[Story] The Good and Effed Journal to Prevent Me from Writing a Suicide Note

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GoodPersonEffed

GoodPersonEffed

Ain't it all just ridiculous?
Jan 11, 2020
4,086
8,383
Lately I've been having issues with pitying my parents, that is, feeling badly for how they'll react to my ctb. It's akin to the slot machine of hope - returning even though there's never a jackpot, just little payouts that don't come close to the investment. No, I have no plans to reinstate contact for any reason, not even to say goodbye when the time comes. But they're still getting too much of my focus and attention, so I gotta work some shit out.

It's been a while since I've done a thread to work through ctb details. This one is to put in front of me all the reasons why worrying about my parents instead of myself is unjustified, and to remind myself to not write them a note, as they have filters that cause them to not hear me, and whatever instructions I leave, they'll do wtf they want anyway. They likely will not accept my body or responsibility for managing my estate, and that's my preference, but if I tell them that, they'll find reasons to do the opposite of what I want. Any instructions I would leave would be of equal benefit to me and to them, but if I speak reasonably, they'll find excuses to be unreasonable.

I suspect most folks who experienced abuse understand that recovery is a lifelong process. Things may feel settled for years, then rise back up for more attention. That's what I'm experiencing now. So I'm going to write things out that help me maintain my reason rather than fall back into the old traps of doing things to make them happy and make life easier for them.

Comments are welcome, including similar experiences. However, saying "this is what you have to do" for any reason, even with altruistic intentions, is not welcome. I'm already doing what I have to do. I know some folks just talk that way, but I'll take it as controlling even if that's not the intention, and this thread is about breaking control over me.

______________________________

My mother beat me with wooden objects from before the age of three until seventeen. I've conservatively calculated over 100 beatings. They were ritualistic in how they played out. They left bruises under my clothes.

Most of the beatings were because I argued with her illogic. Whenever I wanted something, or wanted to do something outside of the home, the first answer was most often No. I'd ask why. The reasons didn't make sense. I would question her, and that seems to have triggered a narcissistic wound, which led to narcissistic rages. She was not a narcissist, but she had narcissistic traits, was beyond over-protective, and was controlling throughout my life, though she significantly eased up in my adulthood. The rages led to escalating arguments, which resulted in beatings, me crying afterward in my room for about ten minutes, then her coming in and asking, "Now, we friends?" The answer had better be yes.

There were always threats: to take away favorite toys, to make me quit favorite activities, to kick me out of the house (the first time, I was three), and once when I was seven to give me back up for adoption.

At sixteen, I called her bluff when she threatened to kick me out and I left. For two years, I was regularly being kicked out or running away from home. (I even dropped out of junior year twice and so graduated a year late. This was the mid- to late-eighties; running away and dropping out were still socially shocking, at least in the white middle class.)

My dad was in law enforcement. He agreed with the punitive verbal and physical abuse. My mother was the alpha. He protected a whole city, but not me.

When I was sixteen, I visited the school district psychologist on one of his school visits. I wanted to run away from home, and when I described the verbal and physical abuse and the current threats, he agreed that it was a domestic violence situation and that my best option was to leave. Like I said, it was the Eighties. Of course, my mom always threatened to kill me if I ever reported her to the police, but I doubt that I would have gotten any genuine help.

After that session, I ran away from home and dropped out of school. During those months, I had lunch once with my dad. After a couple months, I was living with a friend my parents didn't know, but her parents somehow got my parents' contact information. Also, I can't recall how I found out, but I learned my parents had joined Toughlove, and the leaders of the group wanted contact with me. I recall my response being hell no.

Toughlove is no longer popular in the US, but it's still around, and is more popular in some other countries. It's a support group for parents with out-of-control, "incorrigible" teenagers. Parents are encouraged to take back power by setting limits, and if the child doesn't comply, such as bringing drugs in the house or coming home late, they are not allowed in (I never did any of those things. What I did was argue and stand up for myself, and sometimes lie because that's often the only way I could do things I wanted to do. When I ran away, I shoplifted once, and I did some drugs, which I'd never even been offered when I lived at home. Basically though, my rebellion was against control). Often, if a child wants to return home, they must stay with other Toughlove parents until negotiations are worked out, usually in favor of the parents.

When my friend's parents contacted mine, a plan was worked out behind my back. While the parents were at work, two cops showed up at the door (I later found out it was supposed to happen when they were home). My friend answered the door, and while she lied that I wasn't there, I hopped the fence and ran. I was found several blocks away, and taken to the police station, where I was questioned by one of my dad's friends I had known when I was very little. I explained to him that I had run away because of Mom's abuse.

My parents did not answer the phone, so I was taken to juvenile detention, where I was strip-searched. The social worker kept telling me for three hours that I had committed a status offense, not a crime, and did not belong there, but my parents still didn't answer, so I had to stay a night in solitary and eat gross food. The next day, I was taken home by a social worker. My parents weren't home. The social worker told me that her responsibility ended there, so of course I took off. I went to a different friend's, but her family wouldn't take me in, and I had run out of options, so I called the Toughlove leaders, and they came and got me. The point of the whole thing was to teach me a lesson, but it made me angry, and much of it was mishandled and against the plan, so it was a fiasco, not a learning experience.

I stayed with the Toughlove leaders for two or three weeks, which was not the norm, but there were no other parents available, just the leaders. During that time, I told them my story. We got along really well. After a week, we had a first meeting with my parents in which my mom started to lose her shit because of the look on my face; I was actually being guarded and was afraid, I wasn't giving any attitude. I don't recall how many meetings we had, but a non-violent plan was worked out, which included that any time an argument escalated, anyone could call a time-out for ten minutes, then resume communicating, repeat as needed.

As soon as I returned home, my parents dropped the group because I was getting support. My mother agreed that we would keep all the rules and agreements. Two weeks later, I got caught in a lie. We argued. It escalated. I called a time-out because escalations always ended in beatings. She said no. I said it was a rule. She said that since I had broken a rule, all the Toughlove rules were off the table. I was beaten, and the running away and being kicked out continued.

Also when I was sixteen, I think before the first time I ran away, my parents took me to a child psychologist. I told him about the abuse at our first session. I felt heard and I really liked him. I couldn't wait to work with him. He told me he wanted to do family sessions, I was all for it. He had a separate meeting with my parents. As we left, my mother said, "We're not going to change, you are." I was not allowed to return to therapy.

