hey. today is friday the 13th. but, it doesn’t make much of a difference, since all days of life for me hold a significant amount of bad luck and misfortune.
I was born into a family history of abuse. My female progenitor, “Louise”, (who I stopped calling mother years ago) was raped by siblings and step-parents and ignored by her female progenitor who favored the boys according to Louise. She got pregnant with me seemingly to “catch” her boyfriend, who didn’t take the bait and left. I suspect they were both damaged, shitty, selfish, childish people who couldn’t love. Louise then neglected me from birth and abused me mentally/emotionally for several years as a single mother on welfare.
As an example, when I was a boy of maybe 8-10 years old, I wrote Louise a poetic bit of prose about how much I loved her. I didn’t understand yet that my desperate desire for her love was not the same as true, healthy, reciprocated love. She, of course, didn’t care as much about love as getting what she wanted. Her response to my effusive and deeply heartfelt, page-long statement of love to her was, “If you love me so much, why don’t you obey me?”
She then married “Jack”, a US Air Force guy 15 years her senior. I suspect she may have chosen him for his “children should be seen and not heard” attitude. Or because she could manipulate him well and deeply. Before much longer, and in addition to how Louise acted, Jack was beating me. Jack apparently beat me due to her private provocation, I remember early on the discussions started in front of me and soon moved into private. When Jack came back out, I was usually due for a beating.
Jack didn’t beat me to make me obey, no matter what he thought. He beat me to get out his feelings, such as the vitriol and poison Louise dumped on him when he arrived home. Do you know the old TV show, “Wait till your father gets home”? If you take out the cute, that’s my life.
At the age of about 8, Jack whipped me until I had bruises and welts from the middle of my back to my calves. After his orgy of violence, he and Louise became concerned and conspired to keep me home from school so my injuries wouldn’t be seen. The assholes had me convinced I was an awful person – something that I still have trouble fighting – so I HELPED them cover my abuse.
Louise continued to conspire with Jack to devise sufficiently awful punishments that wouldn’t leave a mark. In my mid-teens, they chose a novel method – torture. Jack gave me a stack of encyclopedia volumes to hold in my hands, straight out from my shoulders – like the ‘iron cross’ maneuver in gymnastics but with my hands facing upward. He stood there, watching and getting his jollies of vengeance, as the pain increased. The pain got so bad I couldn’t control my muscles, I had spasms in my legs so bad I could hardly stand, brought on by the pain of trying to hold those books up at shoulder height.
In my late teens, I attempted suicide several times. My “family” knew about the overdose on pain and sleeping meds stolen for the purpose from Jack’s prescriptions. They knew about the overdose on acetominophen. They may have suspected when I attempted to asphyxiate myself using the household gas line. They didn’t know about all of my experiments with discreetly cutting myself, testing to see if I could stand opening a vein. I was no longer living with them by the time I bought a shot gun and sawed it off, planning a successful suicide. At that time, I learned that my fear of suffering as I was dying was too great – I couldn’t kill myself.
As another side note, when I was in the mental hospital after my first suicide attempt, I got a chance to confront Louise and Jack. All they did was defend themselves, not seeming to care that Louise’s firstborn had almost died of sadness about how they treated him. I don’t think they even felt bad.
When I realized I couldn’t kill myself, I made some decisions. I decided that I would do what I could to reduce my own suffering since that seemed my only way out.
Fast forward a few decades. I was born under Nixon, came of age under Reagan – effectively, I think, I was born into the final phase of destroying the “New Deal”. Things didn’t seem great since then, they seemed to be getting worse all the time, one step at a time in places all over the map.
Then, during the presidency of Barry O’Bomber, the drone-assassinating-est POTUS, I came to realize that DNC and GOP are one party, the GOPDNC, serving the billionaires. I realized it from his murderous ways, from the ways he did nothing to help the black community, from him successfully taking away habeus corpus (the protection against being held without charge forever – it’s been around since the Magna Carta, almost a thousand years), from him keeping the anti-constitutional “Patriot Act” in effect, from him continuing the illegal and unconstitutional warrantless wiretapping in place, from him doing nothing to protect the 99% – in fact, taking away those protections as fast as they could.
