Girl what the FUCK am I supposed to do with all this grief and trauma? Even my therapist can't say shit of substance when I tell her the bullshit I've survived. Absolutely wild how you can be raised to be an abject failure of a human being by every metric (except humor, which I excel in) and then just let loose on the world and left to your own devices.
I feel like a failed lab experiment, and my parents were trying to see just how funny it would be to traumatize their child and leave them ill prepared for life as a person with self-worth and self-respect and self-love, systematically destroying every concept of those within me and ensuring I had to live under their rule and control forever, because fuck me in particular, that's why. It just fucking sucks that my siblings are like "our childhood was okay, pretty normal" and I feel like a shell and absurd approximation of a human being instead of a person who matters. Why is that allowed.
Anyways, the answer to their hypothesis about how funny it would be to destroy their child's chance at normalcy and competence is a resounding: not funny. Not to me, at least.
Straight up, now tell me do you really wanna love me forever? Oh oh oh! Or am I caught in a hit-and-run? Straight up, now tell me, is it gonna be you and me together? Oh oh oh! Or are you just having fun? at what point is someone morally allowed to just kill themselves without being thought of as selfish or evil or whatever? At what point can we look at what a person's been through and hear about everything they've survived, but that doesn't mean all of them survived, or even enough to feel like life is worth living? When can we just go "okay, yeah, you're pretty fucked up and I wouldn't want to live with all that pain every day if I had survived what you have, so no judgment from me if you decide to spare yourself that eternal suffering that most people can't conceive of unless they went through a similar experience themselves?"
I'm seriously asking. When can I kill myself?
I've never been much of a "these meds are useless, why even bother taking them?" kinda person, but literally what is the point of taking all these medications daily and diligently if I'm not getting any better? If I'm feeling even WORSE? I'm aware this is an Objectively Bad idea, but I'm going off my meds and just raw-dogging mental illness. Maybe I'll at least burn brilliantly before I sputter out.
Against my better, bitter judgment...The horrors persist, but so shall I. 😔
I'm both.
Literally you wanna know what's the saddest, most pathetic part about all of this?
My parents have so successfully fucked me and my development and personhood over that even when I feel so extremely and am volatilely suicidal, a large part of me thinks I'm just being dramatic or over the top even when I literally want to kill myself like nothing else.
I feel like I nor anyone else can take my suicidality seriously, let alone help me fight or cure it, that the only way to prove I really am suffering deeply and am not just faking it would be to actually, sincerely try to kill myself, because just talking about it but never walking the walk makes me feel like a fraud.
I literally want to die so badly, I don't wanna live with this pain a second longer, to the point I'm abstaining from my meds or eating food or even being able to sleep despite how much I want to.
My parents managed to gift me imposter syndrome to be point I feel like I'm just being dramatic about how much death desires me, and I carnally crave it.
How funny is that? Hahahahaha.
The fact that I gotta take these bitches every single day forever, and I don't even feel better 😐
