Pretending I'm okay when I'm really not...but I have to be because I have to keep it together to be there to keep my dad together and if I'm not his emotional crutch I am terrified of what might happen to him
Also having to come to terms with the fact that if I want to save my own mental health I may have to move out and leave him behind with my narcissistic, emotionally abusive and controlling mother. That kills me, every day, and I don't know if I can do it....but if I don't I honestly believe I will spend the rest of my life being an emotional and financial crutch to my parents.
I'm 21. And I don't mean to be edgy or ungrateful or any of that, but I should not have to deal with or worry about the amount of shit that I do, at this stage of my life. I should be worried about getting my own place, getting a steady paid job, meeting someone that I might one day spend the rest of my life with (and that's a whole other kettle of fish but I won't go into that today). Not whether or not we're going to have any food at all for the next week, or whether it's safe for me to go to bed at night without worrying about them fighting again and her threatening him with some other nonsense. I didn't even go to university and aside from money being an issue I wasn't comfortable leaving him to deal with her all on his own for months at a time while I'm away studying. Now I'll probably never go because even if I do end up managing to move out I won't be able to afford it now.
I don't really wanna go into super details but yeah, it messes with my head every damn day and it feels kinda good to spit it out for once instead of pretend it'll just go away I guess :B
The more you spit it out, the more you will find that people are in similar boats and can relate to the problems you're talking about. It beats the alternative of that isolated feeling that tends to become a feedback loop.
That's important, because isolation doesn't help and it's useful to hear reassurance on things like, "Oh yeah, your mom is nuts" and "you are doing the right thing for your father." Someone might have a good answer or suggestion.
But the other thing is this: You do have a right to take care of yourself and if that means moving out and getting your own place and a job and so forth is better for you, it puts you in the position to better assist your father. I know I am basically talking about a paradox here, but life can be ambiguous and we all muddle through and do our best. It's not edgy or ungrateful, but it is a frustrating situation where you are damned if you do and damned if you don't.
But hey, maybe a perfect person will come on and let us all know how to resolve this stuff. Until then, you can only do your best.
I've failed the entrance exam twice (nailed it on the third attempt) to the University I coveted. Once I got in, I decided that I will rework my lifestyle and change everything about me, so I will enjoy life as a hard-working student. A few weeks in, I found out just how big of a letdown this University I am attending to is; everything you can think of is poorly organized and the professors there have rather absurd demands, since they don't know any better. Enter dysphoria, and lack of motivation. I try to look for kernels of hope in this massive turd, find very few and in-between. Third year in (the curriculum I'm following lasts six years), there are just too few reasons for me to even try anymore. My relationship was in the toilet and sinking further down, I'm barely attending lectures, I'm plagued by insomnia and stress (since I find no good reason to study); I'm having panic attacks, due to that I'm not very prepared for exams and tests, so I try to study until late, or rather, early in the morning. Because my grades were piss poor, the state stops paying for my education and now I have to tell my mother that she has to pay my tuition (not from the US, in case you're wondering, and we're struggling with our financial situation). I get suspicious of my girlfriend, I lash at her and the other person, at my family, at people around me; I come to the conclusion that I am a burden to everyone, and to society. And, honestly, no one was stating the otherwise either.
So, I laid in bed, eyes wide open staring at the ceiling, heart beating itself out of my chest. I had a glass of water by my bed, and a box full of Zopiclone (sleeping pills). Funny thing is, I wasn't trying to convince myself to do it; I find this nagging idea that I should not, and I start to obsess over it, as I'm rationalizing why I should take the lot and swallow. I'm not sure how I could stay so still and debate this with myself for so long, and just how something in my brain locked me in place as it tried to stop me from completing what I have carefully premeditated. But, all of a sudden, I find it hard to be egoistical for once in my life. I just see how everyone would crumble around me: my mother, my sister, my grandparents, people that knew me. Before this moment, I couldn't care less, but right there and then, it started to hurt. Not only because of my vivid imagination soaring and just playing scenarios in my head, but also because I felt so weak and cowardly that I did not have control over the very last decision I could make. I felt I was too cowardly to complete it. And to think, it was the perfect moment, no one would observe or know until it was too late. The last hurdle was myself.