Following Barry O’Bomber it seemed we were being given only one sane choice – Shillary “Goldwater Girl” Clinton. Tinyhands von Fuckstick seemed only a threat to keep the masses in check – vote for Shillary or you’ll get the monster. Except I was one of many people who saw that the neoliberals like Shillary and Barry were a worse danger than Tinyhands. Shillary and Barry actually did the things that Tinyhands liked to talk about. The establishment, the GOPDNC, were clearly (to me) easing us toward the quiet and uncontested loss of any meaningful civil rights. Now that Tinyhands is POTUS, I am terrified of what he’ll do but at the same time glad that Shillary and the smooth-talking establishment are not as fully in control, seemingly, as they were – maybe, just maybe, we can defeat Tinyhands where the public wouldn’t even stand up to Shillary / Barry / etc.
Another factor for me – I cared about pollution back when it seemed to just be “litter” and “clean up after yourself”. I was born in Los Angeles and lived nearby for about a decade – surrounded by oil rigs pumping death out of the ground. I had freqent sinusitis headaches from the smog and migraines that I didn’t recognize until adulthood. As the years progressed I learned about carbon, oxygen, greenhouse gasses, Milankovich cycles, atmospheric circulation, oceanic circulation, ocean acidification, in short I learned about climate change. Now I feel very confident that the oligarchy has royally fucked us. I look at the charts showing how they expect greenhouse gas emissions to drop off in a miraculous way without any real concerted effort being taken and I feel bitter and lied to. I look at the POTUS and congress, current and previous, fighting like rabid dogs to INCREASE coal, oil and gas usage. I see all of this and I think, if life on Earth OR humanity survives (neither is certain), we are in for a really shitty time that may last centuries. (I think the establishment fears losing power more than death.) I fear that the next step is the 99.999% being locked up in labor camps, probably underground, “for our protection”.
My professional life fell apart during this time. Management took a decidedly Tinyhands turn, offshore contractors became preferable to onshore FTEs and people like me – smart, creative, experienced, strong – were pushed out in favor of compliant drones. In the end, I got fired because my employer chose to force me into a contract with another company where the exchange of value was between my employer and the third-party company and I was just the product being sold, or rather stolen. I am aware that a contract forced on me under duress isn’t binding but that doesn’t matter when the other party is ready to take advantage and profit as soon as they have my forced agreement.
Now I am facing homelessness. Again. I don’t even want to go back into IT, into technology, because the whole field is nothing but lies, theft and the usurpation of human rights. Do you read the EULA? You should, it is legally binding with few exceptions.
And the capper is that I am facing trouble with my wife. She is also dealing with her past, her rapes, her abuse. Some of our hurt places fit very well together. Sometimes our hurt places painfully conflict. Today, while I was trying to understand my feelings of hurt and sadness, she told me, “You don’t like me very much right now.” All I could hear her saying is what Louise said, “If you love me, why don’t you obey me?”
I tried, over and over, to tell her what was wrong. Over and over she stopped me to disagree with me, even though I was just trying to tell her what I felt and why. I tried to talk to her about it and she actually seems steadfast. She won’t let me explain to her if she disagrees, doesn’t matter that I am being honest about my feelings, if I try to tell her that “you don’t like me” sounds exactly like “you don’t love me because you don’t obey me” from Louise.
We’ve been in this place before, where she just seems to care more about winning than about my feelings, understanding what happened, making it better. She can’t hear that either, she calls it playing games when I tell her she only seems to care about winning at those times.
She has been my only happy thought, my only support, in my life. If she were not here, I’d have left this world already. And this fight, this repeated scene of not being able to express myself to her because the truth seems like an attack, left me more hopeless than even what Louise, Tinyhands and climate change did.
