The origins of self hate and the workings of a broken soul

Looks are deceiving. Actions can be too, they speak yes, but often people hear the wrong thing. Its no wonder that people hate, judge, walkover and condemn. And that's all there is too it for the most part.

Ever since I was little, I was different. I was different enough as a child to be labeled annoying, people hated me, leading to dark chapters in my life, the repression of my emotions and the self defense mechanisms that would ultimately push people away.

It was a normal day in my 1st grade class. 1st recess had just started, the sidewalks were icy and the snow powdery with a wet under-layer in mid november.  I was an unrealistically optimistic child, pacifistic child, and to my pleasant surprise, i had just found a quarter. To me, that was a lot, you could buy like four pieces of jerky from the 'Cougar Cave', an elementary's take on a school store. So i started to dig at the literal inch and a half of ice above it. My frantic scratching at the ice attracted attention of nearby students quickly, and soon i had a small crowd surrounding me as i excitedly attempted to obtain my treasure. As I got close to my goal, another student and his close friends came over, and attempted to claim my treasure. I literally stood up to argue and make sure they knew it was mine and they shoved me over. I hit the ground hard. When recess was over(i think it lasted 20 minutes) we went back into the classroom(the teacher had the lights off, i don't remember why), and my table, when it was our turn after the other 5 tables in our class had stood up and shared what they had did at recess, whom the student who shoved me was at(my table) stood up to share what we had done, i was desperately ready to bring this injustice to light to the teacher and get my quarter. So we stood up, the other 5 kids in my group said what they had done, then it was my turn. So i stated what had happened, he denied it and the teacher believed him.

This was not the first time this sort of thing had happened.

Later on, it got worse, if i wanted to play with kids who didn't like me at lunch, they would hurt me, physically and emotionally. Eventually i got the message, i wasn't wanted.

I would plead, beg them, why, why did they hate me. Best answer i ever got was that i was annoying.
Cool. Thanks for telling me. I tried to adapt, nothing ever worked, except repression, that worked. If i repressed myself, people left me alone, that's better than negative attention  to a 10 y/o.

Another time in elementary, 6th grade, the point in my life when I was coming to terms with the concept of being forever alone. It was valentines day. I had never received a val-o-gram before from another student who was unrelated to me, but this day was different. I received one. It was a mushy secret admirer one, similar to the kind used in movies. I was ecstatic. Everything I had ever thought negatively about myself started to change in that instant. I could be liked! Even loved maybe! I couldn't keep my mouth shut and had to tell everyone who i thought would listen to me that someone liked me. I couldn't believe it, and i shouldnt of. Soon, 10 minutes after, after the concept that i would be forever alone had vanished from my mind, they told me, the group of girls sitting at a nearby group of desks. It was a prank. A joke. They thought it would be funny. I broke down inside, all the feeling receded into a bottle to allow the logical side of my brain to process it. It destroyed any confidence that people could like me that I had just gained. I was only devastated and hurt for about a month, then i started to move on, more broken than i was before.

The next time something like this happened, it was 7th grade. Trennady. I really liked her. I wanted to date her. Then one night after Truth or Dare with some kids who thought i was funny, i walked her home. On that walked, she asked me if i liked anyone. I said yes. She said who. I said it's a secret, and they probably didn't like me anyway. Eventually i told her on that walk home after she worked it out of me. I liked her. And she said she liked me back, FINALLY, things were going my way. Eventually, we planned a date. The day after that, on the bus, she had her best friend come over and tell me it was all off. Immediately i started to recede back into my shell. She asked if i cared, i said that i knew it was to good to be true. And that was the end of that.

There was another time when i was older, 8th grade i think, i went to scout camp and my scout master hated me, so he tried to leave me there, blamed stuff on my that i didn't do, that kind of stuff. My ward(back when i was moving away from religion, but still wanted to be a part of it ig), except for a few kind old souls, ostracized me in the way only religious people can.
I used to care. Then people happened.
While i was there on my week long scouting trip, some kids thought it would be funny to put wet rocks in my tent, douse everything in water and cut a whole in the side of my tent. There was going to be a another kid i liked sleeping with me in my tent, not after that though, he went to their tent.
After all this, i was ostracized from my ward.
And yes, i was not even close to perfect, but i hadn't done anything, other than trying to be true to myself. I guess that is justification to hate me.

I'm no longer religious. As a kid i was sure i was being punished by god for existing. Nothing else made sense at the time.

Oh, and the high-school I go to, i'm sure my teachers do not like me, why would they :')

People say focus on the good, and i do good things, help people who need it even when they turn around and fucking stab me in the back. Over and over again. Thanks you guys, why the fuck do i still care. You don't.

Then there was suicide. I boldy hinted and plans and past attempts, no one cared enough to do anything.

There's a quote I like, “A lot of you cared, just not enough.” ― Jay Asher, Thirteen Reasons Why.

I would put more stuff down. But what's the point. Im sure if anyone was bored enough, or looking for a bit of philosophy, and finds this, they will label me as dramatic and dismiss this as made up, exaggerated, or my personal favorite 'done for attention'. I fucking wish that was the case. Maybe i am dramatic.

 Idfk.

I hate myself.

Oh, and there was PPC last school year in the last month of school, where i attempted to commit to suicide via a major drug overdose. I was clever and set it up to look like an tragic accident to spare my family. Nope, rather, it made things worse and i survived somehow. I don't even know how, then and the other 3 times. I should be dead. There were alot of students there, again, no-one cared enough to even come ask me if i was ok after being carried out of the restaurant by paramedics. Thanks guys.


Ill succeed eventually, you all can be sad then, not for me, but for my 'wasted' life and potential.


Have a fucking comic: