The title kinda sounds like the start to some self-aware joke. I wish I could say that it is... it's not.
I have been looking at behavior patterns with myself. The things I do and how I behave in the worst moments. It all wreaks of attention seeking. But like, juvenile attention seeking. All because my parents were too busy to give two poops about me. Yeah, did they do the basic obligations of parenting. Sure. Food, clothes, a roof over my head, medical. But that was it. The bare flippin' minimum. No love. No care. No nothin'. Oh, besides daddy dearest giving me videogames to play. What a joke. What a farce.
I got majority negative attention from my stepmother. But even that stopped after my half-siblings were born.
I personally believed I started doing weird stuff for more of that negative attention. As any attention is good attention. But it's a habit ingrained soo deeply into my modus operandi, that I just normalized it. All it did is turn me into a nervous wreck and depress me more than anything.
Though one respite of logic in me, before being booted to Carbondale, hated her with a passion and burned bright. That hate, unfortunately, had less pleasant thoughts come with it.
Though that was suppressed when I lived on my own in Carbondale. That crappy appartment complex. Full of folks that are old and on the dole. Or crippled. Or both. It was the worst place to be for my mental health. But I lived in it for a long time. More bad habits formed as a result.
Electronics, videogames namely, filled the void. The void of no one giving me attention. Or so I believed. For a very long time. Basically giving up. Because I saw the world as a cruel place that despises me for living in it. A worthless blemish on life. A waste of flesh.
How wrong I was. My mind is the only place this horribleness has ever existed. And it'll die there. Not me. That thought process.
I have been looking at behavior patterns with myself. The things I do and how I behave in the worst moments. It all wreaks of attention seeking. But like, juvenile attention seeking. All because my parents were too busy to give two poops about me. Yeah, did they do the basic obligations of parenting. Sure. Food, clothes, a roof over my head, medical. But that was it. The bare flippin' minimum. No love. No care. No nothin'. Oh, besides daddy dearest giving me videogames to play. What a joke. What a farce.
I got majority negative attention from my stepmother. But even that stopped after my half-siblings were born.
I personally believed I started doing weird stuff for more of that negative attention. As any attention is good attention. But it's a habit ingrained soo deeply into my modus operandi, that I just normalized it. All it did is turn me into a nervous wreck and depress me more than anything.
Though one respite of logic in me, before being booted to Carbondale, hated her with a passion and burned bright. That hate, unfortunately, had less pleasant thoughts come with it.
Though that was suppressed when I lived on my own in Carbondale. That crappy appartment complex. Full of folks that are old and on the dole. Or crippled. Or both. It was the worst place to be for my mental health. But I lived in it for a long time. More bad habits formed as a result.
Electronics, videogames namely, filled the void. The void of no one giving me attention. Or so I believed. For a very long time. Basically giving up. Because I saw the world as a cruel place that despises me for living in it. A worthless blemish on life. A waste of flesh.
How wrong I was. My mind is the only place this horribleness has ever existed. And it'll die there. Not me. That thought process.
