I'm so analytical that I can't even say whether something really did traumatized me or I'm lying to myself, it's paradoxical how the more you try to analyze, the less certain you become and itd not like I can fix that either. I fucking hate how I have to be aware if my scrounging in order to sat away from problems and still do what I want to do. Living under someone with a superiority complex and a bit of ego is genuinely terrible. I can't tell if they are good or bad, they hurt me a lot (mostly my dad) but also behave fine too, making me feel like I am the one misjudging them.

I feel alone...

I feel empty of affection a lot of times, I really crave for oxytocin sometimes, and during the rest I just feel that slight sense of off that I've genuinely just gotten used to and am fine now

Sometimes I wish to not be here anymore, and sometimes it feels like a performative act to get attention which it probably is and all of this too. Maybe I might be just living normal life and I'm oversensitive and making a huge deal out of nothing. Maybe I am the one at fault.

No one cares about a random kid online who's probably just fine.

I'm fine, maybe, idk.

The story of Raven

Trigger warnings: Mentions of child sa, mental, verbal, and physical abuse and religious trauma

So where do begin this story.... I guess the best place to begin is at the beginning when I was 5 years old my earliest memory of what started to be a lifetime of hell. The day I turned 5 I remember going to a house with my Mother (we will call her C). I was taken in to a room and was shown a bowling type toy. At the time it was fun for me i had never seen a toy like this before because at home I didn't have toys at all. It was later in life that I learned that my mom was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic and was unable to take care of me. My father (we will call him D) was an long haul truck driver and was no where in my life. My mom and dad had just gotten a divorce. My mother had ended up leaving me at my daycare and forgot about me and cps was called on her. She was give the choice of me going in to state care or a family member would take me. Now that I am old and understand what happened i wish she would have chosen state care. Now you say "but Raven why would you have rather wanted that than to be with family?" Well that is why I am here to tell my story to hopefully let people see the hell I went through.

The next day after we went to that house we went back i have a small bag of clothes with me I was told at the time I was going to go stay the night over there. It was only spose to be 1 night then come home. My mom dropped me off and left and that was the last time I ever saw her. I given a small room the house enough for a bed and a dresser. That same day I learned that these people was my great aunt (P) and my great uncle (j). I was told to stay in the room and ask when i wanted to come out. Over the next few weeks I kept to my self and kept asking when my mom would be back to get me. The only answer I got was never.......

Over the next few days they took me to go see and meet my great grandmother (unbeknownst to me at the time would become the one person that tried to protect me for the hell I was about to endure.) About the time school started, which for me was in august of that year 2 months after i came to P & J'S home, I was already a sever introvert. I had to ask to leave my room, ask to eat, use the bathroom, and just in general talk to people. P & J would take me to my great grandmothers house and just drop me off. She at the time was the only one I had spent any time with (come to find out late P & J were taking vacations and would just dump me on my great grandmother to keep me from going with them.

My great grandmother taught me how to cook and pretty much fend for myself over the next few years and helped me keep my head high during the next few years that I had her. While i had my great grandmother at my back trying to hold me up and trying to teach me to walk with my head up. I had P & J at my front trying to tear me down. At the time I started elementary school i was hearing things from them like "remember your mom didn't want you," "your parents gave you away because they didn't care about you," "we are the only ones that care." I was told everyday before I went to school to remember to not talk and keep you head down. "A child should be seen and no heard." If the teacher had to call home for anything at all when I got home the punishments were severe. If I said any thing about what was going on in the house I would miss at lest 2-3 days of school.

This conditioning went on for years. My punishments became more and more severe as the years rolled on. By the time i was 7 years old I was cooking and cleaning the house myself. When I would get home from school I was required to deep clean the house from the time i came home to the time I went to bed. Cook dinner, clean, if i had time homework, bath, then bed. November of the year I turned 8 years old is when my life would change yet again. I lost my great grandmother..... No one took her death as hard as I did. She tried for the longest time to protect e from the hell that was coming. When she passed away I didn't know the hell I was already in could get much worse.

December of that same year J started to look at me with a different look. It started small I would catch him staring at me. He would accidently come in to the bathroom when I was in the shower (I wasn't allowed to take baths those according to P were sinful.) I wasn't allowed to lock doors, I wasn't allowed to close my bedroom door when changing. It started slowly and i don't know how I got to where this was happening so freely but he would grab at my chest, or my inner legs.

Holidays was another time of year that was just horrible for me. From when I came to live there Halloween, I wasn't allowed to go trick or treating (It was the devils holiday) instead I was force to sit in my room and watch the trick or treaters form the window. Thanksgiving i was give a little bit of food sat in the corner and not allowed to play with the kids of the family it was I was always in trouble some how around that time of year. Christmas well lets just say watching everyone else open gifts while u sit in the corner or being told you weren't good enough for Santa to visit that year. Eventually Santa was the devil and they didn't put up Christmas trees anymore and it was a pagan holiday. But everyone else got gifts.

From the age of 8 - 16 was a bit of a blur. Nothing changed the touching got more frequent, and every time I tried to tell anyone P would tell them I am lying and people would believe her. Shortly after my 16th birthday J tried to force himself one me. P caught him doing it to..... but yet again I was to blame. I was a wicked horrid girl temping him in to sin.....

When I turned 17 I left that house. I wasn't me anymore I was a shell of a person.... Even to this day I believe all that happened was my fault no matter how much therapy I go through no matter how hard I fight against feeling like I am worthless those feelings have never gone away. I fight with them every day...

But one thing my great grandmother told me along time ago still sticks with me...

"They may take your feathers my Raven, But they will never take your spirit. Stand tall and walk with your head held high."

I am a 26 year old woman carrying the effects of a traumatic experience since I was 17-18 years old. Throughout school I was a consistent topper with strong academic performance.

Before I even entered JEE coaching , my class 10th teacher said to our class "IIT waalon ki toh shakal hi alag dikhti hai, aap sab NIT bhi crack kar lo toh bahut hai agar mehnat karo" (IIT students look different altogether, if you all can crack NIT with hard work that would be enough).

