It’s going to be alright. I can’t say my life has been more good than bad, overall. I grew up in a middle class broken home, always had food, a roof, gameboy. Starter jacket. But I was screamed at, I was given too much freedom. They didn’t know what to do with me by the time I

began acting out. so they didn’t do anything, really. My mom tried but I kept spiraling. I’ve struggled with depression since I was 12-13. I got medicated in my early 20’s and it helped. My dad was a broken man, my mom was gravely ill, and it reflected in everything they did.

I don’t blame them for how they raised me. I blame my childhood for the things I still have to do work on, but I don’t really blame them. They were working with what they had, and they had a shitty marriage, addiction, and health problems - not that it was never good, but overall

I don’t think it was. It wasn’t one over another. The total emotional wall my mom had built around her hurt just as much as my dad screaming at me for slamming a cupboard on accident. Maybe it hurt even more. I was deprived of love as a teen, when I needed it most. But they were

sick. They had their own problems. My problems became my own at an early age, except my problems were because of them. The low self-esteem, being shy didn’t help. Always been a shy girl, even as a baby. I was isolated, depressed, tense. No wonder I started problem drinking at

like age 13. I saw one of my parents self medicate for shitty moods, and suddenly I was in a whole slew of shitty moods. So I abused alcohol early, which only compounded the depression and anxiety. I had some friends but I was a loser and I didn’t care. Black clad stoner girl.

I really don’t blame them, but I learned to yell when I argue. I learned to use anger to get what I wanted when it was necessary. I learned that by hurting myself, I’d get the attention I needed. I dug myself a rut early and then feeling bad felt normal, so I was in a familiar

space, albeit it was very uncomfortable. Discomfort was my state of mind for the last ten years of their lives. And then it just got worse when they were taken away from me. I had so much anger that just never had a place to go. The people I needed to hash it out with were gone.

A combo of numbness and grief took center stage for a couple years. I did my traveling and made some good memories but I was only surviving. I was making choices out of fear, pushing away people I loved, saying awful shit when I drank. I was drinking a lot, too. So I stopped.

When I stopped drinking, I started thinking. That’s when the anger was able to surface again, once the grief scabbed over and the depression and anxiety from alcohol went away. It was tough admitting to myself I was mad at my dead parents. Kinda still is. But I had a lot of

baggage with them. Our relationships were complicated. I had a lot of stuff I needed to forgive them for, and they weren’t there to give me their side. Forgiving a dead person is harder than it seems. I think I did well in forgiveness, but it doesn’t seem to have shaken off the

short fuse / rage I inherited. I think this is just how I am. It’s something I need to be aware of, something I need to manage. I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want to be with someone who can’t control their temper. I don’t want to be an angry person. I want to have a better

decade than the first two.

And yet here I am, rambling on Twitter instead of doing my project, having pushed away quite possibly the best person I’ve ever had walk into my life.

Now do this thread looking at the positives..