At 27, I’ve settled into a comfortable coexistence with my suicidality. We’ve made peace, or at least a temporary accord negotiated by therapy and medication. It’s still hard sometimes, but not as hard as you might think. What makes it harder is being unable to talk about it freely: the weightiness of the confession, the impossibility of explaining that it both is and isn’t as serious as it sounds. I don’t always want to be alive. Yes, I mean it. No, you shouldn’t be afraid for me. No, I’m not in danger of killing myself right now. Yes, I really mean it.
How do you explain that?
Just like that? That’s how I do it at least.
I reassure people that I know I’m lucky to have people that care about me and that I never want to hurt anyone. I should stop saying “don’t worry, I’m stuck here” but that is how I feel. I’m only still here because it’s wrong to hurt other people just because I don’t want to exist.
Honestly, if there wasn’t so much social weight and taboo attached to death I would’ve ended it already. I have no interest in any of the obligations that existence carries. Eating, talking, moving, cleaning, biological impulses, feelings, comfort, pain, all of it. These meat-bags we’re all trapped in are too finicky and needy. I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it. Existence genuinely disgusts me
Pretty much how I feel too. My dad told me the condom ripped and without hesitation I asked why they didn’t just abort me as I would have very much preferred to not exist especially since my parents split pretty much immediately after I was born.
I honestly think my mom wanted pets and confused children with pets. We’d get the verbal love and pats on the head, but never any effort, never anything that involved her taking action for us. At least now my generation is obsessed with dogs and are (correctly) choosing pets over treating people like pets…
Whatever you might think of John Mayer, I really liked his phrasing of “love is a verb.”
This is me often times it seems. It’s a conflicting state of existence. And my depression seems to keep me stagnant so I can’t escape the idea my life is meaningless.
All life is meaningless, but that’s good. You define your meaning/purpose. It’s whatever you want it to be.
My issue is less with meaning and more with “God i wish I was literally anyone but me, I hate myself with the burning passion of 10000 dying suns.” Lol
Very relatable, as well as that notion of being “stuck here” so to speak. I’m having trouble pushing through and reaching that state of “optimistic nihilism” or whatever you want to call it, but I’m trying. And it’s good to hear from others in a similar boat.