Heya everyone, this is my first post here. I created an account after seeing a couple threads here and noticing that most of you are genuinely supportive and offer legitimate advice.

So, I've finally decided to try and get some professional help. I had several shrinks as a kid, but I didn't talk to them, and they didn't care; they sat me down in the sandbox for an hour and collected mommy's money. However, I feel like I am finally ready to actually give this a shot. I'll explain all the events in my life that have led me to make this decision, but please don't think this is a "poor pitiful me" type thread. I've never thought that way. It's never even occurred to me to think that way, and it's only recently that I began to realize that, yeah, it's actually super possible that my life's circumstances could've played a role in how I am today.

So anyway, here goes. And allow me to pre-empt any "people have had it way worse than you" stuff, as I am pretty well aware of that fact.

I had a fantastic mother, but she was in constant pain due to and accident years before that scrambled her nervous system and made her pain receptors fire constantly. As you can imagine, she had some difficulty taking care of a child by herself (my father was gone before I was born; run off under threat of death), and was only able to manage it til I was about two years old. After that, we went to live with my grandmother and her husband, who served as a surrogate father until I was six, when he died of leukemia. That man is the reason I am as decent and respectful person as I am, even only having him for a short while.

After that, it was my mother, my grandmother and I. Mom would have a few good days, days where the pain was bearable enough to leave her room, and those were the best days of my life. I remember her taking me to ride go karts one time...the only clear memory I have of her any more. Her father, my grandfather by blood, stepped in and served as another father figure, and was the greatest man I have ever known, but he had his own health issues, and the relationship between him and my grandmother was strained, so I didn't see him as much as I might've liked.

My mother being bedridden most of the time, my care was mostly left up to my grandmother, and she had no idea how to raise children. So, beginning at the age of seven or so, I was shipped off to a series of children's homes, away from my family. It was at the last of these, around age nine, that things really started going downhill. The beginning was my grandmother calling to inform me that my dog had died. A week later, I got another phone call: my grandfather had died. I was home for all of two days for the funeral, then back up to the home. 22 days later, I was picked up from school by my grandmother and uncle. They took me to park, and told me to go play for a bit. I refused. I knew something was wrong, as they had never made a surprise visit like that before. I told then to tell me what happened, and they did. My mother died the night before.

I get a different story every time I ask how it happened. She was on a lot of painkillers (dr prescribed), but there was no tearing in her liver to indicate abuse of these substances. It all seems to circle back to "She just died." I believe it may have just become too much; that she swallowed a handful of pills and just slipped away. She had taken an anti-vomiting medication, which makes it seem all the more likely. She was not an unintelligent person.

Anyway, after all of this, I was brought home. "life is too short", my grandmother said. I lived with her until she began to lose her mind a few years ago, when I was about 16. Custody was the. Transferred to my aunt, and I lived with her for three years, the latter two supporting her entirely on my meager pay from two minimum wage jobs, and now I live with my uncle, looking to get out and find my own place.

All that said, I never dwell on any of it. Or, I didn't. I've never allowed myself to blame my actions on my life's circumstances, because I can't stand people that do that. A slightly upsetting history is not license to be a jerk. It's only recently that I've even allowed myself to think about these things, and how they might have affected me, the majority of what could be considered "traumatic events" having happened during my developmental stage.

I look at myself, my various insecurities and self-consciousness , my social ineptitude, and my utter inability to from a relationship ad realize that I may actually have been damaged to some degree by all of this. I can't tell my remaining family I love them. I can barely manage to hug them, and I never initiate. The longest romantic relationship I've ever had lasted all of three months, and I kept her distant. Never got further than a kiss.

Like I said, I am a relatively decent person, by my own standards at least. I treat people with respect. I feel empathy for those I feel deserve it, but I can't seem to love. It's a foreign concept to me. If one of my remaining family members died, I don't know that I would cry. I would be upset, but I honesty cannot say that there is a single living thing alive that I "love" other than my dog, which I know is strange.

Anyway, I don't know that I was going anywhere with this, other than that I am ready to talk to someone about it. And that can't be family, because we are either cold as emotionally distant, or incredibly emotional all the time. I can't talk to the ones like me because I don't trust them or feel they have anything to offer, and I can't talk to the emotional ones about it because, honestly, they're not intelligent enough. I dunno.I may have just needed to write all this down. If anyone read this wall of text all the way through, you're a champ.