Often times I wonder how I reached this point. This point of no return. Of an endless repitition of internal suffering. I can’t really think of an answer. Perhaps that means that I was just destined to be this way.
Many different people think the solution is simply, talkingÂ about your feelings orÂ seeing aÂ shrinkÂ or just looking at lifeÂ at a different angle. But they’re all wrong. Because no matter whatÂ people say on the outside, you’ll always be that suicidalÂ kid (no matter how old you are, actually)Â andÂ despite all of the nice things they’ll say, no matter how much they tell you that they like you or that you deserve to live, deep down they’ll never see you as being good as someone else who’sÂ “normal.” In fact, whenever the opportunity should arise, they’d pick a normal person over me and you any day.
That’s just the never-ending rut you put yourself in by telling someone about your thoughts. It’s terrible for sure, but it’s the truth. Especially if you’re a suicidal guy. If you’re a girl, guys will just use your pain to take advantage of you, since it’s an “easy way in.” So in a sense, I can neverÂ really tell anyone about my suffering until after I’m dead, because for every single set of ears that hears my story, they’ll start to feel sorry for me and look down upon me and wish that they’d never found out my truth.Â And I’ll have doneÂ nothing but burden them… OrÂ maybe, have done nothing at all. Sometimes I don’t know which is worse.Â And every time I text them or callÂ themÂ to engage in something else aside from my suicidal feelings, they’ll look at their phone with my name flashing and think, “oh shit, it’s him. I really don’t feel likeÂ dealing with him right now.” And maybe if one of their friends are around, the friend willÂ ask who’s calling and of course, they will say, “oh, it’s this one guy who’s really depressed and wants to kill himself.”
This postÂ is really unfocused. Forgive me for that. I guess I want to conclude it by stating how much I hate peopleÂ who reallyÂ believe thatÂ they can end my suffering by: 1)knowing about my suicidal thoughts orÂ 2)talkingÂ to me about my suicide orÂ 3)knowing my whereabouts or 4)appearing to harbor a genuine desire to help me. In every case, I’ve become nothing more than that “suicide case.” and no matter what I do, I can never becomeÂ more than that. Once a suicidal, always a suicidal.