notevenhere
Ghost Angel
- Apr 27, 2023
- 156
i'm turning 30 in five days, i'm secretly packing 3 bags to stay at a condo unit for 19,000 pesos.
i have no prospects, i know i can't land a job no matter what i do. i won't have my pc, i can't have my soft bed anymore. i can't read my webtoons. i'll try to bring a few books i haven't read. i don't want to die, but any time i reach out to anyone, even a family member: they think what's best for me is to lock me in my room and never leave me out of the house and it seems that how my mother parents me is what is true, and what it should always be, even if her husbands mistreats me, even if her son ignores me, even if i hear them laugh downstairs. my mother never offers long term solutions. i always have to figure it out on my own, i hate saying the word narcissistic, but she is. and i have all these emotional wounds, that mental problems, what have yous. but the police and every government official whos supposed to actually help me are corrupt and even worse than my parents.
i know im not crazy and that im just a deeply disturbed individual, my friend offered me advice like ask your extended family to stay over for a bit. but they don't know how much of a burden i am, if i wasnt, they wouldn't have left me with my mother. your family thinks they are helping you until it's actually too late.
my mom pretended to care, took me to a ncmh psych ward, my grandma was there, too and even signed a waver. they all told me it's gonna be alright? maybe there's a nda because when i tried to speak about the mistreatment, i was threatened to put it down or something bad was gonna happen. i don't think i can trust these people, anyone around me for that matter. i still miss maeve, and i wish iz would call me. but i know this is the consequences of my actions, it's why i have no one.
i don't want to die, i really don't but even just disclosing this on social media, or even telling a family member who i trust is unsafe, it's better to send this to a stranger.
isn't it strange white men get to create manifestos, but a woman who ends her own life, she's never a sylvia plath. i grew up reading a lot of books, my grandfather taught me to fall in love with them, he died when i was 16. too bedridden to see me graduated, too much of me being a coward to sit next to him and face the fact he's dying, too late to realize that he's gonna be the last ever family member that would have believed me or he'd my hand, and i can still feel his hand on the back of my neck when he leads me in malls, to follow him, like a lost child.
maybe i'll have dormmates, and maybe these strangers, they'll treat me with basic common decency, not something my parents or so called family was able to do. it's funny, isn't it? just because you're family and also filipino, the culture is as long as you're living in their home, they have the power to break and bend and mold you, and any ounce of resistance would hurt and damage you even more?
i don't want to die, i really don't. i always said even at 18, 21, 25 years old: my mother is going to kill me. and they never truly understand that that means and chalks it up to me as crazy. it's as if i have to write a whole beat selling book just to actually, you know, be taken seriously. like it'll measure up my intelligence or my need to be approved, normal, trusthwotthy— a reliable source.
to quote mccurdy, am i glad my mom died? no, she'll live longer than i am. but i do feel the relief and release of letting go. maeve isn't here to hold my hand through text when i'm hyperventilating and crying, i know it's my fault but nobody knew the heaviest pain we carry just because of our parents own wrongdoings, we as the product of their horrific decisions, they set us up to die. and blame it on the alcohol or the drugs because narcissistic parents, they can't ever— ever take accountability.
maybe i can't do, cos here i am, im choosing to kill myself than to try, but pray tell what is a job out there that won't kill me anyways, i don't have a rich dad who's magically gonna appear,
i think that's part of me that can never forgive mom, if she, at age 19, just stuck it out and handled her in laws and kept being with my dad, i would have been take care of, instead she decided to remarry and well, use the second child and succeeded, my half brother attends one of the most prestigious school, all because he has a father, gets the latest iphone model, a collection of clothes perfumes and even a wall of sneakers, i'm not particular jealous, it's just that i eat 3 dollar burgers because my mother hates cookingc that's not even that bad, just develop anotexia and you'll even be skinny or like keep cutting yourself: which i'm not even allowed to do but they don't care if i do anyways, i just find it cringe to self harm.
anyways, i have an alcohol problem but it could have been worse, i think my mom is a great example of pretty privilege, spoiled child syndrome and something else completely wrong about her i don't even care to analyze, she has enough sympathy from me. her husband is the traditional filipino type, i guess it's the perfect marriage, im more annoyed she would yell in the middle of the night and make me travel to my grandmas house and travel back to school without any sleep and expected straight A's, i just studied cos i got bullied and my mom loved hitting me in the head and crumpling my textbooks and tossing it across the room before i even knew what child abuse even meant but hey, i learned to read at age six properly and went straight to my grandpas's attic to read anne rice.
that was fun. i think it's a lot like denji, when you're a kid and you're subjected to all this vile violence and danger — your best memory is still from childhood, because innocence is something so precious you can never retrieve back even if you lose your memory or get lobotomized or dementia.
if i was a school shooter. at least 800 people will read this from google doc. but i am typing it into chat got, what a lost cause.
