Delete76
New Member
- Mar 15, 2026
- 1
I'm new here. I'm not here to convince anyone about what they should or should not do with their life. I'm here to finally speak my story in a place where I will not be censored, shut down or threatened with hospitalization.
I'm forty-nine years old and I haven't wanted to be in this world since around seven or eight. I was sexually, emotionally, verbally and sometimes physically abused by my mother. She was a mentally ill narcissist who refused help and whom my father backed up no matter what she did or said. Nothing I ever did was good enough for her. She told me I was a screw up, strange and often asked my father what he thought was wrong with me. Despite state testing showing I was highly intelligent she convinced me I was stupid and then yelled that I wasn't using my brain and that I was wasting it.
In 1997 when I was twenty-one she died of cancer. Shortly after that I crashed, hard. I couldn't hold a job, I had no college education and I was in and out of mental hospitals while seeing therapists and taking every pill they threw at me. I was essentially homeless. I slept on peoples couches and in hotel rooms when I could afford them. I worked dead end jobs that paid little when I worked at all. Therapy back then largely consisted of sitting in a room with someone who told you how much you were fucking up and telling you that not having a place to sleep that night was a good thing since it would light a fire under your ass to get on your feet. This went on for several years before I went searching for and eventually found blue collar work that paid the bills.
I worked in warehouses and manufacturing plants. The places were often demanding. No A/C, sometimes no heat in winter and fifty to sixty hours a week mandatory over-time. Threats were made against those who slowed down for any reason and I watched people lose their jobs because they couldn't keep up. Somehow I did though. I was never terminated. If I lost my job it was because of a lay off and I quickly found another place of employment. I was tired which is what happens when you're working twelve hour shifts and lucky to have one day a week off but I kept going. I can't say I was a perfect employee but overall my various bosses liked me and gave me good reviews. Then like my parents and my grandparents before me I too got cancer.
At the age of forty-two I got very sick. I was extremely tired and even the Christmas shutdown where I worked wasn't enough to help me feel rested. I remember nearly falling asleep at a movie theater over Christmas break that year. There were other symptoms too and the following January after several doctors visits I was told I had stage three colon cancer. I went out of work on disability and into cancer treatment. The doctors won't tell you what it's actually going to be like during treatment. You hear the term "well tolerated" a lot which is basically code for "You know not what pain and suffering truly is but you will, and soon." They blasted my ass with radiation, literally while making me take Xeloda which is a form of chemo therapy in a pill. Before long every time I had to use the bathroom I screamed in pain from the radiation burns and the chemo left my stomach upset and everything tasting like I was eating an aluminum can. I ended up peeing blood at one point from the radiation treatment. It was like peeing razor blades. They gave me a shot of morphine but it did nothing. Finally the day of the surgery came and it went so badly that I woke up unable to see clearly and needing new glasses. They released me because there was in issue with my insurance despite my not being able to walk on my own or even to get out of bed. Two weeks later I flat lined in the emergency room from a pulmonary embolism. They brought me back, cut a hole in the side of my neck and ran a tube from my neck down into my lungs so they could spray blood thinners directly onto the clot. I was in the ICU for a week and then transferred to a regular bed where the surgeon who had preformed my surgery blamed me for the clot because I had messed up his perfect surgery record.
When my cancer treatment was finally over I had to argue with my oncologist to recommend I stay on disability. He somehow thought I would be able to return to blue collar work with a colostomy and a host of other cancer related aliments. I still have to fight with SSDI and a private insurance company to this day as they try to toss me off disability. At the same time all the side effects from chemo and radiation have caught up to me. The diabetes that would have gotten me later in life got me sooner. I lost all my teeth because chemo makes cavities spread faster and I have no dental insurance, I have chronic anemia caused by who knows what, my hands and feet crack and bleed, my hair turned almost entirely grey within a few years as I aged twenty years in the span of about five. I love food but between the lack of teeth and the diabetes most food is off the table, no pun intended and every morning and evening I swallow handfuls of pills. Pills for keeping my blood thin, pills to prevent a stroke, pills to keep the anemia at bay.... at what point does it become necromancy?
If I were someone's pet, someones dog or cat they would have had the decency to put me to sleep years ago but because I'm a human being I'm not allowed that mercy. The attitude of friends and therapists alike is "How can we make it better? How can we make you happy?" When I tell them that they can let me go, release me from the guilt of taking my own life they don't know how to respond. The best thing anyone can do for me is say "I understand why you wish to die. I understand that the resources to help you are unavailable due to the world we live in. I understand that you are facing a miserable future, one of possible homelessness and you just want to be free. Go without guilt, god speed." Instead I get "Have you tried...?" "How about...?" "Maybe if you..." "If you try this I think you'll feel better..." I'm not asking them to kill me. All I ask is that they let me go without guilt and without trying to stop me. Sometimes death is a mercy.
