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Anonymous12345
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My Final Words As I thought I was about to End it -> (to Mental Health or TDS Please)
I thought about leaving this up on Microsoft Word today as I started typing this, but had a dramatic, emotional talk with my parents that calmed me down a little bit. I was just hoping after reading this someone might have some advice to give me about speaking with my doctor or living in general. I'm not asking for anyone to help me score drugs, but just how to speak to my psychiatrist about how I feel. I will warn you that this is a long post; it took up 5 pages double spaced in Word. Thanks in advance.
My Final Words
When you find this I will more than likely have bled out. I am tired of this life and am ready for my great slumber. You may think I am going to hell because of the route of my death or my ambiguous thoughts of the existence of God, but I believe I will finally slumber and get the rest I have been looking for. Everyone has these fairy tales of prophets speaking to them and giving them the truth, but in reality, how can you really believe that this one man was special enough to talk to God. The world is not 8,000 years old and we are carbon-based beings created from a big bang millions o years ago. I’m rambling now, so I’ll say just say this. Perhaps you go to whatever afterlife you think you will go to. That’s what I like to believe.
I am tired of the pain and anxiety that is impossible to get to a tolerable level. The tramadol I am prescribed is more like tramaLOL, and even if I were to find a pain doctor to treat me, no amount of vicodin that would be able to be prescribed would do it, and no doctor would be willing to prescribe the amount of MS-Contin + rescue meds that would take care of my pain and get it to a tolerable level.
I’m not trying to get “high” or “numb” the pain as my friends try to say. They don’t understand because they don’t have chronic pain. They may have pain from doing certain tasks like working or get sore now and then, but they truly don’t understand. I feel as though my psychiatrist is toying with me, and I have no way of getting the treatment I need.
Perhaps I abuse benzodiazepines such as alprazolam and clonazepam to the point of blacking out or nearly blacking out because my pain isn’t being taking care of. But basically it’s a way to fast-forward through the life that I can find no true enjoyment in. If a doctor would prescribe the proper dosage of alprazolam (which would be high as I require 2-4mg/dose therapeutically) to get me through my day I would not abuse it. I would use it as prescribed, but until then, fuck ‘em.
Being under-medicated is only one part of a multi-faceted issue that is my life. I have Body Dysmorphic Disorder and not just of being fat. But as far as being fat, this was always something everyone used to make fun of me. I was always the fat kid. Even if I wasn’t the fattest kid, I was the fat kid. I guess it was just because it bothered me that everyone made fun of me for it. My mother made me go on weight watchers in the third grade. That had a huge mental impact. Then I watched my mother try diet after diet and eventually have a gastric bypass. I would join her in these diets, as I felt I needed to be skinny to be acceptable in society. It was torturing. And it made me feel vein as I got older that I thought people needed to be skinny to be acceptable, but it was how I was brought up.
The other region I have Body Dysmorphic Disorder is where it separates you from being a man from a woman. Media and other sources have made me feel inadequate as a male human being and that I am unworthy of life as I am small and can’t even get it up properly without medications. I haven’t been laid in 3 years because of my fear of someone finding out how big I am in real life. Guess I just got the bad genes. At my largest I was 4.5 inches long, but for some reason I have shrunk to 3.5 to 4 inches. Whatever I’m dead now, so who cares.
I am a very odd character, and view underwear in a particular way as well. I always used to wear briefs growing up through school until about my sophomore/junior year when I bought them (I graduated a year early). Underwear was always an interesting thing for me, and this will be explained later on. It wasn’t a huge, huge deal until about the 5th grade though, when 90% of the boys in my class that wore boxers continuously picked on boys that wore “tighty-whiteys,” and I made sure no one ever knew I wore briefs. All the way through high school, I made sure my pants stayed up, and no one ever saw my underwear as it became a phobia. After graduating high school, it almost became a game to me to wear briefs and be seen in them though. It was like a liberating experience. I was finally known as a wearer of “tighty-whiteys.” One might think I’m gay for this, but actually I’m quite straight. I once had a gay experience when I was trying to figure out why my dick didn’t work. I thought I might have been gay because I couldn’t get it up, and I received and gave a half-and-half hand job and blow job with a friend who acts very homophobic around everyone, but is definitely bisexual (lol). Anyway, the entire experience was just weird and awkward for me and I only returned the favor as a courtesy. My dick, still didn’t work, and I never came when it was my turn.