I am torn between wanting out of this shitty, savage, primitive, dishonest, raping, thieving, killing world and wanting to not abandon her to it.
I really want out. I feel that this life is meant for learning and growth but at the same time…if I am supposed to NEED this learning, WHY? What kind of shitty existence requires that I know this? Is “God” just the “Dubya” of the higher plane of consciousness? All I am accomplishing here that I can see is supporting a corrupt, evil system. I don’t want to feed it with my labor, my taxes, my consumption of branded products.
I don’t know what to do with this war between not wanting to hurt my wife and not wanting to stay stuck here.
If it stay like this, I will leave. The pain of life has exceeded both my capacity to endure and the rewards that life offers.
I can’t tell my wife, she’s not able to hear me the way I need right now. I can’t tell a mental health professional, I think they’ll just want to lock me back up in the worst prisons on Earth (see Washington’s ‘McNeil Island’.) I have no family or relationships, my wife is the only real relationship I’ve had in my life.
I can’t take it and the only person I can talk to is not there for me.
She just came up and asked me if I was going to come out of the office. She surely thinks it can just be smoothed over and forgotten until the next time she hurts me the same way. I don’t want to be near her right now, just like when she said that I didn’t like her, and just like then I am actually drowning in pain and sadness and it hurts to be near her.
I think she’ll force me to come to the front room and then she’ll try to distract me from these feelings. That just leaves me open to be surprised again the next time my pain is offensive to her.
This is not life worth living. I pray for a giant meteor to wipe out humanity before we kill the whole planet. I pray for a small meteorite to hit me, or any piece of space debris. I hope for my flaky, crappy, defective body to finally fail for good. I hope for my psycho brother-in-law to lose his shit and come shoot me.
I don’t know what to do. I know from my teens that I can’t just live for her, my will doesn’t last forever. I don’t want to lose her, I don’t want to live, I don’t want to hurt her, I don’t want to live, I love her so much and this fucking world sucks hard and doesn’t look to get any better in my lifetime.
Please kill me so it isn’t my fault. Let there be a pipeline explosion that takes out the whole neighborhood so I don’t have to worry about my wife. I don’t belong here, I am not suited to this world of “we make piranhas look friendly” humanity. I am the kid who thought when I broke the pinata that we kids should pick up the candy and share it and I’ve never gotten over the shock, dismay, disappointment and hurt of looking up to see Louise and the other two adults urging me on into the candy frenzy, the fact that we were in fucking CHURCH notwithstanding.
I am made for a world of love. How did I get sent to hell?
mental illness has coloured my personality – it’s almost like i don’t know who i truly am…
i know i would be different if my illnesses faded away, or were just erased… but how different?
I thought I was okay with being different but the more I think about it the more I realise if I was actually okay with it, it wouldn’t bother me so much when people stare or talk about me -_- why is it so difficult for people to just leave me alone. I understand i’m easy to make fun of but really who doesn’t have something about them that can be made fun of.
ive been suffering from rapid cycling bipolar my brains so messed up from my dr trying different antidepressants 6 in 5 weeks is it any wonder I feel suicidal at times I’m just burnt out on huge dose of antipsychotics so I don’t loose the plot I’ve isolated myself from friends and family I’ll get through I’m really trying
The pain, forged by both fond memory and misery…
Like an old sports injury.
It used to be sharp and jarring-
Now, a sporadic shrug.
There was a time when I fought…
Valiantly, to become the unbroken.
But each chip of me grew smaller after each shattering.
And the world now seems to have lost its tape dispenser.
Clocks, aplenty though,
As they mull over and measure their minutes
Their support turns to spite, toughness…
We all grow tired,
Just in different ways.
But is the given that we will grow
Or that we can stand to remain tired?
Hey! I am a 35-year old guy from Finland. I first came to this board around 5-years ago.
