addressing some things.

Instructions

Part 1 (TW: Self-hate, bullying, and slight fighting warning) I hate myself. No really, I do. Plot twist, huh? The narcissistic, egotistical, selfish person NOT hating themselves. And yes, there's a reason. Not your average "Oh I'm not pretty" or "someone said" story (no offence to anyone). My story is different, but sort of the same, if you will. I'll start from the very beginning. I was 5 years old or so. For my age, I was quite an emotional person. I'd cry at almost everything, get offended at a simple "you're dumb" comment, and so on. But there was something special about me. Two things. Firstly, I'd adapt quickly. When I met a supposed "friend", they liked things I didn't even like (for example, the color pink). For the sake of a friend, I said I liked those things too. I repeated this process for (almost) every friend I made, and now I don't even know my real personality. I'd have mental breakdowns about something. The second thing is that I would always cling onto something. The reason was that everything I touched held a valuable memory I'd forget. For example, when I touched a stuffed animal, I'd remember the memory, no matter how long ago it was. I would also often feel what others felt. If someone was in pain in their leg, it would reflect onto me if I was close enough to them. So yes, I was an empath. Was. Though people took advantage of me. They would insult my family and I'd run away, tears in my eyes from a simple comment! What's worse is that I was offered no emotional support at home nor school. That's one way to get rid of an empath. At home, I was treated like a 16-year-old boy in 17th century, Russia, expected to know every little move they were doing. I was 5, and a small, emotional, little girl. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what I did. Yet I would always be yelled at to the point of being in tears and asked, "Think next time" or "Analysis?". I WAS 5. Heck, I grew up like this! In fact, my parents and my brothers would scream and fight all the time. When the fight was over, they'd stomp away, furious. Oh, if only I didn't ask them if they were okay. 5-year-olds never understand that if you ask your fuming brothers if they were okay, you'd get yelled at again and be hurt emotionally. My mom even did that too. They'd let all their anger out on me. Oh, and they knew I was too emotional for my age. That didn't stop them from downgrading me from being their little sister to being an anger-releasing punching bag. They'd distract themselves from their problems and build on mine. If my family's problems were a tower-building game, mine would be the highest, and my family members would be the workers, slowly but surely adding layers from their tower to mine. Only did this stop when I was 8. My problems got so severe I was engaging in school fights (Obviously, I'd win them). So I was given a therapist. I told them everything, and my parents were obviously notified about this. When I was in the car, my father was the first to speak up after a fight AGAIN. "Najima (not my irl name), I'm sorry. I should have not treated you like that." That was the final straw. I felt my eyes get watery. My mouth quivered. "I'll try not to treat you like that anymore." My father finished. I sobbed. I was shaking. I was shocked. This time, I was offered emotional support by my mother and father by my side at last. I felt so happy. I thought things would change for good. And they did! But not exactly, either. I was treated nicely, but... Something went wrong. And that something changed my life forever. Part 2 TW: (S.A, Sleep-Forever, Manipulation, pred warning) If I have told you this individually or read my previous vent project, you can skip, but this time I will add more information) P.S, I sobbed 8 times last night while writing this on a sheet of paper to replicate here. Please beware. I was in my room, playing games when suddenly, my brother barged into my room. I was 11, he was 17. He would open his yapping mouth and bark (everytime, I add a humour joke before writing something sensitive so my viewers and I wouldn't feel as bad when reading the sensitive topic), "Hey Najima, want to stretch?" I didn't know what he truly meant. I thought he'd be supportive and help me out. I thought he'd be nice to his little sister for once. I was 11, he was 17. He'd tell me to change into a sport bra and short shorts. At first, it would be "hugging", which gradually became being led to the bed. Before you say anything, no, I could not say "no". We hung out often when I was younger, which made him learn that I hated people being mad at me (now I don't give two sheets). He knew I'd feel super guilty. So he used this to his advantage. Whenever I wanted to say no, he'd be mad at me and say "you want to be lazy and stiff? What happened to the original brave Najima" and stuff like that, blah blah, manipulative comments. Moving on, he'd tell me to go in VERY suspicious poses. He'd move in "unclean/dirty" ways, too.