Sorry in advance for the long post and the jumping around. I am a 27 year old man. I have two older sisters. My biological mother and father divorced shortly after I was born. I was an accident child, the result of what I'm certain was a "we're getting a divorce hate-fucking." My father was serving in the military, so I was going to be with my mother. However, she was killed by a drunk driver. I went to live with my father. A year later, (I am now 2 years old) my father remarried to the person I call mom today. My father's job in the military kept him away a lot. He was never home for my birthday and I wasn't the son he wanted anyway. I have a very vivid imagination and would rather spend time reading, writing, or drawing than playing or watching sportsball. Which I'm certain was just crushing to his ego. My mom "did her best" raising my two older sisters and myself. I was taught to hold in my emotions and not express myself when I was frustrated or I got the "don't give me that attitude." She feared because I had anger, I would turn out like her brother or her father. I was a kid who didn't know what to do when I got mad. When I was 6 years old my half sister was born and the family dynamic shifted. I wanted a little brother and I got a sister. I then asked for a dog and got a girl dog. Dad's still gone and I was surrounded with 3 sisters, a girl dog, and my mom. Although now, wouldn't have traded them for nothing. Growing up in that house it felt taboo to ask questions about my biological mother. When I was 4 years old, I ran away from home for the first time. I don't remember what they did to make me have enough, but I sure as hell remember what they did when I was 8. My mom smiled and laughed when for the first time, I showed her my art and then told me to do something productive. I was so traumatized, I ran away to my elementary school. I was blessed to have a support system there. 3 friends and teachers who actually wanted me to formulate thoughts and opinions. 8 years old and I felt safer and more welcome at elementary school than at home. Well that cost me big. Got my bike taken to a thrift store and grounded for a literal year. Only allowed out of my room for school and food. When I was 9, my mother was picking me up from karate class (which I had to beg to do), when she got a phone call that my dog had bitten my little sister. Never one to miss an opportunity to traumatize me, she told me that she was going to take my dog to the pound and have her put down. I took the bait and began bawling, begging her to not kill my dog. She'd found another trigger. She never did kill my dog. It would have raised too many questions. The next year I began playing trumpet and damn I got good at it. The next 3 years passed without much incident. Until one day, my dad come home from work and says, "We are moving." We moved from Washington to California when I was 12. That sucked because we'd spent most of my growing up in Washington. After we settled on base, I met my bestfriend. I went paintballing and he shot me. I began growing my hair out and smoked my first cigarette that year. This new middle school sucked. I didn't know anyone and their curriculum was totally different than my old one in Washington. At 12 years old, it was awkward. I began keeping a journal and continued to suffer from not wanting to go to school or go home. At 13, I began smoking pretty regularly, both cigarettes and marijuana and listening to heavy metal and alternative rock. It helped me cope with undiagnosed depression. I mentioned once the possibility of going to therapy and got shut down. "You can tell us anything." When my hair got really long my father began telling me things like, "I'm not gonna have a punk for a son." "I'm not gonna have a faggot son." Which sucked cuz I was starting to come into my sexuality and was beginning to realize I liked both guys and girls and I could never tell my parents. I began not performing well in school. I was a smart, depressed kid who no matter how hard he tried, he was never good enough. My bestfriend, who was Muslim went to Lebanon for a year. That year was hell year for me. My only good friend left. That was the year, I found my parents went and read my journal. My parents sat me down and read it aloud to me. Then they got to the passage where I wrote about how I could never please my father, no matter the effort I put in. That all I wanted was for my dad to tell me, "Good job son, I'm proud of you." And this asshole told me, "You have to do something to make me proud of you." I did exceptional art. I made first chair in jazz band. I was starring in a high school production of Macbeth. I had received an offer to leave California and go to England to be an understudy at the Globe Theater. I was rapidly becoming fluent in German. But it wasn't enough. That broke me. I stopped writing. I stopped drawing. I quit band. And I quit theater. The next year I was terrified of what my parents would say when I practically begged them to go on an exchange program. Luckily, I got to go because my German teacher called them and told them of the amazing opportunity. He was so supportive. Best summer of my life. Not only did I learn German but I also lost my v card. Then I graduated high school the next year. My dad retired from the military and we moved to Nevada. I had to find a job and start school. Immediately after. I found work grooming dogs and got C's on all my courses. I wasn't allowed to continue college on my dads GI Bill so I had to start paying them rent. I had to pick up a second job to keep paying rent. So I began flipping burgers too. It was enough to keep me supplied with cigarettes, weed, and in a home. I played Xbox in my time off which pissed them off because it was all I did. Work, play video games and sleep. Eventually I got sick of living there so i did the thing I didn't want to do. I joined the military. When I graduated, my father finally told me he was proud of me. The next few years passed pretty easily. I was in the military and free. A year of weekly therapy sessions and I learned how to function like a human. I began to love reading, writing, and drawing again. I began loving again. I met my fiancee. I took her to meet my parents. My dad was working a whole lot and my mom didn't say a word to her until the last day. Now, they aren't attending my wedding. Because I'm inviting someone who they don't like. Because they are putting their selfish reasons ahead of me. Thanks for reading.