I Don’t Know How Much More I Can Take

I find myself to continue to be suicidal because of my objective views of life. I recognize the emptiness of every moral, value, or principle and I can’t seem to adopt enough of them for myself because I hardly find any of them reputable enough to call my own. I’m so sick of the subjective morality of this place. I’m sick of hearing about how I need to find Jesus, I’m sick of the constant reverence and respect for a deity, and I can’t seem to find anyone that thinks the way I do. Anytime I express that, I’m always torn down with, “well, you just want people to agree with you.” which isn’t necessarily true. I only ask that you look at things objectively before bringing one of your subjective values into play as a means for me to get well. People then argue, “Oh, so you need people to look at things objectively, first.” I tell them that that is so. I’m not concerned with the principle of people agreeing with me, however I am concerned with people taking an objective approach of philosophy before recommending things. If they can’t do this then I will not be able to take them seriously. If they do this, but are able to acknowledge their own biases and subjectivity, progress may then be possible. It is not the act of agreeing with me that concernse me; it is the process of using deductive inferences and unbiased objectivity that I seek from others. I really don’t find people that are able to do that. Those that have are no longer living, as I’ve read several of their works. I’m tired of being alone with my mind, yes, and it inhibits me from social-outings, working efficiently at work, and so much more. More importantly, I am left with little to no value in my life. Nothing has any meaning. I am a fop, however, and I take refuge in my own physique. More often than not, however, it causes me dismay because I am usually dissatisfied with it. I always aim to look older and bigger and I realize that this value is completely subjective. Any physique or form simply “is” and any value or comparison about it is not signifigant or relevent when using objective thinking. This “value” of mine is something that i don’t feel can ever be removed and I am only able to remedy the pain by further indulging in activities or rituals that promote my feeling big or older. Society along with my way of thinking has instilled this value into my head. Although I fall victim to this type of subjective thinking, unlike others, I’m able to completely acknowledge it.

I don’t take much refuge in my family or my job or much else that goes on in my life. I’ve been depressed for years now, since I was 15, and what hasn’t killed me has made me weaker; quite contrary to popular belief that it would make me stronger. My tolerance for life, for my life, grows thinner everyday. If you put your arm over a lit match you may be able to tolerate the pain for a short while, but there will come a time where you simply can’t take it any more, or at least where you’re not willing to overcome it anymore. I hate to use analogies to illustrate points I try to make, but this one was used earlier in the day and I felt like expressing it once again.

I have seen several therapists throughout the years and tried a sundry amount of ways to not only alleviate the pain from my depression, but to find solutions to a lot of my perceptions. That’s what the pain is really from anyway, isn’t it? Other than looking at it biologically, where different chemicals excrete and mix to create your temperments, your problems are only problems because you perceive them to be, right? I know this because the great majority of my problems are tangible or visible at all. It is simply how I feel about things that causes me disharmony. I have a job, I have a generous savings account, I’m young, I have a car, I’m tall, etc. Believe, I tell you these things not in an effort to bloviate, but to explain that circumstances and finances aren’t the only inducers of pain. I could hardly bloviate, even if I wanted to, because I’m the one who’s unhappy. I simply am unable to find any real meaning in human life. I seek absolutes. My father, who thinks relatively objectively and also has a Bachelor’s Degree in philosophy, once told me that “The only thing that’s absolute is that there are no absolutes.” I find that to be a sensible phrase and I’m not someone who’s too crazy about quotes. If what he says is true, then I must find my own sense of worth and meaning. I must realize that the values I seek will be subjective and relative. I’m not sure that I’m able to do that. It just isn’t fulfilling. Perhaps if I focused my time in indulging in pleasures while staying responsible I would no longer care for, nor desire finding absolutes. I’ve pondered this and it only works so long as things remain main-stream in the work force and with my physique. Ofcourse, my attitudes about both are never consistent.

As I’ve said, my tolerance grows thinner everyday and I’ve debated suicide several times over the last 5 years. I’ve never attempted it, but I don’t deem it fair that that be indicative of the severity of my pain. In otherwords, it isn’t necessarily true that those that have attempted it have gone through more pain. I’m not conerned with portraying just how much pain I’ve gone through, but I do think that that last statement was necessarily because I find that a lot of people diminish the validity of my seriousness toward the matter when they learn that I’ve never attempted suicide. I am not in a competition of who goes through more pain. If such a competion were to exist, I would only hope to lose.

I’ve been trying to write a book about all of this. It would kind of be my memoirs and my dissertation. I find that it’s quite difficult to write when I’m not “in the moment.” I have written several articles about suicide and objectivity, but I find that the organization of several ideas is rather difficult to bind into one main idea; a book. I think that if this book was completed I could leave here faily peacefully. I would leave with the comfort that everything that I needed to say was said and that my suicide wasn’t simply another typical grievance with the world. I don’t know why that matters to me, to have my ideas on paper before I leave, but it does. It sincerely does and I fear that I may not be able to stick around long enough to complete my book. I would only hope that after completing it it gets published and I find a community of like-minds through it that finally give me a meaning or a sense of purpose. I feel that the only purpose anyone has, whether they feel like their own is very practical or not, is one that they make for themselves. I’m not a fatalist, I’m not a theist, and I don’t believe in any superstions or anything transcendental. I don’t believe in these things while acknowledging that I don’t know for sure of their existence.

Do you find yourself feeling a similar way? If you do, I would love to hear from you. You bring me hope that their are actually some people that share insight.