Home Coping Skills Pathetic Person w/ Pathetic Reasoning
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At the very least, I hope this scatter-brained post will give you a laugh. Just kidding, I don’t hope for anything, save for what I mention in the following. Well, maybe some sections of this post will resonate with anyone who might read it some day.

Once I become financially stable and relatively successful, I might want to kill myself in complete sobriety so that I can prove this point to my dad: Not all suicides are a result of drug-ingestion or addiction. I’ve always wanted to die since I was a child. I even told my mom that “I want to go to Heaven already,” when I was in elementary school. I’ve only been living because other people are legally responsible for me right now, and I’d also feel bad for the chance of causing excruciating emotional pain for the remainder of my parents’ lives.

If I ever do end up going through with the day-dream of having a decisive, sober suicide, I want whoever cares to know that I have no regrets for committing that infamously “selfish” act. It is selfish, but who cares? We’re all selfish. If I burn in hell, so be it. At least it would be a constant, assured burning, I wouldn’t be mocked by experiencing happiness only to have it taken away, and then having it reappear, and then leave, rinse and repeat. Or who knows, maybe I will experience that torturous cycle in hell. And maybe my dad would refuse to believe that I committed suicide willingly with a clear head and no drugs, since he’s really good at denying reality and facts. Oh well, I don’t care about living, so I don’t care about the pain that I’ll cause to myself and my family. I’m not mentally ill, believe it or not. I could have gone a lifetime of living, but if my suicide can serve as evidence that suicides aren’t all caused by being drugged out or addicted to drugs (including alcohol, prescription medication, etc), and life (that I already dislike and see as trivial and repetitive in the first place) gives me even more of an incentive to not be a part of it, then I’d readily and gladly kill myself.

A good alternative: to have never been born to begin with. I never asked to live, and my parents never asked to give birth to an intrinsically life-hating baby (whom life subtly hates right back).

I don’t want to put in the effort to “seek help” or “get better” because there is no ailment (mental, emotional, or otherwise) to cure. It’s rational to think that life is unfair and cruel and unpleasant sometimes, and that life is also beautiful and kind and generous. It’s a cycle of ups and downs that I just never wanted to participate in. I think me being born was a mistake because I’ve always felt like I never belonged with the living. I feel like I was supposed to be dead and non-existent, but God or whatever made a mistake and chose a dead soul to bring into the living world on Earth. Or maybe I’m delusional. I feel like I’m not supposed to be alive because I don’t like the company of others, others don’t like my company, I don’t trust anyone for anything unless I’m desperate to keep my friendships and affairs in order to maintain my mask of productive living, I don’t enjoy doing anything, I often feel too lazy to live. Random note to imply how much I’m omitting from this post; I don’t care about my secrets, I’d tell all of the people I talk to about my deepest and darkest secrets, but I’d be involuntarily admitted to a psych ward or shamed or be subjected to any other negative reaction.

People live because they don’t think about how there’s a chance that their loved ones are stabbing them in the back, how insignificant their lives are in the grand scheme of the universe, how they and everyone they know will die anyway and future generations will bury our own into forgotten oblivion, how they are all just optimistically distracting themselves from how boring and tedious life really is without the thick and sturdy veil of naivety, ignorance, and lack of foresight.

I’ll die (half-preferably on “accident” so that my parents don’t think that I killed myself, half-preferably by suicide so that my dad personally knows that suicides [at least a very personal suicide] can occur without the implementation of drugs in my system) as a relatively successful, entirely sober virgin. Cringe but honest

  • Regardless of everything, I love my parents and they love me. They’re the only ones who love me unconditionally, and understandably so. They told me themselves, they don’t care what becomes of me as long as I go to college and end up being happy. They raised me to the best of their abilities, and so far I’ve been academically high-achieving, ambitious… I start my first semester of college in a few hours, actually. It’s 2:08 am here and my first class is at 8:00 am. I just find ways to coexist with my desire to die for the time being. I can also distract myself from the reality. I’m not in a rush, but if a freak accident were to occur and I died right now or in the immediate future, I’d be so grateful.

This felt really good to convey, I’m glad a website like this exists.

