KuriGohan&Kamehameha
想死不能 - 想活不能
- Nov 23, 2020
- 1,801
Other people just don't understand how it feels to suffer flashbacks not only during your waking hours but in the vunerable state of your dreams on top of that.
I can't erase the images from my head, no matter how hard I try. I always see my aunt on the floor, her limbs dislocated, her screams of blood curling agony, begging for the pain to stop because her disease has left her so frail. Yet, if she voices this desire, if she attempts suicide in front of me and her parents again, she will be sent to the psychiatric ward for another 2 weeks of torture.
I can't get over the fact that I will never be able to wear a tampon because the very sensation makes me feel like I am being raped and violated by older men again.
I don't know what to say when other people talk about their parents, families, and school friends, because I don't have any of those things. I can't relate to the experiences that make others human.
All I can do is think about sitting in the art classroom at school during grade 2, all my classmates busying themselves making crafts and cards for their mothers, while I was staring at my hands unable to move, because I had no mother to write to. She didn't want me.
When I am lucky enough not to recall my horrible childhood, I am instead greeted with the mental image of being 17 and getting taken out by a 26 year old groomer who coerces me into pleasuring him the first time he invites me to his home.
I remember becoming "legal" and living with him, forced to sit in one corner of the bed, being told to shut the fuck up while he watches TV, not even allowed to have a key to the front door, always being told how pathetic I am for not being able to speak to the clerk in shops because I am a selectively mute autistic baby who needs to grow up, and how I ruin the fun due to my lack of energy. Then when I dared to leave and tried to find someone else, he told me to kill myself because I am a whore.
Other people my age do not understand how it feels to slowly lose your cognitive abilities and your mind, to watch your body rot with a disease that can't be treated nor cured, all while they are ensconced in that high of knowing they are at the peak of their lives, having the most fun they've experienced thus far, forming amazing memories.. actually living as opposed to existing.
There is a shame and embarrassment that arises from being curled up on the bathroom floor, unable to do something basic like using the toilet, because one of your stupid illnesses leaves you constipated, in pain, and unable to properly digest your food.
It hurts knowing that even if I did have people in my life who really liked me and wanted to invite me out places, I'd have to decline the vast majority of the time because my illness leaves me so exhausted and spent with this horrible malaise, fatigue, splitting headaches, stomach cramps, swollen glands, sore throat, and aching all over.
Sometimes I would just really like to go for a walk down the street, to get some fresh air, but then I remember that my body can't regulate it's temperature properly and I'm going to be in even more pain when I go out because I will be unable to feel warmth no matter how many clothes I layer myself with. Sometimes it isn't even the burning and aching in the rest of my body that perturbs me so much, it's shaking and shivering all over from constantly being cold.
Everytime I look outside my window, I can hear and see other uni students laughing and strolling along with their mates, headed out for a night on the town or going for a pint after lectures, and I desperately wish that could be me. However, I know better than to think I could ever masquerade as a functional person.
Other people (in the real world) will never understand what I go through. Other people can't comprehend that this is no way to live. They will keep on telling me my lust for death is irrational, meanwhile they will go back to their carefree lives of pissing around, watching films, ocassionally going to a lecture or two, hitting up the club, and spending Christmas with their families, then they have the gall to say my situation is the same and I could feel happy too if I simply had more fortitude and purpose.
What is the purpose of a life that wants to end? Where everything I love has been taken from me? I am rambling because I am just in so much pain, my head feels like it is splitting in half. Nobody understands outside of this wonderful community.
I can't erase the images from my head, no matter how hard I try. I always see my aunt on the floor, her limbs dislocated, her screams of blood curling agony, begging for the pain to stop because her disease has left her so frail. Yet, if she voices this desire, if she attempts suicide in front of me and her parents again, she will be sent to the psychiatric ward for another 2 weeks of torture.
I can't get over the fact that I will never be able to wear a tampon because the very sensation makes me feel like I am being raped and violated by older men again.
I don't know what to say when other people talk about their parents, families, and school friends, because I don't have any of those things. I can't relate to the experiences that make others human.
All I can do is think about sitting in the art classroom at school during grade 2, all my classmates busying themselves making crafts and cards for their mothers, while I was staring at my hands unable to move, because I had no mother to write to. She didn't want me.
When I am lucky enough not to recall my horrible childhood, I am instead greeted with the mental image of being 17 and getting taken out by a 26 year old groomer who coerces me into pleasuring him the first time he invites me to his home.
I remember becoming "legal" and living with him, forced to sit in one corner of the bed, being told to shut the fuck up while he watches TV, not even allowed to have a key to the front door, always being told how pathetic I am for not being able to speak to the clerk in shops because I am a selectively mute autistic baby who needs to grow up, and how I ruin the fun due to my lack of energy. Then when I dared to leave and tried to find someone else, he told me to kill myself because I am a whore.
Other people my age do not understand how it feels to slowly lose your cognitive abilities and your mind, to watch your body rot with a disease that can't be treated nor cured, all while they are ensconced in that high of knowing they are at the peak of their lives, having the most fun they've experienced thus far, forming amazing memories.. actually living as opposed to existing.
There is a shame and embarrassment that arises from being curled up on the bathroom floor, unable to do something basic like using the toilet, because one of your stupid illnesses leaves you constipated, in pain, and unable to properly digest your food.
It hurts knowing that even if I did have people in my life who really liked me and wanted to invite me out places, I'd have to decline the vast majority of the time because my illness leaves me so exhausted and spent with this horrible malaise, fatigue, splitting headaches, stomach cramps, swollen glands, sore throat, and aching all over.
Sometimes I would just really like to go for a walk down the street, to get some fresh air, but then I remember that my body can't regulate it's temperature properly and I'm going to be in even more pain when I go out because I will be unable to feel warmth no matter how many clothes I layer myself with. Sometimes it isn't even the burning and aching in the rest of my body that perturbs me so much, it's shaking and shivering all over from constantly being cold.
Everytime I look outside my window, I can hear and see other uni students laughing and strolling along with their mates, headed out for a night on the town or going for a pint after lectures, and I desperately wish that could be me. However, I know better than to think I could ever masquerade as a functional person.
Other people (in the real world) will never understand what I go through. Other people can't comprehend that this is no way to live. They will keep on telling me my lust for death is irrational, meanwhile they will go back to their carefree lives of pissing around, watching films, ocassionally going to a lecture or two, hitting up the club, and spending Christmas with their families, then they have the gall to say my situation is the same and I could feel happy too if I simply had more fortitude and purpose.
What is the purpose of a life that wants to end? Where everything I love has been taken from me? I am rambling because I am just in so much pain, my head feels like it is splitting in half. Nobody understands outside of this wonderful community.
Last edited:
