sanctionedusage
sanctioned sausage
- Sep 17, 2025
- 623
I started making it from scratch 3 weeks ago to control the sourcing of dairy because conventional dairy is abusive, and the source provided cheaper milk that would yield even cheaper yogurt. This was my fourth time, where I felt confident enough to make 2 batches at once & experiment.
I have no friends. I speak to no one anymore, after finishing cutting everyone off a couple of months or weeks ago. I don't personally share my hobbies with anyone. But I posted a few times on reddit and when I asked about my idea, someone said to keep them updated. That literally felt like I'd been given a personal mission, for it to come from a person specifically to me. So when it was done, I told my mom, when she's ready to eat some, to call me first so I can take a video of how the the texture came out since I've been perfecting over the last 3 weeks. I asked her 3 times, once the night before and twice again the next morning.
In my free time, I clean the house. I watch a ton of suicide gore on WPD. I self harm. I cook and eat. And lately, I've been dedicating a couple of hours to cat rescue stuff.
Making yogurt was basically the only legitimate personal hobby I had that also connected me with other people, in a way that wasn't gore or suicide related. It was actually really fun, and pretty difficult. Each batch takes me about an hour and a half, plus 12-24 hours of incubation and 15+ hours of refrigeration.
Even though I asked her multiple times, she didn't care, and dug into the whole thing while she was distracted on the phone. When she was done talking, I said, it was literally the one thing I'd asked of her.
She doesn't know or care what goes into the process or how long it takes me, because it doesn't affect her, so she didn't care to remember. That's always how it's been. It's not a narcissism thing; she just doesn't have the mental capacity to understand something that complex outside of herself. For ref, she's got a history of regularly trashing belongings of others, no matter how expensive— and it's never made up for in any capacity.
This was also on an already unusually inconsiderate and exhausting day. She starts asking nonsense about "which yogurt" she can have then, and I said the same one, but she needs to have TOLD me beforehand like I asked her to. She keeps asking me the same thing, like I was telling her she couldn't have one when I literally make it entirely for her because I don't eat dairy. After 5 or 6 times of repeating what I meant, I asked how many times I had to explain it to her and I couldn't have said it in a simpler fucking way than I was, and she storms out telling me to eat it all for myself. Then, she went upstairs to the rest of my family and started lying about the entire exchange and what happened, crying and calling me schizophrenic, insane, etc. She goes on to say she never wanted me to make it again, that no one would "bother her about her yogurt" with the supermarket one, and that it's stupid that I have to show anyone or take a video in the first place.
I literally just wanted a video of the first scoop so I could report back to reddit how this new method turned out, after spending 29 hours on it. This is the only time I've ever asked for anything for myself, regarding the fucking yogurt. But instead of just doing the one, simple thing I asked— to tell me when she's going to eat it— she'd rather I fuck off entirely.
She did understand what I was saying, and why I wanted to do it. But because it isn't important to her, it doesn't matter, no matter how simple it was.
And then the running upstairs to lie about everything, cry, and have people comfort her while I plead my case to someone that wasn't even there and doesn't give a shit. I wasn't crying, completely levelheaded, recounted it perfectly and accurately, and it still didn't matter.
Instead of crying after everything's over, I tend to just flush in my neck and cheeks really hard and get cold/hot flashes. She ignored me the rest of the night and while she pretended to have been so affected by my saying the word "fuck" or "stupid," she was laughing and talking on the phone an hour later with her entire social circle and family. I've said this before in a really old thread about why I don't engage with my family, and it's because in the worst altercation possible, the other party always gets over it faster and has everyone to go back to, while I end up suffering the brunt of it, and alone. It used to be a constant occurrence when I was younger, that core memory of sitting alone in my room with all these violent urges and thoughts after a fight while hearing my entire family laughing and socializing downstairs, even the people who thought I was in the right. Armchair internet shrinks will say its BPD, but what's a regular stupid fight to them has always been a catastrophic emergency to me, prompting some kind of escape in the sense of drugs, alcohol, or suicide/self harm. This time, I'd just locked in on my plan, got my rope and loosened it up properly, practiced a slipknot vs a hangman's knot, watched the saved hangings I had, researched disposition of remains technicalities, and decided on final acts and those I'd give up on.
