I made a thread with the intent of leaving it in a place where I figured it would "fit in." And then abandon it. I was hoping for a cleansing of the emotions the game has left me with that I thought I didn't want anymore. I have come to embrace them after today, but I don't plan on becoming a regular poster. I think posting in a place where I feel my privacy would not be infringed upon, might do my psyche some good.
http://ks.renai.us/viewtopic.php?f=13&t=6979
That is the thread in question. I will post a more specific description of what my problem is in the interest of understanding.
My problems arose early in my Jr. High days. Until then I led a fairly healthy existence, probably because of ignorance. My friends all drifted away, as often happens with teenagers, and one of my acquaintances told me that he was full of pain and darkness and didn't know what was worth living for. I told him that there is too much in life to condemn yourself to the noose at age 16. I was 14 at the time. He ended up getting a nice girlfriend, (albeit he had a few missteps before he got to the right one, a couple of sluts who tried to trap him with fake pregnancies and the like, a bad drug habit for a while, and a nasty brutal divorce between his parents) and in general forged a path forward out of the shithole he had dug for himself earlier, with me as his voice of reason and responsibility. I don't think I even believe the words I said, not anymore anyways. The guy is 20 now, and I'm 18. He's moved on, and while he still appreciates what I did for him, I feel we have grown apart. I think I stuck around with him out of pity, and when he got back on his feet we no longer had a reason to engage in regular conversation. Maybe it was unfair for him, me being the lump of coal that I happen to be, to dole out life advice and give him suggestions in his many times of crisis.
My parents hate each other, and only stay together because my mom would win the custody battle because my dad's side of the family doesn't exist. Not to mention my brother has Asperger's, and they wouldn't be able to afford to live in the school district we live in if they split up. The school my brother attends has been a fucking blessing on him. I think he might legitimately be happy there, and my Dad can't stand the thought of taking it away from him.
My mom's a cold, manipulative bitch who screams and rants and raves about everything that my Dad has done wrong with anything. Somewhere down the line, she needed a finger to point after she didn't turn out to be all she thought she could be, and my Dad got to be the distraction so she doesn't have to look herself in the mirror and cry. Honestly, I figure I inherited my defense of hiding my own problems from the public with a fake smile from her, although I have the decency to keep ALL OF THE RAGE TO MYSELF. I feel a tiny bit of sympathy for her, but nonetheless, she's made my life miserable and turned my dad into an addict. The guy's chocked full of anti-anxiety meds, painkillers, (and booze at night) pretty much all the time because of her. He's told me, several times, that he wishes he had the balls to kill her or himself. She's made him a miserable husk. She had polio as a kid, back in Hong Kong, and it fucked up one of her legs. She's had a limp since she was a kid, and I think it may have made her bitter, but having problems doesn't give her the right to basically drive my dad to an early grave. He sticks with her out of pity and for my brother as he knows it's only a matter of time before the bitch's leg gives out on her and she becomes forced into a wheel chair. I found him looking up instructions on how to poison himself with car exhaust one time, didn't think much of it because half the time my mom goes off on him his first reaction is to drink a glass of bourbon and tell me he wishes he was dead. He never did it, and I don't think he has the heart to leave my brother alone with her, and I never (directly) confronted him on it.
My grades crashed into the ground and burned. I went from a straight A student to D's and F's. Most of my friends found people they had more in common with and drifted away from me. My first crush, who I think would have reciprocated my affection, I turned off. She asked me to lunch, I said fuck off. We never spoke again. I became kind of a bully for a while, and I greatly resent myself for it. But I don't think my true low point hit until High School. During this crash, my mother made numerous threats to throw me to the wolves, claiming me to be an ungrateful loser with no prospects among other more colorful words. I managed to roll with the punches and absorb the hits for a long time. But I did snap at her once, and punched a wonderful little hole through her door after she slammed it in my face.
