by Coon 4/26/2026 1050 v3
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The Evidence of a Ruined Life A Video Diary Analysis v1 SHORT (6 min)
The Evidence of a Ruined Life - An Analysis Video Diary - A Record of Progress & Suffering v2 Long Version (18 min)
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Video Diary Analyzing Evidence of Neglect
Analyzing Evidence of Neglect -
A Record of Progress, Pain and Suffering
Video Diary Analyzing Evidence of a Ruined Life
A Record of Progress, Pain and Suffering
Video Essay 4
by Oblivion Cocoon
4/26/2026 1323 (v4)
Related Videos:
The Evidence of a Ruined Life: A Video Diary Analysis (v1 SHORT - 6 min)
The Evidence of a Ruined Life: A Record of Progress & Suffering (v2 LONG - 18 min)
All right, video diary time. I have had a very productive last couple of days and am making tremendous progress at the piano.
I've got some disturbing things I need to talk about, but first, I’ll give a quick piano sheet music update. I’m currently working on a Passacaglia by George Frideric Handel, written in 1720.
It is Baroque harpsichord music in the key of G minor, and I find it just delightful. Whenever I learn the music theory behind these famous Classical masterpieces, I am always blown away and quite amused.
This music’s simple beauty and harmony stands in harsh contrast to life’s chaos. I sometimes think to myself, 'I hate the world and everyone in it,' but then I always remember there are a few things in this life I truly love: I cherish my two children, I love my two precious dogs, and I absolutely love learning and playing the piano. I’m just so amazed by the music of the Classical, Baroque, and Romantic eras.
I've got some things that have really been bothering me, and sadly, there is no good solution to this problem. However, I have made tremendous progress recently in psychotherapy.
It is a scary sounding therapy, and it is terrifying if you had a bad childhood where your parents failed you—either deliberately or unintentionally—and you ended up seriously hurt. I realized that my stepfather's neglectful parenting behavior severely damaged me.
At 40 years old, I just realized something crazy: it is not normal to not want to live. Most people do want to live, except, as far as I can tell, abuse survivors.
I’ve always feared having children, worrying that I would screw them up and they would end up hating me despite pouring out unconditional love. I thought that was the worst-case scenario.
My God, was I off about something major. I assumed good parents always love their children, but while my mom cares for me, she was complicit in allowing me to be hurt at such a young age.
I was so deeply traumatized my entire life that I fantasized about dying just to relieve the pain. Healthy people with loving, trusting family bonds simply do not feel like that.
I am just now coming to terms with the fact that this feeling is incredibly tragic. It is a tremendous waste of life and potential.
This man chose to be my father and willingly took on the role of raising me. Unfortunately, his presence prevented anyone else from coming in to do a better job.
It is a mind-fuck that a man takes the woman but refuses to do the job. Until recently, I assumed my parents did their best, but the evidence tells a different story.
Twenty years ago, I hated life so much I wanted to die. I did the most reckless thing I could think of and joined the Marine Corps, thinking it was an honorable way to die.
Volunteering for war doesn't always draw the healthiest people, but it did made me a very good Marine. For the first time, I found real camaraderie, meaning, and purpose.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—I survived, only to endure the trauma of life for a longer period of time. I then eventually found religion, hoping it would fill the void of love in my heart.
Predictably, religion failed to provide the love I desperately wanted. It turned out to be wishful thinking. But I still hold a tiny bit of faith that God might show up, perhaps through the people who call themselves Christians.
My sister is still completely traumatized from our childhood and has never been "normal" either. She overcompensates by overprotecting her children and wouldn't let me be involved in their lives.
As a psychologist and sociologist, I recognize that religion has a functionality for society. It works for simple-minded people who don't ask too many questions or get caught up on things like evidence.
False promises do not work for me; I am far too conscientious and intellectually curious to believe what I know to be untrue. I site the evidence, yet I am wise and humble enough to know I don't have all the answers. God simply cannot be proven or disproven.
I have been seriously depressed my entire life. To be honest, I was disabled long before I went to war; it was being disabled that brought me to the war in the first place.
Joining the Marine Corps was the best decision I ever made because I did something honorable that most men are too cowardly to do. Now, as a disabled veteran, I only survive because of the disability income the government owes me for starting stupid wars.
The sad reality is that I don't have much time left in this world. I am extremely unhealthy as a result of a lifetime of not wanting to live and not caring for myself.
I struggle with addiction, bipolar disorder, and the feeling that nothing matters. That is nihilism—how philosophers process the fear of not being loved.
I chronically smoke cigarettes and cannabis, and I drink heavily when I am not manic. The root cause of addiction is almost always trauma.