I don't know if I have to spell it out here, but it's not about the yogurt. It's the repeated examples of how mentally deficient, simple, and fundamentally different the people I'm stuck with are. Emotional immaturity, the victim carding, the complete disregard for anyone but herself, all of which are traits shared precisely with her husband, and have been shoved in my face for decades. I've been able to shrug it off all my life because I had the luxury of health, and a normal life with distractions, and it wasn't usually directed at me until now for reasons that'd complicate this post too much right now. But I'm fucked with agoraphobia now. I'm stuck exactly where I am, with exactly these people, and even after they're dead, their effects are cemented in my psyche anyway. I'll always see them in the people I meet. Agoraphobia nor amaxophobia's never going away either, as much 'progress' as I make. I don't have the incentive to keep trying. I don't have a goal to look forward to, not as much as I want to end it all instead.
And what really solidified it was the next day, where I get zero apology for the insanely performative victim play and lack of understanding, but instead a text that says "mm this is the best yogurt in the world." She'd already watched me give my sister back the tool I used for incubation, and I'd already asked her what to do with the yogurt because I was returning the expensive glass tupperware I'd bought for it— and instead of stopping me in the moment, she held onto that grudge and waited until later when she decided she'd punished me enough to try to appeal to me with the weakest compliment on earth. She would've never guessed I was sleeping with a slipknot under me the whole night, that I was paying for funeral arrangements, and that I was only suddenly in a rush about the feral litter as a final amend. Even knowing the extent of how far I go mentally, she still thinks this kind of thing is just some game. To compliment me the next day will make it all better again, no legitimate conversation needed. I'm that fucking retarded. Or the thought has crossed her mind of how far I'd take it, and she just doesn't care. I've spelled it out for her sparsely in the past before, with no reaction. She either thinks I'm too stupid or weak to do it, or that I'd deserve it.
I've been the most disgusting I've ever been these last few months. The more chores I pick up, the less time and energy I have for hygiene. I barely brush my teeth, I went 3 weeks last month before getting grossed out and now aiming for a max of 3-4 days. Still disgusting I know, but the color of my teeth under the plaque stays white, so its hard to care. I hardly wash my hair, and I'm not 14 anymore so it actually gets greasy now. I don't reapply deodorant between showers. Wear the same clothes throughout, so up to 4-6 days. I always have the grossest dead skin and calluses on my heels from all the housework and walking on cement barefoot. No matter how much weight I lose, I see no difference. I planned for the longest time to commit at a certain weight, in specific weather, with specific music, looking a certain way. I had things I wanted to do first out of curiosity and vanity, like kissing someone or seeing if I'm brave enough to get surgery, maybe experience safe sedation once in my life. But the thought of pushing longer for those things disgusts me more than myself physically.
Before writing this up, I was considering doing something else radical instead as a last resort. If instead of suicide, I packed up my measly garbage bag of clothes and took a bus somewhere with just $2k and identification, and see where I'd end up. But in the best case scenario, surviving like that and getting a life out of a runaway fills me with so much more shame, guilt, and dread than killing myself here in this house. I don't want myself to achieve a good life, I want to fucking kill myself. My plan's changed to do it in the living room closet since the thick metal bar's properly screwed into the walls and I've tested my weight on it. It'll be partial, around 2-4AM, and around 8, one of my parents will walk down to get their coats and see me kneeling like that. I'm hoping to do it someday this week when I'm done with that kitten litter, meaning it'll still be too cold to do it outside. It still drops to 38-42F every night.
There is absolutely nothing left to this life. No one, and nothing. Not even the simplest hobby. As fun as it is, anything I consume and enjoy is just a fictional distraction in my head, I might as well be dreaming in a coma. It's hurting me more to stay alive to watch movies and write ocs to let myself age further and further, get more and more pathetic instead of dying with the slightest dignity I have at 21. I've been paving this path for myself since November, slowly removing everyone and any other obstacle that could tempt me to stay. If I decided to live now, I'd only be torturing myself, and everything I've already done will have been needless sabotage instead of prepwork.
I was nervous to the point of sickness for days now, but I've somewhat calmed down about the idea of killing myself. I won't want to do it when it's time to put it around my neck and drop my weight, that's for sure. I don't think I've ever done anything irreversible in my life. But there's no other option I can think of, no matter how long I contemplate it. I'm 21, it's time to grow up and finally commit to it. I'm always coming back to this.