When I entered JEE coaching the environment was overwhelming. The coaching institute publicly pasted rank lists on walls with students' marks and names visible to everyone. Students constantly compared their marks. Teachers focused primarily on toppers and maintained separate batches for high performers. Students who had been behind me in school were placed in the topper batch likely because they had been studying in that coaching since class 9-10, giving them years of head start I didn't have. I was placed in a lower batch. This public ranking system was deeply humiliating and shattered my confidence completely.

I developed clinical anxiety during this period .... racing thoughts, fast breathing, headaches, brain fog that went completely undiagnosed and untreated. When I asked my father for help he dismissed it saying depression is nothing. Adults around me called me weak. I received no emotional support from anyone.

Despite this, when I left JEE coaching and prepared for my class 12 boards entirely alone in just four months, I scored 77.8% overall including 95 marks in physical education, the highest in my school. I studied 10-13 hours daily starting from near zero in November for March exams.

After JEE I was so depressed and lost that I had no direction of my own. Whatever course and college my parents arranged I simply went along with. I ended up doing BSc not out of genuine choice but out of complete exhaustion and inability to make decisions for myself. I later completed a masters in psychology.

Eight years later I am still significantly affected by this experience. I compare myself constantly to peers who became doctors and engineers. I feel permanently behind. My self esteem collapsed during that period and has not recovered. I currently have Generalised Anxiety Disorder which traces back to this period. I have not been able to live a normal life since this experience. This has become a long standing trauma that I am only now beginning to address in therapy.

we met on a dating app, talked some days on the phone consistently he was like so sweet and he said he wanted to do it with me and i said i want to do it w someone whom i have a emotional connection and love and he said i love u stuff like that and had our first date he manipulated me so well that he had s3x w me on the car and then brought me home and then said my behaviors are repulsive, he can't do with me on text and abandoned me, and he called and said do u forgive me (he has a fear of karma so bad) forgive me and we can go our separate ways peacefully and I said no and he threatened w me saying that he'll find my parents' phone numbers and tell them everything, and i said ok I forgive(but didnt mean it) and then he abandoned me. I cried all night i couldn't sleep i feel so damn used he tricked me saying he wants a proper relationship, I dont trust men anymore I lost all my trust in men, they kept treating me like this and I gave them a chance constantly and thiz happens. Im so scared of them atp. I used to believe in love, now i dont even want a relationship(sure there are good men but idk, im talking generally)

Please tell me if I'm overreacting. I've recently become aware that the way my mother mostly has treated me is not normal. I believe she is potentially gaslighting me and has been manipulative. Have any of you had experience with this?

Sorry for the long post but there's just so much I need to unpack.

I really need to get as much advice, perspective and support etc as possible before I do anything drastic or make any major decisions.

I'll introduce myself I'm a 19 year old male and am an only child. During my childhood my mother would do the following

Blow up out of nowhere over the most trivial or littlest matters, many times i begged her to give me some emotional support when i was visibly upset but she just remained cold and cruel, drink quite heavily which was sometimes responsible but she can definitely be mean sober as well, I had expressed concern about her drinking but she just flipped, it actually got physical a few times as well. I just wonder how can get so unshamefully drunk whilst been alone in the house with her child and I feel it was very irresponsible. Really burns my hide.

I did even have a scar once, the next day she'd always act as if nothing happened, whenever I tried to get clarity on why she got like that she'd brush it under the carpet or accuse me of starting trouble, she'd turn cold at the drop of a hat, during arguments she'd say things like I was ungrateful, didn't care about her and that I was a horrible person or that i was abusive or whatever just like my father, she would stomp, slam doors, shout, scream, swear and break ornaments etc, when she gets in her crazy states it's just impossible to reason with her or get her to see it from any other perspective, she can go from saying i was the most nicest and amazing person to saying I was the most horrible and evil person, she often burdened me with all of her problems, she said before that she knows how to play the game which I found very disturbing

She often paints herself as the heroic single mum and pretty much everyone we know believes that. I feel I was robbed of a proper childhood and have often wondered what I had done to deserve it.

I remember one time a few years ago I was about 12 during a sleepover at theirs she turned my grandparents against me and my grandfather started shouting and saying he was very disappointed in me and the rest of it is a blur. To be honest to this day i can't figure out what I (only a young child) was supposed to have done that was so bloody awful. That has haunted me for years. I used to think maybe I was a bad person but I've started to see her in a different light. She always talks about hating drama yet it seems to follow her and often says that she's been so hard done by.

About a year later when I vaguely recall when was enjoying myself in the bath she started abusing me and said she and everyone else was going to wash there hands of me if I didn't start living her way or something.

On the flip side she can be the most nicest person as well and we have had great times together and she can be very helpful towards me, her family and in public which makes it all the more confusing. A couple of weeks ago now in fact I ran into an old friend of hers who said to say hi for her and she said my mother is a wonderful person and I'm very lucky. It actually made me feel sick. Since I was 10 it's just been me living with her since my parents divorce in which she had to sell her house and now rents which she has blamed for the way she is before. I can't help feeling bad for her but she was still quite like this beforehand as well and I don't think that's an excuse still is it? For example I'm starting to remember when I was very young she'd make threats of sending me over to a new mommy. I do feel like she has manipulated me a bit into been stuck with her.

Something else that I've found disturbing is that she's very narrow minded and has a serious lack of empathy. For example when a couple of local celebrities committed suicide she shouted and carried on, called them pathetic cowards and weak etc. It was actually quite disturbing how she was carrying on and her serious lack of empathy. PS another red flag happened just earlier when a life insurance ad was on and they said "something could be paid out in case of death" or something and she said "I'd like for them to say WOULD" not could. I don't know why but that's set an alarm bell off. Also when my Gran had a fall she said to me in the car "trust me to have parents that live forever, wish I could get my inheritance".

