rnoah03
Money didn’t buy happiness.
- Mar 24, 2026
- 15
Hi everyone, Im Noah
When I look back on my life it almost feels like I've lived a hundred different versions of myself, each one pulled apart by something I couldn't control. When I was a kid things were simple, almost warm. I had both my parents, food in my lunch bag, sports after school, friends who didn't look at me like I was less than them. I didn't know what instability felt like, not really, not until the day everything snapped. My dad was deported for a crime he committed in the States and he vanished from our lives as if we were smoke he could just walk through. Overnight my mom was left with four boys, no money, no help, and no idea how to build a life out of broken pieces. I went from being a kid with a future to a kid who wore the same worn-out clothes and brought a single cheese sandwich to school because that's all we could afford. People noticed. Kids can smell difference like blood in the water, and they tore me apart for it while I waited for a father who never showed up and never tried.
Things got so bad that my mom, desperate and exhausted, sent me to live with him, thinking maybe it would fix me or fix him or fix something. But he wasn't a father. He was a storm, unpredictable and violent. He yelled, he hit, he made home feel like a cage. I got bullied there too, for how I looked, how I talked, how I existed. My world kept shrinking until the only place left was inside my own head, and even that wasn't safe.
I drifted through my teenage years alone until I met a girl near the end of high school. She was good to me, gentle in a way I didn't know people could be, but I was too insecure to believe someone like her could want someone like me. I pushed her away with jealousy and fear. When she left, I broke. I tried ending everything at seventeen with a handful of pills because I genuinely believed there was nothing in me worth saving. I survived, barely, and when I got out of the psych ward my parents acted like it never happened, so I did too. I walked around pretending I was fine while secretly planning the next time.
Instead of getting help I fell into a crowd that drank to forget and I followed them because forgetting was easier than feeling. Drinking led to drugs, and drugs led to numbness, and numbness felt like peace even though it was destroying me. I never really had friends, just people who liked being around the money I made once I started my business. Eventually I tried to clean up, tried to get closer to God, tried to reconnect with family, but every time I climbed out of a hole another one opened beneath me.
Then I met someone who changed everything, or at least I thought she did. She was the most beautiful person I had ever known, inside and out. She loved me deeply, the way I used to pray someone would love me, but I ruined that too. My trauma, my fear, my anger, all of it spilled out in ways I couldn't control. I yelled, cried, accused, shut down, picked fights just to feel something close to love. I pushed her away until she finally broke, until she finally left, and losing her felt like losing my last chance at ever being a person worth something.
After she left, everything in my life collapsed at once. I got blackmailed, accused of things I didn't do, dragged into hell by strangers who hacked my accounts and threatened to ruin the little bit of good I had left. They targeted my ex too, threatened to expose things about her life, things that could destroy all the dreams she had been working so hard for. I blamed myself because somehow I always do. They demanded my entire crypto portfolio $657,000. The police said they couldn't help in time. So I paid. I emptied everything I'd saved for treatment, for a house, for a future I was trying so hard to rebuild. And once the money was gone, so was I.
Then came the diagnosis. Idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. A cruel, suffocating disease that steals breath little by little until there's nothing left. Hearing those words felt like the world telling me that no matter how hard I fought, I was always meant to lose. I've spent so long feeling trapped in a life that never felt like mine, boxed in by pain I didn't ask for, consequences I didn't deserve, memories I couldn't outrun.
And now here I am, sitting with everything that's happened, feeling the weight of all the versions of me that tried their best and still weren't enough. I'm tired in a way that doesn't fade. I'm empty in a way that feels permanent. After everything, it almost feels quiet inside me for the first time, when I think of CTB it's like the chaos finally stopped echoing. Like I'm holding stillness in my hands, and it gives me peace.
I plan to CTB in the next few days to a week.
I have had access to SN, but I am going to go the route of hanging myself, days of research it seems faster, less painful and a better option.
