I'm pretty new to this forum, but I've found some joy in talking with you all on here and giving advice. Hopefully sharing this story will bring some good to myself and others :) My story has mentions of every type of abuse, so be warned.
I don't remember much of my childhood due to my trauma, but everything started at the age of three, when my parents divorced. My mother moved us back to her hometown to live with my grandmother, but soon she married a man after less than 6 months of dating. At the age of 4 or 5 her alcoholic husband began to sexually abuse me. When she witnessed the molestation, she moved us back in with my grandma, but she wouldn't divorce the man until 10 years later.
For the next several years, we lived with him on and off, and he would continue to sexually abuse me. Around 9, an event triggered those memories to resurface. I told my mom what happened, but she accused me of misunderstanding the situation, and continued to allow him in my life. She told me to not tell my dad, or he would "think her husband was a rapist." When we did not live with my abuser, she would take her anger out on me and my brother; screaming, throwing, smashing things, etc. When I showed signs of OCD, and anxiety, at the age of 11, she forced me to take Zoloft. During my boughts of depression and suicidal thoughts, I eventually came out as bisexual, and then a transgender man, which my mother saw as a problem to "fix," so I was sent to gender therapy. She eventually became tolerant after years of fighting.
In freshman year of high school, I began to exhibit symptoms of heart disease. My mother took me to appointments and forced me to be mobile while I was slowly dying of Addison's disease. My proper diagnosis would not come until 6 months later.
In my sophomore year of high school, I was forced to speak in the divorce deposition between her and her husband, where I was berated by his attorney. However, my life began to improve somewhat in the time after. I met my ex fiancé, the most amazing person I have ever known. When we began dating, he had already joined the Navy and was planning to ship out in December. My anxiety and depression increased significantly leading up to that date, often leaving me crying in his arms begging for him to not love me so I could CTB. My mother was not as kind during this time, and neither was my unsupportive father.
For the year after that, I did long distance with my ex fiancé, until I was able to leave all of my family and friends behind to move in with him across the country. I was extremely happy to finally be in a home where I was loved, and we worked hard to build a life together there. Two months in, he became worried about his sexuality despite previous extensive discussions, and he broke up with me (just before my mother and brother were coming to visit, and two of my family members died). Even during the break up, we were intimate again, because he was horny and I was holding on to any piece of our relationship I could. My family yelled at me for wanting to take a few days to get my stuff together.
Now, I am back in my hometown, living with my mother. I struggle with ED, OCD, PTSD, depression, anxiety, all caused by my mother. Every day is a chore for me, as not only is my mental health altered, but my physical disability (Addison's Disease) causes extreme discomfort and pain in day to day life. I suppose the things holding me together now are my dog and weed, which sounds as sad as it is lol.
Of course there is more to my story, but this is the short version. Thank you for reading of you made it to the end, I don't expect much engagement on such a sad story, but it makes me feel better to share it.
Oh and my dad is a republican diplomat who's convinced I'm negatively influencing my British half siblings with my transgenderness lmao.
I don't remember much of my childhood due to my trauma, but everything started at the age of three, when my parents divorced. My mother moved us back to her hometown to live with my grandmother, but soon she married a man after less than 6 months of dating. At the age of 4 or 5 her alcoholic husband began to sexually abuse me. When she witnessed the molestation, she moved us back in with my grandma, but she wouldn't divorce the man until 10 years later.
For the next several years, we lived with him on and off, and he would continue to sexually abuse me. Around 9, an event triggered those memories to resurface. I told my mom what happened, but she accused me of misunderstanding the situation, and continued to allow him in my life. She told me to not tell my dad, or he would "think her husband was a rapist." When we did not live with my abuser, she would take her anger out on me and my brother; screaming, throwing, smashing things, etc. When I showed signs of OCD, and anxiety, at the age of 11, she forced me to take Zoloft. During my boughts of depression and suicidal thoughts, I eventually came out as bisexual, and then a transgender man, which my mother saw as a problem to "fix," so I was sent to gender therapy. She eventually became tolerant after years of fighting.
In freshman year of high school, I began to exhibit symptoms of heart disease. My mother took me to appointments and forced me to be mobile while I was slowly dying of Addison's disease. My proper diagnosis would not come until 6 months later.
In my sophomore year of high school, I was forced to speak in the divorce deposition between her and her husband, where I was berated by his attorney. However, my life began to improve somewhat in the time after. I met my ex fiancé, the most amazing person I have ever known. When we began dating, he had already joined the Navy and was planning to ship out in December. My anxiety and depression increased significantly leading up to that date, often leaving me crying in his arms begging for him to not love me so I could CTB. My mother was not as kind during this time, and neither was my unsupportive father.
For the year after that, I did long distance with my ex fiancé, until I was able to leave all of my family and friends behind to move in with him across the country. I was extremely happy to finally be in a home where I was loved, and we worked hard to build a life together there. Two months in, he became worried about his sexuality despite previous extensive discussions, and he broke up with me (just before my mother and brother were coming to visit, and two of my family members died). Even during the break up, we were intimate again, because he was horny and I was holding on to any piece of our relationship I could. My family yelled at me for wanting to take a few days to get my stuff together.
Now, I am back in my hometown, living with my mother. I struggle with ED, OCD, PTSD, depression, anxiety, all caused by my mother. Every day is a chore for me, as not only is my mental health altered, but my physical disability (Addison's Disease) causes extreme discomfort and pain in day to day life. I suppose the things holding me together now are my dog and weed, which sounds as sad as it is lol.
Of course there is more to my story, but this is the short version. Thank you for reading of you made it to the end, I don't expect much engagement on such a sad story, but it makes me feel better to share it.
Oh and my dad is a republican diplomat who's convinced I'm negatively influencing my British half siblings with my transgenderness lmao.
