I Plan but I don’t Execute

I’ve thought about committing suicide for the past year of my life.  I’ve thought about cutting my wrists but have decided that would be too bloody and painful.  I’ve thought about jumping in front of a Semi, but then I couldn’t do it because of the compassion I felt for the poor sorry bastard driving the truck.  I’ve thought about shooting myself, but the only guns in the house belong to my dad, and I sure as hell am not dying by embedding one of his bullets in my brain; he got me here in the first place, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he has succeeded in killing me (though in reality he already has).  I’ve thought about using pain pills, but I don’t know if there are enough to kill me.  I’m intelligent and if I’m living her on this earth, my life will not be lived as a needy and dysfunctional human being if all the pain pills manage to do is fuck up my brain.  I’ve thought about it all, but the truth is, I’m afraid of death; what would happen to me after dying, and what would happen to the people around me?  I’m afraid of hell, and of guilt.

I believe in God, Jesus, heaven and hell, and all of this is one of the things holding me back.  While I believe God would forgive me for committing suicide, I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself.  Living in heaven with guilt would be worse than living here on earth with despair in my opinion.  I believe that Jesus died so I can live.  It just sucks that living has turned out to be such a hard thing to do.  A lot of people say we’re here for a purpose, that God put us here on earth for a purpose.  Well tell me God, what’s my purpose.  I need  to know before I lose faith.

My mom committed suicide when I was almost two years old.  Because of it, I’ve had a shitty life.  I have parents who care for me out of obligation, not love.  Sisters who come to my room to borrow my straightener, to ask if I can watch her kid, to borrow my pipe and never to say goodnight and I love you.  I have one sister who helps me unconditionally, and that doesn’t help seeing as there is only so much charity on person can take.  I have friends that are going off to college without me, friends who don’t know what’s going on in my mind, friends who just think that I’m the fat funny girl, friends who don’t know that when I zone out, I’m actually thinking about death.  What would happen to all of them if I killed myself?  That’s my biggest concern.

No one is here now.  I’m by myself in my house.  They won’t be back for another couple of hours.  I could die and they could do nothing about it.  It’s perfect but I can’t do it.  Because I’m afraid; afraid of a lot of things. 

My dad once told that I was worthless.  He told me that the family could function without me.  That was when I as twelve and the first time the thought of suicide fluttered into my mind.  I’m eighteen now, and though the thought has been with me, on and off, these past six years, it has beat constantly at the back of my mind for the past year.  I know I’m worthless too.  I know my family could live without me, but no doubt their lives would change.  My death would bring a change.

My mom once told me a story of a man.  “He had seizures” she said.  “He killed himself because he was afraid he would end up killing someone while driving.  He had to shoot himself twice because the first time he missed.  That must have taken guts.”  That’s why I can’t do it, because I don’t have the strength to.  He must have been brave, but in my mind I find more pathetic than valiant.  He ran away from his fears, just like my mom did, just like I want to.  Committing suicide is pathetic, but I think that the people who do manage to kill themselves reach a point of such utter depression that they don’t mind being pathetic.  I hardly mind being pathetic right now, and there’s nothing wrong with running from your fears, because living with them just makes life miserable. 

I’ve reached a point where I wouldn’t mind if I died.  I just graduated from high school and every one around me is freaking out about the future.  I’m content.  I could die, right here right now, with no regrets.  In a way I want to die.  I want to be at peace.  I’m tormented, that’s clear, by the past and the present.  I want to die, but I can’t do it myself.  I ask God everyday if he will take me now, and the answer is always no.  I want to die, but I can’t do it myself.  I feel it’s only a matter of time before I can. Help.