/doomer/ - Doomers Club★

The advent of Jesus Christ in the next few years is more likely than me living to see 30. I have wanted to die everyday for more than 10 years. I was in middle school when the reality of everything in the world hit. Say whatever the fuck you want, at that age I had already seen numerous people literally die, and including seeing my own mother be subsequently beat to death and then be revived by paramedics. I'm an Optimist, much to my dismay. Most were to drugs, other's I've blocked out. I think some were murdered, you'll see why I think that, probably. Also, while I think about it, I'm a rape baby. Unlike my other brothers, I'm not a manlet. We all have different dads (big fucking shock), I am literally the biggest living member of my family on either sides. It's not even close. I have been abused all my life. I currently live in a literal closet. When I was little my mother sold me out to two drug addicts to be raped in exchange for more drugs. Not the same same guy who beat her and stuff, but two others. Also, the guy who beat her to death was her husband she broke up with. She's been married several times. Four, I think. She is currently lesbian married to some short dyke whom she literally beats. The dyke is also a drug addict and a alcoholic. My mother is also those things. Where am I going with this. I'm trying to keep this pure by just being myself, but you can clearly see why that is a bad idea. Yes, abused. I can't tell you how many times I've actually been raped and molested. I draw a difference in them with molestation being no penetration. Also, those two guys drugged me and raped me, I don't remember the ending of it because of that. I've been otherwise touched by people, but it's blurry. My mother has felt me up and tried to have sex with me. Even when I was older she tried this, but I am / was so much bigger than her I told her to "fuck off" and she slapped me in the face. I did nothing. That little amount of pain is nothing, and I honestly think I have Stockholm Syndrome because I am a criminally classified Class 3 Sadomasochist. They score it from 0 to 4. 1-2 involves consent, 3-4 involves involuntary in either which way. I rapid cycle (going through emotion quickly due to the Bipolar I have) and it's literally better than an orgasm a lot of the time. I sometimes literally gasp. Can you even begin to imagine how much that fucks up a person? Do have such profound problems than therein sometimes give you so much pleasure? I was a child literally pulling out my own teeth in the back of my mother's car on the way into town thinking "This feels good. Why does this feel good?".

I missed things I had meant to say, there. I hit people growing up. I am extremely maladjusted. I think I want affection, but I genuinely don't because I know from a completely objective standpoint that it means nothing. I have literally never love anyone platonically or otherwise, I have literally never wanted to have sex with anyone but am also an extreme sexual degenerate when it comes to masturbation. There is no contradiction there. I once fucked an apple, three dogs and a cat. I once beat a puppy because it was forced onto me. I remember riding on the highway with my mother driving and somebody in the driver's side seat and because I was having too much fun too loudly my mother threw my Happy Meal Wizard of Oz toy out the window. I literally ripped hair from her head for that. I've tried to kill my older brother. My first thoughts when I met him as a child, because keep in mind we had different fathers and had never met each other up to that, was something along the lines of "Who the fuck is this chump?" because even as children I knew he had a better life than me (I lived with mom, he lived with grandparents). Anyways, long story short, I tried to kill him with sharp objects multiple times but because he was slightly so much older he was slightly also so much faster than me. The last time, I went to strike him and I fell into an oil lamp and burned a third of the skin on my hand off. I had to go the hospital like everyday for like two and a half weeks, afterwards . I'm too tired and apathetic now to continue. It's always like this. Everyone's at fault, everyone but me unironically. My entire life has been taken from me. Arguably, before I was even born. I am literally one of the most Robots. I've just scratched the surface. How I wish I cared enough to write a manifesto, but I exist in a constant duality. I'm so scared. I wish things were good. I wish to be held, but another person touching me would fuck me up more than most intentional physical abuse. I don't want to be loved, I hate too much. Nothing about me is anything in particular. I'm going to go masturbate and then go to sleep. When I wake up in the morning, none of this will have meant anything. I won't care. I'm going to be homeless again soon. I just wish to be left alone. I don't want to die.