Nobody wants to be addicted; if I were healthy and cared about something, I never would have started. Being addicted is just a sick survival mechanism.
I have taken Seroquel for decades, which contributed to the ruin of my marriage. I refused to stop because I was so deeply trauma-bonded to that atypical antipsychotic.
I took it solely for the sweet relief of sleep because I am so damaged. My body doesn't work right, and when you can't eat or sleep correctly, it is a recipe for suffering.
In my religious days, I accepted facts without evidence. Now that I am grown, I value truth and reality over comforting lies.
The evidence is clear: I am severely fucked up. I have torturous memories of what my parents did to me, which I always tried to rationalize away.
I told myself my stepfather was doing his best, but it doesn't matter if it was on purpose. If you accidentally break the law and cause harm, you are still responsible.
Without responsibility, life is chaos and nihilism wins. I objectively feel this guy ruined my life, and I have the memories to back it up.
Child abuse is a sick thing to do to someone you claim to love. My stepfather failed in his sacred responsibility to be my guardian.
I have hundreds of pieces of evidence about how badly I was treated. If you're suffering so much that you don't want to live, you have to talk about what went wrong.
That is the power of psychotherapy: getting to the root of why. I simply cannot just let go of the atrocious ways they screwed up.
Child neglect is a form of abuse, and tragically can have the same harmful outcome as other more obvious forms of abuse such as physical violence and sexual assault. It is such a sick thing to do to a child that you claim to love. Based solely on the outcome of mylife, my stepfather failed in his sacred responsibility to be my guardian.
And I have hundreds of pieces of evidence about how badly I was treated to back that up. So the fact of the matter is that if you're suffering so much that you don't want to live, some drastically went wrong. Therapy can help, but you have to talk about what went wrong.
And that is the power and effectiveness of mental health counseling and specifically psychotherapy: getting to the root of why. I simply cannot just forget the atrocious ways my parents screwed me up.
I can cite more bad memories than I can count. At least now I have an explanation for why I feel this hatred toward the world.
This hatred is against the nature of my soul, as I am a kind and loving person. I always knew something was off about my upbringing.
When I married, I vowed never to let my children feel that way. My children have never been afraid of me or questioned my love.
So when I married, I vowed never to let my children feel that way. My children have never been afraid of me or questioned my love for them. I pride myself on being the best thing in their lives. I shattered that generational curse of child neglect. Breaking that harmful pattern everything that my folks fail at. I always raionalize my parent's failures as a result of their parents failures.
At a recent gathering, my sister called my dad the stupidest person she’s ever met. It was a fucked up thing to say, but I realize the Dunning-Kruger effect—the more I know, the more I realize how little I know.
Intelligence is a curse in this regard. I envy "normal" people who live their lives without caring about the damage they have done.
I shared these feelings with my sister because she gave the impression she loved me, though there isn't much evidence of that. I am sick of allowing these people to abuse me and my children.
My mom is a meek person, and while she is less "guilty," she is absolutely complicit. I’ve always felt that my stepfather didn't like or love me.
He expresses outrage when I talk about nihilism. A few years ago, when I was close to dying, he told me not to "trouble your mother with your stupid problems."
I understand it is a cycle, and I was likely a frustrating child because I was so disturbed. However, I assumed he would care for me for the sake of my mother.
My trauma caused her trauma, which gives me a guilt complex. But it is her fault; if you screw up your children this badly, it is evidence you did something wrong.
As an empath, if someone told me I hurt them, I would be contrite and prove my love. My parents, however, have never treated me with dignity.
My parents never gave me a "wakeup call" of dignity. This led me into an abusive marriage where I stayed because I was taught to accept being abused.
I stayed for the kids and because I didn't want to be a failure. If my stepfather had done his job, I never would have been in that position.
When I was at my most vulnerable, they abandoned me. I was a disabled, homeless veteran in a mental health crisis, and I had to go to a program in Massachusetts because I had no family who cared.
At my lowest point, my stepfather did, in my opinion, the most selfish thing a caregiver can do: he stopped caring. The evidence shows he doesn't care about me at all.
It is a terrible cycle. If I talk to my mom, it distresses her because he is a "sensitive man."
He did not like being criticized or told he was wrong. If I expressed an honest feeling, he got outraged, which was terrifying for a child.
I learned not to be honest. He has reinforced that pattern my entire life: "Do not be honest. We do not care about your feelings. We don't care if you don't want to live."
My sister said my dad is "dumb." My dad is one of the only people I can actually call and talk to for hours.
I think it's partly because we're related and we have similar brains or thinking patterns.
I think my dad is one of the most intelligent people I've ever met.
