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Man under a train

by pinkcoconut

Today before getting on the tube, I saw two fire engines and a police car pull up and go downstairs. I thought there might be a fire. Another blank police car turned up. Then a couple more fire engines. They took a stretcher down. Eventually an ambulance came too. I tried to go downstairs but it was closed.

I went to get the bus and said I wondered what had happened. He said that there was a man under the train. He didn’t know if he was dead. He was under his carriage.

I said I hoped that the person I was talking to was ok. But I found myself naturally smiling, and had to cover it. I find it sick that I wanted to smile at someone dying like that.

I walked a little bit away from the man and realised that I was impressed at how many people came to deal with one man dying. I wondered what it would be like for me. It’s not the way I’d choose – holding up the train, affecting so many people negatively. I don’t want such a fuss. I realised that I was happy for the man, if he died, if he wanted to die. He would have achieved his aims. He would have been brave. He would have ended the pain. Well done to him.

Today I also realised that there are some moods where I can’t believe in things I normally believe in. I used to believe that the meaning of life is to help others. I used to believe that the pain you’d cause to others if you ended it far outweighs your own pain. Now I believe it’s possible for one person’s pain to outweigh everyone else’s pain that would be associated with the loss of them. Some pain is so intense that people should not have to bear it. It’s quality of life. If someone was in chronic physical pain and no drugs could ease the pain, they could probably get assisted death if necessary.

I don’t find it meaningful to help others today. I have done the most spiteful thing I have done in ages today: I told my ex boyfriend’s depressed friend how badly my ex treated me. I reckon it’s probably going to make him more depressed that his friend has the capacity to be such a bastard. I thought while I was writing him the message that it might help him – save him from relying on an unreliable person. But in fact I was probably doing it because I am bitter and I hate the fact that everyone else probably thinks he’s a great guy.

I am also less sensitive with my boss about her pains setting up a company. I’ve lost much of my ability to be sensitive and empathetic. I don’t care so much. It’s not to say I don’t care about individuals. I just don’t think about other people’s feelings naturally at the moment. Usually that’s something that comes very easily to me. It’s probably a defence mechanism that my brain is putting up. Whatever.

I don’t want to fight at the moment. I’d rather not try to stop myself from thinking about how to die. I’d like to not work so hard, enjoy life as much as I can while I’m here. I’d like to get better but it seems like too much effort. So I’d rather be hedonistic then die. It would be great if someone could murder me in a compassionate way and then it wouldn’t be suicide, and my family would be able to get over it more easily. I wouldn’t have to feel the pain of living any more, and my family could move on from this episode of life where I’ve struggled and affected them so much. If I live, it will just continue until I die anyway. Might as well go sooner rather than later.

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