CynicalHopelessness
Messenger of Silence
- Jan 9, 2020
- 940
Background
I've been depressed at least since 13 (I'm 25 now), and had my first suicidal thoughts at around 14. My father just ran away around time I reached 1 year never to be heard again, so I have zero memories of him.
I've been into escapism for too long as well. Computer games at home, reading (mostly fantasy books) on my phone at school. As far as friends go, I'd usually find one person to sit together and chat during school time, and then, once I left that school, we never talked again. Pretty much same thing happened in another school, and then in the university. I'd never fit with any larger community. Most of the topics teens would talk about weren't interesting to me in the slightest.
I hated school though. Every day was the same grind until it was over. Doing some arbitrary crap until it's over and you are loaded with homework. Once I was scolded by a teacher for doing homework during a break to have more free time home, so I stopped and I've learned to lie and cheat instead - copy somebody's last moment if it's critical, or just say "I forgot my notebook". There has always been a fear of repercussion, but somehow I managed to get through it pretty much all the time. And it was better than spending ton of time at home for nothing.
That grind though... It felt pointless and boring, but my mother's argument has always been "it's your job, do it", or "you can change schools" as if it would actually mean anything different.
She'd also constantly pressure me into getting good grades. In most heated arguments, when she would be most frustrated with me, she'd threaten to leave the house, abandoning me alone. It'd go as far as her putting on a coat and standing in the doorframe, demanding my apology for the "last time". Happened too many times to remember, but these are some of most vivid memories of my childhood.
While I was still living with her, at least three times I can remember when I was feeling suicidal and had nobody to turn to, so I told her. The responses have been somewhat along the lines of "how dare you even say that", "only weak people commit suicide" or "you have so much, you can't be unhappy".
Present
Now, let's fast forward to about month ago. I've been renting a small flat and visit my mother once every week or two. I'm still unhappy with a job - it probably makes me less unhappy over time, but there's already a huge depressive pile accumulated from the past anyway.
When she'd ask me how I was doing, I'd occasionally drop a small "suicide bomb", like casually mention stores in Mexico supposedly selling a certain euthanasia substance over the counter. It was a bit fun reflecting on how she'd seemingly completely not question, why would I even know such things.
She'd also pretty much never got a hobby that requires an effort. I've gifted her some things related to things she said she used to enjoy before, such as painting, but these remained pretty much unused. Most of her free time is spent watching TV shows.
Anyway, around the end of the year I've finalized my own checking out policy and decided to tell her I'll be doing it. The reaction I got was something along the lines of:
First time, I was so stupefied by that response, I only reminded her of that past she seems to have forgotten, and said that it is probably the only way I have left to me. (I've tried therapy and lifestyle changes several times during the years I've been living on my own, and she knows it)
I brought it up again at my next visit after new year and said that 2020 will be the last year I intend to live fully. I got pretty much the same response, including fortune tellers. I retaliated by saying it's a shame if her best idea of doing something is throwing money at charlatans, and that she doesn't actually love _me_, as she wants me to continue an insufferable existence for her own comfort, ignoring what my own thoughts on the matter are. The topic was closed abruptly.
I expect her to remain in denial until the news of my death come crashing hard into her face. I don't hate my mother, but I really do believe that she only loves the idea of having a child as a way to give her life meaning, not the child himself. I don't want her to experience unhappiness, but came to a conclusion she only had me to avoid facing her own existential problems. If I am to die before her, that debt would have to be paid.
Still, I don't have any more capacity to continue struggling with my problems, and I partially hold her responsible for that crap, for both having a child in the first place, and ignoring the issues I've tried to get her attention to as a teenager on several occasions.