Never was I allowed to have someone on my side.

A related aside: Some months after juvie, I had to go back there for a meeting, and my dad acted as the representative parent. I was given several hours of social service. I spoke up to the adjudicator. I said that I had committed a status offense, not a crime. My dad snapped at me to be quiet. That's his thing, not just with me - never stand up to authority, never argue, never defend yourself, and never question.

So, these are examples of how my parents didn't change. Over the years, I would bring up the abuse. My dad would get angry and say it wasn't that bad and to get over it. My mom would get defensive and yell. Seven years ago, I discovered the source of long-term physical problems, and the injury could have been directly caused by the beatings as I have no other recollection of violent assault, and I also discovered PTSD was kicking my ass. So I wrote to my father and asked that my parents take responsibility for the abuse and help to support me. I was sent a very brief "We can't help you with your finances," and the no contact began. Four years later, I went to the slot machine. I made contact, said I had forgiven, and tried to renew our relationship. My mother wrote back on behalf of her, my father and their pets. She said they were tired of the "blame games," wished me well, and said goodbye. Till the end, they refuse to change.

No contact keeps me relatively safe from my mother's controlling interference, but not completely, she did do something straight-up crazy a couple years later after the pets insisted she tell me goodbye. Right now I'm just re-remembering the Toughlove incidents for the first time in years, and putting together how my parents truly do not change, and how they are more concerned for themselves than for me. The next post will probably develop that.
 
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Lostandfound7

Lostandfound7

Just waiting....
Jan 21, 2020
960
1,860
New York
Wow, that's intense..horrible

As a woman who would love to some day have children, this almost brings me to a rage..There r few things worse to me than parents bringing a child/children into the world, only to physically and/or mentally abuse them..

I totally understand and concur with ur decision to discontinue all contact with ur parents n to not even wanna say bye.

I would probably, as one last "screw off" n because I would want to make their existence miserable, write a letter telling them exactly how I feel about them n that whenever they feel a chill in the room, it's me...haunting them...
 
Lostandfound7

Lostandfound7

Just waiting....
Jan 21, 2020
960
1,860
New York
@Lostandfound7 thank you for sharing, for your empathy, and for the laugh!
I swear I would!...I'm so serious! Since they tormented u in life, u can torment them in death!

I would send delayed emails, pkgs, letters..even up to a yr later..I'm such a Bitch..:sunglasses:..lol

But ur experiences have def made u stronger. U have endured much, my sistah souljah..Here for u:heart:
 
Lorntroubles

Lorntroubles

Mouchette
Jan 19, 2020
2,134
1,706
I can relate to you. Some responses you may have gotten for the abuse are: "Get over it", "You're an adult now. It's the past", "You're just sensitive", "If you didn't act out (stand up for myself), things would have been easier", "It's how things are", "This is how they act, so deal with it".

I know it's that compassion in you that feels bad for your parents and that you want to leave on a good note, that they are older, tomorrow's not promised, we all want approval from our parents and yada yada but some things are not meant to be and you know this by seeing their actions towards you. When you come back to make amends, they show their true colors once again. You keep on having bad memories about what they did to you. That should be the thing driving you to stand strong. Personally, I'd leave it be, with the understanding that I loved, lived, and hurted and don't need all that extra noise ruining my peace. I need all the mental peace I can get before I ctb. How will a note get them to understand you? I know when I die, my abusers will be relieved. Nobody likes a force against them.....
 
Myforevercharlie

Myforevercharlie

Elementalist
Feb 13, 2020
723
1,677
I can relate to the abuse unfortunately. Im so sorry you had to go through that as well. In my case it broke me, but also made me who i am today. Probably the feelings from that period will always be with me, but i learned to deal with it, and i absolutely refuse to let 'that motherfucker " ruin the rest of my life.
 
C

clockworkclown

New Member
Apr 20, 2020
2
3
I had a lump in my throat reading this. That you’re alive and functioning, is a miracle. It’s a pity that being strong means having to put up with shit. And the worst kind of abuse comes from the ones closest to us; the ones we look up to for safety. Family/ parents/ spouse. I’m not going to tell you to hang in there, or stay strong. I know how it feels. It feels lonely. All I can say is, you’re better off without toxic people. Even if they are your own folks. It will probably take some getting used to. But if that’s the only life you’ve known and you have an opportunity now to get away from it, and perhaps even be happy and lead a life YOU want.. then give that a try? To do what you want. Be who you want without fear, or worry or of being judged. Without any responsibility / commitment tying you down.
But if not; then by all means — leave them a letter. They need to know. They better know. I’m not going to tell you to be the bigger person. Because you’ve been that all your life. And this isn’t the situation for any bigger or smaller person, anyway. They need to be accountable for what they did.
 
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Epsilon0

Epsilon0

Illuminated
Dec 28, 2019
1,845
3,876
I read the entire post almost without breathing.

I understand the situation was complicated and I can also understand that from your parents’ point of view you were the problem.

But the truth is quite simple: at the end of the day you were the kid, and she beat you, and he didn’t stop her.

Hearts of stone, both of them.


This right here is proof they were doing something wrong, but they were unwillig to admit it to themselves:

”As we left, my mother said, "We're not going to change, you are." I was not allowed to return to therapy.”
 
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Jumper Geo

Jumper Geo

Life's a bitch and then you die.
Feb 23, 2020
1,311
2,170
London, UK
www.youtube.com
Mine was the opposite my father was the :devil: very strict as a child, you would be punched for dropping a pea on the table, threatened all the time and then he would come in drunk trying to beat my mum and burn her with cigarettes but we were so smart and well dressed so looked like we had a perfect life. what drove me mad there was so many occasions where I wanted to talk to my mother about it and I always got the same answer when I was in Ireland I had a really hard life my mother and father died, honestly it drove me mad. I just wanted confirmation of what I had to go through so I understand how frustrated you are..

The delayed e-mail for a year sounds good, maybe a few letters to other family members so they know what you had to endure growing up as abusers always like to keep it secret and portray the perfect family and parents. I would say that to your dad, you would protect the city but not me. I have given you my ghost emoji for your e-mails, lol.
 

