marlow
'boy pollyanna'
- Aug 13, 2024
- 3
i feel like it was only a matter of time until i ended up on this website. better informed than not, i guess.
it's a bit strange here. the ghost accounts of people who've committed make mortality feel a lot more in your face, it feels realer than my escapist fantasy of existing one moment and not the next with no regard for the consequences for every person i wholeheartedly love (and many more i don't.) some part of me wants to cave into the whole savior complex i developed trying to be an unlicensed child therapist, but really, i don't think there's anything i can say to help pretty much anyone here. hell, i know if someone tried to support me it'd fall flat, had it not been for my disabilities my life would actually be a very lucky one to have. i've been diagnosed with four now, autism, adhd, ptsd, and major depressive disorder. it doesn't help that i am considering a screening for dpd as i have been sort of turned into a puppet in my household i can't hold a job long enough to escape. my parents have always ingrained it into me that suicide is selfish, and almost everyone i have ever met would inform someone about my weird casual-ish suicidality. my family sent me into an episode (flashback? hard to tell, the ptsd is a new diagnosis) and then when i had to be hospitalized they made me pay for the entire stay. if my chance at leaving was hopeless before, it's cemented now. i don't get out of bed, i don't even eat. i'm 80 pounds and though i'm pretty short, that's apparently in the 0 percentile. i feel like if i don't kill myself at some point my body will land the coup de grâce for me. i don't know how comfortable with that i am.
i want to have a discussion about this in a place where suicide is normalized in whatever messed up way. my whole life it's been 'don't, don't, don't!' but none of the answers i've been given ever stuck aside from 'i think i should stay alive so my parents don't have to bury me because they still care regardless of how badly they fucked me up.' they're treating me like i think like them, so they've had no problem guilting me to all hell about my crisis and then expecting that to make me something resembling a living thing again. the point is, i've never had a solid answer to 'is suicide really that bad?' because it seems this world wants me to live, but only as a servant. the strongest argument i've had to stay alive is that i exist to please others, and that is the exact sentiment that drove me to suicidality to begin with. the 'permenant solution to a temporary problem' argument falls flat because i am going to suffer from the trauma of the abuse(?) i have suffered through my entire life, and i am in a place that actively knocks me down from making progress because my dysregulated nervous system never gets to rest. for as long as my parents are close by, i'm not at peace. god, i don't even remember a single moment i wasn't stressed out about something even if it's just a subconscious worry, so 'the light at the tunnel' is visible but practically unreachable. i am their lazy unwilling daughter to them—no self discipline, but to myself i am defective and a corpse of a son on life support they hope to reanimate. it's like i can hear them beg me to wake up, but i can't open my eyes. all i can do is listen.
i want to make it easy for them, make it quick. they didn't mean to do this to me. they held me to standards impossible for someone like me because they couldn't for the life of them figure out how i thought, and i feel 20 or so years of grief for a 'girl' that hasn't existed in almost seven years is less painful for them than watching me whittle away with confusion why i won't just get up while i suck up their resources or kill myself any later. i'm not good at making decisions, though. they were right about one thing, to die is permenant. i want to think about this for a very, very long time. i was hospitalized on impulse, but i like to believe some of me is clever. if i have time to truly weigh this in my mind, it'll be practically unstoppable. i mean, unless someone traces me. honestly, i'm not being careful because as of now i feel like i don't care what happens to me. the hospital sent me back here with a diagnosis of ptsd that this place caused and an uber, what the hell are they going to do, keep me safe for another three weeks and throw me back to the pits with another mountain of debt ensuring i'd never get out of here? i was so stupid to think this place was even capable of livability for even just a month.
