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I barely live when I was born because I have this fucking disability but my mom love me anyway. grew up having my mom to always not around as well as my dad. 5 years old I was sexually abused and I get very nervous inside everytime I'd see, sense, or hear my cousin. 1st grade and 2nd I was bullied that I'm ugly and stupid because I always have short hair and dark skin (because a Filipino thing to be called ugly when you're dark skinned). i move to a different school at 3rd grade and I was picked on by these girls, gossip about my hair about my quietness, about everything they see on me and sabotage my grade once, these girls would spread these message to other grade levels so others would avoided me and I wasn't friends with anyone, all they would gossip that I was only rich because my dad is in the mafia but honestly he works in an agency in the US. I didn't study and I failed the classes then. I just don't want to do it even though I know everything I just loose interest studying then and because why bother when you'd fail anyway from their sabotoging thing (because these girls were the class president and vice president). Then I move again at 4th grade and 5th grade. I was bullied by this guy who had a friend that falsely claimed I have a stinky arm pit. This guy's friend was actually just quirky and he just do that to irritate me because he likes to see me that way I don't know he had a crush on me then because he thinks its cute.. but this bully.. nope very rude. I would walk everywhere and he would follow me and scream "putok!" meaning stinky pits and other guys would laugh at me and girls would just avoid me. The guy's friend kinda just didn't say anything. Then I move to the US at 6th grade from the philippines. I experienced racism about Filipinos from these white people. yep they said I might stink because my country is the same. I was the only one whose Filipino in that school. I move in a different state again and there are no white people much - racism is opposite (because white people are kinda discriminated against). I thought its better for me because people seemed chill and diverse. I though good timing to be myself. So yeah I did. I was nerdy and love books but I was shy because I had a traumatic incident in the past but I was bullied again because of my nerdiness. I have no friends and girls would physically bully me. No words just pushing off the stairs. Then 8th grade I tried to fit in but I get their drama which is very dumb but I was hated. high school, I had friends from all these comotion in 8th grade. I was picked on by my friends and I experienced depression finally. sophomore I was bullied because I'm the science classes and people judge me that I'm dumb just because I have a dyed hair and i'm the type of kid that don't study and probably do some weed. junior year, rumors spread about me that I'm a slut when I never even had sex before. senior year academic stress, expectation from parents and their control on what college I should go to and yeah more rumors about me. so yeah i thought this is gonna end because teenage years is done and I'm finally gonna be happy and not pretend to be this and that. But nope it's all different in college. The stress, the amount of energy you need to use for work, studying and time. I feel alone, I can't even fall in love or what else.... I can't even make friends because now I have PTSD. But you know what, screw that! I'm at this point of my life and experienced the shittiest things in life so why the hell do I fall now seriously?? I've almost killed myself from cutting, hanging, overdosing on sleeping pills but then I still can't do it. why? I love to explore the fucking timline of my life. and then I look at myself "hey! look I'm still alive and studying and a researcher in the STEM field and living in America and a state with the most opportunities! Plus I have good friends they're not around physically but at least I had real friends still" If I would talk share everything, more shitty things happened to me than the good ones but the way you see things helps with the quality. Quantity wise bad things won but quality wise good things won and I always value quality than quantity so.. Plus I have a mother and brother that I care about if die my mom will be crazy and my brother will be alone so nope not today depression. Not today PTSD. To me I just always look at one light I can find even though everything is dark around me. Imagine the sky at night where everything is dark and yet there are still things shining especially when you search for one. They're beautiful yeah? light within the darkness is beautiful if you can't find the light then be the light alright...

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  • You are amazing, my friend. The toughest days are the ones that build character,and though you don't know me I am proud of you. I spent 35 years in prison for something I didn't do, and the only thing that got me through it was this: I woke up every morning and literally told myself, out loud, that whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger. Your method was different, but just as effective. I am so glad you made it! Dragonhunter2651@gmail.com

  • I'm glad you're still trying. Never give up.

