Hey Pandas, What’s Something You’ve Never Told Anyone? (Closed)

I have constant s******l thoughts andconstantly wish I was dead. Whenever I hear of someone who has died or has a life limiting disease like terminal cancer I just wish that that was me instead.

That same thing that I am not gonna tell you. Nice try Mio!

I don't really miss my deceased mother. Don't get me wrong. She was a good mother. Loved us and always put us first. But her last few years were hard and I know she is in a better place.

i only have one thing that i have never told anyone...and i'll be damned if i would confess it here. i was young and stupid and somethings are better kept to one's self.

I'm the one that stole the "Party Can Margaritas"! They were 1.5L cans that the restaurant wanted to sell for $65 each that had been there since 2 years prior. They technically couldn't be sold anyway. I also swiped extra work shirts for my favorite coworkers because my manager only gave 1 per person despite having several boxes.

I resent my mother. I resent being raised by her. I resent being born to her. I resent her existence. Dad essentially abandoned us, he stayed outside because he didnt want to deal with mom or us. We were forced to stay inside of a filthy house with a woman who did nothing but lay around naked reading romance novels and diddlin' herself.

We couldn't see over the sink yet she would stand us there telling us to get it done. People arent born knowing how to clean.. We had no clue, we were children. Im talking 5 & 7. Every few minutes she would get up and beat our a*s because it wasnt done. And she used a spatula. Like the kind ya flip your eggs with. Yeah. I can still draw the cut out design on it. So can my sister.

My daddy knew. He never said a thing unless he was physically present and she started backhanding us across the room. We were never allowed to do anything or go anywhere. We were the skanky kids in school because we never had clean clothes and stank. We couldn't wash them ourselves, the washer was BURIED under old clothes. We starved because daddy was too concerned about his d**n pride than any kind of government assistance. But, by god they ALWAYS had those cigarettes. We barely went to a doctor and usually our grandmother would take us. Once we were too old for her to smack around, she started using humiliation to punish us. She brought a belt into my high school because she found I I was using tampons. All she ever bought were the cheapest pads you could get and they would rub us raw. My granny gave me money and I gave it to my cousin to get the tampons. Mom found them. Therefore I was a s**t with no morals, because obviously it took my virginity.

I ran away because I was terrified of her. They found me only to drag me back.It took me into my 30's to realize that I didn't have to ask permission for so many stupid little things. Hell, I was in my late 20's before I stopped flipping out if I saw a vehicle that looks like hers. I would immediately start wondering if I was doing anything wrong. I am still in therapy for this s**t. 30 years later. I could go on and on. Not just me, but because she almost killed my sister several times because she didnt want to spend money on a d**n prescription.

Daddy died a while back. The best I can do now is be cordial with her. I can't tell her off because my sister and her kids moved into the old house when mom went to an assisted living facility. And, mom is spiteful and petty enough that if I tick her off she will take it out on my sister. So I bite til I taste blood at times.

Even now, we both have a difficult time with basic life skills. Skills that we should have picked up naturally from our caregiver. How to clean, when its appropriate to change your sheets. How often we should bathe, how to take care of ourselves down there. I had to be taught to pay bills. I had I literally had a friend TEACH me to clean. A grown a*s adult in my mid-20's at the time. It was humiliating.

The rage is real, folks. I am extremely grateful for my therapist.
Thanks for coming to my TedX.

I'm(f) the emotionally unavailable parent. Always lead to believe that I am supposed to have this fantastic bond with my children. We have our memories and our "things" that are just between us, but no actual bond. I have never really bonded with any of my kids. I love them more than anything and there is nothing I wouldn't do for them, but I couldn't really tell you what they liked beyond basics such as certain foods. I know their best friends name but couldn't pick them out of a group of two. My husband on the other hand is a mother hen. He could tell you anything and everything. I'm so glad he's there to take care of the emotional side of things. I have been in therapy for years for this, among other things. I do try to be more emotional there for them. I smile when they laugh, get angry when they get in trouble at school. I like watching them open christmas presents. But that's kinda it. Otherwise, I teach them. I take care of them. I do my best to prepare them for a world that doesn't give a f**k about their feelings, all the while still maintaining their own well-being. That's the job, tho, right? Or so my therapist says.

Well, I was standing on this grassy knoll in Dallas, and...

Being in jail (not prison). I burned my journal, which they required me to keep. But I still have the letters to my mother. I've wanted to write a script about the experience. Nobody expects that one day they will wake up in jail. We ran groups and such, only six were required. I did nearly 40. Five months and five days and a decade to recover from it. What did I do? Spit on the arm of a cop.

Could have been worse. I busted out of my handcuffs and they were dumb enough to put me in the front seat, where their radio was. Too embarrassed to admit all of it, I did get off easy because the cops were reluctant to admit they were fools.