Surviving imperfection

Hello,

I am a relatively new member to this website and until recently had tried to avoid involving myself in the forum. I thought to myself; who actually reads these things anyways?

But iveI decided to give it a shot. I am not quite sure anyone cares to read an incredibly long "autobiography" of my life. However, I need to vent all of this some how because I am starting to feel crazy and my access to resources is incredibly limited.

To begin, I am a 25 year old American girl from the deep South. I grew up in an americAm military family, though it was strict and often devoid of sympathy, it had itsi advantages .

When I was born my parents new I was different and admittedly they jumped on the mental disability train pretty early. However, it would be a few years later that a doctor would tell them two things; one, I was mostly blind (which would explain my obsession with light sources and run in into the TV) and two, that I had a drastically underecognized genetic disorder which would effect every aspect of my life due to the heart, skeletal, and muscle complications.

There daughter wasn't mentally Ill, but they were not prepared for a sick child. Hastily, my dad enlisted in the military. He knew it would be a sure way to pay the medical bills, though it never stopped him from blaiming me for "ruining every hope and dream" that he ever had . My dad grew up in various campsites, as his family often would run up debt in one place only to move on to another. His dad, my grandfather, was a vile man and the very epitome of what human greed is capable of.

Perhaps that is why he was saddened by the prospects of continuing to have nothing at the expense of another. It is, after all, human nature to want for things and to crave a sense of what we as a society have deemed "normalcy".

Whatever the reasons, my father did his job and he cared for his family. Though he may of never of been home long enough to actually be apart of that family. This left me and my younger brother nothing but my mother to care for us on a daily basis.

My mother is a kind person to anyone at first glance, though a bit aggressive sometimes, and I truly believe that she wants to do the right things. Though it had probably been this desire to be viewed as a savior and a good person that caused her to ignore how often me and my brother were put last in the face of others hardships. For the first fifteen years of my life my alcoholic, drug addicted, aunt lived with us on and off. She would sleep around with my dad's married soldiers and had caused violent problems for my mother even before I was born. But she was my mom's sister and that seemed to be enough. Until the day that she tried to convince an older man to molest me under the guise that I wanted it and I was a foreigner who couldn't speak English. This whole incident frightened me, my closed off life of being home schooled due to my mom's lack of ability to be alone was not prepared to deal with such an interaction. So I stayed quiet.

After I had told my mother of the incident she refused to believe my aunt could be capable of such a thing. I think it was then that I instantly decided that I could no longer talk to my mother about anything serious. Something that I regret now.

Eventually my aunt moved away and my mother focused much of her attention on herself and the hobbies that my little brother had (the idea poster child) . Who was I? I was just their teenage daughter that had lived a good portion of my life in hospitals. I had already underwent several surgeries by that time and I instantly began to feel like a burden. I fell into a deep depression and several times considered overdosing myself on my medicine. Maybe I was just to to m of a coward. On one occasion my mother found out, she told me that I was being dramatic and that I am not the center of the universe. I often understood that she took her own saddness and depression out on me and I allowed myself to remain that catalyst for all her problems.

Around my 16 birthday my aunt came to our house randomly, drunk, high, and distraut over the man she had been living with. My mother told me that my aunt living there would take all of our money and I wouldn't have a party. This wasn't news to me, my little brother always had lavish parties with tons of friends he had made through sports. But me? I was usually lucky to get a cake. However, my mom had promised this year that we would have a lavish evening. She bought me a second hand formal dress and said that we would go for a carriage ride (i'd always loved horses) the typical "princess treatment" I had always acted like it wasn't my style, but deep down I wanted to feel special. The cancellation of the plans drove me to the one thing that made me happy at that time. An online game by the name of world of Warcraft.

It was on this game that I met a man 30 years my senior. We began to talk about my birthday and how saddened I was over it. He lived only a state away and made me a promise; he said that he would come to see me on the night of my birthday and we would have a small party, provided I would sneak out of my house. I was hopeful and I agreed. A few days later we met on a dark street by my house. He pulled up in a black car and smiled politely. He was a perfectly normal han being. We got burger king ice cream and he told me that he had arranged a hotel room with cake, decorations and a present for me. I was slightly nervous,but I also knew that I had put myself in a situation where it would be difficult to decline. I accepted and we went to the hotel. Here I will not go into detail, but it was the worst night of my entire life. Something that I still have not found a healthy way to cope with.

I walked home, in more pain then I can describe and more shame than I had ever felt. I felt so stupid for believing anyone could care about me without expecting anything in return.

