LonelyPrince
Rotten to the Core
- Dec 12, 2025
- 56
I'm going to use this site as a sort of journal from now on, since I'm unable to write anything in my physical one.
Perhaps the fact that these entries are public will make me put more effort into writing them, and maybe make me feel less lonely.
Perhaps some of you will also relate to my experiences, given the nature of this site.
My life is a pendulum swinging between suffering and hope.
I harm myself in all possible ways, fantasize and dream of passing away peacefully.
I cannot recall how many times I've imagined, right before falling asleep, of collapsing in a field of sunflowers as the life drains out of me.
The root of my suffering comes from the dysfunctional home I was brought up in, which I don't want to get into right now.
My life right now is stale, bleak and paused.
One day I feel like I can do anything, the next I attempt to harm myself ( can't say "attempt to ctb" cuz these attempts feel so weak )
Everyone around me seems to have it all figured it out: university, a job given by a relative, friends and a stable family life.
I feel envy.
Of course I do.
I have none of that.
Only things I have are my agoraphobia, depression, crippling anxiety and cognitive issues that make me appear stupid in the eyes of the normal.
So many times I've been treated as if I was a slow idiot, who needed to be handheld through everything.
Can't even get a proper diagnosis for these issues. I don't even know what's wrong with me.
Clearly, these are neurodivergent traits, but I don't have adhd ( went to get tested ) and autism seems like a far stretch.
Life just rushed by while I stayed the same confused and lonely child I always have been, while everyone else grew up and figured it out.
I've been called emotionally intelligent, observant and self aware...however what use does that all have in this world? This world praises the practical, not the thinker.
I can be aware all you want but if I'm not practical in society what's the point? I'm useless.
My best friend believes I can do it, that everything can be resolved.
I don't know.
She tells me to not give up, that one day I'll be out of my decaying house, away from the beasts who have tortured me all these years under the guise of caretakers.
Tommorrow I'm supposed to go to my gender psychologist, who is kept a secret from my parents for obvious reasons. They would fucking kill me, kick me out on the streets if I were to reveal them about her.
They cannot stand the idea of me being my own person. In their eyes I'm just a branch from their tree, but I'm another plant entirely.
Last time I almost got caught in my lies, and the fact that I get out of the house rarely doesn't help. They obviously get suspicious each time I step foot outside.
The beast even threatened me with a fucking private investigator?
I've heard everything under the sun at this point.
The psychologist believes I should tell my parents about her and the path I'm taking.
I always answer with a dry "no" before catching myself, smiling awkwardly and saying: "when I'll be out of the house, I will".
I've met multiple queer people and each of them had supportive families.
A slap to the face.
Of course they have a supportive family, of course.
I should be glad they are blessed with this luck, yet I feel hatred...envy.
The fuck did I do to? What entity did I anger for my life to be so lonely and unfair?
My caretakers aren't the ones to be negotiated with: they are extremely stubborn and delusional.
They will die before actually accepting me as who I am, before actually loving me unconditionally.
Everytime I walk into the psychologists office I subconsciously mask my mental state: I appear somewhat stable.
That is why I believe she underestimates my mental state.
I'm a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode and end my life.
Every depressive spiral I get closer and closer to actually attempting.
Closer and closer to being hospitalized.
But from the outside, I only seem like a neo-adult who struggles with choosing a university and has a shitty home life.
I'm a scarred, rotten child in a neo-adult body, plagued by multiple disorders that won't even allow me to step foot outside, with a shitty home life that leads me to search on Amazon the tools required for ctb methods. I'm lonely, no support from peers nor family. Isolated. Completely.
I have two friends. One is online, the other I'm barely able to see.
I'm a neet who starts feeling ill in public spaces: my legs get wobbly, smells feel nauseating and my head gets foggy.
My passion for drawing is burried underneath all the rot and pain I carry, making it hard to pursue it.
That's who I am.
Somehow, I can't bring myself to admit all of this in front of the psychologist. It's...shameful.
I've already admitted to loving the sight of my own blood and I've noticed the stiff posture and expression she adopted as the words fell out of my mouth.
This year, I'll either be able to turn my situation around or die.
But the idea of dying and being mourned by people who I've tried to avoid all my life is fucking terrible.
The idea of these people assuming they knew me, pretending to care about me just because I'm dead, is fucking insulting.
