I POISONED MY OWN MOTHER BECAUSE WATCHING HER SUFFER WAS WORSE”- LADY ANONYMOUSLY SHARES DISTURBING STORY

People used to call me a good daughter.

They said it with admiration at the hospital, in church, even in passing. “You’re strong.” “Your mother is lucky to have you.” No one saw what happened after the lights went off and the prayers ended.

My mother had been sick for years. Not the kind of sickness that improves, not the kind that gives you hope. It only took things away from her, her strength, her dignity, her sleep. Pain became her language. Some nights, she screamed. Other nights, she just stared at the ceiling and cried silently.

I tried everything a daughter is supposed to do. I prayed until my knees hurt. I begged doctors. I fasted. I stayed awake for days at a time just to make sure she wasn’t alone when the pain came.

But nothing stopped it.

There were nights she grabbed my hand and whispered, “Please… I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore.”
At first, I told her not to talk like that. I told her she would be fine. I told her God would intervene.

Eventually, I stopped lying.

Watching her suffer every day felt like its own kind of cruelty. I began to feel helpless, angry, trapped between love and helplessness. And then I started making quiet decisions, decisions hidden inside care, inside trust, inside the role everyone believed I was playing so well.

Her pain eased. She slept more. People said the illness was progressing. Others said it was God’s timing.

I let them believe that.

Every time she rested peacefully, relief washed over me followed immediately by guilt so heavy I could barely breathe. I stopped looking at myself in mirrors. I avoided conversations that mentioned forgiveness.
Once, on a calm night, she smiled faintly and said, “Thank you for taking care of me. I don’t hurt as much anymore.”
I left the room and cried until morning.
I don’t know if what I did makes me a monster or a merciful daughter. I only know that watching the woman who gave me life beg for relief was breaking me in ways I didn’t know a human could break.
I carry this secret alone.
I live with it every day.
And no amount of praise, prayer, or silence has ever made it lighter.
Some stories don’t end with peace.
They just end with quiet.