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Suez

Suez

Wise
Feb 27, 2020
270
379
Lately I've been having issues with pitying my parents, that is, feeling badly for how they'll react to my ctb. It's akin to the slot machine of hope - returning even though there's never a jackpot, just little payouts that don't come close to the investment. No, I have no plans to reinstate contact for any reason, not even to say goodbye when the time comes. But they're still getting too much of my focus and attention, so I gotta work some shit out.

It's been a while since I've done a thread to work through ctb details. This one is to put in front of me all the reasons why worrying about my parents instead of myself is unjustified, and to remind myself to not write them a note, as they have filters that cause them to not hear me, and whatever instructions I leave, they'll do wtf they want anyway. They likely will not accept my body or responsibility for managing my estate, and that's my preference, but if I tell them that, they'll find reasons to do the opposite of what I want. Any instructions I would leave would be of equal benefit to me and to them, but if I speak reasonably, they'll find excuses to be unreasonable.

I suspect most folks who experienced abuse understand that recovery is a lifelong process. Things may feel settled for years, then rise back up for more attention. That's what I'm experiencing now. So I'm going to write things out that help me maintain my reason rather than fall back into the old traps of doing things to make them happy and make life easier for them.

Comments are welcome, including similar experiences. However, saying "this is what you have to do" for any reason, even with altruistic intentions, is not welcome. I'm already doing what I have to do. I know some folks just talk that way, but I'll take it as controlling even if that's not the intention, and this thread is about breaking control over me.

______________________________

My mother beat me with wooden objects from before the age of three until seventeen. I've conservatively calculated over 100 beatings. They were ritualistic in how they played out. They left bruises under my clothes.

Most of the beatings were because I argued with her illogic. Whenever I wanted something, or wanted to do something outside of the home, the first answer was most often No. I'd ask why. The reasons didn't make sense. I would question her, and that seems to have triggered a narcissistic wound, which led to narcissistic rages. She was not a narcissist, but she had narcissistic traits, was beyond over-protective, and was controlling throughout my life, though she significantly eased up in my adulthood. The rages led to escalating arguments, which resulted in beatings, me crying afterward in my room for about ten minutes, then her coming in and asking, "Now, we friends?" The answer had better be yes.

There were always threats: to take away favorite toys, to make me quit favorite activities, to kick me out of the house (the first time, I was three), and once when I was seven to give me back up for adoption.

At sixteen, I called her bluff when she threatened to kick me out and I left. For two years, I was regularly being kicked out or running away from home. (I even dropped out of junior year twice and so graduated a year late. This was the mid- to late-eighties; running away and dropping out were still socially shocking, at least in the white middle class.)

My dad was in law enforcement. He agreed with the punitive verbal and physical abuse. My mother was the alpha. He protected a whole city, but not me.

When I was sixteen, I visited the school district psychologist on one of his school visits. I wanted to run away from home, and when I described the verbal and physical abuse and the current threats, he agreed that it was a domestic violence situation and that my best option was to leave. Like I said, it was the Eighties. Of course, my mom always threatened to kill me if I ever reported her to the police, but I doubt that I would have gotten any genuine help.

After that session, I ran away from home and dropped out of school. During those months, I had lunch once with my dad. After a couple months, I was living with a friend my parents didn't know, but her parents somehow got my parents' contact information. Also, I can't recall how I found out, but I learned my parents had joined Toughlove, and the leaders of the group wanted contact with me. I recall my response being hell no.

Toughlove is no longer popular in the US, but it's still around, and is more popular in some other countries. It's a support group for parents with out-of-control, "incorrigible" teenagers. Parents are encouraged to take back power by setting limits, and if the child doesn't comply, such as bringing drugs in the house or coming home late, they are not allowed in (I never did any of those things. What I did was argue and stand up for myself, and sometimes lie because that's often the only way I could do things I wanted to do. When I ran away, I shoplifted once, and I did some drugs, which I'd never even been offered when I lived at home. Basically though, my rebellion was against control). Often, if a child wants to return home, they must stay with other Toughlove parents until negotiations are worked out, usually in favor of the parents.

When my friend's parents contacted mine, a plan was worked out behind my back. While the parents were at work, two cops showed up at the door (I later found out it was supposed to happen when they were home). My friend answered the door, and while she lied that I wasn't there, I hopped the fence and ran. I was found several blocks away, and taken to the police station, where I was questioned by one of my dad's friends I had known when I was very little. I explained to him that I had run away because of Mom's abuse.

My parents did not answer the phone, so I was taken to juvenile detention, where I was strip-searched. The social worker kept telling me for three hours that I had committed a status offense, not a crime, and did not belong there, but my parents still didn't answer, so I had to stay a night in solitary and eat gross food. The next day, I was taken home by a social worker. My parents weren't home. The social worker told me that her responsibility ended there, so of course I took off. I went to a different friend's, but her family wouldn't take me in, and I had run out of options, so I called the Toughlove leaders, and they came and got me. The point of the whole thing was to teach me a lesson, but it made me angry, and much of it was mishandled and against the plan, so it was a fiasco, not a learning experience.

I stayed with the Toughlove leaders for two or three weeks, which was not the norm, but there were no other parents available, just the leaders. During that time, I told them my story. We got along really well. After a week, we had a first meeting with my parents in which my mom started to lose her shit because of the look on my face; I was actually being guarded and was afraid, I wasn't giving any attitude. I don't recall how many meetings we had, but a non-violent plan was worked out, which included that any time an argument escalated, anyone could call a time-out for ten minutes, then resume communicating, repeat as needed.

As soon as I returned home, my parents dropped the group because I was getting support. My mother agreed that we would keep all the rules and agreements. Two weeks later, I got caught in a lie. We argued. It escalated. I called a time-out because escalations always ended in beatings. She said no. I said it was a rule. She said that since I had broken a rule, all the Toughlove rules were off the table. I was beaten, and the running away and being kicked out continued.

Also when I was sixteen, I think before the first time I ran away, my parents took me to a child psychologist. I told him about the abuse at our first session. I felt heard and I really liked him. I couldn't wait to work with him. He told me he wanted to do family sessions, I was all for it. He had a separate meeting with my parents. As we left, my mother said, "We're not going to change, you are." I was not allowed to return to therapy.

