What is love?

I am using this sight as sort of a last resort. At this point in my life I'd pretty much give anything a try. I am a seventeen year old high school student. If you look at me from the outside you would never guess the thoughts and the pains I harbor. I look at the world with wonder filled eyes and find that connecting with other humans seems somewhat impossible. I guess I should give you a history of my life which will probably be filled with selfish rants and long narratives of the things I find most beautiful in this cynical world. I'm sorry for this lengthy tale and hope it doesn't discourage you from reading on. It's okay if it does. The earliest memories of my childhood are filled with shouting and arguments. My dad was a trucker (at the time). My mom was a user (of people). When I was born I already had eight siblings. None of which are of full blood relation. The reason I was born was to ensure that my mom had money. It was I that connected my parents together. My mom did anything to makes sure that she wasn't getting dragged back to her poverty stricken abusive life. What she didn't know was that she was pushing us children down that road. My dad would rip into my mom so hard that it makes me wonder how she never cried. I've never seen her cry in my entire life. We lived in a small trailer. Four kids sharing a six by six room. My siblings were suffering. At that young age I could tell something was wrong but never understood leaving myself in this awkward state of confusion. My sister Mary would hide under our bed when she got home from school crying, "grouchy daddies gonna get me". I would watch her for hours thinking her tear stained face was beautiful. This was love. I was sure. When I was five the fighting got so bad that my mom took us to live with the people she hated the most, her parents. Back then I didn't understand her feelings towards them. They were so different from any of the people I had ever met before. My grandma would hug me, I never had a hug before. We slept wherever we wanted. We'd sleep outside in the tepees we built out of logs or in the ply wood tree fort in the old willow. I stopped showering. Who needs hygiene when you're an Indian? That year I started school. My grandma paid for us to go to a Christian Academy. I didn't respect authority. I was and INDIAN for gosh sakes. No one associated with me. I was dirty, smelly, and weird. My siblings didn't seem to have any problems fitting in. I was left with my imagination and it was my best friend for the longest time. This was the year I learned about a guy named Jesus. I wished he was real. The years we lived at grandma’s house were chaotic. My mom worked like a dog trying to save money to escape. It was at Grandma's house that I met my favorite person in the world. My Aunt Georgina was Bipolar and in and out of the crazy house. She smoked 2 packs of cigarettes a day and drank like a sailor. I wasn't allowed to be with her alone but I snuck around a lot. She listened to rock music and danced like nobody was watching. She was perhaps the only person in my life who didn't compare me with any of my siblings. We'd sit for hours in the field picking dandelions and making jewelry out of them. She was convinced that my grandma was a killer. She'd say stuff like, "They're in that backyard. Dead bodies all over the place. You're the only one that believes me." I would go out on expeditions with my plastic shovel digging for the dead bodies. If I could find one everyone would know Aunt Georgina wasn't crazy. The one thing she told me that I will never forget, "Even in the light there is almost always a shadow." Finally my mom had saved up enough cash to leave my Grandma’s. We moved into a little two bedroom house. It was cramped and we didn’t have a working shower. It was at this time I had to start visiting my dad every weekend. He seemed so happy to see me. He seemed like he had straightened out a little. He always bought me presents and let me do whatever I wanted. I think he was trying to win me over so he could gain custody. That was the nicest my dad had ever treated me. I think this was the happiest time of my childhood. Things weren’t great but they were sure a heck of a lot better than they had been. One weekend I was at my dad's house my mom got married. They knew each other a week and I had never met the guy. New daddy was an alcoholic with a bad temper. With that I inherited three new siblings. I didn't like those kids. They had a bit of money and therefore were better than me and my ragtag family. Funny part is, it's been ten years and my mom is still with the guy. We moved to a completely different city. Our living conditions went up. I was forced to take a shower every other day. I started at a new school. It was evident that hand-me-down grandma dresses weren't the latest fashion. I was timid but fought when I was backed into a corner. This brought the major comparisons with my sister, Mary. It was clear that she was everybody's favorite, even my mom's. I went to my dad's house every weekend to escape from that life. But even there was changing. It wasn't the same fun loving environment it had been the year before. I think he finally realized that my mom was never going to come back to him. He began to drink; he began to leave me home alone. He got a new girlfriend. She was a bitch. She used my dad like my mother had. She had a drug problem. I also had new siblings (surprise surprise). I didn’t like this either. I wanted my old family. My stepmom began to compare me to her children, especially her daughter Chelsea. I didn’t like her. My dad began to fall harder in his alcohol. My safe haven had become a war zone. At the age of eight my dad’s alcohol problems became almost unbearable. He became very verbally abusive. Jacob (my stepmom's son) stopped coming to my dad’s house regularly because my stepmom got in two car accidents on the same day with me in the car. My mom was never informed of this. I became depressed. Jacob was my protector. He was the only child of my stepmom that I got along with. Their house became almost unlivable. It smells like animal pee and cigarettes. It was that summer I met Spencer and his group of ragtag neighborhood boys. I longed to be accepted. I did anything those boys wanted. When Chelsea wasn’t around I would steal cigarettes from my dad who was too drunk to notice. I would give them to Spencer who was thirteen at the time. We would smoke them in the