I think in a bit, I'll write another post under this one to list some of the best memories I have of life and other favorites I have.
I have no friends. I speak to no one anymore, after finishing cutting everyone off a couple of months or weeks ago. I don't personally share my hobbies with anyone. But I posted a few times on reddit and when I asked about my idea, someone said to keep them updated. That literally felt like I'd been given a personal mission, for it to come from a person specifically to me. So when it was done, I told my mom, when she's ready to eat some, to call me first so I can take a video of how the the texture came out since I've been perfecting over the last 3 weeks. I asked her 3 times, once the night before and twice again the next morning.
In my free time, I clean the house. I watch a ton of suicide gore on WPD. I self harm. I cook and eat. And lately, I've been dedicating a couple of hours to cat rescue stuff.
Making yogurt was basically the only legitimate personal hobby I had that also connected me with other people, in a way that wasn't gore or suicide related. It was actually really fun, and pretty difficult. Each batch takes me about an hour and a half, plus 12-24 hours of incubation and 15+ hours of refrigeration.
Even though I asked her multiple times, she didn't care, and dug into the whole thing while she was distracted on the phone. When she was done talking, I said, it was literally the one thing I'd asked of her.
She doesn't know or care what goes into the process or how long it takes me, because it doesn't affect her, so she didn't care to remember. That's always how it's been. It's not a narcissism thing; she just doesn't have the mental capacity to understand something that complex outside of herself. For ref, she's got a history of regularly trashing belongings of others, no matter how expensive— and it's never made up for in any capacity.
This was also on an already unusually inconsiderate and exhausting day. She starts asking nonsense about "which yogurt" she can have then, and I said the same one, but she needs to have TOLD me beforehand like I asked her to. She keeps asking me the same thing, like I was telling her she couldn't have one when I literally make it entirely for her because I don't eat dairy. After 5 or 6 times of repeating what I meant, I asked how many times I had to explain it to her and I couldn't have said it in a simpler fucking way than I was, and she storms out telling me to eat it all for myself. Then, she went upstairs to the rest of my family and started lying about the entire exchange and what happened, crying and calling me schizophrenic, insane, etc. She goes on to say she never wanted me to make it again, that no one would "bother her about her yogurt" with the supermarket one, and that it's stupid that I have to show anyone or take a video in the first place.
I literally just wanted a video of the first scoop so I could report back to reddit how this new method turned out, after spending 29 hours on it. This is the only time I've ever asked for anything for myself, regarding the fucking yogurt. But instead of just doing the one, simple thing I asked— to tell me when she's going to eat it— she'd rather I fuck off entirely.
She did understand what I was saying, and why I wanted to do it. But because it isn't important to her, it doesn't matter, no matter how simple it was.
And then the running upstairs to lie about everything, cry, and have people comfort her while I plead my case to someone that wasn't even there and doesn't give a shit. I wasn't crying, completely levelheaded, recounted it perfectly and accurately, and it still didn't matter.
Instead of crying after everything's over, I tend to just flush in my neck and cheeks really hard and get cold/hot flashes. She ignored me the rest of the night and while she pretended to have been so affected by my saying the word "fuck" or "stupid," she was laughing and talking on the phone an hour later with her entire social circle and family. I've said this before in a really old thread about why I don't engage with my family, and it's because in the worst altercation possible, the other party always gets over it faster and has everyone to go back to, while I end up suffering the brunt of it, and alone. It used to be a constant occurrence when I was younger, that core memory of sitting alone in my room with all these violent urges and thoughts after a fight while hearing my entire family laughing and socializing downstairs, even the people who thought I was in the right. Armchair internet shrinks will say its BPD, but what's a regular stupid fight to them has always been a catastrophic emergency to me, prompting some kind of escape in the sense of drugs, alcohol, or suicide/self harm. This time, I'd just locked in on my plan, got my rope and loosened it up properly, practiced a slipknot vs a hangman's knot, watched the saved hangings I had, researched disposition of remains technicalities, and decided on final acts and those I'd give up on.
