Darkover
Archangel
- Jul 29, 2021
- 5,040
No one ever truly cared for me here. Not in the way that mattered—not in the way that made me feel safe, valued, or loved. I have spent my life surrounded by people who should have cared, who should have been there, but they never were.
From the beginning, I was left to figure things out on my own. The people who were supposed to protect me instead hurt me. The ones who should have guided me left me wandering alone. I was given the bare minimum—enough to survive, but never enough to thrive. And when I needed comfort, when I needed someone to see me, to hear me, to care, all I found was indifference.
I have been let down too many times to count. I reached out, hoping someone would take my hand, but time and time again, I was met with silence or worse, rejection. It has made me wonder if I was ever meant to be cared for at all, or if I was simply meant to endure.
When I was 12 years old, my sister and her boyfriend were giving me drugs—weed. That same year, I dropped out of school and started smoking cigarettes. I never left school with any qualifications, and from that point on, my future felt like it was slipping away before it had even begun.
I had one girlfriend in my lifetime, from when I was 16 to 18 years old. Now, at 38, that was the only relationship I have ever had. It was a brief glimpse into what life could have been, but it only made the loneliness that followed even harder to bear.
Losing something that made life bearable—whether it's love, friendship, stability, or even just a sense of purpose—can make going back to loneliness feel unbearable. Even if you're technically in the same place you started, it doesn't feel the same because you've now experienced something better. That contrast between "what was" and "what is" can be devastating.
Both my parents never took me to the dentist. As a result, I suffered from dental problems that could have been prevented with basic care. This neglect was just another reminder that my well-being was never a priority to them.
When I was 18 years old, I was having a house party with a few friends. We were drinking beer and listening to music—just me, two other lads who were brothers, and a girl I liked. When she arrived, she gave me a long hug, and as the night went on, we drank, smoked cigarettes, and enjoyed the moment. Eventually, she and I went down to my bedroom and got into bed together.
Half an hour later, there was a knock at my front door. One of the brothers told me his brother was in a fight and asked if I could help. I went upstairs to tell the girl, and she urged me to go help. On my way out, I grabbed a wooden pole, thinking I might need it. Halfway to the fight, I got sick from all the drinking. When we arrived, I saw that my friend had picked a fight with an old man. To my shock, he took the wooden pole from me and used it to attack the man.
The police arrived and arrested him, taking the wooden pole as evidence. A few minutes later, as I was walking home, the police stopped us, asked if the weapon was mine, and when I said yes, they arrested me. Despite not being the one who committed the crime, I was sentenced to four months in jail. That night not only destroyed my future but also ruined my one chance at another relationship. While in jail, I found out I had 22 cavities, further proving how neglected I had been growing up.
When i was 18 me and my brother were in the back garden when we had some friends around. Anyway, a fight broke out between my brother and some friends, and I went rushing in. I ran into one of the lads, forcing him to fall to the ground, but as we did, he pulled me under him and landed on my left shoulder, dislocating it. Ever since, it has dislocated about 10 times now.
When I was in my early 20s, I took a paracetamol overdose, leading to a trip to the hospital. The next morning, I was violently sick—the kind of sick with blood in it. I had damaged my stomach lining, and now I have to drink milk all the time to settle my belly. I can't drink alcohol without being sick.
I wanted to share a bit about an experience I've had that has had a lasting impact on me. When I was 30, I suffered a brain injury and developed tinnitus in both ears. The damage stemmed from using large headphones and constantly listening to drum and bass music at high volumes. Over time, I began to hear creaking and cracking in my ears, a constant reminder of the harm caused.
I used to be a programmer, but since the injury, I've found it nearly impossible to concentrate on programming anymore. I also believe that my use of weed played a role in amplifying the damage to my ears and brain, as the pleasurable effects while high likely contributed to me pushing my limits.
If anyone had truly cared, things would have been different. I wouldn't have been left to carry this weight alone. I wouldn't have had to beg for scraps of kindness. I wouldn't feel like a ghost in my own life, unseen and unheard.