The thing that affected me the most though was the sexual abuse I went through between the ages of two and four (approximately) and at the age of thirteen. I’ll start with the light stuff. At the age of two, I had a friend, who will go unnamed. He happened to be the son of the woman that has been my mom’s best friend since they were sixteen. It started out easy. He was two years older than me. He would have me take off my shirt and my pants and have me play in my briefs. Nothing super bad, but still demeaning and conformed my thoughts to odd sexual ones. Eventually though, it got to wear he told me about a game that grownups play. Where two guys would take turns sticking their wieners up each other’s butts. I knew there was something wrong with this, but I still didn’t understand. I remember being up against the hot water heater in his house in the room we’d always play in. Of course at the age of 5 he didn’t penetrate, but I remember him rubbing it inside my cheeks. When he said it was my turn, I felt violated, but unsure of what the feeling was and said I didn’t want my turn.
That was the only time anything similar to anal happened but the taking off the clothes continued. Eventually I started using it as a bargaining tool for things as I didn’t understand the meaning of it, and one night I was caught by his father (rest his soul), and I remember having a little talk with my parents shortly after where I had lied as instructed by my friend.
This is where it ended at about the age of four. And we had a normal friendship after this as I hadn’t understood what happened; he was even almost a role model for me and I looked up to him. Then as I was playing with a different friend I jokingly said, “I love you,” in an intimate way, and my mother came to me and jerked me to the side and said in a round-about way, don’t say that stuff to other boys like that, unless you want another man to stick his thing up your butt.
This was before I knew about sex and it made me understand almost everything before I was given the big talk and kind of twisted my mind a bit. I felt so bad for what I had done and felt like I was the worst human being ever. Then when I did get the big talk at the age of 9, after prodding and poking my parents for weeks, I pretty much knew the whole story except for the sperm fertilizing the egg. But I’m kind of rambling on this part of my life.
Then at the age of thirteen the boy who had sexually abused me during my younger years stayed the night. He made me play truth or dare with masturbation involved. He then exposed his erection to me, and after that, he made me give him a hand job, thankfully not to finishing because it was killing me to do it. When I tried refusing he would chunk things at me and beat me. When he told me to stop he said, “I just wanted to see if you would do it,” which made me question my sexuality until the age of twenty when I had my “gay” experience.
Back to the Body Dysmorphic Disorder, I posted a picture in the bluelight nudie thread which was supposed to kind of help my self-esteem, but I was made fun of and mocked for being small, and being obese. I then started trolling the nudie thread with pictures of me doing chick poses in order to gross out the viewers. Then it became an ongoing joke with everyone and I got over being made fun of. Hell, since I used an alt when I originally posted my tiny cock, everyone had forgotten about it. Everyone knows the story of my back pain and me being on the cane because of the jackass, and me having to get my sack back, stupidly, so I won’t go into that. I’ll just mention my current Dx’s physical and mental: hiatal hernia, GERD, NERD, Degenerative Disc Disease, Hyperkyphosis, Herniated Disks at L3-L4, L4-L5, L5-S1, and L4-L5, is severe. Attention Deficit Disorder, Panic Disorder with Agoraphobia, Severe-Recurrent Major Depressive Disorder, and I suspect Avoidant Personality Disorder or some Axis II disorder, as well as Social Phobia (Severe Social Anxiety Disorder) as well as General Anxiety Disorder. I will wrap this up though as this suicide note has gotten to 5 pages now. I guess I just wanted the world to know, well my world to know, the reasons for me ending my life. I cannot find enjoyment in anything. All I can think about is the abuse that has been done to me physically, sexually, emotionally.