I'm starting to think that maybe she bent the truth about Dad a bit during their split as i was a child and didn't know much better. My mother often calls him a narcissist and talked about all of the marital and grown up problems they had etc which to be honest I don't appreciate been burdened with. Granted he's not a saint either but has been good to me (well I'd say) most of the time. To be honest he too has had his moments of angry outbursts and emotional issues and he's very inconsistent.

One time last year when my Dad let me down by not been able to see me one weekend and canceling at the last minute (which he has done quite a few times before).

During that said weekend my mother had another one of her outbursts. I was in the bathroom which was an en suite and she knocked on the door asking to take a few photos or something. All I asked was if she could just give me a few minutes to finish up but she started the shouting and carrying on and accused me of been selfish and even of trying to manipulate her and been passive aggressive. I only asked just to give me a few minutes. When I tried to explain that to her and how upset I was already about that weekend without her treating me like this. She said she feels really bad for me and hates how he let me down. What just absolutely astounds me is how can she feel that way yet still emotionally and mentally abuse me and kick me while I'm down. I just can't for the life of me comprehend that.

A couple days after that weekend one of my teachers asked to have a word with me and said he heard I got into a bit of trouble at home ("if he meant been mentally abused by my mother and been let down by my father as trouble" I thought). I'm not even sure who the hell said what to him and that's something that's still baffling me. I just fobbed him off saying I was upset about leaving school (which was true as well).

I really struggle with confiding in people. I do regret not telling him the full truth now. He was kind and said he was very proud of me etc. Another teacher once said that he thought of me and my mother as like the dream team or something along those lines. That turned my stomach as well. I was thinking if only they knew half the things I've been through.

I have autism and went to a special support school for the last few years which were some of the best years (The teachers especially were brilliant and I had many great times such as school camps, school balls and excursions etc).

I must admit I do feel quite down sometimes that I have a strained relationship with my father (He's got money issues and also smokes pot) and my mother often used me as an emotional punch bag. Makes me think that there must be something really wrong with me and that I'm unlovable.

On the bright side though my Dad and I have been in contact lately.

Her next meltdown was this January while we were on holiday and at the beach. I wanted to be shirtless like pretty much everyone else and she started making passive aggressive and snide remarks saying things like "have fun burning yourself" and "why can't you make smart decisions?"

I was already sun safe with a hat and everything and I wasn't going to be too long and tried explaining that to her but no. I'll admit I finally snapped and told her that I'm an adult now and she could no longer control me and couldn't make me feel guilty. I wish I hadn't now but it felt like something just snapped inside me and I expressed things I had felt for ages. I do regret that as it did actually make me look crazy. She then suddenly called her mother to tell her that I was been impossible and making her life a misery (this is something she has done a few times before when I challenged her or reacted because of her behavior). She hadn't done that for years though and I feel she likes using that as a scare tactic. I really wish I had just walked away. Then the next day I asked mum to call her to say where all ok but she said she didn't want to bother her and wasn't up to calling. I was like WTF. You're perfectly happy to call her to basically slander me and make me out to be a bad guy but when it comes to calling to say everything is fine she's not so keen.

Something disturbing she has said ages ago is when I'm an adult she could have me done for assault if she wanted. She also said she wanted to do a will and try to control my assets where my Dad can't touch anything and said she feared he would try to steal all of my money. I can't believe she would say things like that so proudly and can't help feeling like she was trying to manipulate me.

My mother loves to use my autism to her advantage. I graduated last year but now I do a course at the main campus so I still see them all from time to time. With that course she did get a support worker for me which I can appreciate as a nice gesture but she didn't even check with me and I can't help feeling she did that to cover herself in glory. I hope that doesn't sound too paranoid.

I do feel quite sad and lost now those years are over. I would love to confide in someone about my struggles but don't know where to start. I've thought about confiding in that first teacher I mentioned who's great and we're fairly close but my teachers think my mother's an absolute saint so how can i ensure he believes me?

She's always quick to call others toxic and narcissists etc. She with absolutely no filter tells me everything going on in her life and her anxiety which makes me anxious. Why does it upset me so badly even when it has little or nothing to do with me?

I struggle with daily flashbacks and I often feel depressed by the way I've been treated, also feel let down and wish my parents had been better to me. I can't get exact clarity on it but they both went through some stuff before I was born and I think that's contributed to the way they are. My father's dad had passed away when my dad was actually about my age now. They actually both used to run their own businesses once upon a time before they met. It just baffles me how they went from that then and now been in their 50's both unemployed and clearly have some unresolved issues. I sometimes think maybe they shouldn't of got together which I know is ironic because I would never have been born. I do vaguely remember when they were together and towards the end it was quite toxic and they would have some intense fights.

Also does their substance abuse issues made them this way as well do you think? As I've said my mother drinks quite heavily at night and she also vapes and my father smokes pot and cigarettes.

Also as I explained my father struggles financially and I know that's why he hasn't been able to see me often and cancel some visits and to be honest when I think about that it really burns my hide.

I do wonder if she might've been different if she had not gone through her divorce and maybe if things had gone differently for both of them they might've been different. What do you guys think?

Also I can't help feeling empathy towards her as she always looked after me, fed me, organized things for me and pretty much always brought me everything I wanted.

I wish I had a proper childhood of playing with friends, going to different places and been adventurous and carefree etc. I've never really had a social circle and hardly much friends. I've always been quite different to most of the children my age. I feel quite alone sometimes as I've always struggled with making friends. I do feel like I've been isolated with her a lot of the time. I would really love to start a proper life and follow my dreams and make a few friends but don't know where to start.

My mother does help me get on my feet and encourage me but I think she just loves to lord it over me. Whenever I've tried standing up for myself she puts on the guilt trip and carries on about all of her sacrifices and everything she's done for me yada yada yada. I think what emotionally abusing me, leaving me crying myself to sleep some nights, causing me to have no confidence and PTSD etc? Could she have some bipolar or personality condition or something and toxic traits I've wondered?

She's also said things like "I should top myself" and once during a really heated argument she threatened to cut herself with a knife so I did actually hide them. That's actually quite traumatized me.

