sleazyyyy
Warmer when the kitsch of rot hits the stomach
- May 10, 2026
- 16
I'm writing this as my CTB date grows nearer. I think part of me is still searching for support, for help, for anything that might quiet this pain long enough for me to survive beyond the date I chose for myself but I don't think I have the strength to pursue those. My birthday is on the 19th. I thought my 22nd birthday would feel different — lighter, maybe hopeful — but instead I keep thinking it may become my last.
To explain why I feel this way, I think I need to begin with my past.
My childhood looked normal from the outside, but I grew up starved for love in ways I still cannot fully describe. I was neglected emotionally. My father lived far away in the province, and even as a child, I carried this aching feeling that everyone else had a place in the world, a role, a person to lean on — while I somehow existed outside of it all. I longed desperately to be understood, guided, chosen, protected.
When I was ten or eleven, I began using KIK. That was where I first started seeking affection and validation from older men. At twelve, I was bullied, and no adult stepped in to protect me. At fourteen, I was groomed on Discord by a 23 Y.O man because I thought I had finally found a community that understood my strange little quirks and accepted me for who I was. Instead, I was manipulated, blackmailed, and terrified. I was coerced into humiliating things I did not want to do, and I handled all of it completely alone.
No friends. No family. No therapist. No safety.
I cried myself to sleep night after night, shaking with fear, waiting for someone to save me. No one came. Somehow, I survived it anyway. I cleaned up my own wounds in silence and kept moving forward because I thought that maybe one day things would finally become better.
Then, at sixteen, my mother died.
After that, I began working to support both myself and my father. Through every loss, every humiliation, every loneliness, I learned to rely only on myself. I kept clinging to hope with bleeding hands because I believed there had to be something waiting for me at the end of all this suffering.
And now I am here.
I already wrote about what happened recently. My ex cheated on me, lied about me, and destroyed the little sense of safety I had left. Somehow, that betrayal reopened every wound I spent years trying to survive.
I am 21 now, 22 soon, and for the first time in my life, I truly cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel anymore. Everything hurts. I feel ugly. Repulsive. Dependent. Ashamed of how attached I became. I feel miserable in ways that consume my entire body. The thought of surviving months like this — maybe even years — feels unbearable to me.
I'm crying while writing this.
When I receive my salary on the 18th, I know I could buy the things I need to finally end all of this. And strangely, I do not feel impulsive or frantic anymore. I just feel exhausted. Numb in some moments, then overwhelmed by waves of pain so intense they feel physical, like grief has wrapped itself around my bones and refuses to loosen its grip.
Right now, I can't keep down food. I cannot drink properly. I can barely move without feeling crushed beneath this sadness.
I just have the itch to share it. Hoping someone will understand and commiserate with me. Thank you for reading.
To explain why I feel this way, I think I need to begin with my past.
My childhood looked normal from the outside, but I grew up starved for love in ways I still cannot fully describe. I was neglected emotionally. My father lived far away in the province, and even as a child, I carried this aching feeling that everyone else had a place in the world, a role, a person to lean on — while I somehow existed outside of it all. I longed desperately to be understood, guided, chosen, protected.
When I was ten or eleven, I began using KIK. That was where I first started seeking affection and validation from older men. At twelve, I was bullied, and no adult stepped in to protect me. At fourteen, I was groomed on Discord by a 23 Y.O man because I thought I had finally found a community that understood my strange little quirks and accepted me for who I was. Instead, I was manipulated, blackmailed, and terrified. I was coerced into humiliating things I did not want to do, and I handled all of it completely alone.
No friends. No family. No therapist. No safety.
I cried myself to sleep night after night, shaking with fear, waiting for someone to save me. No one came. Somehow, I survived it anyway. I cleaned up my own wounds in silence and kept moving forward because I thought that maybe one day things would finally become better.
Then, at sixteen, my mother died.
After that, I began working to support both myself and my father. Through every loss, every humiliation, every loneliness, I learned to rely only on myself. I kept clinging to hope with bleeding hands because I believed there had to be something waiting for me at the end of all this suffering.
And now I am here.
I already wrote about what happened recently. My ex cheated on me, lied about me, and destroyed the little sense of safety I had left. Somehow, that betrayal reopened every wound I spent years trying to survive.
I am 21 now, 22 soon, and for the first time in my life, I truly cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel anymore. Everything hurts. I feel ugly. Repulsive. Dependent. Ashamed of how attached I became. I feel miserable in ways that consume my entire body. The thought of surviving months like this — maybe even years — feels unbearable to me.
I'm crying while writing this.
When I receive my salary on the 18th, I know I could buy the things I need to finally end all of this. And strangely, I do not feel impulsive or frantic anymore. I just feel exhausted. Numb in some moments, then overwhelmed by waves of pain so intense they feel physical, like grief has wrapped itself around my bones and refuses to loosen its grip.
Right now, I can't keep down food. I cannot drink properly. I can barely move without feeling crushed beneath this sadness.
I just have the itch to share it. Hoping someone will understand and commiserate with me. Thank you for reading.
