That’s because there is no one no one, no one, whose life will be even a tiny bit altered by my death. Not one person upset, except the people who will smell the stench from my apartment 3 weeks after I’m gone and the people who have to clear up the mess left behind and my rotting carcass. But sad? Nah. Not a soul.
I have no family left, no friends. I go months without uttering a word to anyone except perhaps the occasional post man ‘hello’ and perhaps thank you to the lady at the supermarket till.
Anyway, It’s been a while since I first posted here.
- Since then, my best friend (been inseperable since 2004) decided to drop me out of the blue because of his jealous girlfriend, who refused to let him have any friends except her. Unfortunately, therefore, the best ever friend I had, was no longer there and since we were each other’s ‘rock’ and met all the time for long chats over coffee, pub, meals out, and having a laugh, it left a big void in my life.
2. I had two lipo operations, one was a failure, the second one was worse and left me with a deformed stomach. I now cannot even contemplate sex with another man, let alone a relationship because i am now vile and disgusting to look at, even more than i was before the Vaser Lipo.
3. in 2013, on my annual visit to Italy to visit my parents, I realised this: My father, who had been a non-drinker since I was born, had turned into a full blown alcoholic, with early onset dementia, and was my Mum’s primary carer. My Mum developed Alzheimers 7 years earlier and was totally dependent on him, being incontinent, unable to speak, or even cry out, or walk properly, or feed herself.
On my visit in 2013 I discovered to my horror, that he was a changed man. A psycho.
He was severely, harshly abusing my mum, a defenceless, 79 year old woman with Alzheimers.
I will not go into details, but what I saw was worse than a horror film.
I had to keep flying back from this scene of horror and back to my London, because what I witnessed was somthing i would not wish on my worse enemy. But I kept flying back there because I was basically my mum’s ‘shield’ against his illogical rage – no one was getting involved — neighbours, doctors, they all turned a blind eye.
For example he would drag her by the hair all along the corridor if she did anything like get in the way of his TV watching, and would slap her around whenever my back was turned. If she was eating and dribbled a piece of food out of her mouth he would slap her across the face and forcefeed her even more angrily.
There is more but it is too harrowing to write about.
I did everything I could to get her away from him, to find a clinic, but the ironic thing was, as much as he would call her a ‘piece of shit’ and all sorts of Italian swear words you would never use towards a family member, he REFUSED to have anyone take here away from him.
It was like he was her punching bag and he could not let her go. I examined the situation legally and in italy it is very complicated…. suffice to say, I got my uncle and cousin involved and we could not figure out a way to get her taken away from my Dad unless I called someone e.g. police, social service turn up on the spot just as he was abusing her … the problem is that he was very, very clever as acting the ‘innocent party’ and could switch from one personality to another within 5 mins, it was mind blowing.
And of course he always hit her in places that were not ‘visible’ – mostly her head. I remember him slapping her violenty with his shoe over here head non stop 15 times because she didn’t want to eat her dinner. Which is when I would step in , take the shoe, put my arms around my Mum, take her gently , the hell away from him and then come back and yell at him to STOP doing this, because he was making mum even more ill.
This was the kind of thing I was doing, at least 9-15 times a day, stepping in to protect her, starting from 10 am when my Dad would drag himself out of bed and start shouting at my Mum ‘Alzati!! Alzati!!’ (Italian for ‘get out of bed) endlessly, at the top of his lungs…
Then when he’d stopped shouting and my Poor Mum would be forced (he would literally pull her arm out of her socket if she didn’t get up) , lunch was a nightmare trip to a local restaurant he insisted on going to every day;
So he’d no breakfast, start on the wine at the restaurant, have 2 ‘amari’ which are after-dinner liqueur kind of drinks, for those who don’t know, and then the fun bus back home, when he’d crack open another bottle of wine… and just drink it like it was lemonade until about 2 am, when he’d finally collapse in a drunken heap in bed…
Once he fell asleep on the hard cold floorif the living room , wearing just a pyjama top… and nothing underneath…you never, ever want to see your dad on display like that….and as usual had to deal with that ‘situation’ — just another example).