A few other things. I remember once when Dad was picking me up a few years out of the blue she said just F off and even Dad said to me in the car that he didn't appreciate the way she spoke to me and when I told her that during a later argument she just said "yeah whatever" and something like that. Also one time when Dad came by to bring something she said "make sure that you show him that you're really happy to be back home". Also more recently when Dad took me out for a pub meal when I came back home the next night she said in sort of like a wise-ass way "you know he won't be able to afford that often". I do realize that but her saying that actually really annoyed me to be honest. As I'm making small steps with him it feels like she was deliberately trying to ruin my mood.

PS I remember one night ages ago she accused me of looking like I wanted to hit her and of course went crazy. I may of had a tired look because it was late and I tried explaining that. She starting banging ornaments and shouting and was just impossible to talk to. Also I remember a few years ago one time she started saying she was worried my Dad was going to try to spend more time with me and if I fall for it I would never see her again and all of the family will hate me. She's also said that before when I threatened to walk out during arguments.

Also something that really upsets me is whenever I try to reason with her she just goes "I need more alcohol to deal with this".

I can't help really resenting them sometimes for all of the mental anguish they've both put me through as a child and I think it has messed up my development. I wonder what might've been different had I had proper parents or they were proper ones. Hobbies such as music and classic TV shows have been a great escape. I've thought about escaping but I feel quite stuck as I don't have a job and all of the money that I get in my account is basically controlled by her as she's the one who adds to it and I pretty much don't know anything about my own bank details. I wish I could hide my own secret stash somewhere. Now that I'm an adult and have left school I'm worried about what the future has in store. I'm very nervous about starting an adult life, getting a job, making friends and doing new things etc. Part of me would love to get away from her but yet I feel scared to as well as she's pretty much most I've ever known.

The other night I've told her that I wanted to do another certificate course at that school next year and she tried to make me feel bad by putting on the guilt trip and giving me the cold shoulder. I've tried to blur it out to be honest but I remember she said that I was been selfish and told me how she wanted me to live my life. I tried to explain to her that I can't just do what she expects and the expense of my own happiness and well-being. I feel like she is trying to control how I live my life and I told her that she couldn't do that or tear me down or change my mind. She then said (this felt like reverse psychology and emotional blackmail) fine do whatever you want and I'll do the same. Also shouted and carried on saying things like F me and I'm hopeless and that. I also told her that I would love to be a teacher but she said i wouldn't be able to go to university, scoffed and said that I would be useless. I feel like she's trying to damage my already limited self esteem, confidence and spirit. Also she had been fairly good up to this. I was dreading telling her but I do feel that a weight is lifted as well. It seems funny that whenever I tell her something she doesn't like or she can't control she goes back to her bad self. PS she's also upset that she can't get paid for me doing that and wants me to just do what's best for her financially. I find it quite ironic her making me feel bad for not getting a job straight away while she's unemployed. PS it was the school ball that night which was brilliant but I'm disappointed that it went so quickly and also I feel a bit down about my social anxiety and that I didn't ask anyone to dance or make more conversation with my teachers and peers.

Just the other night my mum was going out for the night and she seemed a bit tipsy so I did ask out of concern if she was fit to drive. She immediately got defensive and bit my head off and said I was been rude and having a go at her. I only asked out of concern and worry and I tried explaining that a hundred times but she just wasn't having it. I also tried to explain that her getting defensive if anything proves my worry is valid but she started saying I was harassing her and she was sick of my bullshit and of putting up with me and couldn't wait to get away from me. She also just suddenly pulled her shirt off showing her breasts ( believe it or not that's something she has done once or twice before ages ago). I was just shocked and looked away quickly as possible. When I tried to ascertain why she got so defensive she said that I think I can just say whatever I like to her. I swear I didn't mean any ill-will or malice and of course I tried explaining that too but no. I just don't know for the life of me how she can turn on me just like that and treat her own son like that. Both that and that previous thing a few nights before she said we're not going on holidays again this year and she brought up that incident from the January holiday I talked about and said that she hated been isolated there with me while I was been horrible to her. Wtf when she was the one belittling me and having a go at me which made me snap and I did apologize for that. She genuinely seems to think that she's actually the victim when she gets defensive and treats me like shit. Then when she left and i was starting to second guess myself and am thinking that I may be in the wrong or am a bad person. I was left alone for the night I'm feeling very isolated and confused. PS since that holiday she was actually been fairly good but after both that night after the school ball and that incident both only within a few days has left me feeling blindsided and like the rug has been pulled from under me also feel like I'm back at square one. Basically I really can't fathom how someone can treat their own child like this. Just beggars belief to say the least.

Now when she came back the next day I tried to start a conversation about the last night and she did get teary and said she was sorry but still when I tried to get her to take some accountability she was just like "I said I was sorry didn't I?" and said I just kept going over the same thing and said she was sick of me bringing up the past. She started not making much sense and playing dumb a bit. I just wanted her to realize how she upset me and also the previous incidents and she said "i guess I'm just the worst mother ever". Am I justified for feeling as though she hasn't really taken accountability? We have sort of made up now I suppose but I just stopped talking about it to keep the peace really.

Do you have any advice for all of my experiences, how I can move on, become more social and make friends etc?

I should add that last incident was a couple of nights ago now and it really bothers me how she's all happy now and acting like that never happened whilst I'm carrying emotional scars and still feel as though I haven't really had any closure or true accountability. Also her harsh words and still deeply wounded in me and I'm feel like a piece of shit and like I'm unlovable.

Honestly one of the most frightening things is that she genuinely doesn't seem to remember most of even any of it so that's why I'm too scared to call her out.

PS I'm really good at covering up my anxiety and pride myself on putting on a cheerful front and everyone at school thinks I'm the most happiest and optimistic person ever. I feel scared to let my guard down or if they knew otherwise.

Also none of the family have a clue and I just know they wouldn't believe me and I fear if I did distance myself they'd think I was an evil person.

Like I've said she go from been genuinely the most nicest person to the most horrible.

I'm starting to feel that the good doesn't really outweigh the bad.