Never was I allowed to have someone on my side.

A related aside: Some months after juvie, I had to go back there for a meeting, and my dad acted as the representative parent. I was given several hours of social service. I spoke up to the adjudicator. I said that I had committed a status offense, not a crime. My dad snapped at me to be quiet. That's his thing, not just with me - never stand up to authority, never argue, never defend yourself, and never question.

So, these are examples of how my parents didn't change. Over the years, I would bring up the abuse. My dad would get angry and say it wasn't that bad and to get over it. My mom would get defensive and yell. Seven years ago, I discovered the source of long-term physical problems, and the injury could have been directly caused by the beatings as I have no other recollection of violent assault, and I also discovered PTSD was kicking my ass. So I wrote to my father and asked that my parents take responsibility for the abuse and help to support me. I was sent a very brief "We can't help you with your finances," and the no contact began. Four years later, I went to the slot machine. I made contact, said I had forgiven, and tried to renew our relationship. My mother wrote back on behalf of her, my father and their pets. She said they were tired of the "blame games," wished me well, and said goodbye. Till the end, they refuse to change.

No contact keeps me relatively safe from my mother's controlling interference, but not completely, she did do something straight-up crazy a couple years later after the pets insisted she tell me goodbye. Right now I'm just re-remembering the Toughlove incidents for the first time in years, and putting together how my parents truly do not change, and how they are more concerned for themselves than for me. The next post will probably develop that.
It was those words..."never was I allowed someone on my side".....I think its been close to 30yrs since ive cried, until tonight. Those words were my mums words when she first told me about the sexual,physical&mental abuse she suffered at the hand of my grandfather. The brutality of the abuse is still present in my nightmares. His wife, my grandmother was complicit in his abuse as she stood by him, defended him. My mum cud never tell anyone. She did try, but they made sure to isolate her from all and any contact with the outside world so my mum found solace in her horses and her dog. They became her confidantes. But one by one they were taken from her. He knew what they meant to my mum, he knew her horses and her dog was all she had, the only ones on my mums side, so he slaughtered them in front of her. My mum was my world, she passed not long ago. I was the only person that she really confided in and ill never forget those words, that she was never allowed someone on her side. Im so sorry that happened to you. Your mother does not deserve to have that title, nor your father. You owe them nothing. Ive never understood the why???? Why would a parent subject their daughter to such pain as you endured or in my case my dad (drunk abusive arsehole that he was), or for my mum, her parents. They must have known that their behaviour was wrong otherwise why would they try to hide it from people, why were they trying to always defend their behavioiur to the end? On my grandfathers deathbed my mum confronted him while her mum was at his side and he said "as god is my witness .... I never touched her" My mum spat in his face and walked out for the last time. But you know what stands out to me is that despite the disgusting excuse for parents that my mum had, the arsehole father i had, the excuse for parents that you had....we are better than them.
 
Una

Una

Write something, even if it’s just a suicide note
Feb 28, 2020
73
229
Far, far away ...
Dear @GoodPersonEffed,

I read your post and cried ... I am so very, very sorry. Far more than I can ever express in any words.

For all the pain and all the sorrows you have endured for no other reason but having being born to a parents who have likely being hurt themselves in much the same way as children and have passed that same pain onto their child/children. I cannot know if this indeed was the case, but it is how it usually happens. Parents pass on that which was given to them. Mostly unaware. This is neither an excuse nor justification. Just a fact.

As @EpsilonO said - it is also the fact that, however 'broken' they might have been by their own parents, and/or life that they have lead, they were still the adults and you were still the child. Every child deserves, as of right, at least one sane, stable and loving parent. Every. Child. Sadly, many never experience that. Hence the repletion of the same cycle over and over.

There is no 'tough' in love! It cannot be. By their very nature those are mutually exclusive terms. Only someone made to endure such 'love' could ever conceive such a concept. There is only one job each parent have - to allow the child entrusted to them to develop into a person independent of them. It is the hardest task for any human. Which is why most fail. Very few awaken to the pain they have caused. Most do not. Because facing the naked, harsh truth that one's own failings have caused the suffering of an innocent child, and own child at that, is, for most, unbearable. Hence all the 'smoke screens' and other assorted hiding tactics. Of which, as you know, narcissisms/narcissistic traits are the most primitive one.

Those few, and there are very few indeed, who do awaken and do bear it, become either 'saints' or suicides. There is nothing else for it. For what is once seen, can never be unseen.

I would never presume to tell you what to do/not to do.

Only what I have learned. What I have witnessed in my years of living. Which is that nobody leaves without facing themselves first. Nobody. It really is just like Pablo Neruda wrote: "Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of our life."

I think you know that the true price of anything is "the amount of life given for it."

Is it worth it. Worth to you and you only that is.

I truly wish you love ... yes, true, unconditional, freeing love. Life-time supply of it.

I do not know what else to say.

Take Care,
Una
 
thebrinkimdriven

thebrinkimdriven

Specialist
Feb 11, 2020
352
1,271
Thank you for sharing your story, and I'm also sorry for what you've gone through.

So I wrote to my father and asked that my parents take responsibility for the abuse and help to support me.
I admire your courage; it's inspiring, although not sure if I'm as brave as you.
 
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Quarky00

Quarky00

Illuminated
Dec 17, 2019
1,972
4,579
Sadistic narcissist cannot be changed and gaining their basic respect is impossible (unless they are broken down and forced to). Although it's probably not clinical with your mother, as you mentioned, it does appear pathological (persistent & compulsive).

Sorry but my opinion is that they are "bad" people by nature, habit, and behaviour -- and they will never change. They have tortured and abused you relentlessly and continue to do so even when your older. I would pay attention to the fact that they wholly reject you (even without your wishes to be acknowledged), and that's horrible in itself... I would break the cycle and cut all contacts, even in my head, and think of myself as parentless.

That said, PTSD needs to be processed as much as possible, and usually people need to tell their story, to themselves and others. Feel free to do so here :hug: Repeating the story time and time again is excruciating. But part of the process. Most of the times it is helpful. Memories will come and horrible things will float time and again.

I think there's not much point in leaving a note for people who don't care, and there's not much point in counting on people who straight up reject & fight you. There's nothing that can be done about that. I don't think you can engage in a constructive dialogue (even in your head) with an abuser that keeps on abusing. Without going into the philosophical aspects of forgiveness, we cannot forgive murderers who keeps on murdering. One can open their arms to those who are willing; showing compassion for those who do not change is futile.

