I’ll be honest. Despite the secretions rolling down my face at the moment, I’m actually pretty attractive, I’m nice to people, nice to animals. Good with food, art, music, kids, whatever. I feel I’m terrible for wholly irrational reasons, and I loathe the fact I’m a slave to the broken system that calls itself my mind. I should’ve had a good night tonight, I went out, danced with pretty girls, got some physical contact (not as much as I’d like, but still), and all I can feel is utter contempt for myself, for my worthless “sensitivity” to things. I feel abandoned and manifestly inferior for slight things that I should “man up” and ignore. So why doesn’t it work that way? I’m not sure, I must just be built wrong, and I hate myself for it. I hate the weakness. I hate the irresponsibility. I hate the fact I’m destined to become a bum or a crazy person, I hate the fact I feel physical pain in my guts for being so shitly designed and self-abasing. I hate the fact I cannot live up to my potential because I will always shoot myself in the foot.
I have this inescapable sense that I’m just not meant to be (though I also understand that this is irrational). I fear that if I speak the truth; that I might “infect” the people around me with such feelings or make them behave differently towards me, or gradually tire them out with the tediousness of the whole affair. I certainly wouldn’t have a chance with convincing any girl that I’m worthwhile, I am clearly defective stock and I understand that’s not desirable for making babies. I don’t hold it against them, they’re products of millions of years of evolution.
I hold it against myself, though, because I ought to be able to be pleased that I have a life to live and potentially succeed at things. But I won’t. Because this is a self-fulfilling prophecy. My cause is hopeless because I have already decided it is. When I contend otherwise, it sometimes works, but the defective chemical soup in my brain will dictate I return to this broken situation time and time again.
I want to erase any record of having existed. I want everyone I know to forget about me so I can’t hurt them when I go. The future is not ever going to be better, I’ll never escape myself unless I nullify my experience. “Relief from pain” may be absurd with eternal unconsciousness as the anaesthetic, I won’t get to savour it, but I will cease this terrible worthless, unfulfilling punishment of an existence. How else can you escape your own mind except through its extinction? I can’t work out any better options. Psychology won’t work on me, drugs will kill my personality (peculiar complaint I know, but a living death where I’m a lobotomised robot is far more disgusting than the personal choice to end it). I’m too intelligent to find solace in the easy, fraudulent answers of religion and the thought that I won’t have to deal with myself or anything ever again is a comfort. It even seems honourable, aside from the people I’d hurt, as I’d be the master of my own destiny, instead of a slave to a hurtling bus or cancer cell.
This site has undoubtedly served its purpose. I think I’ve released some mental tension and I’m unlikely to overcome my desire to live, but I still long for the day when I don’t wake up. It seems like an acceptable conclusion and one that’s actually achievable. That’s comforting, because there’s very little in life that’s as certainly achievable, and even less that will successfully keep the desire to end it at bay.