I'm here to reinforce that people (at least some) do, in fact, care. It's a horrible tragedy in the cases where friends/family don't care; if you respect us as friends, then don't assume us such monsters.
---
My traumatic life story comes from mostly self inflicted pain, with a touch of parental abuse and a dash of embarrassment/shaming/ostracization issues in grades 4-6. I've mostly gotten over it though; all that remains is some shadows of self doubt and loathing that crop up every once in a while.
The short version is that my religion, my parents, my brother, my schoolmates, and my teachers all thought I had some serious problem that needed fixing (mostly different problems, too!). And I bought into it. And I spent half my childhood trying to "fix" myself. In reality none of these "problems" were problems at all.
(ranked by how negatively it affected me, from worst to least bad):
Religion: Sex and sexuality is bad. (reality: not at all)
Parents: You're lazy. (reality: I have ADHD)
Brother: You're a crybaby and spoiled. (reality: I'm an emotional person, more stereotypically feminine than masculine)
Schoolmates: You're weird. (reality: I just had different interests than theirs)
Teacher: You're too talkative in class. (reality: if I'm an extrovert, it's only mildly. I was ostracized and humiliated by this teacher because she wanted to make an example of me)
All of the above: Stop being who you are and be more like who I want you to be.
I survived all this by knowing that I could improve myself. Someday, my problems could be fixed, I thought. I could be better, and then I'd be happy and accepted. So began the traumatic experience of trying to "fix" myself by conforming to other's expectations, failing, and then hating myself, rinse repeat. I survived though, and realized in time that all those things were bogus, and became reasonably happy with myself. What remained, though, was the ability to hate myself very effectively. I'm still very good at that.