KuriGohan&Kamehameha
想死不能 - 想活不能
- Nov 23, 2020
- 1,744
It is truly horrible knowing that you have to ctb, but keep lacking the courage to make that final leap due to fear of the unknown. I know without a doubt that my life cannot improve, lest we are living in a fantasy universe where the laws of nature and basic biology do not apply, and I can mythically rengernate stem cells, bend DNA to my will, and give my brain the plasticity and malleability of a sponge.
Unfortunately, we aren't living in a science fiction novel. Reality is never as exciting and rife with possibility. I have accepted my life is over, there are no answers, there are no gods nor men waiting to save me, there's no miracle cures, no doors waiting to be opened, no elusive help anticipating my presence so that they can wave a magic wand and turn my life around. This is it, and this is all there is.
People who have not been through what I have- because no human can ever truly experience life and all its various twists and turns in the exact same fashion as someone else, even if points across the time line exist that one can subjectively acknowledge as relatable to their own story- do not get it. Thus, the useless advice starts pouring in, from well intentioned onlookers who don't have the slightest clue as to what you're going through.
I believe that is why many suicidal people become isolated until the bitter end, if you can't hide your pain, people will be privy to this and make efforts to improve your mood, until it becomes too cumbersome from them.
Personally, I don't want to avoid people, but I have to, because if I told them what I really think and feel, they'd be put off by me. My very existence is the antithesis to life being fair, to hard work paying off, to authorities and establishments providing duty of care, and all the lies we have been sold about life being what you make of it. You can't make something if you never had any materials to begin with.
I feel like I've tried everything within my means. Begged for pain management again, only to be given the 20th antidepressant prescription. There are no more drugs I can try for my cognitive impairments, I've taken all those sugar pills too, and held out for weeks and months while I took the brunt of u pleasurable side effects and no results. I will probably have to take laxatives frequently for the rest of my life because my body is failing me and I cant digest food properly.
I was born with certain impairments that others simply cannot comprehend the permenance of. Growing up surrounded by abberant circumstances of child abuse, while struggling with a developmental disability has warped my mind and body, and these changes are not fixed with positive self affirmations, mindfulness workbooks, and cognitive reframing.
Most of the autism community believes the condition is a gift and a unique lease on life, and that you are a loser if you do not accept your talents. Here is my autism savant skill: aphantasia. I do not have a mind's eye. I can't conjure up imagery in my head, nor can I plan out thoughts and conversations. The ink you see me spilling across the virtual page right now is unconsciously summoned off the fly, I cannot consciously plan out what I am going to say.
This means that I am astonishingly lacking in creativity, especially when it comes to things like manipulating geometric shapes and 3D spaces. Do you know how disheartening it is for a child to practice drawing everyday and never improve because your mind is configured a certain way that goes against how a neurotypical brain performs? All I could ever do is trace over images. I struggle to play games where there is any sort of creativity, craftsmanship, or building skill required.
I was so dyspraxic that I could not tie my shoes until I was 16 years old. I still cannot catch a ball. Despite being forced into sports, I was the only child who never improved and was bullied so heavily due to my lack of coordination and awkwardness to the point where I felt dread every time I had to be around those horrible girls on my team. With time, some of this has improved but my gait is completely unlike any other person I've seen and my body language makes it apparent to everyone that I am a weird autistic girl.
Even being chastised and scorned in therapy did not beat my "retardation" as my family called it out of me. I will always be autistic, and I will never fit into society due to how the pairwise combination of autism and trauma has shaped my body and mind.
People are blind to this and act like you can just get over your past, when the you in the present moment has been shaped and molded by a lifetime of declarative and non-declarative memories that have pruned and refined the synaptic connections forming the neural networks within your CNS. Neurons that fire together wire together, after all.
I suffered a lot of abuse as a child which has been consistently downplayed or shrugged off by others as no big deal. When it is acknowledged, it is made the butt of jokes, for example, friends of mine have giggled that "they've never seen someone as traumatized as me, damn your life sucks!"
Being locked up during a crucial turning point in my development, the delicate period where you are maturing past childhood and leaping into the turbulent teenage years severely impaired my capability for socialising and emulating behavior, which is critical for learning how to function as an autistic child who'd only learned to speak by mimicking TV programs.
When I explain that the ages of 14-16 basically didn't exist for me because I was exclusively locked indoors with an abusive family who screamed, quaralled, attempted suicide in front of me, degraded me, threw chairs at me, busted glass everywhere, left me to fend for myself, and told me I was going to burn in hell, it almost sounds like I'm laying out the plot of a failed B movie. Others don't want to believe it.
Nor do they want to believe all of the sexual abuse that's been scattered across my lifespan, perpetrated by "nice guys" respectable characters and authority figures. I constantly doubt my own intuition despite the aftereffects being viscerally real and detrimental to my continued existence. Though my memories are hazy, I know that it was not normal for a 5 year old to act out sexually and masturbate, nor was it normal to have to be dragged out kicking, screaming and crying to be around doctors because there was a disturbing sense of violation and shame triggered in those environments that I was not old enough to articulate.
