Hugs!
Skald. You remind us of your humanity every day, and we’re better for it.
OMG! So much good bad! I can’t/shouldn’t reply to all but I made enough cookies for everybody.
Rachellegram I was 15 the first time I shaved my legs, for an important date. I peeled a thick enough sliver off my outer ankle to still almost make me sick to think about. My mother never taught me about make up or lotions or even deodorant. I learned how to be a girl from a drag queen, laying across her bed watching her get ready for shows. (But something I intuitively knew even then—don’t use blue up to the brow.)
HoneyBadgerDC, I wanna be with you in the apocalypse.
NotherYinzer. Too real. So close to home. But you’re still here and posting. Can I have the next dance?
My next nasties: I went to use the bathroom at my grandmother’s house and there was a drowned mouse floating in the bowl. When my mother came to get me I couldn’t wait to tell her about the rat. From the corner my grandmother’s quiet voice said, “You told me it was a mouse.”
Freshman year in high school and I still haven’t encapsulated the genius (unnecessary) of this move: perfect girl sitting across from me…perfect haircut, perfect near-tan, perfect bangle sliding down her arm. I rarely talked to anybody; I knew better. But she addressed me: “I have a pocketbook just like that,” referring to mine leaning against the metal legs of my desk.
“You notice I don’t carry it.”
STILL burned after all these years.
I suspect you have a picaresque memoir inside you. 
It was that bad. There was an article in the newspaper, that did not mention my name, after this incident. Eventually I was #4 out of six women that he assaulted. Ass hole was never caught, although I pointed out his picture in a photo lineup.
That reminds me of when I was burgled while in the shower in Honolulu. My first semester I lived alone in an off-campus apartment. I had the front door locked, but the window by the door was of those lattice-like panes that are common in Hawaii. As I learned, it’s easy to remove a slat from outside, then reach in and unlock the door! He left when I finished showering, and I heard the door slam when I turned off the water. He took my wallet out of my pants that I’d left in the bedroom.
monstro you lived a recurring dream of mine and survived, as do I.
When I was 16 years old, I finally summoned the courage to tell Mom what Dad had been doing to me since I was 6 years old. And she believed me.
If ever there was a time that I would have committed suicide, it would have been in the two weeks that followed. Shit, I wouldn’t wish what I went through then on my worst enemy. Yick.
To all of you who were never taught about shaving your legs, that brings back a memory of being in 9th grade.
Packing up to go on a school canoe trip. A bunch of us girls piled into one car. Much skinnier back then 
so, 4 of us could squeeze in the back seat.
We all had shorts on and all our legs were smooshed together. I was mortified when I saw the others compared to mine. These girls legs were shave & moisturized with calloused-free, perfectly pedicured and polished feet and toes.
I lived in bare feet and mine were rough with dirty nails and hairy, flaky legs.
It hit me like a lead balloon, how these girls must’ve woke up early to make themselves look nice, while i rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth and left.
They all looked very pretty while i looked, well ordinary. I wasn’t a child anymore and I needed to take care of my outer appearance.
My mom shaved, wore makeup, styled her hair…etc, yet never taught me how I need to change my daily grooming habits as I get older.
TMI (sorry guys) even when I told her I just started my period of the first time, she just said, “You know what to do, right?” I lied and stuttered, “Yeah.” because I was overwhelmed and uncomfortable.
I learned the hard way about always keeping a pad handy in case my period started unexpectedly in school or somewhere else away from home.
Anyway, I’ve dissed my mom twice today. LOL! Sorry mom. She was great with other things, i.e. hard worker, great cook, always volunteering to help others.
But yeah, I can relate on the hairy legs thing. Of course I gave myself hellish razor burn by pressing down too hard and shaving off a couple layers of shin skin sometimes, but I’ve finally mastered it. 
Our mother used to take us shopping for clothes at a store that sold surplus and irregulars. That bin held every pair of sneakers I had until I could afford my own.
I have two that stick out:
As a teenager, finding out I was born out of wedlock and that I had ruined three lives by showing up, and that feeling I had of no one really wanting me was true. No one had. Not my fault; still an awful feeling.
As a young adult, scraping for change one month to get enough money for the rent. That was a bad year. 
I actually thought this was hilarious as I’ve dealt with all of those except hurricanes.
I had a pretty rough & traumatic childhood through my 20s.
The parental units were naive & just really interested in their own hobbies & work than raising kids.
(Mom was neglectful & abusive. Dad was drunk & neglectful for most of my childhood & teen years.)
