Ugh ig y'all wanna know my story.
I was born with FASD to a troubled woman. I was bounced from one or two foster homes, until, purely by chance, my new mother got a call.
"Hey, you're names not supposed to be in the system, we just found you, did you know your two boys have sisters?"
Suddenly, she had us, we were her daughters.
She was alright, nice, a little protective, pretty aggressive, but altogether good. I mean, she didn't toss me out when I shat in a blanket and dragged it around.
Skip a few meaningless years, move to kelowna, get kicked out because our landlord wants to renovate, move to lethbridge.
Now it's interesting. Covid hits. Everything is chaos. My mental health goes down a hole. I find discord, then I'm kicked off and almost beaten by my mom. I go online on my 2ds, part one. I find many... messed up things. Along with, I find a light in the dark, 3DSPaint.com. I get my account, royal-rawr, in such a wild year. I get caught, almost beaten, and forced to watch videos about how little girls get raped, and beaten, and taken away. All because they were online.
Did that stop me? Pffft, no.
I kept going, back onto discord when online schhol kicked in. And, now onto Pixilart.com. Wow. I get caught on there, and my mom is FUMING. She told me to get outside, go "on a walk". I did. out of Lethbridge. I ran away. Out there, in the middle of a field, pitch black. I eventually went back, after three hours of straight walking, and it beginning to snow. I went in the back of a police car, they found my mom and picked her up too, and they took us home. She hugged me, she wasn't so mad. I felt unstable at that moment. I was an emotional mess.
But wait! There's more!
Enter freshman year. I am tired. I try to learn who I am, going through many genders, only to realize I was chasing masculinity, this view of my real self, but saying i'm a demiboy, or only partway. Why not just go all in, if that's really m e.
WARNING: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM ANS SUICIDAL IDEATION.
I get worse. Contemplation was nothing new, but this was. I was having a discussion with my sister, she was pissing me off, she was trying to push my buttons, I could feel it. She did. I tore at the back of my hand, it bled. I sat there, staring at it. And it felt right. She was yelling at me to go clean it off, I did. It started something. When i was alone, i'd scratch my arm until it was raw and bleeding, i did it for months on end, feeling prideful when it stung, bled, and shameful when I couldn't do it. Then my brother found out, him, also having a history, recognized the scars. But he did it out of anger, in blind moments, where he could hurt someone, break something, he chose himself. I did it intentionally. He didn't say much, but he said if he saw it again, he'd tell mom. My worst fear. Her knowing. I've stopped. Partially. My mind went to worse places, death. I did it a month later, on my leg, and again, several months later, on my neck, I haven't self harmed in over a month, look at me go.
Skip some time. My mom's getting weird. Talking more and more about this weird shit, energies, quantum physics, aliens, then to Elon Musk, the government, all that. She then would have these hour long conversation, about all of that, always ending in: "You never look into this, you have no interest in anything." She'd get mad at us for not being interested.
Skip more time, to now. My mom's having some sort of midlife crisis, my sister's whining about her shitty school life, and I'm here. Having a shitty real life, complaining about my pains, and having several suicidal crises, all while lots of nothing and meaningless shit happens here. It's better than real life though.
