myself judge
New Member
- Aug 17, 2025
- 2
By the time you read this post, I will be ready—ready to leave for another place. Consider it my suicide note.
As a child, I couldn't distinguish between family education and domestic violence. The saying 'strict discipline breeds filial children' confused me deeply. How could violence ever be called education? Even now, the blurred line between them remains beyond my understanding.
In middle school, my drunken father mistook me for my mother. He pinned me down on the bed and kissed me. I was too young, too weak to fight back—I could only stare in despair as he violated me.
His flushed face drew closer, the stench of alcohol hot on my neck. His lips pressed against mine. I shut my eyes, terrified to see his expression.
He forced my mouth open with his teeth, his wet tongue pushing inside, swirling relentlessly. It lasted minutes before he finally stumbled away.
I confronted him in rage afterward, but got nothing—no answer, no explanation, nothing. For someone with a normal sexual orientation, this caused irreparable damage and unending psychological scars.
The absurdity: my first kiss stolen by my own intoxicated father. After this, I developed OCD and depression.
I feel no emotions. I cannot love. Lost at life's crossroads, I wander with nothing but emptiness.
As a child, I couldn't distinguish between family education and domestic violence. The saying 'strict discipline breeds filial children' confused me deeply. How could violence ever be called education? Even now, the blurred line between them remains beyond my understanding.
In middle school, my drunken father mistook me for my mother. He pinned me down on the bed and kissed me. I was too young, too weak to fight back—I could only stare in despair as he violated me.
His flushed face drew closer, the stench of alcohol hot on my neck. His lips pressed against mine. I shut my eyes, terrified to see his expression.
He forced my mouth open with his teeth, his wet tongue pushing inside, swirling relentlessly. It lasted minutes before he finally stumbled away.
I confronted him in rage afterward, but got nothing—no answer, no explanation, nothing. For someone with a normal sexual orientation, this caused irreparable damage and unending psychological scars.
The absurdity: my first kiss stolen by my own intoxicated father. After this, I developed OCD and depression.
I feel no emotions. I cannot love. Lost at life's crossroads, I wander with nothing but emptiness.
