~There was nothing to fear, nothing dark~

Planning my suicide is my new obsession.

Will I actually DO it?  Odds are against me because it’s 7 months from now, exactly one year from the date my life really ended.  Also, they say if you talk about it, you won’t succeed.  Does talking about it here count?  We’re all anon here… no one to save us… no, I say it doesn’t count.  Maybe talking here will scratch that annoying itch.  I don’t WANT anyone to know about this.  I don’t want to deal with their Emotions About It on top of my own, I don’t want them to feed me the requisite bullshit to try to change my mind, and I certainly don’t want people checking up on me all the time.  But there’s still that urge to tell and be heard…validated…

I told my therapist.  She seemed very concerned even though I tried to be dismissive about it.  I promised to call before taking action… I can promise the moon and know it doesn’t matter when the time comes.  My word will mean nothing then.  You say I won’t be this depressed forever?  Well, you see, I’m allowing time for that, to see if you’re right.  The problem with that?  Feeling less depressed doesn’t change anything.  It’s been a cycle for my whole long miserable life.  DISTRACT DISTRACT DISTRACT, eventually forget what a nothing I am, enjoy false happiness for a little while, then BAM!  -Only this time it’s worse than any other depression.  I’m undistractable now.  No happiness in any form.  I refuse to fake it and live a lie.

The person who loved the real me can’t even love me, that’s how unlovable I am.  And my unlovability is invisible to the naked eye, so people don’t get it.

They can think what they want after I’m gone.  I suspect there will be some variations of “I don’t know why she never got married and had kids… she seemed like such a lovely girl… so sweet… I don’t understand why she couldn’t do the things everyone else does so easily.”  They will feel sad, they may cry, but it would be arrogant of me to think they wouldn’t get over it.  People CAN get over it.  In time the pain would fade.  And I don’t plan on being close to any of them in these months leading up to it — to lessen their pain, yes, but selfishly it’s mostly because I don’t want to be bothered with anyone anymore.

And in time my pain might fade, but that wouldn’t make me a worthwhile person.  It feels wrong not to kill myself, now.  How dare I stay alive when my life is over?!  It’s just plain LAZY of me not to end this.

So.  I will use this time to get my affairs in order, to research methods, to write thoughtful letters to make my passing less painful, to organize a timeline of necessary events, to accept that the finality of death is not nearly as scary as facing life in hell, a life without hope.  Maybe simply obsessing about it for so long will be enough to change my mind.  Maybe I’ll feel enough relief from the pain by then to think “what’s the rush? I can always kill myself later…”  I need to prepare for that possibility as well — how to combat these things that may block my path!

Thank you for listening to my babble.