author
they/them
- Jul 13, 2021
- 75
I've always been bad with actually attempting to ctb. I've hurt myself a lot, have lots of scars, but sometimes I feel like it isn't even enough to qualify me as depressed because I'm too afraid of dying, and have no money or means of getting my hands on methods anyways.
Though the one thing I've thought about more than once is faking my own death. I know when you're dead, you can't see how people react. One time, I don't know where, I saw a guide to faking your own death so you could watch your parent's react to it. It felt like a horrible thing to do, and yet it's something I almost wanted to do. My father was already dead by that point. My mother on the other hand has always been awful to me - more so after my father died. When she couldn't scream at him anymore, she screamed at me. There was a sick part of me that wanted to know if she'd cry when I died, if she'd pretend to care that I was gone or actually be in pain about it. I wanted to see the difference between her presentation to strangers, and what she'd do when she was alone, without me. Would she cry? Would she laugh? Would she go about her day like nothing happened? I wanted to know, to watch it. Sometimes I still wonder.
So I guess I'm just admitting that I'm not a great person, I think. I haven't been since I was a kid - that kid who wanted to put their (admittedly abusive) mother through the "death" of her child just to see if she'd care, or if she'd only pretend to care. I think the main reason I didn't ever try anything was because I had the foresight to realize, if it worked, I wouldn't know what to do afterwards. I wouldn't be able to just show back up. She'd probably kill me. I also didn't know how to go about it. It's not like I had anywhere to hide and watch.
I hate my mother. When I was a child, she'd constantly do her best to make me afraid of everything. I wanted to be a boy scout, but I was a "girl", and I still remember her looking my in the eyes and saying;
"Even if you find a boy scout troop that will accept you; you'll get lost in the woods where the animals will kill you if the bugs don't eat you alive first - and even if you survive all that, the boys will never accept you, they'll bully you so much you'll wish the animals and bugs will kill you!... Oh, but it's okay! You can just join the girl scouts! They bake cookies and go to water-parks! :)"
Granted, as an adult I know there are reasons the boy scouts suck, but maybe traumatizing a child over it because you'd rather they bake you cookies isn't a good thing. She did that over pretty much anything she didn't approve of - attempt to scare me out of it and push me towards what she actually wanted me to do. But it kind of just stopped me from doing anything. Overtime I kind of stopped going outside and I ended up never really joining any clubs. Now I'm an agoraphobic adult. To this day I still have a sort of neurotic anxiety about "what if" stuff. I get panic attacks trying new things. I'm terrified to fail, or to get some kind of apocalyptic outcome even if it's something simple.
I used to want my mother dead as a child. Now I just want her out of my life. She still has this vice grip on me financially, and I'm still stuck in her house (which is probably slowly killing me with mold and clutter). One time, I actually tried to run away with "friends" who promised to help me, and I was a legal adult so it's not like she technically could've stopped me - but she still tried. I hid it from her until the hour my so-called "friends" would pick me up. When she found out, it was so bad I dropped to my knees and cried. My "friends" managed to get me out, but when I actually lived with them, it was just a different kind of abuse. It turns out I didn't know them well enough, not as well as I thought. I either got yelled at or fully ignored. After a few months they kicked me out, saying they were moving and didn't have room for me anymore. So much for help. I had nowhere else to go but straight back to my abusive mother. At least I knew what to expect from her after 20 years.
I want to say that she's better now, but it's really more that she's spending less time at the house. I notice the less time we spend together, the better our rare interactions are. She has a boyfriend now, so I'm not forced to be around her all the time. She's too busy arguing with him to use me as her punching bag. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm glad she can yell at someone else for once. I can taste rare moments of peace. She still yells at me and spirals me into panic attacks though. The more calm I am, the more neurotic she gets - and once I'm panicking, she immediately calms down and starts asking what my problem is, as if she didn't convince me I'm going to get myself killed doing something simple.
If I could only get out of here, never have to talk to her again - make her forget all about me, and live on my own, independently without help... I think I could be okay. But it doesn't feel possible. I want it to be possible, but I don't know. I don't want to die without knowing REAL freedom from her though - without knowing that I did everything I possibly could to try and make my life less shitty. I'm still trying. I'm trying so hard I'm running myself into the ground but if I stop, I feel like I'll die. I don't even know what I'm doing. I don't know simple things that everyone with half-decent parents seems to know. Nobody ever taught me. I have to learn it all now, by myself, on my own. I hate it. I'm tired. I'm so, so tired.