this turned into a lot of venting, geez. i'm not actually sure how to tag this. it's very much a vent, but i also seriously want to have a conversation about suicide in my situation. i'm awfully young and i know if i just ate and slept and cared for myself better i might feel a bit more alive, but i always end up in this slump. there have been times i'd just lie in my bed knowing i am starving and not moving much more than an inch because i felt like i really just couldn't. i can't form habits, i do things on impulse. i'm getting lost in that again. i just want to know your takes on suicide. i want to know what you'd think about the ethics of this. is it really a betrayal if i never agreed to be born and have all of those expectations put on me in the first place? do i just have to be the bigger person for the billionth time because their lives might depend on it too? if i do kill myself, i'm going to mourn all the art i could have made in my final moments - but could i really have made it untreated, so fundamentally broken? i feel like i am living in luxury leeching off of my parents, but that just makes me feel this is necessary even more. living as a burden is agonizing, but dying as a burden is confusing to me because i can't tell if it's worse or better for everyone. i feel like that's all i care about now, how everyone else feels.
i feel like i could live if that wasn't the case, maybe. god, this sucks. i have a start that not a lot of people get materially, but i guess i just lost the genetic lottery or something, because i have all these resources i can use and no intenal structure to work with to use them. i am lucky to be as safe and cared for as i am, but i swear, sometimes it's hard to understand how my parents could want me to live so badly yet endlessly fuel my drive to die. they already expect me to get a job and reenter 'the real world,' but i feel the worst i've felt since hospitalization. they have no idea what i'm going through and i've tried to spoonfeed it to them so many times, but they're the same people who thought my doctors and counsellors were just enablers, so it's safe to say i'm kind of hitting a brick wall here. i really wish i could just get myself out of this mess, but unfortunately i am still kind of the property of my family because they keep me alive and housed. anything i want to do has to get by them first, and obtaining freedom from that feels virtually impossible. i have always daydreamed of just up and dying one day, but i've never had the guts to actually go through with it. i feel like if i could somehow make it easier for my loved ones and the people who rely on me existing, i wouldn't feel so afraid. i could finally pull the trigger. until then, i'm tethered to this world by the same guilt that has come to define my life.
tl;dr: sob story of a transmasc with mommy issues and learning diabilities wanting to have a conversation about suicide that doesn't end with the same 3 flimsy arguments against it (that seems to be your guys' thing. also if i tagged this wrong lmk and i'll fix it)
it's a bit strange here. the ghost accounts of people who've committed make mortality feel a lot more in your face, it feels realer than my escapist fantasy of existing one moment and not the next with no regard for the consequences for every person i wholeheartedly love (and many more i don't.) some part of me wants to cave into the whole savior complex i developed trying to be an unlicensed child therapist, but really, i don't think there's anything i can say to help pretty much anyone here. hell, i know if someone tried to support me it'd fall flat, had it not been for my disabilities my life would actually be a very lucky one to have. i've been diagnosed with four now, autism, adhd, ptsd, and major depressive disorder. it doesn't help that i am considering a screening for dpd as i have been sort of turned into a puppet in my household i can't hold a job long enough to escape. my parents have always ingrained it into me that suicide is selfish, and almost everyone i have ever met would inform someone about my weird casual-ish suicidality. my family sent me into an episode (flashback? hard to tell, the ptsd is a new diagnosis) and then when i had to be hospitalized they made me pay for the entire stay. if my chance at leaving was hopeless before, it's cemented now. i don't get out of bed, i don't even eat. i'm 80 pounds and though i'm pretty short, that's apparently in the 0 percentile. i feel like if i don't kill myself at some point my body will land the coup de grâce for me. i don't know how comfortable with that i am.
i want to have a discussion about this in a place where suicide is normalized in whatever messed up way. my whole life it's been 'don't, don't, don't!' but none of the answers i've been given ever stuck aside from 'i think i should stay alive so my parents don't have to bury me because they still care regardless of how badly they fucked me up.' they're treating me like i think like them, so they've had no problem guilting me to all hell about my crisis and then expecting that to make me something resembling a living thing again. the point is, i've never had a solid answer to 'is suicide really that bad?' because it seems this world wants me to live, but only as a servant. the strongest argument i've had to stay alive is that i exist to please others, and that is the exact sentiment that drove me to suicidality to begin with. the 'permenant solution to a temporary problem' argument falls flat because i am going to suffer from the trauma of the abuse(?) i have suffered through my entire life, and i am in a place that actively knocks me down from making progress because my dysregulated nervous system never gets to rest. for as long as my parents are close by, i'm not at peace. god, i don't even remember a single moment i wasn't stressed out about something even if it's just a subconscious worry, so 'the light at the tunnel' is visible but practically unreachable. i am their lazy unwilling daughter to them—no self discipline, but to myself i am defective and a corpse of a son on life support they hope to reanimate. it's like i can hear them beg me to wake up, but i can't open my eyes. all i can do is listen.
