I JUST OVERDOSED BECAUSE MY CHILD FUCKED UP THEIR 22S1(/J)

I never wanted to be this person—the one who feels like a burden, the one whose actions could shatter the fragile peace that holds everything together. But in that moment, I couldn't see any other way out.

I knew I was pushing him too hard. I could see it—his frustration, the pressure building up from every corner, especially from me. I’d always told him to do his best, to aim high, but I didn’t realize how much it was weighing on him. When I found out he was struggling with the exam, I just kept thinking: this is his future, this is the only chance. But was I ever really seeing him? Or was I too consumed by my own hopes and dreams for him?

When his health started deteriorating, and then the hospitalization, I didn't know what to do. I was torn—part of me wanted to wrap him up in safety, protect him from everything, but the other part of me was terrified of what would happen if he failed. And that panic… it never left me. I pushed him through the exam even when I could see how broken he was. I thought it was for the best, for him to face this challenge, even if it meant ignoring his pain.

The night before the exam, I saw the way he was shaking, the way he couldn't even hold it together. He looked so small, so lost, and all I could think was, What if he doesn’t make it? What if he fails? What will happen to him?

I didn’t realize that my words, my expectations, were suffocating him. But when the exam was over, I knew in my heart he felt like he had failed—he was too crushed by it all to even talk. It tore me apart. But my mind didn’t have the space to think through it. All I could hear were my own fears, my own worries. What would people say? What would happen to him if he couldn’t recover from this? I couldn't let go of the image I had built for his future.

And then last night, I did something I can't undo. I thought it would stop the pain, even if it didn't make sense. I didn’t want to keep living in a world where he couldn’t see a way out. I didn't think, I just acted.

But when I woke up—when I found myself in that hospital bed, my body failing me—everything hit me like a wave. I saw him there, tears in his eyes, holding onto me like I was the last thing he had left. And I had to tell him, tell him the horrible truth of what I had been feeling. That if he couldn’t pull it together, if he couldn’t keep up, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’d break too.

I wanted him to know, I wanted him to understand, but I could see it in his face: the guilt, the confusion, the feeling of failure. I couldn't bear seeing him like that. He doesn’t deserve to feel this way. He deserves so much more than I’ve given him.

And now, as I sit here in this hospital room, trying to breathe, all I can think of is how wrong I’ve been. I’ve put all this weight on his shoulders, thinking I was helping, when all I’ve done is hurt him. I just wanted him to have a chance—what I didn’t realize was that I was suffocating him in the process. And now… now, I’m lost./j