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Discussion Starter #1 (Edited)
So, I'm not sure if this type of post has been made on this site before, this being my very second post here. Mostly, I want a place where I can tell my story from the safety of anonymity. Part biography, part confession, I suppose. Anyway, here I go.

To start off, I am an almost-24-year-old guy. Growing up, I was raised by my single, working- and college-attending mother, with a lot of help from my dad's parents. For longer than I can remember, my parents were always divorced. From my earliest memories, it seemed that my parents were always fighting. I remember lots of yelling, all the way until I was around 14. *personal interjection: I can already feel this will take me a while to write; it is difficult to bring all this up*

The only time I can actually remember them getting along for a significant length of time is when I was around 6 or so. I am half deaf, and I had an MRI scan done around then to try and figure that out. I remember that I needed to be sedated for it; I was moving around too much and they couldn't get a clear image. I don't know how long I was out for, but I remember slowly coming around in some kind of hospital bed/stretcher. My parents were sitting together, and I believe they might have been watching the tv, but they could have been talking as well. I remember that the old 90's X-Men cartoon was playing on the tv, an episode where they had to infiltrate a building where Sentinels were being produced, and Morph got left behind, thought to be dead. None of that is really important to mention, I suppose, but it cemented itself in my mind, and upon reflection in later years, made me realize how important that moment was to me, that I could remember such a small thing. This was the first time I had ever seen them together without fighting, and is one of my most treasured childhood memories.

I've heard people say that boys who are raised only by their mother are more in touch with their feelings. I can't say how accurate that is in general, but I feel it is an observation which does apply to me.

Due, I believe, to the degree to which my parents fought early in my life, it has been incredibly hard for me to open myself up to any sort of romantic relationships. Logically, I know that my parents were simply to young to have me, and to young to get married, and that is ultimately what caused them to fail, but I have a great fear of falling in love with someone to that degree, and then hurting that person, or getting hurt BY that person, like happened to my parents, or even worse, the potential to put a child of my own through that same thing. In 24 years, I have had a total of 3 girlfriends: one lasted one day (high school), one lasted one week (high school again), and one lasted for a couple of months as a long distance relationship. That culminated in me spending just under one grand to go see her and spend a week with her, only for her to dump me a week later. Since then, the summer of 2008, I have been single.

The other event which I believe helped shape me into the person I am today happened years later, when I was 14. That summer, my uncle was getting married. My family made the trip to attend the wedding, of course (my mother and father had both remarried by this point, and moved just about as far away from each other as they could get). On the night of the wedding, during the reception, I went inside, retreating from the party a bit (which I still sometimes do). I was sitting in my granddad's armchair, in the semi-darkness of the living room. My new aunt came in and saw me there. She asked a favor of me. She and my uncle had received a sum of money from reception gifts, $250. She hid it, and asked if I could make sure that if anyone found it, to tell her or my uncle. I don't know what made me do it, but a short while after she left, I went and stole the money for myself. Thinking I had just hit it big, I waited until I was with my grandmother to be transferred to my dad for summer vacation, and then I went to Wal-Mart and bought Lego's and a new Gameboy Advance SP.

As is the case most of the time with such things (at least, I hope most of the time), it wasn't long until I was discovered. A few weeks into my time with dad, I was confronted by him and my very angry mother on the phone. I learned that the pilfered money had been going to help with payment for a place to live for my uncle and new aunt.

The shame that I felt in that moment, the shame I still feel today, drove me to become a better person, one who more understands the impact that one's actions can have. There is this blemish on my soul, my conscience, whatever you want to call it, and I strive every day to rectify my misdeeds.

I am Worschach, I am damaged, and that is my story.
 

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Dear Worschach,

Welcome to the world of being an INFJ. I also find myself living in the past and going over past misdeeds/mistakes. The important thing is that you LEARNED from your mistake. That is a very big step that I wasn't able to take until I was about 28. Kudos to you. And welcome to PerC.

Sincerely,

AtlasShrugging-named after the greatest book ever written. And also in reference to Atlas, the greek god who was tasked with holding the world on his shoulders.
 
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