Granted, he's got a couple of big problems—he's a Republican and he definitely believes in a number of conspiracy theories—but hey, whatever.
My dad has far more intellectual honesty than anybody else in my family.
Two years ago, when I was super distressed, I called my brother-in-law because I thought he was somebody I could trust.
I talked to him for a couple of hours. I told him some very troubling, very distressing things.
I thought I could trust him... but no.
I told him some of the most troubling, depressing stuff ever, and he's a Christian.
I thought he was an ally. He never followed up. Never once. Never called me back. What a fuck prick, you know?
And these are Christians, man. I don't know why I thought I could trust Christians.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I don't trust anybody. I hate everybody in the world now.
Anyway, it’s such a shame. I made such tremendous progress here, but unfortunately, it’s far too late.
I’m already dying. I’m so unhealthy and I’m dying alone. That’s such a tragedy.
I could have done some good things for this world if I had just been taken care of better.
I wanted to be a doctor or a politician.
I wanted to be a politician because I thought that was the method to do the greatest good in the world.
I mean, I suppose that could still happen if some sort of miracle happens.
I mean, thank God I'm not actively suicidal or anything, but you can't escape the health toll you put on your body by mistreating yourself for 40 years.
Partly because no one taught me how to fuck take care of myself.
So what did I do? I got addicted to drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes. I have to smoke marijuana every day.
For a while when I was younger, I thought I just had this really gifted brain.
"Oh, I'm just really smart." No, that's the result of such severe trauma your brain freaks out and doesn't know what to do.
And I'm pissed. I'm fuck pissed about it.
I’m contemplating what to do about this. One possible solution is complete contrition—just attending family functions and pretending these people haven't been severely abusing me my whole life.
That’s one option, but I don’t have much time left, so I don’t know. This is why I’m diving so deep into music; I’m spending all my time learning this because I’ve always wanted to be really good at something.
To be truly great at an instrument takes 10,000 to 20,000 hours of practice. I’m good at a lot of things and I am hyper-intelligent—not smart enough to save myself, but smart enough to contemplate the world's problems.
But now I hate everybody, so I don't trust anybody. The world doesn’t get to have me as a doctor or a productive member of society.
This is what happens when parents completely fail. A parent’s sacred goal and only job is to make their children’s lives better than their own.
Most people with mental illness who commit heinous crimes were severely abused themselves. I don’t even know where I got my morality from; it certainly wasn't from these people.
Paul is completely devoid of morality. He has virtually no education, so he isn’t even aware of how stupid he is.
My sister said my dad is "dumb," but I don't care about that. I have the kind of intelligence that gathers massive amounts of data, which isn't always helpful.
Biological intelligence has one evolutionary goal: to raise your children until they want to live and they outlive you. At this point, I’m going to die before this man who is 40 years older than me.
Why do you want to live? My goal was to outlive my mom so she wouldn't feel the pain of seeing me die. Turns out they don’t care either way.
This is peak biological evolutionary stupidity: to lack the common sense and skills required to keep your children alive.
Parents who abuse their children run the risk of creating serial killers or being killed themselves by vengeful children. I never thought about that because I love my kids.
My mom said the most ridiculous thing to me the other day. I am showing positive leadership by saying, "You need to make an effort to be grandparents."
They are grandparents to my sister's kids, who are white. My kids happen to be lightly brown.
I asked my sister why they like her children but not mine. I told her it looks like racism to me.
My sister couldn’t handle that. I don't blame her, because popset the example of never accepting real criticism.
It looks like racism. You like all the other children in the family except the brown ones? That is a horrible thing to say.
My sister claims they have never shown "racist ideology." I don't care; you don't have to show ideology to be discriminatory.
They are being horribly discriminatory to me, and it is making my condition worse. I thought if I told them I didn't feel loved, they would change.
I call them regularly and share normal things because pop said not to give her distressing news. But they want no regular contact with me. They are just continuing the cycle.
I’ve had it, and I’m going to do something about it. I’m seriously considering legal action against this man.
It is a crime in our society to abuse children to the point where they want to kill themselves their whole life. I have mountains of evidence.
I don't care if he is "sensitive." It is my life he ruined while he lives a peaceful life with two houses, skiing and golfing every day.
He can't do his sacred duty and parent me for once. I joined the military because I recognized I needed leadership in my life.
Legal action might mean suing him. It doesn’t really matter because I don’t have much time left, but at least he is going to know.
He must know how much his disgusting neglect ruined my life and hurt society. I could have been something meaningful and helpful.
I still want to be a doctor of psychiatric medicine so I can contribute. But you have to be a certain kind of stupid to not even want to keep your children alive.