I have meat here a lot of people. A lot of badly depressed people from many different countries ;=((
If there is anyone from any country who wants to email to me for any reason, please mail me at Tomialatalo@inbox.com
Ah. Now there was a question. A good question– good enough for me to take it into serious consideration for the next week– but woefully incomplete at its core.
I mean, who inspires me to do what? To say what? To be what? What is this inspiration supposed to be like? How am I supposed to react to it? How am I supposed to answer this question?
Was I overthinking this? Absolutely, but, if we were to cut the shit and get down to the nitty-gritty, I was agonizing over this because had multiple answers to all the above.
After all, my parents inspire me. They inspire me in a lot of ways. They inspire fear in me every time they call my name or my phone. They inspire pain and panic when they open their mouth or raise their voice. They inspire me to hate myself. They inspire me to destroy myself. They inspire me to take the shovel they’ve given me and start digging my own grave. They inspire me to never be like them. They inspire me to be afraid of ever talking like them, ever thinking like them, ever living like them, ever even looking like them– lest I ever begin to become them, all because they’ve inspired so much of ‘so much’ in me.
And my old ex-boyfriends inspired me. They inspired me to never speak up. They inspired me not to say no. They inspired me to never tell anyone what happened all those days ago. They inspired me to collapse and cry in locked rooms where no one could ever see. They inspired me to wear longer sleeves, longer socks, heavier coats– no matter the weather, no matter the time. They inspired me to stare at the ground, to tuck my chin down, to keep my voice low, to know that they were the only ones who knew what was best for me.
And all my old counselors? They inspired the same. Don’t be a burden. Don’t do anything without express permission, but don’t ask for it either. Don’t talk. Don’t scream. Don’t move. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
I was inspired to be quiet. To be alone. To be obedient. To attempt suicide to escape that awful, awful inspiration because my fragile, crazy, damaged ass just couldn’t take it anymore.
But… my friends, my real ones, they inspired something… different.
E. inspired creativity. Honesty. Humor. We talk for hours about writing, about art, about anything and everything, daily for 3 years and counting. She puts so much of herself in everything. She works so hard for everything. She’s so funny and sharp and clever, I can’t help but be inspired to try to be just a fraction of the same. I can’t help but want to work just a little bit harder, to hold on just a little bit longer, if only to know what she’ll say next, if only to help her when life gets her down.
H. inspired kindness. Gentleness. Sincerity. Never have I ever met someone with such a golden soul. It’s hard to believe she’s even real sometimes, someone who cares so much about other people to such a degree. She’s lived a hard life, she’s gone through so much, and yet… there she is, her hand on your shoulder. Her eyes knowing, concerned, and waiting for you to do or say what you need to without a single hint of judgement– I want that. I want to be that, for her and for everyone. To be there when the world is unkind.
P. inspired earnestness. Friendliness. Joy. He has such a soft heart, warm and kind, reaching out to say hello at the slightest provocation. Genuine smiles are always at the ready, genuine laughs are just waiting to be heard, because that’s just the way he is. A joyful, smiling, laughing soul, that carries on despite the weight it has from the life he has to lead. I want to smile with him, I want to laugh with him, I want to carry that weight with him, and give back that joy he gives to me.
J. inspired trust. Comfort. Love. I didn’t know what any of that truly was until I met her. Until I fell in love with her. We’re kindred spirits, similar souls and similarly inspired. If people were books, we’d be the same genre, and we’d both be locked and encrypted and 6 feet under. Intentionally guarded. Intentionally unreadable. Intentionally gone. But, with each other, things are different. She has my code. She has my key. She has me, and all the blood and tears and ink that seep out of my pages. And I have her, deep in my heart, deep in my soul, chapters upon chapters dedicated to the life I want to live with her in it, even if it’s not by my side.
And then there’s all the others that would take forever to list, the billions of answers I have for “Who Inspires You?” and all the things they inspire me to be.
Now, if only I could be inspired to finish this in a logical or thoughtful way. Hmm. Don’t suppose that will be happening, will it?
This tired, half-baked, 2 AM lopsided mess will end the way it began.