I cropped the names out.
i have no prospects, i know i can't land a job no matter what i do. i won't have my pc, i can't have my soft bed anymore. i can't read my webtoons. i'll try to bring a few books i haven't read. i don't want to die, but any time i reach out to anyone, even a family member: they think what's best for me is to lock me in my room and never leave me out of the house and it seems that how my mother parents me is what is true, and what it should always be, even if her husbands mistreats me, even if her son ignores me, even if i hear them laugh downstairs. my mother never offers long term solutions. i always have to figure it out on my own, i hate saying the word narcissistic, but she is. and i have all these emotional wounds, that mental problems, what have yous. but the police and every government official whos supposed to actually help me are corrupt and even worse than my parents.
i know im not crazy and that im just a deeply disturbed individual, my friend offered me advice like ask your extended family to stay over for a bit. but they don't know how much of a burden i am, if i wasnt, they wouldn't have left me with my mother. your family thinks they are helping you until it's actually too late.
my mom pretended to care, took me to a ncmh psych ward, my grandma was there, too and even signed a waver. they all told me it's gonna be alright? maybe there's a nda because when i tried to speak about the mistreatment, i was threatened to put it down or something bad was gonna happen. i don't think i can trust these people, anyone around me for that matter. i still miss maeve, and i wish iz would call me. but i know this is the consequences of my actions, it's why i have no one.
i don't want to die, i really don't but even just disclosing this on social media, or even telling a family member who i trust is unsafe, it's better to send this to a stranger.
isn't it strange white men get to create manifestos, but a woman who ends her own life, she's never a sylvia plath. i grew up reading a lot of books, my grandfather taught me to fall in love with them, he died when i was 16. too bedridden to see me graduated, too much of me being a coward to sit next to him and face the fact he's dying, too late to realize that he's gonna be the last ever family member that would have believed me or he'd my hand, and i can still feel his hand on the back of my neck when he leads me in malls, to follow him, like a lost child.
maybe i'll have dormmates, and maybe these strangers, they'll treat me with basic common decency, not something my parents or so called family was able to do. it's funny, isn't it? just because you're family and also filipino, the culture is as long as you're living in their home, they have the power to break and bend and mold you, and any ounce of resistance would hurt and damage you even more?
i don't want to die, i really don't. i always said even at 18, 21, 25 years old: my mother is going to kill me. and they never truly understand that that means and chalks it up to me as crazy. it's as if i have to write a whole beat selling book just to actually, you know, be taken seriously. like it'll measure up my intelligence or my need to be approved, normal, trusthwotthy— a reliable source.
to quote mccurdy, am i glad my mom died? no, she'll live longer than i am. but i do feel the relief and release of letting go. maeve isn't here to hold my hand through text when i'm hyperventilating and crying, i know it's my fault but nobody knew the heaviest pain we carry just because of our parents own wrongdoings, we as the product of their horrific decisions, they set us up to die. and blame it on the alcohol or the drugs because narcissistic parents, they can't ever— ever take accountability.
maybe i can't do, cos here i am, im choosing to kill myself than to try, but pray tell what is a job out there that won't kill me anyways, i don't have a rich dad who's magically gonna appear,
i think that's part of me that can never forgive mom, if she, at age 19, just stuck it out and handled her in laws and kept being with my dad, i would have been take care of, instead she decided to remarry and well, use the second child and succeeded, my half brother attends one of the most prestigious school, all because he has a father, gets the latest iphone model, a collection of clothes perfumes and even a wall of sneakers, i'm not particular jealous, it's just that i eat 3 dollar burgers because my mother hates cookingc that's not even that bad, just develop anotexia and you'll even be skinny or like keep cutting yourself: which i'm not even allowed to do but they don't care if i do anyways, i just find it cringe to self harm.
anyways, i have an alcohol problem but it could have been worse, i think my mom is a great example of pretty privilege, spoiled child syndrome and something else completely wrong about her i don't even care to analyze, she has enough sympathy from me. her husband is the traditional filipino type, i guess it's the perfect marriage, im more annoyed she would yell in the middle of the night and make me travel to my grandmas house and travel back to school without any sleep and expected straight A's, i just studied cos i got bullied and my mom loved hitting me in the head and crumpling my textbooks and tossing it across the room before i even knew what child abuse even meant but hey, i learned to read at age six properly and went straight to my grandpas's attic to read anne rice.
that was fun. i think it's a lot like denji, when you're a kid and you're subjected to all this vile violence and danger — your best memory is still from childhood, because innocence is something so precious you can never retrieve back even if you lose your memory or get lobotomized or dementia.
if i was a school shooter. at least 800 people will read this from google doc. but i am typing it into chat got, what a lost cause.
I cropped the names out.
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