I don't know if I have to spell it out here, but it's not about the yogurt. It's the repeated examples of how mentally deficient, simple, and fundamentally different the people I'm stuck with are. Emotional immaturity, the victim carding, the complete disregard for anyone but herself, all of which are traits shared precisely with her husband, and have been shoved in my face for decades. I've been able to shrug it off all my life because I had the luxury of health, and a normal life with distractions, and it wasn't usually directed at me until now for reasons that'd complicate this post too much right now. But I'm fucked with agoraphobia now. I'm stuck exactly where I am, with exactly these people, and even after they're dead, their effects are cemented in my psyche anyway. I'll always see them in the people I meet. Agoraphobia nor amaxophobia's never going away either, as much 'progress' as I make. I don't have the incentive to keep trying. I don't have a goal to look forward to, not as much as I want to end it all instead.
And what really solidified it was the next day, where I get zero apology for the insanely performative victim play and lack of understanding, but instead a text that says "mm this is the best yogurt in the world." She'd already watched me give my sister back the tool I used for incubation, and I'd already asked her what to do with the yogurt because I was returning the expensive glass tupperware I'd bought for it— and instead of stopping me in the moment, she held onto that grudge and waited until later when she decided she'd punished me enough to try to appeal to me with the weakest compliment on earth. She would've never guessed I was sleeping with a slipknot under me the whole night, that I was paying for funeral arrangements, and that I was only suddenly in a rush about the feral litter as a final amend. Even knowing the extent of how far I go mentally, she still thinks this kind of thing is just some game. To compliment me the next day will make it all better again, no legitimate conversation needed. I'm that fucking retarded. Or the thought has crossed her mind of how far I'd take it, and she just doesn't care. I've spelled it out for her sparsely in the past before, with no reaction. She either thinks I'm too stupid or weak to do it, or that I'd deserve it.
I've been the most disgusting I've ever been these last few months. The more chores I pick up, the less time and energy I have for hygiene. I barely brush my teeth, I went 3 weeks last month before getting grossed out and now aiming for a max of 3-4 days. Still disgusting I know, but the color of my teeth under the plaque stays white, so its hard to care. I hardly wash my hair, and I'm not 14 anymore so it actually gets greasy now. I don't reapply deodorant between showers. Wear the same clothes throughout, so up to 4-6 days. I always have the grossest dead skin and calluses on my heels from all the housework and walking on cement barefoot. No matter how much weight I lose, I see no difference. I planned for the longest time to commit at a certain weight, in specific weather, with specific music, looking a certain way. I had things I wanted to do first out of curiosity and vanity, like kissing someone or seeing if I'm brave enough to get surgery, maybe experience safe sedation once in my life. But the thought of pushing longer for those things disgusts me more than myself physically.
Before writing this up, I was considering doing something else radical instead as a last resort. If instead of suicide, I packed up my measly garbage bag of clothes and took a bus somewhere with just $2k and identification, and see where I'd end up. But in the best case scenario, surviving like that and getting a life out of a runaway fills me with so much more shame, guilt, and dread than killing myself here in this house. I don't want myself to achieve a good life, I want to fucking kill myself. My plan's changed to do it in the living room closet since the thick metal bar's properly screwed into the walls and I've tested my weight on it. It'll be partial, around 2-4AM, and around 8, one of my parents will walk down to get their coats and see me kneeling like that. I'm hoping to do it someday this week when I'm done with that kitten litter, meaning it'll still be too cold to do it outside. It still drops to 38-42F every night.
There is absolutely nothing left to this life. No one, and nothing. Not even the simplest hobby. As fun as it is, anything I consume and enjoy is just a fictional distraction in my head, I might as well be dreaming in a coma. It's hurting me more to stay alive to watch movies and write ocs to let myself age further and further, get more and more pathetic instead of dying with the slightest dignity I have at 21. I've been paving this path for myself since November, slowly removing everyone and any other obstacle that could tempt me to stay. If I decided to live now, I'd only be torturing myself, and everything I've already done will have been needless sabotage instead of prepwork.
I was nervous to the point of sickness for days now, but I've somewhat calmed down about the idea of killing myself. I won't want to do it when it's time to put it around my neck and drop my weight, that's for sure. I don't think I've ever done anything irreversible in my life. But there's no other option I can think of, no matter how long I contemplate it. I'm 21, it's time to grow up and finally commit to it. I'm always coming back to this.
I think in a bit, I'll write another post under this one to list some of the best memories I have of life and other favorites I have.