But I also went through shaving embarrassments as a kid. I have very dark hair & very pale skin so if I missed a spot, it showed up clearly.
I also shaved a 5" strip of skin just above my ankle. I didn’t feel it happen; I felt the blood trickling down & was surprised I’d cut myself so badly. Then I checked the razor & it had the strip of skin still wedged between the blades.
Tomorrow.
Reading this has been painful and hopeful, because for the most part I believe we’ve come back up from these lows, except Gatopescado, his is tomorrow.
Here’s a couple that I will share
-
in my drunk/drugged two year period before I woke up ( about 20 years ago), I “found” my mom’s ATM card and I financed a weekend of drinking and drugging with people that I thought were friends, who really only helped me to stay down in the depths. The look on her face and the sound of her voice when she discovered who had pilfered her account made me so ashamed. Im ashamed admitting it now.
-
Last year, thankfully the kids were all out of town visiting the other parents, my husband and I lost our jobs within a month of each other. He was devastated having never lost a job or been unemployed and was in a state of shock along with panic. I was lucky to have found a temp job and was only in on my second week when his vehicle, which we needed for him to seek out work as a contractor was repossessed with only two months of loan left to pay. We had no back up funds, the loan holder required the full amount to get it back ($2100) and we only had about $40 to our name. I remember putting my hands squarely on his shoulders, looking him in his eyes, and with all the fricken courage I could muster (barely believing it myself) I told Mr. NVME, " Baby, someday we’ll look back at this and know we’ve come a long way. We’ll get by I swear." And now that we do get by, I still get uncomfortable when he talks about how much money he makes, because I feel we’re just tempting fate.
I’m not really out of my low point yet but it’s getting better. It started when my SO was deported, followed by my little girl being raped by three boys. Then I had a psychotic break due to undiagnosed bipolar disorder, which was initially diagnosed as PTSD. I went through dissociation, detachment, and had trouble even getting dressed, much less getting out of the house. I’m still in the house most of the time but I CAN get out if I have to now. We’re all in therapy (not SO, he’s stuck in a shack in Mexico last I heard) and I’m on meds so things are looking better.
I was also at a low point in my mid-twenties when I was homeless with a child and two dogs for a few months. We slept where we could until I made enough to afford a deposit on an apartment, but it was a scary bit of time for us.
The time I almost lost both my father and my only son, for different reasons, on the same day. I still wonder if it would have been better for both of them if I hadn’t gotten them back. My father survived quintuple bypass surgery, but it left him a helpless invalid, unable to experience anything that he had once enjoyed, and my mother had to become his willing but captive helper. I had to find out by checking in during breaks in the court session in which my wife and I had to take out a no-contact restraining order against our only son after a violent attack - although he’s getting psych and substance treatment now, after a relapse, he may or may not ever be able to function on his own.
My low points that center on myself have been mostly about the times I realize how often I’ve had the chances to help others, or simply say something kind, and passed them by.
nm
According to my previous therapist, the half a dozen years of intense work trying to deal with my completely fucked up childhood was finally getting some results when my first born, a son, died in my arms a few hours after a few hours of life.
All that work went out the window and the next several years of intense self-medication, 12 oz at a time, brought me back into an increasingly worse cycle of self-destructive behavior and my career went out the window.
The alcohol was making the PTSD worse, and the PTSD was driving the increased drinking.
I finally quit drinking on my own, and somehow survived for a couple of months. None of the professionals warned me that quitting drinking would make the PTDS worse before it made it better.
It was those few months before I found AA that were the worst of the worst. That was hell.
We moved down to Taiwan because I figured that I couldn’t handle living much longer and it would be easier for me to help my wife be closer to her family when it happened.
It’s scary thinking of how fucked up I was. Having young children and seeing that I wasn’t any more emotionally mature than a three-year-old.
I used to post about my son, until people on this board started sending me pictures of dead babies.
Things are not all better yet. I don’t know if they ever will, but I’m able to work now, although I struggle.
I’m 28 months sober now, and I hope that things will get better.
Puked right in the middle of the street once. Was playing at a friend’s house, told him I didn’t feel well, started walking the block or so home, and about halfway there, tossed my cookies.
Mortifying, but I did feel a lot better afterward.
Leaving a hospital, alone, at 17yrs of age, the only child I would ever have, NOT in my arms, but now in the arms of their new adopted parents. Standing before the judge, signing the papers, etc, were no walk in the park, but that day, leaving the hospital - I don’t think I can begin to put it into words what it felt like.
I don’t have words for how perverse that is. I am so sorry anyone did that to you. That should be a ban-able offense.