I don’t know why I keep trusting people. I just feel like people don’t care. I told a ‘friend’ of mine what was going on with me and he was going through the same thing and I thought that this time its gonna be different. I didn’t even feel awkward or angry about people invading my private and emotional side. I really don’t know why I expected something different this time. No one really cares and I think he’s just like the rest of the people. Just hangs around you when he wants and leaves you hanging when you thought you were friends.
I was smart for not telling everything. I’ve been betrayed way too many times to let that happen again. But the difference was that he’s actually going through what I’m going through. I know I’ve probably also betrayed his trust too so I guess its pay back. I deserve it.
But it felt really good to say things that I’ve never said before and good to hear that I’m not the only one. I know he probably doesn’t care but I just wanna talk to someone like that again. You know, without being scared of being judged.
Recently, I’ve began to feel entirely empty.
Even the one thing that I once loved to do and helped me not feel like a freak… I don’t feel different when doing said thing.
I’ve felt that I should die even more intensely, even to the point where from my last suicide attempt, I barely felt anything. Just vast emptiness.
I’ve also experienced even more self-hate for my body. I don’t like seeing my own face anymore. I’m beginning to not even like my own hair, the only thing that I was actually proud of about my body.
Well, I guess I shall end this post.
So I watched two Matrix like movies (World on a wire & The thirteenth floor) and this documentary and I’m back to the thinking world again.
What is life and how are we any different from, say, a rock? I can’t get my head around feeling like a character in video game. What if I’m told today by a supernatural being that this really is a simulation and I’m a Mario like character in it? What difference will this revelation make in my life? I don’t think it will bring any difference. I will keep suffering from same things I suffer now. The state I’m in, a factual truth won’t make any difference.
They say we’re aware of ourselves and our surroundings and that makes us different from animals and rocks. But our brain is a part of nature and product of ordinary evolution and so I don’t think our awareness is of any supernatural type. It is same as awareness of an animal, only a bit more complex. We can’t think independent thoughts. Our thoughts are based on memory and surrounding. Most of all, they’re limited by language. We just can’t think beyond our language and that’s quite a proof of their limitation.
I think what bothers me most is my suffering. If I’m part of nature, why am I suffering 24×7? Maybe suffering is part of nature, part of simulation? But suffering, by its very definition, means something is wrong.
In these movies they show that when a character becomes aware that his world is not real, he either goes mad or commits suicide or tries desperately to get into real world.
What about purpose? Purpose of a video game character is to win the game and reach its end. But then we should’ve been hardwired towards such a purpose. Why do we feel so meaningless and purposeless then?
Sometimes I think I’ve legitimately gone mental. My mind constantly feels like it’s spinning like that gravity ride thing at the fair (some of you know what I’m talking about lol) but it gets to this point where I lose sense of my own being, and I feel so weird and abnormal, and sometimes like a different creature or a different kind of being. I can’t explain it, but my mind is a roller coaster and I think that one of these days I’m going to completely snap on myself.
Hello all, please forgive me if my English is weird. It is not my first language.
Anyways here goes nothing and I am new here:
I have been wandering on Internet and seeking suitable suicide-related or depression-related websites. I stumbled across this website and had thought about signing up. So I did and started out by reading how others deal with their side of Depression and stories. We live in different places so maybe there are some alternative ways of coping stress-related or anything negative. I have been suffering from depression for more than a decade now and at times, self-harm for pain relief. I have been in and out of hospital due to Depression but I am living and breathing here. Constantly I did not know why I am still living here or even facing challenges in my life when I couldn’t even handle myself. However, I take things in a different way.
If I can’t handle this way, what about the other ways? I want to use my experience in coping Depression to help others.
