I feel digusted

I feel disgusted, and honestly, I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know what part of my life to begin with. From the outside, my life seems okay. But inside… I just can’t love myself or the life I’m living. I’m not looking for pity or anything like that, I just need to let it out. I barely remember my childhood, and the things I do remember aren’t good. My brother used to call me a wh***, my classmates would make fun of me, and my mom would always mention how chubby I was. I never really had a true friend growing up. I used to insult myself, couldn’t stand looking in the mirror, kept going on different diets, hoping something would change. I just wanted someone to love me. I was so desperate for it. My brother never really treated me like a sister. He never spoke to me the way he did to our sister. He once read my diary and laughed about it with his girlfriend and our sister. He said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she threw herself off the balcony, and do it again and again.” And they all laughed. I laughed too, because what else could I even say? A few days later, he told our mom he was “worried” about me and that I should talk to someone. That moment stuck with me. There’s so much more, but even writing this is hard. Over the last few years, I’ve stopped hanging out with five friends. One got into drugs, two stopped talking completely because of their own depression, and one let her boyfriend hit me and still took his side. I started hurting myself when I was 16, mostly in places people couldn’t see. Three years ago, I just stopped caring. I wasn’t doing it for attention—I just wanted to feel something. I felt like I deserved to be in pain, like I should be ashamed. Then I met my boyfriend. I love him like I love God. But I don’t feel like I deserve him. That first year together, I kept hurting myself, convinced I wasn’t allowed to be happy. We’ve been together for two and a half years now. It’s been beautiful, but also really hard. My mom drinks a lot, and it drains me. She says things that really cut deep—like I’m stupid, boring, that my boyfriend must be ignoring me because he found someone else. She always starts fights, always knows how to say the worst things. Two years ago, I gave myself a really big scar on my arm. She keeps asking about it. I made up some lie. But that scar—it’s still there. I try to hide it, I spend my days looking online how to make it even a little invisible. It’s a reminder of who I was that day. And maybe still am. Everytime I look at it I remember my thoughts that day. I know I have a lot. I have someone who loves me, I have things people wish for, healthy family. I really try to become a better person, for me and my future. But even now, I sometimes read the last letter I wrote, it gives me some kind of happiness.