Makethemsuffer
I want to be forgotten, not remembered
- Jul 30, 2026
- 17
Hello everyone, I'm new around here so I thought about sharing my story. It's gonna be long and boring, it's more of a rant I guess and you absolutely don't have to read it all. If you could share some advice I would really appreciate that.
My journey started when I was little, because after my parents got divorced CPS ruled out I had to see a therapist for some reason. I don't remember why or what came out of it, my therapist was kind but everytime it felt like I was forced to go, and I didn't like that. I had this "you HAVE to go to the psychologist or else you'll become crazy" mentality since I was 7 basically. The problem is that in these years it wasn't about me, it was about writing a report for the court case to see how my parents' divorce impacted me. It was never about helping me, and I knew this.
My family tried to push me towards therapy some years later too, when I was in middle school. I don't understand why, but they gave up after I told them "Sure, but know that I will tell the therapist everything, not what you want me to tell her". Yeah my family's abusive, they don't want to get exposed or whatever. They gave up after this tho, so that's something at least.
After an incident in school many years later, where the board talked about suspending me for a day (which actually didn't happen), my father crashed out and kicked me out of the house. My grandparents told me I stay at their place so they brought me home but I ran away. My dad called the cops and they found me 4 hours later roughly, they took me to the station and they put in the report "Father claims he appeared to have run away from home due to frustration after a school suspension". No one but me knew the truth, that was the first night where I thought to kill myself by jumping in traffic.
My dad took the police report to school and made the whole thing about himself, probably something like "See? My son ran away from home because of YOU! YOU almost killed my son!". I don't know if the school suspected something, but they basically told him "Well your son was never suspended, but now we demand he is evaluated by a therapist and have the report sent to us, or we'll have to call CPS".
And that's what happened. I saw this old lady for 40 minutes every week in her house for a while. 8 sessions I think, 80 bucks a session. She wasn't even a psychiatrist, she was a family psychologist. I lied to her, told her everything was fine, didn't mention the incident. She reported that everything was fine and everyone was happy.
I managed to, with my aunt's help, find an actual psychiatrist that could see me and help me for my depression. After almost a year I got approved and officially started my journey with therapy.
2 session is all it took for them to send me to the psych ward.
The first one I felt extremely uncomfortable, she kept pushing topics I didn't want to discuss, like self harm and suicide. I had to answer, she wouldn't take a no. Then she randomly left and gave me this fuckass questionnaire for children about mental health. I refused to complete it.
The second session she wasn't there, she was sick and one of her colleagues visited me. She was more polite, more professional, she actually made me comfortable enough to share everything without feeling forced. All for nothing, because she deemed I was a danger to myself and called the hospital to tell them I will be coming there soon.
I explicitly told them I did NOT want my father to know what I was going through, but they told him anyways cause fuck me I guess.
I went to the hospital and told them I was there to recieve mental help. My father blocked me and said "Well hold on a second", and told the lady at the reception a bunch of random shit so he wouldn't seem like a bad parent. Anyways, they told me they called a specialist for minors and that she would've arrived in an hour. I waited 5 hours in a small room locked with my father, who stayed on the phone the entire time.
Then she came, asked me some random questions and took me to the ward. That's when my life reached an even lower point.
The ward's psychiatrist was old, rude and made me want to punch him every time I saw him. He had a "partner", a younger doctor in his 30s probably. I liked him, but ofc he wasn't assigned to me. The NURSES made me feel better than the doctor did, let's think about that.
They forced me on olanzapine and prozac, neither helped with my situation. They also accidentally gave me someone else's medication but I wasn't mad, the nurses were so overworked and I felt really bad for them. My father wanted to visit once a day, clearly. We fought almost every day but they still let him in. I still let him in.
At one point I decided that I couldn't take it anymore, and started pretending everything was going better, so I would get released. And it worked! I got released 10 days after and never heard from that shithole ever since. My therapist also came to visit every once and then, of course she cared now and not before lol. And of course, they shared EVERYTHING with my father. It's kinda funny because I've read the documentation and it said "Patient asks to not advise father of his current situation due to hostilities between the two" an the literal line below says "The patient's father was made aware of what emerged during his sessions".
"Patient was released in stable conditions"
Well, that's officially when I lost all the trust I had towards therapy and therapists. I was forced to go back to my psychiatrist at least once a week, plus this random youth counselor that did absolutely nothing but at least was nice to me. Everything was going decent, until I realized that fucking olanzapine pills made me gain 10 fucking kilograms in a month. I stopped taking my meds and told her to go fuck herself. Now here I am.
I'm extremely anxious and paranoid, but luckly my journey with therapy ruled everything out as a "depressive episode".
One one hand I still deserve a chance, because it's the system that failed me, I didn't fail myself; but on the other I genuinely don't see how I could possibly get out of this situation. I don't know how to interact socially, I don't trust therapy anymore, I'm undiagnosed with god know how many disorders, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I want to live, but I can't. I want to die, but I can't. I feel like I need to choose, and I need to do it fast.