Sorry.
If someone actually reads this, thank you.
Perhaps the fact that these entries are public will make me put more effort into writing them, and maybe make me feel less lonely.
Perhaps some of you will also relate to my experiences, given the nature of this site.
My life is a pendulum swinging between suffering and hope.
I harm myself in all possible ways, fantasize and dream of passing away peacefully.
I cannot recall how many times I've imagined, right before falling asleep, of collapsing in a field of sunflowers as the life drains out of me.
The root of my suffering comes from the dysfunctional home I was brought up in, which I don't want to get into right now.
My life right now is stale, bleak and paused.
One day I feel like I can do anything, the next I attempt to harm myself ( can't say "attempt to ctb" cuz these attempts feel so weak )
Everyone around me seems to have it all figured it out: university, a job given by a relative, friends and a stable family life.
I feel envy.
Of course I do.
I have none of that.
Only things I have are my agoraphobia, depression, crippling anxiety and cognitive issues that make me appear stupid in the eyes of the normal.
So many times I've been treated as if I was a slow idiot, who needed to be handheld through everything.
Can't even get a proper diagnosis for these issues. I don't even know what's wrong with me.
Clearly, these are neurodivergent traits, but I don't have adhd ( went to get tested ) and autism seems like a far stretch.
Life just rushed by while I stayed the same confused and lonely child I always have been, while everyone else grew up and figured it out.
I've been called emotionally intelligent, observant and self aware...however what use does that all have in this world? This world praises the practical, not the thinker.
I can be aware all you want but if I'm not practical in society what's the point? I'm useless.
My best friend believes I can do it, that everything can be resolved.
I don't know.
She tells me to not give up, that one day I'll be out of my decaying house, away from the beasts who have tortured me all these years under the guise of caretakers.
Tommorrow I'm supposed to go to my gender psychologist, who is kept a secret from my parents for obvious reasons. They would fucking kill me, kick me out on the streets if I were to reveal them about her.
They cannot stand the idea of me being my own person. In their eyes I'm just a branch from their tree, but I'm another plant entirely.
Last time I almost got caught in my lies, and the fact that I get out of the house rarely doesn't help. They obviously get suspicious each time I step foot outside.
The beast even threatened me with a fucking private investigator?
I've heard everything under the sun at this point.
The psychologist believes I should tell my parents about her and the path I'm taking.
I always answer with a dry "no" before catching myself, smiling awkwardly and saying: "when I'll be out of the house, I will".
I've met multiple queer people and each of them had supportive families.
A slap to the face.
Of course they have a supportive family, of course.
I should be glad they are blessed with this luck, yet I feel hatred...envy.
The fuck did I do to? What entity did I anger for my life to be so lonely and unfair?
My caretakers aren't the ones to be negotiated with: they are extremely stubborn and delusional.
They will die before actually accepting me as who I am, before actually loving me unconditionally.
Everytime I walk into the psychologists office I subconsciously mask my mental state: I appear somewhat stable.
That is why I believe she underestimates my mental state.
I'm a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode and end my life.
Every depressive spiral I get closer and closer to actually attempting.
Closer and closer to being hospitalized.
But from the outside, I only seem like a neo-adult who struggles with choosing a university and has a shitty home life.
I'm a scarred, rotten child in a neo-adult body, plagued by multiple disorders that won't even allow me to step foot outside, with a shitty home life that leads me to search on Amazon the tools required for ctb methods. I'm lonely, no support from peers nor family. Isolated. Completely.
I have two friends. One is online, the other I'm barely able to see.
I'm a neet who starts feeling ill in public spaces: my legs get wobbly, smells feel nauseating and my head gets foggy.
My passion for drawing is burried underneath all the rot and pain I carry, making it hard to pursue it.
That's who I am.
Somehow, I can't bring myself to admit all of this in front of the psychologist. It's...shameful.
I've already admitted to loving the sight of my own blood and I've noticed the stiff posture and expression she adopted as the words fell out of my mouth.
This year, I'll either be able to turn my situation around or die.
But the idea of dying and being mourned by people who I've tried to avoid all my life is fucking terrible.
The idea of these people assuming they knew me, pretending to care about me just because I'm dead, is fucking insulting.
Sorry.
If someone actually reads this, thank you.
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