But no matter how much I showed him that the ‘gentle’ approach made my mum less twitchy, scared and paralysed and unable to move, let alone dress herself or get into a taxi, it made no difference, the next day he was back to being an aggressive, insulting monster. He was back to battering her around as soon as my back was turned…. and after a year he was not ashamed to do it in public,either. At that point he had no self interest except where his next glass of wine was coming from and that my Mum was kept firmly in her place. It was disgusting.
This kind of thing was going on all the time, to the point that I became so ill every time I went there (I once spent a whole flight back literally sh***ting blood and was in and out of the disgusting aeroplane toilet every 5 mins the entire 2 hour trip….) .. at that point I realised I could not carry on and decided I would stay in London and visit again when I got my strength (mental and physical) strength back.
Unfortunately, during that break, this was just before Xmas 2104, my dad calls and says that unfortunately my mother has passed away. It was devastating. I didn’t even get to her funeral as he only told me 3 days before it happened, and I couldn’t find a single flight seat available.
For months I lived with flashbacks, tormenting thoughts, as to what happened, what he did to her, and how alone she must have felt as she died, defenceless, with no one but her abuser standing over her as she died … I don’t know the details as my dad refused to give much more info than that she was fine… then she went to sleep as usual and never woke up again.
This is the man, who, on one morning, when my mum woke up with a black eye, he said that she had probably hit the wall when she turned over in her sleep. I will have to live with that for the rest of my life, and the fact that I did everything I could and I still did not solve anything.
The only comfort is that every time I visited, my Mum really changed — she started dressing herself, she started smiling, she actually said full sentences… that was because she didn’t have my Dad barking at her and smacking her head if she didn’t put her blouse on quick enough.
But with every consequent visit, within a week or two weeks of being left alone with him, and I’d return to visit, it was back to square one… spent a lot of time with here, keeping my Dad at a distance and all I can hope is that I gave at least her last few months on this earth peaceful and that even though she didn’t recognise me anymore, she was smiling more and had someone to accompany her gently to the toilet, and to stroke her hair, and talk to her and hold her hand … I just wish I could have been with her when she died and held her in my arms. It’s my biggest biggest regret. She had suffered so much and it devastates me that she passed away it without any friendly, soothing people around her.
4. My finances are fucked. I haven’t worked, except a stint as a self employed escort, in 2012-13
because of my mental issues (since i was 10 years old) I have a lot of trouble staying in work, as I am pretty much suicidal most of the time or suffer severe panic attacks.
So I am now faced with debts, no income… I could go back to escorting but because of my lipo operations (which I thought would help my self confidence whilst escorting) turned out so badly wrong that my stomach is rippled, stretched, scarred, grotesque, thanks to the Surgeon who carried out both the lipo op (the second one being to correct the first cock-up job he did) and hence I have no confidence and I am thus, unable to afford to pay gas electricity, phone, internet, I just have enough money to pay utilities for the next few months, I have no friends, my Mum has passed away, my dad is an aggressive insane monster who I cannot recognise anymore, and I realise now what I always knew, dating back to when I was 10 – that life sucks it sucks, and the only remedy to all the above problems is to end it all.
Why stick around? No one would miss me. I seriously do not have a single friend, no partner, no family, no nothing…I just want a foolproof way to die as soon as I possible can, so that all this worrying about money, the flashbacks of horrific abuse I witnessed whenever I visited my parents, the knowledge that I am now deformed, with a stomach like a car crash, can all be wiped away.
What is the most foolproof method? please someone give me advice.
I have sleeping pills, I have alcohol. It is only a matter of days before I decide to do it.
I have, by the way, been under the care of the Mental Health Team in London and they have been absolutely no help at all, in fact I have never witnessed such utter tactless-ness, such lack of empathy, such aggression towards how my problems are solvable and I should get out more and make more friends.
I do get out more… I spent 9 months stuck to my bed, and at least I can now go down to my local tescos and buy my own shopping — on good days which are few and far between.
