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I really don't want to do this. I've kept my past as my little dark secret . . . . and I never intended to tell anyone. But I was surprised to see some people on this site that are having a bad life so far. So, for my own good, and the good of others, I will step out.
I was born in Russia, and adopted. I came with issues, as all orphans do. But my parents didn't resolve any of my behavioral problems, so when I was placed in daycare, I was destined for failure. I was emotionally disturbed as a child, so, in daycare, I ran wild, and was eventually kicked out. Still, my parents did nothing to stop my disturbances, so I became worse. (If you want some examples of my daycare days, here's some. A boy older than I made a model car out of a kit. Knowing that I liked cars, a teacher called me over to show me it. The boy was proud, not in a bad way, of his creation, and willingly showed me the car. But I wasn't impressed by the whatever-it-was, so I promptly picked up a chair and, chair legs first, backed him against the wall and would have beat him with it if the teacher hadn't intervened. Another time, one of the workers stopped by the daycare building. She had been on maternity leave, and was now pushing a baby stroller. We were outside, as it was recess time. We were on one side of a fence, and she was on another. We all came to the fence to see the newborn. Thank goodness that the stroller had a sun-shade over it, it protected the baby from the handful of gravel that I threw at it. The principal about called the police, but I was instead kicked out for good.)
My mom quit her job, more out of embarrassment, as she had a prominent position working with developmentally disabled people, to stay at home and homeschool me. Now, I don't know when the "rolling" began. (I will never explain that term. You don't want to know. I made it up as a child and it stuck with me. No, nobody else knows the term or the actions behind it.) I only know that it happened a lot, and as of today, I know that it consists of all three forms of child abuse. My dad never knew, but he wouldn't have cared anyway. The "rollings" began because I didn't want to do something, and so I'd throw a fit. Then mom would "roll" me. It would happen all day, until dad came home. Then, mom would tell dad of how bad a kid I was, and how I punched her, and etc. They would argue, and I was always the blame. As a result, dad never liked me, I hated my mom, and I am not close to my family at all. (The "rollings" ended when I was twelve. I knocked mom unconscious.)
Now, not all of my childhood (supposing that I had one) was bad. I was gifted well on birthdays and on Christmas. And, as a family, we'd go for an occasional trip to visit relatives. But I guess I just summed it up. That was all.
I was never allowed to have friends. I was never allowed around other kids, except, as a young child, at a homeschool event which I didn't attend for long. And when I was there, I didn't talk to any kids. I just played the sport that they played. Later on, I did dance class. But, all of the kids were girls except when, for two years, a boy was also in my class. He never talked much. Maybe he was an aspie like me. So, I was alone my entire life.
One day, when I was thirteen, my mom asked if I cared to attend that homeschool event again. I agreed, and so we went. It was weekly, on Thursdays, and all of the teenagers would play soccer and softball. The parents would stay together and chitchat. I didn't talk to the other kids, of course. I was a descent player. . . . for someone who didn't play any sports at all. But, as nature dictates, I fell in love with one of the girls there. It's crazy. . . . I have not spoken more than a sentence to her (that was because when I once did speak to her brothers about something small, she came over and asked what we were talking about. She was included in the conversation, and I spoke a full sentence to her). Yet she attends my church with her family, and so I see her (not speak to her) every week. Call it puppy love. . . . I practically topple over when she walks by, and I still do, even though it's been seven years since I on that day I spoke to her, and a year since I saw her. I guess I'm in love with her, and still am. . . . but it's over. Last year, I saw a ring on her finger, I guess an engagement ring, since she is not yet married. . . .
Back to age thirteen. The summer ended, and so did the homeschool gathering.
We never attended again, as it was over. But when a door closes, a window always opens. But this one was small. And it had sharp glass in it. Through it I went.
I was not able to handle being around kids and then never being around anyone again. And, I could not handle never seeing my "true love" again. I went into a severe depression that lasted all the next summer. It would attack me on Mondays and Thursdays. I slowly lost my sight, and became blind, that is, mentally blind. I was so suicidal during those attacks that I don't know how I made it out alive. I would have mad, racing thoughts about suicide. I came close to making a crossbow that would be self-activated and would easily destroy me. I knew that I hadn't the strength to stab my heart out. Instead, I just lived, if that is called living, and worshipped the devil.
I became a schizophrenic after the ordeal. I didn't hear voices, or see things, but I was delusional and very emotionally disturbed. (You don't want to know what that is like. It is different than childhood disturbances, however.) I never told my parents, though, and they never knew. I never saw a psychologist, but, after three hellish years of the sickness, it left. I refuse to comment why, it is religious in nature.
I still have uncontrollable evil thoughts rattling around in my head. I have always had them, but they became uncontrollable when I turned thirteen. And I am never happy. I cannot be. The other day, I realized that other people actually can be happy, love, and be thankful. Well, that is a hard one to think about. This little Russian ret*d with an IQ of 141 finds that unbelievable, and difficult to grasp. I guess a large part of me is dead.
All that I am now is a hater, and a complete rip-off. Everyone else my age is successful. My mom likes to talk about it. They are in college, I'm not. (Well, indeed, if you are raised in a normal household, guess what, you turn out and are successful. But my parents are never wrong. I am the problem.) I live at home, as my family and I do get along, although I still hate them. (I do intend to attend college, albeit my parents think that I'm too stupid to be anything but a homeless man. They don't know of my intelligence. . . . yet.)
There. I did it. I released some pressure. I am tired of spending entire days in a rage over my life. Now, don't feel bad for me. I did not do this so that you could clog my inbox up with sympathy letters. The damage is done. Instead, why don't you make a difference with your life? I haven't told you all of the details. But you have heard all that you need to know. Now, you can make a difference. Start with your own family. How am I making the life of another a living nightmare? Now, your community. Who out there has a life that appears to be like mine? Make a difference. For my sake. Because if you don't, those people will kill themselves, kill you, or kill an entire crowd.
Now, WHAT GOES ON WRONG PLANET STAYS ON WRONG PLANET. This is not to be spread out across the Internet. This is for my safety. Simply learn the lesson. By the way, you don't even know my real name. I lied. Snicker.