I don't think the abused can stop feeling all anger... It would be toxic to hold on to grudge and resentment all time , I think it's best to "pack the story" neatly in our heads, well-defined and conclusive, accept it, and live with it. It's not as easy as it sounds -- grasping the abuse clearly and concisely.That's the way to letting go of (some!) anger. It's not forgiveness since there is no redemption. A person cannot be not holier than the Pope, one cannot cleanse people of their sins.. And there's no point for it (habitual criminals). Being a better person, which is great, doesn't make the trauma better :/ One can, perhaps, live with what had happened. I believe that's the best we can do. Those are some of the things I have done, and my thoughts, about my abusers.

I'm sorry that they have broken you down mentally and physically, they do not deserve any consideration, and you deserve better :heart:

-------------------------------------------------

This is NOT aimed at you but an interesting harsh note the end of "Dogville" (which is about abuse):
You do not pass judgement, because you sympathize with them. A deprived childhood and a homicide really isn't necessarily a homicide, right? The only thing you can blame is circumstances. Rapists and murderers may be victims, according to you. I call them dogs, and if they're lapping up their own vomit the only way to stop them is with the lash... Dogs can be taught many useful things, but not if we forgive them every time they obey their own nature.
 
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GoodPersonEffed

GoodPersonEffed

Ain't it all just ridiculous?
Jan 11, 2020
4,086
8,383
Just wanted to mention for those unfamiliar with me, my reasons for ctb have nothing to do with my parents.

I appreciate all of the responses I've been getting here. Many folks have said things similar to what I would say to another if they'd been through the same things. I would be angry on their behalf. I would say that the parents could fuck right off.

It is an odd experience to come out of decades of denial of the truth, even as I never denied to myself the truth, and of having deeply loved people who didn't equally demonstrate deep love for me, including respect for my body, my safety, and my autonomy, people who did not and do not share my values. I think it was @Una who commented something along the lines of, it's a parent's job to prepare their child for independence. My mother kept me isolated, and seemed to want me to want to be physically close and docile, as she purportedly was a a child. My entire life, she punished me for being okay with not clinging, and yet she didn't enjoy playing with me or cuddling for long periods (and my father has touch aversion). There simply was no winning with either of them. Had I been the kind of child they purportedly wanted, then they would have wanted something different.

Still, it is so odd to come out, in stages, of decades of gaslighting, of being told that my life was not as I experienced it, that I was to blame, that those I deeply love(d) did not deeply love me, to have the truth demanded of me by people who lied to themselves and to others outside of the home. It was quite a mindfuck. I recover in stages. Things are coming up and demanding attention, so I'm giving it in order that more healing can occur. I had a therapist tell me in my twenties that it's not natural for a child to feel such intense love and hate for a parent but is a sign of abuse, that it's natural to pull away, cut the apron strings, and live their own lives. I was punished for doing just that, and maybe that will be the subject of the next post. It sucks that I'm still dealing with so much anger and so much love for people who, if they were considering ctb, I think would not have anywhere as much consideration for my feelings or the things I would have to sort out if they didn't make arrangements that legally excluded me from any responsibilities. I wish that they weren't my next of kin, that they wouldn't be notified, but I can't change that they are and that they will be. I do not seek as some on SS do to disappear, because that would put me in a position of vulnerability to potentially live and be at the mercy of an abusive other. However, in processing this and getting feedback, I don't think I'm going to care so much anymore that my parents will be notified and will have to make difficult decisions. Thank you for that.

Thank you to everyone who has read the OP, and for all of the comments. I can't always read others' triggering posts, and I appreciate those who were able to read mine in the thread this far.
 
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GoodPersonEffed

GoodPersonEffed

Ain't it all just ridiculous?
Jan 11, 2020
4,086
8,383
This post is about being punished for pulling away from my mother, or perhaps more accurately, for seeking to get my needs elsewhere.

I mentioned in the OP that the first time I remember being threatened with being kicked out was at the age of three. I may have been four. It is one of my earliest memories.

I was playing in the carport where my mother could see me from the kitchen through the screen door. At the time, I very much loved my aunt, my mother's sister-in-law. I told my mom I wanted to go see her. Going to my aunt and uncle's house was nothing unusual. When I said I wanted to go see my aunt, my mother said, "Well pack your panties and go then." This was not the first time I'd heard such a statement.

I got frustrated. I told my mom I didn't want to live with my aunt, just go see her. And she kept repeating the same thing. I cried, I argued, and Mom remained angry and kept telling me the same thing. I was so frustrated that she didn't understand me, and so scared that she was making me leave. I don't recall being beaten, but I do remember having an emotional meltdown, and that somehow Mom "won," but I didn't understand that, either.

When I was beaten, it was very often for wanting to go do something with someone else, and for arguing when the instant answer was no. In retrospect, there were probably times that she didn't like another child's parents, or had a beef with them that I was unaware of, such as what I think happened with my aunt. But as I said in the OP, arguing poked at a narcissistic wound of my mother having to be right and not be questioned. It was really hard because I was an only child, my parents weren't much into playing with me, and the only neighborhood child was a boy two years older who was usually happy to play with me, but his mother had a serious case of verbal diarrhea and it was hard for anyone to get away from her once she started talking, so my mother avoided her even though I had so much fun with her son. My mother was also controlling under the guise of being over-protective. At school, other kids had freedom to go to each other's houses, and do all sorts of things with freedom. I was always accused by my mother of being "wild," but I got out so little in comparison to other kids that I made the most of it while it lasted, I had so much energy and so few opportunities to spend it with other children. It meant a lot to me when the mother of one of my classmates told me that my mother was over-protective. Of course my mother would have said that mother was lax and over-permissive, but I needed to hear that. I remember other kids said the same to me, and I now suspect they heard it from their parents.

My family moved to another state when I was 18, and I joined them rather than remaining in our home state, getting an apartment, and finishing high school there. I didn't like our home state, and while I fared better in life in our second state, it was a total culture shock and I never truly liked it there. I swore I wouldn't live there ten years, I lived there for fourteen. It was hard to move to a new place without being transferred by a job or having employment and housing lined up, so when I renewed contact with an old boyfriend and had the opportunity to move across country to a state I was interested in, I was excited, while my mother lost her shit. I was 34 years old.