In High School, I lost my ability to communicate to people comfortably, and I started getting panic attacks and migraine headaches. I started cutting class and any hope I had for the IB program I had going on went up in smoke because of it. I still had a circle of people that I hung around with, but I didn't really like any of them. My misery was discreet enough as to not acquire their attention, and any inquiry into what was going on with me was carefully dodged. My Freshman year was fairly miserable, but my Sophmore year was the lowest point, or at least the most apparent to others. My parents made me get a therapist after I ditched each class at least a dozen times and the truancy officer threatened to drag me to school in a cop car and then follow me around. I didn't learn much from the therapist because I purposefully misled him. I fed him bullshit, and he gave me anti-depressants that I cut cold turkey after a few months. They didn't help. My Junior year was a slight improvement, if only because I learned to suppress and hide my anxiety and fear well enough to make myself look normal. I managed to make small talk and joke around enough that I made a respectable number of acquaintances. It threw them off for a while, but my migraines kept me away from school a lot, and I managed to channel all of my anxiety at night so as to give myself better control during the day, which cost me a fair bit of sleep. My brother recommended to my parents that they put me in the IEP program, which is basically the special ed department, to keep tabs on me.
I was given the ultimatum in the principles office to go or risk going to a fucking make up school. So I took the easier, and hopefully less violent route and joined special ed. They didn't pull me out of normal classes because my teachers told the department that my test scores and essays were some of the best they'd seen, so they requested for me to stay despite the fact my grades had imploded. By some freak accident, I managed to figure out enough chemistry in between naps, and doodling bullshit, and not showing up, to get the highest fucking score on the final. So I got to stay in the normal people classes with special ed supervision, fuckin' a..... I failed those classes like a champ when I basically threw 4 months worth of make-up home and classwork in the garbage in the aftermath of a panic attack.
My senior year was a marked improvement over my last 3 years. Supervision from the special ed department, and finally mastering how to keep my anger and frustration locked up helped a lot. I ended up with B's all around (I was 50/50 on doing homework, basically depended on my mood,) and I started socializing again for the first time since early Jr. High. I managed to sell myself, as a smart, nice, quiet in class, but funny when you get to know me, (trying to fly under the radar for Big Brother,) guy. Things were looking up in my world! I went to movies with a few of my old "friends," and while I may have never had a girl, I at least know how to handle myself around them.
For a short time I think I even managed to sell myself my own load of bullshit. I don't know how long I was out, but I had a kind of stupid ignorance for a few months. I don't know what happened to "activate" my terrible old habits, but I'm relapsing hard right now. Katawa Shoujo started out as a joke to me. It took me by relative surprise, and I now stand firmly on the outside looking in. I was never "fixed," I was merely hiding my pain away from others and repelling any semblance of closeness that they tried to have with me. I have no close friends because I keep them at arms length. I don't know their troubles, they don't know mine. My parents ask if I'm okay, I tell them what they want to hear, because I don't think my family could survive the fall out if I opened Pandora's box. Today, people think that whatever problems I exhibited as a youth are gone. It was all a phase, I tell them. I'm cured now. Or so I thought. I think the "feels," as the community at large calls them, amplified what I already felt or knew about myself and stabbed me in the gut. It was excruciating for a while, but the pain and confusion eventually did lead me to see what I had done. I was fucking Emi. I had erected walls around my problems to keep others out, but I disguised them. Nobody but me knows the walls exist. And now I guess whoever reads this does.
I do not feel I express myself as effectively through spoken word as I do through text, so I feel this is adequate therapy. I hope this and perhaps future posts will help serve as an outlet for me to build enough emotional strength to begin a friendship real enough to truly give me the catharsis I seek, and not just so I can bitch about my shitty home life and being the shoulder that everybody with suicidal thoughts gets to cry on, I want someone that I can trust. I don't expect many people to read the whole thing, but for those of you who do, thanks.
guess i can finaly study some stuffs 
Enjoy your new school and dem girlz :p
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