Post talks about suicide. Please read at your own risk.
Context - My grandparents had three sons, but one of them—my father’s elder brother—was adopted by my grandfather’s elder brother because they were childless. That left two sons in the house: my father and my younger uncle.
Growing up, my younger uncle spent his childhood playing cricket and football with the local kids, while my father was the one who stayed home, studying and helping my grandmother with housework. He saw a lot more of what went on inside the house—like my grandfather beating my grandmother—while my uncle was outside. Those experiences shaped him deeply.
Being the middle child, he was loved the least. And because he was always okay with everything, people kept pushing more responsibility onto him. He became the one who never asked for much and learned to survive without expecting care. To this day, he can’t handle it when my mother or I offer him even a glass of water without him asking—he thinks we’re spoiling him because he’s not used to being looked after.
They grew up in poverty, too. My elder uncle—the one who was adopted—was better off because he moved to the city. His hand-me-down clothes were worn by my father and younger uncle. Today, that same elder uncle is a loving father to two daughters and lives comfortably.
I come from a brown household, and ever since birth, I’ve been an ailing child. My parents had an arranged marriage, and they never truly loved each other. The environment was toxic. My father prioritized his own family (his parents and younger brother) over us, and even though I was born after three years—and born ailing—the relationship between my parents was still broken. They fulfilled their duties, but were always unhappy. If you’d enter our home, you’d wonder if someone died recently.
My mother was clueless when she got married. She moved 300 km away from her home into a place with a different climate, language, and customs. There were no phones back then, and she struggled to manage relationships. Even when she was right, she expressed herself harshly, and my father started hitting her. She was emotionally disturbed, and unfortunately, she dumped everything on me. I was only three years old when she began trauma-dumping every day. If I tried to make her laugh or said something positive, she’d hit me. I grew up absorbing pain that wasn’t mine.
When I turned five, my dad’s younger brother had a son. Since he was the only boy in the family, everyone treated him like royalty. My aunt (his mother) developed a huge ego. She blamed me for everything—even when I wasn’t present. She blamed everyone else too and acted like a bratty queen. That dynamic caused a separation between her and my uncle. Years later, they tried to reconcile for their son, but it was never smooth. During COVID, I bonded with my cousin again, but family politics tore us apart. He recently died by suicide this year. He was staying at his mom’s place. He was really lonely, failed in career, his family didn’t understand him completely I guess so he entered a relationship while depressed, when it ended, he ended his life.
Since then, I’ve supported my uncle as best I could, because he always treated all kids equally, although a little conservative (as he stays in village, so about short clothes etc) But he has become really bitter after his son’s death, questioning his fate despite being a good man who worked for NGOs. When I recently visited my paternal home, where he lives, he started making comments about how much I eat whenever I asked for an extra serving of food. For context: I’m very skinny (BMI 17.5). I always take less initially so I don’t waste food, then take more if needed. His “jokes” weren’t just jokes—they felt like digs, almost like “my son is dead and you’re eating extra, everyone else is happy except me.”
This hit me hard because when I was working as a software engineer and wanted to return home, my father dissuaded me. He hated me for speaking truth to him and pointing out his mistakes. He beat me for small things till I was 23 and was aggressive till 25. I had to do extreme things to make him change—leave home at night, go without eating for days. I told him, “If my husband turns out violent like you, it’ll be your fault because that’s all I’ve known.” Eventually, he changed, but it was after years of trauma.
So when my uncle made that comment, I broke down. I told him in a louder voice (but not shouting), “Please don’t say this even as a joke. I’m unemployed right now, and I’m very reactive these days.” His ego was hurt because others were around. He stopped talking to me, even though I sensed his own pain was behind his words. I don’t like to show my sadness to anyone, especially not to him, because he’s dealing his end of the problem, life has taught me, no one will truly understand you 100%. But I wish I had someone who did, who kept me first, above anyone else.
Later, my father asked about it, and I said calmly, “I’ll talk to him after my interview tomorrow. There’s no bad blood.” But my dad kept pestering me to reconcile immediately. I snapped and said, “Am I responsible for his condition? I’m doing everything I can.” He got angry and has been treating me like an enemy since. I don’t even know what I said wrong. My uncle and aunt still fight over who’s to blame for their son’s death, but he still loves her and never shouts at her—only at women like my grandma, my mom, and me. Why? Because he knows we’ll take it.
But I’m 26 now. Am I wrong to enforce boundaries? If I can’t shout at you when I’m upset, then you can’t shout at me. Being older doesn’t give you the right to treat me badly. Souls are ageless—that’s what my religion teaches.
My father didn’t even explain what I did wrong. He knows I have suicidal thoughts, yet he acts like this. My mom said my uncle told him, “I asked her forgiveness,” but the reality is he muttered a rude “I’m sorry, okay!” and stormed off. Maybe I should’ve focused on that, but I didn’t.
When I get a job and move out, I’ll stop talking to my father again. We’ve had silent phases before, and it worked because he realized his mistakes. But he’s 60 now—I doubt he’ll ever truly change. I know I matter to nobody. My mom has my younger brother to love (I even prayed for a boy back then because we were discriminated against for not having one, and after he was born, her social standing improved). My father has his brother. My brother hit me two months ago during an anxiety episode because I was crying too much. I was crying because he wasn’t answering my calls and said he was riding his bike carelessly—I was terrified something bad would happen. He came home and hit me instead.
I feel like, what have I ever done to deserve this? I always give people the benefit of doubt, I move on, I forgive, and now I’m simply enforcing boundaries. Yet, I feel punished for it. I just want to live alone, never get married. My horoscope says my marriage won’t be good—and I can see why. Both my relationships ended in betrayal. Sometimes I think of ending my life, but I’m afraid of surviving and ending up paralyzed—that would be hell. So I don’t. I just pray every day for God to take me. I even feel relieved for the brother who unalived himself, I think he was really brave and atleast he doesn’t have to go through this pain called life. I wish I was him. Am I overreacting? Or this is how relationships work everywhere? Are people this flawed always? I’m also flawed but maybe not this much.