The Clown

I actually read it all.

I truly think I've raised my son much better than you were raised. I don't think he hates or holds onto anger. I do believe him and I have a strong, positive relationship. So I guess that half of your request, my handling of my own family, I can do and will continue to do.

But this is what worries me: it sounds like you cover it all, how you feel and why you feel it. Except for those occasional uncontrolled outbursts. It's like you take pride in hiding the feelings. And I guess I don't blame you, given the things you have said happened, but ... How can anyone in your real life make a positive difference for you, when they have no way to know what you want or need? If you don't let anyone IN, they can't offer the positive support that should accompany structure and discipline.

So what you are asking is kind of impossible, isn't it, at least when it comes to acquaintances and strangers in the community? Or even my own family, if they have become adept at covering up? How am I supposed to identify where the need is? Those who are like you will have buried it behind a fake façade, just like you do. I don't have tools for seeing past that.

I also read through everything.

Rest assured, I am here to help my child and help other people, if that is what you are asking. I am not as active here as I am in the autism community in my hometown, where I'm part of a support group for parents of children with neurological...stuff - it's a pretty broad group. (interestingly, many of whom have kids adopted from Eastern Europe.)

I also see a lot of myself in your post, to a degree. I was not as isolated as you were, but I was definitely purposely isolated by my parents, and I was emotionally abused. I fought back as well - not physically, but with yelling and eventually running away (I was an adult at the time, so it's not as dramatic as it sounds.)

I also have had disturbing thoughts and have had many very serious bouts of depression. You know that point in the Avengers movie where David Banner turns around and says "I'm always angry."? I learned to accept that my baseline is despair.

I have worked very hard with lots of very good therapists (and successfully gotten through and away from a lot of bad therapy from bad therapists) and also right now am working with a psychiatrist in addition to a therapist. Having someone to help you reframe what is going on around you is important, and sometimes things - like those disturbing thoughts - do respond well to medication. It took a long time to find the right therapist and the right meds, but as I read your post, I feel like I am looking back on what things used to feel like for me.

I hope you find what you need.

i read the whole article . i am a mom with a son too . so , i really hope you could get happiness ......

How old were you when you were adopted? Kids adopted after the age of 6 months have a higher rate of psychiatric issues, especially if they were in an institutional setting before adoption. (Russian adoptable children are usually living in orphanages.)

Unfortunately, parents are often not given accurate information about what to expect from older adoptees, or are told that 'older' adoption is adopting over 4 years old, or over 3, or whatever, so they expect that a child adopted younger than that cut-off will be fine. When the kid is not fine, they don't know what to do.

And here's where the quacks come in. I don't know exactly what you mean by 'rolling', or if your parents consulted with anyone to come up with it, but I've heard horror stories of abusive treatments for adopted kids, such as holding therapy and rebirthing. Anyone who actually understands attachment theory will know that a child who has trouble trusting others isn't going to get better if you brutalize them, but for some reason, these tactics are pretty popular.

Still, there is hope. Have you gotten counselling, from a reputable counsellor? A treatment like DBT or mentalization-based therapy might help - they work with borderline personality, which is an attachment problem that often can't be helped by other treatments, so they could work with you too.

Whoops! What happened to my formatting?! I had this ever so nicely typed before I pasted it to Wrong Planet (WP). Now, paragraphs are not defined. Good Grief.