Now, I find it amusing that I had become a hurdle to myself. Dawn broke, my plan had been foiled. It has been one year since, and right now I'm dealing with much of the same situation regarding the University. Some might find it masochistic that I decided to pursue this career path when it is obviously burying me an early grave, but I have harnessed a very intimate experience and knowledge about death. I want to believe that this experience will help me combat it better, for I shall dedicate my life to combat it through the oath I want to take. I will recite it loud on proud, with the very lips that wanted nothing more but to kiss my sworn enemy.
There is no such thing as a perfect person. We are all flawed and I know you know this :P
@MachineSoul I think most of us have come close once or twice in our lives. It takes a lot to decide to fight instead of fade away. I've watched suicide tear families apart, not because they blamed each other, they blamed themselves. Some people never recover from it and they will always be damaged after someone they loved so deeply dies by their own hand. This is why at my lowest point I decided to fight the challenges of life a little bit harder and thankfully I was able to make changes. I'm glad you did too.
There is no such thing as a perfect person. We are all flawed and I know you know this :P
*points to self* MYTH BUSTED.
Let's see..... I put myself through high school (low-ish tuition private school), earned my way into one of the most selective schools in the country, graduated just shy of the top 80% (basically suma cum laude right there), made it through pilot training and SERE school into Air Force special ops, then got blindsided by terrible surgery on a torn meniscus and wound up losing a leg above the knee after three years of some of the most intense pain ever medically documented (google RSD, it's a bitch). Now I'm working full-time in a pretty high-pressure job at which I kick ass, nearly debt-free (I splurged on a nice car, COULD pay it off but I'd rather keep an emergency fund), teaching myself new food tricks every week, and I got a platinum trophy on Dark Souls.
Hardest thing..... probably Dark Souls. But every inch of what I've got was blood, sweat, and strenuous effort. Bootstrapping works, and you don't even need two boots! Lame pun. GET IT? LAME? HA! Anywho. Life sucks and it's hard and it's the best thing that ever existed, fight for every damn second of it and smile through the pain. You're a kickass story, treat every day like it's your first.
Mine was probably the end of last year, when I had 2 grandparents die within a month.
The first one was my grandmother on my dad's side, who was the sweetest and busiest lady in the entire world. I - as well as my entire family on her side - was extremely close to her. She was diagnosed with small cell carcinoma (lung cancer, pretty much the worst kind) just before Christmas 2015, and I didn't know until january 2016. We were hopeful because this type of cancer is often responsive to treatment (although very violent) and as she went through chemo and radiation, the tumors seemed to be shrinking.
Things seemed to be going well until August when, the day after my aunt's wedding shower, my nan was found in bed confused and unable to get up even to use the bathroom. She was rushed to the hospital and it was found that she had broken her hip a few weeks earlier and had been walking on the damn thing until the stress became too much for her legs to handle. For the first few days in hospital she was hopelessly confused - she had no idea where she was, and she seemed to be stuck in a different time and place. Watching that was one of the hardest parts of it, but luckily after a few days she came back to her senses and remained aware and in her right mind for the rest of her stay.
After a few weeks in hospital she was deemed healthy enough to go home - with in-home care, of course. She was home with home care for about two weeks (during which my dad, her son, was away on business, which absolutely killed him) before she had a lung collapse and was rushed back to a hospital that was closer to us. There we found out that the cancer had grown again and was spreading, and that she had maybe two weeks left. Now, this hospital wasn't the same as the first; the first was about an hour's drive away, but was less crowded and thus she had a larger room.