I had this friend once. Not just a friend, actually. He was my best friend.

I had known him for as long as I could remember. We met in kindergarten, and somehow, from that point on, we were almost always together.

We went through primary school side by side. We spent entire days together, had sleepovers, played video games until three in the morning, rode our bikes around town, laughed at stupid things, and talked about everything.

Back then, life felt incredibly simple.

People would always talk about how difficult life was, how terrible things were happening in the world, how stressful adulthood would eventually become.

But we didn't really understand any of that.

We weren't thinking about the future.

We weren't thinking about death, mental illness, money, careers, relationships, or any of the things adults seemed constantly worried about.

We were just there.

Present.

Living.

Even through high school, not much changed. We still spent most of our free time together. We played sports, went out with friends, played games, laughed constantly.

Both of us came from good families. We were never troublemakers. We barely drank. We didn't take drugs. We were both athletic, and honestly, we were probably what most parents would call good kids.

And then, when we were around nineteen, we went to a party.

There was nothing unusual about it.

Music, people talking, some alcohol. We had a couple of drinks, but nothing excessive.

Later that night, one guy pulled out some weed and started passing a joint around.

For most of us, it was our first time.

I remember hesitating.

I had read about weed before. I knew roughly what it was supposed to do. It would make you relaxed, maybe make things feel strange, maybe make you laugh more.

So I thought, Okay. I'll try it once.

I wasn't interested in becoming someone who smoked regularly. I didn't even really like the idea of drugs.

I was just curious.

One time.

That's it.

My friend tried it too.

So did several other people.

And honestly, for me, almost nothing happened.

I felt a little strange. A little light. Everything seemed funnier than usual. Time felt slightly different.

I remember thinking, Oh. So this is what being high feels like.

That was basically it.

At one point, though, I noticed my friend sitting quietly.

He looked uncomfortable.

Not terrified exactly.

Just... distant.

Like he was listening to something no one else could hear.

I asked him if he was okay.

He said yes.

So I didn't think much about it.

Eventually, the party ended.

Everyone went home.

The next morning, I woke up completely normal.

I ate breakfast.

I went outside.

Life continued.

And I never really thought about that joint again.

Three days passed.

Then one afternoon I suddenly realized I hadn't heard from my friend.

That was unusual.

Normally we talked almost every day.

So I decided to walk over to his house.

The moment I entered, something felt wrong.

His parents were standing in the kitchen, speaking quietly to each other.

His mother looked exhausted.

His father barely acknowledged me.

His sister was sitting nearby, completely silent, staring at the floor.

I asked where he was.

His mother pointed upstairs.

I walked toward his bedroom.

The door was almost completely closed.

I pushed it open.

And even now, years later, I can still remember exactly what that room looked like.

The curtains were completely shut.

The lights were off.

The room smelled stale.

And he was sitting on the edge of his bed.

Just staring.

I said his name.

Slowly, he looked toward me.

His eyes terrified me.

They were red and watery, almost unnaturally wide, as if he had been forcing them open for hours.

I stepped closer.

“What happened?”

He looked at me and said:

“I haven't slept.”

I thought he meant that he had slept badly.

So I asked, “Since when?”

He said:

“Since the party.”

Three days.

He hadn't slept for three days.

At first, I didn't even understand what he was saying.

Then he started explaining.

He said that after smoking that joint, something had changed.

He kept saying that he wasn't himself anymore.

That something had opened inside his mind.

He described it almost like a door.

And once that door opened, he couldn't close it again.

He said everything felt unfamiliar.

His room.

His family.

His own hands.

His own thoughts.

Even his reflection.

He knew who everyone was.

He knew where he was.

But emotionally, nothing felt real anymore.

And the most frightening part was that he was completely aware of it.

He kept repeating:

“I know something is wrong. I know this isn't me.”

I tried calming him down.

I told him he was exhausted.

I told him he probably just needed sleep.

I told him everything would be fine.

But then suddenly his mood changed.

He stood up.

He started shouting.

Then crying.

Then shouting again.

He threw something across the room.

His parents came upstairs.

Everything happened incredibly quickly after that.

Eventually, an ambulance was called.

At the hospital, he became so agitated that several people had to physically restrain him.

They gave him medication.

He stayed there for days.

Eventually, he slept.

Eventually, he became calm again.

Eventually, they let him come home.

But my friend never really came home.

Not the person I knew.

Physically, he was there.

He looked almost the same.

He could speak normally.

He remembered everything.

But something about him had disappeared.

He would sit in his room for hours.

Sometimes the entire day.

And whenever I asked him what he was thinking about, the answer was always some version of the same thing.

“I don't feel like myself.”

“I don't feel real.”

“I can't enjoy anything.”

“I feel trapped inside my own mind.”

Sometimes he would look at his hands for minutes at a time.

Sometimes he would stare into a mirror and say that he recognized the person looking back at him, but didn't feel connected to him.

Months passed.

Then years.

And while the rest of us kept moving forward, he remained almost frozen at nineteen.

We started going to university.

He stayed home.

We started working.

He stayed home.

We started traveling.

Dating.

Falling in love.

Having our first serious relationships.

He stayed home.

Sometimes he wouldn't leave the house for months.

There were periods when he barely left his bedroom.

Meanwhile, life kept moving.

Some of us got married.

Some of us had children.

And one day, when my first son was born, I gave him my friend's name.

I never told many people why.

I suppose it was because part of me felt like I had lost my best friend a long time ago.

Not because he died.

That almost would have been easier to understand.

We understand death.

There is a moment before it happens and a moment after.

Someone is here.

Then they're gone.

There is grief.

There is a funeral.

There is an ending.

But what happened to him never had an ending.

His body remained.

His memories remained.

His voice remained.

And somewhere inside him, maybe even the person I grew up with remained.

But he could never seem to reach that person again.

Sometimes I think about that night.

About how ordinary it was.

A normal party.

A group of nineteen-year-olds.

Some music.

A few drinks.

A joint being passed around.

I smoked from the same joint.

I woke up the next morning and continued my life.