I'm forty-nine years old and I haven't wanted to be in this world since around seven or eight. I was sexually, emotionally, verbally and sometimes physically abused by my mother. She was a mentally ill narcissist who refused help and whom my father backed up no matter what she did or said. Nothing I ever did was good enough for her. She told me I was a screw up, strange and often asked my father what he thought was wrong with me. Despite state testing showing I was highly intelligent she convinced me I was stupid and then yelled that I wasn't using my brain and that I was wasting it.
In 1997 when I was twenty-one she died of cancer. Shortly after that I crashed, hard. I couldn't hold a job, I had no college education and I was in and out of mental hospitals while seeing therapists and taking every pill they threw at me. I was essentially homeless. I slept on peoples couches and in hotel rooms when I could afford them. I worked dead end jobs that paid little when I worked at all. Therapy back then largely consisted of sitting in a room with someone who told you how much you were fucking up and telling you that not having a place to sleep that night was a good thing since it would light a fire under your ass to get on your feet. This went on for several years before I went searching for and eventually found blue collar work that paid the bills.
I worked in warehouses and manufacturing plants. The places were often demanding. No A/C, sometimes no heat in winter and fifty to sixty hours a week mandatory over-time. Threats were made against those who slowed down for any reason and I watched people lose their jobs because they couldn't keep up. Somehow I did though. I was never terminated. If I lost my job it was because of a lay off and I quickly found another place of employment. I was tired which is what happens when you're working twelve hour shifts and lucky to have one day a week off but I kept going. I can't say I was a perfect employee but overall my various bosses liked me and gave me good reviews. Then like my parents and my grandparents before me I too got cancer.
At the age of forty-two I got very sick. I was extremely tired and even the Christmas shutdown where I worked wasn't enough to help me feel rested. I remember nearly falling asleep at a movie theater over Christmas break that year. There were other symptoms too and the following January after several doctors visits I was told I had stage three colon cancer. I went out of work on disability and into cancer treatment. The doctors won't tell you what it's actually going to be like during treatment. You hear the term "well tolerated" a lot which is basically code for "You know not what pain and suffering truly is but you will, and soon." They blasted my ass with radiation, literally while making me take Xeloda which is a form of chemo therapy in a pill. Before long every time I had to use the bathroom I screamed in pain from the radiation burns and the chemo left my stomach upset and everything tasting like I was eating an aluminum can. I ended up peeing blood at one point from the radiation treatment. It was like peeing razor blades. They gave me a shot of morphine but it did nothing. Finally the day of the surgery came and it went so badly that I woke up unable to see clearly and needing new glasses. They released me because there was in issue with my insurance despite my not being able to walk on my own or even to get out of bed. Two weeks later I flat lined in the emergency room from a pulmonary embolism. They brought me back, cut a hole in the side of my neck and ran a tube from my neck down into my lungs so they could spray blood thinners directly onto the clot. I was in the ICU for a week and then transferred to a regular bed where the surgeon who had preformed my surgery blamed me for the clot because I had messed up his perfect surgery record.
When my cancer treatment was finally over I had to argue with my oncologist to recommend I stay on disability. He somehow thought I would be able to return to blue collar work with a colostomy and a host of other cancer related aliments. I still have to fight with SSDI and a private insurance company to this day as they try to toss me off disability. At the same time all the side effects from chemo and radiation have caught up to me. The diabetes that would have gotten me later in life got me sooner. I lost all my teeth because chemo makes cavities spread faster and I have no dental insurance, I have chronic anemia caused by who knows what, my hands and feet crack and bleed, my hair turned almost entirely grey within a few years as I aged twenty years in the span of about five. I love food but between the lack of teeth and the diabetes most food is off the table, no pun intended and every morning and evening I swallow handfuls of pills. Pills for keeping my blood thin, pills to prevent a stroke, pills to keep the anemia at bay.... at what point does it become necromancy?
If I were someone's pet, someones dog or cat they would have had the decency to put me to sleep years ago but because I'm a human being I'm not allowed that mercy. The attitude of friends and therapists alike is "How can we make it better? How can we make you happy?" When I tell them that they can let me go, release me from the guilt of taking my own life they don't know how to respond. The best thing anyone can do for me is say "I understand why you wish to die. I understand that the resources to help you are unavailable due to the world we live in. I understand that you are facing a miserable future, one of possible homelessness and you just want to be free. Go without guilt, god speed." Instead I get "Have you tried...?" "How about...?" "Maybe if you..." "If you try this I think you'll feel better..." I'm not asking them to kill me. All I ask is that they let me go without guilt and without trying to stop me. Sometimes death is a mercy.