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I think my grandfather had an influence on my parents divorce, lies were spread and my father had to spend 10 years in jail. Not having my father in my life effected me deeply. I have been spending time with my father, and we are so alike in many ways. It still hurts him to this day. It was 33 years ago. He had experienced his first child given up to adoption, because a woman didn't tell him she was married. She became pregnant with my father's son (his first child), and her husband made her give him over for adoption. My father tried to petition to get him, but the power was over married couple, and they wouldn't let him have his son. He had other children and I was the last one. I was told he hurt me, but I don't recall any moments like that. I only recall small memories of him singing, playing the guitar and sitting beside him on the piano bench at two years old trying to sing and play with him. I started visiting my father three years ago. He is 76 years old now. I drive him to the store, and help him with his groceries. Sometimes we would eat breakfast in the morning or have lunch after the shopping was finished. He would say, I remember when you were little you used to pretend to read the newspaper to copy me reading the paper. He said that I could sing my ABC's by the time I was two years old. Often times he would ride in the car and with anguish he would say, I hate that they (my mother and grandfather) took you away from me. I would never hurt you. I can't believe they lied on me. I can't help but to believe him, because I had three other half sisters and a brother (this is the second brother, not the one taken for adoption) who he had before me and he took care of them . I am his last daughter, the youngest. My two of my sisters have had children and the other married. Now at the age of 35, I have not had any children or married. My experiences with other people, have felt distant, I felt I didn't belong. My mother, raising me as a single woman, would have other people watch me in our family watch me, because they had children. The sad part is that some of their children were abusive. I have had people who would end their friendship with me, or some sort of verbal or emotional abuse from them. There were also times I felt anger, I would distance myself from others and would just rather be alone. I visit both my father and mother every two weeks unless it is a holiday. Though I try to pick up the pieces, and try everyday to figure out life, I still live in solitude, mental stagnation and unexpected feelings of agony. I did see a therapist, but couldn't afford it, even with my medical plan. For now, I just get up everyday, go to work when I am scheduled to go, pay my bills. I am glad that I get a chance to improve my life with each day that comes. Tomorrow is another day.

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When I was about 14 I faked something like a panic attack to get out of doing a semi-scary dare. It was at my friend's birthday party, no less. I drew attention to myself unnecessarily when my friend was supposed to be the the center of attention. And I gave a wrong image of actual panic attacks. I'm ashamed of this.

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  • Self-defense, man. You gotta do what you gotta do.

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My dad did some fucked up things to me when I was a kid. Things I will never forget. Things that haunt me to this day. I remember this “game” he used to force me to play with him back when I was 12. He would back me up against the wall and get so close to me that our noses were touching. Then, the first person to break eye contact would get struck in the face with a wooden plank. I was always the one to break eye contact first because there’s nothing more intimidating than having to look straight into the eyes of a person who’s done unspeakable things to you. He would lock me in a pitch black room for hours at a time. I remember groping the walls of the room in the darkness, feeling the texture with my fingertips because it was all I could to do confirm that I was still alive. He would blindfold me and make me walk barefoot across a forest with his hand tight around my arm until we reached his cabin. Once, I stepped on a shard of glass and began to cry. He hit the back of my head so hard my ears started ringing and said that boys don’t cry, and that I was disgusting and pathetic, and that I would never be a man. My feet were sticky with blood by the time we got to his cabin. He would suffocate me with a pillow when I couldn’t stop crying. He got drunk and beat me up until I puked. He burned me with his cigarettes. He starved me. On my fourteenth birthday, I ran away. Right on the day. He was asleep on the couch and I stepped outside the house and started running. Just like that. I fucking ran for my life and I didn’t think and I didn’t know where I was going and I had nothing on me except the clothes on my back but I didn’t stop and I didn’t look back. I just ran. I borrowed a stranger’s phone, called my 21-year-old brother, and told him where I was. He picked me up and took me to his apartment. I cried on him so, so hard. I was hysterical. I told him I never fucking wanted to go back to my dad’s house ever again. I told him I’d rather die than go back there, and I meant it. I really did. My brother said he’d let me move in with him if I got a job to pay rent. So I looked for every job I could possibly get at 14 years old. I raked the neighbor’s leaves. I walked their dogs. I cleaned the dishes and took out the garbage at multiple fast food restaurants. Anything I could do. ANYTHING! My brother let me move in. My dad didn’t care. He was happy to get rid of me. And I was happy to get rid of HIM. I started LIVING. I became HAPPY. But, still- when I think back to the things my dad did to me, my chest begins to ache. I try not to think about my past. I don’t want to remember it. But some days it’s all I can think about. Some days all I can do is stare at the ceiling and try not to cry my eyes out. Some nights I’m too afraid to fall asleep because the nightmares are too much. Especially the nightmares of being back in that pitch black room. Some days I get so angry I start shaking and I ask myself what I ever did to deserve any of that. I ask myself where I ever fucked up in my life so badly that made own father treat me like I was lesser than garbage. That’s the question that keeps me up at night. The question that drives me absolutely insane: what did I do wrong? I’m crying right now as I’m writing this. But I also feel relieved, because I’m happy with the way things turned out. I really am. I’m in college, I have a girlfriend, and I haven’t seen my dad since my fourteenth birthday. I’m okay now. For the most part.

