My life is a miserable hell. Â I should have been dead like 5 years ago when my life was over. Â My survival instinct pisses me off. Â Why is it so hard to kill yourself?
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It’s hard to do something you don’t really want to do… even if it seems like the only option.
I personally have a hard time quitting. I tend to grind myself into nothing, until it’s virtually or literally impossible for me to continue, before i “give up.”
The weird part is when you can’t quit and can’t continue… so just sort of drifting and waiting…
It’s a question i ask myself all the time.
Is it just a matter of not really wanting what we think we want?
Maybe, probably the person we deceive the best is ourselves.
But then maybe the answer doesn’t matter?
What we know is that we do not enjoy life and wish for an end to our hell.
We go to bed each night praying that this is the night that our eyes close for the last time.
And just like our hopes we had for our lives our hope for our death is also just a wish that some “thing†will just magically happen that will fix or end our misery.
What we know is that we aren’t going to do anything about anything, other than be miserable about it.
We aren’t going to kill ourselves and that depresses us more than the crap behind what depressed us in the first place.
Depressed and suicidal because we are depressed we can’t kill ourselves.
The why no longer matters, we have painted ourselves into a corner and the paint is never going to dry.
We are stuck.
The only way out of the corner is to accept that our shoes and our work are going to get ruined.
We hate our shoes and the colour of the paint anyway so ruining it shouldn’t matter. Why do we think it should matter?
The question of why we don’t kill ourselves is moot. The reality is we aren’t going to. And if that is a truth then we might as well laugh at the absurdity and at least refuse the call to be depressed for no better reason then that we are depressed.
@left22-
While i don’t necessarily completely agree with your conclusion, that “the why” is irrelevant…
I rather like the shoes/paint/corner analogy.
“The only way out of the corner is to accept that our shoes and our work are going to get ruined.”
Exactly.
And it fills me with chagrin, frustration, nearly rage, to think that “all this suffering was for naught.” I feel like i wasn’t able to do anything that mattered, though i suffered throughout my entire life, trying and hoping to do so… because i couldn’t figure out a better reason to live through incredibly unfair circumstances, as a perpetual outsider, constantly excluded, even precluded from, all the things that make life so “wonderful” for the “most people” who have no idea about the stuff i contemplate.
People wanting to choose this method or that, or worrying about what comes next, or what others will feel after they’re gone… it’s all the paint and the shoes. Life is harsh. Death is painful and final. No one else will ever walk in our shoes, and after we’re gone, our rooms will be repainted by those who live on.
We will be remembered as others remember us; not as “who we really are.”
We are everyone else. According to the rest of the world, we are each what everyone else thinks we are… whether or not we are “truly known.”
One thing occurred to me: why would anyone paint the floor? But then, what’s worse: painting yourself into a corner? or painting yourself out of the room?
I think the real “reason why” we don’t just off ourselves, is because we know what we have, before it’s gone. We don’t want to lose it… but we find ourselves painted into corners, unable to use it.
We are the only ones who can truly appreciate what we’ve been through. When we’re gone, all we leave is a painted room with a ruined floor, and dirty shoes.
I think it’s “the why” that matters while we’re still alive to ponder it… which becomes irrelevant once we’re gone.
We’re still here because there’s still something we want… even if it’s abstract and irrelevant and incomprehensible. We’re still here because no matter how much it sucks, we’re still not ready to believe that the only remaining option is to permanently turn it off, and leave behind everything we’ve ever known, and possibly, probably, not even be aware of not existing ever again.
We’re still here because, well… why not?
Sometimes insufficient is still better than nothing.
“Who have no idea about the stuff I contemplate…â€
It is our curse, once a question is asked we are not able to un-ask it.
No matter how much I despise where I find myself and want to end it, to end it with the finality of death, I do not.
There is a part of me which will not allow it.
Is it survivor instinct beyond or control, life as fate? Is it a secret longing that meaning will appear around the next corner and if we leave to early will miss it, Life as illusion?
Yet I do have may answer – There is a part of me, I do not understand, which will not allow me to take my life or let go of the curse that is this hope for life. All my hoping and planning has not change that reality and just statistically speaking is unlikely to change.
Even if I understood no understanding is going to change that dammed part of me.
I can continue to dream of the day that I wake and can take my own life, and get stuck in that fantasy of crap or get stuck in some other crap where at least I might have some fun.
I’m no longer sure the answer matters because having accepted the absurdity of life I know that any answer will be equally absurd.
I’m angry, and I’m tired.
I can find no answer that will put the questions aside.
If I still hope, what am I hoping for?
What is the point of holding on to such a hope, when the hope that creates the pain?
Is it ‘hope’ itself that is afraid to die?
I live so that I can hope to live.
There is a reason that hope was the last of the evils released from Pandora’s box.
I think it our survival nature imagine if we all felt horrible and wanted to die there would be no human race! 🙁
if only i knew the answer. if only it was easy