In my youth I was extremely needy and obsessed. I would become violently obsessed with people. I misinterpreted that as love and romanticized it. I was extremely sexual and had no idea what to do with it, what that could do to me or how to handle it. Secretly, I wanted someone to love me in that obsessed way too. I'm a pathological liar. I lie on instinct. Sometimes to entertain people, sometimes for my own benefit. I think the volatile temper of my father and his disgusting attitude towards women (and my mother) has given me Borderline Personality Disorder, which I suspect, never fully went awayAfter my suicide attempt at 14 I was hospitalized briefly, in a mental institution, and was given subsidized psychological care. I think it was wasted on me. To this day, I distrust psychologists. One guy I was violently obsessed with, I have caused some emotional damage too. He tried to play me, but I took in a step further. I regret it hurting him. Sometimes I think about it, I wish I could apologize. It still haunts me.When I was about to finish hs I was so desperate to leave home and my volatile father, I became obsessed with making money whichever way I could. Circling back to my being sexual, I though I could make money off of it.So I went to a strip club. Although technically a stripper, i was never a performer. I just talked to tourists, entertained them with games, and jerked them off in a little private room in the back. I wore almost no make up. Big sad doe eyes, slim, small tits. I'm 19yo. F 19yo. How f up is that. I went to a stripper club, cause I thought that's my only way to make a decent income. I had basic IT skills. I spoke 4 languages. Seriously. How deep was my self loathing that I thought prostitution was the way. I wish I could go back in time, and give myself a hug and tell myself not to, that I am, in fact, better than that. That it will get better.Sometimes when I think about that time I fill up with bitter anger towards my parents. Specially my dad. For never allowing me any self respect, let alone self-love, or teaching useful life-skills, isolating me instead.I am naturally hyper sexual, but those few days at the strip club were so disgusting I quit after 3 days. I hate and every man I encountered there. I don't remember them, they merged into one sweaty meaty lump of social retardation and moral grossness. I don't remember their names or faces, but I hate them. Specially the old regular ones. Funny how I never got "daddy issues", despite what one might expect. But more than the men, I hated the manager. A woman. She was the younger sister of the owner. The way she treated us girls still makes me wanna go back in time and just punch her.During that time I still would meet with my psychologist, the one assigned to me after my suicide attempt. It felt formal and forced. She didn't care, and I could feel she wasn't as sexual as me, didn't understand my urges, my desires, my wanting to get away from my parents, who, to her, appeared like "proper" / "traditional", but never "abusive". She was probably younger than I am now, overweight and very non-glamorous. The sort of woman who never felt that strong, overpowering need to feel desirable which government my life since my mid-teens. And hey, more power to her. There's nothing wrong with that, but she could never relate to me. I told her about my stripping experience. She seemed so shocked. Had no idea how to deal with it. I didn't need a shrink. I needed a self-defense class, or a martial arts class. 5 years later I will sign up for one. Best decision I ever made. I needed to learn how to set boundaries, and guard them. Emotionally and physically.Around the same time I started seeing a guy I would later marry. I loved him. He was a smart, decent person.He loved me. He was different. Never violent, never dangerous, and to me that was precious. To this day, I'm a sucker for kind, warm, good-natured guys.... But he annoyed me so bad, I myself wanted to get violent. His aging uncle moved in with us. Lovely man. I remember all that, uncle and husband not getting along, fighting all the time. I have to take care of both. Husband nagging me about everything. I start waking up in cold sweat thinking about how my husband wants a child with me. At this point I have to look after him, his increasingly mental uncle and myself, while I also work 10-12h a day. I'm exhausted. I can't believe he wants a child. Husband started smoking a lot of pot. A lot. Don't know what kind of pot, but it made him impotent. We stopped having sex, no matter what I tired, and my god I tried. And I still looked as I did when we met. I'm the sort of person who loves to be stroked and massaged, my body and skin are super sensitive. He stopped eating me out, stopped hold me tightly, no more back hugs, no more kisses. Sometimes he'd give me a small half-arsed hug that annoyed me and felt uncomfortable. Suddenly I realize I don't have any physical reaction to him anymore. He's a gorgeous man, but to me he stopped being sexual. That will never change, sadly.That when I develop a crush on another guy. I never consummate my attraction, but I burn up every night, moist with fantasies, with my BPD kicking back in. I barely know this other guy, but I'm obsessed with him. I understand it's just loneliness amplifying my longing. I hate myself for being like that. My crush moves away. I'm going through a bout of depression. I get close to another man and have passionate sex for the first time in god knows how long. The experience is so powerful, I cum like crazy.That first time is so good, I go back to this man. Again and again. Honestly, it's never quite as good as that first time... None the less, it's better than nothing, and soon I find myself in love with him. He loves me too, or so he says.Which is terrible, because the man is an asshole, and I know it. He's warm, but he's not decent. Then again, I suppose myself am not decent. I'm an adulteress. A horrible person.The next 6 years will be devoted to getting over it, coming to terms with who I am, what I did, and what I should do. Then, finally, getting a much overdue divorce. I still lie all the time. Either lie, or exaggerate the truth. I don't think I will ever get rid of that. But I don't live a fake life anymore. I tell lies, but I don't live them.Both me and my now-ex-husband moved on. I have met him and his new wife, he seems different, so much more competent. I am extremely happy I left, so he could meet someone who'd inspire him to truly be present and active. I started talking to my parents again. They will never know everything I did or do. But there's some form of communication. If you think about having an affair - don't. It splits you into two, and corrupts you in a way that makes it easy to repeat this behavior. I am so happy it's over.