Can’t commit suicide because…fear? Laziness? Self-delusion that it will somehow all work out ok? Survival instinct?
Can’t escape into addictions because…therapy? Tiredness? Need to believe that change is possible? Fear of the regret that comes when you realize that you’ve done it again?
Can’t stand living anymore because…overwhelming self-hatred? Crippling shame? Utter worthlessness? Complete psychological isolation? Undeniable guilt? Absence of hope? Hatred & resentment of humanity? Thwarted narcissism? Inability to see meaning in my life?
= the human equivalent of vomit.
Still, I’m sure it can get worse. So I should probably be appreciating this lovely pit I’ve dug for myself.
2 comments
Keeping it real, I see.
Choices. We have choices. Do we know them all? Understand the all? Are we capable of making a decision? Capable of staying the course? Are we or do we choose to be crippled in the face of all the choices.
Indeed, those are are our questions, our thoughts.The questions are many, the answers are few, we seem to create or co-create our path. If we heard our questions answered the answers could very well be incomprehensible. When we seek any answers from any mental health professional they offer only resolution efforts, never dissolution guidance.
Their assumption is that life MUST be lived until organ failure from any possible cause, except one. This is strange indeed to me. Perplexing really. The blind adherence to life in them and in us is beyond me.