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Im my own abuser
I’m in an abusive relationship. She hates me. She wishes I was never born and reminds me everyday. Somedays are better than others, but they all suck. Im living with someone who would actually rather I die.
But she keeps me for the baby. Where would the baby be without me? That’s the only reason I’m here.
The chick I live with hurts me. She’s abusive in almost every way. She tells me I’m not good enough. That I never be anything because of my depression. That I’m too stupid to do anything even if my mental illness let me.
She tells me I’m fat constantly. Lately I’ve been struggling with eating again because every word is how I don’t deserve to eat since I’m so ****ing fat. I’m disgusting I know, and she won’t let me forget it either.
I’m selfish she tells me. I never want to help other people. Which I do. But I’m so mad at myself sometimes I take it out on people who don’t deserve it.
Which is why she tells me I’m a jerk. I’m the biggest asshole alive. Always looking out for #1 and no one else.
She tells me to do things, like how to hurt myself and how to end it. And that I should because it would be better for everyone. Almost everyone’s life would be simpler without me. I know it too. But she tells me everyday.
She hits me. I have two big bruises on my arm right now. And probably a thousand more scars from the past.
She cuts me. She’s taken time to disassemble razor blades to dig into my arms, legs and even other places no one will think to look. My body is ruined.
If I saw this happening to someone else I would try to help. I would. I have. But I deserve it. I know I do. That’s why it’s been going on for years now. She won’t stop until she finally kills me. All this torture to make sure my lifeless body looks disgusting. My family won’t even want to look at me when I’m gone. I’ll be a mess. I know my end comes with her killing me finally. It’s been my destiny since we met. I never had a chance.
She’s burned me before. It started with lighters. They used to call them smiley faces. When she couldn’t find a lighter to steal or it just wasn’t convenient, hot oil straight from the pan would do. She would drip it slowly, drop by drop in my skin and watch it get redder and redder. And throughout the day she whole watch it blister into a huge huge blister that would scar forever.
One time she held my hand to a coffee pot. This one was a black out situation where she had very little control. And it was the worst burn I’ve ever had. I probably should’ve went to the hospital but I was scared they would know she did it to me. That it wasn’t an accident.
She’s left so many scars now that I can never go in for help now. The abuse is written all over my body. I want help. But I can’t. This is a lifelong sentence I’m afraid. It will never get better. “Help“ doesn’t help. And I just want to die.
My abuser is myself, yet I can’t stop.
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