i want to make it easy for them, make it quick. they didn't mean to do this to me. they held me to standards impossible for someone like me because they couldn't for the life of them figure out how i thought, and i feel 20 or so years of grief for a 'girl' that hasn't existed in almost seven years is less painful for them than watching me whittle away with confusion why i won't just get up while i suck up their resources or kill myself any later. i'm not good at making decisions, though. they were right about one thing, to die is permenant. i want to think about this for a very, very long time. i was hospitalized on impulse, but i like to believe some of me is clever. if i have time to truly weigh this in my mind, it'll be practically unstoppable. i mean, unless someone traces me. honestly, i'm not being careful because as of now i feel like i don't care what happens to me. the hospital sent me back here with a diagnosis of ptsd that this place caused and an uber, what the hell are they going to do, keep me safe for another three weeks and throw me back to the pits with another mountain of debt ensuring i'd never get out of here? i was so stupid to think this place was even capable of livability for even just a month.
this turned into a lot of venting, geez. i'm not actually sure how to tag this. it's very much a vent, but i also seriously want to have a conversation about suicide in my situation. i'm awfully young and i know if i just ate and slept and cared for myself better i might feel a bit more alive, but i always end up in this slump. there have been times i'd just lie in my bed knowing i am starving and not moving much more than an inch because i felt like i really just couldn't. i can't form habits, i do things on impulse. i'm getting lost in that again. i just want to know your takes on suicide. i want to know what you'd think about the ethics of this. is it really a betrayal if i never agreed to be born and have all of those expectations put on me in the first place? do i just have to be the bigger person for the billionth time because their lives might depend on it too? if i do kill myself, i'm going to mourn all the art i could have made in my final moments - but could i really have made it untreated, so fundamentally broken? i feel like i am living in luxury leeching off of my parents, but that just makes me feel this is necessary even more. living as a burden is agonizing, but dying as a burden is confusing to me because i can't tell if it's worse or better for everyone. i feel like that's all i care about now, how everyone else feels.
i feel like i could live if that wasn't the case, maybe. god, this sucks. i have a start that not a lot of people get materially, but i guess i just lost the genetic lottery or something, because i have all these resources i can use and no intenal structure to work with to use them. i am lucky to be as safe and cared for as i am, but i swear, sometimes it's hard to understand how my parents could want me to live so badly yet endlessly fuel my drive to die. they already expect me to get a job and reenter 'the real world,' but i feel the worst i've felt since hospitalization. they have no idea what i'm going through and i've tried to spoonfeed it to them so many times, but they're the same people who thought my doctors and counsellors were just enablers, so it's safe to say i'm kind of hitting a brick wall here. i really wish i could just get myself out of this mess, but unfortunately i am still kind of the property of my family because they keep me alive and housed. anything i want to do has to get by them first, and obtaining freedom from that feels virtually impossible. i have always daydreamed of just up and dying one day, but i've never had the guts to actually go through with it. i feel like if i could somehow make it easier for my loved ones and the people who rely on me existing, i wouldn't feel so afraid. i could finally pull the trigger. until then, i'm tethered to this world by the same guilt that has come to define my life.
tl;dr: sob story of a transmasc with mommy issues and learning diabilities wanting to have a conversation about suicide that doesn't end with the same 3 flimsy arguments against it (that seems to be your guys' thing. also if i tagged this wrong lmk and i'll fix it)
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