Though the one thing I've thought about more than once is faking my own death. I know when you're dead, you can't see how people react. One time, I don't know where, I saw a guide to faking your own death so you could watch your parent's react to it. It felt like a horrible thing to do, and yet it's something I almost wanted to do. My father was already dead by that point. My mother on the other hand has always been awful to me - more so after my father died. When she couldn't scream at him anymore, she screamed at me. There was a sick part of me that wanted to know if she'd cry when I died, if she'd pretend to care that I was gone or actually be in pain about it. I wanted to see the difference between her presentation to strangers, and what she'd do when she was alone, without me. Would she cry? Would she laugh? Would she go about her day like nothing happened? I wanted to know, to watch it. Sometimes I still wonder.
So I guess I'm just admitting that I'm not a great person, I think. I haven't been since I was a kid - that kid who wanted to put their (admittedly abusive) mother through the "death" of her child just to see if she'd care, or if she'd only pretend to care. I think the main reason I didn't ever try anything was because I had the foresight to realize, if it worked, I wouldn't know what to do afterwards. I wouldn't be able to just show back up. She'd probably kill me. I also didn't know how to go about it. It's not like I had anywhere to hide and watch.
I hate my mother. When I was a child, she'd constantly do her best to make me afraid of everything. I wanted to be a boy scout, but I was a "girl", and I still remember her looking my in the eyes and saying;
"Even if you find a boy scout troop that will accept you; you'll get lost in the woods where the animals will kill you if the bugs don't eat you alive first - and even if you survive all that, the boys will never accept you, they'll bully you so much you'll wish the animals and bugs will kill you!... Oh, but it's okay! You can just join the girl scouts! They bake cookies and go to water-parks! :)"
Granted, as an adult I know there are reasons the boy scouts suck, but maybe traumatizing a child over it because you'd rather they bake you cookies isn't a good thing. She did that over pretty much anything she didn't approve of - attempt to scare me out of it and push me towards what she actually wanted me to do. But it kind of just stopped me from doing anything. Overtime I kind of stopped going outside and I ended up never really joining any clubs. Now I'm an agoraphobic adult. To this day I still have a sort of neurotic anxiety about "what if" stuff. I get panic attacks trying new things. I'm terrified to fail, or to get some kind of apocalyptic outcome even if it's something simple.
I used to want my mother dead as a child. Now I just want her out of my life. She still has this vice grip on me financially, and I'm still stuck in her house (which is probably slowly killing me with mold and clutter). One time, I actually tried to run away with "friends" who promised to help me, and I was a legal adult so it's not like she technically could've stopped me - but she still tried. I hid it from her until the hour my so-called "friends" would pick me up. When she found out, it was so bad I dropped to my knees and cried. My "friends" managed to get me out, but when I actually lived with them, it was just a different kind of abuse. It turns out I didn't know them well enough, not as well as I thought. I either got yelled at or fully ignored. After a few months they kicked me out, saying they were moving and didn't have room for me anymore. So much for help. I had nowhere else to go but straight back to my abusive mother. At least I knew what to expect from her after 20 years.
I want to say that she's better now, but it's really more that she's spending less time at the house. I notice the less time we spend together, the better our rare interactions are. She has a boyfriend now, so I'm not forced to be around her all the time. She's too busy arguing with him to use me as her punching bag. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm glad she can yell at someone else for once. I can taste rare moments of peace. She still yells at me and spirals me into panic attacks though. The more calm I am, the more neurotic she gets - and once I'm panicking, she immediately calms down and starts asking what my problem is, as if she didn't convince me I'm going to get myself killed doing something simple.
If I could only get out of here, never have to talk to her again - make her forget all about me, and live on my own, independently without help... I think I could be okay. But it doesn't feel possible. I want it to be possible, but I don't know. I don't want to die without knowing REAL freedom from her though - without knowing that I did everything I possibly could to try and make my life less shitty. I'm still trying. I'm trying so hard I'm running myself into the ground but if I stop, I feel like I'll die. I don't even know what I'm doing. I don't know simple things that everyone with half-decent parents seems to know. Nobody ever taught me. I have to learn it all now, by myself, on my own. I hate it. I'm tired. I'm so, so tired.