Okay, let's tell you about the story of why I molested my older brother. Molested, not raped. Didn't get the chance to go further. I had to relook to see if I mentioned this guy specifically, and I did mention my mother has been married several times. One of those times was to a now dead man. We'll call him Tim. He was the one who beat her, and also sometimes directly abused me in varying ways. For the moment, I'll try not to get into the latter. Tim was a drug dealer. Not a "ha ha" drug dealer but an "oh no" drug dealer. He manufactured as well as dealt. He also received things, presumably, from outside of the country. He was a pivotal part of the drug trade in the area I grew up in. Not some big name that you'd know, to my knowledge, but you could absolutely get killed messing around with the guy. All that said, I suppose my mother got together with him because she is a shameless drug addict and a whore-slut. He would do things like beat her, smack me around, knock people around. He also on the odd occasion forced himself on my mother. I don't recall him specifically doing anything directly sexual to me, but that's not to say it didn't happen when I was living there. I saw my mother get fucked a far few times. Forced or not, there was always a lot of fighting on top of that. The tension was probably palpable, but I didn't know any better and or didn't care. I remember one time I took my mother's red lipstick and drew all over the walls of his place specifically because even as a child I didn't like him. As little as I was I knew what I was doing, and oh boy did he want to beat the shit out of me for it. Anyways, you might see a sort of pattern here. Monkey see, monkey do. I was an absolute bastard as a child from most likely replicating the things I saw, or was purely reactive. Hard to say, maybe both. I also mentioned in the first three posts that I didn't know my brother from the start as we all had different fathers, not that he lived wish his. He lived with our grandparents. This literal autist was living in literally the biggest house where we were born and all while getting anything he wanted. He was safe, I was not. I knew he had all these things while I was abused in various ways, too often homeless and hungry.

I didn't like this. I did not like this, at all. Eventually, I started being able to see him frequently because my mother was trying to get away from her husband. I imagine being beat literally to death was apart of that. This was roundabouts when I also started to try and kill him, as was mentioned in the OP posts. We were young, and despite that I'm now almost literally a foot taller than him, for that short period of me trying to kill him he was faster than me. Faster, not stronger. I remember specifically why I tried to rape him, and I remember how it went. I tried because, as I mentioned in the OP posts, I missed trying to stab him the very last time and ended up burning a third of the skin off of my hand, and as a result this made me rethink my strategy of trying to get back at him for having a better life than me. Fun fact, that specific time, that last time I was trying to stab him was with a screwdriver. Almost got screwed back to back, eh? Haha! What can I say? I'm a sucker for that campy shit. At this point, it was odd for me to be left along with him for too long due to me having tried to end his life so many times. I didn't think about this, I didn't care. I just wanted to hurt him. We were upstairs. His room was one of two next to the top of the stairs and thus was visible from the hallway if somebody came up the stairs for any reason. Beyond those rooms was the then computer room, a bedroom and a bathroom. He was sitting in a kid's chair doing something on his TV, I was sitting on his bed looking at the back of his head and the TV. I don't know why specifically I tried to do it then, but I did. I very calmly got up, walked behind him, grabbed him by the back of the head and pushed him with a single stroke of my arm into the corner side of where his TV was. I took my other hand and put it in the inside of his denim pants loop, and I then started to pull them off. He started sperging out. I very clearly remember how vibrant his underwear was. Anyways, at this point he is face-down ass-up and I've taken my hand off the back of his head and started to try and pull up/down his shirt to get it off while I'm also trying to remove his pants. He's helplessly flailing about and starting to make me mad for doing so but I'm literally so much stronger than him that despite him being older it doesn't really matter, and I therein manage to half get off his shirt. I then stop trying to pull off his shirt because he's sorta wrapped up in it to my advantage. Everything going fine, I then pull my nuts and cock out over the top of my pants. Just after this is when I see my grandmother staring at me wide-eyed from the hallway. She was on her way to talk to my mother who was in the computer room. She walks away. I don't know what she was thinking. Maybe she thought we were wrestling because that was more common than not those days, I don't know. I don't know what she saw. I kept him pinned there for a few seconds because it really was no effort on my part to keep him under me. Not knowing if I had been found out or what, I very calmly got up, fixed my clothes, went back and sat on his bed so that I could continue watching the back of his head and TV.

I feel sympathy for you and all of the troubles you have experienced in your life. You was born into this world without invitation and without your consent and you have suffered, but that is the way life is. C'est la vie, life is harsh but you must accept it. There is nothing I can say to you that will undo all of the abuse in your life, but I will still try to help you. You said that you will become homeless soon, so I will give you some practical and useful information for your survival.

Public libraries are a great place to access information and have shelter from the natural elements. In my part of the world there are a number of public libraries in the county that anyone can visit to read the books, use the computers, seek help, etc. If you have any public libraries near you I suggest that you visit them.

Each state in the USA offers services to the destitute. You could apply for food stamps, cash assistance, and healthcare, but since the process varies by each state you need to do some research as to how to apply/qualifications for your state. Food stamps will help you pay for food, cash assistance is a small amount of money given to you monthly at no obligation, you can even get basic healthcare.

https://food-stamps.org/snap-how-to-apply.html

If you ever plan to stay at a homeless shelter, I will give you a word of caution: it is not unheard of that the other homeless at the shelters will steal from you.

Be careful and godspeed.