I just need to tell someone

I love my house.
I love my husband, and he loves me.
I love my two dogs, the one that cuddles and the one that listens.
I love my job. As a teacher there are so many rewards. The people I work with are amazing and skilled individuals.
I love my family. Supportive and there when you really need it, but they don’t holdit against you if you’re under a rock for a long time.
I love my roommate (in a platonic fashion) because he is a really great guy and a great helper around the house.
I love my friends, especially the “rediscovered” ones.

Sounds great, right?

I want to die. Not tomorrow, there’s stuff I need to take care of. Not even next week, but soon-ish.

I know people will be upset, feel guilty, and I will hurt many, but only if they find out its a suicide. Seriously, “accidentally” falling in front of a train or stepping into a busy road would very likely kill me. A couple of bonus things: insurance would still pay my husband. Since, y’know, everything in my profile is fake. He’d be taken care of. Everyone else would be sad, but it would be a tragic accident, and therefore nobody’s fault. I can’t tell anyone or leave any kind of hint or note. If by some horrible tragedy I live it’ll be bad enough with the saving my life in an agonizing recovery, but then I’d probably be subjected to therapy as well. Others just… Wouldn’t understand.

Why do I want to die?

Logical question. I’ve had pain since I was 12. Diagnosed officially at 21, timeline goes on to a diagnosis of a genetic disorder that says “worse, not better, pain management, no cure”. Cane, before I hit 30.

Husband is scared of losing me to childbirth, so we don’t have kids until I’ve seen a specialist. The visit with the last specialist is coming up in the early new year. If I can’t biologically (safely) have kids, then what’s the point? Oh, adopt you say? If my husband doesn’t want that, then there’s no point to me keeping this stuff. No point to my continued, deteriorating, painful life.

I take medication for pain and anxiety (anxiety comes from being hypersensitive/aware because of the pain). My future looks like I slowly lose mobility, increase daily pain, and eventually end up severely limited or severely in pain, likely both. The specialist has the fun job of giving me a timeline. 10 years? 15? 20? How long can I walk or drive a car or work?

I have no idea. But I do know this: I will not be a burden. If I can’t physically get out of bed nobody is wiping my butt. I’m not holding my husband back from living his life if I can’t move in mine. I’m not waiting for my liver to die because of the pain meds I’ve been routinely taking. If I get the “no” on kids, there’s really no point in going on. I don’t need to see the next generation off, I don’t have one! All I will do as my mobility dies is watch other people, go off to have fun without me, or sacrifice their fun to be with me. Neither of those options are nice for the people I love.

To be clear: I’m not depressed. I don’t have cancer. I have a genetic disorder that causes my joints to break down. Lose mobility. Daily pain. Burden on others. I’m not dying tomorrow because I can’t “take the pain!”

I’m seriously considering secret suicide as an option so others don’t have to deal with the crap I live with (and actually come out on top, thanks life insurance). When, eventually, my disorder will get the better of the fun parts of being alive.

I say secret as well because I don’t want others to worry or obsess over me, plus life insurance claims guys are dicks who wouldn’t consider this as a “good move for my family” and see suicide=denied. I’m guessing as soon as 2 years as late as 20? Maybe 30 if meds improve and I’m promised grandchildren.

Thanks for listening, Internet. I can keep my secret and get it off my shoulders at the same time.