onelastsnack
New Member
- Apr 14, 2025
- 1
Hi everyone,
I've been shadowing this forum for a while now and everyone here seems so kind. After a few years, I have finally decided to create an account. After seeing how all of you interact with each other, I feel like I somewhat belong in here.
I say somewhat because it seems like a number of individuals on here are actively planning their CTB. I on the other hand, am too scared to take any real action. It's not like I'm afraid of death itself. I'm just really afraid of the searing pain being the very last thing that I'll feel when I pass. I am aware of more peaceful methods, however, it is either not easily accessible in my area or I'm afraid that it might end in failure and that I'll have to deal with the damaging consequences afterword. I know there is no real way to get out easily with minimal risk/effort, which is why I admire those who possess the courage to go forth and act.
I was actually having a meltdown while writing this but I feel a lot better after saying what I wanted to say. Often, I feel like I cannot express how I really feel to the people I know offline. When I cried a little too loud when I was little, my mother told me to shut my mouth and stop crying because my father was going to kill my dogs. I grew up with this continuous fear of expressing myself a little too loud or else the things that I love would be taken away.
Now that I'm older, I know that he just said it in the moment because I've seen how he loves the furry fellas too. But the consequences were already ingrained within my spirit. My soul. It stuck with me.
But now that realization begs the question: does love mean to hurt the things that you love? I don't mean to sound really dramatic or cliché but his love meant to hurt when he felt like it. Whether if it was verbal or physical, I knew he still loved our family even though he expressed it in the worst ways possible. It starts with awful words that shouldn't be spoken to another, shards of porcelain china scattered around, a raised palm to my mother which was followed by a heart dropping smack, more awful words, death threats, and finally, silence.
Being around him has always and has now felt like walking on eggshells. I've come to recognize his micro expressions and movements. I've come to learn what pushes his buttons and when to back off. I know this sounds like a really abusive relationship, and it is. It is a continuous cycle of generational trauma from his father, onto him and then finally onto me. I've seen how guilty he looks after he indirectly apologizes in his own clumsy way. I've seen the regret plastered over his face the next day when he calms down. I've seen how his expression falls when he has to see the consequences of his actions the next day. Everything he has done has been entirely impulsive, a product of his raging emotions blinding his better judgement. I don't have a responsibility to forgive him, but I do, even if it hurts me to do so.
I would say that growing up in this kind of environment has affected me in more ways than I could've ever expected or imagined. It is difficult for me to stay calm whenever I hear a deep male voice raise their tone. It is so hard for me to stay put. I try so hard to concentrate on anything else but the noise. But before I know it, my own voice starts to crack and my body trembles against my will. I freeze up and a slurry of irrational thoughts take over my head. Why is he yelling? Was I too loud? Will he hurt me? Although I want to pass this life, I hate feeling immense physical pain. If I were to die, I wouldn't want it to come in this way.
My mother endured the worst in my stead, which I have always felt so guilty for. I know my small and frail kindergarten body couldn't have really done much, but I wish I took the abuse she didn't need to take myself. It hurts me so much when I see her silently cry and wipe her tears the moment she sees me in the corner of her eyes. My mother became obsessed with my education. Her motivation? To escape my father. She has always made me feel like I was her sole ticket to escaping this household. She did whatever she could to ensure I did well in school, which also included hitting me the same way my father hit her or threatening to disown me. I always made sure to wear extra layers before she came home but it still hurt a lot. Sometimes, it felt like she thought I was a burden but I knew she was just as hurt as I was. I couldn't blame her. I often thought of becoming a runaway child, but I couldn't leave my mother after seeing how miserable she was with my own eyes.
I feel like a powerless 'adult'. Legally, I am responsible for myself, but I'm still mentally a seven year old child. I freeze up when I recognize certain movements. I can't protect my mother. I can't succeed. I don't have anything that I enjoy or love in life. And to top it off, I'm too scared to chase the end of the tunnel. Overall, I am an all around coward with nothing next to my name. I don't have the motivation to chase anything or do anything in my life. I'm tired. I'm just tired. I don't want to do anything. I just want to rest in peace.
I don't want to read over this to check for any spelling or grammatical errors. I feel like I would start crying even harder if I did. So I'll just leave it as how it is. If you've read this far, thank you for hearing me out. The existence of this forum has given me the safe space to really express how I feel. It feels really liberating, considering how nobody here online really knows who I am when the computer turns off.
Once again, thank you all, and thank you for creating this rare kind of space and protecting it despite the many opposing challenges that this forum faces. I'll be sure to donate whatever I can.
