I’ve noticed that lately I’ve been purposely making people angry at me. I’ll tell them things that I shouldn’t or say things I know will upset them.
I didn’t know what I was doing this until I remembered that I did the same thing a few years ago, when I was about to attempt suicide. I pushed them all away so they wouldn’t care I was dead, and so that I wouldn’t feel any obligation toward them.
I don’t want to be kept alive because I “have friends to think about”. None of them are real friends anyway. They were just waiting for a reason to get mad and hate me. And now I’m giving them plenty.
I’m just getting ready.
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I do the same thing.
Like you, I tell myself it’s part of my elaborate plan, to lessen their pain at my passing or that we aren’t close anyway.
In reality, I’m just thrilled that I can control this one thing in my otherwise out-of-control existence: I can be mean to people. Also, it’s my strange way of asking for “help” without actually asking.
I’ve been told that some depressed guys deliberately seek out the biggest, burliest bikers and taunt them into a fight. Of course, the bikers beat them to a pulp. The reason these depressed guys do this, is to feel something, anything, to feel like someone cares about them.
I avoid people. If i am not there. They won’t miss me.