Pills don’t work. Anti depressants only work as long as you don’t have all this external shit going on which is slowly destroying you.
God what a depressing post. Sorry to bore anyone who bothered to read it. I just need a foolproof way to die. I woudl go to Brent Cross multi storey car park and throw myself, happily, but ironically I am too scared to make the bus journey there as my agoraphobia does not extend that far… 20 mins walk is about my maximum before i start to hypventilate and get paranoid that people are looking at me because I look weird, no matter how much I try to make an effort to present myself as relatively normal – clean hair, bit of make up – dressed conservatively…. what a stupid life I lead. It’s all pointless. And all the men I have met with, had relationships, have all treated me like shit or bored the pants off me.
Isn’t life just grand. Please any suggestions, I would be grateful. Cos I have literally had it with this world. I’ve been here 48 years, never thought I’d made it past 30 because of rebellious and not very healthy lifestyle, and yet I am still here, my health is totally 100 percent fine, but my brain is competely messed up and I cannot live this life any longer. Why am I stil here? i hate every living breathing moment. And anyone who thinks life is precious is just weird.
7 comments
I read your entire post, as well as your post five years ago. It sounds like you’ve been put through the wringer. And, I can relate to the ALONE feeling.
Who says you’re a Selfish *****?
I cannot imagine the kind of strength it took to go through that kind of familial situation. You deserve every comfort you can get for knowing you brightened your mothers outlook whenever you were with her. I read your first post, as well, and taking both together you seem like a very people-oriented person. If I’m not talking out my ass then I’m sorry for the situations that conspired to take that contact away. Nothing about anything you wrote leaves me with the impression of “Selfish *****”.
You wrote that you were surprised you made it past 30.
I had the same feeling when I turned 30; somehow I’d lived my first 3 decades with an odd premonition that I would not live past that age.
And despite some failed suicide attempts, here I am at 46.
I begrudgingly admit that I’m mostly glad I stayed, though there are also days when I feel the opposite.
Anyway, enough about me.
You mentioned that no one would miss you.
Maybe that means one of these things:
1. Someone really would miss you; you’re simply unaware of the number of lives you’ve touched, or…
2. There’s a mark you can still make on the world simply by hanging around a bit longer.
I don’t know. I don’t want to judge either way, I’m just saying, it’s an interesting thing to think about.
And, like the other people who have commented, I completely agree that you sound nothing at all like a selfish *****. I didn’t get that impression at all. I got the impression that you are hurting and feeling desperate, which is completely ok. I think most of us here can relate to that, and it is sad that we live in a world where that’s a common feeling.
I hope things work out for you!
I feel like i was reading a post about myself. Can we talk? Im 31… I want to leave now if i make it to 48 and things are still like this i dont.. I dont want that.. Can we talk? Is that ok does my email show up on your dashboard if i post here? Id like to talk to you if thats ok 🙁
It is an obligation upon people to repent.
But leaving sins is even more of an obligation.
Patience in the midst of hardships is difficult to bear.
But loosing the opportunity for reward is more difficult to bear.
Time is indeed perplexing in the way it passes.
Yet people’s heedlessness is even more perplexing.
Everything that is due to arrive is indeed close,
Yet death is closer than everything else.
There are four types of oceans – passion is the
ocean of sins, the ego is the ocean of desires, death is the ocean of lives, and the
grave is the ocean of regrets.
“That’s because there is no one no one, no one, whose life will be even a tiny bit altered by my death. ”
That’s what eventually going to happen to everyone, believe me..
forget about your ‘best friend’, there’s lots and lots of good people out there. you’re just not looking at the right place.
Stop worrying about your ‘stomach,’ it wasn’t your fault. People look at your face not your stomach or something. Nobody is going to look at your stomach and turn u away.
It was your father’s responsiblitiy to luk at your mother, not yours…! So, stop regretting on that.
But it all makes sense, your young life, your parents, your hardships, your struggling, If you look at it through God’s view.
reply me, so I can explain u how it makes sense and continue living without any problems.