I have to say it again. Wow! You don’t stop to amaze me. You really thought it through. I am lost for words.

First impression: It doesn’t seem right. I know that facts don’t care about my feelings, but for me, this is a weird one.

So let me get started.  I am a second child, my brother is 3 years older. My mother aborted the first child (in the meaning that the fetus died – unwillingly!). Then my brother came, and from the album photos, I could see how happy they were. When I came, the financial situation became obviously worse, two children are most likely harder to nurture and bring up. 2008 there was a financial crisis. There were floods in 2002 and later 2013 (by then, we were living elsewhere). These events must have played a role. But other than that, I am not aware of anything. When I came to kindergarten, I didn’t speak. Not that I wouldn’t be able to, but they say that I didn’t want to. Other children were dancing, playing games, singing, and there was me sitting on a bench watching others. Later, Saint Nicolas came, with his devils, and they told me that if I won’t talk, they will take me to hell in their sack. And that worked. I started doing all things other kids were doing. Speaking considered! But from what I remember, I had nightmares of devils. I was scared of them, thinking they will take me to hell. I was scared of the dark. (Our family isn’t religious, but devils are in our country probably considered the number one way of scaring children to behave). This must have had an impact on kids’ brain development. It wasn’t that traumatic how I depicted it, but I really was scared of the dark, as every kid probably is.

Apart from that, nothing else comes to my mind. Maybe I didn’t get the emotional support I needed, but I don’t remember myself ever needing it. Maybe that is a part of the problem. Not having the urge to seek it. But hard to say. You can give me some things on which I should reflect or pay attention so that I can find some clues.

Growing up, my brother was the problem child. And he still is. Bad behavior, bad grades, bad financial literacy, bad emotional management… And by that, parents were always focusing on him. Mom was learning with him, both parents were talking only about his problems. Because I didn’t have any! I was obedient, well behaved, had excellent grades, … There was nothing that needed to be fixed. And that way all of the attention went on my brother. Even these days, when my parents know about my condition, I still hear them talking about him. Problems with girls, money, car, behavior, mood, health… I never hear them talking about me. Even though I am never too far from killing myself. What a paradox. Part of it is probably that there is nothing to be solved. How could they help me? I don’t know, they don’t know, my therapist doesn’t know. Then who? Well, no one knows. Making it worse is one thing. That is easy. But making it better? Well, now you have a problem. But even that, they could discuss. They could have a discussion on how they could help me. Maybe they had, maybe not. But one thing is sure, and that’s I don’t like the attention. When they ask me how am I doing, I ask myself If they even observe. How could I be feeling? I told them. Don’t they remember? I know that they care and that they are worried. But these situations really piss me off. All I can say is that I don’t know, or it is ok. Because that is the truth. I can smile, be happy, but then it strucks, and every will to live goes to waste. And after that, would you have some motivation left, when all of your daily efforts were meaningless? Well, it had a meaning in a way that you survived another day/hour/afternoon. But for what? For it to strike again? It drives me mad.

• This reply was modified 2 years, 9 months ago by Štěpán Pavlas.