A lot of people had mentioned that I am too kind but this is the way I am. I want to help people and to listen or to read about their problems. Despite all that, I’m a human as well. I have my fair share of ups and downs. I believed and very aware that people other than myself have experienced way more than I do. There are some situations that I have not been through so I can only imagine how it feels like and give positive encouragements to those who need it. Yes, life doesn’t always get better, still at some point, you will find it more meaningful in a positive way. That will be the time you can actually see the bright side of your life (and mine too). Depression doesn’t need a reason to explain. It can be anything and everything. Sometimes, all you need is some alone time. Anywhere far from the very things and/or people that hurt you and a serene place for you to think about things you like. I find that taking a walk in the morning is really relaxing because it is not the peak period of people coming out. You can observe how the stalls and shops being set up or how the nature sounds like. When the morning sun shone on my face, I feel energized, happy and relaxed.
Yes, I still have to face work related issues and family issues (I’m 24 btw). I would still have to face my own Depression and on my medications as well. Controlling the intake of my anti-depressants works because I did not want to rely on them too much. However, it is not a good choice. Kindly seek medical assistance and talk to your doctor when it comes to medications for Depression and anything related to it. It’s not wise to throw it away or change the dosage without seeking medical advise. If anyone needs to write emails to me (if you want) about your problems, I can try my best to give encouragements and also to be of a reader to your problems. Like I have said, there are things that I did not experience so I can only imagine of how you feel and putting myself in your shoes to think of the best ways to resolve.
Thanks for reading!
My email: email@example.com (Don’t spam it please).
I never thought I’d be back.
But look who’s here, again.
I guess this time, it’s different.
And yet, it’s the same as ever.
I was sexually abused when I was 14 and used to have dreams about it again and an=gain, they were different, different people that I knew, different places, and I would fight. but recently, now 18, ive been having slightly different dreams, still the same content, but I don’t recognise the people, I don’t know where I am, why I’m in that situation, and most distressingly, I don’t fight back anymore in these dreams. I just don’t understand. any one?
so the last few days iv drew a character which has mental illness each animal represents a different mental illness or disorder thanks for helping me guys youve been keeping me busy I haven’t been as low in a few day thanks for the support Suicide Club -drowning
ps thanks to everyone who helped me pick animals and names 🙂
so iv been drawing the last couple of days to try take my mind off things but it won’t be long before the drawing ends I can feel myself getting frustrated by it so my patience is wearing thin
iv been drawing characters that represent different mental illnesses some which I have
I need a name for the snake and what the snake will be as a mental illness
So, as usual, I got 400 ideas, plans etc. I got at least a dozen projects going. Half a dozen deals. On top of work, family obligations.
Why do I do this? Constantly emulating progress. As if the next step will finally fill this void…
I find myself daily thinking if I could just “X” then it’d be better. Then I remind myself it won’t. It’ll be the same just different, so I should kill myself.
Pretty much my inner voice lately, yeah I could do…. or you know, just die.
I think one of the few good things (if not the best) that have happened to me since I got to highschool was meeting my current best friend. She really changed my life. I’ve become somewhat of a more “open” person in some aspects. She somehow makes me feel grateful for what I have in my life. Sadly, today is not one of those days. There’s still an issue that’s been going in and off of my mind for the past year or so.
I feel like I shouldn’t be her best friend. I feel like we shouldn’t be best friends. I feel that, even though we might be so close to one another, there’s something in me that somehow doesn’t fit in this friendship. There are times in which we are together, but I feel like she’s more into her own thoughts and don’t notice I’m there. There are even times where she is talking with everybody but me. I mean, I know I’m not her only friend, and that she doesn’t have to be with me at all times, but there are some relationships she has that are so different to the one we have.
I don’t know how I got to be her BFF, but we are so different. She’s so happy, lively, full of energy, and I’m the total opposite of that. We are complete opposites in almost every aspect possible. That makes me feel insecure about if I’m a good “match” for her. Maybe I worry too much (?). The thing is, I can’t find any aspect in myself that would make her wanna be best friends with me, when there are like literally 10 other people out there whom I’ve seen are almost the same as her.
I think I should just stop thinking and be grateful for having her.
So, yeah. Love you Annie… Thanks for existing.