But maybe that's just the way it is. Maybe some people are born to be neglected, to be forgotten, to be left behind. If that's true, then I was one of them.
From the beginning, I was left to figure things out on my own. The people who were supposed to protect me instead hurt me. The ones who should have guided me left me wandering alone. I was given the bare minimum—enough to survive, but never enough to thrive. And when I needed comfort, when I needed someone to see me, to hear me, to care, all I found was indifference.
I have been let down too many times to count. I reached out, hoping someone would take my hand, but time and time again, I was met with silence or worse, rejection. It has made me wonder if I was ever meant to be cared for at all, or if I was simply meant to endure.
When I was 12 years old, my sister and her boyfriend were giving me drugs—weed. That same year, I dropped out of school and started smoking cigarettes. I never left school with any qualifications, and from that point on, my future felt like it was slipping away before it had even begun.
I had one girlfriend in my lifetime, from when I was 16 to 18 years old. Now, at 38, that was the only relationship I have ever had. It was a brief glimpse into what life could have been, but it only made the loneliness that followed even harder to bear.
Losing something that made life bearable—whether it's love, friendship, stability, or even just a sense of purpose—can make going back to loneliness feel unbearable. Even if you're technically in the same place you started, it doesn't feel the same because you've now experienced something better. That contrast between "what was" and "what is" can be devastating.
Both my parents never took me to the dentist. As a result, I suffered from dental problems that could have been prevented with basic care. This neglect was just another reminder that my well-being was never a priority to them.
When I was 18 years old, I was having a house party with a few friends. We were drinking beer and listening to music—just me, two other lads who were brothers, and a girl I liked. When she arrived, she gave me a long hug, and as the night went on, we drank, smoked cigarettes, and enjoyed the moment. Eventually, she and I went down to my bedroom and got into bed together.
Half an hour later, there was a knock at my front door. One of the brothers told me his brother was in a fight and asked if I could help. I went upstairs to tell the girl, and she urged me to go help. On my way out, I grabbed a wooden pole, thinking I might need it. Halfway to the fight, I got sick from all the drinking. When we arrived, I saw that my friend had picked a fight with an old man. To my shock, he took the wooden pole from me and used it to attack the man.
The police arrived and arrested him, taking the wooden pole as evidence. A few minutes later, as I was walking home, the police stopped us, asked if the weapon was mine, and when I said yes, they arrested me. Despite not being the one who committed the crime, I was sentenced to four months in jail. That night not only destroyed my future but also ruined my one chance at another relationship. While in jail, I found out I had 22 cavities, further proving how neglected I had been growing up.
When i was 18 me and my brother were in the back garden when we had some friends around. Anyway, a fight broke out between my brother and some friends, and I went rushing in. I ran into one of the lads, forcing him to fall to the ground, but as we did, he pulled me under him and landed on my left shoulder, dislocating it. Ever since, it has dislocated about 10 times now.
When I was in my early 20s, I took a paracetamol overdose, leading to a trip to the hospital. The next morning, I was violently sick—the kind of sick with blood in it. I had damaged my stomach lining, and now I have to drink milk all the time to settle my belly. I can't drink alcohol without being sick.
I wanted to share a bit about an experience I've had that has had a lasting impact on me. When I was 30, I suffered a brain injury and developed tinnitus in both ears. The damage stemmed from using large headphones and constantly listening to drum and bass music at high volumes. Over time, I began to hear creaking and cracking in my ears, a constant reminder of the harm caused.
I used to be a programmer, but since the injury, I've found it nearly impossible to concentrate on programming anymore. I also believe that my use of weed played a role in amplifying the damage to my ears and brain, as the pleasurable effects while high likely contributed to me pushing my limits.
If anyone had truly cared, things would have been different. I wouldn't have been left to carry this weight alone. I wouldn't have had to beg for scraps of kindness. I wouldn't feel like a ghost in my own life, unseen and unheard.
But maybe that's just the way it is. Maybe some people are born to be neglected, to be forgotten, to be left behind. If that's true, then I was one of them.