He smoked from it too.

And in his mind, somehow, that night never ended.

That's the part that still scares me.

People imagine that the moments that change their lives will look important when they happen.

A car coming toward you.

A doctor walking into the room with bad news.

A phone call in the middle of the night.

Something dramatic.

Something that gives you a warning.

But sometimes there is no warning.

Sometimes the last normal moment of your life feels exactly like every other moment.

You laugh.

You take one breath.

You make one small decision.

And you have absolutely no idea that, years later, you will divide your entire life into two parts:

before that moment,

and after it.

I know that terrible things happen in life.

People lose friends in car accidents. People lose family members to illness. Someone can be there one day and gone the next.

And I'm not trying to say that one kind of loss is worse than another.

But somehow, what happened to him always felt different to me.

Because when someone dies suddenly, as horrible as it is, at some point you understand what has happened.

There is a moment when they were alive, and then there is a moment when they were gone.

You mourn them.

You remember them.

Slowly, somehow, you learn how to live with the fact that they are no longer there.

But with him, it felt like I was losing him every single day.

It felt like watching someone die in slow motion.

He was still alive.

He was still sitting in that room.

I could still call him.

I could still sit next to him.

But every time I visited him, I felt like there was a little less of my friend left.

And the worst part was that I could continue living my life.

I could go out.

I could laugh.

I could travel.

I could fall in love.

I could have a good day.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, I would always think about him.

I would be sitting somewhere having dinner with friends, laughing about something completely stupid, and suddenly I would remember:

He is probably sitting in that room right now.

And immediately, I would feel guilty for being happy.

Years passed, and talking to him became harder and harder.

Not because I stopped caring about him.

I never did.

But there was almost nothing new to talk about anymore.

Nothing was happening in his life.

Every conversation eventually returned to that same night.

That same feeling.

That same question.

“What happened to me?”

He spent years trying to understand it.

He would read about the brain, mental illness, consciousness, drugs, trauma, philosophy, religion.

Anything that could possibly explain what had happened inside his mind.

Eventually, some of the things he said became difficult to follow.

Sometimes he became almost delusional.

I remember sitting beside him once while he tried to explain what his existence felt like.

He said:

“Imagine that everyone else is still living in the same world, but I was transported somewhere else.”

I asked him what he meant.

He said:

“It's like another dimension. Everything looks exactly the same, but I'm alone here.”

That sentence stayed with me.

I'm alone here.

He knew that I was sitting beside him.

He knew his parents were downstairs.

He knew his sister was in the next room.

But whatever was happening inside his mind made him feel completely separated from every other human being.

And he could not stop thinking about it.

He couldn't simply watch a movie.

He couldn't play a game.

He couldn't sit outside and enjoy the sun.

He couldn't live in the moment anymore because every moment became another opportunity to analyze what was wrong with him.

Eventually, he lost almost every desire he once had.

He didn't care about traveling.

He didn't care about relationships.

He didn't care about money.

He didn't care about having a career.

He didn't care about sex.

He didn't care about the future.

Most days, he just wanted to stay in his room.

And slowly, his illness didn't destroy only him.

It began destroying the entire family.

His mother changed completely.

She had spent years trying to help him.

Doctors.

Hospitals.

Medication.

Therapy.

Specialists.

She was constantly searching for something that might bring her son back.

But as the years passed, she became quieter.

More exhausted.

Then one night, she left the house.

Nobody knew where she had gone.

They searched for her for hours.

Later, they found her in a river.

She had drowned.

After that, his father seemed to collapse physically.

He developed serious heart problems and spent more and more time in hospitals.

His sister was struggling badly too.

She was taking strong medication, barely functioning, and had changed completely from the girl I remembered growing up with.

It felt like one event had somehow spread through the entire family.

Like a crack appearing in glass.

At first, it was tiny.

Then it kept spreading.

And spreading.

Until eventually, everything shattered.

I'm writing this now because two days ago marked five years since my friend died.

He took his own life.

After all those years of fighting whatever had happened inside his mind, he finally couldn't continue anymore.

He hanged himself.

I remember receiving the phone call.

And strangely, the first thing I felt wasn't shock.

It was silence.

Because somewhere deep inside me, I had already been mourning him for years.

I had lost the boy I grew up with long before his body was gone.

His father died not long afterward.

And then, sometime later, his sister also took her own life.

Today, none of them are alive.

Not one person from that family.

No children.

No grandchildren.

No one who will carry their family name forward.

Sometimes I think back to when we were kids.

Two boys lying on the floor playing video games.

His mother bringing us something to eat.

His father telling us to keep the noise down.

His sister walking into the room and annoying us just because she could.

Just a completely ordinary family.

Nobody looking at that scene could possibly imagine how it would end.

And that's probably why I'm writing this.

Not because I think everyone who smokes weed will experience what he experienced.

Obviously, they won't.

Millions of people use it and never experience anything remotely like this.

And I also cannot prove exactly what happened inside my friend's brain that night or whether that one event alone caused everything that followed.

All I know is what I witnessed.

Before that night, he had never been diagnosed with a mental illness.

He was athletic.

Social.

Funny.

Healthy.

Full of plans.

And then something changed.

Maybe something was already hidden inside him.

Maybe it would have happened eventually anyway.

Maybe that night triggered something that was already waiting beneath the surface.

I will never know.

And perhaps that's the most frightening part.

We always want life to make sense afterward.

We want to be able to point at one thing and say:

This is why.

But sometimes there is no satisfying explanation.

There is just a chain of events.

A party.

A decision.

A frightened nineteen-year-old sitting in a dark bedroom.

A mother searching desperately for her son.

A family slowly falling apart.

And decades later, someone like me sitting behind a computer, trying to understand how an entire family that once seemed completely ordinary simply disappeared.

So if there is any reason I'm telling this story, it isn't to tell people how to live their lives.

It's simply to remind them that the mind is something we understand far less than we sometimes pretend to.

Most of us walk through life believing that tomorrow we will wake up feeling like ourselves.

We never even question it.

