To whom it may concern,
I have always been terrible at these sort of things, the beginning after is all tends to be the worst. What is the point in trying anything, when life will almost always disregard desire. After all, we as mundane physical creatures are doomed to be subservient to forces beyond our control. We are slaves.
I guess to start I have had it rough but I do recognize that others inevitably have it worse. I was always bullied for wearing hearing aids and when I started to fight back my mother wound up worrying about me. When my dad was still living with us she wasn’t so bad, but after he left ( I still saw him on the weekends). My mother became convinced I was too sick to be able to go to school. Since I was her “darling” little boy she kept me on a bottle and diapers until I was twelve.
I was uncontrollable, and I started to lose touch with reality. Shortly after my 12th birthday, we were  kicked out of the house and we had to live in an apartment with my mother’s lesbian lover. About a week after that, she woke me up around eleven and with tears in her eyes told me that she was going for a walk. I was woken up twenty minutes later by a police officer who told me that my mom killed herself.  After that I went to live with my Dad, and due to his ability to keep his patience things slowly started to work themselves out. I was starting fifth grade again. No girl would look at me because of my overbite (from the bottle). Few people would talk to me because I was “weird” Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and History were my constant companions.
I am in college now, and the reality of my circumstance has set in. Why should I sit here fighting to stay alive when my bipolar ensures the fact that I am not normal. No matter how much I try, I know happiness is only but a stage until the real depression kicks in. Boxing, guitar, and even my books and education are starting to fail me. Even god has turned his back on me, and it is only a matter of time before everything starts to collapse and I bite the proverbial bullet. I will post my poetry from time to time, but I doubt anyone cares. Shit, I am pretty sure no one wants to read such dull stories.
I suppose this is sufficient enough, I don’t want to make this longer than it has to be. For those of you that read this I appreciate it and if you find yourself in the unfortunate bondage of depression I am willing to provide my insight  until I leave this earth. After all the only reason I am here, is because I don’t want to make my dear Brother hate me like I hate our Mother. The guilt of committing that final transgression after all the work my Brother and father have put in would be more terrible than the purgatory I am in now. For that would be my own personal inferno knowing that I tore my Dad and my Brother in two.
2 comments
Guilt is a huge part of depression. You want the feelings of guilt and regret to go away, yet you worry about those you leave behind. It’s pretty nasty. In the end, you should do what feels best for you. Recovery IS possible though extraordinarily difficult without proper support (hell, even WITH the proper support).
Depression does not care. Depression wants to bring you down. Giving into depression is immensely difficult despite what anyone else says. (I’ve heard people call those who have committed suicide failures because they didn’t try hard enough to live.) It’s not as simple as “live or die.”
I don’t believe in god. I believe that this is the only chance we’ve got to succeed. When I take out my bottle of pills and wonder how many will kill me, I have to be 100% this method will kill me painlessly. Half-living in a vegetable with no way out is the worst possible thing that could happen. My advice to you: get help or go through with it. Either way, it’s a lot of work, very painful, and may end up driving your family apart anyway.
My recovery has started to tear my family apart. I know suicide will have the same effect. It’s honestly not as black and white as people make it out to be. In the end, the choice is yours and not anyone else’s. Take a day off, get your affairs in order as if you were really going to die, write a few goodbye notes, then take a child’s dose of asprin and go for a nap. It’s suicide-lite and usually is enough to get me out of a really bad funk. Suicide or recovery–both are difficult.
Have you ever had a really good therapist? Like one you have trusted with your life? I don’t know you, and I could be wrong, but it sounds like you may have depression from all of the abuse and grief you suffered as a child. Sometimes its hard to biological depression from trauma-related depression. Talking through your trauma with a GOOD therapist may help you. I also agree, in part, baader-meinhof blues that the decision to commit suicide is your choice-no one can decide that for you. I just hope you are able to process your childhood traumas with someone before you make the decision to end your life.