MiseryWithoutCompany
Doggo Good, Doggo Great
- Oct 1, 2020
- 62
The last three years have been rough.
My dad died back in 2012, and it became a catalyst to put me where I am now. I don't know when it was that I finally moved on from his death, from pretending he was away for military or business matters. I think 2020? I really feel like he was the only person that openly understood the problems I faced because of stereotypes, my looks, etc. He was the only one who would actually listen to me and acknowledge that what I was going through actually was really happening. Everyone else since then has dismissed it all as a part of my imagination.
I think it's called colorism? My skin's too light, my lips are too small, my hair is too much of a certain texture to qualify as being part lf my race, and my behavior is too close to "white". And my dad was the same except he looked the part of what's "normal" for my race. He spoke without a distinguishable accent, with certain mannerisms, and we bonded over that bullying I was experiencing from the same people that I was supposedly alike.
But he's gone and the racial stuff is getting worse. Race, gender roles, age expectations, etc you name it. I'm constantly falling short of what society in my country expects of me. Constantly.
When I was in highschool, I already had a history of suicide attempts. I already tried choking myself out with my belts or hitting my head against my desk or walls hoping to cause something to happen. I knew that I was not meant to last beyond 21 years old. And that was while my father was still alive. And now I'm 28.
I've been the guinea pig of every possible treatment and each one poorly administered for depression. My college years gave me a complex or something... I can't stand filth. I can't stand the sight of mold or filth because of what they did. And ketchup? I get made fun of so much for my severe aversion to ketchup. It looks like blood and my first period was awful. My period in general is always so, so awful.
My period started before all the other girls in my elementary school, I was made fun of because my body was shaped weirdly. and my teachers bullied me because I couldn't keep up in sports. "Insult her and it will get her to try harder". Their approach. I had no self esteem and it made it so much worse. People always are so hard to deal with, because I'm never what I'm supposed to be.
I trusted my doctors. My mom drinks because my dad is dead and I'm a college dropout who can't do anything on my own anymore. I wasn't supposed to make it this far and every consecutive year feels more miserable than the last. My mom doesn't believe I faced racism from my own race. She never believed me. My brother makes light of it because he never cares. And my doctors? None of them seem to acknowledge it either. But I trusted them to help.
I keep messing up. I mess everything up all the time. Everything I do is never good enough or fast enough. And I messed up and my only highschool friend caught me throwing up the medocine I'd OD'ed on after my mom told me that she wishes I'd just go away. I know it was stress-related, but she was messed up after my dad's passing too. I figured she wanted me as gone as I'd wanted to be and just... I don't know. The habit started then. Made a mess in Macy's, and then was taken to the hospital where they treated me like the scum of the earth. They let me go home that time.
A few years later and I have another break. It's because the house we live in, once good for two upper middle class, is falling apart while relying on the paycheck of one person. The toilet errupted due to flooding from rain. The filth just sent me overboard and I OD'd on Ambien. I just wanted to sleep. My mom took me to the hospital because my hallucinations wanted to have a conversation and I slept for 2 days. And that's when crap hit the fan.
The in-patient hospital I was admitted to. The process of manipulation they forced me through to sign papers. I didn't want to be in there, because it'd do me no good. The guy lied to me, and I was still groggy and in my hospital gown. After they managed to force my hand, they confiscated the clothes my mother brought me and didn't let me use my vaginal soap or pads without begging while on my period. Ir's always while I'm on my period that I try to do things. And the first staff I met in the hall had tried to threaten me to stop crying, else I'd be put "in hall with less freedom". Told me a story about her husband committing suicide and she had to hide his body from her son as a way to shut me up. "If it weren't for me working here, I'd probably have to be admitted myself" she said.
None of that experience felt real. The doctors overdosed me constantly on my anti-anxiety medication to make me numb, the assigned psychologist was sexist as hell, insulting women and not letting me have the proper dosage of my medicine. It was terrible. I couldn't eat the food because I just-
It sounds so stupid. The roommate I had had moments where she'd scream out and thrash, where they'd threaten her with forced sedation and never issued it. She peed on the shared bathroom floor and they told me "just put a towel over it". They'd put a man from the higher security hall into the same hall as the rest of us because he was harassing girls. It was to separate him from them. By exposing us to him.
The facility was shut down after I'd been released, a year later no less.
And then none of the doctors believed the experience was real when I went to them for help dealing with it. They told me I was exaggerating, that "they wouldn't do that to you." Sending me off for ECT afterwards, when I had another episode and a bad reaction to the reduced dosage and the fear of public. The fear of people looking at me, misplaced and terrified of their judgement, and send me back there where I was treated like a criminal.