woods. I thought I had truly made some friends when in all reality I was a toy for their amusement. One year passes and I continue to steal things for them. Spencer starts to hit me. He makes me kiss him telling me that I am his. I am nine. Bruised and broken; nobody seems to notice. The summer I turn ten was a monster. I am lured into the woods to be beaten and raped by fourteen year old Spencer. He slaps me and whispers in my ear, "You're such a slut. I knew you wanted this since the moment I met you." As I walk home dirty and disheveled my mind is blank. Who am I again? I puke. My father is in one of his drunken rampages. He doesn’t notice how shaken I am. He just yells. I don’t even listen anymore. I feel dirty. I feel sick. I go to the bathroom and puke again. I take a long shower. I still feel dirty. I don't leave my room anymore. Life goes on and I am in some sort of alternate dimension. I pretend to be alive but on the inside I am dead. I smile, I laugh, I pretend. None of these emotions are real. I cry myself to sleep at night. This goes on until I am in middle school. Aunt Georgina dies. And my fakeness gets worse. Nobody notices. I miss her. I lock myself in my room every night. My family calls me an outcast. I develop insomnia. I am not even human anymore. High school begins. I am scared. I am still so shy. I make no new friends. I attend my first Sr. High Camp (church camp). It is a crazy experience. People have the courage to share themselves with one another. I don’t get it. Nobody really talks to me there. I don’t really make an effort to talk with anyone either. My freshman year goes by fast. Nothing really happens. I stop getting all A’s. I begin to not care. I have no motivation. My mom still compares me to Mary. I am still isolated. Mary thinks I do drugs. Why else am I so messed up? I begin to see Mary is not as perfect as she seems. Joel (brother) is an alcoholic. Mary moves out. Everyone is changing. I spend one night at Mary’s apartment. We play texas hold em’. Everyone is wasted. People are doing Marijuana. Mary's twenty year old friend strokes my thigh. I lock myself in the closet, puke, and cry. I am thirteen. My sophomore year of high school goes by fast as well. I am starting to see my way of life isn’t going to work out in the way I plan. I live with Angel (sister). Angel sneaks out every night and drinks alcohol, smokes, and probably does drugs. I tell no one. Why do people waste their lives? Angel gets caught shoplifting. She is now on probation. Angel also gets caught smoking. She is barely in any trouble. She only gets grounded for a month. This will not teach her anything. It is summer. Angel has graduated. She has changed so much. She chops her hair off and gets strange piercings and tattoos. Mary buys kids alcohol. She has changed. I am still so isolated. We go to church camp. It is the same as the year before accept it seems it has been planned especially for me. “Building brides and knocking down walls” I cry every night. Is this man named God real? I decided to share a little testimony. I tell them about my dad’s alcoholism. It is so great. People accept me even though I am a freak. I don’t want to leave. I vow to change my life in the year that is to come. My junior year of high school I am a more confident person. I try to make friends. I cry less. My mom says she likes to make me angry. I don’t understand this statement? I wish my mom would act like a mother should. I try to talk to her. She doesn’t understand me. I am an outcast. She finds me one day having a panic attack. I am a freak. I am forced to go to counseling. I hate it. My mom tells my psychiatrist that she doesn’t think I can make it in the world. I tell my psychiatrist nothing and she continues to make her snide jokes about alcoholism. I go to four counseling sessions before I decide to start skipping them. As a punishment my mom takes my sleeping medicine away. I don't sleep anymore. At this point in my life I decide to try and tell people about my life. I tell two pretty good acquaintances (I would call them friends but I haven't ever really felt close to anyone). They try to understand by making connections to their own life. Sorry, being raped isn't really like breaking up with your boyfriend. I think I'm starting to love (whatever that is?) these two people despite their lack of understanding. They try and that is as much as I wanted. Sometimes, only sometimes, I feel like I can be myself around them. I have a crush on a boy, this is the first time this has happened to me. Despite Mary's assumptions about my sexuality, I am straight. I am scared of talking to boys but I decide to try and get closer to this one. one of my acquaintances decides to help. She ends up liking the boy. I like her so much that I tell her that she can ask him out. I can't date people let alone talk to them or even be touched by someone. It turned out that he was gay. Happens to the best of us I suppose. It seems bad to say but because of that fact I get a lot closer to him. When I'm around him I say my feelings even if I don't mean to say them. It's like word vomit. He wants to know about my past and I'm to afraid to tell him. It seems my acquaintances feel uncomfortable telling me their problems because mine are apparently so heavy. I feel bad. Their problems are important. I want to help them. I want to be trusted. I tell them that I love them. This is the first time I have told someone that. They say it back, I hope it was wholeheartedly. They think I'm weird because I can't be mad at anyone. I'm not even mad at Spencer. It seems the only emotion I ever feel anymore is sadness. This is where I'm at now. I have to go to college in the fall. I'm scared of leaving the only two people I have ever connected a little bit with behind. I want to be happy. But I would also like to know if there are any people in the world that know what I am going through and if I will ever feel like the rest of the world does. I don't know where to go from here. I don't want to open my heart if it means it will be crushed. And I don't know who to open it to. I wish my mom would understand me or take a moment to even listen to anything I have to say. Poo. I'm crying now. I didn't want that to happen. I know my problems aren't as great as some people's and I should probably be able to overcome this but I just can't find a way. I don't want to trouble anyone. I'm a mess now. I should end this post. Sorry for the novel long post.