The second hospital was the local city hospital, and she found herself in a small room in the palliative care unit. Now, palliative care is where they put patients to make them comfortable in the days before they die, so this floor was incredibly depressing. We made do, and squeezed our huge family into the room and filled the air around my grandmother with laughter. There was always someone with her, no matter what. (There's a funny story in here about the time there was a flood on her floor, but it's kinda long and I won't put it here unless someone is really interested). Now, the way my city is set up, this hospital happened to be in walking distance from my university. As such, I made a lot of after school trips to the hospital to hang out with my nan, knowing that she loved my visits and that my time with her was limited.
(It's worth noting that this was my first semester of university and this point I was really having a hard time thinking about anything but my nan. I did actually do pretty well that semester, for some reason, but it certainly wasn't fun)
Eventually she was in pain so she was being more and more heavily medicated, to the point where she slept most of the time. This was really hard to bear, seeing this vibrant woman, a woman who suffered two small strokes (resulting in a blind eye) while at her job at the hospital and didn't think it warranted concern, a woman who, at 71, refused to retire and only ended up taking extended disability for her goddamn cancer treatment, and who walked on a goddamn broken hip for two weeks, stuck sleeping all the time. I knew it wasn't what she would have wanted.
By the time I said my final goodbyes to her, she was in a sleep that she would never wake up from. We left the hospital, me and my family and my grandmother/great aunt (this grandmother's older sister) and, something that pisses me off to this day, had to walk out the hospital doors past a man in a wheelchair and a woman smoking next to the goddamn "No Smoking" sign. >:C
Anyway, we went to a restaurant to try and cheer ourselves up, and as we were finishing, my dad got a call from the hospital saying my nan was taking a turn for the worse. We all hurried back to the hospital, where my parents and other nan rushed in and my brother and I went to the mall to throw money at the problem (oh, and we did). My brother, 15 at the time, and I, 18 at the time, ended up spending the weekend at home alone because my parents were afraid to leave in case my nan slipped away while they were gone. (There's another funny story there, but again, too many words). One time my mom came home for about half an hour, but rushed back in soon after.
At any rate, that monday was Thanksgiving (which is in October in Canada), which I spent at my boyfriend's house while my brother did something else that I can't remember. When I got home, my mother was there, and informed me that my nan had passed away while I was driving home, and she hadn't called because she was worried I would be too upset to drive. That night, and several after, my family members gathered at my house to grieve, reminisce, and write her obituary. I took a few days off from school, as did my brother. The following months were incredibly tough, and we all still feel the effects of her passing. She was such a big part of all of our lives, I'm sure nothing will ever be the same.
The second grandparent was my grandfather on my mother's side. He's a very different story, in that while he was a great and kind, funny man when I was young, he'd been completely disabled by Dementia for seven years. I have a lot of guilt over this, because since the nursing home terrified me so much, I only ever visited him on his birthdays. (This is part of the reason why seeing my nan so confused hurt so much - I'd already seen the same thing destroy my granddad).
Now, only about two weeks after my nan died, a virus swept the nursing home my granddad lived in. These happened pretty regularly, and always took a few patients with them when they left. My granddad, being otherwise very healthy (he never smoked, didn't drink, and exercised every day before the Dementia took hold) had lived through a lot of these bouts, although growing a bit weaker each time. However, about a week later I got a call from my mother saying that my grandded had taken this virus really badly and wasn't likely to make it. I had been suspecting this, but it was still awful to hear my fears confirmed. (I also got that call like, twenty minutes after having sex for the first time, so that didn't necessarily help - luckily my boyfriend is very understanding)
This story is shorter because my granddad's decline wasn't drawn out. I went in with my mother a few days later to say my goodbyes, was devastated by his pathetic condition (he was just laying in bed, gasping) and never went back. I got some flak from my cousin when she went in, because I think she thought I was cold-heartedly refusing to see him, but she just didn't know I'd been in already.
