Hi. I’m Frank. Well, not really Frank. My real name is incredibly far from what my screen name suggests however, it is true of myself. I am honest and I am a writer. Before I go any further, I might as well mention that I have a degree in Psychology. Isn’t that lovely? I do not want anybody’s sympathy, I do not want anybody’s feedback, I merely am here to put the priper thoughts in its proper place.
I guess you can say that I have no right to be depressed or suicidal. Well, you’re right. I should be an advocate of good mental health or someone who hosts a proper mental hygiene. In fact, I am. I am what you can call a ‘natural’ at my profession. You can place me anywhere regarding my selected major and I can perform efficiently, and perhaps even more as I have spent years honing several skills not related to my chosen profession. I can make people feel at ease, I was told that I have a good clinical eye, I can be a bit austere and useful in the workplace, I write at a good level for academic or technical research. I look pretty okay from the outside, I look like someone of my profession especially at a professional setting. I am a good fit for my course but after learning a lot about Psychology, I found out I am not. Mainly because I have tried to end my mortal existence which was rather unfortunate for me. I hated the fact that I survived despite the serious consequences I had achieved. So, here I am, tackling everyday with the shadow of suicidal thoughts following me everywhere. The best thing about it is nobody knows – except for a really few who are thousands of miles away from me.
In fact, I have no reason to be suicidal. I have a job, a good degree, a loving family, a very promising future and friends that are actually real and who I can call at practically any time of the day. I am not stupid and I am not a talentless idiot either. Yet, for some reason, I hate myself. I hate myself with every fiber of my being. Being good enough never was good enough. People always sought to change something in me, as I do. I am horribly unattractive and I have equated looks to worth. And please don’t say bullshit stuff on me. I despise those. I will never fulfill my biological purpose of reproduction because of what I look like so that’s already a no-go zone for me to try to find what the purpose of my life is.
Well, it really is bot the purpose of life i am worrying about. Like I said, I am highly efficient therefore very useful. I don’t like the world. I don’t like the injustice, the hate, the bloodshed and most of all, the lies. I hate feeling so helpless and hopeless and so powerless and irrelevant to change the world for the better. So, I might as well quit. I hate myself and I hate the world.
Given my background, I know more than most about suicide. The first one was rather impromptu because all things fell down on me at once. I found out the guy I was dating likes my engaged bestfriend, the man I referred to as a brother and bestfriend suddenly left without a word and I had some extra cash that day that I decided to use for self-destruction. Anyway’ that was the unplanned one. The planned one, however, would involve an incredibly successful me after 15 years where I make enough money to ensure my family’s financial security for decades to come then I leave the world – in my own terms, before reaching 35. That’s the plan I have and it is slowly falling into place. I care not for myself anymore. I merely am existing and not living. Reason why I am doing what I am right now is because I live so others can have better lives than I do. I’m pressuring and bettering myself for the benefit of the people i love and the people that surround me. That’s why i am existing. But that doesn’t mean I love my life. I detest myself more than anything else in the world for being this fat, ugly and flawed human that I am.
I am far from ever trying to love life as I quit on it eight years ago. I am far from saving as well because never will I ever seek help as it would jeopardize my future career. I have given up on hope and faith as they never served me any good. Most of all, I have given up on myself. No one wants me, so why should I?
If you are reading this, please do not go the same way I would be. Please do not end your life. You are too precious, and almost miraculous. I told myself that, if I can, I’d try to save a stranger’s life. So, please save yourself from this depressive misery because whatever it is I am feeling right now is worse than I can even wish for my enemy. I am one lonely and helpless buffoon’ and you aren’t. My circumstances aren’t yours. You can try and change that. I wold extend my help, if necessary and possible.
Sorry for the senseless rant. Please try to have a good day.
UPDATE: I sounded a bit boastful. I am not nor did I intend to be. I am just stating whatever was in my head and reasons why I shouldn’t be suicidal. Also, I didn’t want to compromise my anonymity so I tried to be vague. Anyway, I haven’t really told any reason that led to me being suicidal. It was the common, cliche causes: bad childhood, loss of a loved one, bad financial status, bullying, dealing with self-image issues and other comorbid mental diseases.