ECT overdosed me on anaesthetics and the voltage was too high. They dropped me when trying to put me in the wheelchair and my scalp was burned. Even as a grown adult, I am the size of a child, and nobody listens to me when I say I need child dosages. It kept happening, and then became my responsibility to tell them that they were OD'ing me on the stuff, despite me being either too stupid to have functioning motor skills or unaware that the procedure wasn't supposed to hurt. Making us sign the confirmation paper for the next procedure while still under the influence, yelling at me to "stop messing around and wake up".
I...
Nobody believes me that these things happen. My doctor told me to get therapy for my mother's drinking to deal with my back spasms and failing memory. My mom doesn't need therapy, just me. For her drinking. Nobody believes me.
The only skill I have, at all, is illustration. The industry is madlt flooded already. It's a dead end. It's a skill that growing up, was always suggested to me by my teachers, that I should "become an artist when I grow up". Not a vet. Not a groomer of small dogs. An artist. Another hell hole of an industry that is unregulated and filled with people who want to guilt me into leaving my comfort zone.
I've been attempting to run into this same wall for over 16 years. I make slivers of money at a time. And when I ask for advice from other artists, it's a long list of methods I've tried or things I end up trying that never work. Nothing kicks off. I get bullied for low prices and then ignored with high prices.
Nothing I do is meaningful and nothing I experience is real.
I'm so filled with uselessness with no purpose.
2020 with the BLM left me feeling so bitter. So, so bitter. Nobody in the group cares about people like me. I'm not dark enough. I act too white. I have internalized-something. Colorism isn't real. Let the real oppressed people talk, and you sit down.
Nobody cares.
the people that say they care also just serve to manipulate me. Icm just lsoing my mind because when I try to end this whole game of hot or cold, then i gwt repremanded. and then i get durther reprimanded for doing everything wrong when i donct even want to play this game in the first place. i want to drink antifreeze. i have a sweet little dog to take care of but her needs dont seem to help me with his chronic piain i can't shake off. it's hot outside, mu car is broke, my air conditioner i broken. i'm house sitting for a woman who only wants me around for convenience and less for .my company. i dont want to do this anymore and i keep failing to cbt i'm a fialrue all around in everything i do and i hate that everyone is forcing me to stick around
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. i bueden everyone woth this and it soobvious that theyre not interested and get stressed out by me and i dont have anyone to turn to
i'm so alone
i hate people so much
i hate humanity so, so much and i don't wanna be here anymor
My dad died back in 2012, and it became a catalyst to put me where I am now. I don't know when it was that I finally moved on from his death, from pretending he was away for military or business matters. I think 2020? I really feel like he was the only person that openly understood the problems I faced because of stereotypes, my looks, etc. He was the only one who would actually listen to me and acknowledge that what I was going through actually was really happening. Everyone else since then has dismissed it all as a part of my imagination.
I think it's called colorism? My skin's too light, my lips are too small, my hair is too much of a certain texture to qualify as being part lf my race, and my behavior is too close to "white". And my dad was the same except he looked the part of what's "normal" for my race. He spoke without a distinguishable accent, with certain mannerisms, and we bonded over that bullying I was experiencing from the same people that I was supposedly alike.
But he's gone and the racial stuff is getting worse. Race, gender roles, age expectations, etc you name it. I'm constantly falling short of what society in my country expects of me. Constantly.
When I was in highschool, I already had a history of suicide attempts. I already tried choking myself out with my belts or hitting my head against my desk or walls hoping to cause something to happen. I knew that I was not meant to last beyond 21 years old. And that was while my father was still alive. And now I'm 28.
I've been the guinea pig of every possible treatment and each one poorly administered for depression. My college years gave me a complex or something... I can't stand filth. I can't stand the sight of mold or filth because of what they did. And ketchup? I get made fun of so much for my severe aversion to ketchup. It looks like blood and my first period was awful. My period in general is always so, so awful.
My period started before all the other girls in my elementary school, I was made fun of because my body was shaped weirdly. and my teachers bullied me because I couldn't keep up in sports. "Insult her and it will get her to try harder". Their approach. I had no self esteem and it made it so much worse. People always are so hard to deal with, because I'm never what I'm supposed to be.
I trusted my doctors. My mom drinks because my dad is dead and I'm a college dropout who can't do anything on my own anymore. I wasn't supposed to make it this far and every consecutive year feels more miserable than the last. My mom doesn't believe I faced racism from my own race. She never believed me. My brother makes light of it because he never cares. And my doctors? None of them seem to acknowledge it either. But I trusted them to help.