I told no one and from that point on I made one bad decision after another, maybe because I just didn't care about myself anymore. I lived every day for whatever small pleasure I could get from it, regardless of who I had to use or hurt in the process. I was a terrible human being.

Meanwhile, I had been chatting to a boy my age for two years online (we will call him Alan). He understood me and he was sthe first person I confided in. I loved him, truly loved him, and nothing else mattered. When I turned 19 and shortly after another heart surgery, I made the decision to move to the state he lived in. We had spoke over the phone about it and she told me not to do it just for him. I played it off that it was what I wanted for myself and no one else.

I found my way there by means of a man u had met in the previous months. He was looking for a roommate and I was happy to oblige.

When I had made it to Colorado this was my second time meeting Alan in real life. The first was a pleasant and memorable trip. We went to a concert, museum and fancy restaurant. All things I had never done before. But this time, this time wasn't like that. He told me that he had to finally admit that he didn't love me. My life was to chaotic for him and he never wanted to hurt me, but he could never love me either.

With the help of my new roommate, I spiraled into drug addiction. Eventually my roommate developed a crush on me. He would take pictures of me in my sleep, leave poetry under my bedroom door and eventually it escalated to where he assualted me with a screwdriver.

Around this time my family had called to say they were leaving to Germany for two years and they had doffered me to go. Colorado had broken me and I wanted a new life.

I arrived in Germany in early May. The country was nothing short of spectacular and I couldn't believe I had this opportunity. However, I was not allowed to stay longer than 6 months. In my first week in Germany I met a Russian man. He was all the things out of an "American meets forigner" love story. He held doors for me, gave me his jacket when it was cold, and showered me with gifts and affection.

My parents, however, disliked him. My mom because she was bitter that I had divorced a man she had convinced me to marry when I was 17, primarily for financial benefit to them and to which my dad had no knowledge, and my dad because he was in the military and had a natural distrust for Russians.

Eventually I enrolled in the only American University that would accept my GED , just to stay in Germany. Not for the man, but because I thought my life was looking up.

2 years later my parents were getting ready to return to America and I had found out I was pregnant. I dropped out of school and married the Russian man. The marriage solidified my ability to stay in Germany and provided medical insurance. My pregnancy was high risk and was met with several complications. My American insurance wasn't accepted at the qualified hospital I wished to have my daughter at and I did love the Russian man (ok let's call him ivan), so it seemed like a perfect solution.

However, Ivan and I began to argue constantly after our marriage. He felt entitled to control me and didn't like when I so much as did my make up. He had a severe paranoia that I was constantly trying to cheat on him and grew suspicious over me even visiting my family before they left. My daughter was born and she had inherited my medical condition. I was heart broken . My relationship was collapsing before my eyes and my child was sick. Ivan offered me little help. On weekends he slept over 12 hours and refused to help me with our daughter. As a result I learned to get very good at microsleeping while feeding my daughter. I was tired and depressed. The last straw was when I got a very serious fever. I was afraid my daughter might catch it and I asked my husband to come home from work early to care for her so she wouldn't get Ill. He told me to stop feeling sorry for myself and being a baby. I decided to divorce him. My parents had not yet left and I was hopeful we could divorce and I could return to America. But I would learn that things in Germany are really not that simple. Especially divorce , I was told by my own lawyer to try to resolve conflicts with my husband because that would be easier than a divorce in Germany. The social services for abused women and children told me my child would be better off in the foster system and eventually my parents had to leave. I truly had no one. I was not allowed to leave the country with my child on the grounds that it would be international kidnapping without the father's written consent. I couldn't abandon her and so I did the only thing I could. I begged my husband to take me back and I apologized for what I had done. But our relationship only grew worse from there. On a weekly basis he will tell me I am a piece of shit, I am an idiot, acuse me of cheating (when I only leave the house for doctors appointments and groceries) spending money frivolously (when I had bought nothing for myself since we had gotten married) and on a few occasions it escalated to physical abuse. I contacted police, private organizations, government officials and whoever else I could .in the end I was told that without that written consent for my daughter I could not leave with her.

Unfortunately, my story has no happy ending. This is the conclusion. I have accepted a life with someone who is mostly terrible and cuts me down at every corner, in hopes that my daughter can be more than I ever was and have all the opportunities that I never could. My life means nothing to me anymore, but I still believe that I should continue to try to improve on myself. For the sake of showing my daughter what a strong and structured person should look like.

I am sorry to all who read this hoping that it would end positively. I guess I just needed to vent out the timeline of how I got here.