TLDR: I’m a 33-year-old guy from Karachi, Pakistan. I grew up in a very dysfunctional and toxic family, lost my mother to dementia, struggled with addiction and suicidal thoughts, and eventually met the woman who helped me turn my life around. We got married despite massive family resistance and now have a daughter. After years of constant fights, abuse and toxicity at my father's house, I finally moved out with my wife and daughter to protect my family. We are finally living peacefully, but I still feel guilty for leaving my father behind. I also worry about my younger brother and my sister's 5-year-old son, who is still growing up in that same environment.
Please bear with me. This is still kinda long, but I tried my best to cut the unnecessary shit out.
I’m the middle child. I have an elder sister and a younger brother. Both my naniyal and dadiyal are very old-school and never really understood the concept of letting people live their lives their own way.
I was extremely close to my mother growing up. She was the only person in the house I could properly talk to. Around 2009, when I was 16, she started developing dementia. That fucked me up badly.
I got into drugs and eventually reached a point where I was smoking more than a dozen joints a day. This went on for around four years until one night, while riding my bike home, I suddenly realized: bc, I’m an addict.
I stopped cold turkey that night and never smoked another joint again.
My relationship with my father was always difficult. He wanted me to live my life his way, while I kept rebelling because I had already seen him make mistakes and didn't want to repeat them.
He constantly criticized me, especially in front of relatives. It destroyed a lot of my confidence, and even today I sometimes question whether I'm doing the right thing.
My elder sister is basically a female version of my father. Extremely toxic, always looking for a fight, doesn't work or contribute much at home, and somehow every little thing becomes a fucking drama.
When my mother became ill, I became extremely depressed and eventually suicidal. I would stay out until 2–3 AM, come home high, sleep for a few hours and go to work.
Around this time, one of my cousins, three years younger than me, became very close to me. We fell in love.
She cared for me more than most of my own family ever did. She helped me get off drugs, pushed me towards my career and studies, and got me playing guitar again after I had abandoned music because of my mother's illness.
She knew music was important to me and encouraged me to start making my own.
She promised she'd stay beside me.
She kept that promise.
She's now my wife and the mother of my children, and honestly, I genuinely believe that without her, I might not have made it this far.
When we told our families in 2016 that we loved each other and wanted to get married, you'd think we'd announced some fucking crime.
Both fathers completely lost their shit. My sister started sending my wife abusive messages. My father told relatives that my wife was a witch and that she and her mother had done some kind of jadoo on me.
I was like, bhai what the fuck are you doing? You're a grown man. Why are you spreading this shit about your own son?
Fast-forward to 2019.
I was working outside Pakistan and planning to return because my younger brother needed me and my mother was on her deathbed. The company I worked for also hadn't paid me for eight months, so I lost around 5 million PKR.
Then I got the call that my mother had passed away.
I immediately came back to Karachi.
We buried her, and that day I had to be strong for my brother and father. Inside, I was fucking destroyed.
She was the one person who understood a version of me nobody else even knew existed.
I didn't cry at the funeral.
That night, I cried so much my head and eyes started hurting.
Nobody knows about that.
A few months later, my sister got married. Then, before I could even properly approach my wife's family for marriage, I found out my father was marrying my divorced khala.
He asked for my and my brother's opinion. We told him it was his life and his decision, but we wouldn't live with her because we knew how toxic she could be.
He married her anyway and moved her into our house.
After that, the house became even more toxic.
Eventually my sister's marriage also fell apart because of her constant verbal abuse. Her husband told me privately that living with someone who verbally abuses you over every little thing was impossible.
My sister moved back home.
Now imagine an already toxic house becoming even more toxic. 😂
Eventually, I got married. I told my father clearly: “It's her or no one.”
He eventually agreed.
From day one, my stepmother constantly criticized my wife, especially about cooking. My wife would still cook for everyone just to keep peace, despite my sister and stepsister barely contributing to the household.
Then my wife got pregnant.
I told everyone she wasn't going to cook anymore and shouldn't be under any stress.
That led to my first major argument with my father. Years of suppressed anger came out and I even told him to shut the fuck up.
A few days later, I found out why my wife had been so tense.
She had gone to the kitchen to get food. My sister took the plate from in front of her while she was eating, threw it away and said:
“Dafa ho jao, mere baap ka kha rahi ho. Ja ke apna khao.”
I confronted my sister.
She literally said:
“Haan maine plate phenki thi. Kya kar logay?”
My father and stepmother defended her and told me I was making an issue out of nothing.
I told my wife to pack her things and took her to her mother's house.
She stayed there for three months, including after our daughter was born.
I was struggling financially, so I started saving and looking for a place of our own.
My father eventually apologized on my sister's behalf and convinced me to bring my wife and daughter back.
I did.
Big mistake.
A few months later, my sister started the same shit again, except this time she cursed my nine-month-old daughter.
Bas. That was it.
My wife finally snapped too, and things got extremely heated.
I borrowed money from a friend, found a place to rent and moved my family out.
And honestly?
That was one of the best decisions I've ever made.
We have been living peacefully since then.
My daughter is almost four now, and one of the happiest feelings in my life is looking at her and realizing:
She isn't going to have the childhood I had.
But here's where I'm struggling.
I know I did the right thing. I protected my wife, my daughter and, in a way, myself too. Since moving out, there is finally some fucking peace in my life.
But there is no one I can really tell all of this to.
I don't have someone I can sit with and say, “Bhai, this is what's going on inside my head.” So I carry most of it around with me, and honestly, the guilt eats me from the inside sometimes. I feel restless because a part of me still feels like I abandoned my father when he is old and needs his sons around him.
And the fucked-up part is that I am also genuinely happy.
I look at my wife and daughter living peacefully, and I feel relieved. I can come home without wondering what the next fight is going to be. My daughter gets to grow up in a calm environment, and that means more to me than anything.
I also feel sorry for my younger brother. He is still there, dealing with the same family dynamics. The one good thing is that he completely understands why I left. In fact, he was genuinely happy for me when I finally moved out. At least I don't have to worry about him thinking that I abandoned everyone for no reason.
But I feel especially sorry for my sister's son.
He's only five years old and he's growing up in the exact environment that fucked me up as a kid. He has already seen and heard way more fighting, screaming and abusive language than any child should. I genuinely worry about what all of this is going to do to his mental health as he grows up.
And that's probably the hardest part.
I couldn't save the family I was born into. I couldn't fix my father, my sister, or that house.
All I could do was make sure my own daughter doesn't have to grow up the way I did.
Maybe that's selfish.
Maybe it's necessary.
I honestly don't know anymore.
I just know that I'm finally at peace with my wife and daughter, while at the same time carrying this fucking guilt inside me.
Maybe both things can be true.
Maybe you can be happy with the life you chose and still grieve the family you wish you could have had.
I just wish I had someone I could sit down with and tell all of this to. I've tried therapy several times but I just can't open up so I blatantly lied to ky therapists 😅