I keep messing up. I mess everything up all the time. Everything I do is never good enough or fast enough. And I messed up and my only highschool friend caught me throwing up the medocine I'd OD'ed on after my mom told me that she wishes I'd just go away. I know it was stress-related, but she was messed up after my dad's passing too. I figured she wanted me as gone as I'd wanted to be and just... I don't know. The habit started then. Made a mess in Macy's, and then was taken to the hospital where they treated me like the scum of the earth. They let me go home that time.
A few years later and I have another break. It's because the house we live in, once good for two upper middle class, is falling apart while relying on the paycheck of one person. The toilet errupted due to flooding from rain. The filth just sent me overboard and I OD'd on Ambien. I just wanted to sleep. My mom took me to the hospital because my hallucinations wanted to have a conversation and I slept for 2 days. And that's when crap hit the fan.
The in-patient hospital I was admitted to. The process of manipulation they forced me through to sign papers. I didn't want to be in there, because it'd do me no good. The guy lied to me, and I was still groggy and in my hospital gown. After they managed to force my hand, they confiscated the clothes my mother brought me and didn't let me use my vaginal soap or pads without begging while on my period. Ir's always while I'm on my period that I try to do things. And the first staff I met in the hall had tried to threaten me to stop crying, else I'd be put "in hall with less freedom". Told me a story about her husband committing suicide and she had to hide his body from her son as a way to shut me up. "If it weren't for me working here, I'd probably have to be admitted myself" she said.
None of that experience felt real. The doctors overdosed me constantly on my anti-anxiety medication to make me numb, the assigned psychologist was sexist as hell, insulting women and not letting me have the proper dosage of my medicine. It was terrible. I couldn't eat the food because I just-
It sounds so stupid. The roommate I had had moments where she'd scream out and thrash, where they'd threaten her with forced sedation and never issued it. She peed on the shared bathroom floor and they told me "just put a towel over it". They'd put a man from the higher security hall into the same hall as the rest of us because he was harassing girls. It was to separate him from them. By exposing us to him.
The facility was shut down after I'd been released, a year later no less.
And then none of the doctors believed the experience was real when I went to them for help dealing with it. They told me I was exaggerating, that "they wouldn't do that to you." Sending me off for ECT afterwards, when I had another episode and a bad reaction to the reduced dosage and the fear of public. The fear of people looking at me, misplaced and terrified of their judgement, and send me back there where I was treated like a criminal.
ECT overdosed me on anaesthetics and the voltage was too high. They dropped me when trying to put me in the wheelchair and my scalp was burned. Even as a grown adult, I am the size of a child, and nobody listens to me when I say I need child dosages. It kept happening, and then became my responsibility to tell them that they were OD'ing me on the stuff, despite me being either too stupid to have functioning motor skills or unaware that the procedure wasn't supposed to hurt. Making us sign the confirmation paper for the next procedure while still under the influence, yelling at me to "stop messing around and wake up".
I...
Nobody believes me that these things happen. My doctor told me to get therapy for my mother's drinking to deal with my back spasms and failing memory. My mom doesn't need therapy, just me. For her drinking. Nobody believes me.
The only skill I have, at all, is illustration. The industry is madlt flooded already. It's a dead end. It's a skill that growing up, was always suggested to me by my teachers, that I should "become an artist when I grow up". Not a vet. Not a groomer of small dogs. An artist. Another hell hole of an industry that is unregulated and filled with people who want to guilt me into leaving my comfort zone.
I've been attempting to run into this same wall for over 16 years. I make slivers of money at a time. And when I ask for advice from other artists, it's a long list of methods I've tried or things I end up trying that never work. Nothing kicks off. I get bullied for low prices and then ignored with high prices.
Nothing I do is meaningful and nothing I experience is real.
I'm so filled with uselessness with no purpose.
2020 with the BLM left me feeling so bitter. So, so bitter. Nobody in the group cares about people like me. I'm not dark enough. I act too white. I have internalized-something. Colorism isn't real. Let the real oppressed people talk, and you sit down.
Nobody cares.
the people that say they care also just serve to manipulate me. Icm just lsoing my mind because when I try to end this whole game of hot or cold, then i gwt repremanded. and then i get durther reprimanded for doing everything wrong when i donct even want to play this game in the first place. i want to drink antifreeze. i have a sweet little dog to take care of but her needs dont seem to help me with his chronic piain i can't shake off. it's hot outside, mu car is broke, my air conditioner i broken. i'm house sitting for a woman who only wants me around for convenience and less for .my company. i dont want to do this anymore and i keep failing to cbt i'm a fialrue all around in everything i do and i hate that everyone is forcing me to stick around
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. i bueden everyone woth this and it soobvious that theyre not interested and get stressed out by me and i dont have anyone to turn to
i'm so alone
i hate people so much
i hate humanity so, so much and i don't wanna be here anymor