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  • Perhaps the most heartbreaking part is that you didn't do anything to deserve this. We tend to cling to the belief that we do, often because it gives us a sense of control. If we did something wrong, we can do better next time, and prevent the bad thing from happening. This isn't true. Some people are inherently terrible, and whatever you do, they'll find away to abuse you as long as you allow them to be in your life. You do no longer allow your father to be in your life. You are a survivor. Your past is still affecting you, and that's normal. You went through more than anyone should ever have to. Therapy would be a good, healthy next step. There is no shame in taking proper care for yourself.

  • Your Dad was/is a douche and you have PTSD. Get help.

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When I was young (16-17) my 8 yr. old sis used to have a lot of her friends over to play for the day, spend the night, etc. My mom loved having me watch them, and they ALL had a crush on me. One day an abaolutely gorgeous girl from next door was sitting opposite me on the floor, her legs spread wide open, wearing loose-legged shorts. She had no panties on, and her perfectly formed, hairless vulva was plainly visible..my sis noticed it too, and later we talked about it, admitting that it was the most beautiful thing i had ever seen! She must have told her friend, because one night when I was babysitting and this girl was spending the night my sis called me into her room, and as soon as i entered they both lifter up the hems of their nighties and showed me their totally naked, completely hairless and swollen pussies! To this day the sight of hairless vulvas gets me soooo turned on! P.S. If anyone has a pic or two of bald vulvas pplease let me see them??? Dragonhunter2651@gmail.com

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  • Right... It was gonna be your lucky day today since i was gonna send over a dozen or so photos fresh out the shower... But then i read "hairless" and realized I didnt mert the criteria! Shit! My bad! But a treat is always a treat right, regardless of the packaging? I might as well feel free lol. No fuck im kidding. But in a serious wtf were you discussing that with your 8 year old sister? Next, wtf did you feel it was okay to look at your sisters vagiba? This sounds like some family incest thing going on. So nasty. Idgaf about what your life is like rn, but at 16 or 17 its just disgusting to take a peek at an 8 year olds vajayjay. Nasty af

  • pedo

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I wonder if sex education can cause trauma.

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  • My dad tried to give me 'the talk and it turned into 'gay sex is wrong and anal, oral, fingering, and using toys are only things fags do' Like, what? I was 12. I didn't need to hear that shit, especially when he was doing most of that stuff with my mom, which makes him a hypocrite

  • it can when your told to do a project on STDs as a 12 year old haha, totally traumatizing. but it was much more affective than other schools in my city that just use little cartoons to teach STDs.

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I really want to get a ball python. I've been doing a lot of research on them and I think I'd be compatible with that kind of pet! It would be an awesome animal to have in my house. I've wanted a snake ever since I was a kid, but my passion for them has recently been reignited.

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  • Go for it! I believe in you 🐍

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Time for random thought from childhood. When adults say to girls that "he picks on you because he likes you", I think a more accurate way to describe the situation is "He has a crush on you and he hates it". Either that or he doesn't like her at all and just picks on her for fun like kids tend to do.

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  • Parents just tell their kids that so they don't feel bad. Same reason they say 'people are just mean because they're jealous'. They're probably not, but it makes the kid feel a little better I guess

  • Yeah seriously, I've never witnessed how a guy picked on a girl specifically and later it turned out he had a crush on her. Never. Most guys picked on all girls equally or picked on their crush LESS than on other girls.

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When I was a kid and had my first guitar lesson, neither I nor my teacher could open the guitar box. It apparently was a quite unique box with a "complicated" opening system (quite easy to open actually, once you found out how). So my first guitar lesson got cancelled because we were too stupid to open the box.

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#metoo I was around 9 years old and almost everyday during that summer my babysitter would make me do things to her and she would do things to me as soon as my parents were gone. If I tried to say no they would threaten to tell my parents because they had convinced me it was all my fault. I was only 9.

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  • Jesus Chirst!

  • she's sick to even do that to a kid it's not your fault

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