That crushing feeling of dirtiness only sunk deeper into my being when my classmate started molesting me. No one will ever understand how tainted I am, and how my reactions of fear and arousal are completely involuntary and can't be fixed by CBT bullshit which was in no way designed to address the changes in brain morphology - especially in the hippocampus and amygalda- orchestrated in complex ptsd.
I already know that is a lost cause. My partner had told me many times that with enough positive exposure, it will improve, but I know from lived experience that exposure only heightens my fear and does nothing to alleviate it. No one listens to me. They truly think I can change the fundamental architecture of my brain with the same trite techniques I've attempted numerous times with little to show from it.
Then I get told that I am allowing my trauma to. Impede me from getting help for my physical illnesses. No medical authority understands CFS and there are no treatments for it, there's only so many times I can get myself turned into a pincushion repeating the same blood tests to satiate the distrust of people who don't believe in invisible illnesses anyways. When I asked again for pain relief, I was denied anything but antidepressants again, when I've been insistent that they don't help anything and cause horrific side effects that worsen my neurological issues and my CFS by turning me into a hyperlethargic zombie.
I'm over it. There are no cures. I have no family, no friends, and ever since I got a viral infection recently my CFS has hit a fever pitch and it's nearly impossible for me to focus or concentrate because my brainfog amped up and my vision is damaged to a higher degree where I can no longer focus on any object for more than 2-3 seconds at a time. I'm tired of being sold snake oils, homeopathy, platitudes, and spiritualistic nonsense that won't ease an ounce of this misery.
When I busted my ass to get a scientific paper published recently, that I worked very hard on, there was no one to congratulate me. There will be no mourners when my body turns to ashes, no one to grieve. I have never been well liked, successful, or the portrait of an attractive woman. I have the face of a 12 year old ghoul and my body is atrophying from the amount of time I am forced to spend in bed from being ill.
Knowing there are no answers, no life preservers being cast into the sea I'm drowning in, why am I forced to live? I can't comprehend why I am destined to die alone in my room, with a less than ideal method, when it is crystal clear that my situation is only going to deteriorate with time. Being barred from euthanasia due to my age is like having spit in my face. Not every 22 year old is capable of reaching a functional baseline.
I am too exhausted to do anything I would enjoy. Companionship and participating in activities where I am included is the only thing that makes me happy and I physically am incapable of it now because the malaise makes it not only difficult for me to be active, but to speak, think, play, and engage with the things that make life worthwhile. Of course the gaslighters will claim I have a mental illness that I'm not trying to work on, to discredit the fact that there's an immunological pathology attacking my body.
Unfortunately, we aren't living in a science fiction novel. Reality is never as exciting and rife with possibility. I have accepted my life is over, there are no answers, there are no gods nor men waiting to save me, there's no miracle cures, no doors waiting to be opened, no elusive help anticipating my presence so that they can wave a magic wand and turn my life around. This is it, and this is all there is.
People who have not been through what I have- because no human can ever truly experience life and all its various twists and turns in the exact same fashion as someone else, even if points across the time line exist that one can subjectively acknowledge as relatable to their own story- do not get it. Thus, the useless advice starts pouring in, from well intentioned onlookers who don't have the slightest clue as to what you're going through.
I believe that is why many suicidal people become isolated until the bitter end, if you can't hide your pain, people will be privy to this and make efforts to improve your mood, until it becomes too cumbersome from them.
Personally, I don't want to avoid people, but I have to, because if I told them what I really think and feel, they'd be put off by me. My very existence is the antithesis to life being fair, to hard work paying off, to authorities and establishments providing duty of care, and all the lies we have been sold about life being what you make of it. You can't make something if you never had any materials to begin with.
I feel like I've tried everything within my means. Begged for pain management again, only to be given the 20th antidepressant prescription. There are no more drugs I can try for my cognitive impairments, I've taken all those sugar pills too, and held out for weeks and months while I took the brunt of u pleasurable side effects and no results. I will probably have to take laxatives frequently for the rest of my life because my body is failing me and I cant digest food properly.
I was born with certain impairments that others simply cannot comprehend the permenance of. Growing up surrounded by abberant circumstances of child abuse, while struggling with a developmental disability has warped my mind and body, and these changes are not fixed with positive self affirmations, mindfulness workbooks, and cognitive reframing.
Most of the autism community believes the condition is a gift and a unique lease on life, and that you are a loser if you do not accept your talents. Here is my autism savant skill: aphantasia. I do not have a mind's eye. I can't conjure up imagery in my head, nor can I plan out thoughts and conversations. The ink you see me spilling across the virtual page right now is unconsciously summoned off the fly, I cannot consciously plan out what I am going to say.
