"At least one of them will turn out normal."

/

After years of abuse, a group home, and an abusive foster mother, my life finally settled down. I went to therapy, got diagnosed with depression and PTSD, and received the help I needed. I became happier, more confident, more in control of my life than I have ever been. I felt like for the first time, my life was going in the right direction.

One day I was talking to my adoptive mother about how my little brother might be too young for therapy because he wasn't talking much in his sessions. The she told me what his therapist said to her:

"At least one of them will turn out normal." 

I had always felt judged for what my birth parents did, but hearing that a professional believed that I would forever be tainted because of my past sticks with me. 

I may have issues, but I am not broken. I am not destined to follow in my parents' footsteps and I'm not destined to lose my battle with my illnesses. 

I understand all of this on a logical level, but there's still that intrusive voice telling me that I will fail, I'm sick, I'm not normal, and I never will be.

"Nobody will ever want you or love you."

/

I have struggled with anxiety and depression my whole life. I started using food to cope, and I ended up gaining about 50 pounds, which only made my depression worse. 

One day, my sister texted me after she'd recently moved out. She knew how I felt about my weight, but she wrote this anyway: "You're a fat piece of shit and nobody will ever want you or love you." 

To this day, I can't get over those words, and I'm not sure I ever will. I have a crush, and every time I think about talking to him or just saying hello, I remember those words and I shut down completely. Anytime I wonder if I'll find love, I think about what my sister said. 
 

"You can't leave me alone."

/

I moved in with my dad when I was 15, but I still felt like my mom and little brother were my responsibility, and that I let them down by leaving to live with my dad.

I told my dad that I wanted to go back to my mom's, and he said things like, "You're being selfish," "You can't leave me alone," "I know you have a better heart than that; you're not like your mom," or "You're two-faced as f**k." 

He would get mad at me if I ever told my mom about my worries or anger towards him, and he would then say nasty comments until I was a crying mess. Then he would send me to school while he would stay home and complain about me to our downstairs neighbors. 

I still can't get over feeling like I've betrayed both of my parents. I still feel responsible for my parents and little brother. I can't help feeling like I'm trapped in a corner.
 

"It's impossible for you to make good decisions."

/

When I was about eleven, my mother took me to visit her parents. They were emotionally and verbally abusive when she was growing up, and she still constantly seeks their approval. She wanted to show off her golden child so that her parents would have an opportunity to find something good in her.

We ended up in a discussion where my grandfather told me, "It's impossible for you to make good decisions because your brain isn't fully developed. You'll be making bad decisions until your mid-twenties." He added that I would probably be pregnant a few times and that I would borrow (and owe) him money between then and brain maturity time.

He was wrong, but I still remember him saying that.

"You're f*cking disgusting."

/

One day on my way to school when I was eight years old, I was cornered by a very large 6th grader and his friends. He pushed me up against a brick wall, lifted my shirt, and squeezed my chubby stomach and little fleshy "man boobs." 

He said, "You're so fat. You're f*ckin' disgusting."

As my shirt dropped and the tears started, he wiped his hands on the front of my shirt. 

What stuck with me wasn't necessarily what he said; it was the look he gave when he wiped his hands on my shirt, and the laughs of his friends. 

The absolute humiliation I felt and the sudden awareness that I was "fat and disgusting" is something that has haunted my up until this day. I became a closet, compulsive eater and had bulimic tendencies. I topped out in 2007 at over 520 pounds. 

And even to this day, after a 300+ pound weight loss, I still hear his voice and see his face. Even though I have some recovery under my belt now, I still can't talk to people because I still think I'm disgusting, and don't want to burden them.
 

"Nobody cares."

/

When I was in first grade, there was a girl who liked to tease me in a rather simple but hurtful way. I was a very talkative child, but every time I said something, she said to me, "Nobody cares." 

Eventually I stopped being talkative and became a quiet child. Now I am a quiet 20 year old struggling to talk to people, with barely any friends.

To top this all, my parents say I'm a very boring person. They don't believe in mental illnesses or disorders that I could have, so they just tell me to get over myself.

I just honestly think that nobody cares.

"I guess I did screw up minorly."

/

Ever since I can remember, I had difficulties in school, and I was always really socially awkward. Starting in second grade, I was severely teased for being different. 

My second grade teacher was so supportive and kind, and he advocated that I get tested to find out why I was different from everyone else. But after I was tested, my mother, who I refer to as "Birthgiver" made sure I never found out the results. 

I used to come home in tears, begging to know why I was so different, and she would say things like, "What did you do to them first to make them tease you?" "You're lazy and don't apply yourself." "The only way I can get through to you is by hitting you." "You need to stop being such a baby." 

By high school, I finally just stopped asking why I was different. Stopped telling her in detail about how cruel kids were to me. I just started saying "I'm fine," and, "School was fine."

I started dating someone at age 19, got married and divorced, and didn't speak to my birthgiver for eight years. 

When I finally reached out to her, I hoped that she had realized her faults in our relationship.  Instead of taking accountability for what she did, she just said. "Oh, yeah, I guess I did screw up minorly by not telling you that you have autism."

That has always stuck with me. If I had known I had autism sooner, and she had gotten me some additional help from outside school, maybe I wouldn't have struggled for so long.
 

"Why did she get in the car with him?!"

/

I had a summer internship in college at a summer camp. The boss was terrible to work for and always felt off, and a news story eventually revealed him to be a pervert who had groomed, molested, and raped one of the campers, a 14-year-old girl. He had given her a ride home one day, but instead of taking her home, brought her back to his place where he sexually assaulted her. 

I told my mom about it and her immediate reaction was, "Why did she get in the car with him?!"

This reaction irreversibly changed the way I saw my mother: as the kind of woman who would blame a 14-year-old girl for being raped. 

To this day she still does not understand why I don't want to put that internship on my resume.