It was one evening, when I got home from school, that I was told he passed away (much in the same fashion, I remarked, that I found out about my nan's passing just weeks earlier). I was upset of course, but not nearly as much as for my nan. As much as I hate to admit it, I think that's because I had kinda said my goodbyes years earlier. My grandfather was really gone when the Dementia took his mind away - this was just his body dying to me, ending his suffering. I know it sounds horrible, but I think people who've had similar experiences will understand.
I think the worst part about my granddad's death, aside from the proximity to my nan's (and my resulting poor mental state) was my brother's reaction. The night before the funeral, while we were arranging the church, he admitted to me tearfully that he wasn't sad because granddad passed away, but because he couldn't remember what he was like before he got sick. That was absolutely heartbreaking.
TL;DR I had two grandparents pass away within the stretch of a month, and my family and I are still shaken from it. I gained 2 pounds during that whole ordeal, which doesn't sound like much, but I'm pretty thin and my weight does NOT fluctuate, so it was incredibly unusual for me. I think the worst (and most lasting) thing about that ordeal is that it gave me this horrible fear of death, both my own and that of my loved ones. For a long time I felt like every time one of my loved ones left the house was the last time I'd ever see them. I was afraid that if I didn't spend every waking moment with the people I loved, I was wasting precious time with them. I would lay awake at night, petrified that another loved one would die.
I'm a little better now, but those issues are far from gone. Where I used to be excited for the future and eventually moving out (I was never in any hurry - I have a great home life), the very idea of leaving home now terrifies me. I never used to be one to get homesick, and even used to dream about moving to a cool new place like St Johns or Vancouver or even Sweden - but now I feel like leaving home would be unbearably difficult for me, and even the thought fills me with dread. It's like I've lost some of my independence, and it's still scary, but I'm slowly healing. I still have times where I really miss my grandmother, and it still reduces me to tears, but very slowly, things are getting better.
(Hilarious appendix: I started off my second semester, AKA January of this year, by being the sickest I've ever been in my life, complete with a cough that lasted until a few weeks ago, losing 6 pounds I could not afford to lose, and missing the first sessions of my Calculus II course, resulting in my not knowing how to integrate and failing the class. Fun couple of months!)
We are currently going through a Dementia situation with my mother in law so I understand how you felt. My great grandmother on my mom's side died of Alzheimer's. It is horrifying what happens when the brain starts dying.
@Wick It's... it's just the worst, isn't it? What sucked most, I think, (aside from losing my granddad long before he actually died) is that Dementia isn't an illness, just a symptom. We didn't even know what he had until they did an autopsy on his brain (turns out it was Lou Gehrig's disease and also Alzheimer's, among some other minor problems) so we couldn't treat it. And he was so healthy! There wasn't a thing wrong with him before the Dementia - he didn't even wear dentures! He was well into his seventies when he got it! And it acted so quickly, within the space of like four months he went from perfectly fine to totally gone. I'm telling you, I'd rather die than have something like that happen to me, and put my family through that.
Sorry, I have a lot of feelings about this (and don't even get me started on smokers...)
I'm so sorry this is happening to your mother in law, and I'm so sad for you about your grandmother. I hope you and your family can stay strong and find comfort in each other through this difficult time.
And on a dark humor/lighter note. We can be "got ill" in college buddies. :D
Oddly, my older sister also had something happen to her leg which caused her to fall too far behind in college while in the hospital. Like me. (Though my parents were a touch more forgiving on her end.)
@Wick That's a terrifying disease, I cannot imagine how it's actually like to have it. (What's worse is how common it actually is...)
Also I have like three different subjects that I've been thinking about reading some of these replies, but not sure if it's entirely relevant so I'll refrain from talking about them.
