hmm, when I was in fourth grade I got to the point of holding knives on my skin, trying to will the strength to cut--I was deathly afraid of needles, but wanted to die. I had guns downstairs and only refused to use them because they were my father's, and I wanted out but was afraid to leave him with that sort of baggage, and take about the only thing he seemed to enjoy in life (hunting) from him. I went through the medicine cabinets, hoping some label would have enough information to let me know how to OD and NOt get sent to a hospital for a stomach-pumping.
I was fucked up. My parents pretty much loathed each other, and all my formative tidbits on how to have a relationship I took from them were to do a full 180 in almost every shape and shade of how one treats a spouse. I cried myself to sleep until I couldn't cry any more, and I walked around numb and vacant instead.
shhhhh, here's the paydirt--big fucking deal. Everyone has their cross--my home life sucked for awhile, I got over it. Wasn't easy, fun, or even something I was entirely in control of, but it happened. I had a friend who's dad committed suicide when I was in high school, and another who's dad was killed in an owi. I knew girls who were sexually abused, and boys who weere beaten. EVERYONE has a cross or six; what matters is HOW YOU HANDLE THEM. In your case, I'm sorry you had it tough, but you seem to want to use the cross as a crutch.
You wanted help, and folks here WANTED to give it to you--on that mark alone, you are well ahead of the game out in the real world. Stop the pollyanna routine if you don't like what you hear, as someone else mentioned you don't have to agree, disagree, or anything else, but you owe the folks here, and guess what--you owe yourself as well, if you're serious about writing and not just looking for a place to have a self-indulgent tantrum--the simple courtesy of being relatively polite, even if their answers do not juve with what you were hoping to hear.
At this point I have no idea what your book is like, but I am 99% certain your biggest enemy is your lack of self-control--say your book gets an agent but they come back and say "on page 45, I do not understand why Chucky the woodchuck masturbates into a straw hat", are you gonna go this postal on them? Guess what, back into the pool you go, minus your agent--they don't need that shit either. For now, forget the writing, I'm saying you are never going to be able to succeed until you get some modicum of control over yourself. And honestly, if you have that little self-control in personal interactions, it leaves me with serious doubts about how you propose to be able to write in the first place, as writing is as much discipliine as it is art, if not more.
Good luck, I really was trying to help you. so was everyone else. The fact you still cannot see that makes me wonder how you'd expect to be able to communicate with others via novel.
