So here is my story: i was s******* abused by my own dad from the age of 6 to 13, and then again at 17.
I have a depressed mom and a drimug addict as a sister.
My parents have s*** load of money which people thinks is “more than enough for me to be happy”.
I am curently struggling with severe depression, bulimia and self harm.
I am seriously considering suicide.
I am straight A student, very active, have a lot of friends, good friends, but none of them know about my past.
I haven’t given up on myself yet, but as I lay in my bed everynight, scared shitless for mt sanity, scared to close my eyes and waking up to my dad’s sweaty skin on me, I wander and I wonder why I’m still here.
There is no light at the end of the tunnel for me, this is it, this is the life I will always have.
The memory of my dad’s hands all over me, a mom who’s too busy to notice anything, a sister who’s too self involved to stop him.
I’m dead inside, so what’s the use?