I wish you a good day and the best in life, thanks for reading this and fuck you if you're some random fed from the future "investigating my death". Andate a FARE IN CULO.
My journey started when I was little, because after my parents got divorced CPS ruled out I had to see a therapist for some reason. I don't remember why or what came out of it, my therapist was kind but everytime it felt like I was forced to go, and I didn't like that. I had this "you HAVE to go to the psychologist or else you'll become crazy" mentality since I was 7 basically. The problem is that in these years it wasn't about me, it was about writing a report for the court case to see how my parents' divorce impacted me. It was never about helping me, and I knew this.
My family tried to push me towards therapy some years later too, when I was in middle school. I don't understand why, but they gave up after I told them "Sure, but know that I will tell the therapist everything, not what you want me to tell her". Yeah my family's abusive, they don't want to get exposed or whatever. They gave up after this tho, so that's something at least.
After an incident in school many years later, where the board talked about suspending me for a day (which actually didn't happen), my father crashed out and kicked me out of the house. My grandparents told me I stay at their place so they brought me home but I ran away. My dad called the cops and they found me 4 hours later roughly, they took me to the station and they put in the report "Father claims he appeared to have run away from home due to frustration after a school suspension". No one but me knew the truth, that was the first night where I thought to kill myself by jumping in traffic.
My dad took the police report to school and made the whole thing about himself, probably something like "See? My son ran away from home because of YOU! YOU almost killed my son!". I don't know if the school suspected something, but they basically told him "Well your son was never suspended, but now we demand he is evaluated by a therapist and have the report sent to us, or we'll have to call CPS".
And that's what happened. I saw this old lady for 40 minutes every week in her house for a while. 8 sessions I think, 80 bucks a session. She wasn't even a psychiatrist, she was a family psychologist. I lied to her, told her everything was fine, didn't mention the incident. She reported that everything was fine and everyone was happy.
I managed to, with my aunt's help, find an actual psychiatrist that could see me and help me for my depression. After almost a year I got approved and officially started my journey with therapy.
2 session is all it took for them to send me to the psych ward.
The first one I felt extremely uncomfortable, she kept pushing topics I didn't want to discuss, like self harm and suicide. I had to answer, she wouldn't take a no. Then she randomly left and gave me this fuckass questionnaire for children about mental health. I refused to complete it.
The second session she wasn't there, she was sick and one of her colleagues visited me. She was more polite, more professional, she actually made me comfortable enough to share everything without feeling forced. All for nothing, because she deemed I was a danger to myself and called the hospital to tell them I will be coming there soon.
I explicitly told them I did NOT want my father to know what I was going through, but they told him anyways cause fuck me I guess.
I went to the hospital and told them I was there to recieve mental help. My father blocked me and said "Well hold on a second", and told the lady at the reception a bunch of random shit so he wouldn't seem like a bad parent. Anyways, they told me they called a specialist for minors and that she would've arrived in an hour. I waited 5 hours in a small room locked with my father, who stayed on the phone the entire time.
Then she came, asked me some random questions and took me to the ward. That's when my life reached an even lower point.
The ward's psychiatrist was old, rude and made me want to punch him every time I saw him. He had a "partner", a younger doctor in his 30s probably. I liked him, but ofc he wasn't assigned to me. The NURSES made me feel better than the doctor did, let's think about that.
They forced me on olanzapine and prozac, neither helped with my situation. They also accidentally gave me someone else's medication but I wasn't mad, the nurses were so overworked and I felt really bad for them. My father wanted to visit once a day, clearly. We fought almost every day but they still let him in. I still let him in.
At one point I decided that I couldn't take it anymore, and started pretending everything was going better, so I would get released. And it worked! I got released 10 days after and never heard from that shithole ever since. My therapist also came to visit every once and then, of course she cared now and not before lol. And of course, they shared EVERYTHING with my father. It's kinda funny because I've read the documentation and it said "Patient asks to not advise father of his current situation due to hostilities between the two" an the literal line below says "The patient's father was made aware of what emerged during his sessions".
"Patient was released in stable conditions"
Well, that's officially when I lost all the trust I had towards therapy and therapists. I was forced to go back to my psychiatrist at least once a week, plus this random youth counselor that did absolutely nothing but at least was nice to me. Everything was going decent, until I realized that fucking olanzapine pills made me gain 10 fucking kilograms in a month. I stopped taking my meds and told her to go fuck herself. Now here I am.
I'm extremely anxious and paranoid, but luckly my journey with therapy ruled everything out as a "depressive episode".
One one hand I still deserve a chance, because it's the system that failed me, I didn't fail myself; but on the other I genuinely don't see how I could possibly get out of this situation. I don't know how to interact socially, I don't trust therapy anymore, I'm undiagnosed with god know how many disorders, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I want to live, but I can't. I want to die, but I can't. I feel like I need to choose, and I need to do it fast.
I wish you a good day and the best in life, thanks for reading this and fuck you if you're some random fed from the future "investigating my death". Andate a FARE IN CULO.
