boywithwhitehair
New Here
Hello. I am new to this website and have never participated in a forum website. I was born on the Autism Spectrum into a small home of drug addicts, I guess one could refer to this type of place as a "Trap House," and my father would often strip me naked and beat, scratch, throw, and hit me against walls or tables when I was 4 or 5. I do not remember all of the times it occurred, but I do remember it being a regular thing. After I was 6 years old, my father stopped with the physical attacks on me, as much as I can remember at least, and had done the usual verbal abuse which was fine and way better than the alternative. He told me countless times how he didn't want a retarded child like me, how I was born wrong, how he wished he could've aborted me, etc. My mother only knew about the verbal and light physical abuse at this point and tried to justify it because he was bringing in money and she didn't have a job. This went on and on until I was a teenager in 2017. I had dark curly hair, thick glasses, I smiled so much I was beginning to get what I think are smile creases, for the first time I had made a few friends at school, and I had a best friend who did everything with me. Her and I would go on walks in the winter and play games online with each other in the spring time. I was so happy to have made friends who didn't care I didn't get some jokes or social nuance because of autism, I was sincerely happy. That is when my father became physical again.
I "woke up" in the middle of August 2017, after 2 and a half months of time that I do not remember at all, in an abandoned steel mill. My hair was bleached white, it was greasy and unkept, I was wearing a jacket covered in stains, blood, holes, names, curses, drawings, spray paint, tags from artists, etc. A mess of scattered colors and hectic smudges. The few friends I had made at school did not talk to me any more, my best friend did not speak to me any more, I had no one, I had nothing. From then on out, my father would often come home late in the night, at 2-3 AM, high on cocaine and drunk, which he'd often combine because if he's drinking, he'd like to do cocaine to stay up longer to drink more if that makes sense, and he would be very aggressive towards my mother and me. But when my mother would go run away, it was just him and me, and he would throw me down stairs, beat me, slam me into walls until there were holes or cracks, smash things over me like plastic items or a plate, etc. And he would often lock me out of the house. I began to wake up in the abandoned steel mill more and more and more with more and more time missing in between.
My new friends were street artists and benzodiazepine/heroin addicts that lived at the massive abandoned steel mill that I didn't recall the names of, my new appearance was hollow, scrawny, and bruised, I'd find a new gash or scab on myself everyday and not remember where it came from, and all of it was out of my hands. My new home was pretty much this abandoned steel mill, all whilst I had little to no autonomy over my body due to the actions of my father and had lost the few things I could manage to achieve. Police would chase me a lot because I was often trespassing, since most of my time spent was in that steel mill, and I was luckily never caught. I'm not trying to say I'm so cool and edgy and outsmarted the law, I got lucky because I knew the steel mill better than the police officers and they'd almost always chase me at night and afterwards I'd always feel paranoid and dry-gag for hours to days worried that they're going to arrest me.
I started a new school that autumn and what followed was relentless bullying, though I won't go into much detail. I'd be beaten up after gym classes, called slurs, made fun of for autism, etc. it wasn't that bad compared to what was going on at home but it certainly was a straw on the camels back, just not the one that broke it if that makes any sense. One day I came to school with my cheeks basically gone and replaced with scabby gashes that lined my face from jaw to forehead, and I thought someone would do something then, they'd stop hurting me there, I'd have some sort of solitude there, but they didn't. It only made it worse. Not even the teachers cared, a few made puns off of it, most pretended they didn't see it. Eventually, I was kicked out of that school in 2018 due to students telling the vice principal I was a 'threat.' I suppose how I looked, being underweight, white greasy hair, gashes across the face almost always, bruises and black eyes.... Yeah, I'd say that's the picture I'd get when I think threatening alright. It was a blessing in disguise so I never fought it. At home it wasn't a happy exchange, however.
In March of 2018, everything seemed to culminate. I cut my dad's guitar strings when he was out drinking and when he came home he lost it and smashed all his guitars, broke the TV, threw over tables, tossed the few picture frames my mother had to try and make the disgusting place look nice, and my mom fought back, it all turned into chaos. And she told me, like many other times, this was the last time. But I think for the first time, she was sober enough to see the disfigured face of the husk of a son she had left and she actually took action. Despite not having a job, she changed the locks, contacted a domestic violence program I do not know the logistics of, and divorced him. I spoke to a lawyer who would attend court on my behalf and he ensured my mother have full custody of me. She stopped drinking and doing drugs and was diagnosed with stage 2 uterine cancer. She found a job waiting tables and I was able to bring in small amounts of money by doing little freelance things online, not a lot by any means but two times it helped pay for meals so I'm proud of that.
In 2019 we were completely away from him. She had been through a couple of surgeries for her cancer, I never asked the details of them and do not want to know, and things were looking up. But I started to have intrusive thoughts, constantly. A consistent anxiousness, lightheadedness. I started to "wake up" in places again, even the steel mill a few times. I had my first panic attacks, began to hyper-fixate on breathing or other bodily functions, even the concept of being alive or of death, and ended up in a psych ward in April of 2019. I was diagnosed with a dissociative disorder and PTSD later on.
