>>82233381
I got smacked with a wooden spoon as a child, and I turned out the way I did because I was diagnosed with depression at age 7 (I spoke about wanting to die and how my insides felt like they were rotting to a pediatric psychiatrist, and I genuinely meant it) and autism at age 12, then tested as having an IQ in the top 1% in my late teens.
From a young age, I was extremely tired, and felt bad for everybody around me for needing to exist. I remember, there was this disgusting, smelly poor kid in my class who lied about EVERYTHING. He'd lie about having a pet wolf, or going to Disneyland, or riding a motorcycle, and the other kids in my class hated him, and he hated them back and would try to beat them up. Even as a small child, when I looked at him, I just felt sad. Pity. I understood that he was just lying because he felt the need to, so people would respect or like him or think he was cool, and who was I to hate him for that? What value was there in hating such a person, a person who existed in such a pitiful state due to circumstances outside of his control?
Maybe I was just born a massive bitch, and nothing could change that.