal worker, and she was there from the start of the company. This company had been doing really well, because the housing market in Florida had been booming (and the company was a housing developer). However recently the housing market crashed and all of the companies income stopped. The had to release my grandmother from the company, because they couldn't continue to pay her. This is when all of the financial troubles started. This cut out a huge portion of my families income, and at the moment it has become a little difficult to pay things like bills. Sometimes I can hear my grandparents discussing all of the bills and stuff, and my grandmother cries.

Just recently I have found out that in all actuality my mother is a big time drug user, and even used heroine when she was pregnant with my brother and I. Luckily we both turned out fine, and we now live in a safe environment.

But sometimes I can't help but feel a little guilty. If my brother and I haven't had moved in with our grandparents, they would have led a much different, and happier life.

I'm not saying my life is hard or anything at the moment, but I do tend to feel a little guilty about how I have changed their life.