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This was meant for /phi/, but it is enormous, didn't answer the questions asked, and I sobered up too much to revise. Picture looks like my dog as a puppy.
I almost killed myself after a vacation with my mother and stepfather, I'll simplify the reasons why as much as possible. The stepfather at the beginning is different from the one I went on vacation with.
I was raised by my stepfather from the time I was three, he was a decent guy, though everyone has their faults. My mother never liked children, so we spoke perhaps a sentence to each other a day for the entirety of my life, once I was able to speak and read. My stepfather was the only social support cared about, and the only person I trusted. When I was about eight, my mother used the family computer and found bestiality while looking for some photos she had scanned. She became very angry with my stepfather about this, and he passed the blame onto me. I was yelled at for three hours about how I shouldn't use the computer for this, and how it is wrong, etc. Throughout, I was confused, I had not started to masturbate at that point and had not ever looked at such things except to close a popup, which were more prolific at the time. This occurred in front of my cousin who was visiting from out of town, and started near the time I usually slept. The next day I came to the conclusion that my stepfather had thrown me under the bus with neither explanation or apology. I no longer trusted anyone in my life, and friendships were about convenience rather than compassion.
Through the rest of school, until my freshman year, I had made no friends, though many called me such. At the beginning of that year I was told by my mother that my stepfather had leukemia. For the first few months he was in the hospital I visited whenever someone suggested it to me, but eventually I stopped going at all. Six months after he had gone to the hospital, I realized that I didn't actually care if he lived or died. From this time until he died a year and a half later, I was home alone almost every day. I spent my time masturbating and wallowing in self-pity, mostly the former. After he died, my mother became even more distant from me, speaking to me about once a week asking what food I wanted for the week, which removed what little social contact I was forced into. She became severely depressed for a month, then she started looking for a replacement for a stepfather. This searching usually involved a single date, rough sex, then her telling them she was too depressed to stay with them a week later. Within two days of leaving one there would be another.
After valiantly searching for four months in this manner, she found someone perfect for her. He was charming, muscular, and bled gold. Within six weeks they were married by a judge, I had met him two days previous. This relationship went as could be expected, he turned out to be a sociopath, injected steroi
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