First she wanted me to keep my condo rather than selling it, in case things didn't work out and I wanted to return. She even offered the dangling carrot that she and my dad would manage the property. But I had no savings and needed the money from the sale, and it was at a time when values in the area had skyrocketed due to a natural disaster that displaced many families. I said no.

Then I asked to use her carpet rake for when I showed the condo. She said no.

The next thing that happened requires a little background. My mother is a highly organized hoarder. She keeps things from her childhood and early adulthood and stores them without ever touching them. She had kept my baby clothes and a lot of toys. When I was briefly married in my early twenties, she said, "Good, now you have an attic, you can store some of these things," and handed off baby clothes and blankets. I had no intention of having children, which I'd told my parents in my early thirties, so when it came time to move across country and I was paying by the foot for transport, I got rid of the clothes and blankets without telling her.

As she escalated over losing control over me and not being able to keep me close, she suggested I take with me the rocking horse that she, my dad, and her father had made for me. I said I would never use it and didn't want to take it. She got angry and hung up on me. Then she called me back and asked if I still had the baby clothes and blankets, and I told her I'd recently gotten rid of them. She lost her shit because she thought a blanket made by her stepgrandmother was one of the items, we argued, and one of us hung up.

I went over to their house, and she and my dad and I had a loud argument. It took her off guard when I said that she never asked me if I wanted all those things, she just told me to take them, and I had no need for them. So she brought up the rocking horse, and I used the same argument. She asked my dad, "Would you have ever treated your parents like that?" and he said no. Somehow the conversation got around to my childhood, and I brought up the beatings. My dad snapped, "Oh, it wasn't that bad!"

The final argument against my moving was that I was going to a city we had visited right after her dad died when I was five, and it was a bad memory, so they wouldn't come visit me. In ten years, they never did. After six years, I got a cat. She was happy for me, but she also had an allergy and said, "We can't come visit you if you have a cat." I snapped at her, "You weren't going to anyway." She stfu, a rarity. Her way is that if she stfu's, she may actually and very briefly admit she may have been wrong (she didn't that time, same as when I said she never asked about the baby clothes), but she never apologizes. In fact, she complained many times when I was growing up that her mother never apologized, but she didn't learn a lesson from it and choose to do better than that which had hurt her and she hated.
 
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Epsilon0

Epsilon0

Illuminated
Dec 28, 2019
1,845
3,876
Good, I am not sure whether you have the interest, the strength or the time, but I really think you should put all this into a book.

I have been an avid reader all my life, I have read a lot, everything from People magazine to Plato, so I recognize good writing when I see it.

If this is what you can do in a forum, I can only imagine the stories you could tell in an autobiography, or a fiction novel based on your life.

When I start the first sentence in any one of your threads, I am hooked immediatedly, I can’t skip any lines and I read everything like a thirsty traveller who’s finally reached an oasis and can’t stop drinking.

Good, you have something, something many authors would sell their left arm for: you have talent, a story and really good narrative technique.

Someone very dear to me who wrote and published books all their life used to ask me whenever we talked about a novel: ”Ok, so the book has this, that and the other. But can you put it down? Can you put in on the nightstand and go do something else?”

The best books where, of course, those I couldn’t stop reading, those that kept me in a trance, like a madwomam obsessed with turning page after page.

Your writing is like that: I can’t put it down, Good!
 
I

I’mDone

Wise
Mar 22, 2020
262
455
I have so much empathy for you. A lot of your story resonates so strongly with me, except that in my case it was my father who brutally and viciously beat me. My mother stood and watched. And did nothing to help. And afterwards she would tell me that it was all my fault, that I’d brought it upon myself and make me go and hug my father and apologise for making him beat me. I don’t want to make your thread about me so I won’t write any more but please know that I understand. I’d be happy to chat if you want a sympathetic ear. And utmost respect to you for your strength and dignity.
 
Epsilon0

Epsilon0

Illuminated
Dec 28, 2019
1,845
3,876
I have so much empathy for you. A lot of your story resonates so strongly with me, except that in my case it was my father who brutally and viciously beat me. My mother stood and watched. And did nothing to help. And afterwards she would tell me that it was all my fault, that I’d brought it upon myself and make me go and hug my father and apologise for making him beat me. I don’t want to make your thread about me so I won’t write any more but please know that I understand. I’d be happy to chat if you want a sympathetic ear. And utmost respect to you for your strength and dignity.


”And afterwards she would tell me that it was all my fault, that I’d brought it upon myself and make me go and hug my father and apologise for making him beat me.”


How did the earth not open up and swallow them whole??!?!??

How did not lightning strike them down on the stop?!?!?!?!
 
enjolras

enjolras

Saw the angel shine through the jellyfish
Feb 13, 2020
1,203
2,055
I had to look away in the middle. A good friend of mine taught me the importance to, in some situations

I remember the previous Letter to your parents. I think you elevated away from their condition, by showing understanding and forgiveness, distancing yourself from their circle of influence. Somehow, you managed to pull the knife they sticked in your back. It was published at a suitable place, which is any, but not into their hands. How can you progress to heal the wound ?

Considering what you went through, I believe your essence was not part of your parents. A rage was directed at you and met goodness and innocence. It gravitated around, you resisted to avoid the collision. If they‘d manage to plant a seed of anger in you, that you’d cultivate to spread out back at them now, you’d echo their failure.
Your writing is positive, recycling emotions as much as can be, keeping yourself accountable of your instinct, which seems correct. Quote : “You can’t separate peace from freedom because no one can be at peace unless he has his freedom.”
By not filing a suicide note to them, I believe it will be a way to take your freedom.
 
GoodPersonEffed

GoodPersonEffed

Ain't it all just ridiculous?
Jan 11, 2020
4,086
8,383
This post is about how my mother controlled my appearance.

When I was in grade school, I went to a private school with a lot of rich kids. This was in the mid-Seventies when Izod and Polo were popular. Our family wasn't rich, and Mom made some but not all of my clothes. She had a thing about fads, and wouldn't spend the money on more expensive items that would go out of style, which in itself is not a big deal, though in retrospect even one item would have made a big difference in that environment. But I wasn't even allowed inexpensive fad items.

