I read somewhere, in an almanac of popular myths I think, Â that it’s a great fallacy that “You have to be really depressed to commit suicide.” and I thought at the time, gosh that’s true.
I’m barely depressed at all. Oh my friends would say differently – they love to gaslight me… but it’s the truth; I’m really quite regular. I have a good job (that I do badly), I just quit smoking (future facing eh?)… I save money each month to buy (another) house one day. Some people envy me. I reallyÂ do OK.
I would also like to kill myself. I wanted to believe in God, in the Lord Jesus Christ… and I… couldn’t. I suppose realising I was an atheist was the catalyst for this. I know many people will have a hard time accepting that as a valid reason to throw in the towel. I can’t get on board (oh, tried) with the existentialist ethos of your life having meaning; the meaning you choose to give it. I know there’s no point to anything, to any of this… and I don’t have enough pleasure, enough absent worries, to make the charade worth hanging around for.Â I have parents that love me very much (and I, them) which is why I’m still here, writing this.Â It’s hard… I feel a great pressure of time to do it soon; at the moment I hold everything together, look for the most part, normal… but the cracks are beginning to show. My grip’s loosening. Yet I can’t figure out how to spare these two wonderful people some of the hurt.
There’s my story then – I think I’m one of the rational ones.