I released this bit of information after reading "I'm gonna kill myself" in the "Haven"
discussion area on Wrong Planet. I had read this post on a Friday, but didn't comment. The tongue holds the keys to life and death, and no less may be said concerning the pen, or iPad, for that matter. I didn't at first know what to say, so I finally just cheated and backed up an earlier post by Sweetleaf, in which he suggested music as an antidote for depression. But I was still rather disgruntled at the amount of disturbing posts slathered all over WP. (I can only hope that I helped instead of hurt this particular blogger. I gave him my "playlist", which is pretty much chock-full of despair music.) So, I wrote this in to #1: Get this off of my chest. #2: Warn parents about faulty parenting. But, I guess that if I, as well as anyone else, keep everything locked up in the vaults no one will know what is going on inside.
FYI, I am a good faker. Well, at least around my family. Outwardly, I am actually a jolly joker. I have a good sense of humor, so being funny isn't hard. I'll bet that they think that I am a happy guy. As I have said, we do get along. (When we are together. . . . I, on average, spend about 45 minutes with my family, but only about 5 minutes of it involves speaking.) We don't get along when they would step across "those lines", which would be them telling me about how much of a failure I am, and whatever garbage that they feel like spewing. But, they know that it is best not to talk about it. I am pretty good at releasing the evil within; I can be quite good at verbal abuse.
Evil thoughts? I'm not going in order here. . . . But I guess that I should explain this one in full. I currently have OCD. So just type in "evil thoughts" into your browser (Google or Bing) and visit some of the medical care sites that are at the top. I do hope that there is medication, I don't think that exposure therapy is going to work. Heck, I'll just watch some more Saw Traps if the doctor thinks that facing your addiction is going to work!!
Somebody is confused about "rolling". I can't blame you. As a kid of about ten. . . or was it eight??? years of age I, or rather my sick mind, developed a virtual world in which people with Down Syndrome were also "rolled". Only that it was even worse. (The "ret*ds" were tortured to death and eaten) Now, I said that I would never explain the action. But I watched some videos on the "holding therapy" and, if you want to know, "rolling" began as that but got way worse. I found a video on YouTube about the holding therapy, and so I have the link here:http://youtu.be/tNoIIwO3uIk. I relate to it in the verbal abuse only, however. It is a good example of "arguments at my house with my stupid (literally) parents."
I believe that many disturbed people were raised like me, so I think that the only real way to stop 99% of the problems is to stop the problems at home. But that, as one pointed out, is impossible if one doesn't know what is going on because the children's lips are locked up (don't blame them). And, in reality, what can one do. . . . especially with no conclusive evidence to go on? I left the matter to those who read this, perhaps you have an opportunity to ask a kid if everything is alright at home. Watch how they react. If you are suspicious, contact authorities. The least that they can do is to contact a child protection service. It's not much, but anything is better than nothing.
Age of adoption? Two-and-a-half. We don't know the parents, except for one face to face meet up. The orphanage did their best, but I was kept in a crib for quite some time, with only another special needs child in that room with me. I only spoke two words of Rusian, but I learned English very quickly.
So, what do I need? I guess needed to ventilate. As I have said, I have told no one and I have not had the chance to tell anyone. I was, and will be, and am embarrassed and I probably shouldn't have released this information.
This isn't an essay, obviously, as I am not being coherent. Oh, well.

The Clown

Exposure therapy is not appropriate for everyone. There is medication. There are also CBT therapies that do not involve exposure that can be helpful. Be aware that medication is highly individualized and that the guidelines for choosing a medication are pretty vague - it is pretty much a trial-and-error kind of thing.

For instance, I am on Buproprion and it helps me with the thoughts - but if you google "buproprion and ocd" you will find a (small) study where only a few patients improved while for others their symptoms were exacerbated. I do not respod to SSRI antidepressants well at all, though - those are usually first-line treatment for OCD.

Find a psychiatrist who is willing to listen to you and try something different if you don't feel better during the trial period (many of these drugs do take a while to take effect.)

Thanks for posting.

I am actually glad you posted, even if I don't really know what to do with it all, for the simple reason that doing so is a step in dealing with all the feelings you have described. With me, at least, you are and will remain totally anonymous; if I ever meet you, I will never make a connection. So, since you have to talk to SOMEONE, and in real life you've got the whole "fake it 'til you make it" thing going on, it may as well be us.

Which is why it does often seem like Wrong Planet is full of negative and despairing posts - lots of other people are doing the exact same.

I also started this post because I wanted parents to know what bad parenting may actually be like. And I want other people who have been through the same thing to know that what they have been through is not normal, and that they don't have to be alone in this. There are people who will at least not blame the problem on you but rather your tormentor. On YouTube, I was watching some more videos on the "Holding Therapy", and I scrolled down to read the comments. I expected to see the same "Man up, you're just a baby!" comments by all of the ignorant ones like I did in some suicide videos (I reported those comments, and luckily, other people bashed the haters.) that I have watched, but I instead saw just "I'm gonna beat that ----- up!", and "I can't believe that this is what people do!", and "That's child abuse!". It made me feel better to know that what I have been through as a child was extreme (but not the worst, I wasn't starved or beaten until I was bloody) and that other people are offended by this stuff, even though the "holding therapy" was just the initiating stage (as I said, it gets way worse). Although I'll never forget, and may not forgive (as my mom would never say sorry-she denies ever hurting me-she is such a liar) because of the verbal and emotional abuse that I still get, I know now that at least I've told someone. It really makes a difference. Keeping (and planning to never tell anyone) information, especially stuff so poisonous, isn't good for you. I learned that recently. Thanks for listening and also making the people in your life, well, have a good life.

The Clown