And yeah, crippling illness! Mine was a horrible strain of some kind of flu that was going around, which evolved into some sort of bronchitis (my doctor was kind of a huge quack and pretty much refused to test or really even examine me, and wouldn't give me any kind of diagnosis. I've switched doctors since then). I was sick for a bit over two weeks, during which time I could barely breathe (-15 Celsius weather is just what sick lungs need, right?) couldn't bring myself to eat more than like, some crackers in a day, and endured this wonderful full-body pain and chest constriction the entire time. Did I mention nighttime nausea? That was great.
I only recently got rid of the cough via steroid inhaler (fun side effects, by the way. Day-long hitters are just the best) meaning that my lungs are finally clear and I can actually climb the stairs without panting!
Yeah, maybe a sturdier person might have held up a bit better to whatever that was, but I'm pretty tiny, so it was unexpectedly harsh on me.
Sorry about what happpened to you and your sister. I hope you're both doing well now!
@Obscene Symphony Sounds like the perfect combination for studying. ;P
Well I believe -most- things happen for a reason. It kind of worked out for me, at least, that I got out when I did before my parent's forced me out, wouldn't have been able to realistically finish anyway. *shrug*
Well she's been married to quite a nice fellow for quite a while now. :3 And I'm living the best years of my life. So I'd say we're doing alright. Same hopes to you!
The hardest thing I've ever done was probably university.
I've been depressed/suicidal for a long time, but university brought out the worst of it. I became too depressed to eat- and I mean that I just didn't have an appetite. Food was a chore. Textures and tastes were just too much information. A meal consisted of a glass of milk, and one potato was supper.
Eventually I got extremely sick, continuous running fever, and I just went through a very bad break up - no friends of family were anywhere closer than 8 hours away to help me. If I tried to get out of bed, my body would start to convulse. I was eating a single can of beans a day (75 cal). I remember when I finally kicked that bug, I had trouble getting into the shower, and my legs were probably... about six inches in diameter.
(When I realized how little I was eating, I became an A&W regular. This probably saved my life LOL)
Later, in a different downward spiral, I had acute exhaustion and was sleeping 16 hours a day (and still managed to pass the year and keep my job!) but it made me put myself on medication (secretly, because my parents didn't support it at the time). Good thing, because later on a student in my class jumped off a bridge and died, and a first year in my program was found hanging in her room after three days of being missing (ripe).
And yet somehow, I still have mostly good memories of univerity. I think that's no easy feat!
@The Elvenqueen It's a hellish thing, knowing you have to leave someone behind in a toxic situation and being unsure you can save them. And having to stay in the toxic situation...man, I want to hug you, I haven't gone through exactly the same thing but fuck did your post stir some feelings and memeories in me. One of the most vital resources you can have to get through this are friends--and I don't just mean friends you hang out with, but ones you can talk to about these issues, whom you seek help and comfort from. And remember that even if it feels like betrayal, like abandonment, moving away once you are capable could the best thing you can do to help your father and yourself. You'll end able to get out and start thriving more mentally, and possibly even help him. It's like a catch-22, almost, but keeping going like this will hurt both of you.
...ah shoot, looking at the next page it seems like I mirrored what HeySeuss said. It's still something I mean with all my heart, though. Good luck out there, friend.
I revealed to my sister that I was the one who called the cops on her 3 years ago. Had no choice, that drug addicted idiot has evaded a close one from the cops, and blamed my mother for it. So it happened in an argument and I just shouldered the blame. She is very good at acting and lying through her teeth, most of her tears are drama tears, but I could tell this time her tears & despair are real. In the end, her house arrest got cancelled and she was back to serve her remaining 4 months (She is a two-timer, not in a relationship sense).
The same night, I locked my door, and I placed my wooden sword beside my pillow because I personally is scared too. True enough, at 5AM in the morning, I heard someone aggressively trying to open the door but failed. the 4 months is ticking by, and even I don't know what will happen after that.
