This is going to be typed as things come to mind. I've always been odd or out of the normal person. I've always had the ability to put on this facade and hide who I am. My facade is the big dumb loud lovable oblivious idiot, not a care In the world. But in reality, I am quiet. I am very observant, and I know how to dissect things. But the issue, I am looking back on my life and dissecting it, things I remember but didn't understand. I am realizing how psychologically messed up my life is. I have learned how to be a fluent liar. It is humiliating how quick I can come up with a life story within seconds. And what more I am starting to realize, my father follows the same patterns I did. When I lied, I would be vague, but detailed enough to give a main idea of the fake story. and I picked up a habit of fake yawning when lying. Then, I noticed my dad yawns a lot during conversations. Is my dad a prolific liar? If so, how much is a lie? I've heard the same stories over and over again, but little details change every so often. Like a year, or who did what. One that sticks with me is how he lied about having a part for a gun to make it automatic. I knew all of his guns almost like the back of my head; year, make, model, serial number. So I knew for a fact we didn't have this part. And he told it over and over again. Right now talking about it, doesn't seem like a big deal, but it is this that made me start thinking. How I act, and how my dad acts. My dad has a very messed up past, so some things I can understand. For example, his mother was a dumpster and his dad was drunk and a chainsmoker. So he has had to care for a family since he was old enough to get a job. And he had a past with gangs and mafia, but that's a whole different story. So, he's had to do some shit. He is like my best friend, but I am questioning. My dad seems to be gaining a slight, idk how to describe it, like an emotional distance if that makes sense. It's making me question, am I just like my dad when he was younger? BTW while growing up, we never really had to worry about money, he always makes sure we were financially comfortable. So I never had to experience a struggle like that. Its that, there is almost no emotional attachment with my dad. It's not that I do not love him or he doesn't love me, it's clear he does. But he has mental issues. Not autistic, trauma. But whenever I try to talk about mine, it's always "stop being a brat, your life isn't was bad as mine. When I was your age..." then it would turn into a lecture how my struggles weren't as important as my parents. For the longest time I thought this was how it was. But now learning how other people feel like this too, I learned this wasn't normal. I hid these feelings, thinking it's not a big deal. My grades dropped. I stopped caring. School was my let-go zone. Rather then be a "perfect child", I was a menace. I didn't care. It was the one place where my parents weren't there to tell me my feelings didn't matter. Yknow, its really fucked up when your parents can provide your with reefer all day long, but can't be there for moral or emotional support. I used to talk down onto myself all the time. Why wasn't I good enough? Why do I mess up? Why don't I have the will to improve? It was simple, my parents took my will. They are in my head all the time. It got to the point where I just wanted to go home from school so bad, I resorted to self harm to see if I can give myself a bad enough cut on my arm to go home to get stitches. Many failed attempts. Many scars. My anger is beginning to be a problem. I never really had an issue with it until within the past few years. It gets to the point where I can get so pissed at somebody, u can imagine me doing thing to them, the graphic images that pop in my head. I can imagine me smashing somebody's head on a sink. I csn feel the shock in my arm. I csn feel the warm blood splatter. I can imagine the smell of the blood. A busted face with broken teeth, their head crushed in from stomping on them. The sound of them choking on their own blood, softly sobbing, in perfect detail. I am scared for the moment when one of the images come true. And another side of me cannot wait. I am scared of myself. I am scared of what I am capable of.