It probably would have been more convenient for him if I had died years ago. He doesn't think about me, and when he does, he doesn't like me.
I’m researching civil action. I don’t even care about the money, but money is the only way you pay for crimes in this world.
I value that our society is judged by how we treat the weakest members. We take care of disabled people, but I can't even get my family to care.
I don’t give a fuck about anything because this is what I was taught. I figured it out far too late because I believed them.
My mom visited recently, and I explained all this. She said Paul is sensitive and didn't do it on purpose.
That isn't an excuse for committing heinous crimes against children. "I didn't mean to" doesn't count.
My mom had me 99% convinced she loved me, and I bought it. Then I asked about her spending time with my children.
She had the nerve to say my sister and I are the "most important things in the world" to her. That kind of lying has caused such cognitive distortion in my life.
There is no evidence they love me or even like my children. My mom asked, "Do your children even want to see us?"
I kind of want to like my mom, and I even like Paul. If he wasn't such a prick, we could be good friends.
I didn't grow up poor, but after 18, I lived for ten years in abject poverty. I was so hungry once that I had to steal from a grocery store.
My children are also poor. What would normal people do? If you have money, maybe give the grandkids $50 for a birthday.
She says I'm the most important thing to her, but my children are the most important thing to me. I'm not going to let them abuse my children.
I made a vow to protect them and never make them feel so unloved or scared that they wanted to kill themselves.
My kids are incredibly resilient despite a horrible marriage and a mentally ill mother. The only difference is my parents are either dumb, liars, or have their heads up their asses.
It is abnormal to not love your children or grandchildren. I want them to spend time with my kids or at least give them presents.
I have great memories of my grandmother. I was the "sweet pea"—the youngest. In some families, the youngest is the most loved.
In my case, I was not wanted. I think that is what hurts the most.
If they were normal grandparents, I would forgive them and move on. But I see the same cycle of vicious, neglectful, pernicious abuse.
This man abused me for 37 years. How can you be a complete failure of a parent and then have a perfectly happy life?
I thought my mom would kick him into gear, but instead, she condoned it. She made me believe it was normal, then says she loves me. What a liar.
I’ve tried to show leadership by gently telling them what to do. I’m trying to protect their legacy because my children will outlive us all.
My children are too young to know they want a grandma, but they want to feel like they matter. But my children don't matter to them, and I don't matter.
I finally realized it, but it’s too late. My life is ruined while theirs is fine.
This 70-year-old man is healthier than I am. He will outlive me, and it won't bother him when I die.
If there is a lesson here: if you have the duty of raising children, don't fuck it up. When they realize how you abused them, they might come for you.
I have nothing to lose. I'm already dying. I never imagined I would die alone in such suffering with no one caring.
I find my interest in media curious. I get pleasure out of watching child predators get caught. Why am I so interested in that?
I am obsessed with the Holocaust. I don't understand how people survived that and still wanted to live.
I’ve never understood how people own firearms and aren't tempted to use them on themselves. I do not own any because it is a major risk factor.
Science backs that up: if you have a gun and you're suicidal, your chances of dying go way up.
I justified it and forgave them for too long. "It's not your fault I want to die." Yes, it is your fault.
If I wanted to die before I knew what life was, you fucked up at parenting. There has to be some retribution—restitution.
Otherwise, nihilism wins and nothing matters. We die twice: once when we stop breathing, and again the last time someone remembers us.
I do Holocaust remembrance advocacy because it was the most atrocious evil the world has seen. I can't believe "normal" people aren't more outraged.
I gave my mom an easy way out by saying I actually am normal. This is biological psychology.
As an organism, I got so scared that my brain has been in panic mode my entire life. That is a normal reaction to trauma.
I have bipolar and addiction issues because nobody has ever cared about me. One final thought: I love my dogs and I love the piano.
I love Classical, Baroque, and Romantic music. For example, the Passacaglia moves around the Circle of Fifths.
It goes from A to D to G to C to F to Bb to Eb and back. It is mathematical and awesome.
I’ve been working on piano sheet music for 15 years. Paul had no compassion when I got back from Afghanistan; he just told me to get a job.
He owned a business and could have helped me. That’s what real fathers do for their sons.
I am amassing a massive collection of sheet music—over 50 books and thousands of pages.
I want this collection to go somewhere it is appreciated. A senior center or a place where poor children have a piano.
This is invaluable stuff. Print sheet music is the best for sitting at a piano.
I hope someone gets to have it, because I don’t have anyone to give it to. Dying alone sucks.
That was bloody exhausting. Fuck off.
Please, if you have feelings of being overwhelmed, reach out for support.
You are not alone.
Call the National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline
God knows I have called it more times than I can count.