Greetings, and welcome to the Truth Factory.
If I’ve given you the link to this page personally, congratulations! You’re one of a select few people: those I feel safe enough to open up to. If you’ve stumbled across this page another way, welcome to some very dark and honest truths.
Over the next who-knows-how-long, I’ll be venting some painful memories. Some I’ve repressed and forgotten until now; others I’ve never told anyone. But the majority of them do register somewhere on the ‘that’s fucked up’ scale of experiences. And every now and again I’ll mix shit up and tell you about the things – and people – that I love, and why.
At one point or another I’ll cover the following: major family dysfunction, living on the autism spectrum, 11 years of daily emotional and physical torment at school, choosing atheism at age 7, accusations of being a ‘devil child’, rape and sexual assault (warning: first was at age 5), abusive and unfaithful boyfriends, stalkers, being everybody’s scapegoat and doormat, disowning my maternal parent (also known as the Monster), growing up country, and the state of my life currently.
On the brighter side, the things that keep me alive: my love of animals, travels and adventures, music and art, deep philosophical contemplation, things I’m learning in my recovery, and my fondest memories of rare moments of peace.
I’ll also be mentioning a few people I appreciate more than life itself, because they show me the things I’ve always wanted: kindness, understanding, warmth, loyalty, honor. I’m not going to use real names, but you’ll know if I’m talking about you personally. You see, friends, my deepest secret is that I literally do not know how to open up to people and talk. I know plenty of people say that as a way to get out of it, but in my early years I didn’t have any support from friends, or any help from family. I never learned how to do a lot of interpersonal things; being autistic I may not have been able to make much sense of it, but as it stands, opening up is a foreign concept to me. That’s why I’ve started writing.
One of the base truths you must understand about me before we start this show is this: I dislike myself in every way. And for the most part, I actually loathe myself. My parents taught me to harshly self-criticize, and my friends – who in many ways bullied me as much as the people who hated me – thought I was arrogant, so they cut me down on a daily basis. People outside my social circle taught me that I was too ugly, too sensitive, too intellectual, too clumsy, too much of a dreamer, too kind-hearted, too well-spoken, and many other apparently obvious flaws. I’ve always disliked every aspect of my appearance (except my hair because I can change that), I couldn’t describe my personality or any (positive) traits/strengths/attributes, I find it extremely difficult to accept any sort of praise. Honestly, my brain is a very twisted and tangled maze of thorns.
These opinions have sadly stayed with me since childhood and stained my perception with an ugly haze of shame. I’ve lived most of my life feeling alone and I’ve never wanted to impose my drama on others. I suppose I feel that no one should have to tolerate listening to someone as messed up as me.
Every post will be completely random. Because I find it so hard to speak to anyone, this is my outlet. Here I can be truthful. If you aren’t ready for some extremely dark truths, I suggest you tuck your tail between your legs and haul ass. You’ve been warned.
And if you’ve bothered to read this far, bless you for being my patient friend. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.