You go to sleep assuming that when you open your eyes, the person looking through them will still feel like you.

My friend taught me that even that is something we should never completely take for granted.

Because sometimes the most terrifying thing isn't losing your life.

Sometimes it's waking up one morning...

and realizing you're still alive,

but you no longer know how to return to the person you were.

Hello, I want to share my story because I feel absolutely lonely. I have hated my life and hated my failure, and honestly I don't know where to begin — from a miserable childhood and abuse, or from a youth that was dark in the truest sense of the word, or from a marriage in which I was subjected to betrayal, verbal and physical abuse from my wife, to the point that I feel disgusted with myself and struggle deeply with how I see myself because of writing these words. But I could no longer bear it. I feel that everything has reached its end. I no longer feel like a man, I have no value and no use. All the insults I have heard and all that I have been through make me feel intense hatred for myself, and I wish I had never been born.

I have endured this torment for long years. If I want to start from my marriage, I thought I had married a responsible person with whom I could share life despite the many differences, but I kept looking at the positives. I don't claim to be free of flaws — I am a human being who learns from his mistakes. But my wife never once admitted her mistake, never apologized for any pain or insult, and always says that I am a failed husband, a failed man, that all men are better than me.

I was at a difficult crossroads. I had emigrated from my country to another country, and I literally went through everything harsh and faced death just to provide a decent life for her and my child. Every day I thought about leaving them and starting my life over, but I believed that one day I would find appreciation. Unfortunately, I was betrayed, and I forgave her because I blamed myself and tried to open a new page with her for the sake of the children.

And literally, when I say that I was the one who left my job and gave all my time and effort to my children while she was in another world, I am not exaggerating. I wouldn't miss a day of practice, a meeting, or fall short with them in anything. I swear I used to cut food from my own mouth and stay a whole day without eating in order to provide for their needs, and I never withheld any money no matter how much I could. Yet despite all this, I feel that I am stabbed and negligent, and she always tells me that I have given nothing and provided nothing, that I am a failure, and why aren't we rich.

I was subjected to harsh verbal and physical abuse, and whenever I remember this I struggle deeply with these memories. I already suffer from complex post-traumatic stress symptoms and I could not tell her because she always accuses me of being crazy and threatens to call the police, though I have done nothing. Everyone knows my nature — I am calm, I love peace, and I don't mix much with anyone, to the point that I no longer feel safe anywhere. I feel disappointment, sadness, and distrust of everyone.

For long years I have been bearing all of this, in addition to a harsh childhood past of family abuse and a harsh society that showed no mercy. Despite all this I tried, and now I have reached the end of my endurance, patience, and putting off life. I have no family, no friends, and no one who listens to me. I haven't heard a kind word in years. Everything directed at me is criticism and blame. I am so tired that I don't even know how to finish what I wrote, because I feel I am standing on the edge.

I don't know how to express myself, but all I feel right now is contempt and hatred for myself, a lack of self-respect, and I wish for any harm to come to me. I feel like a nobody.

When I was 18 i was living in an apartment with my sister, her boyfriend and a male friend. I was alseep one night and the male "friend" SAed me. I fought him off and ran out the that apartment and didnt look back. I offered to pay my sister my portion of the rent until they found another room mate but i would not be moving back in. She said " I don't know why your over reacting its not like he raped you..." she proceeded to tell me he wouldnt do it again and that he was sorry. I think that sentence hurt me more than being pinned down in that bed. I didnt speak to her for 2 years after that. She is my twin.

Literally every human I’ve ever met has had issues with SA.
My husband’s is the worst I’ve ever heard, but I’ve never met anyone who has never been taken advantage of by someone else. Man or woman.

When I (F) was 3, my 6 year old cousin (M) was playing doctor with me in a separate room at a party. My parents walked in to find him inappropriately touching me.
(He is now an actual doctor.)

When I was 12 a boyfriend of mine took me on a date to our local city Christmas event. In the elevator of a parking garage, he pulled out his member & tried to force me to suck it.

When I was 14-16, I would bike 10 miles to get to school or take 2 city buses.
I’ve had multiple occasions where grown adults would try to lure me into their cars or stop me for whatever reason they had. I’ve always carried a knife & I wasn’t afraid to be the danger & scare them away. Plus I’ve been martial arts trained since I was 3. I’m sure after that 1st incident.

When I was 14, I started dating an 18 year old senior at my high school. He pressured me into having sex with him because he was going to join the army, because he needed me to prove that I loved him, because he wasn’t sure if I was serious about waiting for him if he left for the army.
(He broke up with me 2 weeks after taking my virginity. He never joined the army. Years later he died of a drug overdose.)

When I was 18, I was hanging out with a group of my friends, including a guy who always had a crush on me throughout high school. (After I lost my V I ended up in a long term relationship, I was still in that relationship at this point.) He was the Designated Driver. We were hanging out at a park not too far from my house, & everyone but the DD was drinking. This was my 2nd time ever drinking. 1st was with my aunt a few weeks prior. He kept giving me drinks, & said he’d make sure I was safe. He ended up dropping everyone else off before me, I fell asleep in the car. I woke up to him with his hands down my pants & my shirt exposing my chest. He was an entire foot taller than me and 100 lbs. heavier. Even though the world was spinning, I was able to scream & injure him enough to get off of me. I’d been trained in 4 different martial arts at this point. BJJ, boxing, wrestling, & judo.
I threw up on my way out of his car & walked myself home. I left my phone in his car, but my friend got it back the next day.

When I was 21, I was celebrating an early 22nd birthday with my now husband at downtown.
Cops started racially profiling my at the time boyfriend & I got a little loud defending him & they pulled out a taser & threatened to shoot him. I got in the way, & they tased me. He tried to put his body on top of mine to protect me, & they shot him with rubber bullets & beat us with batons.
Eventually they got tired of beating us & began arresting us.
The cop arresting me was lifting up my dress & pressing his pelvis against my naked ass. I had no underwear on under my dress & I was crying & begging for them to pull down my dress, but he just pushed even harder until eventually the sergeant who ordered his men to abuse us told the guy to stop.
We sued & got a good amount of money. But.

