I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My parents are divorced. I moved to this country. My brother moved back to England to be with my dad. My mum and step-dad were alcoholics and my step-brothers were mean. I think I might have abandonment PTSD, but I have no abandonment issues. I was technically abused but it was neglect mostly and doesn’t feel worthy of being called abuse. My mother is kind of a child, I’ve spent most of my life since I was 10 or 13 looking after her, especially after her second divorce. In which I sometimes had to put her to bed. I was often a mediator between her and my stepfather. The pair cried to me rather often. When they divorced, my step dad told me he’d still be here for me if I needed him, but I recently tried to reconnect with him to no avail. I understand that “I’m here for you” is never a sentence for the recipient but rather the speaker, to make them feel good. I understand that people are self-centered and small-minded. I had a history of instigating chaos by constantly breaking the law, trespassing, stealing, vandalism. I’m well behaved now, but I still have memories and old pains of my youth. All of the times people said they’d be there for me. My attempted suicide. My mother’s attempted suicide. The time when I was dragged up the stairs by my hair. The rumors in middle school that lead to people fearing me for no reason, and the times that I let the rumors change me, and I hurt people. The boyfriend who gunned me down with a bb gun, almost blinding me, and on a separate occasion (after breaking up) the time that he threw a chair at me. My best friend who left me because I’m “childish, spend too much time with my boyfriend, and disrespect my mother”. My mother who actually assaulted my boyfriend once. Man, she would get so out of her face sometimes that she… A couple of times back at my stepdads, she would barge into my room (she did that a lot) and throw suitcases on the floor, demanding that I pack so that we’d leave, but I, a 13-year-old, knew better than to get in the car with a drunk. On many occasions, I barricaded myself in my room, hid in my closet, or on the roof. I sometimes went without food because my step brothers ate everything. I had my own secret pantry of snacks and I was still underweight. I don’t know, I’m just throwing out all the information I think could use some help.