The only thing i have been worried about is the reflexes kicking but if I drink enough and do some booger sugar i think that'll ease it all for me.
When I look back on my life it almost feels like I've lived a hundred different versions of myself, each one pulled apart by something I couldn't control. When I was a kid things were simple, almost warm. I had both my parents, food in my lunch bag, sports after school, friends who didn't look at me like I was less than them. I didn't know what instability felt like, not really, not until the day everything snapped. My dad was deported for a crime he committed in the States and he vanished from our lives as if we were smoke he could just walk through. Overnight my mom was left with four boys, no money, no help, and no idea how to build a life out of broken pieces. I went from being a kid with a future to a kid who wore the same worn-out clothes and brought a single cheese sandwich to school because that's all we could afford. People noticed. Kids can smell difference like blood in the water, and they tore me apart for it while I waited for a father who never showed up and never tried.
Things got so bad that my mom, desperate and exhausted, sent me to live with him, thinking maybe it would fix me or fix him or fix something. But he wasn't a father. He was a storm, unpredictable and violent. He yelled, he hit, he made home feel like a cage. I got bullied there too, for how I looked, how I talked, how I existed. My world kept shrinking until the only place left was inside my own head, and even that wasn't safe.
I drifted through my teenage years alone until I met a girl near the end of high school. She was good to me, gentle in a way I didn't know people could be, but I was too insecure to believe someone like her could want someone like me. I pushed her away with jealousy and fear. When she left, I broke. I tried ending everything at seventeen with a handful of pills because I genuinely believed there was nothing in me worth saving. I survived, barely, and when I got out of the psych ward my parents acted like it never happened, so I did too. I walked around pretending I was fine while secretly planning the next time.
Instead of getting help I fell into a crowd that drank to forget and I followed them because forgetting was easier than feeling. Drinking led to drugs, and drugs led to numbness, and numbness felt like peace even though it was destroying me. I never really had friends, just people who liked being around the money I made once I started my business. Eventually I tried to clean up, tried to get closer to God, tried to reconnect with family, but every time I climbed out of a hole another one opened beneath me.
Then I met someone who changed everything, or at least I thought she did. She was the most beautiful person I had ever known, inside and out. She loved me deeply, the way I used to pray someone would love me, but I ruined that too. My trauma, my fear, my anger, all of it spilled out in ways I couldn't control. I yelled, cried, accused, shut down, picked fights just to feel something close to love. I pushed her away until she finally broke, until she finally left, and losing her felt like losing my last chance at ever being a person worth something.
After she left, everything in my life collapsed at once. I got blackmailed, accused of things I didn't do, dragged into hell by strangers who hacked my accounts and threatened to ruin the little bit of good I had left. They targeted my ex too, threatened to expose things about her life, things that could destroy all the dreams she had been working so hard for. I blamed myself because somehow I always do. They demanded my entire crypto portfolio $657,000. The police said they couldn't help in time. So I paid. I emptied everything I'd saved for treatment, for a house, for a future I was trying so hard to rebuild. And once the money was gone, so was I.
Then came the diagnosis. Idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. A cruel, suffocating disease that steals breath little by little until there's nothing left. Hearing those words felt like the world telling me that no matter how hard I fought, I was always meant to lose. I've spent so long feeling trapped in a life that never felt like mine, boxed in by pain I didn't ask for, consequences I didn't deserve, memories I couldn't outrun.
And now here I am, sitting with everything that's happened, feeling the weight of all the versions of me that tried their best and still weren't enough. I'm tired in a way that doesn't fade. I'm empty in a way that feels permanent. After everything, it almost feels quiet inside me for the first time, when I think of CTB it's like the chaos finally stopped echoing. Like I'm holding stillness in my hands, and it gives me peace.
I plan to CTB in the next few days to a week.
I have had access to SN, but I am going to go the route of hanging myself, days of research it seems faster, less painful and a better option.
The only thing i have been worried about is the reflexes kicking but if I drink enough and do some booger sugar i think that'll ease it all for me.