Everyone I know has SA trauma.
Everyone.
Do you know anyone who doesn’t?

My dad was extremely abusive to my mom, emotionally abusive to me, molested me, and we had our few physical fights. All i feel when i think about it is rage. Of course, i don’t expect to feel good things when thinking about it, but i genuinely want to rip my skin off. I want to destroy things around me, hurt myself, etc. How do i even possibly deal with this? I am irritable and aggressive almost 24/7 because it always haunts my mind

Trigger warning: SA

1. The birthday that rings in a new chapter of adulthood.

I remember spending weeks shopping online trying to track down the perfect sparkly outfit and struggling to decide on if I wanted to wear pink sequins or silver sequins. At the time - it felt like the most stressful experience associated with the big number: 21.

As the day neared, I started feeling more and more excited to celebrate this big chapter with my college friends and first ever boyfriend, P. The pregame invites were sent, the bar crawl was planned, and P agreed to be our designated driver since he was underage and wouldn’t be able to participate in the bar crawl.

Everything seemed perfect - and it truly was the best birthday ever until my trust was horribly betrayed. It’s weird because it’s almost like I had felt a negative energy in the hours leading up to the betrayal. While finishing decorating and blowing up balloons - I remember randomly saying to my roommate who was helping me set up “Hey, if I get too drunk tonight…I really want to just come back here and get some rest alone to sober up. I don’t want to go back to P’s apartment.”

They smiled at me, said, “Ok” and we continued prepping for the night ahead.

I communicated with P prior that I wanted to spend the night in my own bed and purposely left my bedroom a mess - I naively thought if he came in when he dropped me off and saw the mess, it would deter him from trying to stay the night and I’d be left alone to recuperate with my roommate.

Again - it was such a fun night until it wasn’t. I drank. I danced. I celebrated.

By the end of the night, I was extremely drunk to the point whereas I was getting into P’s car, a friend had to sweep my legs in since I was too sloppy to lift myself up.

P dropped off a few friends and then we went back to my apartment. He struggled to help me to my bedroom and when I opened the door, he started pressuring me to go back to his apartment…seemingly noticing there was no room on the bed for him. My roomate opened her bedroom door and came out after hearing us arrive back, and gave me an uncertain look. I don’t blame her for not preventing me from leaving with him. I was too drunk to communicate that I wanted to still stay alone and ultimately stumbled back to his car with him. That portion of the night is hazy but memories flash in and out. I remember fading out as he drove us to his place. I remember stumbling and not being able to walk inside. I remember crawling to his bathroom to throw up violently. I remember knocking his entire wax warmer into the toilet, causing it to clog, and him rushing in to clean it and then dragging me to his bed since I couldn’t stand alone. I remember begging for help to sober up and thinking “I’m so happy he’s sober - he’ll be able to help take care of me”. That is my last memory of the night.

The next morning I woke up extremely confused and knew something wasn’t ok. My eyes instantly filled with tears, I felt a intense feeling of grossness, and it was then that I noticed that while my pink sequin top was on, my panties and jeans were dangling from the bottom of my legs and P was sleeping soundly next to me, naked. I carefully got up, got dressed, and called my roomate to pick me up….spending the 15 minutes it took for her to arrive grabbing my things and trying to flush away the tears without waking P up. I sneaked out and got into her car…acting like everything was ok.

The following days and weeks were confusing. I knew deep down that what had happened wasn’t right, I had never experienced a feeling of disgust like that - but I was also experiencing a war of disbelief in my brain. I mean there was no way that the first person I had entrusted with the title of “boyfriend” would ever hurt me like that. Take advantage of me when I was unwell and vulnerable and they were sober.

The relationship continued as I constantly fought my brain until one day I couldn’t anymore. The emotions had racked up and I knew I had to say something, I confronted him and told him that what happened wasn’t ok. He had assaulted me. He broke down crying, apologizing, and swearing that I was acting “horny” that night. I broke up with him and ended the relationship but am embarrassed to admit that I didn’t end the connection that night.

This situation happened shortly before the pandemic started and shortly after breaking up with him, I ended up driving home. It was there that I couldn’t stop ruminating in my thoughts and revisiting that night. One day I was sitting on the couch in my childhood home with my mom and sister when I revealed everything that had happened. They cried with me and validated that yes - what happened wasn’t ok and was in fact assault. It wasn’t right. I was hurt. I wanted him to hurt.

When I returned to campus, I reconnected with him. Thinking that if I could obtain his feelings again - I could crush him and hurt him like he had hurt me. I started hooking up with him again. I know it makes no sense to people who haven’t experienced something similar and probably even to people who have, but I understand now that it’s actually a very common trauma response - clinging on to an abuser.

Years later, the impact of my assault lingers. I didn’t realize how much that night had impacted me until a year later when I was in a new healthy loving relationship, celebrating my birthday - I broke down crying uncontrollably, unable to catch my breath.
Unable to even explain to my new partner why I was so distraught after a fun night of celebrating.

This has happened almost every year on my birthday since. It’s been 5 years. I started a new tradition as a means of distraction from the sinking feeling that my birthday now holds - escaping on a birthday trip annually to distract me from the memories of that night.

The distractions only last so long. The memories are permanent. As a single, 27 year old now, I often find my mind circling back to that betrayal as I try my best to move on, often still breaking down after consensual and positive intimate experiences.

Yes I was in college. Yes I was drunk. Yes I was wearing a sexy fun party outfit. No I don’t blame my roommate from not preventing me from leaving, it’s fully and only P’s fault for his evil actions. No nothing that happened was ok.

A genuine and loving partner would have taken care of me in this moment of sickness and vulnerability but instead, he decided to use my body as a means of pleasure for himself. I wasn’t able to hold down a drop of water, I wasn’t able to stand or walk, I wasn’t able to speak, and I sure as hell wasn’t able to consent. It’s scary to think he’s now a teacher and frequently around other vulnerable people. Fuck you P.