Goodbye to all, and I wish you luck in all your endeavors. Too bad I didn’t make it.
I thought about leaving this up on Microsoft Word today as I started typing this, but had a dramatic, emotional talk with my parents that calmed me down a little bit. I was just hoping after reading this someone might have some advice to give me about speaking with my doctor or living in general. I'm not asking for anyone to help me score drugs, but just how to speak to my psychiatrist about how I feel. I will warn you that this is a long post; it took up 5 pages double spaced in Word. Thanks in advance.
My Final Words
When you find this I will more than likely have bled out. I am tired of this life and am ready for my great slumber. You may think I am going to hell because of the route of my death or my ambiguous thoughts of the existence of God, but I believe I will finally slumber and get the rest I have been looking for. Everyone has these fairy tales of prophets speaking to them and giving them the truth, but in reality, how can you really believe that this one man was special enough to talk to God. The world is not 8,000 years old and we are carbon-based beings created from a big bang millions o years ago. I’m rambling now, so I’ll say just say this. Perhaps you go to whatever afterlife you think you will go to. That’s what I like to believe.
I am tired of the pain and anxiety that is impossible to get to a tolerable level. The tramadol I am prescribed is more like tramaLOL, and even if I were to find a pain doctor to treat me, no amount of vicodin that would be able to be prescribed would do it, and no doctor would be willing to prescribe the amount of MS-Contin + rescue meds that would take care of my pain and get it to a tolerable level.
I’m not trying to get “high” or “numb” the pain as my friends try to say. They don’t understand because they don’t have chronic pain. They may have pain from doing certain tasks like working or get sore now and then, but they truly don’t understand. I feel as though my psychiatrist is toying with me, and I have no way of getting the treatment I need.
Perhaps I abuse benzodiazepines such as alprazolam and clonazepam to the point of blacking out or nearly blacking out because my pain isn’t being taking care of. But basically it’s a way to fast-forward through the life that I can find no true enjoyment in. If a doctor would prescribe the proper dosage of alprazolam (which would be high as I require 2-4mg/dose therapeutically) to get me through my day I would not abuse it. I would use it as prescribed, but until then, fuck ‘em.
Being under-medicated is only one part of a multi-faceted issue that is my life. I have Body Dysmorphic Disorder and not just of being fat. But as far as being fat, this was always something everyone used to make fun of me. I was always the fat kid. Even if I wasn’t the fattest kid, I was the fat kid. I guess it was just because it bothered me that everyone made fun of me for it. My mother made me go on weight watchers in the third grade. That had a huge mental impact. Then I watched my mother try diet after diet and eventually have a gastric bypass. I would join her in these diets, as I felt I needed to be skinny to be acceptable in society. It was torturing. And it made me feel vein as I got older that I thought people needed to be skinny to be acceptable, but it was how I was brought up.
The other region I have Body Dysmorphic Disorder is where it separates you from being a man from a woman. Media and other sources have made me feel inadequate as a male human being and that I am unworthy of life as I am small and can’t even get it up properly without medications. I haven’t been laid in 3 years because of my fear of someone finding out how big I am in real life. Guess I just got the bad genes. At my largest I was 4.5 inches long, but for some reason I have shrunk to 3.5 to 4 inches. Whatever I’m dead now, so who cares.
I am a very odd character, and view underwear in a particular way as well. I always used to wear briefs growing up through school until about my sophomore/junior year when I bought them (I graduated a year early). Underwear was always an interesting thing for me, and this will be explained later on. It wasn’t a huge, huge deal until about the 5th grade though, when 90% of the boys in my class that wore boxers continuously picked on boys that wore “tighty-whiteys,” and I made sure no one ever knew I wore briefs. All the way through high school, I made sure my pants stayed up, and no one ever saw my underwear as it became a phobia. After graduating high school, it almost became a game to me to wear briefs and be seen in them though. It was like a liberating experience. I was finally known as a wearer of “tighty-whiteys.” One might think I’m gay for this, but actually I’m quite straight. I once had a gay experience when I was trying to figure out why my dick didn’t work. I thought I might have been gay because I couldn’t get it up, and I received and gave a half-and-half hand job and blow job with a friend who acts very homophobic around everyone, but is definitely bisexual (lol). Anyway, the entire experience was just weird and awkward for me and I only returned the favor as a courtesy. My dick, still didn’t work, and I never came when it was my turn.