<3
I've been shadowing this forum for a while now and everyone here seems so kind. After a few years, I have finally decided to create an account. After seeing how all of you interact with each other, I feel like I somewhat belong in here.
I say somewhat because it seems like a number of individuals on here are actively planning their CTB. I on the other hand, am too scared to take any real action. It's not like I'm afraid of death itself. I'm just really afraid of the searing pain being the very last thing that I'll feel when I pass. I am aware of more peaceful methods, however, it is either not easily accessible in my area or I'm afraid that it might end in failure and that I'll have to deal with the damaging consequences afterword. I know there is no real way to get out easily with minimal risk/effort, which is why I admire those who possess the courage to go forth and act.
I was actually having a meltdown while writing this but I feel a lot better after saying what I wanted to say. Often, I feel like I cannot express how I really feel to the people I know offline. When I cried a little too loud when I was little, my mother told me to shut my mouth and stop crying because my father was going to kill my dogs. I grew up with this continuous fear of expressing myself a little too loud or else the things that I love would be taken away.
Now that I'm older, I know that he just said it in the moment because I've seen how he loves the furry fellas too. But the consequences were already ingrained within my spirit. My soul. It stuck with me.
But now that realization begs the question: does love mean to hurt the things that you love? I don't mean to sound really dramatic or cliché but his love meant to hurt when he felt like it. Whether if it was verbal or physical, I knew he still loved our family even though he expressed it in the worst ways possible. It starts with awful words that shouldn't be spoken to another, shards of porcelain china scattered around, a raised palm to my mother which was followed by a heart dropping smack, more awful words, death threats, and finally, silence.
Being around him has always and has now felt like walking on eggshells. I've come to recognize his micro expressions and movements. I've come to learn what pushes his buttons and when to back off. I know this sounds like a really abusive relationship, and it is. It is a continuous cycle of generational trauma from his father, onto him and then finally onto me. I've seen how guilty he looks after he indirectly apologizes in his own clumsy way. I've seen the regret plastered over his face the next day when he calms down. I've seen how his expression falls when he has to see the consequences of his actions the next day. Everything he has done has been entirely impulsive, a product of his raging emotions blinding his better judgement. I don't have a responsibility to forgive him, but I do, even if it hurts me to do so.
I would say that growing up in this kind of environment has affected me in more ways than I could've ever expected or imagined. It is difficult for me to stay calm whenever I hear a deep male voice raise their tone. It is so hard for me to stay put. I try so hard to concentrate on anything else but the noise. But before I know it, my own voice starts to crack and my body trembles against my will. I freeze up and a slurry of irrational thoughts take over my head. Why is he yelling? Was I too loud? Will he hurt me? Although I want to pass this life, I hate feeling immense physical pain. If I were to die, I wouldn't want it to come in this way.
My mother endured the worst in my stead, which I have always felt so guilty for. I know my small and frail kindergarten body couldn't have really done much, but I wish I took the abuse she didn't need to take myself. It hurts me so much when I see her silently cry and wipe her tears the moment she sees me in the corner of her eyes. My mother became obsessed with my education. Her motivation? To escape my father. She has always made me feel like I was her sole ticket to escaping this household. She did whatever she could to ensure I did well in school, which also included hitting me the same way my father hit her or threatening to disown me. I always made sure to wear extra layers before she came home but it still hurt a lot. Sometimes, it felt like she thought I was a burden but I knew she was just as hurt as I was. I couldn't blame her. I often thought of becoming a runaway child, but I couldn't leave my mother after seeing how miserable she was with my own eyes.
I feel like a powerless 'adult'. Legally, I am responsible for myself, but I'm still mentally a seven year old child. I freeze up when I recognize certain movements. I can't protect my mother. I can't succeed. I don't have anything that I enjoy or love in life. And to top it off, I'm too scared to chase the end of the tunnel. Overall, I am an all around coward with nothing next to my name. I don't have the motivation to chase anything or do anything in my life. I'm tired. I'm just tired. I don't want to do anything. I just want to rest in peace.
I don't want to read over this to check for any spelling or grammatical errors. I feel like I would start crying even harder if I did. So I'll just leave it as how it is. If you've read this far, thank you for hearing me out. The existence of this forum has given me the safe space to really express how I feel. It feels really liberating, considering how nobody here online really knows who I am when the computer turns off.
Once again, thank you all, and thank you for creating this rare kind of space and protecting it despite the many opposing challenges that this forum faces. I'll be sure to donate whatever I can.
<3