I have an internal conflict going on where I know “revenge suicide” is really idiotic, but I just feel so strongly against my dad’s dumb opinion about suicides enough to add “proving him wrong” to my list of reasons why I would commit suicide. And although that is a recurring theme of this post, I wouldn’t commit suicide if my dads opinion was on the top 100 list of reasons. But I was thinking, if I am apathetic enough about life to commit suicide anyway, why not also be opportunistic and use it to make a statement against the idea that suicides are drug-driven. Honestly, I understand why my dad would think that. A lot of celebrities kill themselves (accidentally or purposefully) with drug overdose. Also, humans are known for that impermeable survival instinct. It’s pretty common for people to attempt suicide while high/drunk/asleep due to medication so that the survival instinct doesn’t kick in and scare them out of doing it. I guess my dad is old-fashioned and doesn’t believe that mental illness has the strength to equip affected people with the bravery/desperation needed to off themselves without the help of drugs.


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funny123 8/28/2017 - 5:05 am

I like the part where you talk about not being asked to be born into this life. I wish that before we’re born we are given an option. Discontinue/abort mission or live this mockery they call life. It will have its ups and downs, but it will mostly be downs and you will need to wake up every day for approximately 70 years with no purpose. I chose abort mission.

ILostMyWay 9/23/2017 - 10:54 am

Your post struck a chord with me because I feel like you are feeling the exact way that I do. I was not abused, my parents were hard-working and caring, they did not do drugs or commit crimes; I always had food, shelter, clothing, siblings, friends, vacations, holidays….yet I have had thoughts of not feeling like I belong anywhere or to anyone and of wanting to die since I was young. I have never felt bonded with my siblings and often had contentious relationships with them, despite me wanting to be close with them. I have never felt my parents understood me or really tried to hear what I was trying to say. I tried to be a compliant, responsible and respectful person. I was a good student and never got in trouble or had disciplinary problems. I was involved in dance, choir and theater…and through it all, my whole life, there has been this undercurrent of sadness and loneliness and a chronic feeling of being lost and purposeless. Once I wrote a poem about my dark thoughts in 8th grade and turned it in for an assignment. My teacher turned showed it to the principal, who contacted my parents with their concerns. My teacher was shaken and upset about what I had written. My parents asked me if I meant what I wrote. I simply lied and said “no” and they laughed it off and it was never mentioned again. Looking back, I think it was a subconscious attempt at trying to see if anyone was paying attention and really listening to me. My parents couldn’t see what was going on with me, or maybe they were too consumed with their own problems to have the energy to be bothered with mine. I got my Master’s degree in counseling and worked with severely abused and neglected children for nearly 10 years before I got so mentally drained and burned out that I left the profession. I think I was selfishly trying to fix those broken kids and families because I wanted someone to fix ME. Through my psychology education I discovered that all those years I had been drawing pictures of weeping willows and doodling empty boxes, that those were expressions of my feelings of despondence and emptiness. I hate that I am a giant walking contradiction and a liar; for years I had to help get adults and children hospitalized for expressing suicidal thoughts when I, myself, was having similar thoughts, and deep inside didn’t blame them for how they felt and could understand why they wanted to die…and I knew that their confessions would result in them going into inpatient and being medicated….and we must do no harm and save lives, and do our best to keep people alive and safe, no matter the circumstances…and I thought it was wrong and unfair for there to be such a stigma surrounding such thoughts…because we are taught that there must be something wrong with you if you feel that way, that you have a chemical imbalance…. I don’t necessarily believe that depression is the source of all suicidal thoughts and attempts. What if there are people who just aren’t made for this world, who feel too much but can’t adequately express it, who are pained by all the hate and hostility and horrible crimes people commit against each other every day??? I think I am one of those people. So many times I tell myself, “you don’t have anything to be THIS unhappy about”, yet all I can think about is wanting to die. I don’t feel like I have a purpose or a reason for being here. I am that terrible type of friend who never returns phone calls or keeps in touch. It is exhausting keeping up with the daily social demands and interactions required at work, and trying to make small talk with co-workers is painful and awkward, so I avoid it at all costs and hide out in my office as much as I possibly can. I don’t add value to anything or anyone’s life. I don’t get joy or satisfaction from hardly anything, and when I do, it’s fleeting. I would literally sit on the couch in my pj’s for weeks if I could, and do nothing but watch TV and eat and not interact with a soul, and have no desire to do anything or see anyone in the outside world, and I wouldn’t be bored at all, but I wouldn’t be happy or content, either. I am so lonely, yet I don’t have the energy to cultivate or maintain relationships in a way to help them thrive. I just don’t want to be here anymore but don’t have the guts to do anything about it. Though I do think that surviving a suicide attempt and having to live with a damaged body or mind would be far worse than suffering through a painful death.

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