The thing that affected me the most though was the sexual abuse I went through between the ages of two and four (approximately) and at the age of thirteen. I’ll start with the light stuff. At the age of two, I had a friend, who will go unnamed. He happened to be the son of the woman that has been my mom’s best friend since they were sixteen. It started out easy. He was two years older than me. He would have me take off my shirt and my pants and have me play in my briefs. Nothing super bad, but still demeaning and conformed my thoughts to odd sexual ones. Eventually though, it got to wear he told me about a game that grownups play. Where two guys would take turns sticking their wieners up each other’s butts. I knew there was something wrong with this, but I still didn’t understand. I remember being up against the hot water heater in his house in the room we’d always play in. Of course at the age of 5 he didn’t penetrate, but I remember him rubbing it inside my cheeks. When he said it was my turn, I felt violated, but unsure of what the feeling was and said I didn’t want my turn.
That was the only time anything similar to anal happened but the taking off the clothes continued. Eventually I started using it as a bargaining tool for things as I didn’t understand the meaning of it, and one night I was caught by his father (rest his soul), and I remember having a little talk with my parents shortly after where I had lied as instructed by my friend.
This is where it ended at about the age of four. And we had a normal friendship after this as I hadn’t understood what happened; he was even almost a role model for me and I looked up to him. Then as I was playing with a different friend I jokingly said, “I love you,” in an intimate way, and my mother came to me and jerked me to the side and said in a round-about way, don’t say that stuff to other boys like that, unless you want another man to stick his thing up your butt.
This was before I knew about sex and it made me understand almost everything before I was given the big talk and kind of twisted my mind a bit. I felt so bad for what I had done and felt like I was the worst human being ever. Then when I did get the big talk at the age of 9, after prodding and poking my parents for weeks, I pretty much knew the whole story except for the sperm fertilizing the egg. But I’m kind of rambling on this part of my life.
Then at the age of thirteen the boy who had sexually abused me during my younger years stayed the night. He made me play truth or dare with masturbation involved. He then exposed his erection to me, and after that, he made me give him a hand job, thankfully not to finishing because it was killing me to do it. When I tried refusing he would chunk things at me and beat me. When he told me to stop he said, “I just wanted to see if you would do it,” which made me question my sexuality until the age of twenty when I had my “gay” experience.
Back to the Body Dysmorphic Disorder, I posted a picture in the bluelight nudie thread which was supposed to kind of help my self-esteem, but I was made fun of and mocked for being small, and being obese. I then started trolling the nudie thread with pictures of me doing chick poses in order to gross out the viewers. Then it became an ongoing joke with everyone and I got over being made fun of. Hell, since I used an alt when I originally posted my tiny cock, everyone had forgotten about it. Everyone knows the story of my back pain and me being on the cane because of the jackass, and me having to get my sack back, stupidly, so I won’t go into that. I’ll just mention my current Dx’s physical and mental: hiatal hernia, GERD, NERD, Degenerative Disc Disease, Hyperkyphosis, Herniated Disks at L3-L4, L4-L5, L5-S1, and L4-L5, is severe. Attention Deficit Disorder, Panic Disorder with Agoraphobia, Severe-Recurrent Major Depressive Disorder, and I suspect Avoidant Personality Disorder or some Axis II disorder, as well as Social Phobia (Severe Social Anxiety Disorder) as well as General Anxiety Disorder. I will wrap this up though as this suicide note has gotten to 5 pages now. I guess I just wanted the world to know, well my world to know, the reasons for me ending my life. I cannot find enjoyment in anything. All I can think about is the abuse that has been done to me physically, sexually, emotionally.
Goodbye to all, and I wish you luck in all your endeavors. Too bad I didn’t make it.