I also wasn't allowed to wear jeans. This is one of the few things that was attributed to my father. He wanted a daughter who looked "ladylike."

I was so excited in the early Eighties when I was allowed to get a pair of pedal-pushers, they were really stylish. Kids at school were shocked that I had a stylish item of clothing.

My hair was very long and curly. My mother had straight hair and didn't really know what to do with my hair, except for four basic hairstyles, one of which was for special occasions. I wore my hair in one - just one - of those styles almost every day of my life until I got my first haircut at the age of eleven. I wasn't allowed to wear my hair down or in any popular styles, even if someone else did it. When my hair was cut shoulder-length, my mom still styled it, with a little bit more variation. Then one day out of the blue she said, "You start doing your hair now." I didn't have a clue what to do. I was alone in the bathroom, totally frustrated and in tears. I threw the brush across the bathroom several times and got in trouble for expressing my anger. Not long after, my hair was cut short, which I was able to do, but from then on I wasn't allowed to grow out my hair, so I didn't fit in with other girls in junior and senior high who had long hair, I didn't grow it out again until I was seventeen.

In seventh grade, I finally convinced my parents, after years of discussions that never bore fruit, to allow me to change to a public school. Mom insisted on buying me not one, but two sailor outfits -- shorts with matching shirts. I got made fun of all the time. The only person who ever complimented me was my math teacher, and of course that just made me stand out as more of a nerd.

Jellies -- plastic flats -- were all the rage. My mom forbade me to have a pair because it was a fad. Even though I had my own money, and the cheapest pair cost a dollar, she refused to let me buy any.

The summer between seventh and eighth grade, we took a trip to California and I got two new swimsuits, one that was really cute, one that had cone-shaped bust inserts. I was not allowed to wear the cute one all the time, I had to also wear the horrifically embarrassing one.

In high school, the popular style for jeans was to tuck and roll the hems, only I couldn't because my mom bought jeans that were too long and used fusing web to shorten them because she said denim would break her sewing machine needles. If I outgrew the jeans, she would lower the hem, and they would have white lines wear the old seam was. I used to borrow a cute pair of jeans from a friend and pray I wouldn't get caught, and somehow I never did.

Mom's fixation on fads didn't make sense, though it took me years to realize that she was very faddish from the midi-Fifties to the late Sixties when she and Dad married. She had excellent sewing skills, and she made her own poodle skirts for example. A lot of the clothes she stored were from when she was at the height of stylishness and at her lowest weight in the Sixties. But I had to be a nerd, and never fit in with the crowd, while she fit in with the crowd. Her mother had also been fashionable, and her grandmother had owned a boutique of women's fashions. I still don't know why she controlled me in this way, unless she was jealous of me. I may write about it later, but she was very strange about keeping me separate from my father and often accused me of trying to split them up. I recently read a book about controlling parents in which there is a mother type called the Queen of the Castle, and this type of controlling mother views her daughter as competition for the attentions of the King of the house.

Whatever her craziness, I didn't become comfortable with choosing clothing until my early thirties, and really found my own style in my early forties. I didn't become comfortable with my hair and learn to love it until my late thirties.

I wasn't allowed to wear makeup until my late teens, although I was allowed one tube of lipstick in a color that she liked starting when I was thirteen, and later, some light blush. I would sometimes sneak eyeliner at school, and was beaten when I got caught because I didn't wipe it all off. Some of the makeup issues were my dad's as well. It was another thing I didn't become comfortable with for a long time.

I also wasn't allowed to have my ears pierced until I was eighteen and out of the house. Starting in junior high, I was allowed clip-ons, and Mom started wearing them, too, so I was allowed styles that she wore.

I was made fun of a lot for my appearance all through junior and senior high. I was allowed to buy a few items of clothing with my own money, but they had to be approved of.

When I was sixteen and had run away from home, I got my ears pierced. When I was forced to return home (prior to Toughlove), we had a huge argument. Mom claimed to not understand why I'd run away, and I said, "You never let me do anything!" She said with sarcasm, "Oh, like what?" I said, "Like let me get my ears pierced!" and I put my hand behind my lobe to highlight there was a new stud. She said, "Take them out," and when I said no, she went for the ear I highlighted to do it herself. My dad actually told her to stop, it was one of the only times in my life he ever stood up for me to her or anyone else.

In most of the examples I've mentioned throughout this thread, whether about going out and doing things or getting my ears pierced, Mom said that I always "pushed," that if I'd accepted her no and obeyed, then she would have eased up. Yet I always freaked out because she generally stuck by her word. She was of the school that a parent follows through on their word and on their threats. The rare times she would relent were when she would take away something I loved and return it later. I often ran away from home precisely because I expected her to follow through on her threats. I didn't have the discernment then to be able to tell when she was bluffing, or to know that she made threats to get me to comply. Had I been more savvy, life would have been a lot easier. But it was decades before I knew how to read bullshit, and I was a mark both at home and at school, and easily worked up by bullies. My mom was definitely the biggest bully in my life. And she didn't have a clue why it was so easy for others to get me worked up - she's the one who started it, and then blamed me for being so, as bullies do.

__________

@enjolras, those were some great observations. I think that if I were to write them a letter, it would be remaining accountable to them, and I appreciate that you helped me see that. They certainly have not demonstrated accountability to me. I may write about it later in this journal, but I have not seriously considered revenge toward them, although I have considered acts of justice. I am definitely not of them, I am much more like my biological mother, who I met in my twenties and had a relationship with for many years, but she also had some serious issues, she in fact is very vengeful and passive-aggressive, and in that way controlling, and I instigated no contact with her for my own well-being.
 
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Somberly_

Somberly_

Member
Apr 21, 2020
24
109
I've recently started a personal journal too, similar to this in some ways. Mine is much more chaotic and 'stream of counciousness' though. I do think it does help to cope and heal though, and I hope these posts give you some therapeutic relief.

I'm not sure there's a lot for me to say since I can't fully relate to the trauma experienced, but I am at least able to understand it. I agree with Epsilon0 in that you are an excellent writer, and that is most of the reason I'm able to visualize these awful memories from your post. The way you were treated as a child growing up was awful, and it seems to me that your mother did everything in her power to avoid letting you just be you. Why have a child if your only goal is to prevent that child from existing? I'm glad that I'm not twisted enough to understand her logic, but I think it's a shame that you had to experience it.