This means that I am astonishingly lacking in creativity, especially when it comes to things like manipulating geometric shapes and 3D spaces. Do you know how disheartening it is for a child to practice drawing everyday and never improve because your mind is configured a certain way that goes against how a neurotypical brain performs? All I could ever do is trace over images. I struggle to play games where there is any sort of creativity, craftsmanship, or building skill required.
I was so dyspraxic that I could not tie my shoes until I was 16 years old. I still cannot catch a ball. Despite being forced into sports, I was the only child who never improved and was bullied so heavily due to my lack of coordination and awkwardness to the point where I felt dread every time I had to be around those horrible girls on my team. With time, some of this has improved but my gait is completely unlike any other person I've seen and my body language makes it apparent to everyone that I am a weird autistic girl.
Even being chastised and scorned in therapy did not beat my "retardation" as my family called it out of me. I will always be autistic, and I will never fit into society due to how the pairwise combination of autism and trauma has shaped my body and mind.
People are blind to this and act like you can just get over your past, when the you in the present moment has been shaped and molded by a lifetime of declarative and non-declarative memories that have pruned and refined the synaptic connections forming the neural networks within your CNS. Neurons that fire together wire together, after all.
I suffered a lot of abuse as a child which has been consistently downplayed or shrugged off by others as no big deal. When it is acknowledged, it is made the butt of jokes, for example, friends of mine have giggled that "they've never seen someone as traumatized as me, damn your life sucks!"
Being locked up during a crucial turning point in my development, the delicate period where you are maturing past childhood and leaping into the turbulent teenage years severely impaired my capability for socialising and emulating behavior, which is critical for learning how to function as an autistic child who'd only learned to speak by mimicking TV programs.
When I explain that the ages of 14-16 basically didn't exist for me because I was exclusively locked indoors with an abusive family who screamed, quaralled, attempted suicide in front of me, degraded me, threw chairs at me, busted glass everywhere, left me to fend for myself, and told me I was going to burn in hell, it almost sounds like I'm laying out the plot of a failed B movie. Others don't want to believe it.
Nor do they want to believe all of the sexual abuse that's been scattered across my lifespan, perpetrated by "nice guys" respectable characters and authority figures. I constantly doubt my own intuition despite the aftereffects being viscerally real and detrimental to my continued existence. Though my memories are hazy, I know that it was not normal for a 5 year old to act out sexually and masturbate, nor was it normal to have to be dragged out kicking, screaming and crying to be around doctors because there was a disturbing sense of violation and shame triggered in those environments that I was not old enough to articulate.
That crushing feeling of dirtiness only sunk deeper into my being when my classmate started molesting me. No one will ever understand how tainted I am, and how my reactions of fear and arousal are completely involuntary and can't be fixed by CBT bullshit which was in no way designed to address the changes in brain morphology - especially in the hippocampus and amygalda- orchestrated in complex ptsd.
I already know that is a lost cause. My partner had told me many times that with enough positive exposure, it will improve, but I know from lived experience that exposure only heightens my fear and does nothing to alleviate it. No one listens to me. They truly think I can change the fundamental architecture of my brain with the same trite techniques I've attempted numerous times with little to show from it.
Then I get told that I am allowing my trauma to. Impede me from getting help for my physical illnesses. No medical authority understands CFS and there are no treatments for it, there's only so many times I can get myself turned into a pincushion repeating the same blood tests to satiate the distrust of people who don't believe in invisible illnesses anyways. When I asked again for pain relief, I was denied anything but antidepressants again, when I've been insistent that they don't help anything and cause horrific side effects that worsen my neurological issues and my CFS by turning me into a hyperlethargic zombie.
I'm over it. There are no cures. I have no family, no friends, and ever since I got a viral infection recently my CFS has hit a fever pitch and it's nearly impossible for me to focus or concentrate because my brainfog amped up and my vision is damaged to a higher degree where I can no longer focus on any object for more than 2-3 seconds at a time. I'm tired of being sold snake oils, homeopathy, platitudes, and spiritualistic nonsense that won't ease an ounce of this misery.
When I busted my ass to get a scientific paper published recently, that I worked very hard on, there was no one to congratulate me. There will be no mourners when my body turns to ashes, no one to grieve. I have never been well liked, successful, or the portrait of an attractive woman. I have the face of a 12 year old ghoul and my body is atrophying from the amount of time I am forced to spend in bed from being ill.
Knowing there are no answers, no life preservers being cast into the sea I'm drowning in, why am I forced to live? I can't comprehend why I am destined to die alone in my room, with a less than ideal method, when it is crystal clear that my situation is only going to deteriorate with time. Being barred from euthanasia due to my age is like having spit in my face. Not every 22 year old is capable of reaching a functional baseline.
I am too exhausted to do anything I would enjoy. Companionship and participating in activities where I am included is the only thing that makes me happy and I physically am incapable of it now because the malaise makes it not only difficult for me to be active, but to speak, think, play, and engage with the things that make life worthwhile. Of course the gaslighters will claim I have a mental illness that I'm not trying to work on, to discredit the fact that there's an immunological pathology attacking my body.
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