It is now 2022. My had mother beat cancer!!!! I graduated online in 2019, 2 and a half years early, made a few friends online, and had met a woman who I am now just recently engaged to, and yet, even after three years of starting treatment, I have intrusive thoughts, I have nightmares, I have panic attacks and hyper-fixate on things. I do not have OCD, or Pure-O OCD, but at times it feels like that. I have fears that loop and stick, like my brain is always on an autopilot of fearfulness for weeks or months at a time, topics changing and switching places, like swinging through a forest one branch to another. There are times where I am at peace, I have very little anxiousness or intrusive thoughts, and times where its all I have for months at a time. Will it ever go away, or at least die down? I am content with living my life with momentary periods spent in remission like this, I am content knowing that there are some wounds that cannot fully heal, and I am okay with accepting that I may never be free of the shadow of the past but I just wanna know, please I just want something positive, does it get easier? I'm sorry for venting so much and writing a novella I just needed to get this off my chest and didn't know where else to put it, I am sorry if this is inappropriate. I am trying my best.
I "woke up" in the middle of August 2017, after 2 and a half months of time that I do not remember at all, in an abandoned steel mill. My hair was bleached white, it was greasy and unkept, I was wearing a jacket covered in stains, blood, holes, names, curses, drawings, spray paint, tags from artists, etc. A mess of scattered colors and hectic smudges. The few friends I had made at school did not talk to me any more, my best friend did not speak to me any more, I had no one, I had nothing. From then on out, my father would often come home late in the night, at 2-3 AM, high on cocaine and drunk, which he'd often combine because if he's drinking, he'd like to do cocaine to stay up longer to drink more if that makes sense, and he would be very aggressive towards my mother and me. But when my mother would go run away, it was just him and me, and he would throw me down stairs, beat me, slam me into walls until there were holes or cracks, smash things over me like plastic items or a plate, etc. And he would often lock me out of the house. I began to wake up in the abandoned steel mill more and more and more with more and more time missing in between.
My new friends were street artists and benzodiazepine/heroin addicts that lived at the massive abandoned steel mill that I didn't recall the names of, my new appearance was hollow, scrawny, and bruised, I'd find a new gash or scab on myself everyday and not remember where it came from, and all of it was out of my hands. My new home was pretty much this abandoned steel mill, all whilst I had little to no autonomy over my body due to the actions of my father and had lost the few things I could manage to achieve. Police would chase me a lot because I was often trespassing, since most of my time spent was in that steel mill, and I was luckily never caught. I'm not trying to say I'm so cool and edgy and outsmarted the law, I got lucky because I knew the steel mill better than the police officers and they'd almost always chase me at night and afterwards I'd always feel paranoid and dry-gag for hours to days worried that they're going to arrest me.
I started a new school that autumn and what followed was relentless bullying, though I won't go into much detail. I'd be beaten up after gym classes, called slurs, made fun of for autism, etc. it wasn't that bad compared to what was going on at home but it certainly was a straw on the camels back, just not the one that broke it if that makes any sense. One day I came to school with my cheeks basically gone and replaced with scabby gashes that lined my face from jaw to forehead, and I thought someone would do something then, they'd stop hurting me there, I'd have some sort of solitude there, but they didn't. It only made it worse. Not even the teachers cared, a few made puns off of it, most pretended they didn't see it. Eventually, I was kicked out of that school in 2018 due to students telling the vice principal I was a 'threat.' I suppose how I looked, being underweight, white greasy hair, gashes across the face almost always, bruises and black eyes.... Yeah, I'd say that's the picture I'd get when I think threatening alright. It was a blessing in disguise so I never fought it. At home it wasn't a happy exchange, however.
In March of 2018, everything seemed to culminate. I cut my dad's guitar strings when he was out drinking and when he came home he lost it and smashed all his guitars, broke the TV, threw over tables, tossed the few picture frames my mother had to try and make the disgusting place look nice, and my mom fought back, it all turned into chaos. And she told me, like many other times, this was the last time. But I think for the first time, she was sober enough to see the disfigured face of the husk of a son she had left and she actually took action. Despite not having a job, she changed the locks, contacted a domestic violence program I do not know the logistics of, and divorced him. I spoke to a lawyer who would attend court on my behalf and he ensured my mother have full custody of me. She stopped drinking and doing drugs and was diagnosed with stage 2 uterine cancer. She found a job waiting tables and I was able to bring in small amounts of money by doing little freelance things online, not a lot by any means but two times it helped pay for meals so I'm proud of that.
In 2019 we were completely away from him. She had been through a couple of surgeries for her cancer, I never asked the details of them and do not want to know, and things were looking up. But I started to have intrusive thoughts, constantly. A consistent anxiousness, lightheadedness. I started to "wake up" in places again, even the steel mill a few times. I had my first panic attacks, began to hyper-fixate on breathing or other bodily functions, even the concept of being alive or of death, and ended up in a psych ward in April of 2019. I was diagnosed with a dissociative disorder and PTSD later on.
It is now 2022. My had mother beat cancer!!!! I graduated online in 2019, 2 and a half years early, made a few friends online, and had met a woman who I am now just recently engaged to, and yet, even after three years of starting treatment, I have intrusive thoughts, I have nightmares, I have panic attacks and hyper-fixate on things. I do not have OCD, or Pure-O OCD, but at times it feels like that. I have fears that loop and stick, like my brain is always on an autopilot of fearfulness for weeks or months at a time, topics changing and switching places, like swinging through a forest one branch to another. There are times where I am at peace, I have very little anxiousness or intrusive thoughts, and times where its all I have for months at a time. Will it ever go away, or at least die down? I am content with living my life with momentary periods spent in remission like this, I am content knowing that there are some wounds that cannot fully heal, and I am okay with accepting that I may never be free of the shadow of the past but I just wanna know, please I just want something positive, does it get easier? I'm sorry for venting so much and writing a novella I just needed to get this off my chest and didn't know where else to put it, I am sorry if this is inappropriate. I am trying my best.