The one thing that stood out to me in your story that I'd like comment on though; I am happy that you finally got to be you after all. You mention how you didnt really have your own fashion until your late 30s into early 40s. I imagine theres a lot of details about how frustrating it is to not feel like you got to develop your appearance or personality during a point when everyone else was. It is a frustration for me at least. But at the end of it all, you did get to find a style for yourself that you liked. Despite all the trauma, and all of the effort she put in to control you and your looks, you still went past it all and got to be you. That's my favorite part.

Thank you for sharing these.
 
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GoodPersonEffed

GoodPersonEffed

Ain't it all just ridiculous?
Jan 11, 2020
4,086
8,383
I was pretty gullible as a child and teenager.

I believed what my mother said, and she made sure I did. Which is why this story is particularly shitty.

I asked Mom many times during my childhood if Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny were real. I asked about Santa more than anything, and her response was always that he was real. Other kids stopped believing, but I didn't, and of course they made fun of me for it, but I believed my mom.

The Christmas I was eleven, I received a gift from Mrs. Santa Claus, with a note that it would be the last Christmas Santa would be delivering to me.

Months later, when I was twelve, one of my last baby teeth came out. I had a difficult time keeping secrets, but I didn't tell my parents, and I put it under my pillow.

The next morning, I'm sure you can figure out what was under my pillow.

I found my mother in the bathroom doing her hair. I held out the tooth, full of triumph, and said, "There's no Tooth Fairy!"

The look in her eyes was the one I always associated with the threat that she would kill me.

She said, "Well there's no Santa Claus or Easter Bunny, either!"

I was hurt.

I cried.

I said that she told me they were real.

And she blamed me for believing.

She said it was my fault, because I wanted them to be real.

Psycho much?
 
GoodPersonEffed

GoodPersonEffed

Ain't it all just ridiculous?
Jan 11, 2020
4,086
8,383
This is a post on food.

I'm fortunate that I didn't experience food-focused abuse like other people, but there was a bit.

Mostly it was about foods I didn't like that made me gag, such as asparagus. If I didn't clean my plate, I had to stay in the kitchen with the plate in front of me for as long as it took me to eat what I hated. My mother got angry at me for gagging, and my father got angry at me because I was causing my mother to be angry. It didn't help that he will eat almost anything, in any combination, without being negatively affected.

The worst was cabbage boiled with potatoes and carrots. When she'd cook it, flies would gather at the screen door. The cabbage was disgusting. It was slimy, and I would gag, which angered my mom. She said she didn't like the cabbage, either, but my dad did, so she said we all had to eat it. I think she usually cooked it once a month. Sometimes she would cook canned spinach for my dad, which tasted even worse, but she hated it too, so because she didn't eat it, then I didn't have to, either, at least not more than a bite or two. But she could tolerate the cabbage, so I had to as well. Only I couldn't tolerate it. Gagging is a reflex, not a conscious act of rebellion.

I may have been around nine or ten when I figured out that I could take a bite of the cabbage and swallow it whole. Of course that bothered her, and she'd bitch at me about it. My reply was always, "Would you rather I gag?" She had no reply, but it was clear she wasn't happy about relenting. We had the exact same ridiculous conversation with every cabbage dinner for years.

Finally when I was in junior high, she allowed me to eat a peanut butter sandwich in lieu of the cabbage.

Seven years of gagging, staring at it, crying, eating it cold, and three years of swallowing it whole and being hated on for it, before I got to eat something else.
 
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Debro

Debro

Wise
Dec 19, 2019
203
418
I have not much to say, but i just wanted to say thank you for sharing everything, i really appreciate it.
 
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thrw_a_way1221221

thrw_a_way1221221

Angel of Choice - on borrowed time.
Aug 30, 2018
4,401
14,248
I'm sorry to hear about your childhood growing up, it's not your fault at all and I don't blame you for not wanting to give them the closure and/or even harbor hate, resentment, and anger. People have hated, resented, angered for far less so I commend and respect your coping of such ordeals in life. Anyways, whatever you end up doing, I hope you are able to be at peace with your decision. :hug:
 
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H

Hopeindeath!

Arcanist
Dec 7, 2019
542
636
United States
Thank you for sharing your life with us. I agree with the others that said you are a good writer. I really am sorry for all the abuse you've endured as a child, and understand how it can still hurt you today. What stands out to me in what you've posted is when you tried to renew your relationship with your parents, and they just wished you well and told you goodbye. That is so sad.:'( You are their daughter, and there should have been a reconciliation. I am so sorry there wasn't. It was good of you to at least have tried.:hug:
 
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GoodPersonEffed

GoodPersonEffed

Ain't it all just ridiculous?
Jan 11, 2020
4,086
8,383
Thank you to everyone who's read so far, and to those who have commented. I've never shared so much of the story of family abuse in one place. I've talked to therapists and past friends, but I've never told all of it to any one person. It's been very cathartic to get it out and to receive feedback in the form of comments and reacts. I still have more to process in this thread, and it's nice that I don't feel worried about writing so much, because if someone is willing or motivated to read, I at least know that I write in an engaging way. I'm working through enough stuff without having to simultaneously work through issues of self-judgment.

Thank you for all of the comments. I wasn't expecting much more than to work out my process here, maybe a few insightful comments, but I've really benefitted from the support. It's been helpful to hear others' perspectives and it brings sanity, especially considering that my drives to serve my parents' best interests were not rational.

I have one thing that's bothering me, and I've been struggling with it today. In post 25, I told a story about my mom pulling some classic victim blaming. The post didn't get any reacts or comments, and yet it's the one I most wanted support for, even as I started this thread not seeking support so much as a method to explore and a platform for doing so. I'm uncomfortable saying I want support for that post, and in thinking about it today, I've come up with all sorts of defenses about why it's okay to ask for attention for that, as if I were preemptively defensive when no one has given me reason in this thread to feel like I have to validate my need or want.

So I'm going to be aware of my discomfort here, remind myself that vulnerability can be very rewarding, and make this request: Would someone please be so kind as to comment on their perspective of the story in post 25?
 
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