I think what you did took a lot of courage. A lot of people wouldn't be able to find that much in themselves. It's really tough to know what is the right call in these situations. Granted, this is only part of the story but it sounds like you made a very mature decision. It will have consequences for you too though. I'm sure you are already aware of that though. Hopefully your sister will realize her mistakes and turn a new leaf when she gets out. *hugs*
Being brown and tall outdoors or being femme when it gets dark, mostly. Also mental illness + needing to make money as an adult. Those are as personal as I'm comfortable getting.
@OneLastMonday Though I get this one, congrats on getting though, man. Food was bad for me for different reasons, but it never got THAT bad, and I still couldn't hack it.
@Noodles Snitching on family is hard, even when they need it-- not having a clear cut guide on what you need to do is also hard and at the end of the day there's no right or wrong. There's what you need to do, for you and the people you love. You did what you needed to do. So good one. (Though I will say, it's probably less that she's a drug addicted idiot and more that she's self-medicating away some other trauma, idk)
@Darcs It's not an experience I usually hear being talked about! Oddly comforting to hear that someone else had other issues with food. What's funny is that pulling myself out of it when I started making progress wasn't actually so hard, it was being in the middle of it and being paralyzed that was shite...
Hope that you're doing better now, and if not I hope that you're doing passably and getting by. One way or another we find our ways into tomorrow!
I haven't had an easy life by no means of the word and I know that is true for most people. I was still struggling when I came to the Guild and up until about two years ago if you want a more specific time frame. Between my mother's affairs, the drugs that my parents did, the constant moves and verbal abuse, a myriad of illnesses and being subjected to what my psychiatrist/therapist has seen as 'inhumane' conditions, I still think that the hardest thing I've ever done is something that I don't even remember.
It happened when I was four, so it was around 2002 or 2003.
When I was four years old, I was intelligent enough to see that I was being subjected to abuse by my scumbag biological father who should not be allowed to roam this Earth (and still does as far as I know). At this time in my young life, my biological mother had suffered physical abuse from him and divorced him, but my sister and I were still forced to see him. That was until - so the story goes according to my family members - I spit in my biological scumbag father's face and told him that he wasn't my father anymore.
This was a big deal.
This was a big deal.
He was physically abusive to my mother and had chased my older sister with a hot frying pan, but what my mother (and the rest of my family) didn't know was that my biological scumbag father was sexually abusing my sister and I with threats of killing of us if we ever told anyone. And I did. I told everyone. I told the police who did not believe me and a detective who did. According to my mother, I was seen by various doctors, detectives, and lawyers until the case could be proven. It was proven and we won. At the age of four, I got justice for myself, my older sister, and other innocent children that my biological scumbag father targeted including his own younger brother, my uncle.
As of 2014, my biological scumbag father was released from prison and I did come into close proximity with him once since then. It was then that I discovered that my grandparents forgave him and allowed him access to the house that I was staying in while they were on vacation (I did live with them at the time). The bastards even bailed him out and tried to bribe a younger me to forgive him. As if. I don't know if I can ever truly forgive my grandparents for this betrayal, but at least I'm civil with them and they can hopefully be at peace with the fact that I don't completely hate them. For now.
It's weird to see how something I don't even remember is the "hardest thing that I've ever done", but it really shaped my life, I guess. I still have nightmares from time to time where nobody believed me and my biological scumbag father did kill me. I still have the fear that he is targeting my sister who does live with my grandparents. I'm still on medication for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from the amount of stuff that he and the rest of my family had put me through for the first seventeen years of my life (I'm nineteen now - I've been free of it for about two years), but at least this story has a happy ending.
About two years ago, I moved in with the uncle that was mentioned previously and his wife, my aunt, who is a therapist. They have accepted me as an adoptee along with their two rescue doggos from Georgia. I no longer live in the state that I was born and mostly raised (New Jersey) in, where my biological scumbag father has been ordered to remain by court orders.
And if he ever does come here, to Massachusetts, then I will personally kick his ass.
